by Candace Camp
Victoria’s eyes were huge; the blood had left her face. “Neither have I,” she whispered.
He moved forward and slid his arm around her shoulders. Victoria leaned against him gratefully. She felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t think she would ever forget that woman’s crazed face as she leveled the gun, or the burst of red across her chest before she crashed to the floor.
She had killed a person. Victoria began to shiver. Slater’s arm tightened around her, and his lips brushed her hair. “It’ll be okay.”
“Ma?” For the first time, Nathan spoke. He sounded lost and scared. “Ma?”
He walked over to where his mother lay and dropped down on the floor beside her. “Ma? No. You can’t leave me. Ma, don’t leave me!” He began to cry and bent over her, clutching her lifeless body. “What’ll I do now? What’ll I do?”
Slater made a noise of pity and disgust. He walked over and picked up the gun from Mrs. Miles’s slack fingers, then turned and strode out the door. Victoria watched him hurl the weapon out into the yard. He didn’t have enough strength left in him to throw it far. He dropped down onto the front step, his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging loosely, and stared at the ground.
Victoria followed him. She was numb and yet jittery at the same time. “Slater? Are you all right?”
He glanced up at her. His sharp green eyes were a stark contrast to his drawn face. “Yeah. I’ll get by. How about you? Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
“No.” She paused. She wanted to burst into tears, but she was determined not to. That was the last thing Slater needed, especially in his weakened condition. She had sworn that she would help him, not hinder him. She had spent most of her life proving to her father and everyone else that she was as good, as tough, as strong as a man, and she had learned well how to hide any sign of weakness. She did so now, pushing back her tears and concentrating on the practical. “What are we going to do?”
Slater glanced up, surprised. “You’re a cool one.”
“If that isn’t just like a man.” Victoria crossed her arms. She felt a little stronger, stepping back into her pugnacious role. “You’d like me better if I had hysterics?”
“No, ma’am.” He smiled faintly. “I like you just fine the way you are.” Grabbing the porch post with one hand, he pulled himself to his feet. “I reckon what we’ll do is ride. I don’t relish spending the night here, do you?”
“No,” Victoria admitted. The dusk would soon give way to night, but nothing in the darkness was as bad as this place. “But what about you? How can you stay on a horse?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll stick.”
“You aren’t in any condition to ride.”
“I said I’d do it,” he snapped and turned back toward the house. “I’ll get our things.”
“Don’t be silly. I can do it.”
He shook his head. “You don’t want to see what’s in that room.”
“I’m sure that’s true. But I’ll do it anyway. There’s no sense in your wasting your strength climbing up and down the stairs.”
He gave her a doubtful look, then said, “All right. Go ahead.”
Victoria knew he expected her to run back down the stairs, screaming, or maybe sink into a maidenly faint. She was determined not to. She already felt the burden of having gotten them into this mess; she’d been too trusting, not tough or sharp enough. She refused to give Slater further proof of her inability to handle a rough situation.
It was almost more than she could do not to run, however, when she eased through the open doorway into their bedroom and saw Dennis’s body lying on the floor. She crept into the room. Her heart was pounding, as if he might jump up from where he lay and grab her. There was no chance of that. She could see the glassy stare of death. Her gorge rose. It was even worse, somehow, than when she had shot Mrs. Miles. That had been in the heat of action, an instinctive defense. This was just gazing on the cold, hard face of death.
Victoria swallowed hard, and, keeping her eyes averted, scooped up their belongings. Slater’s holster and second revolver still hung from the bedpost on the opposite corner of the bed. Victoria couldn’t bring herself to walk around Miles’s body to get them, so she crawled across the bed and snatched them from the post. Then she picked up Slater’s boots from the foot of the bed and fled back downstairs.
Slater glanced up at her approach. “Damn, lady. Doesn’t anything faze you?”
“A lot of things,” she responded tartly, dropping his things beside him on the porch. “I just don’t let myself give in to them.”
But as he rose, she could see that the look on his face was respect, not disapproval. “So I’ve discovered.” He pulled on his shirt and vest, his movements slow. He looked out across the yard. “I’m sorry.”
That was the last thing Victoria expected him to say. “For what?”
“I was wrong to tell you not to come with me. You have more grit and courage than most men. Hell, you saved my life—twice over. I’m the one who’s been so damn weak and slowed us down.” He avoided her gaze. “Anyway, just wanted to tell you that.”
Victoria felt tears rise in her, her chest warming at the compliment. Obviously apologizing didn’t come easy to Slater. But she clamped down on her emotion. She couldn’t burst into tears when he’d just told how strong she was. “Thank you. I’m sorry too. For being so…”
He turned his head toward her, a grin slanting across his face. “Stubborn? Aggravating? Bossy?”
“Hush,” she said with mock severity, glad that he had pulled them back from their awkward emotions. She took a physical step back as well. “What are we going to do about Nathan? He’s still sitting there in the kitchen, rocking back and forth and crying.”
Slater sighed. “Hell if I know. I ought to take him in—God knows how many people they’ve done in.” He shook his head. “But he’s not much of a danger to anybody without his mother and brother around. If I take him in, by the time I get back, Brody’s trail will be stone cold. It’s more important to rescue your cousin. Leave Nathan to bury his dead. I’ll send somebody back for him. Let’s ride.”
Chapter Ten
“Oh, Sam, it’s beautiful!” Amy exclaimed, pulling her horse to a stop. They had traveled most of the day, going west and north, deeper into the hill country. They saw no other people—or even a house or barn in the distance. It was lonely, isolated country, but Amy liked it. They reached a wide river, but did not cross it, instead traveling alongside it. Here, Amy noticed, Sam was more alert, always glancing around.
When they came to one of the smaller, rocky tributaries, he began to follow it, visibly relaxing as they went upstream. Finally, they came around the edge of a bluff and there before them was a small waterfall, splashing down a rocky ledge into a pool. It was a lovely, secluded spot, shaded by trees and protected by the bluff.
Amy jumped down from her horse and stood gazing at the sparkling waterfall, enraptured by its beauty. She looked up at Sam and smiled. “Thank you for bringing me here. I’ve never seen anything like it. I mean, not so beautiful or so high. What’s it called?”
Brody shrugged as he swung off his horse. “I don’t know. I just came upon it one time. I don’t know if anyone else even knows about it. I come here because I can keep a lookout for followers up there.” He nodded toward the bluff beside them.
“Then I’ll name it.” She went forward, a slender figure in her boy’s trousers, and reached out to touch the mist drifting from the falls. “Look how it sparkles in the sun! I’ll name it Crystal Falls.” She glanced back over her shoulder at Brody, her face glowing. “That would suit, wouldn’t it?”
“Perfect.” He couldn’t have cared less what the place was named, but his heart lurched inside his chest when she looked at him like that. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He wanted to hold her and caress her and say all kinds of soft, loving things he’d never said before. But he felt clumsy and unsure, an
d he was scared he might frighten her, so he hung back, watching her.
Amy stood at the edge of the pool, laughing, her eyes closed, letting the mist cover her. Brody watched the gentle spray gradually dampen her clothes until her shirt molded itself to her small, firm breasts. He imagined sliding his hands under the too-big shirt and up over her satiny skin to cup her breasts. He imagined moving his hands down her abdomen to the juncture of her legs, so clearly delineated by the masculine clothing she wore. He began to sweat, just thinking about it, and his fingers itched to touch her. She didn’t have the first idea how she affected him.
She turned back to him, her face beaded with water from the spray. Brody wanted to lick off the drops with his tongue. He wiped his palms down his trouser legs.
“Is the pool deep?” Amy brushed the moisture from her face. Her lashes clung together in wet spikes, giving her eyes a starry look.
He shook his head. “No. Not much. I can stand in it.”
“Good. Can we go in?”
His heart began to hammer. “If you want.”
“I’d like that. I want to stand under the falls and feel it pouring down on me.”
“All right.” The blood thundered through his veins as he thought of her slim, white body standing under the glittering stream of water.
“Now?”
“If you want.” It was difficult to keep his voice level. “But we’ll be camping here awhile, if you want to wait.”
“Oh, no, I’d like to do it now. Then I can do it again later.” She sat down on a nearby rock and began to pull off her boots.
Brody wondered if she would undress in front of him with equal lack of concern. But when she had pulled off her boots and heavy socks, she glanced up at him, and a blush stained her cheeks. She looked away.
“I—uh, I’ll take care of the horses while you’re doing that.” He took the reins and led their mounts down the stream. He unsaddled and hobbled them, his mind not on what he was doing, but on Amy by the pool.
He thought about going back and watching her bathe. He could do it without her knowing. He wanted to. But it would be a violation of her trust in him, even if she wasn’t aware of it, and he felt a curious queasiness at that idea. He wondered if he was developing a conscience at this late date. It seemed unlikely. Still, he found himself staying away, taking his time about caring for the horses.
He turned toward the hill. Though a sheer bluff on the other side, it rose more gradually here, and he was able to climb up it. As he neared the top, the ground grew rockier, and it was here that he liked to keep a look-out. He could see far across the rolling land, but he’d be difficult to spot among the large boulders. He scanned the horizon carefully, confirming his belief that no one was anywhere close.
After a few minutes, he returned to the ground below. Pulling out one of the small cigars he’d gotten from Raul, he sat down on a rock to wait, watching the horses grazing peacefully beside the stream. He wanted to give Amy plenty of time to swim and dress. It would be safer all around if he didn’t come back to find her still undressed.
He had finished his cigar and was grinding it out on the rock when he heard the rattle of pebbles on the ground behind him, and he whirled, his hand reaching for his gun. Amy came around the formation of limestone rock that hid the falls from view.
She had dressed again in her boy’s clothes, but they were damp and clinging from her still-wet body. Her hair was loose and pushed back from her face, hanging wetly down her back. Her face glistened with moisture. The desire that clawed at his gut was sudden and fierce. He ached to take her, to taste her, to pour himself into her. It took all his willpower to stay where he was. “You through? Too cold?”
She smiled. “Yes, but I loved it. It’s so clear and clean, and that spray touches you like—” She shook her head. “I can’t describe it.”
“I know.”
“I thought you might want to try it, too, before it gets dark.”
“It’s nice in the dark, too.” His voice came out rusty. He was thinking of going into the pool with Amy at night, the moonlight gleaming on the silver stream of water and Amy’s pale flesh.
“I never thought of that. It sounds like fun. But I think I’d be scared at night, alone.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t do it alone.”
Amy’s eyes widened, and she sucked in her breath. Did he mean they would both take off their clothes and go naked into the water together? The thought made her loins hot and achy. She came a step closer and stopped. She wanted Sam to kiss her. She wanted a lot more than that. She wasn’t sure what it was that she wished would happen, but the thought of being naked in front of Sam filled her with excitement and embarrassment.
“Sam, why did you kiss me last night?”
Desire forked through him like lightning. “Because I wanted you.”
“Why did you stop?”
He cleared his throat, but his voice was still hoarse when he spoke, “Because you—I need to go slow with you. I don’t want to rush you. You’re innocent.”
Her teeth worried at her lower lip. Brody’s eyes couldn’t move from her mouth. “Do you mean because I’m stupid?”
“No!” He went to her. “You aren’t stupid. I told you that before. Don’t you believe me?”
She gazed up at him, her eyes huge and luminous, pulling him in. “Yes. I believe you. But what do you mean, then?”
“I mean that you’re untouched. Pure.” He trailed his hand down the side of her face and neck to her shoulder. Then he moved it back up, spreading his fingers out on her soft flesh. His thumb caressed her chin and traced the line of her lips. “I don’t want to spoil that. I don’t want to hurt you or scare you.”
“You don’t scare me. I trust you.”
“I’m not sure I trust myself.”
Amy looked at him quizzically. “I don’t understand.”
Brody’s eyes were riveted to her lips, watching the slow progress of his thumb over them, feeling their texture against his skin. He remembered the taste of her lips last night. “How could you understand?” he murmured. “You’re too good to see the wicked things inside me.”
There was a part of him that wanted to seize her, crush her to him and kiss her. There was a part of him that desired only to rip off the tantalizing shirt and trousers and thrust into her until he reached blissful satisfaction. That was the part of him that raged and burned, that took what he wanted and damned the consequences, that fought anything that got in his way. It had long been the biggest part of him.
But there was something else in him now that could contain that part, hold him down so that he didn’t hurt Amy. He wasn’t sure what that other thing was, but it hungered after the sweetness and joy of Amy even more than he hungered after her body. It was warm and soothing, as though the light that glowed in Amy had crept inside him, too.
He bent and touched his lips lightly to hers, savoring the softness of her mouth and the flutter of her breath against his lips. It was Amy who prolonged the kiss, pressing up into him and sliding her arms around his neck. It took only that encouragement for him to kiss her deeply. Sam’s tongue came into Amy’s mouth, re-exploring what he had discovered the evening before. But this time Amy’s tongue moved timidly to meet his, touching, then retreating, and finally coming back again to twine around his.
Brody’s breath shuddered out at the innocent seduction of her action. His arms wrapped around her tightly, molding her against him. His skin was suddenly searing. He ached to grind his mouth into hers, crushing and possessing, but he held back, letting their tongues flirt. He was determined not to push or frighten her with the full force of his passion.
Because of his gentleness, Amy was emboldened to try more—to taste his mouth as he had tasted hers, to let her body move against him, to work her lips over his, seeking new sensations. His breath turned harsh and uneven, and the sound of it quickened Amy’s pulse. She had never felt anything remotely like this. Her blood raced
through her veins, and her heart hammered. She wanted to kiss Sam again and again, kiss him so deeply that she melted into him. She wanted so much—a thousand things she didn’t even know the names of. Her fingers dug into Sam’s shoulders, and she clung to him, trembling.
When she increased the pressure of her mouth, it was too much for him. Brody shuddered, and his mouth devoured hers, searching and greedy. He broke their kiss only to change the slant of his mouth and kiss her again. Kissing her was like dying and being reborn, all at once, over and over.
One hand went behind her head, gripping her tightly as though she might slip out of his grasp. Her hair, damp and soft, was like silk in his hand; he wanted to bury himself in it. He wanted to bury himself in her. His breath rasped through his lungs. Fire exploded in his head and coursed through his body. He wanted her so much that he trembled from the force of it.
His hands slid down to her buttocks, digging in and lifting her up into him so that his throbbing, insistent maleness pushed against the soft, shallow cup of her pelvis. He rubbed her against him, groaning at the almost painful pleasure it brought him.
He kissed her face, and his mouth trailed down onto the soft flesh of her throat, nipping, then laving and soothing. Amy’s head lolled back, exposing her throat to his mouth, and her hands roamed over his arms and back, her fingers clenching at each new fission of pleasure. She was stunned by the new sensations seeping through her body. She couldn’t begin to understand and sort them, but she didn’t try. She simply let them take her.
Brody found her ear and worried the lobe with his teeth; he traced its convolutions with his tongue and probed inside. Pleasure sizzled down her to the growing, pulsing knot of warmth deep in her abdomen, and she trembled and moaned.
The sound almost broke him. Brody sank to the ground with her, kissing her deeply, desperately. He had to have her, had to be inside her. His legs wrapped around Amy, imprisoning her against his unmistakable desire, and they rolled across the ground. As they moved mindlessly, their mouths locked together, Brody jerked the buttons of her shirt from their holes and shoved the fabric apart.
