Samantha gnawed on her bottom lip, steps away from the barn door, listening and wondering. What had become of Lydia? Had she died during the war? The angry wind tugged at her hair, and Samantha absently tucked a strand behind her ear only to have it come flailing out again to whip around her face.
Maybe Lydia wasn’t dead. Maybe she had left him for another man. Samantha hugged her arms about her waist and shook her head. She didn’t think Lydia—or any woman—would leave Jacob Morgan. And the idea of him leaving Lydia was ludicrous. Unless... unless he was simply going to Texas to find them a home and she was going to follow... with his son.
Samantha paused, staring unseeing into the black night. She never considered the possibility he was married. But now that she thought of it, Samantha had to admit it was possible—even probable. Except...
The kiss.
He wouldn’t kiss her like that if he was married. Would he? Samantha sucked in her breath as big fat raindrops began plopping on her head. The answer to that question was simple. He was a Rebel, wasn’t he? And Rebels would do anything.
And she hadn’t done anything to stop him.
Jake looked up as the barn door banged open. The wind grabbed it, sending it slamming against the turf wall with a dull thud. Thinking to shut it, he bent his leg to rise and that’s when he saw the figure in the doorway. Instinct made him reach for his gun. His blood ran cold till lightning flashed, silhouetting the figure. He recognized Samantha Lowery an instant before she reached back for the door and tugged it shut behind her.
He couldn’t see her well. The tallow candle she’d given him burned on an overturned bucket, but threw out precious little light. He could tell she was wet, and her hair tangled about her head in disarray. The sight of her made his pulse quicken.
Jake shifted, lowering the hand-cupped harmonica from his mouth. He didn’t know what she was doing in the barn at this time of night, but he knew it had nothing to do with the fantasies that kept popping into his head. He’d started playing to wipe them out, but it hadn’t worked. The harder he tried to think of his dead wife, the more Samantha Lowery came to mind. And now she stood before him. And it was all he could do not to pull her down onto the straw-covered floor and finish what he’d begun the other night.
Instead he rested forearm on bent knee. “Did you forget to milk the cow?” Jake knew better. He’d seen Will leave the barn with a pail full of frothy white milk earlier. But the silence made him uncomfortable, and Samantha didn’t seem ready to break it.
“No.” Samantha stepped farther into the barn. She could barely make him out in the shadows. He sat with his back to the wall, one leg stretched out before him. He was hatless and coatless, and if he noticed the drop in temperature caused by the storm, he didn’t show it.
But then, Samantha realized, she’d forgotten to grab her shawl before leaving the cabin. Her wet cotton blouse stuck to her skin, causing chill bumps to dance along her flesh.
Shivering, Samantha looked away, wondering if he was married... wondering why she cared. Finally when she could stand the heavy silence between them no longer, she met his eyes. “It’s storming and Will... and I... thought you might be more comfortable in the cabin.” Samantha paused. “Sometimes this roof leaks.” As if to add credibility to her explanation, a glob of mud plopped onto the straw near the rebel.
Jake stared at her a moment. “You’re asking me to wait out the rain in the cabin?” He didn’t even try to hide his surprise.
“Yes,” Samantha said quickly, her gaze returning to him. Then because she was basically an honest person, she added, “It was Will’s idea.”
He could believe that. Damned if he couldn’t. Jake shook his head. Unconsciously he rubbed the wound that was aching him worse—maybe because of the weather. The woman stood watching him, and when he realized what he was doing, he let his hand drop. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill you if I get the chance? Or maybe you’ve an idea to finish the job on me.”
He made her mad. Jake saw anger flash across her face before she turned her back to him and reached for the latch. “It’s obvious human kindness doesn’t work with the likes of you—you—” She managed no more before Jake grabbed hold of her shoulder and spun her around.
“Rebel! Is that the word you were searching for?” Anger and fear narrowed her eyes but Jake went on. “You’re a fine one to be talking about human kindness. You have so much hate built up inside you that you go around shooting innocent people.”
“Your innocence has yet to be proven.” Samantha tried to wriggle out of his grasp but he held her firm.
“Is that why you agreed to let me stay a few days? Why you came out here all alone? Because you think I’m riding with that Moore fellow?”
He definitely had her there. Though she refused to admit it. Long before she’d let him stay on, Samantha knew she’d made a mistake when shooting him. But that didn’t mean being around him wasn’t risky. He looked dangerous now, hovering over her in the near dark.
Just because he acted forgiving today didn’t mean he held no grudge against her for wounding him. She was foolish to come out here. Samantha took a steadying breath, trying to ignore the sizzle of his hands on her rain-soaked shoulders. “I thought you might be more comfortable in the cabin.” Samantha forced her voice to remain calm. “But since you’d rather stay here, it’s all the same to me.”
“Ah, but I wouldn’t.” Jake suppressed a grin when her jaw dropped. “I’ve spent too many days in the elements not to appreciate some comfort in a storm.”
She knew he spoke of the rain, of seeking a dry, warm spot to wait it out. But when he mentioned comfort, all Samantha could think of was being held in his arms. She stood motionless, breathing in the smell of him, watching his eyes turn a smoky green.
“What’s the matter, Miss Lowery? Didn’t you think Rebels had feelings?”
His sarcastic tone infuriated her. Twisting out of his grip, she jerked open the door. Sheets of wind-whipped rain washed over her before she was pulled back and the door slammed shut again.
“I don’t think either of us should try for the house just yet,” Jake said.
Oh, Lord. Why had she come out here? Samantha squared her shoulders, feigning courage she didn’t feel. “Perhaps you’re right.” He’d stepped away from her, which was a relief, but a moment later water drizzled through the thatch roof near Samantha. Before she could move, Jake gripped her elbow to guide her aside. His touch made her warm all over.
“It looks a little drier over here.” Jake motioned toward the empty stall lit by the flickering candle. She followed and stood leaning against the stall divider.
Samantha wished he’d say something... anything. But all he did was watch her. She could feel his stare down to her sodden shoes. It made her skin hot and her breasts taut. And by the expression on his face, the clinging fabric of her blouse made her condition obvious.
“It’s letting up some.” Samantha crossed her arms. “I’m going back to the cabin.”
What made her think the rain was subsiding, Jake didn’t know. He could still hear the steady plopping on the roof, which seemed more sieve than protection. But it was obvious she didn’t want to be here with him. He caught up with her as she yanked open the door. He threw the uniform jacket he’d grabbed over her head, then bundled her outside before she could protest.
Rain, silvered by near continuous streaks of lightning, pelted the yard. Samantha felt herself buffeted to the side, and her feet slipped in the slimy mud. Reaching out, she grabbed for the barnyard fence. All she managed to do was lose her grip on the wool jacket. It slid down to her shoulders and raindrops pounded her face as she started to fall. But before she hit the ground, she was hauled against something strong and solid.
The Rebel.
He tucked her under his arm then took off running across the yard. His shoulder offered some protection from the torrents and his strong arm steadied her when her feet slipped again. By the time they reached the porch, she was more being
carried than running.
Will yanked open the door. Apparently he’d been watching their progress through the window. “Hell’s bells, you two are wet!” he yelled as Jake propelled them into the cabin.
Samantha opened her mouth to comment on Will’s cursing then snapped it shut. Somehow it seemed a very appropriate way to describe them. She was soaked to the skin. Her hair hung in sodden clumps, dripping fresh water onto her face and down her back.
Besides, she was too breathless to give a lecture. She was enveloped by Jacob Morgan and the sensations were simply too strong to ignore.
His warmth permeated her, not just where their bodies touched but throughout her entire being. She breathed, and it was him she smelled. Steamy like a summer storm, his scent made her stomach muscles tighten as the rest of her longed to melt into him.
Samantha pushed herself away, or he maybe just let her go. But the next thing she knew he was drawing the damp jacket from her head and maneuvering her toward the stove. Will pulled out a chair, and hands on shoulders, the Rebel lowered her into it.
“Please, Captain Morgan.” Samantha sprang up. “I’m perfectly all right. A little damp, maybe. But I won’t melt.”
Jake grinned. “Believe me, Miss Lowery, I never thought you would.” She might feel soft and sweet in his arms, but that’s where Samantha Lowery’s similarity to sugar stopped. Jake sidled closer to the stove, catching the towel Will tossed his way. He was wet and cold even if she wasn’t. Damn, the woman was full of vinegar. Didn’t she recognize a chivalrous act when she saw one? And what the hell was he doing being chivalrous anyway? The damn woman shot him!
But that didn’t keep his eyes from straying to Samantha’s wet bodice. The damp material clung to her breasts, and the fabric was nearly transparent. She must have realized her predicament, or maybe his surreptitious glances were more obvious than he thought, for she grabbed up her shawl and swirled it around her shoulders.
“I’m going to change into some dry clothes,” she announced before tramping off to her bedroom. Muddy footprints marked her path.
Samantha leaned against the closed door and took a deep breath. What in the world was the matter with her? She let the shawl drop to the floor. She wanted nothing more than to hide in her room, but she refused to let the Rebel run her from her own cabin. Stripping from her sodden clothes, Samantha found herself wet down to her pantaloons. After quickly towel-drying her hair and body, she pulled on a clean dress.
Her shoes were another matter. They were hopelessly covered with mud. She could clean them off, but not now. And there was no way she was going back out in front of the Rebel with her feet bare.
Grimacing, Samantha dug in the trunk that held the clothes her family brought from back East. Her mother had been raised with money. Just because she decided to marry a poor minister and move across the county with him had been no reason to abandon her pretty things. At least that had been her mother’s idea before reaching Kansas.
But though most of the gowns she brought were useless in her new home, Samantha’s mother kept them, and sometimes late at night she’d wear them for her husband. Samantha remembered lying in the loft listening to them talking and laughing, pretending her father had come to call.
Biting her lip, Samantha pushed aside a silk gown and found the shoes she sought. They were kid, brittle from age, but when she pulled them on over her stockings, they fit. Of course they’d be no good for outside work, but at least they covered her feet, and despite the ravages of time, they were pretty.
Samantha lifted her skirt, examining her feet. They looked a lot smaller and more feminine than they did in her work shoes. Dropping the sturdy cotton material, Samantha sighed. What did it matter what her feet looked like?
Before leaving the room, she brushed back her damp hair and tied it at her nape with a bow.
Rain still pelted the roof, but Samantha was pleased to see as she reentered the front room that no water leaked from the eaves. And then she saw the Rebel. He was standing near the window she’d broken out. Samantha had taken down the blanket, her original cover, and replaced it with a piece of tautly stretched cotton. He turned when she shut her bedroom door. His eyes met hers, then dropped to sweep over his clothes.
“Will said it was all right for me to wear this.” His hand fell to his side and he wished to heaven he’d told the kid to forget it. There were worse things than being cold and wet, and this was one of them.
Samantha stared a moment longer at the Rebel dressed in her older brother’s clothes, then nodded. It seemed strange to see once again those work pants she’d patched and the shirt with the blue stripe she’d always thought made Luke look so handsome. She felt a twinge of sadness, but that wasn’t the reason she turned abruptly away.
She was going to laugh. Samantha brushed her hand down the side of her skirt and crossed the room toward her sewing basket. Her shoes squeaked and she glanced back to see if the Rebel noticed. He watched her, his brow arched as if daring her to say anything.
A giggle escaped.
“Where’s Will?” Samantha said, trying to cover up the sound.
“In the loft looking for a pair of clean socks.”
Her gaze shot to his feet, and another noise erupted from her, this time more like a strangled guffaw. Samantha coughed, then cleared her throat. “I think there are some in the basket.” Samantha’s eyes met Jake’s after a detailed journey up his body, and her composure crumbled.
Clear peals of laughter rang out. Samantha made one futile attempt to squelch her mirth, then tossed her hands up and gave in to it. She sucked in her breath, wiped tears from the corners of her eyes, and realized something.
She wasn’t the only one laughing. The Rebel’s deep rumble joined in. He paused, rubbing a hand across his jaw, and gave her a crooked, self-mocking grin. “Will was so certain they’d fit, I didn’t have the heart to argue,” he said before crossing the floor toward her. “I bet I do look pretty ridiculous though.”
“Not really,” Samantha insisted before catching a glimpse of his disbelieving expression. “Maybe the pants are a little short,” she observed, glancing down at the hairy legs and large feet sticking out from the trousers. And she had worried about coming out into the room barefoot. At least her feet would have been hidden beneath her skirts.
“Perhaps a tad.” Jake lifted his leg, pretending to survey the hem that hit him midcalf. “But then I suppose the pants go with the rest of my ensemble pretty well.” The shirtsleeves, unbuttoned at the cuffs, dangled well above his wrists. And even though the shirt was made loose and billowy, it still fit him tightly across the shoulders.
“You can’t be comfortable in that.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Jake pulled a chair across the table corner from her and sat down. “At least they’re dry.” He glanced toward the clothes he’d draped over another chair close to the stove.
“True, but they’re—”
“They’re fine, Miss Lowery.” Jake looked away then found his eyes drawn back to her. “You’re beautiful when you laugh,” he said, catching them both off guard. Her expression showed shock and disbelief, and Jake figured his matched. Why in the hell had he said that? True enough, he thought her pretty since he first woke to find her snuggled on his shoulder. But he hadn’t seen her laugh, even smile for that matter, until now.
Merriment made her blue eyes alive with silvery sparks, made her face breathtaking. But that was no excuse for his saying it. And those sparkling eyes weren’t laughing now. They were wide, turned up slightly at the corners, and staring at him in wonderment. And her mouth, that sweet mouth he had kissed into submission, was open—only slightly—but enough for him to see the tip of her tongue.
Jake leaned forward. He could swear she drew toward him too. And then Will came clambering down the ladder.
Samantha jerked, her body slamming into the chair back, the jolt knocking some sense into her scattered wits. Had she come close to kissing him... again? Taking a deep breath, Samanth
a reached for her sewing basket, nearly knocking it onto the floor. Jacob Morgan’s fast hands kept her pins and threads from scattering.
He jumped up when he first heard Will, and now he met the boy before Will’s feet hit the floor. Will turned, his expression apologetic. “Gosh, Jake, I thought they’d fit you better than that.”
“Hey, Will,” Jake said, tussling the boy’s shock of wheat-colored hair. “It’s all right. They’re dry. How about those socks?” he questioned when Will still seemed concerned.
The heavy wool socks did nothing to improve his comical appearance, but they were at least warm. It amazed Jake how quickly the temperature had dropped with the onset of the storm.
Because he didn’t know what else to do, Jake sat back down at the table. But this time he sat across from Samantha. She didn’t look up, just kept stitching furiously at something she was making out of obnoxious purple silk. When Will flopped down, his attention was all for Jake.
“Did you bring your mouth organ in with ya?” he asked, leaning forward expectantly.
“As a matter of fact, I did.” Jake reached into his pocket. He’d retrieved it when he changed his pants.
“Could you play something for us... please?” Will added when Jake seemed to hesitate. “Sam and I heard you earlier, and really liked it.”
“I never said I liked it...” Samantha’s words trailed off as she realized how rude she sounded. She just didn’t want the Rebel thinking she sat around listening to him play. She concentrated on her next stitch. “Of course, we’d love to hear you play, Captain Morgan.”
The Rebel’s grin told her he knew her first statement closer to the truth, but he sidled up on one hip and drew out his harmonica. After some tune-up trills, he began to play.
Some of his songs were festive and cheerful, some were full of longing, but he played them all with the same enthusiasm. And Samantha was enthralled. She followed the motion, the movement of his hands as he slid the harmonica side to side, her sewing forgotten in her lap. His clear green eyes were hidden, their lashes lowered, blocking any view of his emotions. But the music filled the gap, washing feelings of joy, sorrow, pain, and love over her.
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