by Linda Devlin
"Good morning," she said sweetly, feeling and dismissing the unsteady beat of her heart in her throat.
"Who are you?" he asked through gritted teeth.
"Eden Rourke." She moved the shears aside and stood slowly. Perhaps if she stood he wouldn't seem so imposingly tall. She reminded herself that he stood in the back of the wagon, after all, which gave him an unnatural advantage. And besides, she stood barely five-foot-one. Almost everyone was tall by comparison. "Teddy," she added, turning to the boy, "would you fetch Millie from the stream? We'll be able to travel this morning, after all."
Eden turned back to the man, trying to convince herself that she had nothing to fear. She had saved his life, for goodness' sake. Facing him, that fact didn't reassure her in the least.
"And you are?" she prodded.
He mumbled something unintelligible, and at the questioning lift of her eyebrows he repeated himself more slowly and with evident pain. One word. Sullivan.
"Would you like some breakfast, Mr. Sullivan?" She turned to what was left of their campfire. "Some coffee, perhaps?"
Eden busied herself over the pot, pouring out the last cup of lukewarm coffee. When she turned with the cup in her hand he stood right there, not a full foot away, and the cup flew out of her hands to soak the front of his shirt. She hadn't heard him leave the wagon, hadn't heard a warning squeak, or even the sound of his footsteps on the hard ground.
"Oh, dear," she muttered, faced with a wide chest soaked and stained with coffee. The shirt, which was stained with dried blood and torn in a couple of places, had already been ruined. Still, she was sure he didn't appreciate a dousing with the last cup of coffee.
He didn't move, didn't even flinch. Eden spun around and reached down, grabbing the bodice of the dress she had just cut in half. She wiped away the coffee as best she could, dabbing and scrubbing with pink muslin and lace. Sullivan didn't move. He was like a rock beneath her hands, and, blast him, every bit as tall and overpowering as she'd suspected he was as he lay unconscious in the Webberville street.
When he was as dry as he was going to get, she drew her hands away and studied her work.
"Thank you, I think," he mumbled, "Miz..." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Did you say Rourke?"
Eden smiled and lifted her eyes. Just her eyes. Dark hair fell past Sullivan's wide shoulders, and his face was even more battered looking this morning than it had been the night before. That poor face was blue and purple and red, cut and distended and bruised. One eye had swollen shut, and the other was little more than a narrow slit that revealed a piercing dark eye. Not brown, as she'd suspected it would be, but a lovely hazel green.
"Yes, Eden Rourke, Mr. Sullivan," she said as she turned away from him and gathered up her scissors and the skirt she would eventually transform into a dress for Millie.
He mumbled something, but she didn't bother to ask him to repeat himself.
Millie burst through the brush, with Teddy right behind her. She immediately latched on to Eden's leg, peeking out from behind the full skirt. "He's awake."
"Yes, he is," Eden said firmly and with a reassuring smile. "Isn't that marvelous?"
"Why?" The question Sullivan muttered was muffled, but it was clear enough.
"Why what?" Eden felt stronger with the children beside her, for some reason. The sentiment was nonsense, she knew. Millie had been with her for two months, since her mother's death. Teddy had been with them for two days. They were children, lonely children who had no one else and who needed her. She knew in her heart that she needed them just as much, but she made the silent admission reluctantly.
"Why is it marvelous?" Sarcasm colored Sullivan's garbled voice. Sarcasm and distrust.
"Well..." Eden hesitated. Why was it marvelous? She didn't know Sullivan at all. For all she knew the beating he'd received was well deserved. No. No one deserved to be treated that way, outnumbered and pounded until he couldn't stand. It was an injustice, no matter what he'd done.
"Aunt Eden stopped those men from beating you up," Millie said in a soft, high voice, still presenting no more than a corner of her face to Sullivan. "Because it wasn't fair that there were lots and lots of them and only one of you and because Aunt Eden doesn't like anything that's not fair." Millie stopped and took a deep breath before she proceeded. "And we weren't sure if you would wake up or not, and if you didn't wake up we would have to bury you in the ground...."
"Millie!" Eden interrupted.
"Well, it's true," Millie continued, her voice overly bright. She'd obviously been truly distressed about the possibility of burying this stranger. Children shouldn't have such fears. Ever.
Eden's own childhood had been unusual, but she'd never been subjected to violence or hate. She'd had her gruff and overly protective older brother, Jedidiah, a mother who loved her, a father who'd died too young, a stepfather who'd raised her as his own even after her mother's death. She'd been sad, at times, and confused, but she'd never been afraid or alone. Even during the war years, which had been difficult for so many, she'd been protected. She hadn't even seen a Yankee soldier until the war was over! In many ways, her life had been blessed.
"I could use a hug," Eden said softly, dipping down to Millie's level. The child obliged her enthusiastically. Millie's life had not been blessed. Not so far. Eden was determined to do something about that.
"Now," Eden said as she pulled away, "let's load up the wagon and get ready to go."
Eden lifted her face to Sullivan, expecting a scowling frown to be directed her way. But his face was strangely passive, less threatening than it had been moments ago. "You're welcome to travel with us, Mr. Sullivan." It was the proper thing to say, and Eden prided herself on not being rude. Not even to strangers. "Unless, of course, you prefer to go on." She nodded to where the horses grazed. "Teddy and I tried to get you into the wagon ourselves, but I'm afraid you were too heavy for us. We had to solicit help from the saloon." She wrinkled her nose at the memory of her brief time in that establishment. "I decided as long as I was there I might as well ask about your horse."
She studied the man before her a bit more closely. In spite of his size and his harsh and battered face, Sullivan wasn't such a threatening man after all. Her imagination must have been working much too hard earlier, when she'd felt almost afraid of him. There was a kindness there. Mostly hidden, that was true, but she saw it.
"I promised them that if they let me take you and your horse I'd do my best to keep you out of their less-than-friendly town." She gave him a small smile.
"Those sons of bitches," he muttered. "I've got a good mind to head back there right now and..."
"Please don't curse in front of the children," Eden said in a lowered voice. He didn't look at all chastened. "Perhaps in the future you'll be more selective about the women you kiss." Her tone was light; the face he turned to her was not. "I asked one of those horrible men why they were beating you," she explained. "I don't suppose you remember that part."
He turned and began to silently tend to the horses, checking his own fine steed, a tall black stallion, before leading her team to the front of the wagon. He hadn't said much at all, didn't seem inclined to indulge in friendly conversation. How was she supposed to discover what kind of man he was if he didn't speak? She didn't even know if he planned to turn back, to ride ahead, or join them for a while.
"So, where are you headed, Mr. Sullivan?" she asked as she gathered up the pink skirt and the coffeepot.
"Rock Creek," he mumbled.
His attentions were elsewhere as he hitched the horses to the wagon, and so he couldn't see Eden's face, her fading smile, the flicker of fascination in her eyes. For that she was grateful. Jedidiah had always told her she'd make a lousy poker player, with every thought so clearly displayed on her face.
As he moved to hitch his own horse to the back of the wagon, which answered the question about his immediate travel intentions, she said, "How very interesting. So am I."
He grunted something that
sounded obscene, but since she couldn't be sure she didn't reprimand him. The only word she was certain she understood was Rourke.
Suddenly she smiled. Sullivan was heading for Rock Creek, himself, and the way he'd mumbled her last name... "You know Jedidiah, don't you?" she asked.
Sullivan turned slowly to face her. "Yeah, I know him." It was impossible to tell from the expression on his face whether he and Jedidiah were friends or enemies or casual acquaintances.
"Is he well?" she asked. "I haven't seen him in five years, and lately... Well, lately he's been on my mind quite a lot."
Sullivan didn't ease her mind or satisfy her curiosity. In fact, he was a confoundedly closemouthed man. He looked at the children in the back of the wagon, studying them closely, thoughtfully.
"I don't think he's there," he did say, finally. "At least, he wasn't there three weeks ago, when I left. But I imagine he'll be back before too much longer. He always turns up sooner or later."
Her spirits fell. She hadn't realized how much she had her heart set on riding into Rock Creek and finding Jedidiah. "Well," she said, determined not to let her disappointment show, "perhaps you're wrong."
Sullivan took her hand and assisted her into the wagon seat; then he vaulted, carefully on account of his recent beating, to the seat beside her. "Can I ask why you're so all-fired set on seeing Jed?" he asked as he set the horses into motion.
"He hasn't been home in years," she said. "But I know he hasn't forgotten about me. He usually writes regularly, but lately... Lately he's been writing less and less, and he doesn't really tell me anything about his life. His last two letters were posted in Rock Creek, and he mentioned the place with some fondness. He also said I could write to him there, in care of the Rock Creek Hotel. That made me hope that perhaps he'd made a place for himself there, and I decided that if he won't come home, then, by golly, I'll go to him."
"By golly," he said softly, and with more than a touch of sarcasm. "I didn't even know Jed was married, much less that he had a pretty little wife willing to track him to the ends of the earth when he doesn't come home on time."
Eden broke into a huge grin as she realized Sullivan's mistake. "Wife? Don't be silly. I'm Jedidiah's sister."
He cut her a suspicious glance—one-eyed, still. "Sister?"
"Yes. My stepfather died last year, and now I have no family left but for my brother." Her heart leaped a little. She still missed the man she'd called Daddy. The past few months had been lonely and frightening. She hated living alone, positively hated it. "A person should be with family, if at all possible. Don't you agree, Mr. Sullivan?"
He didn't answer.
"So, if Jedidiah won't come home to Georgia, I'm moving to Rock Creek."
Sullivan studied the road silently for a while, lost in thought, sullen and battered. When he finally spoke, his voice was clearer than it had been, thus far. "So, Jed's sister just happens to be riding through that shit-hole Webberville while I'm getting my ass whupped for the first time since I got outta short pants. What a coincidence."
Eden watched his profile, wincing at the injury to his face, damage that looked uglier and more obviously painful by the light of the sun. Her smile faded. She really should reprimand him for using coarse language in front of the children again, but she couldn't find her tongue. His final disdainful, mocking comment stayed with her, instead. Coincidence?
Eden Rourke didn't believe in coincidence.
But she did believe in fate.
Chapter 2
As the horses trod silently along the rutted road, Sullivan guided the horses and cast the occasional furtive glance at Eden Rourke. He couldn't quite figure her out. She wore a permanent look of enchanted satisfaction, lost in her own world. She watched the desolate land they traveled through as if she saw something that wasn't there. Something worth looking at.
He didn't have much use for beautiful women, mainly because they'd never had any use for a half-breed bastard like him. And this one was truly beautiful, a woman to be avoided at all costs. Jedidiah Rourke's sister? Jed had mentioned a sister, once, but Sullivan had never dreamed she was anything like this lady sitting beside him. There wasn't a gruffer, meaner, more ornery son of a bitch in Texas than Jedidiah Rourke. Jed was tall and wide and crude, and Eden was short and slender and refined. Sure, they both had blond hair and blue eyes, but he couldn't believe that Jed and this delicate, sunny woman who would rescue a stranger off the street because what she saw wasn't fair were related.
The kids weren't hers; he knew that. At first glance he'd thought perhaps they were, but she looked too young to be the boy's mother, and the little girl with her own blond hair and blue eyes had called her Aunt Eden, not Mama.
More Rourkes. Just what Texas needed.
"How do you know Jedidiah, Mr. Sullivan?" she asked, trying once again to make light conversation. So far she'd asked about Rock Creek and tried to begin a civilized discourse on the weather, but Sullivan had never been one for idle chitchat. He preferred peace and quiet, and he usually kept to himself. When they stopped for the night, in just a few hours, he'd set up his own camp as far away from the others as possible. Close enough to keep an eye on Eden and the kids, but far enough away to be alone.
"We worked together a few times," he finally answered. A safe enough answer.
He glanced at her as she smiled widely. Dimples. Blue eyes, golden hair, and dimples. What had he done to deserve this?
"Then you know him well, I imagine," she said sweetly. "What jobs were you on with him? He's always been such a drifter," she added before he could answer. "A drover, a miner, a bartender, even a sheriff's deputy once." She looked at him with wide eyes, awaiting her answer.
"We both hire our guns out, on occasion, to towns in trouble or local law officials who get in over their heads. We've found ourselves on the same side a time or two." He saw the wonder in her wide eyes, the unasked questions. "We also served in the war together," he added.
Eden's smile faded. "Oh. Jedidiah never said much about those years." She turned her head so she no longer looked directly at him. Just as well. "I had nightmares about him then." He could swear he saw her shudder slightly. "They were more than nightmares, they were almost like visions or premonitions. Like I was really there," she whispered. She turned those wide blue eyes on him once again. "Was it terrible?" she asked. "In my nightmares it was terrible."
Nothing about Sullivan's life had ever been soft. Not his childhood, not his life as a soldier, not even his time with women. But there was such softness in Eden Rourke's eyes he wanted to fall in, headfirst, and get lost there. He recognized the danger, noted it, dismissed the unexpected longing.
Approaching horses, in the distance well behind them, gave him an excuse not to answer her probing question. He'd handed his Colt, holster and all, over to a bartender in Webberville, as had all the other customers. He felt quite certain the barkeep hadn't volunteered to hand the revolver over to Eden Rourke when she'd rescued him and his horse.
"Do you have a weapon?" He kept his voice low so as not to disturb the kids who rode quietly in the bed of the wagon. He glanced back and found them both asleep, curled up, bouncing slightly and obliviously with every turn of the wheels.
"Of course," she said. "There's a six-shooter under your seat and a Winchester rifle behind it, both loaded. And I have a derringer in the pocket of my skirt."
Three loaded weapons within reach; perhaps she was Jed's sister, after all. "Someone's coming."
She sighed. "I know."
With that, she slipped down onto the floorboard and reached beneath the seat. It was a tight fit, but she was so small the maneuver seemed no effort at all for her. Soft arms brushed against his leg as she reached around him, and her warm breath actually penetrated his denims and touched his thigh. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on the pain in his battered body to take his mind off of the tempting, attractive woman at his feet.
She laid her hand on his thigh as she rose and retook her seat, the
move innocent and unthinking. Jed's sister, he reminded himself. If ever a woman was off-limits...
"Would you like to hold on to this?"
Sullivan glanced at Eden and saw that she offered the six-shooter to him.
"I imagine they're just travelers like us, but as Jedidiah always told me, you can't be too careful."
This from a woman who'd had a bloody, unconscious stranger dumped into the back of her wagon? She called that careful?
He took the six-shooter from her and slipped it into the waistband of his denims. Her eyes met his, and she attempted a small, reassuring smile.
Didn't she know any better than to look at a man that way? Damn. Jed's sister, he reminded himself as the travelers to their rear grew closer. Jed's damn sister.
* * *
A full day of healing had done little to remedy the evidence of Sullivan's beating. The blood was gone, washed away at the stream before they'd set out, and the second eye had opened a while back. Still, he was cut and bruised and swollen in a way that made her heart lurch when she looked closely at him. It just wasn't right.
He might be a handsome man but it was hard to tell at the moment. With a haircut and a change of clothes, and when his face had a chance to heal... perhaps. Still, she didn't expect he looked any gentler or safer even when he hadn't been recently beaten up. He was definitely not what one might call an upstanding citizen.
She'd known full well the dangers of a woman traveling in this wild country, with only young children for companionship. Being well armed eased her mind a little, as did her caution and the fact that since she'd left the railway in San Antonio and started out in her own wagon, she hadn't run across a single other traveler.
The three men who approached from behind didn't appear to be threatening, but the hairs on the back of Eden's neck stood up all the same. Jedidiah had always told her to listen to her instincts.
"Good afternoon," the one in the lead said affably. "Where you folks headed?"
The man pulled up alongside, but Sullivan didn't slow the progress of the wagon. "West," he said simply, without so much as turning his head to glance at the stranger.
