Lady Gypsy

by Crooks, Pam

  Emotion welled inside her. Her head dipped, her mouth hovering over his. “I love you, too, Reese. More than anything. Anything.”

  “We'll get through this.” His fingers speared into her hair. His breath melded with hers. “I don't know how, but we will. Together.”

  “My wonderful, precious husband.”

  She kissed him long and slow, a drugging kiss that told him again of her love for him, of her gratitude and belief in everything he told her.

  A slow fire built within her, flame by flame. She strained toward him. She wanted more, demanded it. The sheets slid downward, bunching at her hips, but she did not bother with modesty. Why should she, when he now knew her body as well as herself?

  Against the softness of her abdomen, his burgeoning manhood throbbed in response, fanning the fire inside her. She knew the pleasures that lay ahead, and suddenly impatient, her blood raced hot.

  “Love me again, Reese,” she breathed. “Love me now.”

  She rose up over him, her hair a red-gold curtain around them. Her knees parted. straddling his hips, and she took control, giving where once she took, bringing him home and discovering a new kind of ecstasy.

  His breathing grew ragged. Gasp for gasp, the bed rocking with their rhythmic thrusts, they rode together into the sky and touched the stars until they shattered into a thousand pieces and came drifting down, glorious and glittering and delightfully sated.

  A persistent dinging pulled Liza from the blissful depths of slumber. She frowned, resisting the sound, and snuggled closer against the solid warmth of Reese's body.

  An annoyance, those Gaje alarm clocks.

  She did not want to get up. She wanted to stay tangled in her husband's arms and legs forever, never leaving their wonderful big bed. But already the sun's brilliant rays beamed into the room, hinting of a dawn long since past.

  A heavy groan rumbled from Reese, and he rolled to his side of the mattress, reaching over to stop the ringing. His arms came back around her.

  “I have to go into town,” he mumbled against her hair.

  “Stay with me another day.” Though she had not yet opened her eyes, her lips found his chest easily in a brief, pleading kiss.

  “I have to meet with the cartel.”

  “Stay with me.” Her tongue swirled lazy circles around his nipple.

  “I have to work for a living.” Amusement laced his tone. He nuzzled her cheek with his whiskery jaw until, fully awake, she giggled and pushed him away. “We've hardly left this bed for three days, my lusty wife, except to eat and bathe and see to the chores. And you want another?”

  “I do. I am insatiable.” Having deciphered the true meaning of the word at some point throughout their loving, she lifted her bare shoulder in an uncaring shrug. “You said so yourself.”

  “That I did. And it's my great fortune you are.” He planted a loud kiss on her mouth. “However, I have to get up.”

  He tossed the covers aside and heaved himself out of bed, but Liza delayed, her mouth pursed in a pout.

  She had been shameless with him these past days. The hour had not mattered. Early or late, she wanted him. It seemed so long ago she despaired of being desired as a wife, as a woman, yet Reese proved her wrong. Every touch, every spoken word, every fervent kiss affirmed he treasured her as his.

  Her gaze riveted to his lean, naked body as he moved about the room washing and shaving and choosing his clothes. Little muscles rolled in his taut buttocks, bigger ones in his thighs. She relived the feel of his flat belly beneath her palms, the hard flex of his biceps. God's saints, even the dark thatch in his armpits excited her.

  A liquid heat pooled between her legs, and she squirmed, resisting the need to pull him back into bed for another around of coupling, knowing this time he must refuse and understanding why. She reluctantly slipped from beneath the sheets and doused her longings by making quick work of her own washing and dressing, then departing for the kitchen.

  By the time she fried eggs with ham and potatoes, he joined her, dressed in the same crisp black suit he had married her in, and ready for his important meeting with railroad investors. Losing Bram Kaldwell's backing had been a great worry for him, she knew, to say nothing of the blow to their friendship, and she prayed silently that all would go well so that he would not forfeit both Bram and the N & D.

  All too soon, he was ready to leave, and at his urging, she walked with him to the corral. While he saddled the stallion, her spirits plummeted, for the day stretched out before her, unusually long and lonely.

  She clasped her hands behind her back and twirled the toe of her shoe in the soft dirt.

  “I will miss you today,” she murmured.

  He glanced up from the clinch. ''I’ll miss you, too.”

  Though she knew he spoke the truth, most likely he would be very busy with his men and his railroad and would not miss her as much as he thought he would.

  She, on the other hand, had no one to talk to or be with. Even Hank would not come to call, now that she was married.

  “Maybe I will go to Maudeen's for a visit,” she mused.

  “Good idea. She loves having you.”

  “Or maybe I will pick gooseberries for a pie.”

  “That's good, too.”

  With her kumpania , she was never lonely with so much family around. Even little Tekla and Putzi provided company, along with all the other Gypsy children. Oh, to have a child of her own . . ..

  On impulse, she flung her arms wide and spun about, flaring her bright red skirts and jangling her bead necklaces.

  “I wish I had a dozen babies to take care of when you are at work. Babies in the house, in the yard, in my arms. Babies everywhere!”

  “Ah, Mrs. Carrison.” Reese stepped behind her, his hands winding around to splay across her abdomen. “Nothing would please me more than to fill your belly with my seed and watch it grow round with our child.”

  She leaned into him, covering his hands with hers. “And we will have beautiful children, will we not? Children with dark hair and golden-brown eyes--”

  “--and burnished copper hair and black eyes, and the girls will wear earrings and bracelets--”

  “--and they’ll all love trains and horses and--”

  He twirled her around to face him, his hard kiss smothering the words, igniting a not-long-banked passion in them both. Through her skirts, his swollen maleness cried out his want, a want Liza ached to fill.

  He dragged his mouth from hers. His breathing jagged, he tilted his head back and squinted into the sun, as if gauging its position in the sky. He grunted his decision.

  “Ten minutes, wife,” he said. “That's all I'll give you.”

  And he scooped her into his arm and carried her back into the house.

  Chapter 16

  Reese strode across the depot and burst into his office. The door swung shut with an inadvertent slam, the glass panes, emblazoned with the words Nebraska-Dakota Railroad, rattling with his arrival.

  Harriet Browning jumped, nearly toppling her inkwell onto the ledger pages spread out before her. The gray-haired grandmother of ten came in a few mornings a week to assist in the mountain of paperwork required to run a railroad, but rarely arrived before Reese.

  “I'm late,” he said needlessly, plucking his hat from his head and tossing it on the coatrack near her desk.

  “So I see.”

  “Are they here yet?” He indicated the closed door leading to the tiny workplace he called his.

  “Yes, sir. Have been for a while now.”

  He brushed the dust from his cuffs, tugged his sleeves lower about his wrists, and checked his tie to make sure it hung straight. After raking a hand through his hair, he drew in a deep breath and grasped the knob.

  Harriet's pen hovered once more over the inkwell. Her lips twitched. “Setting the alarm clock one half hour earlier allows plenty of time for marital companionship. Leastways it did for Arthur and me.”

  Reese's mouth quirked wryly. “Thanks, Harr
iet. I'll remember that.”

  Then he opened the door and faced the quartet of pinstripe-suited, cigar-smoking men who waited for him.

  For two hours, he plied the benefits of the Nebraska-Dakota Railroad to the northern part of the state and Niobrara City itself; provided figures of costs and income from shipping crops and livestock to Omaha and points east; stressed the profits made, small but steady and with a potential to grow higher over time. In a quiet voice, he told the cartel all these things while his heartbeat tight with fear in his chest that they would not see them as significant, that they would deny him the precious financial backing he needed to keep his train running on its track.

  Afterward, he dined with them at the Grand River Hotel, sparing no expense and wishing Bram was with him. Far more experienced at wooing and wheedling, Bram had a natural ability to charm and sway in both business and social circles, while Reese relied on gut instinct to find his way. But then, he reminded himself grimly, had Bram been here, the cartel would not.

  As they lingered over after-dinner brandies and leisurely smokes, he invited the men on a horseback-guided tour of the railroad, its track and stations, and of course, the trestle bridge. To his great relief, they accepted, and everyone saddled up.

  The weather worked to his advantage. It was a clear day, with the sun high enough in the sky to warm their backs without drawing a sweat, the air crisp and clean in their lungs. They conversed constantly, questions and answers flying forth between them with ease.

  They paused at the ridge overlooking Skull Canyon. Below, the bridge towered over a narrow stream glistening on the canyon floor. Reese spoke of the bridge with pride, pointing out the hundreds of wooden planks that crisscrossed across the massive opening, shoring up the rails that would guide the train from one side to the other.

  The cartel was duly impressed.

  “A fine piece of workmanship, Reese.”

  “Stupendous!”

  “But what of Silas McCrae?” Jim Worthington, his portly belly straining his vest buttons, pointed to the heavy timbers. “He burned out a quarter mile of track, didn't he? There's a hell of a lot of lumber in that bridge, Reese. What will keep McCrae from destroying it as well?”

  Up to now, the day's discussions and tour had worked in Reese's favor. Obviously, the cartel's concern over Silas McCrae would not.

  “We'll post a guard if we have to.” Reese pointed toward a stretch of sparse woodlands nearby. “I've thought of clearing this area of land and building a post---.” He halted, his attention caught by a snippet of blue fabric waving from a cottonwood branch high over their heads. He frowned but continued. “If we ride over here”--he urged the stallion forward twenty yards, and the men followed--” you can see that a man can easily watch--.”

  He halted again, another piece of the fabric catching his eye. His concentration faltered, and he shot a glance to the ground.

  Deep grooves in the soft dirt wove the entire length of the ridge, the tracks pummeled by countless well-shod hooves.

  “A guard post, you say?” Worthington prompted.

  A strange arrangement of stones with a single stick pointing forward to the north, a symbol Reese had never seen before but one he recognized.

  The men of the cartel faded out of his awareness, their questions dying to a buzz in his head. Filled with a slow, heavy dread, Reese mouthed a fervent curse.

  Liza hummed an old Gypsy tune while she picked gooseberries, choosing only the ripest and best of the fruit, and filling the tin bucket to near overflowing. The shrubs lined a trickling stream located a pleasant walk from Reese's house, and they grew wild for the taking. She had grown partial to Gaje pastry and could already taste a flaky pie on her tongue, juicy and sweet and baked to perfection.

  With a tinkle of her bracelet, she dropped the last berry on the pile and straightened, easing the ache from the small of her back. Her mind busy with thoughts of washing and stemming the fruit for the next step in preparing the pie, she hardly noticed the shadow rising over her.

  It loomed larger. The grass behind her rustled, prickling the fine hairs on the back of her neck. A horse blew softly nearby, and an instant image of Silas McCrae flashed in her mind. She whirled.

  “Hanzi!”

  The sight of him jolted her when she had fully expected to see the raging fur trapper in his buffalo hides and dirty beard. A cry of joy bubbled in her throat.

  But there was no elation, no answering smile, on her brother's young features. Stone-faced, he stared back at her.

  “What is this thing you have done, Liza?”

  His chilling demand sent cold reality whirling through her brain.

  The time had come.

  The sound of jangling harnesses seeped through her dread. One by one, high-wheeled wagons, too many to count, certainly more than the entire Lowara tribe, rumbled to a stop. The horizon was filled with them, her people, all of whom had finally come back for her.

  Nanosh leaped from the last rig. A door creaked open, and Mama stepped out. Behind her emerged Paprika with Tekla in her arms, and Putzi, his little legs scampering to keep up.

  Like an angry boar, Nanosh stormed toward her. Before Liza could greet him, he drew close. His beefy hand came up, striking her across the cheek with a force that sent her sprawling into the weeds.

  She cried out in surprise and pain. Her hair, held back only by the tortoiseshell combs Reese preferred, flung over her eyes and face, and she clawed at the strands, lest he hit her again.

  “She-dog! For nineteen winters, I raised you as mine, and you repay me only with dishonor!” he said in a snarl.

  “No!” she gasped, pressing her palm to her fiery cheek. Her mind reeled from the blow, from his accusations.

  Mama rushed forward. “I prayed to the great spirits it was not true, that my daughter would not be so stupid. In God's love, Liza, tell me you did not do this!”

  “She wears his ring,” Hanzi said dully.

  “Yes.” Nanosh's features darkened with contempt. “The Gajo speaks the truth, then.”

  He lunged for her, as if to land another punishing slap. Liza scrambled to her feet and through sheer agility managed to dodge him. Bosom heaving, she watched him with a wary eye, watched all of them as they centered her with their dark, accusing gazes.

  “For many days and many nights we searched to find you,” Mama said, her weathered face full of anguish. “We leave behind the vurma, but you do not find it. We leave messages among our people, but no one has seen you. You disappear--poof!--into thin air. Even Hanzi cannot find you when he goes back to the Gaje town where we saw you last.”

  “And then we hear of the big wedding.” Hanzi's lip curled. “A Gypsy and a Gajo. Everyone talks. The Rom are amazed. They cannot imagine anything more shameful.”

  “All the tribes mock us.” Tears streamed down Mama's cheeks. “Have I not taught you well, daughter? Have I shamed you so much that you must shame me back?”

  “No, Mama!” Liza said hoarsely. She never dreamed a pain as terrible as that which speared her now, a pain as deep and burning as any sharp-bladed knife might wield.

  “We travel along the railroad tracks to find our way quickly back to Niobrara City,” Nanosh sneered. “A Gajo who works with the big train tells us how to find Reese Carrison. He says you will be with him.” He pursed his lips and hurled a stream of spittle at her skirt hems. “Why do we come back? Why? You do not deserve to be Gypsy!”

  Liza sucked a breath inward. There was no worse curse than that.

  “Look at you, Liza!” Mama sobbed. Her features twisted with torment, she sank to her knees and spread her hands wide. “Your hair--no braid, no kerchief. Nothing! Free to the wind for all to see--have you no honor?”

  “Mama, please!”

  Liza had never seen her so distraught. A high-pitched wail filled the air, dredged from the deepest bowels of her mother's soul. Her faded kerchief clinging to her hairless scalp, she curled into a tight ball of hysteria, her brown fists pounding th
e weeds and grass.

  “Oh, Mama. Do not do this! I cannot bear it!” Arms outstretched, Liza bent toward her, needing to comfort her for the pain she had wrought and hold her grief-wracked body against her own.

  “Do not touch her!” Nanosh's bark stopped her cold.

  “She is my mother!” Liza cried.

  “She gave you life, but you do not deserve to be called ‘daughter’,” he spat.

  Liza jerked back as if he had struck her again. Her chin trembled. “How can you say such a thing?”

  “I say it because it is the truth.”

  “Enough, Nanosh!” Another man's authoritative bark halted Nanosh's fury. “You do not give her a chance to defend herself.”

  Liza's gaze darted toward a short, slightly-built man, a man whom she had not seen in many years, but one she recognized with much dread.

  Uncle Pepe. Mama's brother. Leader of the ominous kris. Her knees wobbled beneath her. His presence explained the extra wagons, the many Gypsies staring through windows and doors. In that instant, she realized the kumpania s had banded together to find her and that justice would be served.

  Her stomach heaved with horror.

  “Calm yourself, Pesha,” Uncle Pepe commanded.

  Immediately, Mama's wails ended, softening to little hiccups. Her body unfurled to lay limp and prone in the weeds, as if she did not have the strength to rise.

  Uncle Pepe's black-eyed glance fastened on Liza.

  “We are in the Gaje world now.” His slender arm swept before him, indicating the cultivated fields of corn and wheat adjoining Reese's land, the ribbon of road leading into Niobrara City, the tiny shapes of barns and houses in the distance.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “This is not the place for us to settle the grave matter of your marriage,” he said. His glittering perusal held her captive with the immensity of his power among her people. A pencil-thin mustache lined his upper lip. His gold tooth shined in the sun. “Come with us, and we will find another.”