A Place Called Harmony, page 21
He didn’t want to think about dying, but even more than dying, he didn’t want to be responsible for Shelly or Annie getting hurt protecting him. The thought was unbearable.
He’d face Solomon on his own and, if it came down to it, he’d die fighting. Patrick had briefly thought of strapping on a gun like Truman did, but in truth, he knew he could never fire at his father.
If he died, the only saving grace would be that he’d die alone.
Chapter 28
Much as he would have liked to take Karrisa up to their room after supper, Clint stayed to talk with Matheson. Gillian had recovered from his head wound and ideas seemed to be dribbling out faster than anyone could write them down.
Clint had to remind the captain several times that he wasn’t under his command. Captain Gillian Matheson always apologized in his formal way. In truth, it was hard to get mad at the man when he was right most of the time. Patrick McAllen might fly off into some wild idea now and then, but Matheson seemed to have a master plan for the town in his head.
Several times during the rainy evening talk, Clint had wondered why he was even here. He wasn’t a great carpenter like Patrick or Shelly or an organizer like Matheson. Hell, until the sheriff made him head north, Clint had no plan for his own life, much less anyone else’s. He really wasn’t skilled at anything. He was good with a gun, but he didn’t see that as any great talent. Once a doctor told him that his vision was far better than most folks. That probably explained the accuracy with a weapon. That and his steady hand. He rarely got nervous or excited or even afraid. Angry and bored seemed the range of his emotions.
Friends in another lifetime used to tell Clint that his first wife would never have married him if she hadn’t known him since birth. They were probably right. She’d lived down the road from his parents. When he came home, she’d been widowed in the war. Their friendship kind of flowed into an accepting kind of love. She used to mock his grumpiness like it was an act. When she died, he settled into it as his personality.
The more he thought about how useless he was around the future town, the more determined he was to stay and find his place. He was tired of drifting.
Karrisa passed by and refilled his coffee for the fourth time. She rarely met his stare and never showed any affection, but he found he liked just knowing she was near. As long as she was in his sight, he knew she was safe.
While Gillian talked, Clint tried for the hundredth time to think of what she had done to be put in prison. If it was murder, he hoped she’d killed the bastard who’d raped her. What kind of man would do that terrible thing? What kind of family would put shy Karrisa to work in a factory?
Maybe they were all dead. That was why she’d walked out of prison alone. But when the sheriff had asked her if she had family to go to, she’d replied, None that I’d want to see again or who would welcome me. So somewhere she must have kin still living.
When Clint finally decided to pay attention to the conversation, the men were talking over the likelihood that Clint had to go back with the wagons. Not just for their protection but to deliver the outlaw to jail. If Harry Woolsey and the Romas didn’t return, they wouldn’t get paid. With empty wagons, the trip would be faster, but not much safer. Thanks to the rain, accidents would be more likely on muddy roads.
He’d already figured out he’d be going, so he saw no need to jump in the conversation.
However, the last place he ever wanted to go again was Dallas. If Dollar Holt hadn’t died from being hit that night, he was probably back in Dallas waiting—no, hoping that Clint would show up.
Clint suggested they wait a few days to leave. Maybe the Roma boys would help out with the building, giving their mother time to grieve.
Captain Matheson agreed. If they waited for one of the wagon trains that hauled lumber up to the fort to come by heading back to Dallas for another load, maybe they could join in. Army wagons always traveled with guards.
Patrick and Annie had given up their room for Momma Roma and her little boy. Her older boys agreed to sleep in the room where their grandmother had died. They claimed that if her ghost was there, it would be only to bless them. A few days’ rest would probably do them all good.
An hour after dark, Annie picked up a few extra blankets for the night. Patrick swept her up in his arms and Shelly held the lamp. They made a run for the barn, yelling back that they planned to bore the prisoner to death by talking all night.
Watching them, Clint realized he never remembered being that young. He’d been twenty-one when he started drifting after the war. He’d felt scared and old even then. If he hadn’t met his Mary a year later when he visited his parents, he wasn’t sure he would have ever settled down. She’d been in mourning for a husband she’d married three days before he left for war. Clint remembered telling her that he’d wear black the rest of his life if she died before him. They’d been good friends. They’d understood each other. He’d forever miss the peace she’d given him those few years they’d been married.
Clint remained on the porch for a while, wishing the rain would stop. He’d be glad when his house was finished. The trading post was a beehive, with people moving and talking everywhere. He could hear Daisy putting her boys to bed and Momma Roma yelling something in Italian upstairs. Harry and Ely had passed out from a day of drinking. No one had bothered to pull them from their chairs. Everyone simply stepped over their outstretched legs when they walked through the store.
Clint thought he heard Danny crying and guessed Karrisa would be feeding the baby about now.
Leaning back against the porch railing, Clint wondered how he could be in the middle of so much life and feel so dead inside.
He grinned. Well, not completely dead. There for a while earlier today, he’d felt very much alive when he was kissing Karrisa. Only, passion didn’t mean love. If it did, half the cowboys who walked into saloons and saw a half-dressed barmaid would be falling in love daily.
With Karrisa it was simply a surprising passion. It had to be. The only problem was he wasn’t sure how to handle it. From the beginning he’d wanted to protect her, take care of her, cause her no more sadness. Now he wanted to touch her, but somehow it didn’t seem fair when he knew he’d never love her.
Only, she obviously didn’t mind just sharing the passion. In fact, in her shy way she’d encouraged it.
She hadn’t cared when he’d said he had no love to give her. It was like she wouldn’t have wanted it anyway. Maybe all she wanted was to be safe, and the passion was just a bonus they’d both discovered by accident. He would never settle for gratitude, but a little more touching from her was something he could handle.
Only he swore she’d get as much pleasure out of this passion as he took. That seemed only fair.
If all she wanted was to feel passion, he could give her that. In fact, it would make their life quite satisfactory. They wouldn’t have to talk or argue during the day, and at night he’d hold her without words. He wasn’t sure how far she wanted this new thing between them to go, but even if it just stayed where it was, he wouldn’t complain. He might have to start dunking himself in the cold stream every night, but he wouldn’t complain.
And if she didn’t mind if it went further, he definitely wouldn’t argue.
Tossing the last of his cigar into the rain, he went inside, stepped over Harry and Ely snoring in unison, and went upstairs.
Karrisa stood by the window watching the night when he opened their bedroom door. The baby was asleep in his basket close to the bed. She looked so alone and he wondered what she was thinking. If a thought could be bought for a penny, he’d give all he owned to understand this silent woman.
Clint couldn’t think of anything to say. He felt like he’d been either talking or listening all day, and tonight all he wanted to do was feel.
With only one candle burning, the room seemed to dance in shadows. He walked across the room and stood just behind her, lightly placing his hands on her waist and loving the idea that she’d have no objection to the touch. A pale, watery moon sparkled silver into her dark hair as she turned. Her blue eyes were still hauntingly sad, but he saw the slight smile on the lips he’d grown quite fond of lately.
Tightening his hands on her waist, he drew her to him, liking the way she came to him without hesitation. When they were almost touching he lifted her up until her head was above his, and then he pulled her closer and let her body slide down against his. The feel of her was intoxicating.
When she reached his mouth, he kissed her with all the gentleness he could muster as he lowered her until her feet touched the floor. His hands tugged into her hair and pulled her face close so that the kiss could continue. The hunger for her was there once more, and the simple fact that she welcomed his kiss made him feel light-headed.
When he finally stopped, he held her away from him and watched her lean back on his arm as if floating. Her head remained back and her eyes stayed closed while his hands at her waist turned her. He loved watching her move as he pulled her close, then let her drift away only to come close once more. They moved in a private dance that their bodies were learning.
Finally, he picked her up and carried her away from the window.
Setting her gently on the edge of the bed, he knelt down in front of her. Without a word, he began untying her shoes. The leather was so thin that the shoes almost fell apart as he tugged them off.
She watched him silently, the gentle smile on her lips encouraging him to continue.
“I brought you something from Dallas.” He pulled the box out from under the bed.
For a moment, he just held her slender foot in his hand. The stockings she wore had been mended in several places.
He pulled the finely made kid boots from the box and slipped the first one on her foot. The soft leather hugged her ankle and calf. They fit perfectly. Handing her the other boot to look at, he tugged off the one he’d put on. “They’ll wear well in this country life.”
“Thank you,” she said, brushing her fingers along the soft leather. “It’s been years since I’ve had new boots.”
“No, Karrisa, don’t thank me for what I should do for my wife. If you need anything, just put it on account here or tell me to get it for you. Only thank me if I ever give you something that wasn’t needed.”
He sat back and looked up at her as he handed her the box. “It looks like I’m going back to Dallas, so if you’ll make a list of what we’ll need for the house that you can’t get here, I’ll see that it either comes back with me or gets shipped on the first load headed this direction.”
She slid off the bed and into his arms. “Don’t go, Clint,” she whispered as she kissed him.
When she straightened, Clint laughed. “That’s the first time you’ve kissed me first, dear, and the second time you’ve called me anything but Truman. I find I like knowing that my first name is now resting easy on your tongue.”
He cradled her against him. “I have to go, but I will return as soon as possible. I want you to remember to eat and take care of Danny.” He liked holding her so close. “And I’ll expect more kissing when I get back if you’re still like-minded to the idea.”
The little smile was back on her mouth. He knew his advance would be welcome.
“Now lean back while I unbutton your dress, dear.” He guessed there were probably other words he should be saying, but he couldn’t think of them now with her so close.
She leaned against his folded leg and remained perfectly still as he slowly unbuttoned the front of her dress. This time he didn’t stop until he reached her waist.
She remained still as a statue while he slipped his hand around her back to undo the waistband of her skirt so the top would pull easily aside. Once he drew the fabric free, he pushed the straps of the camisole off her shoulders. When he touched the first tie of her underwear, he whispered, “I’ve seen you undressed before, but tonight I’d like to touch you.”
He could feel the rise and fall of her quick breaths, but she didn’t move.
Slowly, one tie at a time, he opened her undergarment and touched her soft flesh. She remained silent and after he’d warmed her with his light touch, he tugged her closer and kissed her tenderly.
She responded to the kiss, opening her mouth, but he kept the kiss light as his fingers brushed along her shoulder, then dipped to cup her breasts.
“You like this?”
She made a little sound of pleasure and he lifted her so her back rested against his chest. Moving his chin against her hair, he began to explore. His hand spread out, pushing material aside as he brushed over her waist and down to her tummy. There he stopped, letting his hand rest in the spot where her child had grown.
The thought of just how much he’d like to feel his child growing there surprised him. “Relax, dear, I only want to touch you tonight.”
She nodded slightly as he opened his mouth over the side of her throat. When she stiffened in his arms, he spread his hands wide and moved them along her exposed flesh, warming her, exciting her, learning her every curve.
His chest was solid against her back as his hands pressed her to him until he felt her relax and move with the pleasure they were both enjoying. He moved his big hand along her leg.
She froze in his arms.
Realizing how bold he’d been, he pulled back and turned her so he could meet her gaze. She was looking at him now, not frightened, but nervous. “Close your eyes, dear. I’m not finished touching you.”
She nodded slightly and his hand pressed against her skin just below her waist once more. Her body shook as he leaned forward and kissed the valley between her breasts as his hand pressed into her soft flesh. His fingers brushed her gently and he felt her breathing quicken.
He pulled her to him and kissed her cheek. “Did you like that?” he whispered in her ear.
He caught her answer in a kiss that lasted a long time. When he finished she was warm and relaxed in his arms, but he made no more advances.
“Thank you for letting me touch you, dear,” he found himself saying as she rested against his chest. She was soft and relaxed in his arms, cuddled close, content not to make a sound. “If you’ve no objection I think we might do this again.”
She answered by placing her hand over his, resting just below her breast. Her touch seemed far more intimate than anything they’d ever done.
He stood with her in his arms and carried her to the bed. When he laid her down, he kissed her again, harder, bolder, knowing that he might be bruising those perfect lips. As the kiss turned to fire, he pressed his chest down against her soft breasts, wanting her to know the weight of him above her. He feared she might be frightened, but she only sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer over her.
God help him, he wanted his wife. This wife. He’d turned away from every woman who’d offered comfort or her bed, but he couldn’t turn away now. She satisfied a hunger so deep in him he feared for his sanity.
Karrisa held tight as if her need for him were the same, but when he felt her tears, reason returned. He broke the kiss and held her gently as she cried.
When she stopped, he kissed her forehead. “Want to tell me why you cry?”
“No,” she whispered.
He stood and pulled the covers over her. She hadn’t invited him to her bed, and he wouldn’t go without an invitation. “Good night, dear.”
“Good night, Clint,” she answered, already sounding more asleep than awake.
He walked to his bedroll by the window, realizing how much he cared for her. He’d sworn she would never matter to him. Only she was so wounded, maybe too wounded inside to ever recover. He didn’t know if the passion they shared would help or hurt her, but he did know that he had to let her set the pace.
After he knew she was asleep, Clint silently slipped from their room and went downstairs. He stepped over Ely and Harry, still snoring, and walked outside, heading straight for the stream. The spring rain helped cool his desire for his wife, but he needed to dunk his body and stay under until he could calm all the fires burning inside him. He never would have guessed that a shy, thin woman who wouldn’t even look at him most of the time would be the one to fill him with desire. He wanted her, needed her. When his hand spread over her tummy, he wanted his seed inside her growing. When he’d put her to bed, he’d wanted to stay forever with his body pressed over hers.
Without pulling off his clothes, he walked into the stream, guessing he was going mad. Completely drunk in need for a woman who barely talked to him. He’d never known such passion, such longing. Never.
Ten minutes later, when he walked into the shelter of the barn’s overhanging roof, Patrick frightened a year off his life by stepping out of the shadows.
“Going swimming this time of night, Truman?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.” Clint tried to get his heart out of his throat. He’d been so deep in thought he hadn’t even been aware of his surroundings. That was something that never happened, and it was dangerous.
“Only one reason I can think of that a man would go for a cold swim this time of night. You didn’t even bother to take your clothes off.”
“They were already wet from the rain.”
Patrick laughed. “Like I said, strange behavior for a man who should be in bed with his wife about now. Something wrong? Maybe I could help.”
Sorry he hadn’t gone swimming with his Colt in tow, Clint answered, “I’m going back to sleep. McAllen, I suggest you do the same.” When Patrick didn’t move, Clint added, “It might be good for your health.” He studied the man ten years his junior. “I’m up because I needed a bath. Why are you up?”
“I’m thinking about my own death,” Patrick complained. “You ever can’t sleep for thinking? I swear, worrying about when I’m going to die keeps me awake more and more.”
Clint growled. “It’s starting to keep me awake too. You’re not going to die tonight, Patrick, so go back to bed.”
