Dangerous Waters

by Amy J. Fetzer

  ' 'And what do you mean, Chris?''

  His gaze sketched her face, so lovely and dirty and for a fleeting moment, he saw fear, unshuttered, without the steel of her composure, but soft and vulnerable. I mean to keep you, he thought. I mean to love you until you can't stand it and then I mean to love you more. But she wasn't ready to hear that. She wasn't ready for anything he had in mind.

  But Victoria saw it in his face, in his incredibly dark eyes, and her heart thundered up to her throat, threatening with a cry, her fingers mapping the creases of his face and for a moment, she let herself dream and float. Go ahead, love me, she thought. Love me so much while I'm here, it will last a lifetime when I leave.

  "God, Tori, when you look at me like that, all I can think about is—"

  "Christopher!" came this time filled with warning. " 'Tis improper behavior I'm seem', laddie."

  "Jeez, I hope not," Chris murmured with a glance down. "She'll box my ears or something."

  Victoria laughed, rising up as he sat back. They stared for a moment and she felt as if she were the most beautiful creature in the world.

  Ridiculous.

  "Coming, Miss Abigale," Victoria answered, trapped in his gaze as he stood and held out his hand. She accepted the help, her body screaming with bruises and when she straightened in front of him, she leaned into his embrace.

  "Kissing a deal out of me was not fair."

  He gave her a rascally smile. "You said you like my kisses."

  Her hand smoothed down his hips to his thigh, bringing tension and pleasure with it. "That's not all I like." She nuzzled his throat, her fingers boldly shaping the bulge in his trousers and Chris froze, his lungs half full, his body reacting with embarrassing quickness.

  And she felt it. "Hmm? That why they call you Swift Arrow?''

  He choked, casting her a lazy half-lidded stare and Victoria grinned up at him, then moved around him, her hand lingering on his body before she slipped away to open the doors. Chris didn't move a muscle. He couldn't. He was going to snap in half if he did.

  "Ought to be a shamed of yourself, Christopher," Abigale hissed, glaring at her employer's back.

  "Shameless, wasn't he?" Victoria said, and behind her Chris's shoulders shook softly.

  "Imagine the man verbally bludgeoning you like that. Laird kens I've taught him better," she tisked, urging her up the short staircase and into a guest room. Chris was there, on the threshold and for the second time that day a woman shoved him back. Abigale sniffed the air. Chris grinned. And she took great satisfaction in closing the door in his face.

  Abigale turned and Victoria folded on the spot, clutching her stomach.

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  Quickly, Abigale knelt beside her.

  "Lass?" She stroked her mussed hair off her face, feeling her forehead.

  "It's my period. My monthly," she added when the woman frowned.

  "Have you dousing strips?"

  Good God, what the hell was that? '

  'No.''

  "Well, you just wait right here."

  "Um ... ma'am?"

  "Call me Abigale, lass."

  Those were the kindest eyes in the universe, she thought, like Grandma. "Do you think you could find some cotton, string and a few strips of cloth? Scissors, too,"

  "I believe I can," she said, frowning a little. *4You get out of those clothes."

  She left her alone and Victoria struggled to stand. God, I just love being a girl, she thought cynically, scarcely noticing the room. It was going to break inside her, she could feel the bloating pressure and was grateful that it had waited until now to start. Thank God it only lasted a couple days.

  Abigale returned in a few moments, a small basket on her arm and Victoria was still sitting on the edge of a chair, trying to work off her books. Her feet were swollen, most of the area she covered too rocky to risk the mare's legs. Which was wise, since she'd fallen off that mountain twice and every bone in her body felt nicked.

  "I've got a bath running for you." She set the basket aside as Victoria looked up.

  "Running? As in running water?"

  Abigale beamed. "The only home in the territory," she explained as she busied herself with helping the girl off with her clothes. "Pumps into the house, into a fancy room Christo­pher built. There be a stove for heating water. My back is thankful for that, you ken. Buckets are heavy." She tisked at the blisters and bruises coloring her body as she helped her into a robe. " 'Tis mine, lovey," she smiled as the garment circled the girl nearly twice around.

  Grabbing the basket, she crooked her ringer and Victoria kicked her satchel into the corner, then padded to the door, Abigale peeking out, obviously scoping the area for any male intruders, then waving her down the hall and into another room. It was cute, large, understandably old fashioned, slightly mascu­line; dark green rugs lay on the wood floor, with polished brass and wood fixtures and green curtains. Water simmered on a small black stove and while Abigale worked a pump, spilling more into the claw footed tub, Victoria examined the drain pipe disappearing into the floor, recalling that the blacksmith had made Chris a decent length of pipe. For this? Stacks of towels, wrapped cakes of soap and assorted bottles and jars filled a tall open armoire, and a chair of sorts rested in the corner, a huge brass canister fixed directly above it on the wall. And a chain.

  "There you go, lovey," Abigale said after emptying the huge kettle of water. She swished, testing the temperature, then refilled the kettle from the pump and replaced it on the stove. "Give a call if you need me." Victoria dragged her attention from the canister to the older woman. "Your necessaries are

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  in there." She gestured to the basket on a low table she'd moved close and smiled, a rosey I'm-glad-you're-here smile before she left. It made her feel welcome, and Victoria recalled how Abigale bossed Chris like a mother. And what about that English butler, she wondered, then dismissed her curiosity and immediately walked over to a chair and lifted the seat, sighing with absolute relief and joy. A toilet. She peered into the ham­mered brass bowl, then up at the canister. A flushing toilet! Crude but... oh, this was silly—getting excited over a toilet. Closing the lid, she moved to the tub, her steps measured and careful, and slowly peeled off the robe. She ached all over. And smelled like something undefinable. God, how could Chris even want to kiss her when she reeked like this? But he did, she thought, smiling, glad he'd done his best to bully her into staying. The last thing she wanted right now was to glue on a disguise and live in the saloon without Vel, she admitted, gingerly stepping into the tub. Her feet sizzled as the water seeped into the cuts and blisters, and she sank into the hot water with a low moan. The scrap on her side stung mercilessly, a reminder.

  "Thank you, God, for not letting me fall into that mine," she said, then dunked herself fully, working dirt and grime from her hair.

  Sliding up the back of the cool porcelain, she laid her head against the rim. Stream rose in slow curls from the surface and she hunted for the energy to wash, the heat soothing her cramps to a dull throb and making her sleepy. Lazily she reached for the soap, lathering and scrubbing until she was squeaky clean. Her hair was another matter, since the water was too dirty to make this a success, but Abigale who could only have been lingering outside the door to know Victoria needed her, bustled in to rinse Victoria's hair. Then as if sensing her need for a long soak, Abigale freshened the bath water, draining half and refilling the tub.

  A few minutes later, with her clean hair wrapped in a towel, Victoria hung over the side of the tub, making tampons. This is a hoot, she thought. It was easy; heavy cotton wadding halved

  with string, dampened, then rolled tightly in a short strip of cloth. When it dried, it would be stiffer, serviceable, but now, she had enough to last the next days. God, I'm sharp, she commended herself, then collected the necessities into the bas­ket
. She didn't see Abigale peek in nor watch her make one, and slowly stood in the tub, taking up the pitcher and sluicing warm water over her body.

  Popping the drain cork, she left the tub, preparing herself for the inevitable, then donned the oversized robe and discarded the head towel seconds before Abigale rapped.

  Victoria responded and Abigale poked her head around the door. "Oh, you look a sight better."

  "I feel better," Victoria said, eternally grateful. "Thank you."

  Abigale swung the door open and gestured. ' 'Come, lovey, I've a tray of food and a warm bed for you."

  Victoria smiled through a yawn and relinquished herself to Abigale's care. She hadn't been treated like this since she was a kid, home sick from school and she decided that after the past weeks, she deserved at least to sleep in a decent bed, without a mask, without the worry of Becket hovering over her white she caught a few Zs.

  That was one reason she didn't want to go back to the saloon. She had a feeling Becket was wise to her and she'd no intention of getting a blade in her ribs just to be stubborn. Chris was right, she admitted, following the chubby house­keeper down the hall. Clara would be suspect, perfect should he be accused, and she needed to let the memory of the mousy girl fade.

  Deep in her own thoughts, she didn't realize she was in a room until Abigale threw open a large window.

  Victoria glanced around, checking first for her satchel, then noticed the decor. The colors were softer than what little she'd seen of the house, paler greens, mauve instead of the deep maroon in Chris's study and in the foyer, more cream than anything.

  "It's so ... feminine," she said with honest surprise.

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  Abigale glanced over her shoulder as she untied curtain bows. "Christopher let me do up this one." She went to the next window, releasing the bow. "I told him the house was too masculine, no lass would want to come visit.''

  "Like Camille?"

  Abigale spun around, her face flushing red. "You know of her?"

  Victoria nodded. "And I know he's half Cheyenne, too." " Tis not a bother for you?" Abigale ventured softly. "No, Abigale," Victoria said, tiredly dropping on the bed. "And I have to warn you," she was thinking of this woman's proper sensibilities as she spoke. "I'm not like most women. Sometimes it doesn't make me very happy, but I just can't help it. I've worked with men too long not to have a few, no, several sharp edges. This," she gestured to the delicate room, "is something I've rarely experienced in the past five years."

  Except for my daughter, she thought, absently accepting the brush and dragging it through her hair. Trisha had everything little girls wanted—Barbies, tiny purses and fake make-up, fancy dresses, hats and patent leather shoes. And for a moment, Victoria was caught, in the day she had to pack it all up and give it to the shelters. She'd cried over every piece before putting it into the boxes. "Miss Victoria?"

  Victoria looked up, blinking back tears. Abigale's expression was sympathetic, as she drew back the bed covers, gesturing for her to climb in.

  "I dinna be the one who matters," she said and Victoria allowed the older woman to tuck her in. She seemed to want to so badly. "And as to being girlish," she said, easily cluing into the young woman's misery. "Have you rooked in a mirror lately?" Taking the brush, she set a breakfast tray on the side of the bed, handing her a biscuit and encouraging her to eat.

  "I try not to," Victoria said around the food, then excused herself. Abigale waved, taking residence in a chair and smiling as the woman cleaned her plate in moments.

  DANGEROUS WATERS

  "Thank you," Victoria said, a little embarrassed. "That was the best meal I've had in ages."

  "You don't look like you've had many of them." Abigale took away the tray and Victoria stripped off the robe, sliding deeper beneath the sheets and quilt.

  "Good, 'cause as you can see I eat like a horse."

  Abigale smiled happily to herself, gathering up soiled clothes as the young woman who'd driven her Christopher to distraction in the past days, drifted into sleep. She was a lovely creature, vibrant and strong, but blunt and Abigale recalled the couple's argument, this lass meeting Christopher bite for bite. Aye, wild they were together, and she loved the sappy look on the lad's face when he convinced, or rather forced, her to stay. She'd never seen the boy so lad-de-da over a woman, but understood why. This one was different, ingenious like her Christopher, a match for his quiet strength. 'Tis 'bout time, she thought, and watched her for a moment before closing the door.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him lingering in the darkness of the hall, but she ignored him, adjusting the bundle and heading below stairs, smiling richly.

  Christopher refused to leave his ranch, and it amazed him how afraid he was that if he did, he might return and find her gone again. He worked the horses in the yard instead, refraining from attacking his latest project, yet when Doc Jenna arrived, he had to leave to take the physician to Vel's tomb. Jenna was justifiably horrified. But she confirmed what Chris already suspected. Victoria was right, again, deadly correct—a small wound under Vel's rib cage, her badly discolored skin making it difficult to recognize.

  Jenna looked up from her examination, dusting her hands on her split buckskin skirt. "This," she gestured to the corpse, "is very similar in detail to that telegram I received from Black Hawk."

  "Why didn't you tell me you'd heard back before now?"

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  She gave him an impatient look. "I tried to see you, but it seems you were rather intent on finding a mysterious woman, that you didn't answer my summons."

  "Summons, was it, Lady Jenna?" he said, bowing deeply. She made a face, utterly lacking in her usual refinement. "I confirmed the details twice." She pulled the crimped telegram from inside her short jacket, offering it. "For I must admit, I thought there something incorrect in the translation." Chris scanned the paper. "It's too exact to be ignored, Christopher. except that the victim was younger." Jenna looked back at Velvet, her eyes sad. "Why would anyone go to such lengths after killing her?"

  "I wish I knew," Chris muttered, stuffing the missive in his back pocket before bending to wrap the tarp over Vel. With a travois, he and her assistant brought the body down and the dark haired man cradled Vel in his massive arms like an infant, then gently laid her in the wagon.

  Jenna agreed with Chris's request for discretion and as her assistant rode away, Jenna swung up onto her horse.

  "When do we meet the woman of your heart?" she asked in Cheyenne and Chris's gaze jerked to hers, narrowing sharply. "Or are you going to keep her locked away?"

  His expression softened. "For as long as I can."

  Jenna frowned slightly before a smile spread across her face. "Taking captives. My, my, how very Cheyenne."

  "If you ever met her, you'd know why. She's stubborn." His smile was light. "Even worse than you."

  "I like her already."

  Chris's expression grew serious. "She's in danger, Jenna. That kind of danger," he said, nodding to the retreating wagon and her lovely face drained of color.

  "She knows who did that?"

  God, she was quick, he thought, folding his arms over his chest. "Go home to your husband, Jenna, you're becoming a pest again."

  A cheeky smile lit her face as she reined around, riding through his valley like the wind. Reid must have his hands full and loving it, he thought, then jerked his gaze to the house. Suddenly, he needed to see Victoria, touch her.

  Chris pushed open the door, glad he'd oiled the hinge and simply watched her sleep. The sun streamed through the win­dow, casting a ripple on the carpet, the breeze moving the curtains like Hindu slaves fanning their princess. His chest constricted as he stared at her lovely face, somber in sleep and he wondered what spirits sought to smile on him, giving him the chance to know her. He wouldn't think about her leaving, like she'd claimed. He couldn't. It just plain hu
rt too much. Giving into temptation, he walked until he was beside her. The sheets were twisted around her, sculpting her lush form in pristine white, telling him she was naked and reminding his body how glorious that bare skin tasted, felt beneath his touch, how complete he felt holding her in his arms, warm and sleek.

  And if Abigale wasn't constantly hovering over her, he'd crawl into bed with her right now.

  "Christopher!" came in whisper.

  He dragged his gaze from her to Abigale, a stack of clean clothes in her arms.

  " 'Tis improper, yer being in here."

  His lips tugged and he returned his gaze to Victoria, then bent, dropping a soft kiss to her lips. He obeyed his housekeeper, but only to avoid waking her and kissing more than her mouth.

  He paused on the threshold, glancing at the clothes. Victo­ria's. "I need you to go to town, Abby."

  Her eyes lit up with the prospect. "I've just the thing in mind."

  Chris moved past her. "Me, too."

  "Aye, I ken. And you won't be doin' it," she called after him, "not under this roof, Christopher Swift."

  Chris chuckled softly, a sinister telling sound that made

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  Abigale harumph with indignation. And she had a right to be worried, Chris thought, continuing down the stairs. Victoria was within his reach, without disguise or her mission to distract her, and Chris would use every advantage to unlock her secrets and keep her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Victoria sat cross-ways in the leather wing back chair, her legs slung over the arm, watching the flames curl around the logs in the fireplace. Better than TV, she thought, sipping from the mug of hot chocolate Abigale had made for her before going off to bed.

  The Scotswoman was like a fairy godmother, turning up just when she needed her, with water so she could take the last couple of Tylenol she had in her pack or a lap blanket to cover her bare legs. Highly improper, her wearing only panties, a man's shirt and white ankle socks to cushion her tender feet, but since "the men folk were abed," Abigale conceded to her scandalous attire, a funny smile on her face as she patted Victoria's shoulder, then trotted off to bed.