A Captain and a Rogue (Mills & Boon Historical)

by Liz Tyner

  He escorted her back to the wagon, then with a nod of his head he indicated that she should sit under it. Because she was not ready to climb back into the cramped confines of the wagon bed, she did.

  After a long, hard look at the surrounding area, the marshal crawled under and sat down across from her, his feet crossed at the ankle and his knees spread.

  The fringe on the arms of his buckskin shirt swayed in the wind that shot up suddenly from the south.

  “You need to eat,” he stated and pressed a slice of dried meat into her hand.

  To satisfy him she took a bite. It was tough but surprisingly tasty.

  “I’ll save the rest for the children.”

  “No need...I’ll hunt some game in the morning.” In the dark shadow under the wagon he frowned. “I won’t let the young ones go hungry. Trust me, Mrs. Travers.”

  And didn’t she want to? If ever she’d met someone who deserved trust, it was this man.

  Perhaps her hungry days were over. Because of the marshal, she was going home. Once she got there she would never be hungry again...and neither would anyone who belonged to her.

  She chewed on another bite of the jerky. The marshal sat silently watching her.

  Strangely, she didn’t mind.

  *

  On the morning of the third day, Hattie spotted a tree in the distance. It grew alone on the top of a hill, its bare branches reaching toward the bright blue sky.

  She had always loved trees, and it had been three years since she had seen one. It didn’t matter that this one’s leaves had gone for the winter. They would come back in the spring, green and full of life.

  Maybe, she would do the same.

  Just now, her spirit felt a hundred years old, but once she was back home, in the circle of her parents’ love, spring might come again for her. The dismal pall that Ram had cast over her life would lift.

  “You always told us that trees were green and shady, Hattie.” Sitting beside her on the wagon bench, Joe frowned at the tree on the hill. “That looks like a bunch of sticks.”

  “Didn’t you read the books that Great-Aunt Tillie told you to?” Libby asked. “Some were all about trees. They go dormant in the winter.”

  “Well, except for the evergreens.” Joe turned to glance at Libby sitting in the back of the wagon. “I miss Aunt Tillie and Granny Rose. Things got worse at the Broken Brand when they went away.”

  “They were better off with Colt Wesson,” Hattie reminded them, but Joe was right. Aunt Tillie had kept everyone in line, as much as was possible, with her firm spirit and her cane. She’d taught the ranch children to read even though their parents considered it a waste of time.

  Hattie had cried for days when Colt Wesson had come home the first time, to bury Pappy Travers and bring the old ladies to their new home.

  Maybe she ought to have asked to go with them, but Colt was a stranger to her, and she had been full-term with Seth.

  Well, the past was the past. She would do her best to put it behind her. Ram was dead...and Mama and Papa were getting closer each day.

  Soon their comforting arms would fold her up.

  “I want to see me a leaf...grass, too.” Joe watched Marshal Prentis sitting tall in the saddle, trotting toward the wagon. “Do your folks really have shade all over the place?”

  “Shade and a creek nearby.”

  “I reckon I’ll need to learn to swim.”

  A memory flashed in her mind and she nearly wept with the joy of it. Daddy, years ago when she wasn’t much older than Flynn, carrying her into the water and showing her how to waggle her arms and legs so that she wouldn’t sink.

  It must have grieved him terribly when she ran off without a word. She would die of a broken heart if one of her boys grew up and did the same to her.

  Her parents would forgive her—she knew it without a doubt—but how would she ever make it up to them?

  Filling their home with children would be a start. At least she was coming home with more than her own sinful self.

  “Come summer, you’ll all learn to swim.”

  Imagining it, picturing the children in her mind while they splashed and laughed, made her smile.

  Joy tickled her heart. She hadn’t felt that optimistic spirit in a good long while. “My daddy will enjoy showing you how.”

  “If he takes to an outlaw’s brat.” Joe chewed his bottom lip, staring down at his knees. “He might toss me out.”

  “Look at me, Joe.” She tipped his face up, his chin tucked between her fingers. Cold sunshine illuminated a dusting of blond fuzz on his upper lip. “What your daddy was or wasn’t has nothing to do with you. You are a good boy and someday you’ll be a fine man. My daddy will recognize that and be proud to have you in his home.”

  Thank the Good Lord that Marshal Prentis had come along before the Travers men had turned Joe into an outlaw. At thirteen years old, he had already become proficient at shooting a gun. Next month he would have been included in a holdup or a bank robbery.

  The marshal reached the wagon, then turned his horse to trot beside it.

  “There’s a place I’d like you and the children to see. It’s a few hours out of the way but worth it. We’ll stop there for the night. If the weather’s not too cold we won’t have to sleep in the wagon.”

  His voice sounded deep and smooth. It made her think of fertile soil, tilled and ready for gardening, or a hearth fire banked low but still sending warmth into the night.

  Somehow, with all that had happened over the past few days, she hadn’t noticed the rich timbre of his voice.

  She noticed it now because it stirred something in her. A little finger of hope tickled her insides, faintly, as though wondering if it was safe to come out.

  When she thought about it, it had not been days, but years since she had felt joy over common things, like a bare tree or a deep, masculine voice.

  There had been joy over her babies, of course, along with a great deal of worry about their futures. Loving them, and the fact that they needed her, was what had kept her going during the dismal days at the ranch. For their sakes she had kept on, singing when she wanted to weep and smiling when there was only anxiety behind it.

  “I know I’ve said it before, Marshal, but it deserves repeating...I thank you...we all do.”

  The marshal didn’t seem to be a man who filled empty space with words. When he said something, though, folks listened.

  She listened now, hoping that he wouldn’t answer with only a dip of his hat. Now that she was aware of the husky, virile tone of his voice, she wanted to hear it again.

  “No need for thanks, Mrs. Travers.”

  Mrs. Travers. She wanted to spit.

  Even when spoken in his wonderful voice and delivered with a slightly lopsided, completely handsome smile, she hated that name.

  Curse it, if her boys would carry it.

  *

  Steam curled into the frosty night air. After seven hours of camping near the hot spring, Hattie still could not believe that heated water bubbled right out of the earth.

  It was as close to a natural miracle as she could imagine.

  And all around it, there were woods! Sitting beside the campfire, she peered up through the bare branches, watching the show of stars creep slowly across the sky.

  Even though it was cold on the ground, it was a relief to be out of the wagon, where nights had been spent dodging elbows and pushing away invading knees.

  The Broken Brand was a world away from this magical place. If only she could bathe in the spring, let the hot water cleanse away the dust clinging to her, she might be able to put the past to rest.

  Of course, there hadn’t been time for bathing, or the proper privacy. Truly, she couldn’t possibly strip down to her skin with the marshal close by.

  While there was no doubt that he was brave and self-sacrificing, he was still a man. From her own pitiful experience, she had discovered that men took what they wanted. A woman’s body was his to do with as he ple
ased, especially when the woman was his wife.

  Oh, but the simmering water of the spring did call to her.

  She glanced over to the far side of the campfire. Libby, wrapped up in a coat with Pansy, slept deep and sound. A foot away, Joe slumbered with his face toward the sky as though he had fallen asleep gazing at the branches scratching against each other in the breeze. Flynn slept in the wagon to insure he wouldn’t wander during the night.

  Marshal Prentis sat with his back propped against a tree and his rifle across his lap. She couldn’t see his eyes because his Stetson was tugged over them. Judging by the slow even pace of his breathing, he was asleep, too.

  She stood up quietly, tucking the coat around Seth and making sure the pocket of warm air surrounding him didn’t leak out.

  After a brief peek into the buckboard to make sure Flynn was covered, she made her way toward the spring.

  Fifty feet away from the campfire, she sat down on a large rock beside the water, listening to the peace of the night.

  The surface of the water moved with the warm current, the breeze shuffled through the tree branches and the fire crackled. Someone began to snore. She thought it was Joe.

  Now was the time to shed her filthy gown, step through the warm mist and slide down into the water. She couldn’t, of course, not with Seth nuzzling his warm little head on her breast.

  That didn’t keep her from imagining how it would be, though. First the warmth would kiss her toes, then it would ease the chill out of her calves.

  She would sigh at the pleasure of it.

  “Go ahead, Mrs. Travers.” She heard the marshal’s footsteps crunching the dirt close behind her. “I’ll hold the baby while you soak for a bit.”

  It wouldn’t be proper, undressing in front of him and sinking blissfully into the water. She shouldn’t even consider it. Putting aside propriety was what had landed her at the Broken Brand in the first place, a prisoner of Ram.

  “I thank you for the offer, but...” She shrugged and shook her head, wishing with all her heart that she could say yes.

  “I won’t drop him.” She might, though, if he came any closer with that smooth-sounding voice. “I have three younger sisters, and nieces, too, if that puts you at ease.”

  “It’s not that. Mercy, you wedged yourself between Flynn and that mad coyote. I’m sure you won’t drop Seth.”

  “Like I said, I have three younger sisters. I’ll turn my back.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Keep him wrapped in the coat when you take it off so he doesn’t get chilled.” He reached out his arms, waiting for her to hand over Seth. Moonlight caught the glow of his badge where it formed a circle over his heart. “I’ll turn my back while you decide what to do.”

  It wouldn’t hurt to do that much. She could pretend to consider the offer for a moment then carry Seth back to the fire.

  Wriggling out of the coat, she handed him the baby. He turned around. Behind her, she swore she heard the bubbling water call her name. There would be nothing wrong with taking off her boots and her stockings. That could be modestly done beneath her skirt.

  At least her feet would be clean.

  “Where does your family live?” she asked to make polite conversation.

  “Indiana.”

  She sat on the rock, dangling her feet into the pool. Warmth caressed her toes. It hugged her ankles. Wouldn’t it be pure heaven to feel it all over her body?

  She turned to glance behind at the marshal. His back was still to her. So far he had kept his word. His broad, leather-clad shoulders tipped side to side, rocking her baby.

  Ram had never rocked Flynn.

  “How old are your sisters?” she asked, staring regretfully at the water.

  All she had to do was unbutton her dress, step out of her underclothes and slip down into the warmth. It would take ten seconds.

  “Sarah’s twenty-five and filling her house up with babies. Next there’s Delilah—she’s twenty-three and a schoolteacher. Last is Mildred—she’s only seventeen and full of the dickens.”

  She flicked the water with her toes. The spray caught a glimmer of the full moon before it drifted back into the pool.

  “They must have adored their big brother.”

  She would have, had she had one.

  “Bedeviled is more like it. Go in the spring, Mrs. Travers, I’ll keep watch over the young ones.”

  She stared at the water for another moment, watching the churning surface reflect the silver globe of the moon, which shone directly overhead.

  “Thank you, Marshal,” she said, then stripped off the filthy rags that passed for clothes.

  She glided off the rock slowly, submerging her knees then savoring the tickle of the warm water where it kissed away the cold air pebbling her thighs. Her nipples puckered with the chill but she didn’t hurry.

  This was a moment to savor. Inch by inch she slipped under, the warm water touching her like a pair of tender hands. It slid over her bottom and up her hips; it rushed up her ribs and washed over her back. She felt the tingle in her breasts, which meant that her milk was letting down. She pressed her forearms across her chest to stop it, then went down, down and down, until every last strand of her hair went under.

  She held her breath, feeling the grime lift from her skin. She rubbed her arms and her belly before she broke the surface of the water for air.

  Her toes touched the smooth stones at the bottom of the pool. She lifted her legs then floated for a moment, nearly euphoric at the sense of weightlessness.

  She filled her lungs and ducked under again.

  This time she swished her hair and rubbed her scalp, watching while the strands floated back and forth before her face in the moonlit water.

  She pushed up for another breath then sank down until her bottom rested on the warm stones. Water pulsed against her gently, wiping away all traces of the Broken Brand.

  In her mind she imagined every place that Ram had handled her. The water erased the residue of his touch...washed him from her body and her mind.

  Her husband was dead. He had no power over her.

  She pushed up slowly, feeling energy pulse through her thighs. Hattie Travers was gone, left at the bottom of the pool to dissolve along with Ram.

  She broke the surface, grinning.

  Marshal Prentis didn’t pivot, even though he must have heard the water. The sway of his hips and his shoulders rocking Seth didn’t falter.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t compare all men to her dead husband. It seemed that, maybe, Marshal Prentis was a man to be trusted.

  It wasn’t his fault that her judging ability was faulty where the male species was concerned.

  As soon as the warmth of the pool faded from her skin she began to shiver.

  This was a predicament. She couldn’t put on her dress until she dried off.

  All of a sudden the marshal flung out his arm. A blanket hung from his fist. Still, he held true to his word and didn’t turn, even though he knew she stood only feet behind him, wet, naked and utterly vulnerable.

  “Dry off with this, Mrs. Travers.”

  She took the blanket, wiped off then hurried into her underclothes and her dress. She hated to put the rags back on, but for now, she would have to.

  Even though he wasn’t looking, he must have been listening. As soon as she slipped the last button of her bodice into place he turned and handed Seth to her.

  His eyes blinked wide, almost as though he were startled.

  She knew she looked different. She could feel that she did, from the inside out. New hope coursed through her and it had to show.

  The spring had cleansed her, washed away the ugliness of the outlaw ranch.

  Home was only days away. For the first time in three years she looked forward to the future.

  Only time would tell what it would be, but whatever it was, it would be what she chose.

  She took Seth from the marshal’s arms, glancing up at his face as she did.

  H
e smiled and she returned the gesture. It had been a long time since she felt her heart light up, but she felt it now, as fragile as a candle flame.

  “My name is Melody, Marshal Prentis...Melody Irene Dawson.”

  Copyright © 2014 by Carol Arens

  ISBN: 978-1-472-04447-1

  A CAPTAIN AND A ROGUE

  © 2014 Liz Tyner

  Published in Great Britain 2014

  by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited

  Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

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