by Linda Broday
Pins from her hair dropped quietly to the floor, letting the raven strands cascade around his hands.
Laurel’s silky caresses wandered lazily up his back.
Muscles long bereft of female attention quivered when she loitered to etch her name over each.
Her nimble touch flitted, inflicting torture of the most maddening kind.
And yet, he fought to hold himself in check.
Need to prolong the end dominated his crazed thoughts, for he wished to bring equal satisfaction.
She held his entire being in her hands and whether she believed it or not, she was all lady—a most respectable one, which he dared anyone to say otherwise.
The agonizing dawdle ended with the tangling of her fingers in his hair. Laurel pulled him still closer while the palm of the other hand dipped lower, further fueling the roaring blaze inside him. A sensuous burn inched upward, through the maze of muscle and sinew, knotting each in the passing.
Brodie realized he’d become more than flesh and bone. He belonged to her… They belonged to each other.
Finally, they’d become whole bodies with beautiful heads.
The humid swampland of Big Cypress Bayou on the hottest summer’s day couldn’t compare to the sultry film coating her skin. Rise and fall of lush breasts revealed desire at which the come-hither smile only hinted.
He’d never known such a bottomless, drowning hunger. The lazy storm that began at the onset developed into a huge cyclone that swept everything in its path.
Raw need rushed through his body as he lowered Laurel to the small bed.
“I want you, Laurel Lillian James. I need you.”
“Groveling at my feet at last, are you?”
“I’m not greedy… All right, maybe a bit.” He nibbled her earlobes. “I’ll take whatever I can beg, plead, or bargain for. Is the plundering option still on the table?”
“You indeed have the heart of a dangerous brigand.”
“Can’t argue with that. At least I’m a happy one.”
“Hush. Talking wastes too much energy, Sir Buccaneer.”
“That so?”
Their breaths mingled in a kiss that could’ve melted lead and gave her to know he had lots left for pleasuring her. Brodie fondled the weight of her heavy breasts, and a moan tumbled from her throat when he rolled a puckered nipple between thumb and forefinger.
A powerful onslaught of tenderness battered down the last bit of restraint. He crushed her to him, shamefully reveling in all that he knew and more he hoped to learn.
Ropes on which the feather mattress rested creaked in protest. Yet other than a soft gasp, that was the only noise when he filled her, fully and deeply.
Strange how he’d been here before, yet this seemed the first time in which their bodies had joined.
In a sense, he reckoned it was.
They weren’t the same two people. They’d grown and changed in the passing years. Laurel had learned to take what she wanted and speak her mind.
And him?
Thank God for an experienced woman.
Not only did she eagerly accept all he gave, but returned pure, shimmering gold to his paltry silver.
Her grip held him fast as she shuddered. Warm contractions pulsated around his imbedded length, unleashing tremors that traveled throughout his body.
Long weeks of torment and waiting came to an end in a surging release that shook him to the core.
The sheer curtains floated in a breeze through the open window. Brodie locked the memory away for safekeeping. He’d remember always this moonlit night, her dew-kissed softness when their hearts joined.
Even until the day they laid him six feet under.
Then, if God willed, in the hereafter.
Twenty-six
Laurel nestled in the only arms she’d ever desired. Brodie’s quiet breaths at her temple fluttered wisps of hair. She brushed back the rebellious lock from his forehead.
“I’m curious.”
“Does it pertain to scuttling ships or plundering? Because if it does, I’ll lay it to my seafaring great grandfather, Bartholomew Yates. I understand he did a fair amount of it.”
“No, silly.” She traced each line and crevice in his face. “I wondered why you adorn your hat with snake rattles of all things. They make such ungodly noise.”
“They remind me how precious staying alive is.”
The strength of symbols came in various forms, it seemed. A broken tooth had become such for her.
“I cut those off the biggest, meanest diamondback I ever killed. Had the rascal not shaken ’em, I’d be dead. Figured the noise would warn others to shy away and what would come if they didn’t.”
“A lot are too dumb. Look at Jeb Prater.”
“When God handed out brains He certainly missed a few souls.” He nipped at her finger with his teeth. “But I have another reason, if you promise not to laugh.”
“I swear not to crack a smile.”
Anyone who let the harmless color of lavender frighten the wits out of them dare not sit in judgment of others.
“The hiss of those rattles sort of comforts. Reminds me I fear no man…only fate.”
Or destiny. Thoughts turned to Ollie and her confession. She’d do anything to keep the dear woman free—anything.
“Have you ever been in prison for killing anyone?”
“I’ve gotten on the personal side of more calabooses than I care to recall, but missed being jailed for murder. Why?”
“I can’t tell.”
“Does this pertain to Vallens? You saying you shot him?”
Laurel pushed away and fumbled to raise the lamp wick, calling herself nine kinds of crazy.
“You should leave now.”
“Whatever you say. What did I do wrong?”
Lowering her defenses proved definite impairment in sound judgment. She should’ve known better. The soldier she fell in love with wouldn’t find her capable of murder. Sudden tears blurred the heap of garments littering the floor. Snatching them, a calculated throw landed the trousers in his face, covering narrowed rebel grays that set her pulse racing.
An object—a drawstring pouch—brushed her foot when she stood. Buttery leather molded to the shape of her palm when she picked it up.
“What’s this?”
“Nothing of much value.”
Brodie lifted the bag without sparing her a glance and drew on his pants. Anger lay heavy in the air, an ugly closure to the contentment their lovemaking had brought.
She’d mistaken him for a granter of wishes.
A lump formed in her chest as she fumbled with the buttons, not seeming able to find the holes.
“For God’s sake.” He spun her around and one by one put each button in place. “What did I say?”
“Vallens doesn’t belong in our bed.”
“I’ll remember that.” Brodie kissed the tip of her nose. “We’re survivors. We know what it takes to make it to the next sunrise because we’ve seen our share of pitch-dark nights.”
After pulling on his boots, he reached for his hat and gun belt and sauntered to the door. “You know where to find me.”
Laurel swallowed hard as he stepped into the hall.
“Brodie?”
“Yes, darlin’.”
“Thank you for tonight.”
“For the record, which lady lurked behind the mask in our game of pretense?”
“Myself. I’m sick of trying to be something I’m not.”
* * *
Brodie failed to stop by the following day. Evening drew to a close without her hearing the familiar noise she craved.
“You’re a fool, a crazy stupid fool.”
Ollie burst through the vacant dining room with Curley in tow. “What’s that you say?”
“C
an’t a body talk to herself?”
“Reckon so if you’ve a mind. Girl, Curley wants to ask a favor.” Ollie tugged at his arm. “Go ahead.”
The ring on the plump man’s finger sparkled as he twisted his hands. Laurel cast Ollie a suspicious glance.
“I’m at my wit’s end. Ollie said maybe you could help.”
“I’ll surely do what I can.”
“First off, Ollie sort of spilled the beans about your previous…line of work.”
“You didn’t!” Laurel sent the woman an angry glare.
“Hold on to your blooming mule train.” Ollie wore a sheepish squint. “It merely slipped out during a—”
“Lull in the conversation? How could you?”
“Your secret’s safe with Curley.”
“What about those you guard so carefully? I don’t suppose they happened to slip out while you shot the breeze.”
“Now that I think on it…”
“Exactly what I thought.”
“Ladies, blood sure would mess up this clean kitchen.” Curley turned to Laurel. “Here’s the problem. A pitiful little creature named Adeline arrived today wanting to work in the saloon. I can’t turn her out with no place to go.”
“Ain’t no bigger than a corn nubbin,” Ollie added. “Needs a chance to grow up afore she sets out to ruin herself.”
“How exactly will serving liquor ruin her life?”
Curley squirmed. “Not what she has in mind. She’s determined to invite paying customers upstairs for a tumble.”
Laurel’s tongue scraped the rough edge of her tooth. “No, I won’t go there. Not under any circumstances.”
“Laurel girl, I understand your vow to steer clear of those places, but Adeline will only go on to Jefferson. Think about them murdering scalawags and riffraff.”
“A person that stubborn won’t listen to me.”
Curley scratched his head. “You’ve been down that road. It might make her stop and think. If you won’t talk to her I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Not less than ten minutes later, Curley let Laurel in through the back of the saloon and pointed out Adeline’s room.
Whiskey and stale, lifeless air mingled, taunting her.
Harsh laughter surged from below. A piano tinkled, no one minding it a little off-key. Chills enveloped Laurel. A male voice escaped under a closed door opposite the narrow hall.
“I’ve paid good money, dearie. Get undressed or else.”
The salty taste of sweat drenched raw memories. Hurt and despair stung behind tightly closed lids. Her mouth dry, she leaned against the wall, too queasy to stand. A foolhardy move this was, stepping inside the one place she swore never to darken again.
Ollie’s remembered plea stopped a lurch toward fresh air. Laurel had asked many times how long she had to wear the mark of shame.
The woman’s reply sounded in her head. “Until it doesn’t fit anymore.” Lately, Laurel had begun to fashion a new, roomy garment.
A young girl answered her light tap. Curley might’ve bought the stated age of fifteen, but twelve or thirteen seemed more accurate. Ruffles and bows indicated the child would burst out of the dress long before the need to become a woman.
“Adeline?”
“Who’s asking?”
“A friend…Laurel James.”
Innocence in Adeline’s sky-blue gaze twisted the knot in Laurel’s stomach. The girl flicked her head in defiance, setting blond hair swaying.
“Don’t need friends. None ever did me a lick of good.”
“May I come inside?”
“I’m busy. Got paying customers waiting. Before the night’s over I’m gonna have money in my pocket. Reckon it cain’t be worse than doing other things.”
A shiver swept through Laurel. Depended on the definition.
“Please, I promise I won’t take long.”
“Better not. I can spare only a minute.”
The sparse furnishings repulsed her. But it was a rag doll’s button eyes staring from the pillows that broke her heart. Loving hands had fashioned hair of yellow yarn and stitched a smile on the stuffed face. Funny how each new girl brought something to cling to.
For Laurel it had been her music box.
Careful scrutiny found etchings above the door, crude efforts to preserve true names. She blinked hard. Inside the third room to the right at the Black Garter scratched above the doorframe, it would read Laurel.
A flush deepened Adeline’s cheeks as she quickly stuffed the doll beneath the mattress.
“Well?” The girl tapped her foot nervously. “This ain’t no place for social calling.”
Laurel perched on the edge of the bed, careful not to squish the little doll. “I see that. Where’s your home?”
“Came up river from New Orleans.” Adeline shivered as if bad memories walked across her mind. Her shoulders sagged when she sat beside Laurel. “Not home now. Ain’t ever going back.”
A shared misery. “I understand what you mean.”
“How can someone like you know?”
“Because I’ve walked in your shoes. There are better ways to survive.”
“Words come cheap, don’t they?”
“Not if they offer a way out.”
A ragged sigh disturbed the stale air. “Fever took my ma last year. After she passed, my pa…”
Laurel imagined the rest. A lot had the same story.
Adeline’s defiance returned. “Like I said—my pa—he took me to his bed…forced me to do things. He told me I had to pay for Ma up and dying on him. I’m a disgrace.”
Bile clogged Laurel’s throat. She swallowed bitterness.
“The sin belongs to your father, not you.” She folded her arms around the sobbing child, adding a few tears of her own. “Hush now, it’ll be all right. Your pa won’t ever hurt you again. I promise.”
“You don’t know him.”
“We’ll hide and keep you safe.”
“Hardest part is not having a home, no family to call your own. You probably can’t imagine that.”
“Let me tell you a little story, Adeline.”
After Laurel finished sharing her experience, she stood at the small window, looking out at the darkness. “We are who we are. Hold your head high.” She turned. “I want to hire you. Show up tomorrow morning at Ollie’s Café. Can’t pay a whole lot, and it’s hard work. But it’s a roof over your head and it’s respectable.”
Marching to the bed, she lifted the mattress and freed the rag doll.
“Don’t ever let your treasures embarrass you. They’re as much a part of us as the air filling our lungs. Both keep us alive.”
* * *
Laurel felt emotionally drained by the time she headed for the café. She’d hopefully started a child down a road that didn’t lead to dead ends like hers always seemed to.
Preoccupied, she never saw the shadow leap forward until too late. She suddenly found herself face-to-face with the wild, glittering eyes of the wolf-dog.
The hated, fearsome beast froze her to the spot.
She scoured the buildings for signs of life. But they were locked tight for the night. Failing to see a safe place to run, she searched for a rock or piece of wood. None came to light.
What she wouldn’t give to have the knife back in her pocket. She’d ceased carrying it when Vallens disappeared.
Speaking of which, she half expected to discover the hateful man leering at her. That he didn’t come forth brought an eerie shiver. Ollie must truly have killed him.
Yet, the dog showing up meant something.
A soothing, calm voice could prevent an attack, she’d heard.
“Hey, boy, where did you come from? I’ll bet you’re starving. Let me pass and I’ll feed you a big steak.”
The animal whined low a
nd pitiful. Indeed a stark change from the guttural growl. Then she noticed a dark splotch near the rib cage. The short fur had matted.
“You must’ve gotten in a fight. I’m going to move now. Nice and easy. I just want to look.”
Laurel prayed her shaky legs wouldn’t give way. She inched forward, trying to push aside the image of him lunging and tearing her limb from limb with his razor-sharp fangs. In daylight the animal’s eyes had a grayish-green cast, yet the moonlight turned them an odd yellow. She stared into the frightening glimmer as she’d seen Brodie do.
“I won’t hurt you. So don’t bite.”
Shock swept over her when she drew closer. Wolf-dog dropped to the ground in submission, watching each movement warily.
Common sense said she should run.
Before she could, treasured Blue Boy flashed across her vision. Animals depended on people for help. She couldn’t leave anything hurt. Even wolves deserved a bit of kindness.
Besides, saving the dog might clear Ollie. Although at the moment she didn’t know how. Maybe that would come later.
“I’m going to reach very slowly. I want to see what’s wrong, that’s all. Then we can both go on our way. I’ll be gentle.” The animal smelled her outstretched hand and once more whimpered. Thankfully, those sharp teeth stayed hidden inside a closed mouth, which added a bit more confidence. Laurel bent to touch the stiff, dried fur.
A gentle probe pushed aside the hair to reveal a hole where something had pierced the skin.
“Someone shot you,” she crooned softly, her heart going out to the animal.
Ollie’s threat to do so rumbled in the stillness.
A chill prickled her flesh.
The woman had many secrets—and a loaded pistol.
Wolf-dog licked her arm. His baleful yellow gaze melted her remaining fear, for it said he thought her a friend, not foe.
“Come on then. Let’s get you home.”
Laurel started for the café. Surprisingly, he followed.
When she entered with the dog, Ollie turned pasty white and caught the pipe from her gaping mouth before it tumbled to the floor. “Son of a bluejacket. Have you lost your dadblasted mind?”
