Tangled Past (9 page)

When they finished the meal, Jackson stood, his chair scraping across the wood floor. He glanced at Sarah then held Nate’s gaze. “Sarah? Why don’t you go sit by the fire? We’ve got this.”

She glanced up, clearly startled. “But—”

“Nope, no arguments. You’ve made dinner and cleaned up after us all week. We’ve got this one.”

So Jackson had caught his message.

Nate stood and grabbed his plate and started piling the others onto it. “That’s right, Sarah. We’re not totally incompetent in the kitchen. We managed to feed ourselves and clean up before you married this fella. Won’t do to dote on us too much, it’ll make us lazy.”

Her lips twisted up in a smile that told him she knew exactly what they were doing. “Thank you. I was fixin’ to do some knitting anyway. Now I’ll be able to grab the light while it’s still good.”

Before she’d come to live with them, he and Jackson would sit by the fire, Jackson repairing some bridle or other. Or he’d bring in the books and sit at the table, the way they were now. The only change was the click of Sarah’s needles, and the sheer contentment Nate found in their company.

Too soon, Sarah put her knitting in her lap and yawned. Nate squelched his regret when Jackson stood up and the couple wandered upstairs, their arms linked. A few minutes later, he closed his eyes when Sarah’s giggle floated down the stairs. He buried his head in his arms at the rhythmic squeaking of the bedframe. It wasn’t right that he begrudge his friend the pleasures of the marital bed.

If he could only figure out if he was jealous of Jackson. Or of Sarah.

Nate stared at the water rippling in the ewer on the nightstand. There was no mistaking what was going on in the spare bedroom. Not from the way the bedframe hit the wall or the moans—both Jackson’s and Sarah’s.

Wasn’t it enough he’d gone to sleep last night listening to the two of them knocking boots? He shouldn’t have to wake up to the same sounds this morning.

He shut his eyes, but by shutting out the room, his imagination supplied an image of Jackson—coated in a sheen of sweat, the muscles of his thighs and ass flexing and rippling with strength. Damn, it had been over a month since he’d had Jackson’s hard body covering him, his even harder cock trapped between their bellies.

On the other side of the wall, Jackson said something, his tone dark and commanding. Though distance and lumber prevented him from hearing the actual words, the timbre of Jackson’s voice made Nate groan. He stumbled to the bed, taking the time to undo the belt he’d just buckled, and dropped his trousers before he fell onto the feather mattress. His hand closed around his already primed cock, his mind confused over who he pictured doing this for him. A month ago, it would have been Jackson’s hand. Now it was Sarah’s hand he envisioned clasping him. Nate ran his thumb over the swollen head and tried not to picture the couple on their bed. Which meant that was all he could see.

Pretty Sarah. Exotic Sarah and her long black hair that Jackson had helped her brush out every night they’d been on the trail. Hair that Nate imagined cascading over his arms, his chest as she rode him with the ease she rode Bandit. Did they follow the same ritual in the privacy of their bedroom? Was it a form of foreplay for Jackson when he was with a woman?

Was she riding Jackson? Or was Jackson on top? Was he looking into those beautiful dark eyes that missed nothing? Or was she face down, her ass in the air while Jackson mounted her like a stallion?

Nate matched his strokes to the rhythm of the thumps on the wall, paying extra attention to the swollen, sensitive head when Sarah’s moans got louder. His hips pushed his shaft into his palm at another of Jackson’s murmured instructions. What would it be like to be in Sarah’s pussy while Jackson’s cock filled his ass?

Damn it, what type of man fantasized about fornicating with them both at the same time? Yet once the images started flowing, he couldn’t stop. Sarah on her knees in front of him, his cock in her mouth, Jackson’s hard body behind him, his cock rigid in his ass. Or him on his knees, his mouth on Sarah’s pussy—she’d taste like heaven, he was certain—with Jackson pounding into him from behind. Him on his knees, his mouth filled with Jackson’s cock while Jackson filled his mouth with Sarah’s pussy.

His hand stilled when he realized the rhythmic thumping on the wall had been joined by a quiet tapping on his door.

Shit. Miss Martha had come by early this morning and probably didn’t want to disturb the newlyweds.

“Mr. Nate?” Not Martha, but young Henry Simons. Which meant trouble with the herd or one of the horses.

He dragged his pants up over his hips. His goddamned erection didn’t want to be bound behind fabric, but he jammed it into his long-johns and buttoned the placket, ignoring the discomfort. Served him right.

He opened the door a little more forcefully than he’d intended. “What?”

To his credit, Henry didn’t jump back or cower. “Bobby Lee Culpepper says there’s trouble up at Taylor’s Creek.”

The farthest edge of Campbell land. Figured that it wouldn’t be something in the closest barn. “What type of trouble?”

Henry scratched his nose. “All’s he said was there was trouble, and I was to come get you and tell you to haul your ass out there.”

Nate cuffed Henry’s ear with a light swat, just enough to get the boy’s attention. “Hey, I know your grandma told you not to use that type of language. You don’t use it in front of Miss Martha, you don’t use it here.”

“You and Jackson curse all the time. Sides, Gram ain’t around to hear me.”

“Miss Sarah lives here now, so I don’t want to hear no more language like that.” He stepped back in the room long enough to grab his vest before following Henry down the hall to the front door.

“Bobby Lee said I was to fetch Mister Jackson too.” The color in Henry’s other ear changed until it matched the pink flush of the one Nate had cuffed. “I tried knocking on his door before I tried yours, but he and Miss Sarah was…busy.”

Nate grunted. Yeah, Jackson and Miss Sarah had been busy a lot lately.

“He ain’t gonna get mad at me for interrupting him makin’ babies with Miss Sarah, is he?”

Even with the door closed, the kid had figured out what they were doing? He’d been a few years older than Henry before he’d figured out what those sounds meant. What the hell had Henry seen, or heard, to educate him about procreating?

Shit. Why had that not even crossed his mind? Sarah might already be carrying Jackson’s child.

He stopped so fast Henry skidded into his back. The idea of her belly rounded with a babe, her breasts heavy with milk did nothing to ease his desires. If anything, he got hornier than a bull in a pasture full of cows. How sick was that?

He was pulling on his oilskin when Jackson appeared at the top of the stairs, a linen towel pulled around his hips, his hair slick against his forehead. “Trouble?”

“Sounds like.” He stared at his buttons, pretending they took all his attention. It was better than seeing the sweat glistening on Jackson’s nearly naked body, or the bulge against the thin linen towel, proof of Jackson’s ability to satisfy Sarah the way he’d once satisfied Nate.

“Bobby Lee Culpepper says there’s trouble at Taylor’s Creek, Mr. Jackson,” Henry piped up. “He says you’re to get down there right away.”

“Be right there.”

Nate grabbed his hat from the hook and jammed it on his head. He was halfway to the barn where a group of his hands were already saddling up before he realized Henry was racing at his heels.

“Go get your breakfast, son. You’ve delivered your message.”

The boy was halfway across the field when Nate remembered his earlier speculations.

The idea of Sarah having to haul water and do all that heavy work if she were breeding sure didn’t sit well. The woman deserved some help. Not that she’d ever complain, but she’d been little more than a slave before she’d married Jackson, and he’d be damned if he wanted her to feel like a servant in her own home. Damn Jackson for not taking care of his wife and making her load easier.

“Hey Henry. Ask your grandma to stop by, will you? And you stick around too. See if Miss Sarah needs any help with her chores. Weed the garden or somethin’.”

He nodded to the men, who called to him as he headed inside the barn to find Annabelle. She was bridled and her saddle blanket was already in place by the time Jackson stomped into the barn.

“Cold out this mornin’.”

“Yup.” Jackson was probably all nicely warmed, thanks to his early morning baby-making session. He sure looked mellow as he headed toward Thunder’s stall.

“Any idea what the trouble is?”

“Nope.”

If anyone had a stopwatch, they might have noticed that he made record time saddling Annabelle. The farm hands might also have noticed that he didn’t bother waiting for Jackson before he hauled himself up in the stirrups and rode out of the barn.

Jackson could catch up later. Or not.

He turned Annabelle to the north and spurred her across the fields toward the creek. What type of trouble were they facing? Bobby Lee wouldn’t have sounded an alarm for a cow that was having trouble birthing, or who had gotten stuck in a bog. He would have taken care of it himself. So what would have been bad enough for him to send for help? Fire would be the worst threat at the moment. The fall had been so dry the possibility of wildfires had been a constant topic of discussion amongst both the farmhands and the neighboring ranchers.

He scanned the horizon but saw no sign of smoke, which meant they were probably safe. Rustlers most likely. They’d hit the Barnett place last week, and the Panola spread the week before. Since the creek was at the farthest end of his property, it was a likely spot for rustlers to hit.

When the turf of the fields changed to the loose gravel at the bottom of the hills, he slowed Annabelle down and let her pick her way along the path. He and Annabelle were almost at the crest of the second ridge when he heard Jackson curse. As much as he wanted to pretend he wasn’t concerned, he couldn’t stop himself from looking back. The wind had caught Jackson’s hat. The Stetson was bucketing down the hill with Jackson in pursuit, like a coyote chasing a hare.

Chuckling, Nate urged Annabelle up the final few feet to the crest of the hill and down the other side. The path was steep; at points there were sheer drops. If Annabelle took a single wrong step, the shale would crumble around them, and they’d plunge down the hillside into the gorge. He reined her in and let her carefully pick her way. He’d gotten a third of the way down when a cougar darted from behind a boulder. He clamped on to the mare’s back with his knees, holding his seat when she spooked.

“Fuck!” He wound his fingers through her mane and hung on for dear life, the whole time urging the mare to calm down before they both ended up at the bottom of the gulley.

The shale shifted, and Annabelle’s feet slid from underneath her. Before he could kick himself free of the stirrups, the world tilted, and they began a slow tumble down the jagged rocks of the gorge.

***

Sarah wandered into the kitchen, her footsteps echoing through the empty rooms. It wasn’t the first time she’d been alone, but for some odd reason, she felt acutely aware of both Jackson’s and Nate’s absence.

She set to work by dusting every level surface in the house. When they still hadn’t returned by the time she’d finished dusting, she set to work polishing the floors. The living room floor shone when there was a knock on the front door seconds before it opened.

“Sarah? Are you here?” Martha walked into the hall, wearing the black taffeta bustle gown she reserved for church. “We missed you at services this morning.”

Shoot. “I completely lost track of what day it is.”

It was only a half-lie. She’d remembered right before Jackson had rolled her onto her stomach and made her forget her own name, let alone the day of the week. But even if she’d remembered, she wasn’t sure she would have attended without Jackson or Nate by her side. While some ladies had welcomed her, others hadn’t. Nate had teased her that it was because she’d taken Jackson off the market.

She might have believed him if one woman hadn’t waylaid her one Sunday, catching her when Jackson was talking with some of the men. The woman had told her in no uncertain terms that a half-breed like her wasn’t good enough to mix with the proper folk of Barnett Springs.

Martha took off her cloak and hung it on the hook beside Jackson’s oilskin then handed her a carpet bag. “I was cleaning out my wardrobe yesterday and decided I didn’t need all this. I wondered if you’d like any of it.”

“Thank you.” Sarah opened the bag and poked through it. She pulled out a pair of kid gloves almost exactly the same as the ones she’d admired at the market and examined them. “These look like they’ve never been worn. Are you sure you want to part with them?”

“My daughter sent them to me as a birthday present. I didn’t have the heart to tell her they don’t fit.” Martha turned her hands over and examined her fingers. “My knuckles are swelling too much from my arthritis, I reckon. You can go through the rest of it later and if you don’t like something, I’ll take ’em back.”

Martha fixed her with a stern look. “Oh, and don’t forget I saw what you had in your saddlebags when you arrived, so don’t let your pride get in the way of accepting my cast-offs.”

“Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”

“It didn’t cost me nothin’. Just doin’ a friend a good turn, that’s all. The boys back yet?”

“No.” She clutched the bag to her chest as she trailed Martha into the kitchen. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“Only that Bobby Lee came racing into our yard this morning yelling about a cut fence at Taylor Creek and ordering Henry to fetch Nate and Jackson.”

A cut fence, not a trampled one. Rustlers, but probably long gone if this Bobby Lee hadn’t spotted them. Her legs wobbled despite her relief, so Sarah lowered herself to the bench at the table.

Martha picked up the kettle and filled it from the bucket Sarah kept by the stove. “You were worried about them.”

It wasn’t a question. “Yes.”

“Good.” Martha nodded once in approval before she took the kettle to the stove. “To be honest, I’m glad to see you are. When you told me you’d been forced to marry Jackson, I thought perhaps you didn’t care for him. That you wouldn’t worry about him the way he needs to be worried about. You were so shy and quiet when you first arrived, and he needs a strong woman who doesn’t need to cling to him all the time. I didn’t think you two would suit.”