Forbidden Fires

by Madeline Baker

  Rafe. As if summoned by magic, he appeared at her side to claim the next dance.

  Caitlyn followed him onto the dance floor, bewitched by his nearness and his appearance. It was evident he had gone shopping earlier in the day. His buckskins were gone and in their place he wore a black silk shirt, tight black pants, and black boots. His hair, though still long enough to brush against his shirt collar, had been neatly trimmed. He did not wear a tie and his shirt collar was open, revealing a narrow vee of sun-bronzed skin.

  Caitlyn cast about for something to say, but all she could think of was how devastatingly handsome Rafe looked. The black shirt was a perfect foil for his dark hair, ebony eyes, and swarthy skin.

  With his arm around her waist, he guided her effortlessly around the dance floor, surprising her again, for he danced divinely, his steps light and smooth.

  Rafe’s teeth gleamed as he grinned down at Caitlyn. Her thoughts were as transparent as glass, and he was strangely flattered by her obvious approval at the change in his appearance. The fact that women found him attractive was something he had discovered long ago in New Orleans, though he had never given it much thought. Still, there had been distinct advantages to being tall, dark, and handsome—even when the dark part was caused by his Indian blood—the major advantage being that he had always had his pick of women along the waterfront.

  Of course, it was that same dark appearance that made him unacceptable to the so-called nice ladies in town. They had shunned him on the streets, drawing their skirts aside as though touching him might bring disgrace. But he had seen the secret glances, the covert admiration when they thought no one was watching, and he knew they found him desirable, partly because of his appearance, and partly because he was forbidden.

  He had occasionally seen a similar expression of desire in Caitlyn’s eyes when she looked at him. He had burned with silent rage when other women looked at him like that, the longing in their eyes mixed with contempt. But Caitlyn was different. No matter how she felt about him deep inside, no matter if she harbored feelings of hate or revulsion, no hint of it ever showed on her face or in her voice and he was indebted to her for that, if nothing else.

  Caitlyn was still searching for something witty or clever to say when the music ended. There was a brief pause and then the musicians began playing a slow waltz.

  “May I?” Rafe asked, and without waiting for her reply, he swept her into his arms again.

  They danced effortlessly, as if they had been dancing together all their lives. He held her just a little closer than was proper, enjoying how she felt in his arms, the pleasure that radiated from her eyes as they circled the floor, the way the lamplight turned her hair to liquid gold. She was like a feather in his arms, easily following his lead no matter how complicated the steps, her head tilted back so she could see his face, her lips curved in a smile that was his alone. He caught the faint fragrance of wildflowers in her hair, felt his desire stir at her nearness.

  Caitlyn was wishing the waltz would last forever when the music ended and Abner Wylie appeared at her side requesting the next dance.

  “It’s taken,” Rafe said brusquely, then slid a glance in Caitlyn’s direction to see if she had any objections. She didn’t.

  “The next one, then?” Abner persisted, ignoring Caitlyn’s partner.

  “They’re all taken,” Rafe said, his dark eyes issuing a challenge.

  Caitlyn stared up at Rafe. The gall of the man, she thought indignantly, and yet, she was flattered, too, and relieved that she wouldn’t have to dance with Abner after all.

  Abner’s face was livid as he turned on his heel and headed for the bar. He stood there, a drink in his hand, glaring at Caitlyn and Rafe.

  Rafe was as good as his word. He stayed close to Caitlyn the rest of the evening, claiming her for every dance. Caitlyn overheard bits of gossip as the tall, dark-skinned man monopolized all her time. She saw the other single men watching Rafe, their eyes filled with confusion and disapproval, and she studied Rafe through the veil of her lashes, trying to see him as the men saw him. His incredible good looks were what she saw first and foremost. But then, looking past that, she saw the hardness in his face, the hint of violence that lurked behind his outwardly calm facade. It occurred to her that a wise man would not make an enemy of Rafe Gallegher.

  Once she caught Christine’s eye, and saw her friend raise an inquisitive brow. Caitlyn smiled and shrugged.

  Later in the evening she saw her father watching her with a speculative gleam. Rumors would be flying tomorrow, Caitlyn mused. The fact that she had spent the entire evening in the company of one man would no doubt be the main topic of conversation at every breakfast table in Cedar Creek.

  At intermission Caitlyn and Rafe stood near the open doorway, waiting for the music to begin again. Then Rafe stepped in front of her. “Shall we go outside?” he asked, his voice low, intimate.

  His eyes lingered on her mouth and Caitlyn felt her throat go suddenly dry. He wants to kiss me, she thought, flustered by the mere idea. What shall I do?

  She could feel a quick heat climbing up her neck, staining her cheeks, and she was glad Rafe was standing in front of her so no one could see her face. She wanted to go outside with him, wanted to feel his arms close around her, to discover once and for all what it would be like to feel his lips on hers.

  She wanted it very much, and he knew it. She could see the knowledge dancing in his eyes, in the slight curl of his mouth as he waited for her reply, certain she would say yes. His smug self-assurance piqued her anger.

  “No, thank you,” she replied coolly. “I’d rather stay in here.”

  “Liar.”

  The softly spoken word hung between them. Caitlyn lifted her chin and pursed her lips, irritated because he could read her thoughts so well.

  “Excuse me,” she said politely. “I think I’ll go join my father and Miss Crocker.”

  “And I think you’ll stay here.”

  She was about to argue with him when the music started. He did not bother to ask her permission this time, but swept her into his arms and out onto the floor.

  He was insufferable, Caitlyn thought with a slight shake of her head, but she could think of no place she’d rather be than in Rafe Gallegher’s arms as he twirled her around the dance floor. She liked the feel of his arms about her, the masterful way he executed the steps of the polka, the way he smiled down at her, his eyes filled with unspoken promises. His nearness made her heart beat fast and left her feeling breathless, as if she were on the brink of some exciting new discovery. She was sorry now that she had refused to go outside with him.

  As the thought crossed her mind, she caught Rafe’s amused gaze. I know what you’re thinking, his eyes seemed to say. It isn’t too late to take a stroll in the moonlight.

  She was glad when the song ended and the musicians broke into the Virginia Reel.

  Too soon it was the last dance. Caitlyn followed Rafe’s lead as they waltzed around the room, unaware of the picture they made as they glided across the floor—Rafe, tall and dark and handsome; herself, blonde and slim and radiant. They executed the steps of the waltz as though they had been dancing together for years instead of only one night.

  It was the best Fourth of July she could remember, certainly the best dance, even though her partner had not spoken more than a few dozen words the whole night long.

  She was about to ask Gallegher where he had learned to waltz so well when she felt his arm stiffen around her waist. He came to an abrupt halt, and it was then that Caitlyn saw Abner Wylie coming toward them, a surly expression on his face. It was evident he had been drinking, and drinking heavily. His eyes were red-rimmed, his steps unsteady.

  “Mind if I cut in?” he asked, his words slurred and thick.

  “She’s with me,” Gallegher said curtly.

  “What’s the matter, Miss Caitlyn,” Wylie said, his tone insolent. “Ain’t I good enough to dance with ya, or have you developed a taste for darkies since this here
‘breed came to work for your pa?”

  The couples dancing nearby gasped at Wylie’s rude comment. The men, expecting trouble, quickly led their partners off the dance floor.

  Caitlyn’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. She glanced up at Rafe to see what effect Abner’s crude remark had had on him and knew that Abner was as close to death as he had ever been. Rafe’s face was dark with barely suppressed rage, his eyes narrowed to angry slits. He still had his arm around her waist, and it was as hard and unyielding as tempered steel.

  There was a sudden hush in the hall as the musicians fell silent and now Caitlyn, Rafe, and Abner stood alone in the middle of the floor, a grim tableau in the midst of the brightly colored streamers and balloons that decorated the hall.

  For the first time, Caitlyn understood why all the men were required to check their guns at the door.

  “You will apologize to Miss Carmichael now,” Rafe told Abner, biting off each word, “or you will accompany me outside.”

  “Apologize for what?” Abner asked with a sneer. “I just asked a simple question.” Abner’s gaze shifted to Caitlyn. “All I wanted was one dance,” he whined. “You didn’t have any objections to dancing with me last year.”

  “You weren’t drunk then,” Caitlyn replied, conscious of the crowd looking on.

  “I wasn’t drunk when I asked you earlier tonight, neither,” Abner said, swaying.

  Caitlyn looked at Rafe, and then back at Abner.

  “I got no hard feelings against you, Miss Caitlyn,” Abner said. “I just want to know why you’re letting this half-breed make your decisions for you.”

  “I’m dancing with Mr. Gallegher because I wish to,” Caitlyn retorted. She was angry now, furious with Abner for creating a scene. She clenched her hands at her side, wishing she had the nerve to slap Abner’s face. Releasing an exasperated sigh, she glanced past Abner and saw her father striding toward her. Just what she needed, she thought irritably, another man!

  Brenden came to an abrupt halt a few feet from where Caitlyn stood between the two men, and then he turned on his heel and returned to the sidelines. It was obvious that Rafe Gallegher didn’t need any help, and from the look in Caitlyn’s eye, neither did she.

  “I’m waiting for that apology,” Rafe said curtly.

  “I’m sorry if I offended you, Miss Caitlyn,” Abner said sarcastically, “but if you prefer dancing with this breed to dancing with decent folks, then I guess you’re not the lady I thought you were.”

  Rafe’s jaw tightened. His right arm fell away from Caitlyn’s waist and before anyone in the room realized what was happening, he slammed his fist into Wylie’s smirking face and knocked him out cold.

  Then, as if nothing untoward had happened, he took Caitlyn by the arm and led her off the dance floor. When they reached her father, Rafe lifted Caitlyn’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening,” he said. His eyes left hers and sought Brenden Carmichael’s. “Do I still have a job?”

  Brenden grinned. “For as long as you want it.”

  Rafe nodded, and then, without a backward glance, he walked out of the hall.

  Chapter Eight

  Abner quit the following morning and Brenden accepted his resignation without an argument, saying only that Abner was welcome to stay on. But Abner refused. He had been humiliated before Caitlyn and half the town the night before and he had a large bruise on the side of his jaw as a constant reminder of that.

  Brenden watched Abner stalk out of the house, knowing he probably should have fired Gallegher and kept Abner on the payroll. After all, Abner had been a part of the Circle C for several years. But Rafe Gallegher had the black mare, and as long as Gallegher was around, there was always a chance he would change his mind about selling the horse.

  Caitlyn was glad to see Abner go. Wylie had never made any secret of the fact that he wanted her. His desire had burned deep in his pale blue eyes whenever he looked at her. She knew her father had been in favor of the match, but she could never warm up to Abner. The thought of his touch repelled her, the idea of becoming his wife was repugnant.

  Brenden favored Gallegher with a speculative look as they sat down to breakfast later that morning. “You have any experience with cattle?”

  Rafe shook his head. “Not much.”

  “Learn,” Brenden said curtly. “Wylie was a top hand. You’ll have to take his place if the boys need help.”

  Rafe nodded. “You’re the boss.”

  “I wish more people around here would remember that,” Brenden muttered. With a nod at Caitlyn, he grabbed his hat from the back of his chair and left the house.

  Caitlyn stood up, prepared to leave the room, when Rafe caught her by the arm. “Can we talk?”

  “About what?”

  “Last night. I’m sorry for what happened.”

  Caitlyn shrugged. “Why should you be sorry just because you ruined my evening and made a scene in front of all my friends?”

  Rafe’s mouth thinned as he heard the sarcasm in her voice and Caitlyn felt a prick of guilt. Rafe hadn’t been the one at fault. It had been Abner. But before she could examine her reasons for snapping at Rafe, he stood up, his eyes hard.

  “If you wanted to dance with Wylie, why didn’t you say so? I thought I was doing you a favor.”

  “Is that why you danced with me all night?” Caitlyn retorted. “To do me a favor?”

  Rafe snorted, as if the question didn’t deserve an answer.

  “It was a dance,” Caitlyn said. “You might have let me dance with someone besides you.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew she was protesting too much. She had enjoyed dancing with Rafe. Once he had taken her in his arms, she had forgotten any other man in the room existed.

  “Who’d you want to dance with?” Rafe asked, his voice slightly mocking. “Web? Wishful? Or that shy Texan? What’s his name?”

  “Marty Davis.” She was breathless suddenly without knowing why. Rafe was still holding her arm and she took a step back. He released her, and she took another step backward, her eyes wary. Why was he looking at her like that, his eyes dark and amused? She took another step away from him, and then another. Too late, she realized he had maneuvered her into a corner.

  Trapped, she drew herself up to her full height, her heart pounding as though she had just run a hundred miles uphill. His face filled her line of vision, blocking everything else from sight. She gave a little start when he reached out to draw her close, his strong arm imprisoning her waist while his other hand caressed her shoulder and slid provocatively down her arm.

  And then he kissed her, a deep sensual kiss that drove all rational thought from her mind. She felt the length of his body against hers, hard, lean, and aroused. The evidence of his desire sent little tremors skittering down her spine and made her blood sing a song she had never heard before.

  Her lips parted as she gasped for air and his tongue slid into her mouth. A quick heat flooded her being, as if the sun had exploded within her.

  She felt lost when his mouth left hers, lost and confused. And shamelessly yearning for more.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes.

  He was grinning at her, his expression smugly satisfied. “I’ve been wanting to do that since last night,” he admitted.

  “Have you?”

  He frowned at the glacial tone of her voice, the icy gleam in her eye.

  “What’s the matter? Didn’t you like it?”

  “Of course not,” she lied, hoping to hang onto her dignity.

  “Like hell! You’ve been wondering what it would be like for weeks.”

  “I have not!” she exclaimed, mortified that he had seen through her veneer of indifference so easily.

  “Well, I have,” he retorted.

  He was still holding her close, and she was sorely tempted to ask him if he had enjoyed kissing her as much as she had enjoyed being kissed. His nearness and his mocking gaze made her extremely uncomfortable. She felt her heart slam agains
t her chest as his gaze moved to her lips, felt her pulse race in anticipation. Without realizing it, she moved a little closer to him, lifting her head to give him easy access to her mouth.

  Rafe grinned. Dropping a quick kiss on her forehead, he released her and walked briskly out of the room.

  Caitlyn stared after him, his footsteps ringing in her ears, the taste and touch of his lips indelibly printed on her own.

  Consuelo entered the room then, but Caitlyn was hardly aware of the other woman’s presence, hardly aware of her surroundings, so shaken was she by Rafe’s kiss, and her reaction to it.

  Going to her room, she went to the window and gazed out, her glance automatically going toward Rafe who was working with one of the horses. She stood there for a long time, unaware of the passing minutes as she watched him swing a saddle onto a raw-boned buckskin mare, then vault effortlessly into the saddle. The horse began to buck as soon as it felt the man’s weight, but Rafe stuck to the saddle like glue, his long black hair whipping about his face, his denim-clad thighs clamped around the horse’s barrel. Caitlyn stared at Rafe, unable to draw her eyes away. His blue cotton work shirt clearly outlined the hard muscles in his back and arms. Sweat dampened the shallow valley between his shoulder blades.

  It was a glorious battle, a battle of wills between a wild, range-bred mustang and a strong-willed man. The horse bucked and pitched for all it was worth, but in the end it stood subdued in the center of the corral, its head hanging, its heaving sides lathered with thick yellow sweat.

  Caitlyn smiled as Rafe reached down to pat the weary buckskin on the neck, soothing the animal after its gallant effort.

  Dismounting, Rafe led the mare from the corral; removing the saddle and blanket, he walked the horse up and down in front of the corral until it had cooled down. Then, with quick, deft strokes, he curried the horse until its coat was as smooth and shiny as polished bronze.

  He had a way with horses, Caitlyn mused. And with women.

  In the next few days, it seemed to Caitlyn that no matter where she went, Rafe was there. He was present at meals, of course, but more than that, he turned up at other places as well. If she went for a walk along the river, he was there. If she went to the barn to curry Red, Rafe was inside, mending a bridle or talking to Paulie or brushing Black Wind. If she sat on the porch at the end of a long day, she could be certain that, sooner or later, Rafe would join her.