The shadow across her quilt fell from behind her, and Dara froze. She knew it was Clay before he whispered her name.
“I don’t believe we have anything more to say to each other, Clay. Please don’t cause a scene.”
“I warned you, didn’t I? I told you what I would do to him.”
Scrambling to her feet, Dara faced him. “Will killing him make me love you again? How thickheaded can you be? I don’t want to marry you because you don’t care a wit about my feelings and needs. Understand that, Clay. Eden McQuade has nothing to do—”
“Dara, I don’t need you to defend me to him.”
Once more Dara stilled. She stood there between Clay and Eden like a rabbit caught between a trap and wolf, and she didn’t know which way to face.
“This is private, McQuade.”
“When you threaten a man’s life, I believe it becomes his business. There’s no need to discuss this here, Clay. Dara will not be made another juicy bit of gossip.”
“If she is, blame yourself. I respected her, but you—”
“It would give me a great deal of satisfaction to plant my knuckles where they would do the most good, but I, too, respect Dara. Subjecting a lady—”
“Lady be damned! You’ve made her your—”
Eden lost his patience. His fist shot out, clipping Clay’s jaw, his quick side step saving him from Clay’s return blow. Dara barely had time to move back. Her heels tangled in the quilt, and she fought to keep her balance until Matt’s supporting hand on her elbow not only steadied her but dragged her free. He ignored her cry to stop them, refusing to take his eyes away from where the two men crouched.
In moments they were surrounded, mostly by men, and to Dara’s mortification they were calling bets on the outcome of the fight. Not one answered her plea to put an end to this. She cringed with every thud of fist meeting flesh, shocked at the lustful expectancy for violence on every man’s face, crying out when Eden took a blow that drove him to his knee.
“Will someone stop this! Matt, get Reverend Speck, please!” Dara couldn’t do more than grab at her brother’s arm, caught by the press of bodies behind her. Clay backed off a bit, watching Eden swipe at the blood on his lip, and Dara tried calling out to him, seeing the twisted fury of his face. Her voice was buried under shouts for Eden to get up, and he did, coming in fast and low to pummel Clay’s belly.
“McQuade’s got the makings of John L. Sullivan, hisself,” Rogan called out. “Saw him fight, I did, on his road tour.”
“Then put your money on him,” Pierce taunted, shoving his way to the front.
Dara couldn’t listen to the rest of their exchange. Tears filled her eyes. Her brothers stood on opposite sides, and there was nothing she could do to bring them together.
It was Jake, firing his gun in the air, who put a stop to it. Without regard for who was in his way, he elbowed through the crowd of men until he stood between Clay and Eden. Angry shouts drowned out whatever it was that he said, but Dara wouldn’t have heard him anyway, for Anne stood at her side, berating her for what she had caused.
“Are you satisfied now?” she demanded, dragging Dara around to face her. “Do you think anyone will forget this? And it’s your fault that Jake is in the middle! I hope you and that devil suffer hell’s sins,” she hissed, before Dara stumbled, fighting her way free. She didn’t glance back when Eden called out to her, but grabbed up her skirt and petticoats, tears blinding her, desperate to escape.
Eden shrugged off Jake’s restraining hand, shoving his way clear. He had no thought for anyone but Dara, didn’t hear those who swore he could take Clay, would have if Jake hadn’t stopped diem, nor did he listen to others who taunted him for being a coward and running.
Dara’s pale face, her dark eyes shocked, claimed his attention. He had to find her. She had to understand that the blame for what happened rested on his head for coming here when he knew his presence would push a confrontation with Clay. But it wasn’t only about Dara that they fought.
He reached the comer of the one-room schoolhouse, coming to a stop while he searched the open field for some sign of her. The grasses were knee high, but nowhere was there a depression that would indicate Dara was hiding.
The forest surrounding the field on two sides was thick with cypress, magnolia, giant oaks, and wild cherry trees, but not a hint of pink cloth anywhere. His lip throbbed, and he wiped it with the tom edge of his sleeve, ignoring the raw scrape of his knuckles. With a determined stride, he set out across the field, running when he spied her behind a clump of fan-flared palm leaves.
“Dara.” She shrank from his touch, and Eden kneeled behind her. “Don’t, love, don’t cry, please. He didn’t hurt me.”
“Hurt … you!” she sobbed, refusing to turn around at his insistent coaxing. “You’re too … thickheaded to get hurt and … so is Clay.”
Eden withdrew his hand from her shoulder, staring at her back, not quite sure of her mood. “Dara, you’re upset. I don’t blame you. I…” Eden found himself at a loss for words. What could he say to lessen her obvious humiliation of being a spectacle at a church social? Dara, with her strict thoughts of what constituted ladylike behavior, needed soothing, he decided. Yet once again she wrenched herself away from his touch. “Darlin’, I want to comfort—”
“I don’t want your comfort!” She rounded on him so suddenly that he fell back. “It was bad enough that the two of you had to use violence against each other. But that isn’t why I ran. I couldn’t stand watching the two of you. I hated seeing my brothers divided between you. Do you know what it did to hear Pierce goading Clay, and Matt egging you on? Do you? Don’t you see?” she cried, tears running down her face, shaking with the fury and the need to make him understand. “Watching the two of you fight forced me to believe that everything you and Jake said would happen was true!” He raised his hand, and she pushed it aside. “Don’t touch me! I don’t want to be coddled or conned by more of your smooth-talking citified ways. I certainly do not want to be treated like a simpleminded ninny that needs protection. I hated what happened, and I feel like yelling about it, and yes,” she grated, pointing her finger at his chest, “I’m upset!”
“You’re also becoming hysterical, Dara. Stop it.” Eden’s forward move caught her by surprise, and she tumbled backward, frightened by the furious look of him looming over her. “I didn’t set the rules of this game. Don’t go putting the blame of it on me. Did you expect me to let Clay insult you? Did you know,” he suddenly whispered, almost against her lips, “that he would have called you my harlot?”
Dara felt his lips brush her cheek as she turned her head aside. She saw his skinned knuckles, and all the fury left her. “He did hurt you,” she whispered, afraid to draw a deep breath, conscious of the length of his hard body lowering to match the sprawled angle of her own.
“No, Clay didn’t hurt me as much as he did you.” But Clay was the last thing Eden was thinking of. He was fighting a raw primitive urge to claim the woman he had just fought over in the most basic way. Need surged through him, swamped his normal control, and he pressed his weight against the softened contours of hers, his lips trailing kisses over her ear, across her cheek. He took the heat of her tears from her dark lashes, and Dara turned her head, meeting his gaze with her own vulnerable one.
“Eden, please, I can’t fight you now. But you know this is wrong.” Hating the sight of the already darkening bruises on his face, she closed her eyes.
“Pleasure is never wrong, love. Let me take all the ugliness of the day away. Let me give you pleasure.”
The dark sensual note of his voice was enough to arouse her, and Dara accepted the coaxing move of his mouth against her own. She wanted to lose herself in the incredible slow wanning desire that Eden so effortlessly spun around her, through her, taking every thought of wrong and making it somehow right. Dara accepted the unaccustomed weight of his hard, lithe body pressing gently until an unconscious sigh of surrender
passed her lips. Her mouth parted in invitation, his tongue was quick to claim hers.
The voice that whispered this was wrong faded as she engaged in the now familiar game of submit and conquer that spiked desire into sharper need. Hesitantly she accepted his tongue’s lure to explore the dark whiskey-flavored interior of his mouth, moving with unconscious grace to the slow rocking dance his body taught hers. Her hands stroked his sides, pulling him closer, unwilling to question the ache he eased and tormented with every move.
It was the softened acceptance of her body, the open surrender of her mouth that brought a measure of sanity back to Eden. It would be so easy to take her now … so easy … but he gentled the depth of his kiss, slowly, so slowly easing his lips from hers.
“Love,” he breathed long moments later, “I can’t give you more than pleasure.”
“I know,” she whispered sadly, and waited, feeling the tension that held his body while desire receded from hers.
They both heard Matt calling them, and Eden moved to his side, then stood up, drawing her to stand beside him. With a decided lack of his usual humor, he muttered dark imprecations against her brother, and Dara offered him a sad smile.
“I’ll get Luther to drive you back to town.”
“You won’t be coming with us?” she asked, knowing he wouldn’t. “Your face needs to be seen to, Eden.”
“There are other pressing matters that need my attention first.”
Her frown quickly disappeared when her gaze dropped. When she found the courage to look up again, his own gaze was bold.
“Don’t expect me to apologize for the desire I feel for you. And don’t expect me to think of satisfying it with another woman.”
There was an implied challenge that she couldn’t refuse. “I won’t.”
“Getting bold and sassy, are you?” he asked, slipping his arm around her waist possessively and leading her out to the open. He waved to Matt, then slanted her a look filled with humor as he picked bits of dry grass from her hair. “Since the day was spoiled, will you drive out with me next Sunday for a picnic? I’ll provide the substance and choose where.”
“I would like to.” Dara knew that was the closest she could come to admitting she wanted to be alone with him. But as they walked forth to meet her brother, she had to force herself to ignore the knowledge that wanting and desire were all that Eden offered.
His hand caressed her side, and he leaned down to whisper, “Must you wear this damnable corset? Lord knows, darlin’, you don’t need it.”
“Why, Mistah McQuade,” she replied, imitating Miss Loretta in an effort to dispel her own dark thoughts, “Ah declare you’re wicked to refer to a lady’s unmentionables. Ah feel the need for every bit of protection I can gather ’bout me when Ah’m with you, sir.”
“And you believe that layers and laces along with that boned contraption will protect you from my unholy clutches?”
“If they are not enough, Ah still remember how to say no.”
“Point taken, darlin’. But rememberin’ how to say no and saying it might depend upon being in the right place at the right time with the right man.”
Dara gasped. The teasing game had gone too far, and Matt was close, running toward them, so she couldn’t form an answer.
Eden winced as he grinned, his gaze as wicked as his words. “Sunday, love?”
And Dara suddenly knew what had changed between them. She was no longer afraid of him. Oh, he threatened her moral fiber, and she longed for a commitment from this man, but she wasn’t afraid to free the passionate dreams that haunted her.
“Yes. Sunday.”
Chapter Twelve
By Sunday morning Dara felt she was in a cage of the social structure in which she lived and was firmly ensnared by her growing passion for Eden McQuade. For the past three days it had rained, unusual weather at this time of year, but it had prevented Eden from his nightly return to town. The fish fry planned for last night at Kelsey’s ferry landing had been canceled, and while Dara was disappointed in these happenings, she did bless the rain for a decided drop in customers in the store.
Upon her return last week her father had accepted what she told him had happened without comment, but she had caught his studied looks from time to time during the week. She knew he longed to ask her what she couldn’t answer him. Other people weren’t the least bit reluctant to voice their curiosity. Only the skill she had forced herself to develop in turning aside personal questions about herself and Clay allowed her to control her newly discovered temper.
She stood at her window watching the gray clouds spread the way for hints of blue and prayed the sun would brighten the day.
“Dara?”
She turned at the sound of Matt’s voice at her door. “Come in.”
“It seems to be clearing. I wanted to tell you that I’ll stay home with Papa.”
“If you want. Miss Loretta promised to come over with Luther and have supper with him.” Dara hoped she hid her surprise from Matt at his offer. He had been acting rather strange all week, going out of his way to avoid giving her a chance to question him about what he was doing or when he intended to repay the money she lent him. Last week she sensed a hardness in him, and now she couldn’t dismiss the noticeable maturity in his eyes. Something momentous had happened to Matt, and she was certain Eden knew about it. How much had changed from the first time she had accused him of leading her brother astray. She was more than willing to admit that Eden was good for Matt. He hadn’t had a case of the green-apple nasties in weeks. Eden had been a stabilizing influence on Matt, but she couldn’t say the same for his effect on herself.
“You look real pretty today.”
“Why, thank you. I believe that is the first time you have ever complimented me.”
“I always tell you how good your cooking is, Dara. Anyway,” he added, digging the toe of his boot into the faded carpet, “a man’s supposed to notice what a woman’s wearing and all.”
“Oh, yes, he should, Matt. And I’m glad that you decided to come up and talk to me. I wanted to ask—”
“I can’t stay. Papa’s sitting with a hot towel soaking his beard, and I just came up to get his razor. Anyhow, Eden will be here soon,” he called out, already down the hallway.
She had no chance to muse again about Matt’s avoiding her, for he called out mere minutes later that Eden was waiting.
Dara carefully placed her lace braid and lavender silk trimmed hat on her upswept hair. Uncertain of what type of a vehicle Eden intended for their use, she inserted two extra hatpins through the tiny spray of silk flowers that softened the stark line of the brim. Her blousewaist matched the lavender ribbon, and the gray cashmere shawl she carried was a shade repeated in the braided trim on her shirt.
Eden was in the kitchen with Matt and her father. Dara paused in the doorway and smiled shyly when Eden noticed her, trying to deny her apprehension. Their good-byes were brief, since Cyrus’s face was lathered and Matt was intent on stropping the straight-edge razor.
“You look charming, love,” Eden whispered, opening the front door. Dara stopped, taken by surprise when she saw what waited.
“Like it? I hoped it would arrive in time,” Eden remarked. “It’s a new-style Brewster phaeton.”
“A narrow two-seater,” she replied, gazing at the sleek body, leather top, and silver handrails. Dara didn’t want to let hope flare that a man who invested in such an expensive carriage intended to stay and make good use of his purchase. But the hope was there in her eyes when Eden lifted her onto the plush dark velvet seat. Dara adjusted her skirt, the full bustle forcing her to sit up straight. She knew Eden’s size, was familiar with his body in ways she forced herself not to remember, but when he joined her inside the carriage, Dara found they pressed shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and no amount of layered clothing was going to protect her from the warmth of him.
The air was redolent with the rich earthy s
cents from the recent rains, as well as the rawness of the new leather top, and Dara inhaled them far too greedily, willing her heart to slow its beat.
“Would you mind if we missed service this morning and rode out to the mine instead?”
“Your mine?”
“I’d like to show it to you.” He slanted a glance down to her rosy cheeks and demurely lowered lashes. “Are you having second thoughts about coming with me, darlin’?”
Her startled gaze targeted his. “I … it’s just that, Eden … no,” she managed, unable to keep looking at him. “Is this one of Early’s carriage horses?”
“Oh, Lord, love, is this what we’re reduced to talk about, carriage horses?”
“Don’t laugh at me.”
“Never, little saint,” he noted with controlled mockery alight in his eyes, taking up the reins, urging the sleek roan up the lane.
Dara stared straight ahead when they turned onto Charleston Street. She wanted to ignore the Tuckers, setting out for church, but Eden slowed, exchanged his greetings with them, forcing her to do the same.
“Are you ashamed to be seen with me, Dara?” he asked as they continued past the train depot to follow the track that closely defined the bank of the Rainbow River.
“It’s not you,” she murmured, gripping her gloved hands together.
“Have the town’s biddies given you a hard time this past week?”
“There was nothing about their pecking that I could not handle,” she replied with a lift of her chin, hoping he did not misunderstand and become offended. It was her choice.
She was lying. Eden knew there was nothing he could do to protect her from the women’s spite but offer her marriage. It was a lifetime commitment that he was not ready to make. He allowed the potholed track to claim his attention.
Gazing at the expanse of flat land, Eden thought with longing of the rolling hill country of home and said as much.
Silver Mist Page 18
