by Jodi Thomas
“I do not need you. I don’t need any man.”
Grayson ignored her protest and ran his hand over her body as his leg pinned her down. “You need me and you want me. You’ve been needing a good roll in the hay for a long time, but there wasn’t a man left in the South strong enough to gentle you.”
He kissed her again, but there was no answer in her lips. When he lifted his face to study her, tears were bright in her eyes. “Would you take me against my will, Yankee, and add rape as well as lying to your name?”
Grayson fought the urge to hit her. Damn. He knew if he said more than three words she’d know he wasn’t from Texas. He’d never hit a woman in his life, and the mere thought that it was in his mind sobered his passion. “I’ve never raped a woman.” He shoved himself off the bed. “God, woman, you can be cold when you’re of a mind.”
She pulled her blouse together and sat up. “I think I’ve already been told that once today.”
He saw the pain in her eyes and knew he could add no more sorrow to those indigo depths, no matter how much she’d hurt him. “Your husband is not only a traitor and liar, but he’s an idiot as well. There is a great fire in you. You’re a woman worth paying a lifetime to have. You can sit there with your nose in the air, but it doesn’t change a thing. When I kissed you, I felt the passion. When I touched those beautiful breasts of yours, they hardened with need. And when I pushed my hand up your thigh …” He smiled as her cheeks burned. Just the memory fired his blood. “Forget what that fool Westley said. You’re a woman, warm and wild in my arms, and I plan to someday satisfy that passion in you. You’re the kind of woman a man searches a lifetime to find and no little misunderstanding will stand between us. I’m going to love you until you cry out my name in joy and forget what part of the country I’m from.”
“Never!” she answered, for despite her embarrassment, he’d given her back her dignity. “I’ll shoot you dead if you ever step foot on this property again. So, get out!”
She jumped from the bed and opened the door. “Get out and don’t ever come back! There is no passion for you in me. There will never be. Look to Holliday for your bedding, not me.”
As Grayson passed her, he pulled her hard against him and kissed her once more. He’d expected her to fight, but she didn’t. His tongue forced her mouth open as his hands shoved her blouse from her shoulders. His fingers roamed freely as she swayed toward him. His kiss continued until he felt her respond and she clung to him for support. He moved his hands to her sides and lifted her arms around his neck. She was perfection—the first woman who ever fit in his arms. Now, she was leaning against him, smelling of need and tasting of desire, and he couldn’t resist touching her.
Finally, when they were both dizzy, he broke the kiss. “Now who is the liar?” He cupped her breast in his palm and felt the hard peak beneath his fingers. “I’ll leave,” he whispered against her hair, “for I want you when you’re not angry or hurt. I want you when you come to my bed with only me on your mind. I want you when there are no lies between us.” He paused and held her tight, knowing that his heart would break if he couldn’t make her someday understand why he’d lied. She’d know the reasons and accept them, just as she’d accept that they belonged together. “Understand this, Maggie: no matter what the law or anyone says, you’re mine and there is no one that will keep you from me.”
He kissed her forehead and almost ran from the room, taking only time enough to grab his hat and guns before vanishing into the hallway.
Margaret stood watching the door where he’d gone and knowing that his last words were the truth. She loved Grayson Kirkland. She had loved him since the day he’d saved her from being robbed. She’d fight him every step of the way, but she had a feeling he was man enough to finish any battle he started … and man enough to teach her how it felt to be a woman.
Chapter 12
Evening brought a howling north wind that whistled through the passageways of Hattie’s Parlor. It rattled the panes in the windows like loose keys on an old upright piano. Margaret made herself keep busy as the hours passed. She’d cared for the children, cleaned every room in use, and spent over an hour trying to make sense of Hattie’s ramblings. Yet, with the night, her troubles and fears mounted. She had no idea where to look for Cherish, and the longer her niece was gone, the more time Margaret had to imagine what might have happened to her.
Azile complained about seeing a raven fly by her window again just before dawn, so Margaret did what she’d seen many German families do to ward off evil. She took a pair of scissors and placed them on a nail beside each door. Even though she had no faith in the superstition, it seemed to help Azile, as she carefully opened each pair into the shape of a cross and explained that they would cut any evil that entered. Azile whispered that she believed nothing would stop the evil from coming to the house.
Well after midnight, Margaret climbed the stairs to her room. She was exhausted, yet her worry over Cherish held sleep at bay. Finally, she closed her eyes tight and thought of the way Grayson had held her. She remembered each of the times they’d touched and how his chest had felt as solid as wood. She needed his arms desperately tonight, but her pride would never allow her to go to him. Finally, she fell asleep, wondering if a man like Grayson would ever need a woman, for she knew she’d never fully love a man who didn’t love her as well as want her.
The next morning, Margaret found herself peeping through the curtains like a child at a thin weasel of a man standing on her front porch. It was not yet past nine, but he already had a sweat ring around his collar and he clenched his case as though it were priceless.
“You think we oughta let him in?” Bar stood beside her as if he’d decided that without Grayson around and after Cherish’s disappearance, he had to protect Margaret.
Margaret rested her hand on the boy’s shoulder, needing him far more than she wanted to admit. “Who do you think he is, Barfield?”
“One of them lawyer guys that seem to crawl into town after every good rain. They hang around long enough to figure out there ain’t much money in a cow town, then they up and leave for Dallas. Ain’t no tellin’ what he wants this early in the mornin’, but my ma used to say ain’t nobody but bill collectors and undertakers that do business before noon.”
Trying to believe the best while fearing the worst, Margaret nodded for Bar to open the door. “We’ll never know until we let him in, will we?”
The lawyer hadn’t even fully removed his hat before he was talking. He smiled a nervous little insincere smile and bobbed his head as he talked, making the volume of his words go up and down. “Morning, Mrs. Alexander. I’m Mr. Ira Wallman. I’ll hope you’ll excuse the early call, but I have some very important business to discuss with you. I also hope you don’t mind my dropping by, but Mr. Alexander assures me you’re an early riser.”
Margaret refrained from asking how Mr. Alexander would know anything about her sleeping habits. They were only married two nights before he left, and both mornings he’d been too hung over to notice what time she’d risen. She simply asked, “How is Mr. Alexander? Dying of my bullet wound, I should hope.”
The little man jumped back a few inches as if he were suddenly very much aware of how deadly she could be. He briefly looked her up and down in what looked like a twitch, but displayed no emotion. “Your husband was limping, but I believe he will recover. If you’ll allow me, I have some papers that must have your attention. When Tobin died, he owed me money for legal matters. I was about ready to assume the house when you showed up.”
“Papers?” Margaret didn’t move from the hallway or invite the little man to step in farther. She stood by the door and watched him balance his case on his knee as he tried to get out everything he needed.
“Yes.” He waved the papers in front of him as if the written word was the only truth in the world. “It seems that since you inherited this place while still legally married, your husband has control of the house as well as half of the funds.”
Margaret shoved her hands deep into her pockets and almost laughed aloud as the lawyer’s face paled. “Mr. Alexander has no claim to me or to this house.” Her voice was deadly calm as she backed Mr. Wallman out the door. “In fact, as far as I’m concerned, I’m still a widow. And if Mr. Alexander doesn’t see it that way, all he needs to do is step within my gun sights and we’ll have a short talk.”
“But, Mrs. Alexander, the law …”
Margaret raised her chin. “I’d rather hang as a murderer, than deal with the coward who calls himself my husband. And, Mr. Ira Wallman, if I’m going to hang for one murder, the rope will pull no tighter for two.”
The man ran almost full speed off the porch backward. When he had reached the relative safety of the road, he yelled, “He could have you arrested for attempted murder! I could have you arrested for threatening me. He’ll be coming by to claim what’s his and there isn’t anything you can do about it. He told me to tell you that you’ll be sorry for the day you ever met him.”
“I already am!” Margaret slammed the door and yelled for Bar. He appeared before she could complete his name, telling her he’d been listening to every word. “Go ask Father Daniel if the children can come back to the mission—and you stay with them. This house may not be safe when that snake of a lawyer delivers my message.”
Bar stepped forward, a flicker of steel in his dark gypsy eyes. “I’ll see that the kids are safe, but I’m standin’ with you if trouble comes.”
Margaret realized she was looking at a boy who was more of a man than most ever would be. She wouldn’t dishonor him by arguing. “Thank you,” she answered, knowing she’d find a way of getting him to safety before Westley arrived. Her husband was lower than a coyote and she had a feeling he wouldn’t come alone. His kind always traveled in packs.
A sudden pounding on the door made Margaret and Bar jump. Margaret’s first thought was that the lawyer had returned, but the shadow framed against the door’s curtains was far too broad. The visitor’s stance was not that of a frightened man, but of a proud soldier at full attention.
Slowly, bracing herself for another battle, she opened the door, not noticing that Bar stepped just out of sight and lifted his ancient rifle.
Blinking away the morning sun, Margaret stared at the spotless dark blue uniform of a Union officer. His boots and buttons were polished and his hat was low, shading his face. His shoulders were wide and powerful. He bowed slightly as she looked up. For a moment, the old hatred of his uniform returned and she almost touched her brooch; then she remembered that her husband hadn’t died at the hands of the Yankees.
“May I come in?” a rich baritone voice asked as the officer removed his hat to reveal neatly combed cinnamon hair.
Margaret looked into blue-gray eyes and suddenly forgot how to breathe. Only pure willpower prevented her from fainting as she stared at Captain Grayson Kirkland.
A slow smile spread across his weather-tanned face, telling her his careful tailoring had had the effect he’d planned.
“I told you I never wanted to see you again.” Her words lacked the conviction they’d had two nights ago. She realized she was repeating the same words to every man she encountered.
“I had to come.” He ran his hand over the sharp crease of his felt hat. His eyes told her there was much more he wanted to say, but he seemed at a loss for words. His gaze seemed to hunger for the sight of her as if it had been months since he’d seen her and not two days. He’d spent a great deal of time and effort to impress her and now he couldn’t find his tongue.
Margaret pushed the door, afraid of what she might do if she looked too long into those wonderful stormy-day eyes. “Good day, Captain Kirkland.”
Grayson shoved his boot between the door and the frame just before she completed her withdrawal. His words came slow, but direct. “I’m not leaving until I’ve had my say, Maggie.”
Anger and pride blended in Margaret’s words. She resented him using the family nickname as if he were a longtime friend, as if he were her lover. “I’ll not listen to a blue-legged liar!”
Grayson didn’t budge, but pushed the door firmly with one hand. He could have easily won in a battle of strength, but it would never be his way with Maggie. “You’ll listen to me because Cherish’s life may depend on it.”
Margaret froze. He’d said the one thing that would get him inside. In her anger she’d thought she was the reason he came, not Cherish. Of course she had to listen even if it meant accepting a Yankee officer into her home. Cherish, as always, came first in her life. She stepped back and motioned for him to enter.
Grayson walked past her and laid his gloves and hat on the entryway table as if he’d done so a hundred times. “Barfield!” he snapped, knowing the boy would be within hearing distance. There seemed little left of the silent Grayson except the familiar wink he gave the boy as Bar bolted out from behind the door.
With childish haste, he fired a thousand questions at once. “Where did you get that uniform, Grayson? Lordy, do you look grand. Where did you go two nights ago? We could have really used you here this mornin’ when a lawyer came to take the house from Miss Maggie. When did you start talkin’ so much? I thought you only talked to Miss Cherish.”
Smiling at the boy, Grayson tried to answer his questions, but his explanation was meant for Margaret’s ears. “I had to come into town without letting anyone know I was with the army. There are some evil men in this place, and I think Miss Cherish has accidentally gotten mixed up with them. I never intended to harm anyone with my silence. In fact, Miss Cherish and I talked about it several nights ago. As for these clothes, I rode over to Camp Wilson and picked them up last night along with what information I could about Miss Cherish.”
Bar was walking around Grayson. “You sure do look different. I wouldn’t have recognized you and that’s a fact. Mind if I take a look at that Colt? It’s the new Union issue to officers, ain’t it?”
Grayson emptied the bullets into his large palm and handed the weapon to Bar. While the boy examined the gun, he studied Margaret. She was standing quietly by the window, her arms folded tightly over her chest. She was a fragile queen, one blow away from being broken. He wanted to comfort her, to put his arms around her and tell her that nothing would ever frighten her again. But he knew she wanted no part of him. The knowledge ripped at his heart like a dull blade. All his life he’d been an honorable man and the one woman he wanted it to matter to believed that he was only a liar.
“I was with the army long before the war. My job stayed pretty much the same when the war broke out. I track down convicted men and see they serve their time. Sometimes I investigate groups that think they can organize and work outside the law.” There was so much more he wanted to tell her but he didn’t know where to start. “I’d worked in Texas before the war broke out. I have a homestead up in Ohio I haven’t seen since I buried my wife there almost ten years ago. At first I took the job so I could wander, but later I was good at it and the army needed me.” He wasn’t sure she was hearing a word he was saying. “Maggie?”
“Do you know where Cherish is?” Margaret asked without looking at him.
“No,” Grayson answered, wishing he could see her eyes, “but I read a report stating that there was a small-framed woman at a farm three nights ago where a group of men were planning to harass ex-slaves.”
“Cherish would have no part of that!” Margaret’s eyes were black with anger as she finally looked at him.
“I know,” Grayson answered. “She was fighting against them.”
“Was she hurt?” Margaret moved a few steps toward him.
“The report didn’t say.” He wished he could have told her differently. “The men who helped the farmer out, and the woman with them, have gone into hiding. I fear the men searching for Cherish are the same men I’m looking for. They were a group who called themselves the Knights of the Golden Circle back before the war, which was just a fancy name for a group of radicals who wanted to traffi
c in slave trade. If she fought against them, she’s made herself some powerful, faceless enemies.”
Fear touched Margaret’s eyes before her backbone straightened slightly. “What can we do?”
“I can find Cherish before they do,” Grayson answered. “The army will do all it can to protect her. Until last night when I read the report, I believed that she might be in league with the Knights. They supposedly sometimes met in Hattie’s Parlor before the war, but the law was never able to catch them.”
“That’s why you came with me to this house.”
Grayson nodded. “When we started, I didn’t know how much you knew about the Knights.”
“Maybe I know all about them. Maybe I know all about this house.”
Grayson smiled. “Maybe, but I’d bet this uniform I just paid a month’s pay for that you don’t. You hide a lot of things, but your nature isn’t one of them.”
Margaret could no longer hold his stare. She turned slightly. “So, where do we began to look for Cherish?”
“We?” Grayson raised an eyebrow. “I’m not taking a woman into the frontier.”
“I’m going with you and nothing you can say will stop me,” Margaret answered.
He had the feeling she was going or he’d have another fight on his hands. And fighting with her was the last thing he had on his mind. He wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t be safer with him, riding through Indian territory, than here with a husband hating her and a house that seemed laid with traps.
“Be ready to ride in an hour.” Grayson walked over and picked up his hat. “You’ll have no use for anything but necessities. Where we’re going won’t be easy.”
“Nothing in my life to this point has ever been easy,” she answered. Again he fought the need to hold her.
