Tender Touch (17 page)

Lilith pouted, but said nothing more. She couldn’t loan Brianna a dress; the woman was much taller and bigger breasted. Even if they had been the same size, Lilith would never embarrass her friend by making her more aware of the penurious state widowhood had imposed on her.

“Well, ladies, are you ready?” Marc came from the tent, dressed in a wrinkled frock coat.

“Oh my, no. Where are the children?”

Marc smiled at his wife indulgently. “You told them they could eat with the Goodman family tonight.”

“Oh yes, of course. Well, I’ll only be a moment.” Lilith scurried off to change.

“Are you coming with us?” Marc asked Brianna.

“No, Marc, I really don’t care for parties.”

He smiled. “You’re worried about Col, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” She reminded herself it was all right to let Marc know she was worried; Col was her “brother,” after all.

To distract herself after the Beaudouins left, Brianna straightened up the camp, and then climbed into the wagon to fetch her needlepoint. Shakespeare was asleep on Col’s bed. She petted the cat and tried to ignore the warmth that flowed through her body as she thought of the man who would lie there later that night.

She was becoming used to his kisses. Addicted. Like a drunk to whiskey. It would not do, she told herself. She was not free to love any man. For a moment she let her hand linger in the depression left by his head in the bundle of clothes he used as a pillow. Even if she were free, she had barely begun to know herself, to be herself. It would be foolish to give her person over to another man, be someone else’s property again, with no say in her life. She’d tasted freedom and was reluctant to give it up.

Outside, Edward Magrudge took one of his short cigars from the beaded pouch hidden inside his shirt. What luck for the widow to retire to her bed so early. He would have plenty of time to enjoy himself before the Beaudouin couple returned from the dance. As he lit the cigar, he wondered where her brother had gone off to. Not that it mattered. The man wouldn’t come back this late. Undoubtedly he had run into friends and decided to stay there until morning. Maybe he was off getting the same thing Magrudge wanted from his sister.

The widow would probably resist at first. Women always did, rich or poor. Made them feel more virtuous. He didn’t mind. A slap or two and she’d give up her pretenses like all the others. Truth was, he liked them to fight a little. He enjoyed their screams and the way they rubbed themselves against him, pretending to struggle. Whores at heart, all of them. Columbus Nigh’s fancy sister would be no different.

While he waited, he smoked his cigar and licked his lips, imagining her taking off each garment. Maybe he should sneak closer so he could watch beneath the wagon cover. Then he could climb in and catch her stark naked before she put on her nightclothes. Those plump breasts, bare and eager for his touch. Nipples tastier than buffalo tongue. And those long, lanky legs. Soft, smooth, supple. God, he couldn’t wait to feel them wrapped around his hips. Merely thinking about it had him hot, hard, and pulsing.

Magrudge stole closer to the wagon. There was no end to his luck this night; the tailgate was still down and the wagon cover gaped open. But clouds covered the moon and it was too dark to see inside. He stubbed out his cigar on the iron tire of a wheel and hoisted himself onto the tailgate, too impatient to wait.

Brianna was sitting on her bed, her back to the rear of the wagon as she fished inside her valise for the needlepoint supplies she’d purchased in Independence. She wished she’d brought the lantern in with her. A sound came from outside. Her hands froze and she cocked her head to listen. “Col?”

The wagon lurched beneath the weight of a hard, heavy body. Brianna turned and peered through the darkness at the form crouched on the tailgate.

“Col? Is that you? Don’t play games with me.”

The figure crept inside. A voice screamed inside her head, “Barret! Barret!” But the rank odor of cheap cigar smoke told her it wasn’t her husband. Before she could move to snatch out the cap lock pistol she kept tucked into a pocket sewn inside the wagon cover, Shakespeare rose up from Nigh’s bed. The cat arched its back, laid back its ears, and let out a hiss that sounded like the air rushing from Marc’s India rubber mattress when the plug was pulled.

The man straightened abruptly and let out a startled yelp as the cat swiped at his face with spread claws, barely missing the man’s nose. Shakespeare snarled and slashed out again. The man cursed and fell backward onto the tailgate. Boots scraped and scuffled against wood, a heel caught and tore loose. Then he was gone.

Brianna reached the tailgate in time to see the man pick himself up off the ground. She recognized his battered top hat in the faint light from the fire.

“Edward Magrudge, what do you think you’re doing, trying to sneak into my wagon?”

His voice was free of its usual insolence. He sounded instead like a peevish child. “Thought you and me could get to know each other better. Why don’t you call off that blasted animal of yours and we’ll have us a little fun while everybody’s at the dance.”

“I’ll do no such thing. You get out of here or I’ll put a load of buckshot in your tail, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Dammit, I can’t do no fancy wooin’ from out here. Can’t you just forget about playing coy and invite me in?”

“You must be out of your mind. Col isn’t going to like finding out what you tried to do while he was gone. Now move, before I get my gun or I will shoot you.”

“All right, all right. Uppity woman and her cussed cat . . . be damned sorry
. . .
” His voice trailed off as he hobbled away.

Brianna collapsed on Col’s bed. She hadn’t realized she was trembling until Shakespeare butted his head against her arm and she reached to pet him. “Who needs a dirty old dog around when they’ve got you?” she whispered. The cat answered with a purr.

It took several minutes before she could get hold of herself. Finally she found her needlework bag. She climbed from the wagon and lugged a camp stool into the brightest spot of lantern glare she could find next to the fire. She wished she had some of Marc’s good wine to soothe her frazzled nerves. Forcing herself to relax, she took out her needle, threaded it with a strand of bright red wool yarn and set to work.

The hour grew late. Tomorrow was Sunday and Magrudge had agreed to make it a day of rest. The train had made good time so far. Thanks to the wagon captain’s strict rules about the condition of wagons and the carrying of extra wagon parts, they had not suffered the lengthy delays some companies had. Nor had they been struck by illness. Cholera. The dread of it never left her. Every day there were new graves along the road to drive the fear deeper into her brain.

Col blamed the cholera on water fouled by too many animals and by people being careless where they dumped their garbage or defecated. He always insisted she use only the water from the barrel strapped to the side of the wagon and he was choosy about where he refilled the barrel. Warmth seared her heart as she thought about him.

After what had happened between them in the wagon that day she was a little afraid of what night would bring when he came back. But the fear didn’t stop her from yearning for his presence, for the safety he had come to mean to her, for the secret joy that came from knowing he wanted her.

She cut off her line of thinking; it was dangerous ground. There could never be anything between them. She belonged to someone else and would never be free to be Columbus Nigh’s woman.

It was nearly midnight when the music faded away with the wind and the Beaudouins returned. Jean Louis was asleep in Marc’s arms and Francois’s eyelids were drooping. Lilith said a weary but happy goodnight and vanished inside her wagon. Francois crawled inside the tent he shared with his father.

“The party was wonderful, Brianna,” Marc said after he had helped tuck the younger boy in bed. “Good music and interesting people to talk with. Jeb Hanks said there must be almost a thousand people camped here along the river. Boggles the mind, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, I never expected to see so many immigrating to California. The idea of picking up gold nuggets like pebbles from a stream sounds like a fairy tale to me. I can’t believe it could be that easy.”

“Nor can I. But we’re going to Oregon because we want something more substantial than instant wealth. The future lies in the land, an old fellow told me tonight. I must agree.” Marc crouched to poke at the dying embers of the fire. Sparks spiraled through the air as they were caught by a gust of wind. “Col return yet?”

“No, he must have found friends somewhere and decided to stay the night.”

“Quite likely. Hanks was telling me Col is well liked among the mountain men, and much respected for his skill at staying alive and for dealing with Indians as well. It must be difficult for a man like him to be held back by a slow-moving caravan when he’s used to going where he wants whenever he chooses.”

Marc was right; Col was a little like the hawks that soared over the prairie, wild and free. He wasn’t meant to be tied down. Perhaps that was why he had chosen a married woman to offer his affection to, a woman who could never ask anything of him.

“Want me to wait up with you awhile?” Marc asked.

Thunder pealed across the sky and they both looked up at the low, starless depths. There was no sign of the moon that had been so round and yellow only a few nights before. The moon Col had likened her to.

“No, we’d best get inside.” The wind loosened a lock of her hair. She tucked it behind her ear.

“Storm’s far away yet.”

“I know. Thank you for your concern, Marc. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The wind nearly tore the small skeins of yam from her hands as she gathered up her needlework, pausing only a moment when she heard his soft goodnight and his footsteps walking away. How lucky Lilith was, she thought, to have such a good man and know he would always be with her. Brianna set the lantern inside, and climbed into the wagon. She tried to school herself against being nervous, but after what Edward Magrudge had done, she couldn’t help herself. The howling wind and approaching storm didn’t help. She put the lantern on top of a flour barrel and turned it down as low as it would go. After putting away her needlework, she tucked the edges of a quilt under the wooden bow at the head of the wagon to keep out the draft. Then she undressed, put on her nightdress and crawled into bed. Sleep seemed far away.

For an hour she tossed and turned, tortured by the fear of losing Col, of him growing tired and disgusted by the swarms of people hurrying west to crowd out the wild animals and the Indians and the freedom he loved. Of him abandoning her. Finally, in the lull that preceded the rain, she dozed, only to dream of driving the wagon on and on across an empty prairie, with not another soul in sight. When she heard hoof beats approaching she ran to meet the rider, her heart full of joy. But it wasn’t Columbus.

It was Barret.

Chapter Seventeen

Rain pelted Nigh’s head and shoulders as he unsaddled and hobbled the gelding. Brilliant shafts of lightning lit up the sky like a sunny afternoon, then plunged the world in darkness again.

But the man’s attention was on the faint glow of lantern light that penetrated the wagon cover. He smiled, thinking maybe she had waited up for him. Waited for him to come home. A warmth filled him that had nothing to do with heat, or desire. When he reached the wagon he heard her cry out his name. Heard her fear. And the warmth vanished.

Another nightmare. Quickly, he hoisted himself into the wagon. As he had expected, she lay in bed, asleep.

Lantern light limned her cheekbone, firm chin, slightly up-tilted nose, and gracefully arched brow. It secreted her long neck in subtle, seductive shadows that invited his kiss. The single brown braid that lay on the quilt jerked as she tossed her head from side to side. Her breathing was ragged. The cat, disturbed as much by the storm as by Brianna’s agitation, opened slitted yellow eyes and moved to Nigh’s bed. Beneath the rumble of thunder and the furious tattoo of rain overhead, Nigh heard her whimper. “No, Barret. Don’t—”

Laying down beside her, Col slipped one arm under her shoulders and drew her close, murmuring as she struggled against him, “Easy, sweetheart. It’s just me.” Then he lapsed into the more musical sounds of the Shoshone tongue and pressed his lips to her moist temple. Gradually she calmed. A moment later her eyes opened.

“Col?”

“Yeah, you were dreaming.”

Outside, the rain became hail the size of bullets that ricocheted inside the water bucket and hammered the wooden body of the wagon. The temperature fell. Brianna barely noticed. She was lost in the feel of his arms around her, so good, so warm, so right. She longed to keep him there beside her. All night. Forever. But she knew what he would want from her and the thought filled her with fear.

“You left the light on for me.” He smoothed a strand of hair from her face.

“I . . . yes, it was so late.”

She couldn’t tell him it was more out of fear of Edward Magrudge. Col might kill the man, or get hurt trying.

Aware that she had not asked where he’d been, Nigh studied her. All the way back to camp he had debated whether or not to tell her what he had learned. Would the fact that her husband was still out there hunting for her come between them? How could it not? She was too good a woman to give her love to one man while she legally belonged to another. Nigh should be a good enough man not to ask it of her. But the truth was that he didn’t care who she was legally bound to, as long as it was him she wanted. They were the sun and the moon. They belonged together.

Brianna couldn’t see the expression in his eyes. The lantern behind him cast his face in shadow. Yet she sensed his mounting desire in the tightening of his arms about her, in the quickening of his breath. Equal amounts of dread and longing tormented her.

“You’d best go to bed, Col. You must be tired.”

Only if I can share your bed, he wanted to say.
Only if I can at least kiss you first
.

His gaze dropped to her lips and, as if hearing his silent words, they parted.

She knew what was coming. As if with a mind of its own, her body pressed closer until she felt crushed in his embrace. His lips edged nearer. Silently she willed them to hurry.

The first kiss was light, a mere brushing of lips, dry, soft, testing. She let her eyes ease shut, let one hand slide up to his chest. Her fingers absorbed the soft feel of well- worked leather before moving higher, to the low vee of the shirt’s opening—and his naked skin. Nigh moaned at her touch. Her lips parted and their breaths mingled in hot gusts as their tongues entwined. Knowingly, familiarly, his lips moved over hers, as though he’d kissed her a thousand times before. As though his only purpose in life was to kiss her, love her.

Oh
,
God
, she thought,
this is wrong. I can’t let this happen
. But she was helpless to stop the inferno blazing between them. What power did he possess that he could so easily control her emotions? And her body?

Columbus lifted her hand from his chest and placed it on his shoulder. Instantly her fingers tangled in his thick hair. She didn’t feel him draw away the quilt, didn’t know when he began unbuttoning her nightgown. Maybe she didn’t want to know. But when he reached inside to cup her breast she arched toward him, filling his eager palm with firm hot flesh. He swallowed her gasp of pleasure and moaned at the exquisite feel of her response.

While his lips rained kisses on her eyes, her temples, her cheeks, his hand moved to the other breast, gently squeezing and teasing until her nipple thrust forward, proud and hot, with a hunger she could not name.

She felt his breath, warm and tantalizing, in her ear as he worked his lips down to the sensitive spot below her ear lobe, then down her neck to the hollow at the base of her throat. And lower.

The fear and hunger that tore through her as his mouth closed over a nipple brought a whimper from deep inside. An ache began in her lower abdomen so fierce she thought she would die of it. An ache of exquisite pleasure she had never known before.

His mouth moved to her other breast while his hands continued to stroke, to caress, to arouse. Brianna felt as though he had set off firecrackers within her body, as wild sensations rocketed inside her. Strange, wonderful, primitive sensations that frightened and enraptured her at the same time.

“Col, what are you doing to me?” she cried.

He lifted his head and gave a soft, throaty chuckle. “I’m making love to you, woman. Don’t you recognize it?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I-I’ve never known anything like this.”

“I’ve barely begun to show you all there is to loving. Do you like it so far?”

“Oh yes.”

“Then relax and let me show you more.”

He kissed her and she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back for all she was worth. But when his hand stroked down her side, then glided back up along her bare thigh, she tensed.

Nigh felt her stiffen, heard her breath catch in her throat and cursed silently. He had allowed his own desperate need to rush him and Brianna was paying for it. “Don’t be scared, sweet woman. I don’t have to show you everything now. We’re the sun and the moon, remember? We have all the time in the world.”

He took his hand from the smooth warm flesh of her thigh. Frustration filled him as he felt her relax. They lay staring at each other, eyes full of need, full of want. He felt each heave of her breasts against his chest as her breathing eased. Felt it within his heart, within his soul, a liquid pulsing clear to his loins. He would not push her, would not risk terrorizing her as her husband had. But he wouldn’t give up on her either.

“Bri,” he murmured, as though that one word voiced all he felt, all he desired. “It’s all right. I won’t take advantage. I won’t ever do anything you don’t want me to. Just let me stay—”

“It .
.
. it isn’t right. I . . .” she began. The sound of her name, so brief and achingly sweet on his lips, had thrilled her. She didn’t want to send him back out into the rain.

“I’ll sleep in my own bed. I won’t touch you, unless you ask me to.”

“All right.”

His eyes closed and his chest rose and fell on a sigh. Sleeping so close to her would be hell. But no matter where he slept he’d still feel the warmth of her skin on his hands, taste her on his lips, smell her heady scent of roses and passion. Staying would keep open the door and give him the chance to show her she had no need to fear him.

Wordlessly, he rose and jerked his shirt off over his head. It wouldn’t hurt to get her accustomed to the sight of him partially naked. He’d gentle her slowly the way he had the filly he had bought to keep it from being further mistreated. One day she would give herself to him, freely, joyfully, and it would well be worth the wait. When he reached for the ties to his leggings, the lantern light went out and his mouth quirked up in a sad smile, knowing she had doused the flame so she wouldn’t be able to see him.

In spite of the darkness, however, Brianna could still see Columbus strip off his leggings. She told herself to close her eyes, but couldn’t. As if the lightning were his ally, the sky brightened, giving her an even better view of his broad chest and muscled thighs. It also showed her the evidence of his desire, still swollen and rigid beneath the breechclout he left on.

He was the sun, and she—? Could the moon be as frigid as she must seem to him right now? A feeling of great tenderness filled her heart at the thought of how difficult it must have been for him to stop when he did, and how easily he could have taken her against her will, as Barret would have.

It was at this point in her thinking that Brianna realized how much she had come to care for this man who had so riled and ridiculed her the first days of their journey together.

Considering the hopelessness of their relationship, the discovery was bittersweet.

Sunday having been declared a day of rest, there were no wake-up shots fired at four the next morning. But Nigh needed no signal. He awoke to the warmth and softness of Brianna’s backside. Smiling into the pre-dawn darkness, he nestled closer and became painfully aware that his body was already fully aroused. He also sensed that Brianna, too, was awake, and afraid to move.

Lifting himself onto his elbow, he leaned over to kiss her ear. “Where’s my coffee, woman?” he whispered. “I’m hungry as a spr
ing bear, and parched to boot.”

He forced himself to crawl out of the bed, pull on his leggings, shirt, and moccasins, and quit the wagon. The ground was wet beneath his feet, though the storm had passed. Quietly he stoked up the fire, added wood, and prepared coffee.

Brianna emerged from the wagon a few minutes later. At the sight of him crouched over the fire, she lowered her gaze to her feet like a bashful maiden. Her cheeks reflected the vermillion clouds in the eastern sky.

“Have you seen Shakespeare?” she asked.

“Likely caught him a fat mouse and is taking a snooze somewhere. He’ll show up.”

The silence between them was rich with tension as Nigh watched her slice bacon, set it on the fire to cook, then mix a batch of biscuits. Before she could go off to start another chore, he put his arm around her and hugged her to his side. When she glanced up in surprise, he winked at her.

“Woman—” His lips quirked up on one side. “—I’m starved. You burn my bacon this morning and I’m gonna take you off in them trees over there, hike up your skirt, and wallop you.”

The words were so totally different from what she’d expecte
d that she burst into laughter.

“You do, Columbus Nigh, and I’ll make sure your bacon gets burned all the way to Oregon.”

“Is that any way to talk to the head of the family?”

“Oh, Col.” She put a hand to his cheek and he turned his head to plant a kiss in her palm.

Marc’s voice came from behind them as he emerged from his tent. “Morning,
Col. Glad to see you’re back.”

Blushing, Bri
anna scurried off to the wagon.

Nigh turned to greet Marc. “You and the boys ready to go hunting?”

“I am.” Then Marc raised his voice. “But if the boys don’t get a move on, we’ll leave them behind in their beds.”

Francois’s answer was frantic. “I’m coming, Papa. Don’t leave without me.”

“Me, too.” Jean Louis leaped down from the Beaudouin wagon, followed by Lilith.

“You’d think killing animals was the only way to have fun, listening to those two,” she muttered.

Nigh chuckled.

“They’re boys, Lilith,” said Marc.

Lilith pouted. “That doesn’t stop me from worrying about them. They could get hurt out there.”

“We’ll take good c
are of them,” Nigh assured her.

While they waited for breakfast, Marc sent Francois and Jean Louis to water the stock at the river. Chickens scattered as the boys raced off.

Brianna came from the wagon with a jar of gooseberry jam and a dish of butter. “Did the boys find any eggs today?”

Lilith looked at Marc with dismay.

“Oh, oh.” Marc winked at Nigh. “Looks like I get the honors.”

Nigh gave an exaggerated groan. “Reckon that means I get to milk the cow. Thought this was supposed to be a day of rest.”

“What are you complaining about?” Brianna said. “We women get to spend the day washing clothes, baking, cooking beans, mending, separating the cream off the milk—”

Nigh surrendered, hands up. “Whoa, woman. Won’t hear another complaint from me.”

He took a toothpick from his pocket and stared thoughtfully at the ground. “’Course, I ought to check the horse’s shoes. Got to clean my rifle ’fore I go hunting. When we get back, there’ll be butchering to do, and a hide to cure.” He held up one foot, his big toe peeking through a hole. “Moccasins need patching, too.”

Arms akimbo, Brianna faced him. “Then we all have too much work to do to stand around flapping our lips. Get going.”

Grinning, he sauntered off to milk the cow picketed near the Beaudouin wagon. He’d barely gotten the stool and the pail in place when he saw Francois racing toward the wagons, Jean Louis on his heels.