The Beholding, page 9
He held her close, taking in the misery trembling her body as if it were his own. “Dear God, Tess.” As she clung to him, he buried his face in her hair, wishing to offer more, find words appropriate enough to soothe her and take away the years of hurt she suffered.
“No one will ever hurt you again. I promise.” The vow echoed from the depths of his heart, and Luke knew beyond all doubt that he meant them. “There are good men out there. Someone who will love you and cherish the wonderful woman that you are.”
Their gazes met, locked. Desire twisted through the pain, replacing the cold with a warm rush of sensations. Luke’s mouth lowered to hers, his eyes questioning, reassuring.
Stopping a fraction away from fulfillment, he whispered, “Are you certain, Tess?”
She nodded slowly, so full of his presence that she couldn’t speak or deny the touch she needed so desperately.
The delicate caress of his breath whispered against her lips, “I’ll never force you. Believe me?”
“Yes.” The word was a hiss, expelling the tension that filled her.
Instantly the kiss deepened, and she lowered her lashes, engrossed in this new aspect of Luke. He tasted of every craving she’d ever been denied. Imported tobacco. The finest bourbon. Passion.
The tip of his tongue urged open her lips as his fingers slid deep into Tess’s hair. She sighed with pleasure, and he caught the soft rush of her breath, making desire leap within her. Slowly, intimately, his tongue traced the sensitive edge of her mouth.
She trembled and gripped the hard strength of his forearms but didn’t withdraw.
“Honey,” Luke whispered.
Passion hardened him, though his mouth rained exquisitely soft kisses on her lips.
“I’ll never think of honey without remembering you. God, I love the taste of you.”
“Fine Kentucky bourbon,” Tess whispered. Her lashes hooded the intoxicating effect his kiss had upon her. “You taste the way I thought bourbon would.”
His hand flexed, and his fingertips slid to cup her buttocks and pull her even closer to his muscular length, revealing the hard shaft of desire the kiss evoked. “You feel better than in my dreams. I’ve wanted to touch you, Tessa. Make love to you.”
“No, Luke. It’s too soon. No!”
For an instant, Luke just stared at her, and Tess realized the futility of her struggles against his greater strength. The temptation to yield to the passion throbbing in her blood was overwhelming. She had given her body to one man who had desired her and cared enough to offer the respectability of his name. But Clifton’s interest had grown cold. Without love between them, the marriage bed had become a duty.
It was her time for happiness. Her time to receive love as equally as she gave it. The next man she shared such intimacy with must forgive her past and bless her with his genuine love.
Staring into Luke’s savage blue eyes, she prayed he was a man of his word, the man she longed for. “Luke, we can’t. You promised.”
Abruptly he pushed away and ran a hand through his hair, furious with himself for wanting her so much. Even as he clenched his teeth to utter the thought stirring his anger, he knew he would regret it once spoken. “Is it no to every man or just to me?”
Her hand shot out and slapped him, the impact echoing into the night and shattering the last remnants of seduction that still pulsed through her.
Saffron rays of dawn revealed the imprint of her hand along his right cheek, highlighting the scars. She inwardly flinched, regretting that she had struck the injury.
Luke noticed the object of her gaze and turned away so she could no longer see his face, unable to endure the first look of pity she’d ever given him. “I’ll never force you, Tessa,” he repeated the vow, “but some day you’ll ask for my touch. You’ll beg me not to stop.”
He walked away, leaving her to wonder if it had been easy for him to keep his original promise. But she didn’t dare challenge the second one.
Chapter Eight
After Tess dressed and emerged from the thicket, Luke bent at his knees, flipping over the long strips of fryback sizzling in the skillet. A half-moon of cornbread rose in the other half of the cast iron. A coffee pot hung from a tripod of branches braced over the fire. Tommie stood beside the bounty hunter, his palms wanning themselves over the skillet.
“Sorry I took so long.” Tess focused on the cup of coffee Luke offered rather than meeting his gaze. Her fingers brushed his, and for a moment his hand lingered, refusing to let go of the cup. She’d left off her gloves, hoping they’d dry before she needed them again. The minute touch evoked the memory of his body pressed against hers.
Tess almost decided to do without the coffee, but he let go. Steam rose from the cup’s rim, making her nostrils flare in appreciation of the coming warmth and taste. Her throat constricted, and she gave in to the temptation. The first sip gratified her tongue, and she sighed with pleasure.
“That good?” The rough velvet of Luke’s voice brushed over her like a warm summer breeze.
Tess took another swallow, deeper this time, prepared for the heat. “The best.”
His look was piercing as he raised his cup to his lips and drank equally as deeply. She could almost taste him once again, as if they’d shared the same cup rim.
Luke’s gaze slanted to a canteen near the fire. “There’s more for later. Thought we’d keep one canteen for coffee and the others for water. Maybe we’ll find some bourbon somewhere along the way.”
She licked her lips and swallowed back the reminder of his kiss.
“We’ll need something warm when it starts raining again.”
The thought of sharing anything with this man sent a tempest of emotions storming through Tess. Images flooded her mind, and she quickly dammed them. “Don’t you mean if it starts?”
Luke glanced up sharply. Her voice trembled with desire, but she could only hope he thought it husky and unsteady from the hours spent in the downpour.
“Gonna rain again, have no doubt. You best get some more coffee while this is cooking. Soon as we’ve eaten, we’re pulling out.”
Lack of sleep and the bitter cold felt like an anchor tugging Tess to the ground. She sat down, caring little that the earth beneath her was wet and cold. At least it offered a blessed reprieve from the bounce and jostle of the wagon.
The pleasant smell of cornbread browning lulled her into a half-dozing state. Male voices blended with the small pitch of her son’s. They talked of plans for the day and answered Tommie’s unrelenting questions about the possibility of attack. Despite the many silent questions that Luke’s kiss had aroused, Tess’s lashes blinked over her eyes, shutting out the disturbing answers. Before she exhaled the next breath, sleep engulfed her.
When Luke looked up from forking fryback into Tommie’s tin, he smiled. The sight of Tess sound asleep stirred something inside him that he would have considered affection had she been a small child. He walked over and knelt at her side, touching to make certain she slept out of exhaustion rather than illness. The skin of her throat felt cool beneath his fingers, and her pulse thrummed steadily. Her breath eased into the deep rhythm of slumber, not anything fever-ridden.
“You’re a thoroughbred,” he muttered in admiration, offering her the highest compliment he had ever paid a woman. As a man raised to spot a champion among the finest, he respected endurance most of all.
“Better wake her up if she intends to eat,” Jim demanded as he spooned up his own portion and sat an adequate distance from the fire to avoid the smoke but close enough to enjoy its warmth. As interested in Contessa Harper as Daggert acted, the gambler now seemed more consumed with eating.
“Let her sleep.” Luke gently took the coffee cup from her hand and set it aside. She needed some drying time. When the rains started again, even the longjohns beneath her fresh clothing wouldn’t be enough to keep out the chill. “Finish your grub. We need higher ground. Keep a lookout for an overhang where we can build a larger fire. We’ll save the food, and when the widow wakes up, she can eat.”
Glancing at Tommie as the boy alternated stuffing fryback in his mouth and yawning, Luke realized he had no other course of action. Mother and son would fall off the schooner from exhaustion if he didn’t allow them time to sleep. “I’m gonna make a bed for the Harpers in the wagon. You can scout ahead while I drive the team. They’ve suffered enough today.”
Jim scooped more into his tin, leaving less than Luke thought fair. He almost said so, but the effort would only sour Daggert’s disposition more and make the gambler think of ways to strike back instead of keeping his attention on the trail. Good thing they had packed plenty of jerky and hardtack. Luke stuffed the remaining fryback between the cornbread and wrapped them in a fresh bandanna for Tess. Maybe later in the day there would be better fare for all of them.
From the dense thicket surrounding them, he cut more willow canes and peeled the bark from each. Gathering the stack, he headed for the wagon, then entered the shadowed confines beneath the tarpaulin. New respect for the sleeping woman surged through him. The position of the trunks spoke of the care she extended to her son. The rope strung across the schooner seemed clever and practical. Like the early rays of dawn filtering through the canvas, envy invaded the shutters of his past, opening them to reveal the painful memory of his own mother’s uncaring ways.
Setting the canes on the trunks for the moment, Luke shuffled the luggage around until he reached one of the blankets Tommie had used to sit on during the journey. After stretching it across the wagon bed, he piled the willows on the woolen surface, then flung another blanket atop the cane. Plenty, he decided, testing the bed for comfort. The Harpers should sleep restfully, considering the conditions.
Tess stirred as Luke lifted her and headed for the Conestoga. Cradling her in his arms, once again he felt the softness that was Tess alone. She tensed at his touch, her eyes fluttering open. Passion gripped him as the fathoms of green softened in recognition.
“It’s only Luke,” he whispered as his body recoiled against a painful shaft of raw desire. The temptation to pull her closer and kiss the drowsiness from her eyes seemed unbearable, but he’d spent a lifetime learning the control needed to drive away the hurt, the pain and loneliness of being a man whom women wouldn’t touch. Yet this woman had pierced that control, as surely as if she’d strung a bow and aimed an arrow at him. She moved him. And for a moment when he had kissed her and she kissed him back, he forgot that her closeness was born of misery.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. The lowering of her lashes and easing of her body revealed Tess’s trust. A sense of satisfaction engulfed Luke. This woman trusted no one yet believed in him. Valued his word. And because of it, he would deny his own needs to ease hers.
As he sat at the back of the wagon and scooted around to lift his feet from the ground, she stirred again. Glad now that he had moved the trunks out of his way, Luke managed to lay her down on the makeshift bed.
“Luke? Jim?” she whispered, reaching up to touch his face. But her lashes dipped against her cheeks again, revealing she wasn’t truly awake.
Luke’s embrace hardened when she spoke the gambler’s name, but he allowed her fingers to find their mark. For a moment, he thought to wake her and put her through the misery of handling the team again, exhausted or not. But the glow of sunlight upon her ivory beauty revealed the exhaustion she suffered. Common sense and the need to hold her once more within his embrace abolished the envy. If it meant pretending to be the gambler for this moment, then so be it.
While admiring the slim column of her neck, Luke unlaced the ribbon beneath her chin. Golden curls cascaded to her breasts, urging his attention to the attractive peaks. As he tied the bonnet to the rope to dry, he remembered the press of her body against his own. She could easily have practiced the profession indicated in the report.
If the report proved true, maybe it was a good thing he was looking for easier assignments and wanted to put his bountyhunting days to an end. When he couldn’t trust his instincts anymore, he wouldn’t have the right edge to stay alive. If the report was false, the name of the man who started the hellish lie about her would be added to the molester’s. Once Luke discovered both identities, they were dead men.
“Gotta kill the bastard. That’s all there is to it,” Jim mumbled as earth rolled under hoof and the sky stretched into forever with no hint of danger. The sun burned brightly overhead, so hot his saddle creaked loud enough to give away his position. But it was no good. None of it was any good. Nothing would take away the stirring sickness he felt deep inside. Nothing but Luke Reeves’s death.
Did the bounty hunter think he was too stupid to see the way the bastard admired Contessa? Or the fact she stared back with just as much interest! Jim’s stomach soured as he remembered how her eyes looked as if they would melt into her lashes every time she met Reeves’s gaze.
Tess belonged to him. To hell with Harper Hall. Maybe he’d started this journey to persuade her into selling it to him before they got there, but Reeves changed the game. Enduring the thought of Clifton sharing Contessa’s bed had been one thing. Jim had known that the foolish soldier couldn’t stay alive long. The possibility had urged him to help the blowhard sink so deeply in trouble, there was no way out.
But Luke Reeves was another kind of man. Once in Tess’s bed, he wasn’t the sort to let anything keep him out.
Gotta stop Reeves now, before she falls in love with him, Jim pledged, scanning the countryside. They were heading into Blue Hawk’s territory. The renegade half-breed owed him more than gold for that last load of rifles. He had saved the Comanche and several warriors at Pencil Bluff. By using Hoot and Clifton as lures, Jim had accomplished three things: allowing Blue Hawk and his men time to get away with the rifles, keeping the gold that belonged to them, and ridding himself of Contessa’s husband.
Lying to her had been necessary. If she knew he’d been there and hadn’t tried to help Clifton, Contessa would never come willingly to his bed, wedding ring or otherwise. He preferred willingness from the woman who’d stolen his heart.
Good thing Reeves suggested he scout ahead. The time spent in searching out Blue Hawk wouldn’t seem so suspicious if it took longer than he hoped.
Day stretched into evening as the dun followed Daggert’s lead along a strip of the Arkansas River known as Hell’s Borderland. The wagon rolled minutes behind. Tess woke and insisted on taking over. It felt good to Luke being back in the saddle where he’d spent the better part of his days since leaving his parents in Austin. Wagons and surreys were meant for folks tied to a home, not a wanderer such as himself.
The forests of blackjack and post-oak mixed with occasional patches of prickly pear. White blossoms of dogwood and dark magenta-colored clusters of redbud provided a relief to the arduous landscape. What would Tess think if he plucked a handful and took them back to her?
Peering into the sun-baked countryside, he shooed away the thought, same as he did the pesky fly that trailed him for yards. She sure knew how to get under a man’s skin.
Perched on a branch not far ahead, a cardinal’s attention focused on something in the grass. Someone had been following Luke for over an hour. He couldn’t take the chance of circling back if the culprit didn’t know about the wagon and meant only to rustle a horse.
A man learned to pay strict attention to the warnings that bird and animals gave in the wilderness. Snaking his Winchester from the scabbard and checking the readiness of his Colt, Luke waited uneasily. Bees droned nearby in the still air. Sweat trickled down his face, itchy with dust. He listened, squinting against the salty sting of sweat.
From where he sat his horse, the situation looked bad. He could go in only one direction without turning—straight ahead. The blackjack thicket was too dense for the wagon to pass through.
The fly buzzed annoyingly around his face, and Luke unconsciously lifted a hand to brush it away. Instantly a bullet slammed into a tree trunk, spattering his face with a hail of tiny fragments. Luke fell from the saddle, momentarily blinded.
With long practice, he hit the ground and rolled over, coming up to a bent knee, his gun ready. Though he managed to keep the rifle in his grip, he put it on the ground and pawed at the splinters with one hand.
The enemy had to be close. Couldn’t see thirty or forty yards at most, and taking a shot was chancy. The intermingled branches might easily deflect a bullet.
Still feeling a few tiny particles in his eyes, Luke took up his Winchester and scanned the countryside to better situate himself. He’d fallen into a shallow depression only inches below the forest floor, where dead brown blackjack leaves crackled with every movement. Before him rose the tree trunk which had showered him with bark. To his left lay the stark white skeleton of a deadfall.
Trained to be patient, he sensed that whoever shot at him was equally inclined. As the sun beat hot upon his back, Luke wondered if his adversary had worked his way into position to kill him. Wasn’t much he could do about it. Moving silently among the leaves would be virtually impossible … or was it?
Off to his right, something worried a bluejay. Luke slid his rifle forward a bit and, easing it over his left shoulder, he looked up into the tree above him. The limbs hung low. If he climbed up there, he might get a bead on the killer. His clothing blended well with the limbs and scattered leaves, adding to the possibility of non-detection. Luke studied the branches. A grasp here, a foot there, then climb the rest of the way.
Carefully he rose to his knees, cringing against the half-expected impact of a bullet. He grabbed and pulled. Planting his boot on a low branch, Luke moved up again.
Searching the trees, the grass and brush, he took note of brown grass springing back into position only a few yards away. He fired instinctively at the faint stir, instantly realizing he’d been suckered into a trap.
Another bullet spattered bark and something struck his leg, knocking him from his perch. As Luke fell, the sound of rifle fire echoed in his ears. A branch broke as his body hit it, then he struck the ground with a thud.
