River Song (20 page)

Fragile.
Frightened.
Lonely.
Why, Sean wondered, did all these words come to mind as he looked at her? His heart went out to her even as it was drawn to her beauty, ached for wanting to ease her pain, and yet withdrew at the thought of getting any closer to her.

Increasingly aware of her damp body trembling against his, Sean shifted his position, but the movement only nestled her soft bottom deeper between his legs. Ignoring the sudden sensations, he leaned his head against the earthen wall and introduced himself. "My name is Sean Callahan. I'm from Yuma."

Forgetting her shyness, Eileen jerked her chin up and stared into his features, her expression unable to hide her surprise at his name. "Oh? Umm, I'm Eileen Hobbs. My father's ranch is a couple miles up the wash."

"What are you staring at, Miss Hobbs? Were you expecting my name to be Geronimo, or
Nachez
, or maybe something more colorful like Red-skinned son of the Irish Mick?"

"Oh," Eileen covered her head with her arms and ducked, halfway expecting the angry young man to strike her.

Sean's hands froze in the air a scant inch above her heaving shoulders. What should he do? What had he already
done?
A few harsh words, yes, but her reaction surprised and confused him. Maybe he should hold her, take back those spontaneous words he usually spouted when confronted with his Indian heritage, and calm this frightened young fawn of a woman. And yet, if he dared touch her now in this overwrought state, what kind of chance might he be taking? Her response to his words might be nothing compared to his hands on her trembling body, and it could even push her to panic and send them both into the turbulent waters below.

"Miss Hobbs, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. Miss Hobbs?" he pleaded, his hands still clutching only air. "What's wrong? Please don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."

Eileen took great gulps of air in an effort to calm herself.

Her neck and cheeks burned with shame at her reaction to his ancestry, and stung with embarrassment over her response to his display of temper. Turning her head aside, she was finally able to say, "You are the one who should forgive me. I don't know what came over me or why I stared at you like that. It was unforgivable."

But her apology didn't interest him. What did concern him was the fear, the near terror in her eyes and instinctive reflexes she exhibited when he barked at her. Was she frightened because he was part Indian or was there some other cause? Whatever the reason, she was badly shaken and in need
of
comfort. His hands no longer questioned where they belonged as Sean slid one across her shoulders and the other beneath her chin.

Gently coaxing her head towards his, he waited until she lifted her lids and looked into his eyes before he whispered, "You're wrong. I am the one who should apologize. A half-breed with an Irish name should be used to incredulous stares and occasional remarks by now. I'm afraid my Irish temper has a little more growing up to do. You really did not offend me."

Sean smiled as the fear in her ice-blue eyes began to melt, revealing a heartwarming innocence that touched him deeply. Her bottom lip trembled as he stared into those eyes, and instinctively his gaze gravitated down past her upturned nose to the movement. Her mouth was shaped in a perpetual pout, the full lips curving at the corners, yet dipping on one side making it appear as if it were crooked when she smiled. He wanted that mouth. Wanted to feel those tempting lips part beneath his and welcome him inside for a taste of honey. What would it be like and what would she do if he were to act on the impulse?

Eileen's eyes grew huge as Sean slowly pulled her face close to his. Cloistered by her father and six brothers, she had never seen any man look at her like this, and wasn't certain if she ought to be frightened or pleased by the attention. He was a bare inch away from her now, his hot breath caressing her lips and offering his own special scent of sweet hay and rain-freshened juniper. She could feel herself growing not just warm, but hot, in some of the strangest places.
Her cheeks.
She knew her cheeks must be positively glowing. And if the handsome man could see beneath her blouse and chemise, he would find the flesh of her breasts to be feverish and glossy as sun-ripened tomatoes. This thought, and the sudden pleasurable sensations warming the lower half of her body as thoroughly as a hot bath, were too much for her. Eileen's eyelids fluttered uncontrollably and she swooned, nearly fainting again.

"Miss Hobbs? Are you all right?" Frantic, Sean picked up her bonnet and began to fan her.

Again fighting for consciousness, but this time for an entirely different reason, Eileen gasped for breath then forced herself to a sitting position. "Excuse me," she muttered, trying to think of a logical reason for her behavior. "Maybe I haven't recovered from the blow to my head when Rosie fell."

Thinking of kicking
his own
behind, Sean muttered an inward oath. That he'd tried to encourage a kiss with a poor white girl who'd never seen him before was bad enough, but he hadn't even bothered to look for, or check her injuries. What could he have been thinking of? Sean pushed a heavy flame red curl off her forehead and lightly touched the strawberry-colored mound.

"This bruise looks very painful. Do you think you might be concussed?" He stared at her pupils looking for signs of dilation or contraction, and waited for some kind of response from her.

Eileen brushed his fingers aside. "It's nothing."

"I'm not so sure about that. It's awfully close to your temple."

"It's all right, Mr. Callahan. I didn't fall, well, not here," she said, looking for a way to explain. "This happened at home. When I fell off Rosie, I landed on the back of my head." Slipping her fingers through her thick waves, she halted when they connected with a huge bump. "Ouch.
Right here."

Following the lead of those alabaster fingers, Sean found the egg-sized knot,
then
reluctantly withdrew his hand from hair soft as the blazing clouds at sundown, and fragrant as a wild rose. Swallowing hard, he worked at a stern expression. "You may still have a fracture or concussion. I should get you home as quickly as possible."

Sean checked the skies, then the water still tumbling through the valley below. "It looks like the storm is ready to break, but I don't think we should chance being trapped down there again. Is the wash the only way back to your place?"

Eileen shook her head, and suddenly realized her hair was falling free.
"My bonnet.
Where's my bonnet?"

"Take it easy. I have it." Puzzled at first by what he considered an overreaction to the missing item, Sean waved the hat in front of her then observed as she snatched it away and tucked her glorious hair up inside the brown material.

Guessing the weather had a lot to do with her attitude, he grinned and commented, "Too bad it's raining. You have the most beautiful hair I've ever seen. It's a shame to keep it covered up."

"You like the
color?"
she blurted out, stunned.

"Why, yes, of course I do." She looked so surprised, or perhaps annoyed, he wasn't sure what to say. He shook his head and shrugged. "I can't understand why anyone
wouldn't
like it. It's the most incredible shade of fire and copper. Your hair reminds me of the prettiest sunset I've ever seen on the Colorado River."

"Then you really do like it?" she breathed, not sure she should believe him.

"You act as if no one has ever told you what beautiful hair you have."

With a short laugh, she shot him a sideways glance. "That's because no one ever has."

"Oh, come on, Miss Hobbs."

"You may call me Eileen if you wish, and yes, it's true. Papa says my hair looks painted like a fallen woman's, that it's an ugly flag to attract men of immoral character. I've always had to make sure it's covered in public to keep Papa from shame."

Sean had no reply for her, couldn't understand the kind of thinking that would have a beautiful young daughter consider herself as anything less than that, knew he didn't have the right to tell her how wrong she was—or how terribly wrong her father was. He thought of Sunny, of Patrick's protective measures with her, and shrugged. Grown men were funny around their little girls, and fought to keep them that way even after they'd grown. Perhaps this was Mr. Hobbs's way of keeping Eileen as his little girl as long as possible. And even if it wasn't, who was he to judge another man's methods of raising his children?

"I think we'd better get going while we still can," he finally said, with no further references to her hair.

Nodding, Eileen crawled along the ledge until Sean was free to climb to the lip of the hill and help her up beside him. After trying several combinations of positions on the small saddle, they finally settled on Eileen sitting sideways across the leather seat with Sean straddling the mule behind her.

Keeping one arm around her waist to help balance her weight, Sean guided Whiskey along the rim of the shallow canyon leading towards Pleasant Valley. As they picked their way through mud and debris from the storm, Eileen told him of the arduous trek the Hobbs family made just over a year ago from St. Louis. Their objective was to claim a homestead in the untamed territory of Arizona, she explained. Once that was accomplished, she and her six younger brothers worked alongside their mother and father building a meager shelter, raising a few crops, and managing the small herd of cattle they owned. Her tale was one of hope, hard work, and humble beginnings.

By the time they arrived at the patch of ground Dan Hobbs had claimed as his own, Sean felt like he had come to know the small sod house and poorly constructed barn. He slid down off Whiskey's rump and held his arms out to Eileen. She was on the ground, but still in his arms, when he heard a feminine voice cry out.

"Eileen? Oh, thank God.
I been
so worried." Martha Hobbs stood in the doorway of her home wringing her hands, but made no attempt to approach her daughter.

"Sorry, Ma," Eileen answered over her shoulder. "Please come in, Mr. Callahan. I'd like to thank you proper for saving my life."

"That isn't necessary, Eileen. I should be on my way."

"Where do you have to be in such a rush?"

Sean hesitated a moment, but couldn't find grounds not to divulge his destination. "I've some business at the Triple F ranch."

"Then that's all the more reason to stay. You still have about a two-hour ride from here, and I'll bet the morning's pail of milk that storm hasn't worn itself out yet. It'll be dark soon. Come on." She took his hand and gave it a tug, "You must be ready for a hot meal after the afternoon we spent. Join me and warm yourself by the fire."

The thought of a few more hours with the freckle-faced beauty was more responsible for his decision than consuming the first hot meal he'd had in weeks. Sean allowed her to lead him to the house.

"Ma, this is Sean Callahan. He saved me from being swept away in a flash flood a couple miles up the wash."

Eileen's mother gasped,
then
grasped Sean's extended hand. "I'm mighty beholden to you. I
figgered
somethin' awful
musta
happened to her. Come in. You'll ketch your death in them wet clothes."

Once he was in front of the fire, Sean began to shiver as his chilled skin warmed. Eileen stood beside him, rubbing her hands together as her mother pressed for the details of her journey.

Her once attractive features lined and sagging beyond her years, Martha Hobbs sighed and gasped as she listened to the tale, and then raised
greying
brows and relaxed the corners of her sun-cracked mouth as she asked, "Did you
git
the dress to Mrs. Parson 'fore the rain hit?"

Eileen nodded and turned her back to the fire. "I'd have been home two hours ago if that storm hadn't come on me so fast. Oh, Mrs. Parson did pay me." She reached into her deep pocket, pulled out a few damp coins, and handed them to her mother. Then Eileen took a worried glance around the room and asked in a hushed tone, "Is Pa around?"