Twilight in Texas (22 page)

Until that moment, Molly hadn’t thought about how exhausted she felt. She’d gone the night before without sleep, then ridden a stage all morning and worked into evening. She was so weary she felt her bones might shatter if the wind blew.

Looking up at the stars, she realized it had to be almost midnight. There was still much to do. She covered Wolf with a thin blanket and brought water from the stream to wipe his face and shoulders. Above all else, she had to keep him cool but not chilled.

The night was alive with sounds, and the air stirred slowly around her, too gentle to be a breeze.
Wolf’s skin felt warm. The heat passed up her arm into her entire body as she touched him.

This was her man. The only husband she would probably ever have. He wasn’t what she would’ve chosen, or dreamed of, but for all the world, he was hers.

He wasn’t a gentleman who’d been a dashing officer. He wasn’t rich. But he was kind and good. He’d been there when she needed him. In the end, maybe that was the most important thing.

Molly curled beside him and placed her arm across his chest. The real world is where I belong, she decided. The real world.

But as she dreamed, Benjamin came back to her. She felt him beside her, keeping her warm, protecting her from harm. She slept soundly to the rhythm of his breathing, so close against her ear.

When she awoke he was gone, as before, leaving only the memory of his heartbeat next to hers. “Benjamin,” she whispered, wishing for more of the dream.

It took Molly a moment to remember where she was. The forest, the stream, all looked foreign to her. Then she saw the mission and remembered. It hadn’t been Benjamin beside her, but Wolf. His arm had protected her. His heartbeat had pounded next to her. Not Benjamin, but Wolf.

She stood, hoping that he might be much recovered. Logic told her otherwise. A man who couldn’t walk alone the night before would not travel far at dawn.

She glanced in the direction of the mission. Nothing. The woods. Nothing. But when she turned to the river, she saw his dark form close to the water. The white bandage across his forehead shone bright in the dawn light.

Molly ran to him, kneeling on the wet grass only a foot from the water. She lifted his head and supported it on her lap, feeling the fever even through the bandage.

“If I could get in the water,” he mumbled, “I could cool off.”

“You’d catch pneumonia.”

“I can’t take it any longer. I’m going in the water!” He tried to raise his head.

“You are not!” She put her hands on his shoulders and held tightly. He was talking out of his head and she had to protect him. “I’ll not have you dying on me, Wolf Hayward.”

Anger fired Wolf’s strength. With one mighty effort, he pushed her away and rose to one knee.

She landed in the mud. Rage rumbled through her body unlike she’d ever known. She clawed her way to her feet and faced him, preparing to ram him with her entire body if she had to, in order to keep him down.

But just before she jumped, she saw the pain in his eyes. He was fighting to stay conscious. When she stepped toward him, he crumbled in her arms and she sank to the ground.

For a while, she just held him, having no idea what to do. Finally, she pulled him back to the blanket and bathed his face with cool water.

As the day aged and warmed, so did Wolf. The fever raged no matter what she did. The air was dry and hot, pressing against the skin as if one were standing too close to a fire.

Molly left him twice to check on other patients.

On the noon stage, two priests arrived with more supplies and word that a young woman was missing. Her mother claimed she must have fallen off the top of the stage between San Marcos and San Antonio, but they’d seen no body on the road. Molly and Early promised to keep an eye out for her.

The capable priests took over the other patients but offered only an herb called feverfew for Wolf’s fever. Molly knew the powder was made from chrysanthemum flowers. Early brewed him willow tea, swearing it would help but Molly could get only a few drops down him.

Wolf mumbled, out of his head. One moment he would be at a battle from long ago, the next he called her name as though she were the one lost and he had to find her.

“Help me,” Molly finally called to Early. “We have to do something. Maybe he was right. Maybe we should take him to the water. I have to try. I can’t just watch him die.”

She cried as Early helped her drag him, blanket and all, to the river. They slipped him into the shallow water a few inches at a time. When he shivered suddenly Molly went fully clothed in beside him, holding him as he shook.

Cool, but not cold, the water lapped over him.

Molly cradled his head and waited. It seemed forever before he opened his eyes. “Better,” he whispered, hugging her. “Stay close, my Molly.”

She moved her hands gently across his shoulders and along his back. Over the hours she’d grown used to the feel of him. “Of course I will. I’m right here.”

As the sun lowered, Brother Luke helped Molly carry Wolf from the stream to the wagon. They removed his wet clothes and dressed him in a clean set she’d found in his saddlebags. His fever had lessened, and he slept peacefully. Molly took down the sideboards so he could feel the breeze off the water. Then she helped Early and Callie Ann stack hay for a bed several feet away near the trees.

When all were asleep, Molly pulled a change of clothes from her bag and undressed in the relative privacy between the wagon and the river. She knew she was out of sight of the mission and hoped anyone walking past didn’t have great night vision.

Her clothes had dried all afternoon on her body, chafing her flesh at the shoulders and waist. After she stripped, she carefully rubbed into her skin a powder made of lycopodium, oxide zinc, and carbolic acid she’d learned to carry during hot months. The mixture would ease her discomfort and prevent any further chafing.

As she dusted the excess powder off with a clean undergarment, Molly smiled. All she needed was a few more ingredients, and she’d smell like an apothecary. The fine powder made her body ghost-white against the night.

She slipped the thin cotton of her camisole over her head, then glanced in the direction of the wagon and froze.

Like a silent animal in the woods, Wolf’s alert eyes stared back at her.

T
HE THROBBING IN
W
OLF’S HEAD FELT LIKE A CANNON
shot reverberating to his heartbeat. The pain moved down his body in echoes of agony, making his stomach churn. However, the fever had passed, and for that, he was thankful.

He struggled to remain still to lessen the pain, but even his breathing disturbed the balance. He tried to sleep, but that proved impossible. So he waited and fought the urge to swear to high heaven. Wolf was not a man who took kindly to his own illness.

After he saw her dressing, Molly disappeared into the night. She hadn’t said a word when she caught him watching—
watching
, hell, he was staring. She just turned her back to him and walked away into the night as though he’d been no more than the man in the moon looking at her.

By now she was probably digging up a gun to put him out of his misery. He couldn’t picture her remaining calm and asking him if he enjoyed the view over breakfast in the morning.

The moon had drifted halfway across the sky when he heard her moving about the wagon. He didn’t open his eyes. If she were mad at him, he was in no shape to face a fight. He tried to build an argument that watching could fall on either side of the “in name only” fence standing between them.

But as she crawled into the back of the wagon and stretched out beside him, she didn’t seem angry, only tired. Carefully, she covered them both with his blanket, then felt his cheek for fever.

He didn’t move. He figured shooting stars were more predictable than this woman. Outguessing her would only drive him mad, and right now, the way his head felt, it would be a short trip.

She cuddled against him as if he hadn’t seen her standing bare-naked in the moonlight. She acted as though it didn’t matter. Like he’d seen a hundred women without anything on, and she wouldn’t stand out in his memory.

Or maybe she was just tired. More tired than embarrassed.

Wolf realized he’d forgotten his pain, but the fever seemed to be returning. He grew warmer with every moment that passed with her at his side.

She must have felt him heat up, for her fingers stroked his cheek. “Are you all right?” she whispered. “Would a cool cloth help?”

“No,” he answered, thinking she’d probably not like where he’d need to put a cloth to cool off.

“Does your head still pound?” She moved her fingers into his hair above the bandage.

“Yes,” he managed to say. She was so close. Wolf could feel her body along the length of him as she stroked her fingers through his hair. He could smell her, too, the rosewater wash she used on her hair, the perfumed cream he’d seen her smooth over her hands, even the powder he’d watched her sprinkle along her waist. Her bare waist.

“Try to sleep,” she ordered, her words brushing against his face. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Will you stay beside me?”

“I’ve nowhere else to sleep.” She continued to comb through his hair. “We passed out the last blanket hours ago, and there is no room on the pallet Early and Callie Ann made.”

His hand circled her middle. “Here is where you belong.” The movement cost him dearly. His head pounded so fiercely he was surprised she couldn’t hear it.

She must have sensed it, though. Molly closed the few inches between them and kissed his bandage. “Easy now. I’m right here.”

Without loosening his grip, Wolf closed his eyes and drifted with the pain until he could bear it once more. By the time he could think clearly, she’d relaxed in sleep.

He floated in and out of consciousness, enjoying her nearness like a sweet dream when he awoke. He relaxed beside her as he slept, a part of him always aware of her. The feel of her fitting so perfectly at his side was like a rich wine washing through him, warming his soul, drugging his thoughts.

Just before dawn, when the sky was black, he woke once again to the bubbling sounds of the water. For a moment, he couldn’t figure out what was different. The night was quiet, cool. The water lazy and pure-smelling. Molly slept beneath his arm, her hand spread protectively across his chest.

Then he knew what had changed. The pain was gone. She’d been right.

Molly moaned softly in her sleep, and he guessed she was dreaming. He wanted to enter the fantasy as he had weeks ago. Maybe she dreamed of him, of Benjamin, and he was right by her side. In the hours before, even through the fever, he’d noticed how comfortable she’d become with him. Touching him as casually as if they’d been together for a long time.

Wolf couldn’t resist sliding his hand along her hip. He didn’t know if the feel of her would ever become routine.

She didn’t move as he caressed her.

His fingers glided lightly over her back. Though her blouse covered her, he had seen her body. He imagined he touched her flesh. He’d always liked the gentle curves of her slender body, but now the feel of them pleased him greatly.

She rolled onto her back, breathing deep and completely relaxed. He knew she’d worked hard all day and late into the night. Now, she slept as soundly as a child.

His hand grew bolder, brushing against the starched cotton of her clothing, touching the silk of her hair, caressing the softness of her cheek.

She moaned again without waking, as though her pleasure in dreams was too great to keep inside.

He cupped her breast gently in his palm and rolled toward her, unable to resist the taste of her mouth. It was velvet and full in sleep. She made no resistance. He parted her lips with his tongue and kissed her soundly. As he felt her awakening beneath him, his grip closed tighter over her breast, wanting her to enjoy the expression as much as he did.

He relished the softness of her through the thin layers of clothing and savored every movement she made as she slipped from dreams to his arms. She twisted under him, and he showed his own desire by deepening the kiss.

Her hands shoved suddenly against his chest. It took his mind and body a moment to react.

She pounded her fist against him in rapid fire.

Startled, he pulled away, hating to allow room between them.

The moment Wolf released Molly, she rolled from the wagon and stumbled to her feet. She turned, staring at him in the velvet night as if she’d just fought her way, not from a dream, but from a nightmare.

Before he could react, she was running toward the river without uttering a word. But he’d seen all he needed to see in her stormy green eyes. He’d seen hurt. And hatred.

Wolf pulled himself up and tried to follow her. He must explain. But he felt weak, and the throbbing in his head returned like a low drumbeat. He tried to think but couldn’t get his thoughts to make sense. He had to find her. He had to know if he’d gone too far.

Stumbling from the wagon, he forced his legs to move. What had he been thinking? To her, he was a man with whom she’d spent only a few days. He’d agreed to her terms of the marriage, and now, the first time she’d relaxed and felt comfortable near him, he’d advanced.