The Lady in the Mist (The Western Werewolf Legend #1) (14 page)

“All right,” Ty said from his place beside the big cast iron stove.  “Fresh eggs will be good.”

Sonja noted that his tone was tight.  He harbored unspoken concerns.  Sonja yearned to be able to just go to him and wrap her arms around him.  He stood in the light of the kitchen window and appeared every bit the Indian with his long mane of jet-black hair grazing his shoulder blades.  The girth of his trim waist made her yearn to fit her hands there around the muscles of his abdomen and feel the strength lying under his bronze flesh.  She could still taste him on her lips and her tongue.  How she missed the aftermath of lovemaking, the soft caresses and quiet words spoken in the dim light of passion’s twilight.  She wanted to feel his body against hers again if only for the last time.  Reality was a hard taskmaster though and she found the need to be away from his watchful gaze and questions more urgent than ever.

***

Sonja stalled as long as possible.  She fed the chickens and gave the mule some hay.  Surely he’d forgotten what he saw on her palm and the concerns were put to rest with something to do.  She’d give him a few more minutes before returning.  As her adore had cooled, so had the dark mark dissipated to a faint shadow on her flesh.  When she stepped through the doorway to the smell of bacon sizzling in the pan and biscuits baking in the oven, she stopped.  Her wide-eyed expression didn’t stop the lieutenant form giving her a surmising grin and motioning to a chair he pulled out for her to sit down in.

“You’ve been doing so much for me I thought I’d return the favor.  Here, sit.  Those eggs look good.  May I?”  He reached out for the basket she’d forgotten she carried and placed it on the counter.

“You cook?”  Her simple question beguiled the shock of finding a man with such culinary skills in the Confederate Lieutenant.

He gave her that wicked half-cocked smile that always made her feel undressed.  “I dabble some.”  Turning to the skillet, he broke the eggs and dropped two into the grease from the bacon.

“Where’d you learn to cook biscuits?” she asked astonished.  His mood had shifted and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Ty turned back and grinned.  Her mouth wanted to water and the sensation had nothing to do with food.

“Maggie.” When she continued to stare blankly, he added, “Our housekeeper.  I told you about her, didn’t I?”  With two plates of fluffy eggs and wonderful smelling bacon, he stood near her and shook his head.  “She taught me.”  With a shrug, he set a plate in front of her and sat across the table from her.

Sonja found she’d lost her voice.  The men in her life had waited for the women to cook the food.  Their job had been to eat it.  Obviously, he’d had a different upbringing.  “Do you cook other things as well?”  Her curiosity had gotten the better of her.  He hadn’t grumbled or complained about having to do any of it.  Slowly, the idea of a man in her kitchen began to settle on her and she found she liked sharing the task with him.

“A few.  Maggie taught John and me both.  We were both obstinate to the idea, but she insisted.  Said a man should know how to survive on his own.  Never knew when the time would arise, he’d need to know how to handle himself in front of a stove.”  Ty’s lips turned up ever so slightly when he saw her eyebrow cock in consideration of the statement and the effort he’d gone to in setting the table.

Ty had draped the table with one of her checkered tablecloths.  Blue speckled tin plates rested at two of the chairs.  A small vase with a single Swamp-wart blossom sat in the middle.  The delicate lavender flower had greeted her as she crossed the threshold.  Sonja came up short and tried her best to disguise her pleasure in the picture he’d created right there in her kitchen.  “This is lovely.”

Peering at him from lowered lashes, Sonja asked speculatively, “You remembered all this?  Where the fork and spoon go.  How long the biscuits need to bake.  How much leaven to put in the dough?”  She couldn’t help the look of disbelief that crossed her face.  Never before had she seen such a sight.

Glancing up from placing the fork and knife beside each plate, Ty shot her a quick grin.  “Years of training under the tutelage of one very persistent housekeeper, Miss Maggie McVey,” he told her.

Sonja found herself relaxing once more as he pulled the biscuits out of the oven and slid them onto a serving tray.

“Let me tell you the tale of Maggie McVey.”

Sonja found herself laughing more than she could remember doing in so long.  “Oh, please, stop.  I can’t take any more tales of her making you pluck feathers off John one by one after she found out it was you who’d used the pitch and one of his mother’s best down pillows to coat him in preparation for All Hallows Eve.”  She waved away the offer of another biscuit and dabbed at her mouth.  “Or how she had both of you send written apologies to everyone you doused with water at the Sunday social from the ladder on the water tower in Spotsylvania.”

Ty leaned back in his chair and raised his hands in surrender.  “All true.  I don’t suppose my being a thirty-year-old man would stop her from twisting my ear and taking me out behind the wood shed right now if she thought I needed it.”  He winked at her in that mischievous way of his.  “She’s lurking up here.”  He tapped his forehead and began to gather the dishes.

“Where?  In your head?”  Sonja couldn’t keep the incredulous tone out of her question.  “I suppose you’ll tell me next that you answer her.”

He glanced over his shoulder as he soaped a plate and scrubbed.  “She’s kept me out of harms way more times than not.”  He paused a minute and gave her one of those killer grins.  “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Her face began to color.  The pink tinged she always wore when she embarrassed herself appeared automatically.  “I wouldn’t presume to doubt her ability to dissuade you or protect you from danger.  Telepathy is a gift of great proportion.  I admire anyone who has the skill.”  Dropping her eyes, she tried to gather the last of the dishes and bring them to the sink before he added his opinion of her view.  The subject made her uneasy.

Drying as he washed, Sonja found the activity to be so natural.  He happened to be a wonder in the kitchen.  A pleasant surprise.  He definitely ruled the bedroom.  Her core tingled in response to the consideration.  The blush rose again and she gathered dishes to store on the open shelving lining the cabinet surrounding the sink.

How could she ever expect to pass the test of such an amazing woman as Maggie McVey?  He didn’t utter the words but the sentiment showed in his praise of her.  Maggie proved a wonderful woman if his stories were true.  She harbored the luck of the Irish to begin with.  She’d traveled clear across the sea to an unknown place called Texas, proved strong and unwavering, invincible and determination.  Watching as he shared yet another tale of Maggie tanning each of their hides after she caught them trying to steal a pie cooling on the kitchen windowsill gave Sonja a most profound sense of who this man really was.  His devotion to those he loved ran deep and his respect and consideration of those around him had her realizing he cared deeply.  Sonja found herself envisioning the man in his natural setting, astride a horse in the pasture overseeing a herd of cattle so vast, they seemed to cover every inch of the ground within sight.  Schooled in Georgia, Ty had followed his father’s wishes and received a gentleman’s education.  Even behind a great oak desk, conducting the business of ranching wasn’t a stretch for this man.  A man of wealth and power, she mused.

“Did you hear me?”  His question broke into her musings.  “Sonja?”

“What?  I’m sorry.  I wasn’t listening.”

“I said I want you to meet my family someday.”

Shaken, Sonja blinked.  “Really?”

“Yes, I know they’d love you.”  He grinned confidently.  “You’re so much like them.”

She cocked her head and gave it a shake.  “I know you’re pulling my leg, but the sentiment’s sweet.  Have you had any word from your people?” she asked gently.

Ty looked up from his work.  The set to his mouth thinned into a tight line before he shook his head, “No.  Not a word in over a year.”  He shrugged.  “Of course, I haven’t been in one place long enough to allow mail to catch up.”  His half-hearted grin was wry.

The war disrupted so much on both sides of the Mason Dixon line, Sonja mused.  “What will you do when the war is over?”  Already sure of the answer, she needed to hear the words.

A contemplative glance at her and Ty said simply, “I’ll go back home.  Hopefully, things are all right there and I can pick up where I left off.  Ranching is all I know.  Horses and training them are what I enjoy most.”  He gave her a noncommittal jerk of his head toward the door and the ground beyond.  “What will you do, Sonja?”  Concern laced his words.

Sonja glanced from the door and her small plot of land back to his face.  His eyes, so deep and soulful never left hers.  She sat back and took them in.  “I guess, I’ll remain here and work the land.  It’s what I know.”  Though disheartened by him leaving, she lifted her chin a fraction.  She wanted him to see her as confident like this Maggie he spoke of so fondly.

Clearing the dishes, Ty left to stack the wood as he’d promised.  Sonja followed him to the door.  He would go and she would remain in solitude and loneliness.  But if she was careful, he wouldn’t learn of her curse and be gone far away by the next full moon.  She didn’t want to think about what his reaction would be if he discovered her secret.  No!  The small bit of time she had with Ty Loflin, she wanted to embrace and recall with joy.  For as sure as the moon rose and set each night, he would leave and again she would be alone.

The sleeping potion she held in her hand shook with her trembling fingers.  Never believing she’d be in a position like the one she found herself in, Sonja wished she didn’t have to go through with any of it, the change, the gift of immortality, giving up the love of a good man.  She would use the sleeping potion and pray the lieutenant remained out until her return.  Sonja didn’t think she was up to having her whereabouts questioned or explaining her absence.

The blood she’d told Lieutenant Loflin was ox blood was really her own.  She reminded herself, in the beginning, her only intention had been to heal him.  After all, her blood had miraculous healing power.  It was clear, he’d healed completely even though he’d been dying when she gotten to him in the swamp.

Now she wasn’t sure anymore her reasoning remained the same.  His touch ignited embers in her, embers that should never have been stoked.  The moon would be full come nightfall.  Where was the justice in discovering yourself a werewolf in love?

***

The sheet was cool.  Ty drew back his hand and ran it across his chest rubbing with an ideal rhythm.  Replete with the memory of their most recent lovemaking, he rolled and reached out letting his hand graze the place where she’d laid only a little while before.  Still astounded at how she willed power over him, he’d meant what he’d said when he told her she’d cast a spell over him.  He’d never been brought to task by a woman.  Such a beauty and with a heart of pure gold.  Cursing low, he reached for the edge of the bed.  The move made his head spin.  He didn’t remember drinking anything the night before.  So why would he have a hangover?  Rising, he eased into his trousers and padded barefoot into the front room in search of her.  The night air caressed his naked skin.  Sonja wasn’t there.  Glancing about, he noted the tidy kitchen area where the table, still covered in the gingham cloth displaying the delicate blossom he’d picked on a whim for her enjoyment.  A little stunned by his gesture, such a sappy action, he admitted to himself, the flower made her smile though.  Her reaction had filled him with…with what?  Ty ran a hand through his hair and headed for the front door on a low groan of frustration.  He needed some air.

The agitation building inside wouldn’t do either of them any good as guilty doubt began to take hold.  Hadn’t she come to him out of loneliness?  Hadn’t he satisfied a need of his own with their time together?  He’d be a damn lucky man if her opinion of things matched his.  But a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him of the old hag’s words once more.  Venting, Ty kicked at the water barrel sitting near the stoop.  He didn’t need a commitment.  He needed a reckoning.

Didn’t he have a duty?  Damn it! If he stayed, things could only get worse.  To dally with the widow Brooks meant trouble for them both.  They’d both be better off if he gathered his things and left.  He wheeled and went back inside.  She’d never got around to telling him where she’d stashed his clothes.  The ones she’d provided him with were her dead husband’s.  Wearing regular men’s clothing meant a safer trip, provided he limped or feint an injury.  But where was his revolver.  He sure as hell wasn’t taking the prissy-ass ladies derringer she’d given him when the Union soldiers showed up.  His revolver was one Seth had given him when their pa had died.  The damn gun meant something to him.  He glanced at the armoire situated near the fireplace.