With a deep gasp and a cry, the force and intensity of his thrusts changed. He tensed, then slowly released, spent and hot. Even the weight of him as he relaxed on top of her was wonderful. She tightened her arms around him, wrapped her legs over his as he rolled to the side.
“Darcy,” he murmured, as if that was the only prayer he would ever need.
“Yes,” she answered, affirming everything he could possibly have said and everything they had done.
She lay in his arms, her body still entwined with his. The rain continued to beat on the canvas above her. Outside, the world was a mess of confusion and problems, but in the shelter of Greg’s wagon, hidden under his blanket, life was as perfect as it could be. Their troubles would be back again tomorrow, but for the moment, everything was sunshine and light.
Chapter Eight
The rain didn’t matter. The fact that everything that wasn’t soaked to the bone was damp through didn’t matter. Even the distant roll of thunder that shook him awake in the middle of the night didn’t matter. Greg had Darcy in his arms.
Every sensible part of him knew that they shouldn’t have done what they’d done. It may have been acceptable out here in the West—a place where rules were relaxed and where people turned a blind eye when there wasn’t time or a preacher on hand to make things right—but in his heart, Greg didn’t think that was right for him. Worse still, Darcy wasn’t really his to love, not until Conrad was out of the picture. But the way Darcy felt pressed against him, her skin warm and moist, her breathing slow and steady as she slept as if she’d never slept before, filled him with joy that he couldn’t put words to.
He had to make this right, he just had to. But how? Any way he looked at things, the choices were grim. If Darcy broke her promise to marry Conrad, she would have to pay back the twenty dollars Conrad had spent to bring her out to the frontier. Darcy didn’t have the money and couldn’t earn it in time.
Another thought pinched at Greg as he lay awake in the early morning hours. He had the money. He did. He had every cent that he’d saved up for the last few years to buy his land in Oregon. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to pay off Conrad. The problem was, if he handed all of his hard-won money over to get Darcy out of the deal she’d made, he wouldn’t have enough left to buy a postage stamp, let alone a farm or a ranch. He wouldn’t be able to provide for Darcy, at least not to start with. The thought of Darcy having to work even harder and to face so much uncertainty, all because of him, was almost as bad as thinking of her with Conrad. At least with Conrad, she would have a home and a position. But how could he let her go with that bully now?
The questions wouldn’t leave him alone for the rest of the night, and by the time dawn broke over the sodden and defeated cluster of wagons, Greg was no closer to knowing what he should do than he had been the day before.
“We don’t have to think of an answer right now,” Darcy told him once she had awaken and seen how distressed he was over things.
“What are you saying?” He blinked at her, helping her back into her still-damp clothes from the day before. “Are you saying we should just pretend that nothing happened between us? That we don’t love each other and want each other?”
“No, not that.” She shifted to kneel in front of where he was crouched, folding up the blanket that had covered them the night before. She rested her slender hands on either side of his face and smiled at him. “We love each other, Greg. That’s a beautiful thing. And I never knew that two hearts could beat as one the way ours did last night.”
Greg dropped the blanket and pulled her into his arms. “I can’t let you go back to him.”
“But you can’t take me away as though there aren’t problems and obligations to work through,” she finished his thought.
Greg sighed, turning away from her and finishing his work. “This is not the way that love is supposed to be.”
To his surprise, Darcy laughed. “Nothing in my life has been the way things are supposed to be. I’m used to it. I know things will work out somehow.”
“But in the meantime, you’re going to walk back over to Conrad’s wagon and cook his supper and pretend that we didn’t make love last night,” he said, trying not to sound bitter.
Darcy shrugged. “What harm could it do? We’re still a few days away from Ft. Bridger and the parting of the ways. We still have time to work out how we’re going to make this situation right.”
He could make it right today, if he just had the courage. He could take the money that he had wrapped up in an oilskin and buried deep in his belongings and hand it over to Conrad. And he could kiss any sort of security or safety for Darcy goodbye when he did. He hated himself for being so hesitant about doing what he knew was right, but there was the future to consider. Darcy wanted security. Claiming her would mean he’d lose that.
“All right,” he breathed out at last. “As long as he doesn’t put his hands on you—”
“He hasn’t yet, so I don’t see why he would start now,” Darcy said.
“Because he’s a man,” Greg said. “One I don’t trust.”
“Well, if he does get ideas, I’ll put an end to them,” she assured him with a grin. “Honestly, I think his fondness for whiskey has made him a little less of a man,” she added with an arched eyebrow.
“Darcy, don’t joke about this, please,” he said.
She nodded, resting a hand on the side of his face. “Everything will work out. You’ll see.”
He wasn’t sure he would see.
It was easy enough for Darcy to slip out of his wagon unnoticed. The camp was a mess of mud and wet grass, and the rain hadn’t entirely finished by the time they emerged into the daylight. Darcy went straight to work, tidying up Conrad’s camp and putting together whatever she could for breakfast, but when Conrad dragged his sorry backside out of his wagon and took a look at the state of his wagon and belongings, everything changed.
“What in the devil did you do, woman?” he bellowed at Darcy.
Greg stood from where he was crouching, trying in vain to start a fire so he could make some coffee.
“Me?” Darcy asked, straightening from the clothes she was wringing out.
“Can’t you keep a man’s things dry?” Conrad marched over to stand towering above Darcy. Bruce climbed out of the wagon too, swaying as if he was still drunk.
“I’m doing the best I can, Mr. Huber,” Darcy defended herself, “but rain is something that no one can control.”
“Well only a damned fool of a woman leaves everything laying out where it can get ruined like this,” Conrad shouted. “Ruined, I tell you, and it all cost me money. I should make you pay for every cent of it.”
“Nothing is ruined that can’t be put back to rights,” Darcy said, casting a sideways look to Greg as she spoke.
“I ought to teach you a lesson,” Conrad started to say, then caught Darcy’s look. He turned to see what she’d been looking at, and when he spotted Greg standing there, watching everything and ready to step in if he needed to, he sneered. “You and that young cowboy have it in for me, don’t you?”
“Greg is a friend,” Darcy said.
“Give it a rest, Conrad,” Bruce slurred. “My head hurts.”
At the same time, Greg said, “You keep talking to her like that and I’ll make sure you’re in too much pain to speak for a long time, Conrad.”
Conrad jerked straight in offense. “And who are you to go flapping your yap at me? You’re the one who kept telling me I should take this piece of nothing back.”
“I’ll clean up the camp, and as soon as we stop for the day, when the sun is out, I’ll do the washing and everything will be as good as new, you’ll see,” Darcy said.
Conrad wasn’t interested in a word of it. He twisted to face Darcy. “Hold your tongue, woman. I’ll deal with you later.”
“You will not.” Greg raised his voice and took a few steps closer to him.
“Oh, and are you going to tell me how I should conduct my bu
siness with my own wife?” Conrad moved to face him down.
“She’s not your wife yet,” Greg said, and if he had anything to do about it, he never would be.
“I can change that quick enough.” Conrad swaggered across the remaining space between the two of them until they stood toe-to-toe. “As soon as I find a preacher or a judge, or heck, as soon as we reach that fort. Someone there oughta be able to do it.”
“Pipe down, Conrad,” Bruce whined, holding his head. “All of you, just shut up.”
“A man like you doesn’t deserve a wife like Darcy,” Greg fired back. He couldn’t care less about Bruce’s state. Now that he was standing close, Greg could smell the whiskey on Conrad. The two of them must have been drinking in Conrad’s wagon, either the night before or even that morning. It would have been so easy to punch Conrad in the face and end his bullying right then.
“I paid for her, fair and square,” Conrad bit back, snorting, then spitting on the ground. “She’s a good worker, and I’ll get my money’s worth out of her if it’s the last thing I do.”
“It will be the last thing you do if you so much as try,” Greg said.
“Please,” Darcy called to them, approaching with the shirt she’d been wringing out still tangled in her hands. “Let’s not fight about this now. There’s plenty of time to sort it out when we’re all feeling a bit calmer,” she said, looking straight at Greg.
“I thought I told you to hold your tongue.” Conrad whipped around to glare at Darcy. “Or do I have to smack you into obeying me, woman, because I will.”
Greg had had enough. “No you won’t.”
He grabbed hold of Conrad’s shoulder and spun him around, planting a first square against his jaw. The sting of the blow against his knuckles was nothing to the satisfaction of watching Conrad stumble. He didn’t fall, though, and when he shook himself, realizing what had happened, Conrad flew at him, fists raised. Bruce whooped in alarm.
Part of Greg shouted with relief as Conrad took a swing at him. The man may have been half drunk, but he had enough meat on him to land a solid punch. Greg felt the crack against his cheek and smiled. He threw his whole effort into fending Conrad off, landing punch after punch in the man’s stomach, his side, his face when he could reach it. Few things had ever felt so satisfying, and he threw himself into the fight with abandon.
“Stop!” Darcy shouted from the sidelines. “Stop this nonsense.”
“Get ’im, Conrad,” Bruce egged them on.
As much as Greg wanted to do whatever Darcy told him to do, he needed to teach Conrad a lesson. He landed another punch with a crunch, right across Conrad’s nose, letting out a grunt of satisfaction.
“Somebody is going to get hurt,” Darcy went on. “Please stop fighting.”
“Whoa, whoa, what’s this?”
The sound of Pete Evans shouting as he ran up to the fight knocked Greg out of his focus. He turned to find Pete, only to have Conrad land one last, sloppy punch against his jaw. It didn’t have enough force behind it to do more than snap Greg’s head to the side, but it was enough to keep Greg seething with rage.
“Hold up there,” Pete went on. He grabbed Greg’s arm and jerked him away from Conrad.
The full picture of what was happening came clear around Greg. A dozen men or more had come to watch the fight. Bruce stumbled up to pull Conrad away from Greg, and the two of them stood to the side, glaring bullets at him. Darcy stood nearby, clutching the wrung shirt to her chest and gaping at both men, enough fury in her eyes to make Greg wonder if picking the fight had been the right thing to do. He’d had to do something, though.
“What’s got you two all riled up?” Pete asked. “Or do I even need to ask?” He glanced to Darcy.
“It’s none of your business,” Conrad barked. “It’s not of any of you all’s business.”
“I refuse to stand here and let that man mistreat a woman like Darcy,” Greg answered Conrad’s obnoxious reply.
A few of the men around them hummed or murmured in agreement, and a few snorted and shook their heads, glaring at Darcy. “Bad luck,” one of them said before turning and going.
Darcy ignored it, stepping forward to Greg and Pete.
“You could have been seriously injured,” she scolded Greg.
“I was defending you,” he replied, hurt.
Darcy pursed her lips and shook her head. “I told you we had time to figure this out before we reached Ft. Bridger, that everything would come clear. That did not involve you getting into a fight and making Conrad mad.”
She tossed a look over her shoulder to where Conrad and Bruce had their heads together, grumbling. Conrad was swaying heavily now, blood seeping from his nose, his eye swelling up. Greg had the bad feeling he didn’t look much better.
“I don’t care if he’s mad,” Greg told her. “I want you as far away from him as soon as possible.”
“And so do I,” she snapped, stomping her foot, “but until I have twenty dollars to pay him back, that isn’t going to happen. Give me time, Greg.”
“I….” He stopped, whatever protest he had planned fading. Once again, he was bungling things beyond reason. But her logic was just as bad as his. Something needed to be done now, before it was too late.
“All right, I tell you what,” Pete stepped in. “Greg, I don’t want you talking to Conrad or interacting with him or so much as looking at him until we get to Ft. Bridger, you hear me?”
“But, Pete,” he started to protest.
“No buts.” Pete raised his hand. “Don’t talk to him. And you, Conrad.” He raised his voice so that Conrad could hear him across the space that separated them. “I don’t want you talking to Greg or dealing with him or looking at him at all, do you hear?”
“As long as he stays away from me, we’ll be just fine,” Conrad sneered.
“Good.” Pete nodded. “And I don’t want you talking to or bullying or raising a hand against Miss Howsam either, understand?”
Conrad’s smug grin faltered. “She’s my wife. I can do whatever I want with her.”
“No she’s not and no you can’t,” Pete told him, striding across the distance to drive his point home. “Not on my wagon train, at least. You will treat the woman with respect, no matter what you think about women in general.”
Conrad glowered, then sniffed and spit.
“If I hear so much as a peep about you causing any more trouble,” he paused and turned to Greg, “either of you, I’ll leave you behind in the mud to sort yourselves out. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” Greg said, even though he resented it.
Conrad just sniffed and turned to walk off with Bruce.
Pete grumbled, as though the problems were far from over. He turned to Darcy. “I’m sorry about this, Miss Howsam, but it seems to me that you’ve got a heap of trouble to sort out.”
“I know,” Darcy sighed. She did her best to smile, though watching the effort that it took broke Greg’s heart. “I’ll do my best, sir,” she finished.
“Good.” Pete nodded. He turned to give Greg one last warning look, then marched off, shaking his head.
The rest of the men who had gathered to watch the fight dispersed as well. Greg was left standing there in the mud, hands throbbing from landing so many punches, face stinging with the blows Conrad had gotten in, and soul frustrated because every time he tried to do what he thought would be right, it ended up being wrong. He had to put an end to his bad decisions and Darcy’s dilemma as soon as possible, but every which way he turned, the choices seemed wrong.
“Greg.” Darcy yanked him out of his thoughts as she stepped up to him. “I’m grateful that you would fight for me,” she said, managing a weak smile, “but nothing will be solved if you get hurt. We can figure out a way through this. It will just take a little time.”
“Time’s the one thing we don’t have, Darcy,” he said, taking her hand. He didn’t care whether anyone was watching them or not. “I love you. I don’t want to lose you.”
Her smile broke through the wariness in her expression, but just as quickly faded. “I love you too, Greg. So much that I don’t want you to get hurt. We can figure this out if we’re patient.”
Greg smiled and raised her hand to kiss her knuckles. That was it. He had to man up and make some difficult decisions. All he knew was that he couldn’t let things go on the way they had been.
Chapter Nine
It was just Greg’s luck that Ft. Bridger and the point where everything would come to a head was only three days away. He didn’t share the whispers that went around the camp blaming Darcy for the bad luck, but he was beginning to think that they might have been on to something, that bad luck was in the clouds. For three days, he walked only a few yards behind Conrad’s wagon, forbidden to speak to the man. It was probably for the best. Pete was right, he would only have ended up fighting him again if they said so much as hello to each other.
He may not have said a word to the dirty rat of a bully, but he did observe him. Conrad ordered Darcy around like a slave, making her cook for him and take care of every little thing around the wagon and the oxen, but at the same time, he barely talked to her. He was more interested in keeping company with Bruce. The two of them were off somewhere most of the time, guzzling down whiskey. Greg now began to notice what Darcy had hinted at before: that Conrad was more interested in Bruce and the bottle than on laying a hand on Darcy in any way that would make Greg want to cut his balls off. It set him to thinking. There was more than one way to skin a cat.
When Pete called out, “Ft. Bridger! Ft. Bridger ahead. Line your wagons up along the east wall, and make sure your oxen don’t trample anything important,” Greg flagged him down.
As soon as Pete noticed him, he wheeled his horse around and trotted up to Greg’s side.
“How long will we be staying at the fort?” Greg asked.
Pete steadied his horse, then said, “We’ll move out again tomorrow morning.” He paused, and then said, “I know this is your last chance to do something about Miss Howsam, and I’ll give you as much time as I can, but we have to keep moving. We’ve lost more than a week of the journey already because of that blasted rain.”
Wild Western Women Ride Again: Western Historical Romance Boxed Set Page 49
