Christine Dorsey

by The Rebel's Kiss

  “Anyway, the sea beckoned. I’d met this boy, more a man really, and he took me down to the taverns by the docks. Gave me my first taste of something stronger than wine. Then sent me upstairs for...”

  Jake stopped, realizing he’d almost told this woman, this stranger, about his first sexual encounter. That would hardly make her feel better about her brother, not to mention it wasn’t something a gentleman discussed with a lady. “Let’s just say he introduced me to some new and enjoyable pastimes, and I figured they’d all be mine for the asking once I went to sea.”

  Samantha swallowed. She hoped he couldn’t tell the way her pulse raced and her stomach tightened. He was telling her a story about when he’d been young, not much older than Will, by his own admission. And she couldn’t force certain images from her mind.

  He’d been with a whore. When he was what, fifteen or sixteen? He hadn’t said it, but Samantha wasn’t completely naive. There was a house in town where whores lived. She’d seen them leaning out the windows. They wore bright colors and their hair hung down about their bare shoulders and they did everything they could to entice the men inside. Not that the men she saw go through the door looked as if they minded.

  Captain Morgan had been to a place like that. He’d lain with one of those women, touching her and letting her touch him. When he was younger, his shoulders probably weren’t as broad as they were now. There wouldn’t have been the small lines radiating from the corners of his eyes, or the brackets around his mouth. But his lips were the same. They’d have been firm with the nice points on his upper lip like now, and his eyes—

  Samantha sucked in air. He looked at her strangely, almost as if he knew her thoughts, knew how warm she felt inside. Knew she wasn’t thinking about him making love to a whore, but remembering what it was like to wake up lying beside him, her head on his shoulder. Quickly she glanced away. “Did you go to sea?”

  “No. My pa got wind of my plans and came down to the tavern. Yanked me out of there and whupped me good. At the time I was furious because I thought he ruined my life. And of course I thought myself too much of a man to take kindly to my father’s—what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Tears were leaking out of Samantha’s eyes faster than she could blot them on her napkin, and she jerked out of the chair and turned her back. “I think you better go.”

  “Now wait a minute.” Jake was out of his chair before he thought about doing it. Her shoulder was warm and soft when he touched it. “He didn’t really hurt me, you know. And I really wasn’t cut out for a life at sea. I—” Jake stopped. She was shaking her head and sobbing in earnest now. He turned her toward him, and though she stiffened, she let him. “What’s wrong?” he repeated.

  Samantha pushed against his chest. “Go away.”

  Jake didn’t know if she meant away from her, or from her farm, or off the face of the earth. But he did know that right at this particular moment she didn’t mean it. He pulled her to him. “Tell me,” he murmured into her hair.

  Samantha sobbed. She shouldn’t be standing like this with him. But it felt so good to have someone to lean against. Someone strong. She buried her face in his soft cotton shirt and let the tears come.

  Jake didn’t think she planned to say anything. Except for her soft crying she was silent for a long time. He held her close, running his hand over her hair in what he hoped was a soothing motion. He could feel the dampness of her tears, her body move against his as she breathed, and he tried to keep his thoughts on comforting.

  “He whupped you,” Samantha mumbled into his shirt.

  “I told you it didn’t hurt much.” Could she possibly be crying over a beating his father gave him over fifteen years ago? When she looked up at him, Jake knew how foolish that idea was.

  “But he was there to do it. To keep you from making a big mistake.” Samantha’s breath caught on a hiccup. “No one’s here for Will.”

  “You are,” Jake told her realistically.

  “But I can’t... whup him... or do anything to make him listen to me.”

  Apparently this admission was too much for her because Samantha sagged against him, new tears dampening his shirt. Jake’s arm tightened, and he rested his chin on top of her head. “You don’t need to whup him to make him listen. Will loves you. He’s just growing up, that’s all.”

  She shook her head, the motion moving her body against his, and Jake felt his own stir with something more than the promise of comfort. She looked up at him again, her eyes large and crystal blue from tears. Her dark lashes were spiked with moisture, and her mouth was slightly open.

  Jake didn’t know why he did it—if he’d looked for reasons he certainly wouldn’t have—but his mouth came down on hers. Gently at first for there were still thoughts of comforting mingled with the desire. But then he felt her warm breath, tasted her, and the passion exploded, blocking out all else.

  He overpowered her. His arm locked her upper body to him, and his large hand cupped her head, digging into her hair and dislodging the pins holding her braid. His scent surrounded her, his taste filled her mouth, and she could scarcely breathe. Yet all she could think about was getting closer.

  It was silly, she knew, but Samantha had an unmistakable urge to crawl inside him and let pure sensation pour over her. Her arms twined around his waist. She could feel him against her, rock hard, and she seemed to melt.

  His mouth was hot and wet, intense, and it shattered her senses. Samantha wriggled against him, mindless of the open door, mindless of propriety. She only knew a coil inside her wound tighter, and only he had the power to release her from this maelstrom.

  But he didn’t. As abruptly as he started the kiss, he ended it. Samantha clutched at his elbows when he pulled away, needing support to keep from slipping to the floor.

  “I apologize.” Jake sucked air into his lungs. Samantha looked up at him, her expression as dazed as he felt. What in God’s name had possessed him? He’d meant to offer comfort—though why he felt the need, he didn’t know. But he’d ended up devastating them both.

  Whatever happened between them was spontaneous and unexpected. Jake had been with his share of women. Even after Lydia’s death, there were times when the tension got to him and he sought release. But none of those times left him feeling this shattered.

  He wasn’t sure he ever had. And that realization made him feel guilty as hell.

  Stepping back, Jake glanced away, then steeling himself, looked back and met her eyes. “I really am sorry. I...”

  Samantha shook her head and turned toward the stove. She didn’t trust herself to speak, and when she looked back, she knew it wasn’t necessary. The Rebel was gone. Crossing to the door, Samantha saw him stride into the darkness.

  At one time she thought getting rid of him might be difficult. But Samantha had seen the expression on his face after he’d kissed her. He’d been thinking of the woman in the daguerreotype. And she had no trouble believing that he was sorry.

  He’d be gone by morning.

  Chapter Five

  Samantha woke with a start. Again sunshine poured through her window, and she shook her head and moaned. She’d never been one to lie abed—with the farm demanding all her attention, it wasn’t possible—and she refused to start now. But more often than not lately she slept till well past dawn.

  Throwing her feet over the side of the bedstead, she scurried across the downy, cottonwood floor and splashed water into the bowl. The mirror was ornate and chipped, a long-ago casualty of the trip from Boston. Samantha glanced at her reflection and groaned. She looked like she hadn’t slept a bit.

  “Not far from the truth,” Samantha mumbled as she scooped water onto her face. After Captain Morgan had left the night before, she’d sat in the rocking chair waiting for Will to come back. After an hour or so she decided he wasn’t likely to show up with her sitting waiting for him. So she went to her room and latched the door, falling on her bed in an exhausted heap.

  She thought she would cry. It see
med like a good time. She was alone, and heaven knows she was upset enough.

  But she couldn’t keep her mind focused on the farm, or Landis Moore, or even Will long enough to summon up a tear.

  All she could think about was Jacob Morgan and that kiss.

  That’s why she hadn’t slept even after she heard Will come in and climb to the loft. That’s why she tossed and turned till her curls were a mass of tangles. Samantha unwound her braid and swiped the brush through her hair.

  There it was again. She cocked her head to the side. She hadn’t been imagining the noise that woke her. Hammering. Will was hammering something. And he hadn’t had any breakfast.

  Samantha dropped the brush and twisted her curls into a bun—quickly. Not because brushing her hair reminded her of last night... of Jacob Morgan’s fingers tangling in her—

  “Stop it,” Samantha admonished herself. There was no reason to think of him again. She was certain he’d ridden off at first light. Off to Texas like he told Will... or maybe back to Landis Moore. Samantha shook her head. She didn’t think he’d go there. But he sure didn’t want to stay here.

  His rejection after that kiss was obvious. Samantha didn’t have much experience with men, but she’d read that easily enough.

  “Well, I certainly don’t want him here,” Samantha mumbled, ignoring the memory of his expression when he backed away from her. She pulled on a clean dress, stepped into her shoes, and started for the barn.

  First she’d talk to Will. She was sorry about last night, and intended to tell him so. Maybe she did “mother” him too much; it was hard not to since she’d been doing it so long. But he was growing up, as Captain Morgan pointed out—she guessed she should be thankful to him for that.

  She and Will would work out their problem. The fact that he’d got up early and started work told her he was willing to try.

  Samantha stepped into the glaring sunlight. Morning glories webbed their way up the porch supports, filling the air with their fragrance.

  Heading for the barn, sidestepping the chickens that cackled at her feet, Samantha smiled. The hammering sounded louder now, a firm steady beat, and she wondered what Will could be making. Whatever it was, she’d be sure to show her gratitude. Will did a lot for the farm—she certainly couldn’t manage without him. She needed to let him know that more often. After she talked with Will, she’d fix him a grand breakfast of ham and griddle cakes with—

  Samantha stopped short in the doorway. The inside of the barn was dusky, the muted light from the slits cut in the sod alive with dust motes. But not so dark she couldn’t see plainly.

  And what she saw made her chin drop.

  Will was there all right. He was sitting on the milking stool, a startled expression on his face, and a piece of straw between his teeth. But he wasn’t hammering.

  Jacob Morgan was doing that. At least he was until he followed Will’s gaze and saw Samantha standing in the doorway. Then he simply stared at her, his eyes following a path from her hastily arranged hair to her scuffed shoes and back.

  Samantha swallowed, feeling heat creep up her neck and spiral in her belly. He wore the same pants as last night, snug gray wool. Again both suspenders dangled down his narrow hips. His shirt was white, damp from sweat, and unbuttoned to reveal his muscled chest—that is, what wasn’t covered by his bandaging.

  “Sam.” Will stood, spitting out the straw. Apparently he’d taken their argument last night to heart—at least enough to be uncomfortable about being here with Captain Morgan.

  But Samantha really couldn’t think about Will right now. She couldn’t take her eyes from their Rebel guest. She was remembering last night—not the row with Will but the kiss afterward, and by the expression on the captain’s face, he was thinking of the same thing.

  But it only took him a moment to regain his control. He shrugged toward the hammer in his right hand. “I took your advice about staying a few more days.”

  Had she told him to stay? Samantha remembered saying something about his being too weak to leave, but that was definitely before the kiss. He hadn’t seemed to lack for strength then. Samantha pulled her mind back to the present. He was talking and she missed most of it. Something about fixing up a few things around the farm in payment for her treatment.

  “That’s hardly necessary.” Samantha’s voice sounded strange, and she cleared her throat, wanting with all her heart to turn and run for the cabin. She’d pull the latch string and hide in the room till he left, and— “I’m sorry. What did you say?” Goodness, she had to start paying attention. She was acting even more foolish today than she had last night.

  “I said”—Jake shifted his feet—“it might not be necessary but I’d like to do it. There are a couple of things that need—”

  “We manage fine.”

  What a prickly woman. What a damn prickly woman! Manage fine like hell. He saw the place. The garden was a mess, the fence near falling down, and how they kept dry during a storm was beyond him. The shakes on the roof curled and sagged.

  And it sure wasn’t as if he wanted to get involved with her problems. He could just as easily get on his horse and ride west, weak or not. And he would have already if Will hadn’t come into the barn early this morning.

  The boy had wanted someone to talk to—someone besides his older sister. And like it or not, Jake fit the bill. And it wasn’t as if he really minded. If his own son had lived... Jake forced his mind away from that painful course. He liked the boy. He understood a little more about the woman. And she was a damn good cook.

  Besides, she couldn’t help it that he’d lost control of himself last night. Because deep down Jake knew that was the main reason he wanted to saddle up and move on. Not that it would happen again. He’d see to it that there’d be no more kissing. But she acted as if he’d thrown her to the floor and tossed up her skirts—and he was having a hard time keeping the whole thing from his mind.

  Jake laid the hammer on the stool. “Look, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay on a few more days. And while I’m here, I’ll do a little work to help build up my strength.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you helping out?” She didn’t trust him any more than she trusted any of Landis Moore’s men.

  Jake blew air out through his mouth. Maybe he should just saddle up and ride out. Forget about the boy, forget about the food. “Look,” he said when he calmed down enough to turn back to her. The defiant thrust of her chin didn’t salve his anger. “We seem to have our share of differences—starting with you shooting me down for no reason.”

  “I had my reasons!”

  “Maybe you thought you did. But I doubt even you believe them anymore.”

  She couldn’t argue because, Lord help her, she was beginning to think she’d made a mistake. But she couldn’t tell him. She could only stare at him wide-eyed.

  Jake shook his head and leaned back against the stall divider. Had he honestly expected an apology? Did he even care for one? He crossed his arms. There was no reason to push for something he wasn’t getting and wasn’t sure he wanted.

  “It’s up to you.” Jake met her gaze squarely. “I can stay on a few days. Trade some chores for meals. Or I can ride out now.”

  Samantha’s hands tightened around the folds in her skirt. He’d left the choice to her. From the corner of her eye she could see Will leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. From the expression on his face it was obvious what he wanted her to say. The decision would be easy for him. But then he trusted the Rebel. Even If she did concede he wasn’t a member of Moore’s gang, could she abide a rebel?

  Samantha swallowed. “I suppose you can stay for a few days. Two maybe,” she added, wanting to set a definite time limit. “But...” Heavens, how could she say what she was thinking? What she’d been thinking about all morning. The answer was she couldn’t.

  Crossing her arms, her posture mirroring his, Samantha nodded toward her brother. “I’m going to
fix some breakfast. Will—” But the boy was way ahead of her and raced out the door yelling something about getting water from the creek. Charity trotted along at his heels.

  No longer having Will as a buffer between them made Samantha realize how much she wanted—needed one. Will may not have said anything during their discussion, but she’d known he was there.

  Now the musky air ripe with animal smells hung heavily between them. She knew she should leave, but he was staring at her and she couldn’t seem to break the spell. She could think only of last night and what it felt like in his arms. “I... I better...” Samantha straightened her shoulders. She was acting like an idiot again and she refused to continue.

  Something needed saying—about the kiss last night—and she rushed ahead before she could think too much about it. “If you stay, there can be no repeat of...” She tried, but she hadn’t gotten all she had to say out before she looked at him. He arched his brow, and she went tongue-tied. She tried again. “No repeat of—”

  “I’m not interested in anything but some honest work, a few meals... and staying to myself.”

  “I see.” Samantha folded her hands. He obviously knew what she was trying to say and he agreed. Readily agreed. Why did she find that annoying? Taking a deep breath, she pushed that thought from her mind. “That’s good.” She paused. “Well, I’ll get to fixing breakfast.” Glancing over her shoulder, she added, “You’re welcome to come to the cabin to eat. If you want.”

  Jake almost laughed at her offhand invitation. He wasn’t sure why she offered, but he was pretty confident she didn’t really mean it. Strangely, that made him all the more eager to accept.

  He turned, giving the nail one final whack before glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll be up to the house directly.” Then he watched as she trudged out of the barn.

  Unconsciously rubbing the area around his wound, Jake leaned back against the stall. Samantha Lowery was a strange one all right. A woman who’d shoot a man then spend days and sleepless nights nursing him back to health. Who’d tell you she shot you, then ask you to eat at her table to hide her fear.