by Paty Jager
Chapter 5
The knob didn’t turn, and the door didn’t budge.
“Maeve, let me in. We need to discuss things.” He knocked on the door gently. Nothing. He placed an ear against the wood and heard the soft rustle of clothing. He hardened imagining Maeve shedding her clothes. Thump, thump. That would be her boots landing on the floor.
He knocked again and listened. The slap of bare feet on wood drew near the other side of the door. He leaned back, ready for the door to open.
“Whatever we need to talk about can be discussed on our long ride tomorrow.” Her whisper sent a coil of heat straight to his loins and aching body part.
“But-”
“Good night, Zeke.” The finality and softness in her voice deflated his ego, yet didn’t squelch his desire.
“I don’t want to wait until tomorrow,” he growled.
“I’m not opening the door. Unless you plan to yell and let the whole place hear what you have to say, you can wait.” The sound of her bare feet retreating across the floor and the creak of the bed as she climbed on told him the conversation had ended.
The dang woman kissed him like a wanton woman earlier and now was being as prudish as a preacher’s daughter. He undressed and climbed into bed. One thing was for sure, he wasn’t going to forget the way she kissed him. In fact, he looked forward to more occasions to hold and kiss Miss Loman.
****
“What if this Barton fellow isn’t even at the saloon?” Maeve couldn’t shake the feeling they were wasting time. Her father had disappeared over ten years ago. They may never run into anyone who even knew him.
“We’ll keep asking around until we find him.” Zeke had dropped back to ride alongside her when they slowed the horses to a walk.
“This could be a useless trip. I really shouldn’t have let you convince me to take a sabbatical. I need the money I get from teaching.” The blinding evening sun finally ducked behind the mountain in the distance.
“I understand your need for independence and teaching gives you that. But one of these days, someone,” he waggled his eyebrows, “like me, would be happy to make you his wife and you won’t have to teach.”
“What if I wanted to continue teaching?” She wasn’t giving in to his insistence they get married, but it was a tempting thought, one that kept her awake last night reliving his kisses.
“Then you can keep teaching.” He reached over, cupping her chin. “I want you to be happy. That’s all.”
The sincerity in his eyes brought a lump to her throat. She swallowed and asked, “How do you know I’m not happy the way things are?”
“We’ll stop here for the night.” He walked his horse off the freight road and over to a tall, leafy stand of cottonwood and clumps of dogwood beside a stream.
Maeve dismounted. She scanned the area. They were far enough from the road no one would know they were camped if they doused the fire before they went to sleep. She’d heard of gangs robbing the freight wagons. Would they also rob two people who had nothing of worth? She shuddered. This would be her first night of ever sleeping without a roof.
A hand rested on her shoulder and she jumped. His deep chuckle lit her fuse.
“That isn’t funny! I don’t appreciate you sneaking up on me.”
“I wasn’t sneaking. Anyone could have heard me walk up, I wasn’t pussyfootin’.” Zeke slid his hand down her arm and back up. His strength ebbed into her. They were safe here. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
“I have a confession.” She bit her bottom lip, wondering if it was a good idea to let him know she was scared. If jumping when he put a hand on her didn’t already give him the idea, he was denser than she thought.
“You’ve only been stringing me along because it was so much fun?” He pulled her around to face him. The wiggling eyebrow and crooked grin revealed he was fooling with her.
“No, I string you along because you’re a contrary man. My confession is—I’ve never slept outside.”
He scanned her attire. “I was sure with as worn as those clothes look, you’d took to the trail more than once.”
“Well, I have traveled, but I always stayed in a stage stop or building of some sort.”
He grinned and his eyes danced with merriment. “I’m traveling with a greenhorn.”
“Hey, watch who you call names!”
“Stake out your horse, and I’ll show you how to build a fire.” He led his horse to the water.
She did the same, allowing the mare to drink her fill. When the horse raised its head and turned from the stream, she loosened the cinch and placed the saddle, saddlebag, and blanket on the ground. She took the bridle off and tied the horse to a tree where a patch of grass was within easy reach.
Watching Zeke, she set her saddle like he did and propped her saddle bag up against it, draping the whole thing with the blanket.
“Round up some dry sticks,” he said, placing rocks the size of a head in a circle.
She scurried about under the trees picking up the fallen branches. Her arms were loaded when she returned to the fire pit. Zeke broke the sticks and stacked them, stuffing dried grass and a small slip of paper in the middle. He took a small, tin match safe out of his pocket and lit the grass.
A wispy tendril of smoke undulated toward the darkening sky. The flames grew, licking and snapping. He pulled a coffee pot from his saddlebag and filled it with water.
“What can I do?” Maeve asked feeling awkward. She was acceptable in the kitchen, but nothing like Mrs. White or Aunt Geraldine. She’d never done more than heat up water for coffee while out on a ride. Why did riding around alone during the light of day not bother her, but being with Zeke in the dark scared the wits out of her? Not that he would hurt her or let anyone else harm her, but she wasn’t prepared for the attraction that seemed to grow with each hour they spent together.
“You could pull a loaf of bread out of my saddle bag.” He handed her a long, double-sided, sharp knife that appeared out of nowhere. She grasped the worn antler handle. The weight of the knife pulled her hand into her lap.
“This weighs as much as my gun,” she commented, rummaging around in the saddlebag he’d indicated.
“It’s a precision weapon, just like your gun only quieter and unobtrusive.” The hardness in Zeke’s eyes divulged he’d used it on more than one occasion to either kill or keep from being killed. Shivers riffled down her spine. When he’d made fun of her being a better shot, she never gave a thought to him having a weapon. She’d never witnessed him pushed to draw this knife. She was sure it never left his person just as her gun was always within arm’s reach, even at school. Some of the parents would have a conniption knowing the school teacher carried her gun to school with her every day in her lesson bag.
She didn’t know why she felt the need to always have it handy. Other than her father’s warning to always keep it close. He taught her how to handle a gun and insisted she never forget how to shoot. That was why she made a point to ride out every Sunday after church and practice. Did he know trouble was coming? And did she practice because it was a warm memory and connection to him?
“You going to cut me a slice of that bread or stare at it all night?” The humor in Zeke’s voice brought her back from her melancholy thoughts.
“I figure you can wait a minute or two. You aren’t going to waste away to nothing.” The knife slipped through the crust like it was warm butter rather than a solid substance.
“It’s not that I’m starving, I’d like to open this can of beans.”
She cut several slices and handed the knife back to Zeke handle first, being careful not to touch either side of the shiny blade.
Fascinated, she watched him place the curved tip of the knife at the edge of the top of the can. He hit the end of the handle with his palm, tapping the point through the metal like a needle sliding through fabric. With precision and little effort he cut around the top of a can and removed it. She never wanted to be on the pointed end of th
at knife.
Zeke placed the can of beans next to the fire. “It shouldn’t take long for the beans to heat up. Be a minute before the coffee’s ready, too.” He sat on his backside and leaned against his saddle which sat conveniently nearby. His long legs, crossed at the ankles, stretched out beside the fire.
He looked at home and peaceful.
She picked her saddle up, placed it by the fire like his, and sat, leaning against the contraption like he did. It wasn’t bad. Not like sitting on a settee, but it propped her back. She placed her hands behind her head and leaned back. This she could get used to. No papers to correct, no assignments to get ready for the next day. Just her, the stars…
“Hey, don’t go to sleep, you have dinner to eat and questions to answer.” Zeke pulled the can out of the fire and divided the beans alongside the slices of bread on two tin plates.
He handed her a plate, fork, and cup of coffee as she watched his chiseled face the best she could in the growing darkness and flicker of the fire.
The beans were hot. She blew on them, keeping her head downcast, hiding from his probing eyes. What could he possibly have left to question her about?
When he bent to the task of eating, so did she. Nothing ever got settled on an empty stomach. She ate slowly, sopping up the juices with the bread to make the meal last longer.
A contented sigh drew her gaze from her plate to the man lounging against his saddle. His raised arms pillowed his head. His hat tipped forward hiding his eyes and revealing a satisfied smile curving the corners of his full bottom lip.
She stood and moved around the fire to pick up his plate. He caught her wrist so fast, she yelped. With a swift move, she landed on Zeke’s lap holding a plate and fork in each hand.
“Just the way I like it,” he said, capturing her head in between his hands and drawing her toward him.
She started to sputter about propriety when his lips descended on hers—hot, soft, and gentle—all thoughts fled. His hands slid up into her hair, knocking her hat behind her. He cradled her head like a cherished object. The kiss deepened, her heart thrummed, and her hands relaxed. The dishes dropped to the ground before she wound her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his.
Energy warmed her in places she’d never experienced before. The pressure of his hard chest against her breasts made them ache. She pulled back and shook her head. What was happening?
His lips sought hers, but she pulled back again. She was alone in the middle of nowhere with a man who made her do things she wouldn’t normally do. This had to stop.
She pushed against his chest with her hands, making space between their heated bodies. “No. Please, stop.”
Zeke allowed her to pull away. He’d never do anything to make her feel pressured. When she’d reached down to pick up his plate, he couldn’t help himself. He’d been taunted by her lips all day.
He raised his hands in surrender and let her scramble off his lap. Every time he kissed her, she tasted better. And stayed in his arms longer. He smiled. With time, she’d never leave his arms. Not if he had anything to say about it.
She huffed to the edge of the stream and washed the plates with handfuls of sand. He liked how the riding skirt pulled taut across her backside. If she knew the view she gave squatting by the stream, he’d bet she wouldn’t be doing it. He chuckled and pulled his hat down over his eyes. If she caught him gawking at her, she’d give him a tongue lashing. He didn’t want her riled up just yet. He had some questions to ask. If she didn’t spit out some answers tonight, she better by tomorrow night cuz the following day, they’d be in The Dalles and looking up this fella Barton.
Maeve placed the dishes on her saddlebags and unfurled her bedroll. He chuckled when she placed it a ways away on the opposite side of the fire.
“You’re gonna get cold way over there by yourself,” he offered, tossing the remains of his coffee out into the darkness surrounding them.
“I’ll be fine.” She sat on one blanket and pulled the other over her as she lay down, pulling her felt hat down over her face.
Zeke tossed another stick on the fire and stood. He stretched before heading into the trees to relieve himself. About the time he was thinking of a way to put his bedroll beside hers a coyote let loose a string of yips. Another joined and pretty soon it sounded like about a dozen cavorted around chasing something.
When he got back to camp, Maeve stood, wadding her blankets in her arms.
“Shouldn’t we climb a tree or something?” she asked, scanning the grove of trees they’d camped under.
“Why would you want to do that?” He tried hard to keep the laughter out of his voice. For putting on a tough front, she sure scared easily.
“So the coyotes don’t attack us during the night.”
“I’ve never slept in a tree, and I’ve never been attacked by a coyote. They’re after their dinner.”
“Yeah, us.”
That did it, he couldn’t hold it in. He burst out laughing and it garnered him a scowl.
“This isn’t funny!”
“I can’t,” he sucked in air, “I can’t believe you’re afraid of coyotes. I’ve seen you stare down men who are more frightening than a pack of mongrels.”
She stood, clutching her blankets and peering into the darkness.
“Come here,” he motioned her toward him.
Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head.
“I promise not to touch you. If it makes you feel better you can sleep between the fire and me. No coyote will try to get you then.” He couldn’t suppress the snicker.
She stomped over to him, smacked him in the shoulder, and spread her blanket on the ground where he indicated. “You have to stay this far away.” She walked past him and drew a line in the dirt with the heel of her boot.
Zeke looked at it and shook his head. “That’s a long way from the warmth of the fire.” He walked behind the line. “And it leaves a good space for a coyote to sneak in between us.”
A chorus of yips couldn’t have come at a better time. Her head just about spun off her shoulders as she peered into the trees and shadows beyond the fire’s glow.
“You can sleep just this side of the line.” Maeve plopped down on the blanket and turned her back to him.
He grinned and unrolled his blankets half way between the line and the curled up woman. She might want him to keep his distance, but the fire was on the other side of her, and he wasn’t going to lose sleep because he was cold.
Chapter 6
Faint light filtered through the leaves overhead. Maeve ducked her cold nose under the blanket and snuggled deeper into the warmth sheltering her body.
She was outside, under trees. Her mind snapped awake. A large, male arm wrapped around her middle, snuggling her tighter against her warm cocoon.
She knew who the arm belonged to. A man who made her forget proprieties. She grasped the flannel-clad restraint, prying it from her person. When she started to roll out from under, another arm snaked under her, drawing her back against his hard body.
“I’m not ready to get up.” Zeke’s deep voice rumbled against her back.
“I am,” she said, working to get loose from both arms encircling her. The cotton blouse she wore rubbed her breasts as his flannel clad arm held her hostage. Every inch of her body tingled.
“Hold still. You’ll make me have to lay here longer.” The undercurrent in his words caused her to stop. What did he mean?
“Just let me up, and you can lay there as long as you want.” She tried prying his arms loose again. This time they granted her freedom.
She grabbed her blankets and rose. Maeve didn’t dare look down. Her heart pounded so strong it drummed in her ears. How long had she slept cradled against his body? She shivered. His warmth had enveloped her, not only giving her heat but safety.
Rolling the blankets, she walked to her saddle. She tied the bedroll to the back of the saddle and snagged the coffee pot sitting next to the dead fire. “Get the fire goi
ng, and I’ll bring some water up for coffee.”
When he didn’t respond she looked his way. Was that pain on his face as he started to rise? Did he have an affliction she wasn’t aware of?
“Did you sleep on a rock during the night?” she asked, bending to give assistance.
Zeke swiped at her. “Go away. You’re the cause of my stiffness this morning.”
She straightened and stared at him. How could she cause him stiffness? He slept on the hard ground and that wasn’t her fault. Well, in a way it was. He traveled with her to find answers to her father’s past.
He rolled away from her and stood. Once on his feet, he grabbed the coffee pot out of her hand. “You gather more sticks for the fire. I’ll get the water.”
She watched him stiffly walk toward the stream. A man of his age and lifestyle should be used to sleeping on the ground.
Zeke returned to the camp with a filled coffee pot. In the distance, he spotted Maeve bending, retrieving dried sticks. He turned from the sight. He’d splashed cold, stream water on his face and back of his neck to relieve his stiff cock. Then the sight of her bending over—he moaned and turned to his saddlebag to pull out the pouch of coffee grounds.
He stirred the coals in the fire pit. Some charcoal glowed when air reached it. He placed a handful of dried grass on the glowing orange remnants and blew, making a small flame.
Sticks tumbled to the ground beside him, and Maeve walked away. He grabbed several and continued feeding the flame until a hot fire singed his cheeks.
He looked around. Maeve had the horses down by the stream. When she brought them back to the camp, the coffee had boiled. He dumped a cup of cold water into the pot and poured two cups.
“What are we eating this morning?” she asked, sitting on the ground across from him.
“That bread from last night.” He reached down to his boot and pulled out his knife as she turned to the saddlebag. When she held the bread, he handed her the knife, hilt first.
