I didn’t love him. I never would, never could, not after Derek, but I realized that I liked Jeff Rawlins in a way I had never been able to like Derek. I had never been able to chat with Derek, to be completely natural and at ease with him as I was with Jeff. Jeff was a playful scamp who loved to tease me, loved to argue, yet this made him none the less virile, a manly man who was a superb lover. It would be so much easier to be in love with him than it had been to be in love with Derek. Eyes closed, body weary, I forced the thought of Derek out of my mind, struggling to contain all those bitter, painful emotions that threatened to surface again.
I must have fallen asleep, for the next thing I knew, I was struggling up through heavy blue-black clouds, moaning as something soft and fuzzy tickled my nose. I opened my eyes to see Jeff’s face inches from my own, his brown eyes dancing with amusement, his wide pink mouth stretching into that familiar grin as he ran the fuzzy leaf across my nose one more time. I slapped at it irritably, frowning at him. Jeff tossed the leaf aside and lowered his mouth over mine and turned his head to one side in order to make our noses fit. Against my will, I lifted my arms and ran my palms over his broad back, rubbing the rough buckskin and feeling the muscles beneath as he continued to kiss me, lazily, thoroughly.
He raised his head and peered into my eyes. His own were filled with affection.
“Figured it was time we got a move on,” he said in that lovely, softly slurred voice.
“I’ve been asleep.”
“Darn near half an hour you’ve been sleepin’. I just let ya. Ya know what?”
“What? I asked.
“Your face is dirty. There’s a streak of dirt right there.” He touched my jaw. “Your hair’s all tangled, too, and your clothes are a mess. And ya know what? You ain’t never been more appetizin’.”
“Is that a fact?”
He climbed to his feet and peered down at me, shaking his head. “It’s a fact. If I didn’t have such a strong will—”
I sat up, brushing pine needles from my hair. “Yes?”
“If I didn’t have such a strong will, we’d never get to Natchez.”
Reaching down, he took hold of my wrist and pulled me to my feet. I was still a bit groggy, and I still felt a warm, comfortable glow from that prolonged kiss. He held me cradled against him for a moment, smiling a lazy, satisfied smile. Jeff was still feeling a glow, too. When his thighs touched mine, I felt tangible proof of it as he pressed against me.
“Damned if you ain’t bewitchin’! I’m gonna have ta watch you, wench, I’m gonna have ta be strong and purposeful. A man could dally with you all day and never get nothin’ done.”
“You want to dally?”
He chuckled and whacked me lustily on the backside, giving me a shove toward the mules.
“Get on with you! I’m onto your tricks, wench. We got a long trek ahead of us ’fore we reach that waterfall I was tellin’ you about, and you ain’t gonna trick me into wastin’ no more time.”
I felt good as we continued on our way. I enjoyed his teasing, enjoyed his peculiar, roughhewn gallantry. He was strong, and he was purposeful, too, yet he had let me sleep for a full half-hour. He was considerate, and … and he was strangely tender. Robust and lusty, yes, but there was tenderness, too, the kind of tenderness Derek Hawke had never once displayed. Jeff Rawlins claimed to equate a woman with a good meal and a fine glass of whiskey, something to be enjoyed but never taken seriously, yet … that kiss had been so very tender, expressing an emotion he probably wasn’t even aware of himself. I wondered if he could possibly be falling in love with me.
I was imagining things, I told myself. Surely. He had gone for thirty-two years without falling in love, and he wasn’t fool enough to let himself fall in love now, not with an indentured wench he planned to sell to a whorehouse as soon as we reached New Orleans. He … he was just naturally affectionate, and that warmth, that tenderness meant nothing. He would turn me over to the madam and walk away and never give me another thought. I was nothing more than a piece of merchandise to him. He enjoyed me, yes, just as he must have enjoyed a number of other women he had transported over this same trail, for the same purpose. He might joke about not being able to give me up, but he would give me up soon enough when enough pieces of gold changed hands.
We were riding along a ridge now, the trail narrow, pine trees dense on our right. On our left the land sloped down steeply to a valley far below. I could see more mountains across the valley, tops a hazy purple in the distance, more like soft violet, looming up against the pale-blue sky. The valley was a patchwork of greens, tans, and brown, shot through with the silver sparkle of a stream. A large brown bird swirled lazily in the air, gradually circling down to the valley. Jeff told me it was an eagle. We stopped once to watch two furry black bear cubs gamboling down the side of the slope, an enormous black mother bear moving ponderously behind them.
“I didn’t know there were bears,” I said.
“Lots of ’em,” he replied. “Don’t worry. They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them.”
“Those cubs are so adorable. Look, they seem to be skipping, and then they’ll curl up and roll. The mother bear looks so patient—”
“She’d tear you to shreds if you so much as touched one of her young ’uns. Riled up, a bear can be deadly. Claws like steel. Wouldn’t want to tangle with one myself.”
The bears disappeared from sight, and we moved on. A short while later the trail turned sharply to our left, into the forest, and we left the ridge behind. We might be on top of the mountain, but the ground was as level, the forest as dense as it had been before. Although there were still many pines, most of the trees had large, leafy limbs. Jeff named half a dozen kinds for me, none of which I had ever heard of before. How different this forest was from the forests in England, so much wilder, so much larger. Would anyone ever be able to tame all this wilderness? I doubted it, despite what Jeff said to the contrary. There were far too many civilized places for people to settle in for anyone to waste time and effort trying to live amidst all this rugged splendor.
It was still early, perhaps four o’clock, when we reached the clearing where we would spend the night. Situated beneath a small but exceedingly steep wall of gray rock down which the waterfall cascaded, it was surrounded on three sides by woods and intersected by the narrow stream, the bed golden brown and just deep enough for wading. No more than fifteen feet high, the waterfall splashed and splattered into a shallow pool, spraying thin mist. It was a lovely spot, the ground grassy and soft, the trees making living green and brown walls. Vines covered with pendant-shaped purple flowers climbed up the gray rock on either side of the waterfall.
Jeff and I dismounted. He removed the packs from the mules and, after drinking from the stream, they began to graze under the shade of the trees. I stood near the waterfall, watching the sunlight play in the mist and causing rainbow-hued patterns to shimmer. Jeff came up to stand behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders.
“Like it?”
“It’s a charming place,” I replied.
“Ready for a bath?”
“I’d rather eat first. I’m hungry.”
“There’re a lot of wild turkeys ’round here. Heard one gobbling just a minute ago. I’ll go shoot us one in a little while. I’m thinkin’ I’d like to cool off first—”
“Go right ahead,” I told him.
Suddenly I felt his hands on my shoulder blades. He gave me a mighty shove. I cried out, stumbling, and a second later I found myself splashing into the pool directly beneath the waterfall. I was soaked immediately, of course, and when I tried to stand up the waterfall knocked me back down. He stood a few feet away, laughing uproariously. I was not at all amused. Finally getting to my feet, I stepped out from under the waterfall. Skirt and blouse clung wetly, and my hair was plastered to my skull in wet strands. I took off my shoes and tossed them onto the grass, staring at him with an expression that should have killed.
“That wasn’t funny!
”
“You look like a drowned rat.”
I held my hand out. “Here, help me out—”
And when he took hold of my hand I gave a mighty tug and his eyes widened in surprise and he came crashing into the water on all fours. Now it was my turn to laugh. Jeff spluttered and coughed and then wrapped his arms around my knees and toppled me back down into the water and, like two children, we wrestled and splashed each other. Then we were standing directly under the waterfall and he was kissing me, kissing me furiously, and we both fell down into the pool and the water pelted us as his lips continued to cover my own. He released me and laughed again and clambered out of the water to dig a bar of soap out of one of the packs. He tossed it to me, then kicked off his soggy moccasins and pulled off his wet buckskin tunic and began to wriggle out of the clinging breeches.
Naked, he lunged into the water again, knocking me over on my back, and I struggled furiously as he undressed me, slinging the wet clothes onto the grass. The bar of soap was bobbing around in the pool. Jeff grabbed it and handed it back to me and ordered me to wash him, and I did. Delighted, standing up in the pool, covered with suds, he washed me in turn, and pulled me into the waterfall again so that the suds was rinsed off both of us. He kissed me once again, and once again we lost our footing and went tumbling into the pool. Wrapping one arm around my throat, he ducked me under the water, roaring with laughter when I came up spluttering and coughing. I dug my elbow into his ribs, sending him crashing backwards, and he caught hold of my foot and pulled me down beside him.
We spent another ten minutes in wildly abandoned frolic, and then he pulled me out of the water and shoved me down on the soft grass.
We made love explosively, a furious, passionate wrestling match unlike anything I had ever experienced before. I fought him, deliberately, and he was much rougher than he had ever been, crushing, clasping, spearing me with his passion while I struggled and kicked and, finally, permitted him to subdue me as our energetic tussle came to an explosive climax. Jeff held me then, held me tenderly in his arms, kissing my nipples, my shoulders, nuzzling my throat as minutes passed, and after a while he lowered me back onto the grass and made love to me again with incredible tenderness, slowly, gently, giving himself completely even as he took, and I knew then that I had not been mistaken earlier on. He was in love with me, even if he wasn’t aware of it himself. This was love, not sex, love expressed in a manner far more poignant and meaningful than words could have expressed it. As I caressed his shoulders, his back, his buttocks, as I rose to meet him and held him to me, every fiber of my being told me I was right, told me Jeff Rawlins loved me in every sense of the word.
We bathed again, briefly, and the sun quickly dried our bodies, and then we dressed, Jeff getting into the set of buckskins the girl Lita had cleaned for him at the inn. I struggled into fresh petticoats and put on an old yellow cotton dress with short sleeves and a square-cut neckline. Jeff looked sheepish now, grinning, and when both of us were dressed he gave me a tight hug and a quick, smacking kiss. I touched his cheek, looking into those merry brown eyes and wishing we had met long ago, under entirely different circumstances.
“Reckon I’d better go after that turkey now,” he said lazily. “Shouldn’t take me long to pick one off. You behave yourself while I’m gone.”
“There’s a little soap left. I’m going to wash our clothes. Does buckskin shrink?”
“A little. You can’t hurt ’em none. They’re already soaking wet.”
He fetched his rifle and, crossing the stream, sauntered on into the woods on the other side, buckskin fringe swaying as he rolled his shoulders jauntily. Pensive now, still filled with that delicious glow that was the aftermath of love, I gathered up the wet clothes and the remains of the soap and took them over to the stream, kneeling on the bank. I heard Jeff’s footsteps receding in the distance, and then there was silence but for the constant soft splatter of the waterfall. As I washed the clothes, I thought about what had happened and what it meant, and I was sad, for I didn’t want him to love me. It could only complicate matters.
I intended to escape at the first opportunity, and, ironically enough, I found myself thinking how much that was going to hurt him. He trusted me, already. He had invested all his money in me, and when I was gone he would be penniless … I mustn’t let myself think that way. I was too fond of him, much too fond, and even though I didn’t love him, I felt closer to him than I had ever felt to anyone, even Derek. It was nothing but the enforced proximity, I told myself. I had to harden my heart. I had to be on guard constantly. He might love me, but that wouldn’t prevent him from selling me. Not for a minute.
Wringing the clothes out, I took them over to one of the thorny shrubs growing at the edge of the clearing and carefully draped them on the branches. There was still plenty of sunlight, and with any luck they would be dry before nightfall. As I readjusted the skirt so that it would hang more evenly, I thought I heard a footstep in the woods directly behind the shrub. I paused, listening closely, but the sound was not repeated. It had probably been some small woods creature, I thought, as I strolled on over to the pile of packs Jeff had taken off the mules.
Digging through them until I found my hairbrush, I sat down on the lumpy pile and began to brush my hair. It was almost dry now, soft and feathery, only slightly damp at the ends. It was nice to be clean again, to be rid of the dirt and grime, to smell of soap. My yellow dress was the color of buttercups in the sunlight, and even though it was old, the bodice too tight, the full skirt neatly patched in half a dozen places, I knew that it emphasized my bosom and slender waist and went well with my auburn hair. I wanted to look nice for him for a change, even though I didn’t love him, even though I intended to betray his trust in the near future.
As I finished brushing my hair, I had the impression that someone was watching me. It was a very strong sensation, and I gazed nervously toward the trees where I had imagined I heard a footstep. It couldn’t be Jeff. He had gone off in the other direction, on the other side of the stream. I saw only trees and thick shrubbery, the clothes strewn over the thorny bush already beginning to dry in the strong sunlight. The sensation persisted and grew stronger. I could actually feel eyes staring at me, watching my every gesture. I knew I wasn’t imagining it. I put the brush aside and stood up, my heart beginning to palpitate rapidly.
A twig snapped loudly, so loudly it could be heard over the splatter of the waterfall. Shrubbery moved, leaves shaking. I was paralyzed with fear, expecting a tall bronze savage with feathers and war paint to leap out with a bloodcurdling cry. The rifle! Where was the rifle? Jeff had taken his, of course, but mine was … He had taken the sling off Jenny and put it down behind the packs. It was behind me then, on the ground, not two yards away. I must get it at once. I was terrified now as another twig snapped and heavy footsteps crushed twigs and leaves. I couldn’t move. I was frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare in horror at the shrubbery that was parting, branches separating to make way for the man behind them.
He was tall and lean. His dark-brown hair was wildly unruly, his features roughhewn, blue eyes half concealed by drooping lids. His nose was humped, obviously broken at some time and improperly set. His boots were black, as were his clinging trousers. His vivid blue shirt was of some silky material, open at the throat, bagging slightly over his belt. The sleeves were full-gathered. A hunting knife hung in a scabbard on his right hip, and a long pistol was jammed into the waistband of his trousers. He stood there at the edge of the clearing, gazing at me, and I felt waves of relief sweep over me.
“You—you frightened me out of my wits—” I said hoarsely. “I thought you were an Indian—”
“Did you now?”
“I heard something in the woods, and—and I’m just glad to see you’re not carrying a tomahawk.”
The man allowed a wry grin to curl briefly on one side of his mouth. “I was kinda alarmed myself, if you wanna know the truth. I heard something human movin’ up ahead�
�that’s what I thought, too, thought it was a redskin. I crept up real quiet and peered through the bushes. I was mighty relieved to see it wuzn’t a Chickasaw.”
His voice was a lazy drawl, slurred like Jeff’s, but coarser. There was a rough, raspy quality, as though it hurt his throat to speak. He looked like a highwayman with that broken nose and those drooping lids, but then I imagined most men out here looked that way. Jackson, for example, would have frightened little children.
“Always keep an eye peeled for redskins,” he continued. “My brother and I had a run-in with three braves four days ago. Bastards stole one of our horses, would’ve made off with the other one if we hadn’t spotted ’em and started shooting. Now we just got one horse between us.”
“Are you traveling on the Trace?”
“More or less,” he replied. He looked beyond me at the mules. “Them look like Rawlins’s mules.”
“They are. Do you know him?”
The man nodded slowly, a peculiar look in his eyes. “Reckon I do,” he drawled. “You must be one of his women. He about?”
“He went off into the woods to shoot a turkey, but he should be back in a little while. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you. We ran into another friend of his a few days ago—Jackson, a trader. Perhaps you know Jackson, too. He—”
I cut myself short. The man was clearly not listening. That peculiar look was still in his eyes. He seemed to be contemplating something, weighing the pros and cons. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like it at all. There was something disturbing about this stranger. His manner was … guarded, and he seemed to be keeping something from me. Why had he been wandering in the woods like that? Why had he been spying on me for so long before making his presence known? My uneasiness returned. The man looked up, noticing my expression. He lifted the corner of his mouth again, casually stroking the hilt of his hunting knife.
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