River Bend

by Barbara Shepherd

  Keeping her eyes closed, she clasped her hands in prayer to plead yet again for the recovery of this very ill, and more admittedly, very handsome man. But this time, she also prayed for herself, asking for guidance in suppressing her new and startling feelings.

  Only after prayer and a few deep breaths could she concentrate on embroidering lemon yellow and green French knots in the centers of pink wild roses. After adding green leaves, she set the table runner aside for another day when she would embroider the vining. She was far too flustered to require such exacting standards of herself this night and thanked Mr. Burcham when he came into the room and offered to spell her.

  The next day brought a lighter mood to the group when Trader Jake continued to hold high fever at bay, and his color showed signs of improvement. His cheeks were still far from a healthy glow, but his skin tone showed warmth and promise.

  Belle set aside time not only to pray for the big man’s recovery but also to pray her gratitude for the answer they had already received—his obvious improvement. She played with Johnathan during the day and sat with Jake during the evening. The wounded man lay without moving, yet rambled on at times. When he did, some of the things he said seemed to make sense while others sounded disjointed at best. The term “green eyes” surfaced periodically and brought a peaceful look to his features, almost a dreamy composure. At other times, he exhibited a more distraught demeanor, accompanied by loud shouting and the holding of his injured shoulder with his free hand.

  Jake had neither stirred nor made a sound for the last couple of hours, and Belle became concerned. She went over to him to see if he was feverish. When she laid her hand on his tanned forehead, it was cool to her touch. Relieved, she started to move away from him, but the man clutched her hand.

  “Come to me, my green-eyed vixen,” he said, his voice husky.

  When Belle tugged to remove her hand from his grasp, he released it but reached up and grabbed her by the hair, forcefully pulling her head down until her face was next to his. He kissed her full upon the lips.

  Shocked, she wrenched free of his grip and backed away. Her hand flew to cover her fresh-kissed mouth. Although she wanted to slap his handsome face for being so forward, so exasperatingly bold, she could never harm a person who was ill, a person fighting death. She stared at him for a few seconds, but he did not move again. He had never opened his eyes, so she did not know whether he was asleep and dreaming or if he was still out of his mind, suffering from delirium. But now, the big man’s chest rose and fell at a normal rate, as rhythmic as if he were in a deep sleep rather than an unconscious state. He did not appear to be awake, and when Belle calmed down, she spoke his name. He did not respond.

  Tiptoeing, she gave his bed as wide a berth as the room allowed and returned to her chair. She was frightened by him but could not be angry with a man who had no control over his actions. Although she was too rattled to embroider, she picked up the table runner just so she had something to hold in her trembling hands.

  After watching Trader Jake for a few minutes, Belle was convinced he slept now and was no longer unconscious. Apparently, his strong and virile body had miraculously fought off the anticipated infection that sometimes accompanied such a critical wound. She settled back in the chair, relieved that it looked like he would survive the ugly wound and massive loss of blood. She gave her imagination free rein. Which green-eyed vixen did he think he kissed when he reached out to me in his near-comatose state, mistakenly kissing a widow instead of his brazen vixen?

  Tilting her head back until it rested on the rough planking of the bedroom wall, she closed her eyes and ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, realizing she still tasted him. Surprising herself, she had to admit it was a rather nice taste. Although he had grabbed her, his kiss had been gentle, and the feel of his lips upon hers had been a pleasant experience. She touched her lips again with her tongue and smiled in spite of herself.

  When Belle opened her eyes and looked at the slumbering man, she noticed the turned-up corners of his mouth. After all he’s been through, how nice it is that Trader Jake can smile in his sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Consciousness appeared and then retreated many times over for the once strong and virile sea captain. Trader Jake had lost track of time and place, knowing not whether it was today, tomorrow, or even yesterday no more than he knew on whose bed he lay. He was certain of something, though. The room was hot and he with it.

  Through heavy-lidded eyes, he watched his green-eyed vixen while beads of perspiration dotted the ridge where her sensual upper lip joined the smooth skin of her young face. She dabbed at the glistening beads with a lady’s handkerchief, embellished with a delicate, tatted edge. He studied her with an intensity he found hard to justify.

  He wanted her, wanted her so much his body ached for this woman as much as his heart yearned for her. Afraid to move for fear she would find him staring, he lay motionless and watched her through the veil of his eyelashes.

  Concentrating on her coppery tendrils that floated free from a once-tight chignon, he found nothing lessened his primal need. His desire for her was so strong he feared it might be obvious, and that his lascivious thoughts might travel through the small space of the room and be revealed. Try as he might to calm his fantasy of holding her firm, ripe body against his, he found her constant presence, her very nearness, intensified his feelings for her. Longing and downright carnal lust engulfed him while he fought for control, and as if the pressure were not enough, he had to deal with a new and strange feeling. The yearning he now felt for her deep within his soul made him wish to enfold her tenderly within his heart and protect her from harm as if she were a precious flower with delicate petals that might fall.

  He found this warring within him, between two such compelling forces, sapped his strength. Finally allowing his upper and lower eyelashes to meet and meld into one another, he blocked out the vision of the beautiful widow. Whether slumber, exhaustion, or unconsciousness sweeping over Jake, he could never be sure and did not care which one as long as it absorbed him.

  When he woke later, Jake was relatively certain he had kissed Belle, the elusive young woman of his seafaring dreams. What possessed me to do that? His vivid recollection of the incident, reality or dream, pleased him. Her scent, enchanting and hers alone. The delicious taste of her remained with him still, as did the memory of her startled expression. He had viewed her reaction while she warily watched him. But later, when he saw her pink tongue caress her full, sensuous lips, it was almost more than he could physically bear. The woman possessed such a heart-stopping beauty and captivating sensuality, yet she seemed unaware of both. He remembered smiling at her naïveté.

  A familiar voice broke into Jake’s reverie. “The captain’s got color now,” String said. “Like I told you, he’s a tough old crow.”

  Cool hands touched Jake’s cheek and forehead, then his neck and chest. I like the feel of that, the coolness and the softness. But these meant more to him. He believed they were healing hands and wanted to know who the comforting hands belonged to, yet he refused to open his eyes because he did not want to jeopardize the glorious feeling and ruin the moment. Awake or not, I’m unwilling to give up this dream.

  Another voice, this one closer to his ear, spoke. “He has color all right, but I’m afraid it’s not a good sign. This man’s like a boiling teakettle.”

  Jake relaxed to let them tend to him, hearing hushed voices as his faceless caretakers pressed cool compresses to his sweating forehead and neck. He heard water drip and splash in a basin near the bed when they twisted the cloths, wringing them out for another encounter with his feverish skin. Before long, fatigue overpowered his other senses, allowing his caretakers’ voices to fade away.

  A white, gauze-like web surrounded him as he sailed in and out of consciousness again. Wrapped in a cocoon of fantasy, he slept.

  Dreams of beautiful women occupied most of his moments, women who paraded in front of him, plying all th
eir charms. “Choose me. Choose me,” they said and promised the most tantalizing and provocative encounters a man could wish for as they practiced their seductive sorcery. Although he might have been lured by them not so long ago, he now rejected them, one by one, when he looked into their eyes. The temptresses were each blessed with eyes of exquisite beauty, but none possessed the one quality he required. For now, his choice for a mate must have eyes of green.

  Without warning, his dream changed to one of violence. He shouted at his half-brother to hold on, yelling at Stephen to not let go of the old tree, to hold fast so he could reach him and pull him back from the greedy whirlpool of red. Sometimes, Jake would feel the blast from Stephen’s weapon pierce his flesh and slam into his upper chest, and he would hold tight his shoulder, trying to stop the horrendous flow of blood and squeeze the excruciating pain away. But the pain refused to subside, and he would faint from the exhaustion of trying to endure it.

  Other dreams were of the young widow, Belle Strong, who floated nearby on a cloud, always beyond his outstretched arms. She was forever winking seductively at him with those enchanting emerald eyes, her innocence making her all the more desirable.

  His fever raged on, permeating the small room with an intense heat. Toward early morning, the fever broke, and he felt as though he had lain in a tomb, existing without an ounce of air, his clothes and bedding drenched in sweat. Still in a dream-like state, he persuaded his eyes to open, yet his heavy eyelids barely lifted. Becoming accustomed to the glare from a tallow candle on a wall sconce, he let his sight wander, and what he glimpsed almost took his breath away.

  Belle Strong, the green-eyed vision he could not escape after sailing halfway across the world, sat near his sickbed. He watched her through slitted lids while she sought temporary relief from the stifling heat in the room. She had unfastened the top buttons of her black dress, revealing her creamy throat and a hint of her breasts. When she stroked the tops of her exposed skin with a moist cloth, she caught her breath at the shock and then released a deep sigh.

  The woman was as lovely as Jake remembered, and the vision upon which his eyes now feasted was nothing short of divine seduction. He wanted to leap from the bed and make love to her, unleashing the animal passion a body like hers must be crying out for. Though tempted, he convinced himself this was neither the time nor the place for he must allow ample time for his body to heal and rejuvenate, and he also must concentrate on courting the young woman.

  He closed his eyes so she would not feel him watching her in such a private and uncompromising moment. Yielding to his thoughts of carnal desire, Jake enjoyed his indecent fantasies of the young widow. Could she be an angel by day and make love like a fallen angel by night? He fervently hoped so.

  Later, String replaced Belle, taking his turn for the evening and night to watch over his sleeping friend. “Captain,” he said, “you’d better be getting well. We’ve got rendezvous coming and a ship to load after that.”

  Trader Jake surprised him when he opened his eyes. “We’ll set sail soon enough.”

  “Captain,” String said before his mouth hung open in disbelief.

  “Shh. Don’t wake up the whole world.”

  “But, Captain, they’ll want to know your fever’s broken and you’re back with us.”

  “I know,” Jake said. “Let them sleep. I’ve been lucid for a few hours.”

  “Yet, you didn’t let on?”

  “No. I enjoyed the company of a young woman whose green eyes weren’t flashing in anger.”

  “She will, Captain, as soon as she hears.” String shook his head. “This news will rile her like a mama grizzly protectin’ her cubs.”

  “You can announce my progress at breakfast. No one needs to know the exact hour I woke.”

  “Yes, sir.” String gave him a mock salute. “If you don’t need anything, I’m getting some shut-eye.”

  “I have everything I need, including your friendship. Until morning, then. Good night to you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Burcham had the fire blazing by the time Belle woke, dressed, and almost skipped to the kitchen.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” he said. “That’s quite a spring in your step.”

  “Indeed,” she said. “I had a full night’s sleep.” She mixed the ingredients for biscuits, washed an iron rod, and started pounding the dough. “I’m not sure why, but I feel so much joy that I’d like to sing again. Do you mind?”

  “No, ma’am. Please do.”

  Singing while she beat the biscuit dough to make the morsels lighter, she didn’t hear String’s footsteps and jumped when he tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Be careful with that rod.”

  Belle laughed and lowered the tool.

  “I have an announcement,” String said, his voice serious. “Something you’ll both want to hear.”

  Fearing dreadful news about Trader Jake, Belle could feel her smile fade and guilt set in because she had shown such joyfulness. This was the only morning she hadn’t fretted about the injured man. Unable to speak, she waited for String’s report.

  “The captain’s back among us,” String said. “His fever broke, and he’s talking up a gale.”

  “Thank the Lord,” Belle said.

  “He’s as hungry as a boar bear comin’ out of hibernation,” String said.

  “That’s a good sign,” Burcham said. “We’ve got breakfast started. Tell him we’ll get it to him as soon as it comes off the fire.”

  String nodded and left the kitchen, dancing a jig down the hallway.

  When breakfast was ready, Belle fed the children and prepared trays for Trader Jake and String before calling the others to the table. String came back in and picked up the trays.

  That day, conversation in the hotel’s dining room did not focus on the possibility of pending death. Instead of gloom, the pleasant atmosphere gave diners time to get to know each other better. Thrilled with the anticipation of Trader Jake’s recovery, the group relaxed and shared a few stories.

  Catherine entertained them with her rendition of her first meeting with the ship’s captain. “You should have seen his face,” she said. “He was courteous, but I could tell how shocked he was at my height.” She laughed out loud. “The best part was when I told him I had a sister. The possibility of two women of my girth and height made him stumble over his words.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Why did you set sail on such a long voyage?” Burcham asked the same question Belle wanted answered but was too polite to pose.

  “My sister and I are searching for husbands,” Catherine said.

  “Aren’t there enough men in Europe?” When the timid Mrs. Burcham chimed in, she stunned the group with her directness.

  “Yes, Mrs. Burcham,” Catherine said. “But, we wanted husky, strapping men, and I wanted a tall one. They exist—some are tall enough—where we came from, but we also wanted a little excitement in our lives.”

  “We also wanted land,” her sister, Amelia said. “From what we hear, free land is here for the taking.”

  “Texas is pretty wild,” Burcham said, and his wife gave a big nod to express her agreement. “You may not find the quality of men you search for.”

  Catherine waved his comment aside. “We are good judges of people,” she said. “Rendezvous, I’m told, brings in many men we can meet. If not satisfied, we can travel to the states east of here.”

  “The hunt is an adventure in itself,” Amelia said.

  “This will be my first rendezvous,” Burcham said, “but I understand you’ll see a swarm of hunters and trappers who come in for it. And it’s just around the corner.”

  Catherine turned to Belle. “How about you, Mrs. Strong? Weren’t you here for the last rendezvous?”

  “I’ve been busy on my land, so I haven’t been coming in for it.” Belle saw disappointment register on Catherine’s face. “But I can tell you about one rendezvous.”

  Catherine’s look of a
nticipation was like a child expecting a bedtime story.

  “I had just arrived in Texas,” Belle said, remembering the pain of her husband’s sudden death and Jake knocking her unconscious. Brushing those memories aside, she answered with less emotion than she felt. “I saw waves of men filling the street. Most of them got their long hair cut and bought supplies at the trading post. I saw some men wrestling like animals, but I stayed with a family out of town and missed all of the other events.” Hoping to hear no more questions, she concentrated on cleaning her plate.

  “So, Mr. Strong died from a gunshot wound when you first came to Texas,” Catherine said, “and you decided to stay out here all by yourself instead of returning to the Carolinas. You didn’t have a cabin to live in and stayed in a place that had been dug out of a hill.” She paused. “In addition,” she said, “you bore a child. Is that right?”

  Catherine summarized a year of my life in a few seconds. Amazing. Saying it fast doesn’t feel as painful as living through it. “That is correct.”

  “Well, who shot your husband?”

  “We don’t know, Catherine, and we may never know,” Belle said.

  “See,” Burcham said, “this is a wild place.”

  Relentless with her curiosity, Catherine continued to interrogate Belle. “Why did you not go back east—especially since you were with child?”

  “My mother had passed, and there was nothing to hold me there.”

  “No other relatives?”

  “Not a one.”

  Amelia joined in. “What about land? Your family must have owned property.”

  “No.” Belle rose and started clearing dishes from the table.

  “Certainly, you plan to marry again,” Catherine said, her words clear. But the tilt of her head and her expression begged for an answer.

  String arrived with more dishes to wash. “The captain’s fed, and he bragged about those biscuits before he dropped off to sleep again.”