He tensed slightly when she knelt before the fire and removed her bodice, using a little of the precious water to clean off the dust that clung to her. When she removed her camisole, he shifted restlessly, his eyes fixed hungrily upon the full pale breasts as she washed. By the time she had finished her bathing, he was aching. Then, as if to further taunt her unseen audience, she undid her hair.
“My God,” he breathed, “the Indians would kill each other for a scalp like that.”
By the light of the fire and the moon, her hair shone white. It fell in long thick waves to her slim hips. Cloud wanted to bury himself in it; his palms itched to run through its heavy length as her brush was doing. He did not think he had ever seen anything so beautiful nor so desirable despite the wide range of women he had known.
After she had lain down with the child he sat watching her for a while longer. He needed time to quell his desire before he got any closer to the woman.
Deeming himself once more in control, he decided to go down to her campsite. There was little point in setting up one of his own when hers was so close. He also wanted to dampen the fire, which might draw attention to the woman.
The mule eyed him warily as he tied Savannah to a bush, but it made no noise. After securing his pack horse and relieving the animal of its burden, he turned his attention to the sleeping pair under the cart. He was curious to see if the woman’s face was as lovely as the rest of her.
Pausing only to douse the fire, he sat down near the cart. The woman and the child slept on, unaware of him. Cloud shook his head. They were both babes in the wood, defenseless and ignorant.
Studying her face, he realized that she was very young. In fact, she hardly looked old enough to have borne the child tucked up against her. Cloud decided the boy must take after his father, for he lacked his mother’s delicacy of looks and her fairness of coloring.
Her skin cried out to be touched, its light honey-colored expanse looking as soft and smooth as silk. Faintly arched brows, several shades darker than her brilliant hair, furrowed occasionally as her dreams grew more troubled. The lashes that lay in thick arcs on her cheeks were also dark and naturally curly. A full ripe mouth was slightly parted as she slept, partially revealing straight white teeth. Her nose was the only less than perfect feature in her small oval face. It ran small and straight to the tip then suddenly turned up ever so slightly, disrupting an otherwise classical perfection.
She had left off her bodice, having rinsed it in the water that she then gave the mule, and hung it on the bush to dry. His eyes fixed upon the smooth swell of her breasts above the lacy camisole and he nearly groaned. The desire had been controlled but not vanquished.
Stretching out, he leaned against the cart wheel, placing his rifle across his lap. There would be little sleep for him until he was out of the area troubled by Indians. Senses well-honed by the war allowed him to doze yet be alert to danger. He almost wished he could sleep as blissfully as the pair beneath the cart, but he knew too well how dangerous that could be.
A sound from the young woman drew his gaze back to her and he realized that she was having a nightmare. She muttered fretfully and tears oozed from beneath her eyelids as she relived some horror in her dreams. Her restlessness caused the boy to whimper in his sleep.
“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmured as he smoothed his hand over her brow in a soothing caress.
“Harper?” she cried softly even as she settled down.
“Ssssh. There’s nothing here to trouble you. Go to sleep, little lady.”
After the pair had again settled, Cloud returned to his half-sleep, half-vigil. He wondered who Harper was and decided he was her husband. Frowning, he searched the long fingers of her small delicate hands but saw no ring. Either she had no husband or he was dead. Either way suited Cloud. He fully intended to satisfy the desire she stirred in him and a husband would only complicate matters. A small child was complication enough.
She stretched and turned, disturbing the light blanket that covered her. A smile touched his harsh features as he glimpsed her feet. They were as small and delicate as the rest of her. His smile faded quickly when he saw how her feet had suffered from the walking she had done. He was surprised she had stayed on her feet at all. Every step must have pained her, yet she had struggled on.
“Stubborn as your mule,” he muttered as he reached to tuck the blanket around her feet.
He paused, his gaze drifting up the length of slender leg exposed by her bunched-up petticoats. He moved his hand over her calf and up to where her petticoats rested high up on her silken thighs. She moved and made a soft noise that brought a satisfied smile to his face as he finally tucked the blanket back in place.
Experience told him how to read those small signs. Even in her sleep she had warmed to his touch. There was passion in her. Cloud knew it would be good and found it hard to resist the temptation to slip beneath the blanket with her immediately. Waiting would be hard, but he did not plan to wait long.
The night passed slowly. Twice more Cloud had to soothe the young woman’s troubled sleep. That she was so evidently filled with fear made her dogged progress all the more remarkable. She plainly had the strength to subdue those fears when she was awake, forcing herself to continue despite them.
When dawn lightened the sky, he washed himself and watered the mounts. He then set about relighting the small fire and preparing a breakfast of sorts. As he had hoped, the smell of coffee began to wake the sleepers.
The boy woke first, studying Cloud for a long moment before rising. With the uncanny sixth sense a child so often has, the boy sensed that he was no threat. Keeping a shy watch on him, however, the boy went to relieve himself then came to squat by him near the fire.
“Mornin',” he said finally. “I’m Thornton.”
“I’m Cloud Ryder. Hungry?” He dished out some oatmeal for the boy when he nodded.
“This is good as Mama’s.”
“Have you and your mama walked far?”
“Miles and miles. We’re going home. ‘Way from Injuns.”
“Where’s your pa?” Cloud sipped his coffee, occasionally glancing towards the still sleeping girl.
“Wiv the angels,” Thornton said calmly, repeating Emily’s explanation. “Injuns kilt him dead so the angels took him. They take dead folk, you know.”
Cloud nodded even as he mused that the angels would no doubt toss him back. He had become too hard and too many men had died at his hands. He would probably never see Heaven’s gates. And though the killing had been part of a war, he doubted that fact would save his soul.
“You and your mama are alone then?” he prompted and the boy nodded.
To Thornton, Emily was his mother. The angels had taken his other mother and left him a new one. He was blissfully ignorant of any misconception the man opposite him was forming.
“Are you going home too?” the boy asked.
“Yup. Going to set up my ranch.”
“Wiv cows?” Cloud nodded. “I fink my new home has cows.”
“Where is your new home?”
“Out dere.” Thornton pointed towards the faintly visible mountains. “Sandly’s, I fink.”
Smiling, Cloud gave up trying to get any specifics. Children of Thornton’s age were not very concerned with details.
“I fink Mama’s getting awake.”
“Mmmm, I think you’re right.”
Watching her stretch made Cloud’s loins tighten. Despite her delicate build, there was an unconscious voluptuousness to her movements. He could not wait to feel her beneath him, her lithe grace working to satisfy him.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes in a distinctly childlike gesture. When her gaze fell on the spot where Thornton had lain he saw her tense. An instant later he found himself staring appreciatively into a pair of wide, somewhat frantic jade green eyes.
Chapter Two
After assuring herself that Thornton was alive, Emily stared at the man crouched by the fire. Her relief over Thornton’s
safety rapidly vanished, and she wished desperately that she had some weapon.
When the stranger stood up, she trembled. The man was well over six feet tall. Although he was lean, she was not deceived into thinking him lacking in strength. A woman who could stretch to two inches over five feet if she wore shoes and stood on tiptoe had no chance against him.
Thick hair, the blue-black of a raven’s wing, hung to his broad shoulders; a red bandana tied around his wide forehead and knotted at the side kept it out of his eyes. A buckskin shirt hugged his muscular torso and was partly unlaced to reveal a smooth, dark chest. Dark pants disappeared into buckskin boots that hugged the bottom half of his long muscular legs.
As if his height and strength were not intimidating enough, there were the harsh lines of his face. High cheekbones and a high-bridged nose told of his Indian blood, as did the coppery tint of his dark complexion. His thin-lipped mouth was set in an unreadable straight line. The scar added a fierceness to his lean features that did nothing to ease Emily’s fears.
Swallowing her panic, she met his gaze. His eyes were a deep, rich brown ringed with amber. She had never seen such eyes. Neither had she seen eyes so lacking in expression.
“Please,” she said softly, “don’t hurt the boy.”
Cloud shook himself. He realized that she thought him an Indian and, quite naturally, had assumed the worst. He had known the harsh sting of prejudice all too often in the past.
“ ‘Bout time you woke up, ma’am. Day’s near gone.”
She closed her eyes briefly in relief. “You aren’t an Indian.”
“Well, partly. Grandmother on my father’s side was Cherokee. Coffee’s made.”
Following the direction of his gaze, she recalled her state of undress and blushed. “If you will give me but a moment’s privacy so that I might dress?”
“Reckon so,” he drawled, but took his time turning around and returning to the campfire.
After dressing and making a hasty trip to some nearby bushes, Emily tentatively approached the fire. She was not foolish enough to think herself safe simply because the man was not an Indian. From the time she had changed from a child into a woman she had known that even the most innocent-appearing of men could prove dangerous. Out here in the middle of nowhere, the danger was that much greater.
“What’s your name?” he asked, ignoring her wariness as he served her coffee.
“Emily,” she replied softly as she sat down next to Thornton.
“Emily what?” he demanded.
“Emily Cordelia Mason Brockinger,” she recited a little tartly. “And you, sir?”
Biting back a grin, he replied, “Cloud Ryder.”
She blinked. “I bee your pardon?”
“Cloud Ryder. R-y-d-e-r. Just what are you doing out here?”
“Besides walking?” she retorted dryly and saw his lips twitch. “We’re headed for the mountains.”
“'The mountains’ is a little vague.”
“The San Luis Valley.” She frowned when he laughed softly. “That’s funny?”
“Actually, I was thinking of what Thornton answered when I asked him the same question. He said ‘Sandly’s.'” He felt a tremor low in his belly when he heard her soft, husky laugh. “You’re going the wrong way,” he said.
“Nonsense,” she said in her best schoolmarm voice. “I am headed west.”
“Fair enough, but the valley’s also south by several weeks’ ride.”
Her heart sank. If it was several weeks’ ride, then it was many weeks’ walking. Somehow she had let herself believe that, if she reached the mountains, she would be fine. To hear that she would still have to travel many weeks southward was almost devastating. It was a struggle not to weep, but stiff Yankee pride kept her from showing any weakness before a stranger.
Cloud covertly watched her struggle. The way she put her small chin up amused him even while he felt a twinge of admiration. He had seen how the news had devastated her, but she was not going to let it break her. She had a strength of character he could only approve of.
“I see. So I am not even half the way there yet.”
“Depends on where you started from.” “Boston originally, but I started walking two days ago.” “Why?”
“The Indians attacked the wagon train I was with. They killed everyone.” He heard the touch of lingering horror in her voice and knew that was the incident that darkened her dreams. “Why not you or Thornton?”
“I was away from the campsite. I’m not quite sure how Thornton survived. He hasn’t really said.”
“Papa put me in a hole,” Thornton said suddenly. “He told me stay put ‘till all’s quiet and I did.”
Emily barely checked her tears. The loss of so many friends was still too fresh. She thought of how eager the young Sears couple had been, how full of plans.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Cloud said quietly. “How many were there?”
“Nearly twenty.” She gazed at her hands, still blistered from the chore of burying so many.
“So you picked up your boy and started walking west?” “Two days later, yes.” “Why’d you wait?”
“The burying took me two whole days.”
“You buried everyone?” he said softly.
She read his reaction as one of surprise. “Well, I did not dig twenty graves. I didn’t think they would mind if I put a child in with his mother or father or put loved ones together.” She shivered at the memory.
“That was a damned stupid thing to do,” he snapped, glaring at her.
Emily decided that she preferred a lack of expression in his eyes to the hard, cold anger that now lit them. “It was the Christian thing to do, sir.”
“Christian be damned. It was a fool thing to do.”
“What was I to do?” she snapped, growing angry herself. “Leave them for the carrion?”
“Damn right.” His attitude was not softened by her shock. “Listen, you fool woman, what do you think’s going to occur to those Indians if they return to that site?”
“Why should they? They cannot do any more.”
“Maybe they’ll just pass it on their way to someplace else. How the hell should I know? The point is that they’ll see those graves and know somebody survived.”
She felt the color leave her cheeks. “That will matter to them?”
“Damn right it’ll matter. It’ll set them looking for you. They don’t know it was only a fool woman and a babe. They don’t want to leave survivors, girl—not in the mood they’re in now.”
Taking a deep breath to settle the fears he was stirring up, she said, “I had to bury them.”
“Tell that to the Indians. They could be hot after you even now. Not that you’d see them coming.”
Although she knew full well that she was almost totally incompetent out here on the plains, she resented his attitude. He could take into consideration the fact that she was a city girl from the east, not a cowboy, and give her some credit for what she had accomplished. Instead, he spoke to her as if she were severely lacking in brains and good sense. She simmered with fury as he lectured her.
“Marching across the plains as if you’re on some Sunday stroll. You stick out like a sore thumb. I’m surprised you haven’t lost that hair already.”
“What am I supposed to do? Crawl to the mountains on my stomach?”
“Might be a damn good idea.”
“Stop cursing.”
“Look, you little idiot, you haven’t got the sense God gave a goose. You parade across hostile country without even trying to keep out of sight, then strip down afore a blazing fire for all to see.”
“You watched me?” she gasped, color flooding her face.
“Damn right. Show was free.”
He caught her wrist when she swung at him and tugged her towards him. Emily sprawled on his lap, staring up into his harsh face. She tried only once to sit up, found herself held firmly, and did not try again. Struggling against a man of his strength and size would only
get her hurt.
Cloud studied the woman glaring up at him. Her full breasts rose and fell rapidly with the force of her anger. The thick silvery hair he so admired lay like a blanket over his legs. He gave into temptation and buried one hand in its heavy waves, finding it soft as silk.
“I followed you for hours, woman. You never took notice of me, kept no watch for trouble.”
“And just what would you suggest I do if I saw trouble coming?” she asked tartly.
“How about running for your life? Or the boy’s? Oh no, you set your pretty eyes on the mountains and trudge straight ahead with all the blind, stupid doggedness of your damned mule. You just ain’t thinking, girl.”
“I will keep your criticism in mind,” she said coolly. “Now, would you release me, please?”
“Not just yet,” he drawled, tightening his grip on her hair and urging her face toward his.
Emily’s experience with men consisted of an occasional unwanted embrace resulting in a slap or, if the swain was too ardent, a well-placed knee. She knew the danger signals, however, and could sense when a man’s thoughts turned carnal. Cloud Ryder’s had definitely turned that way. She tensed, but his grip on her hair forced her to obey his urging.
“Let me go,” she demanded coldly.
“Not just yet,” he murmured against her mouth.
She tried to keep her lips closed, but the moment his mouth covered hers, she knew that would be far from easy. Despite the hard line of his mouth, his lips were warm and soft. She felt her own mouth soften beneath his as a strange heat began to spread through her body. That frightened her far more than the fact that this stranger was taking a kiss that had not been offered.
When he forced his tongue through the weakened barriers of her lips she felt that warmth begin to curl through her body. She tried to break free of his hold but failed. A moment later she succumbed to the probing intoxication of his tongue.
What pulled her back to her senses was the way her mouth followed his when it began to pull away. Her eyes widened with shock at her own actions. She abruptly broke free of his hold, and with little grace and a great deal of haste scrambled back to her original place next to a wide-eyed Thornton.
Compromised Hearts Page 2
