A Hero's Heart

by Sylvia McDaniel

  Hazel eyes beseeched him. “Wade, about Toby…” Her words slurred through her full lips, beckoning him to kiss her.

  “Yes, Rachel.” He sighed as his eyes wandered over her body, taking in her ample breasts and small waist. How could he ever have thought of her as plain?

  “He looks up to you. Please don’t let him get hurt.”

  “I give you my word, Rachel.” Wade lay down in the grass, his head supported by his arm. The whiskey had relaxed him except for the lower half of his body, which suddenly sprang to life, pushing against the buttons of his pants.

  He turned his attention to the night sky, hoping that concentrating on the twinkling stars would ease the hardness between his thighs. “Have you ever seen a prettier sky?”

  Rachel leaned her head back, and losing her balance, fell backward. “The stars were never this bright in Tennessee.”

  Wade held his breath. She was so close. He could reach out, touch her, hold her. “Did you ever take the time to notice them?”

  Rachel sat up, her body swaying. “You probably think I’m a dried-up old maid, who’s never sat under the stars with a man before.”

  Wade chuckled and pulled her beside him. “No, you’re wrong.” They were lying face-to-face, body-to-body. He ached to touch her intimately with his hands. “If you’re an old maid, it’s because you’ve been hidden from sight, taking care of your family. Some man out West will snatch you up for himself.”

  Rachel sat up and for a moment he thought he’d said too much. Reluctantly he rose beside her.

  “Everyone depends on me,” Rachel murmured. “It’s been that way since Mother died.” She gazed into his eyes. “That’s why I’m so protective of Toby and the children.”

  They were mere inches apart. A soft, musky smell tickled his nose. He reached out, and without meaning to, caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re a good woman, Rachel. But you’ve got to learn to let go of them so they can grow up.”

  “It’s my duty to protect them. Keep them safe.”

  He became bolder, running his fingers through her silky hair. He had to know how she looked without that wad of hair on the back of her head. His searching fingers found the hair pins and he pulled them out, one by one. Mahogany curls tumbled, around her, flowing past her shoulders almost to her hips.

  Wade stared in wonder. What had he done? The transformation left him stunned. He’d uncovered a gold mine right beneath his nose.

  “What are you doing?” she breathlessly asked.

  “Seeing how beautiful you are,” he whispered in the night.

  The hardness between Wade’s legs pulsated in rhythm with his heart. His head was fuzzy, but the sensation was so pleasant, so warm. He couldn’t resist his need to touch her.

  Hands still tucked inside her hair, he pulled her closer to him. Her lips were full and sensuous, and he watched as she nervously ran her tongue across them. He couldn’t help but wonder, would she taste as sweet as she looked?

  Hazel eyes widened as his mouth descended onto hers. Warm, full lips met his as he gently tasted her. His tongue traced the outline of her mouth as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. She moaned, a soft little sigh, and opened her mouth beneath his as he savored her sweetness.

  Like a delicate blossom, she unfurled beneath his caresses. His lips never left hers as he pushed her onto the ground. Her soft, full breasts were crushed against his chest, driving him wild. He wanted to touch them, kiss them, and see how her nipples looked in the moonlight.

  God, she felt good; she tasted good. But somewhere in his dazed mind, the voice of reason whispered this was Rachel, not one of his father’s saloon whores.

  He broke the kiss and stared down at her. Slowly she opened her golden eyes. He couldn’t tell if the fire within was from the campfire or was an inner blaze he’d ignited.

  Her breathing was heavy, strained, as she whispered, “Oh, Ethan, don’t stop.”

  Chapter Three

  The whistle of a meadowlark seeped through the fog of sleep, slowly awakening Rachel. A delicious sense of warmth lay coiled around her, enveloping her in a soft cocoon. Her head was cushioned against a firm pillow, its musky smell secure and comforting. She shifted her weight and stretched, her hand brushing against something warm, lightly dusted with hair.

  Rachel’s eyes popped open. The sight of a masculine arm wrapped around her waist sent sleep scurrying from her consciousness. She scarcely moved, afraid of waking the man radiating the warmth she lay enjoying.

  His body was molded around her back, his legs and arms curled about her. The realization that more than just his stomach was pressed against her buttocks was enough to make Rachel jump. She disentangled herself from Wade, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn’t wake him.

  As she sat up, blood seemed to gather in her temples and pound in a fierce tempo. She raised her hand to her face, groaning.

  The last thing she remembered from the previous night was sitting around the campfire drinking coffee and crying. With a start, she realized her hair was loose and flowing around her waist. The memory of Wade taking down her curls, one pin at a time came rushing back. He’d run his hands through her locks and called her beautiful.

  What else had he done?

  With sudden recollection she remembered Wade’s lips caressing hers. He’d kissed her, but worse she’d returned his kiss enjoying the way his lips felt on hers.

  She glanced down noticing her worn muslin dress and dingy apron, the same clothes she’d worn the night before. Every button was buttoned, every lace was laced. There was no evidence of any impropriety having taken place.

  She couldn’t resist glancing at Wade. Lying on his side, he slumbered on, unaware of the volcano brewing beside him.

  Noise from the tent drew her attention, and she knew the children were awake. Becky would be coming out of the wagon at any moment, and here she sat beside a sleeping Wade.

  Before she could scramble away, her thoughts of Becky seemed to conjure up her sister, who walked around the back of the wagon. When Becky saw Rachel sitting beside Wade, she paused, her eyes widening in a stunned expression.

  As white hot lava flowed over rock, Rachel’s face burned with embarrassment. Becky hurried to her side.

  “You look like you just woke up.” Her tone was accusing.

  The high pitch of her voice made Wade jump. His emerald eyes opened wide.

  Not for the first time, Rachel wanted to wrap her hands around her sister’s fragile neck.

  “I don’t know,” Rachel said as she glanced at Wade. “I think I fell asleep outside last night.”

  Wade stretched his taut body and rose, his full lips turned up in a smile.

  “Beautiful morning, isn’t it ladies?” he asked as if he woke every morning with a woman at his side.

  “If our Papa were here, you’d be looking down the barrel of a shotgun right now,” Becky warned Wade.

  He stood, his height overshadowing Becky. “What for? Sharing body heat with your sister?”

  Becky glanced down at Rachel, shaking her head in disbelief. “What did this scoundrel promise you to entice you into his bed?”

  Rachel rubbed her temples, her headache increasing in intensity. “Nothing happened.” At least, she didn’t remember anything happening.

  “Oh, honey, how could you forget last night?” Wade teased his voice low and seductive.

  “Please don’t, Mr. Ketchum. You’re only making things worse,” Rachel pleaded. She willed the previous nights memories to reappear. “Nothing happened.”

  “Well, it doesn’t look that way to me,” Becky snapped. “Just look at you. Your hair is hanging down around your waist, your lips are puffy and swollen.”

  Rachel jumped up, unwilling to listen to another word of Becky’s tirade. Her stomach reeled from the sudden movement. She felt as if an army had tramped through her head and mouth last night, and this morning they were holding drill practice.

  Two quick steps later
, she embarrassed herself by losing everything in her stomach. “Oh,” she moaned.

  Becky followed across the short distance, her voice anxious. “Rachel what’s wrong with you?”

  “Please Becky. Get me a dipper of water,” Rachel managed to gasp as she drifted over to a willow tree and eased herself down upon the soft ground. She laid her head against her bent knees.

  Distantly, she heard Becky ask Mr. Ketchum, “Why did you lay with my sister? Rachel’s not experienced with your type of man. She’ll expect marriage and you’re not the marrying kind.”

  “I suggest you mind your own business, Miss Cooke,” Wade said matter-of-factly. “What I do with your sister is between the two of us.”

  Rachel heard Becky’s outraged gasp. Footsteps alerted her that someone approached and she moaned. Why didn’t everyone leave her in peace? Maybe then she’d die a quick death from whatever had poisoned her system.

  A wet cloth appeared before her eyes. “Here hold this against your forehead.” Wade’s voice was gruff, but his hands were gentle.

  “My head is pounding, my stomach is sour and I feel like the British army invaded my body last night.” Rachel wiped the cloth across her face. “Why, Mr. Ketchum?”

  “Last time I checked, Kentucky was not owned by the British,” Wade joked.

  “Here’s your water,” Becky said as she returned, handing the dipper to Rachel.

  She drank greedily from the ladle as Becky continued: “The kids are awake and wanting breakfast.”

  “I just need a few moments, and then I’ll be all right,” Rachel replied, her hands shaking.

  “Honey, what you’ve got is going to take longer than a few moments,” Wade said, experience evident in his voice.

  “Just exactly what is it that I’ve got?” Rachel asked.

  Wade pushed his hat back and crossed his arms, a bemused expression on his face.’

  “You didn’t give my sister alcohol to trick her into your bed, did you?” Becky asked.

  “I don’t have to trick women into my bed,” Wade replied.

  Becky glared at him, then turned her attention to Rachel. “Are you sure you don’t have a hangover?”

  “I don’t know what a hangover feels like,” Rachel retorted. “I’ve never had a taste of the devil’s brew n my life.” The expression on his face reminded her of a guilty child’S. “I didn’t drink alcohol, did I?”

  “Well…”

  “Did you give me alcohol?”

  “Just a little,” Wade replied sheepishly.

  “What happened last night?” Rachel was seething.

  Before Wade could explain, Grace and Toby ran up beside Wade, silencing their conversation. Grace glanced at Rachel, a worried expression on her face. “You don’t look well. Are you sick?”

  Rachel sighed. What could she say? I suspect Mr. Ketcham got me drunk last night and I don’t remember what else happened? She simply replied, “Yes, I’m not feeling too good.”

  Grace asked, “Where were you this morning? When I woke up, you weren’t in the tent.”

  A quick glance at Wade, revealed he was fighting a losing battle to hide his grin. Rachel wanted to smack the smile off his handsome face. Clearly, he was enjoying the trouble he’d caused.

  Wade knelt beside Grace. “Rachel fell asleep by the fire last night, and I didn’t want to wake her. I gave her my blanket.”

  The little girl smiled at him. “That was nice.”

  “Not to mention a hangover and several other unmentionable things,” Becky muttered with a smirk.

  “Please,” Rachel interrupted. “I suggest we pack up and get on the trail. I’d like to be in Fort Laramie this afternoon.”

  Wade glanced at Rachel a moment longer, as if he wanted to continue the argument, before he turned to Toby. “Come on, I’ll help you take the tent down.”

  “Take Grace back to the wagon,” Rachel told Becky. “I’ll be there in a few moments.”

  With a sigh Becky took Grace by the hand. “That man’s a devil, Rachel. You best be careful.”

  Rachel watched her sister practically drag poor Grace across the grass. For once Becky was right. Wade Ketchum was definitely no saint.

  * * *

  Wade rode alongside the wagon, yet far enough away to discourage conversation. He didn’t want to talk with the Cooke sisters. Becky was a narcissistic female whose thoughts were only filled with getting a man, and last night Rachel had left him hard and wanting like a schoolboy. At least, until she’d called him Ethan.

  His pride still smarted this morning at the memory of her whispering the man’s name with such passion. Who was he, and what had he meant to her?

  Pale and forlorn, Rachel sagged against the canvas of the wagon, holding the wet cloth to her forehead. She gazed at him with a hurtful, questioning expression, making Wade feel smaller than a pine sapling.

  Sometime during the night, he realized Rachel trembled with cold and he’d wrapped his body around hers, torturing himself with the feel of her body snuggled against his. And when she rolled over in the night, he’d placed her head against his chest, his arms cradling her.

  He’d dreamed all night long of taking her, right there on the ground, under the stars, but Rachel was no whore. And he knew, sober and awake, she wouldn’t be willing.

  Becky was right. Rachel was the kind of woman who wanted marriage, respectability; and he was not the kind of man who offered those things. In fact, he had nothing to offer a woman. No home, no money.

  A home meant stability and family, neither of which Wade was qualified to provide. Money was something that flowed through his hands at the drop of a card.

  Besides, he’d vowed to settle his past once and for all by finding his brother, not acquiring a wife in the middle of nowhere.

  But damn, Rachel Cooke had turned out to be a surprising woman. The memory of her kiss was still fresh on his mind and on his lips. She’d responded to his touch in a way he never would have suspected. She appeared so cool, so devout, and plain on the outside, but beneath the surface lay a passion sweet and pure.

  Wade glanced at Rachel. She leaned against the wagon, swaying with the rhythm of the oxen, the wet cloth pressed against her temple, her face pale, eyes closed.

  Fort Laramie was the end of the trail with the Cooke sisters and as far as he was concerned, it wouldn’t come too soon.

  * * *

  Crossing barren rolling hills, Rachel caught her first sight of Fort Laramie and felt an enormous sense of peace. Civilization and humanity all in one place.

  Built by the American Fur Company, the fort, molded of sun-dried bricks, had clay blockhouses at two of its corners. Pointed wooden stakes formed a fence, with two gates that swung wide at the entrance. The fort was a busy place, with Indians in tepees and an emigrant wagon train camped alongside each other outside its walls.

  Rachel glanced at Wade Ketchum, his broad back swaying gracefully with the rhythm of his horse. The memory of waking up in his arms had stayed with her all day. Yet she had slept soundly for the first time in days. It was the first night she’d felt safe and secure since her father’s death. It was the first time, since Ethan, she’d wanted more than a kiss from a man.

  Bits and pieces of the night before had slowly returned, along with a burgeoning sense of shame. It was a good thing Mr. Ketchum was leaving them at Fort Laramie.

  She watched as he pulled on the reins of his horse, stopping just outside the walls of the fort. He motioned for Becky to halt the wagon, not far from the other emigrants, several of whom waved in friendly acknowledgement.

  “We’ll set up your camp here. You’ll be safe next to these people,” Wade called out to Rachel.

  She purposefully ignored him as Becky set the brake and tied the reins to the handle. The children scampered around the wagon, glad to be exercising their stiff limbs.

  “Mr. Ketchum, would you be so kind as to help me unhitch the oxen before you leave?” Becky asked.

  Wade glanced at Becky, then he
sitantly responded, “Sure.”

  Together, they unhitched the team while Rachel climbed down from the wagon and slowly started setting up their camp. Before Mr. Ketchum left, she intended to find out exactly what he’d given her last night and if anything had happened between them. Like nasty mosquitoes, the questions had plagued her all day. Telling all was the least he could do after the comments he’d made that morning.

  Toby and Grace were busily setting up the tent when Wade walked around to the back of the wagon. Her senses on alert, Rachel was aware of his presence even before he spoke.

  He cleared his throat. “Rachel?”

  She turned and gazed into the emerald green eyes that engulfed her, drowning her, while her heart leaped in her chest. The air seemed thin as her lungs expanded and she gasped for breath. He was so close, she could smell the musky scent of him, and her clothes suddenly felt constricting and heavy.

  “Yes, Mr. Ketchum?” she responded, her voice steady.

  “I’m leaving,” Wade announced.

  No explanations, no apology and no remorse for his actions of the night before. Rachel tensed.

  “I need to know what happened between us last night. How did I end up sleeping…”

  She couldn’t say the words. Wade smiled, the corners of his mustache curling up in response.

  “You were upset. I wanted to calm you down, so I put a little whiskey in the coffee.”

  “How could you?” Rachel demanded, appalled at his lack of consideration.

  “I was trying to help you. How was I to know you’d want a second cup?”

  “Mr. Ketchum, you could have had the decency to tell me.” Rachel replied, hands on her hips. “What else happened?”

  Wade smiled, a quick little grin. “Nothing. Except a kiss.” He paused, watching her closely. “Which I enjoyed until you called me Ethan.”

  The relief she’d felt was quickly nullified at the mention of Ethan’s name. Oh, God! Had she really called him Ethan?

  “Who is he, Rachel? Did you kiss him like you kissed me last night?” Wade asked his voice low and deep.