Sunrise Surrender--Jarrett Family Sagas--Book Three

by Vivian Vaughan

  “A minute longer,” he whispered. “Let me look a minute longer.” Before he would allow her to move, he traced his hands down both legs, even caressing her feet, bringing a giggle when he inadvertently tickled the soles.

  That broke the spell. He moved back to look into her face. “God’s bones, Delta. You’re magnificent.”

  “And dying from want of you,” she whispered, as he stretched beside her, lowering his lips to her breast.

  Later she decided it must have been all the days they spent thinking themselves lost to each other that brought such an intensity to their lovemaking.

  He devoured her, as though he couldn’t get enough, suckling her breast, delving into her fiery core, stroking her face and hair, all at once.

  “It’s like the first time and the last time all rolled into one,” she whispered into his rumpled hair.

  Lifting his lips, he moved to her face. “The first time?” he quizzed, a teasing look in his eye.

  “You were slow to get started then, too,” she teased. “Making me ask all those questions, when all I wanted was this.” On her last word she raised her hips higher against his probing hand, bringing a grin to his lips.

  “You thought you knew it all,” he recalled, pecking her a kiss.

  “From my dreams,” she admitted. “I was wrong. It was nothing like my dreams. It never is.”

  His expression sobered. She knew he was thinking about their conversation, if it could be called that, in his cabin. Suddenly he cradled her to his chest. “Ah, Delta Jarrett, there’s so much more I could teach you. So much more.”

  His strange behavior filled her with trepidation, but she refused to think about anything but loving him—making love with him. Finally she drew back, found his lips, and rekindled their passion. When he reached for his belt buckle, she helped, their hands fumbling together with the buttons on his placket, releasing at last his rock-hard flesh into her hand.

  Her heart beat fast, flushing her face, but she gripped her hand around him, holding, massaging, while he fumbled to rid himself of his clothing, after which she guided him to her aching core. Once he was embedded inside her, he stopped, staring deeply into her eyes.

  “Like the first time,” he told her in a husky voice that set her hips to moving. “So hot, so wet, so ready.”

  “So wonderful,” she moaned into his lips, moving with him faster and faster, letting the rising passion chase away her anxieties.

  Brett was here.

  He hadn’t left. He had come to her. He loved her. Together they would work things out. Together.

  Together they rode the waves of passion, as the steamboat rode the mighty Mississippi, challenging the currents of life and winning. Winning.

  Together. Again she felt them poised above a roiling river of fire. Again it swirled faster and hotter until at length, together they dove into its fiery midst.

  And together they emerged, lifeless, yet more alive than ever before.

  “I was wrong about something else that day by the river,” she breathed into his ear.

  Shifting to his side, he drew her with him, their wet bodies sticking, as they clung together. “What, chère?”

  She drew back reveling in his eyes, so passion-glazed and loving. “I said I wanted you to be the first.”

  “I hope that isn’t what you’ve changed your mind about,” he teased.

  Her mouth was dry—from the loving, but more, from the premonition that wouldn’t turn her loose. She caressed his face with her eyes, loving him more than she had ever dreamed possible. “I also want you to be the last.”

  For the longest time they gazed into each other’s eyes while the room took on a ghostly silence. The slight rocking of the steamboat reminded her of a cradle.

  Whether it was a reflection of her own fear, she couldn’t say, but suddenly his eyes turned cold and he clasped her to his chest with a ferocity that almost crushed the air from her lungs. Her tears fell, hot against her cheeks.

  “If you’re in so much danger in Louisiana,” she ventured at length, “why are you returning?”

  Loosening his deathlike grip a bit, he let one finger play through her tangled hair. “I have to see my mother. You aren’t the only one who has premonitions, chère. I’ve been worried about her for some time now.”

  “Why can’t you send Pierre or Gabriel? They aren’t wanted, too, are they?”

  He shook his head. “But I must see for myself. I want to convince her to return to Canada with me.”

  Involuntarily, she felt her brain switch from reality to wishful thinking. And me, she thought. Take me to Canada, too. But she didn’t dare voice such a request. Not yet. By the time they reached New Orleans, perhaps.

  He sighed heavily against her. “For truth, I was hoping to remain in the bayou, but this trip convinced me I can’t.”

  “Nat?”

  “Among others,” he acknowledged with a heavy sigh. “I get so homesick for the bayou country.” As he spoke, he began to stroke her back in long sweeping motions. “I hate the cold, frozen north. All winter I’m cranky as a bear, thinking about the steamy bayous. And when spring brings the thaws, I don’t see the icy cold rivers, but the slow-moving black waters of the bayou. I’d love to show it to you. The cypress trees drip moss. You should see the moss. It grows much heavier there than along here. A man can make a decent living selling moss.”

  “What’s it used for?”

  “Lots of things. Stuffing sofas, chairs—” he bounced a fist off the bed, “—mattresses.” He kissed the top of her head. “It’s wild, the bayou. You might be frightened—”

  “Take me there.”

  She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. She’d promised herself to wait, not to pressure him. By the time they reached New Orleans she would have found some way to alleviate his fears for her. But this was too soon for that.

  He held her so close she could scarcely breathe, so close she felt their hearts pumping as one.

  “Don’t ask me that, Delta,” he breathed against her temple. “Please, don’t ask me that.”

  He kissed her then, forestalling any more questions. And she returned his kisses, eager to love him again before they were forced to consider what the morning would bring.

  Tomorrow they would arrive in Baton Rouge, the state capital, home of the governor. Brett trailed a hand down her body, silencing her brain with the fire he kindled inside her.

  His mouth left hers, suckling a breast with such vigor it reminded her again of the first time they made love, and the way she had thought he might pull her very soul out of her body.

  Well he had, at one time or another, for her soul, like her body, belonged to this mysterious man. Tracing her hand down his furry chest, she gripped the rigid evidence of his passion. At her touch, he lifted his face to hers, his eyes dark and loving.

  “Ah, chère, what you do to me.” His labored breath increased her own fervor, and she shifted to bring her body closer. He moved, too, into her, and they were together again.

  Together again. For a moment she savored the sensation, wishing it could last forever. Her hands caressed his hips, trailed over his ribs, to his chest, cherishing, savoring.

  Then they began to move, together, in unison, in and out, in a rhythm all their own.

  “Remember I said this is like the last time, as well as the first?” she questioned.

  His hips stopped. “Oui.”

  “I think it’s because of the fear I’ve lived with these last few days. The fear that I’d lost you. I know you felt it, too.”

  “Sh, chère.”

  “We’ve learned how terrible it would be to live apart. That makes it more intense, more—”

  He crushed her lips with his, finishing their love-making in quick order. After the last spasms had receded, he kissed her still, deeply, passionately, delving, probing, leaving her limp and trembling and sated.

  After a while the rocking of the boat lulled them into a state near sleep. But Delta r
esisted. She had missed him so badly, how could she allow herself to sleep? Again the rocking of the boat reminded her of a cradle, and her premonition returned with all its fervor.

  “When we get to New Orleans,” she told him, “my brothers can help us.”

  “Your brothers?”

  “One of them, Carson, was a Texas Ranger.” He tensed.

  “Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “He recently resigned. He married a girl in Mexico and they’ll live down there for a while. He’ll run her father’s ranch.” Delta’s thoughts switched directions abruptly.

  “That’s an idea. Mexico.” She kissed him. “Carson could find you a job. It’s much warmer in Mexico than in Canada.”

  He ran his hands up her warm skin. “So I hear.”

  “Why did you go to Canada in the first place since you hate the cold. You could have gone to Mexico, or even to Texas.”

  “They don’t speak French in Mexico or Texas. It’d be hard for an Acadian to lose himself in either place.”

  “I’m glad,” she responded. “If you hadn’t gone to Canada, you wouldn’t be on this boat, and we wouldn’t have met.”

  He chuckled. “Ah, I’ve convinced you to forget those dreams, oui?”

  “Never. I … Well, for a moment. Now that you mentioned them, though, I know we would have met somewhere, sooner or later. It was destined—”

  He stopped her with a kiss, boldly passionate. Afterwards, he considered her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You and maman are two of a kind.” His expression dimmed, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost its animation. “You would have gotten along fine, you two.”

  With the greatest of effort, Delta ignored his choice of words. “Tell me about your mother. Is she really psychic?”

  “Folks in the bayou think so. They call her Crazy Mary.”

  “Crazy Mary? How dreadful.”

  “She loves it. She’s a showman at heart. But she’s good at her trade, too. Folks come for treatments from all over southern Louisiana. I used to accuse her of curing them with laughter.” He squeezed Delta to him, burying his face in her hair. “But she wasn’t laughing the last time I saw her. Now the governor’s trying to run her out of the state, calls her a Voodooienne.”

  Delta felt his heart beat in powerful thuds against her. His arms held her tight. His arms, so strong and warm. She snuggled against his body, fitting herself to him, relishing the texture of his skin and furry chest, concentrating on these things instead of the ordeal ahead of them. In spite of her best intentions, she fell asleep in his arms.

  In his arms, where she wanted most to be in all the world.

  When he was certain Delta had fallen asleep, Brett slipped out of her arms and dressed. Before leaving the room, he placed a note on her pillow, then doused the lamps, hoping with the darkness she would remain asleep while he made his escape.

  Escape. The word lay heavily on his heart, as though he were escaping Delta, when that was what he wanted least of anything in the world. But in order to remain alive, he had agreed with Pierre and Gabriel on this plan of action.

  Actually Pierre and Gabriel had not agreed with one part of the plan. His hours with Delta had been opposed by both men, Pierre more vigorously than Gabriel, but Pierre was like that.

  He was bullheaded to a degree Brett had seldom seen in a bayou man. But that bullheadedness was more often than not outweighed by his dedication to Brett’s safety and his ability to handle the dangers that had confronted them.

  Pierre waited at the starboard rail on the main deck. “You took long enough, sure.”

  “Not nearly.” Forever wouldn’t be long enough with Delta, Brett thought bitterly. “Not nearly.” Above them the sky was brightening in preparation for sunrise.

  Sunrise—and Delta. He inhaled sharply. Everything brought thoughts of Delta. Everything would, for a long time to come.

  Pierre handed him an oilcloth sack containing a few provisions he had hastily thrown together before going to Delta’s cabin. “We’ll get off at the next bend, oui,” Pierre told him. “The bank, it is not so steep right there, and the boat, she will come closer to shore than anyplace else for several miles.”

  Gabriel stepped from the shadows, offering his hand. “Luck, mon ami. Me, I’ll meet you in New Orleans. You will take care to arrive alive and in one piece.”

  “That’s our plan,” Brett quipped, then turned serious. “Watch out for her.”

  “It is done, mon ami,” Gabriel told him.

  “Watch out for us,” Pierre amended. “If the captain asks for us when the boat reaches Baton Rouge, throw him off our trail, oui.”

  “Oui,” Gabriel agreed.

  When the boat was in the middle of the next big curve Pierre gave the signal and the two of them slipped over the edge of the Mississippi Princess into the muddy river. Brett gritted his teeth against the rush of cold water.

  By the time they gained the far bank he was out of breath and the showboat was far down the river. He climbed onto the bank and stared after it forlornly. On that boat was the best thing that had ever happened to him. And he knew Delta felt the same way. The image of her waking up to find him gone, searching the boat, finally realizing she would never see him again, left him with little heart for the journey ahead.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Exhausted from sleepless nights and days of endless fear, Delta slept until midmorning. Awakening slowly, she glanced around the small stateroom for Brett but wasn’t surprised to find him gone. In order to uphold the ruse that he had gone overboard at St. Francisville, he would have left her room before daybreak. Nevertheless, a sinking feeling enveloped her, and she wondered when she would see him again.

  Then she spied the note on her pillow: “Sweet dreams, ma chère. B.”

  She reread the message three times. Weak from the relief of finally knowing beyond any doubt that she had his love, she pressed the precious message to her lips, then quickly withdrew it, lest her tears wash away his handwriting. Folding the paper carefully, she placed it in her lingerie drawer, alongside the two other messages he had sent her.

  Dressing with more enthusiasm than she had felt in days, she thought about the interviews she would conduct in Baton Rouge. Hollis wanted an article on the governor and his quarrel with the Voodoos. Why not investigate, discreetly, of course? The thought that she could help Brett in the process encouraged her further.

  Her night with Brett, however, was still so fresh and wonderful, she had trouble concentrating on anything other than when he would come to her again. Tonight?

  Her heart sang. He had returned to her. He loved her. He had said so.

  He loved her and everything would be all right. Aware of the danger he was in, she knew not to expect him on deck. But he had come to her in the night. And she was unable to prevent herself from anticipating another night of loving him.

  On deck she waited with Zanna, Stuart, and the cast of the Princess Players while the showboat edged up to the dock and roustabouts hurried to lower the gangplank.

  “My, you look pert this morning,” Zanna commented. “You must have slept well.”

  Avoiding Zanna’s eyes, Delta stared out at the dock, inhaling the heady aroma of magnolia blossoms, unsure whether she would be able to contain her joy. “Humm,” she replied.

  Suddenly she saw Gabriel wielding his fiddle at the end of the gangplank. Surely he wasn’t signaling Brett to come ashore—not here. Surely Brett wouldn’t take such a risk. When she stepped off the gangplank, it seemed to her Gabriel’s tune picked up, but then it could be her own high spirits. She tossed him a broad smile and was surprised to receive one in return.

  From force of habit she turned to scan the boat. No sign of Brett, of course, but she saw Stuart standing at the rail. He waved; she waved back, then nudged Zanna.

  “Turn around and wave, silly.” Suddenly Stuart’s reason for remaining on the boat hit her. “Why isn’t he coming with us?”

  “Duty,” Zanna answered.
r />   “Duty?” For a moment she panicked at the idea that Brett’s ruse might not have worked. “He said Brett went overboard at St. Francisville.”

  Zanna slipped an arm around Delta’s shoulder and they fell in behind the band. Along the sides of the road growing numbers of citizens cheered and clapped. Inside Delta felt queasy.

  “Orville said so,” Zanna was saying, “but Stuart never believed it.”

  “Orville wouldn’t lie,” Delta objected. Forcefully she gripped her emotions. Brett could take care of himself. He’d been a fugitive for ten years, for heaven’s sake. He knew how to protect himself. She should stop worrying about him.

  But he had said he loved her. And that made all the difference. He had said he loved her, and one way or another she intended to help him work out his difficulties. But she had to keep him alive in the meantime.

  The band played their special rendition of “Oh, Dem Golden Slippers.” Cast members passed out playbills describing the matinees to be held each afternoon on the docks, and the evening performances for the next three nights.

  After the free concert Albert and Frankie took the remaining playbills and began tacking them to posts and buildings around town.

  Delta thought of Nat and wondered whether he would turn up here the way he had in Vicksburg after Brett tricked him into missing the boat at OK Bend. So far he hadn’t. She prayed he wouldn’t. Brett had enough enemies in Baton Rouge, what with the Pinkertons and the governor after him.

  Zanna surprised her by offering to accompany her to her interviews. “Where to first?”

  “The capitol building,” Delta answered. “I’ll try to collect all the information I need in one place, so we can return to the boat in time for the matinee.”

  Returning to the boat had become the foremost thought in Delta’s mind. She chided herself with the reminder that Brett wouldn’t come to her until dark. He couldn’t. Yet she longed to return to the boat, where she knew she would feel closer to him.