Forbidden Fires

by Madeline Baker

  Caitlyn glanced up so she could see her husband’s face. She loved his profile, and she loved him. It still surprised her, the way she felt about Rafe. She had waited so long to fall in love, had dreamed of a lean, wiry golden-haired man who would court her with candy and flowers and sweet words until, at last, she accepted his proposal, offered on bended knee, and became his wife.

  But this was better, Caitlyn mused with a little sigh. Rafe was tall and broad-shouldered, darkly handsome, with a roguish smile that could make her forget everything else.

  It occurred to her that she knew very little about the man who was now her husband in every sense of the word. And now, having discovered him physically, she wanted to know everything—his past, his hopes for the future, his dreams.

  “Rafe, where were you born?”

  “Georgia.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “When’s your birthday?”

  “April 10.”

  She filed the date away for future use.

  “Full of questions tonight, aren’t you?” he asked. He stroked her thigh, his hand dark against her alabaster skin, but Caitlyn would not be sidetracked.

  “What’s your father like?”

  Rafe shrugged. “He’s a wanderer, always was. That’s why he likes living with the Lakota. They never stay in one place long, and my pa’s always had an itch to see new places.”

  “Do you look like him?”

  “Some, only his hair is brown.”

  “Do you think I’d like him?”

  “Probably. Most women do.”

  “Would he like me?”

  “Definitely.”

  Caitlyn was silent for a long moment, and Rafe wondered if she’d finally run out of questions. But she’d only been gathering her nerve for the next one.

  “Did you ever ride to war with the Sioux?”

  “A time or two,” he admitted, knowing what her next question would be before it left her lips.

  “Did you ever fight against your own people?”

  “You mean your people, don’t you?” Rafe asked sardonically. “They’re both my people, Caitlyn. I’m as much Indian as white. But, no, I never rode against the Army, or the settlers, either. Only against the Crow when they raided our village.”

  “Did you wear war paint and feathers?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It seems so…uncivilized.” She tried to imagine him in a skin clout and moccasins, his hair in braids, his face streaked with vermillion. She was unsettled by how easily the image came to mind.

  “It is uncivilized,” Rafe replied, “but no one ever accused the Indians of being civilized, only savages.” And yet, for all their primitive ways, they were the only people who had ever accepted him for what he was, the only people who hadn’t cared about his mixed blood. He had been a good fighter, a capable hunter, and they had admired and respected him for that. And when he told them he would not fight against the whites, they had respected that decision, as well. No warrior was ever forced into battle; each man followed the dictates of his own conscience. If he wanted to fight, he did, and if he wanted to stay home, that was all right, too.

  “You never told me why you left the Indians,” Caitlyn remarked quietly.

  Rafe’s jaw clenched and for a moment she was sorry she had asked the question, for it seemed to have spoiled the companionable silence between them. But then Rafe took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

  “I was banished from the tribe for killing a man,” he explained. “We’d both been courting the same girl, and…”

  “What was her name?”

  He had not meant to go into detail. “Summer Wind.”

  “Was she pretty?”

  “On the outside.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought I was the only man she was interested in, but she was courting Hump Back Bear at the same time, letting us both believe there was no one else.” Rafe shook his head. “Hump Back Bear was furious when he found out about me. I would have walked away, but he wouldn’t let it go. He was mad and spoiling for a fight, and the next thing I knew, he was dead.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “I thought I did at the time.”

  “Did you ever make love to her?”

  “No.”

  “I’m glad,” Caitlyn said. She could not abide the thought of him making love to another woman.

  “Any more questions?” Rafe asked, his voice lightly teasing.

  She pretended to think about it, then shook her head. “No, not right now,” she murmured, “except maybe one.”

  Rafe cocked an eyebrow at her. “Well?”

  “Do you think you’ll ever want to go back to the Lakota?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Because you were banished?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not even to visit your father?”

  “Banishment is like death, Caitlyn. I can’t ever go back. It could mean my life at the most, a severe beating at the least. The Indians don’t have very many laws, but the ones they have are strictly enforced.”

  Rafe yawned widely, a smile playing about his lips as he stretched his arms overhead. “I think I’m ready to turn in, wife,” he remarked. “How about you?”

  Caitlyn’s heart skipped a beat as his gaze touched her lips. “Me, too,” she agreed. “I’m terribly tired.”

  Rafe quirked an eyebrow at her as he reached for her hand.

  “Not that tired,” she amended, blushing prettily.

  “I’ll never see the outside of this house again if you don’t stop looking at me like that,” Rafe muttered as he dropped his arm around her shoulder. “I’m not complaining, though,” he added, chuckling. “You’re a lot prettier than those mangy cows.”

  “Thanks,” Caitlyn retorted dryly.

  His hand slid up and down her ribcage as they walked down the hall to the bedroom. Inside, he closed the door and then, very leisurely, he began to undress her.

  “Damn,” he breathed as he unfastened her robe. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  His hands spanned her waist as he dropped his head to nuzzle her breast. Caitlyn gasped as little shock waves of pleasure rippled through her. She drove her fingers through his hair, her lips brushing the top of his head.

  She heard his breath quicken as he slid the robe from her shoulders and quickly stepped out of his trousers.

  “You’re beautiful,” she murmured fervently. “I never knew a man could be beautiful, but you are.”

  Rafe felt his neck grow warm at her unexpected compliment. Other women had remarked on his virility, his physique, his ability to satisfy them. But no one had ever told him he was beautiful.

  He took her hand, led her to the bed, and gently pulled her down beside him. He meant to make love to her slowly, tenderly, but her nearness and the love in her eyes filled him with a sense of urgency and he took her masterfully, powerfully, his hands arousing her to fever pitch as he found release in her sweet womanly warmth.

  They spent three days in the house, loving one another, getting to know each other. Rafe went out only once to assure Paulie that all was well, and to inform him that it would be business as usual the following week.

  Paulie grinned knowingly. “Sort of a delayed honeymoon, huh?”

  “You could call it that,” Rafe agreed.

  “I’ll take care of everything,” Paulie said, his grin growing wider by the minute.

  Rafe nodded. He could feel Paulie grinning at his back as he returned to the house.

  He found Caitlyn in the bedroom changing the sheets on the bed. Watching her, all thoughts of Paulie and the ranch left his mind.

  Caitlyn shrieked as Rafe grabbed her from behind and dumped her unceremoniously on the bed. He began to tickle her, laughing when he discovered she was ticklish everywhere.

  “It isn’t fair!” she wailed as his finger tickled the bottom of her foot. “Stop it, Rafe! Please stop.”r />
  “Yes, ma’am,” he said contritely, and releasing her foot, he folded his hands in his lap.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m stopping.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed.

  “You told me to stop, didn’t you?”

  “I told you to stop tickling me,” Caitlyn said, looking up into his eyes, a provocative smile playing over her lips. “Can’t you think of anything better to do?”

  “I’ll work on it,” he said solemnly.

  And he did.

  It wasn’t until Thursday morning at breakfast that Caitlyn remembered her encounter with Abner Wylie. She stewed about it all day, wondering if she should tell Rafe what had happened. She tried to recall exactly what Abner had said as she prepared dinner that night.

  “What is it, Caty?” Rafe asked, noticing her frown as she sat down across from him.

  “Nothing, I…”

  “Come on, Caty, spit it out.”

  “Do you remember when we went to town last Saturday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I saw Abner Wylie.”

  Rafe’s dark eyes narrowed slightly. “Where?”

  “Outside the Mercantile store.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He said that I should have married him, that I would have married him if you hadn’t come along.”

  “What else?”

  She hesitated. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Caty.”

  “He tried to kiss me, and I kicked him…there. You know. I told him you’d kill him if he ever touched me again, and he said he hoped you’d try.”

  “Dammit, I will kill him!”

  “No, Rafe! Promise me you won’t do anything. Please. It will only cause trouble.”

  “Caty…”

  “Please, Rafe, promise me.”

  “All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “I promise. But if he ever lays a hand on you again, I’ll skin him alive.” Rafe’s eyes glittered savagely. “And I know how it’s done.”

  * * * * *

  Their days fell into a pleasant routine in the next few months. They rose early, had breakfast together, then Rafe went out on the range with the hands while Caitlyn took care of the household chores. Sometimes he came home for lunch, sometimes Caitlyn rode out with a picnic basket and they shared a quiet hour under a shady tree.

  Dinner was Rafe’s favorite time of the day. Caitlyn proved to be an excellent cook and he complained that he was gaining weight. But it wasn’t the food itself he enjoyed the most, it was Caitlyn. She was a constant joy. He delighted in her smile, her laughter, the way she spoiled him. After dinner, they would sit in the parlor. Sometimes they didn’t say much; Caitlyn would be busy with the mending or a piece of embroidery while Rafe went over the ranch accounts.

  But bedtime was the best time, and it came earlier and earlier each night as their passion for one another grew stronger. Rafe’s need for Caitlyn continued to amaze him. She was his now, in every way, and still his desire for her raged like a fire out of control. Holding her only made him want her more, possessing her offered only a brief respite.

  And Caitlyn felt the same. She could not seem to get enough of Rafe. She needed his touch as she needed air to breathe and water to drink. His smile charmed her, his touch left her breathless.

  And so the days passed swiftly. Summer gave way to fall as the leaves turned, clothing the trees in magnificent gowns of burnt orange, gold, and crimson. The horses grew shaggy, the cows grew fat with calves that would be born in the spring, and Black Wind’s belly began to swell. The barn had been rebuilt, bigger than before.

  Hal and Wishful had decided to stay on through the winter and Caitlyn knew it was because of Rafe. They no longer considered him an outsider. He was good with the men, fair and honest as her father had been, willing to listen to their complaints and suggestions.

  They harvested the last of the crops, filled the barn loft with winter hay. Caitlyn put up the last jars of fruits and vegetables and felt a surge of pride in a job well done when she looked at her cupboards, each shelf filled with neatly labeled bottles.

  Winter came in a rush of wind and rain that shook the last of the autumn leaves from the trees and flooded the rivers. Rafe spent long hours outdoors when the weather permitted, checking on the livestock, making certain the fences were still standing, that the river was clear of debris.

  The first snow covered the land in a mantle of pristine white. The river froze, and the cowhands began hauling hay to the cattle. It was hard work. Caitlyn hated to see Rafe go out in the bitter cold, but he wasn’t the sort of man to send his help out to do a job he wasn’t willing to do himself.

  It was the best thing he could have done, Paulie told Caitlyn one evening at dinner. Rafe worked as hard as anyone else, and the men respected him for it.

  A few days before Christmas Caitlyn said she wanted a tree. Rafe looked at her kind of funny for a minute, and then he grinned.

  “A Christmas tree,” he drawled. “That would be nice.”

  “You act like you’ve never heard of one before,” Caitlyn remarked, frowning at him.

  Rafe chuckled. “Well, the Lakota weren’t much for celebrating Christmas,” he reminded her. “The last Christmas tree I saw was in a New Orleans brothel.”

  “Rafe!”

  “It’s true. The girls took Christmas Eve off and decorated the tree and then they sat around reminiscing about their favorite clients.”

  “Did they mention your name?” Caitlyn asked, her voice faintly sarcastic.

  “You bet,” Rafe said, winking at her.

  “You’re not serious!”

  Rafe stared at Caitlyn, uncertain how best to answer. If he told her the truth, he knew she’d be angry. A lie would be better, he thought ruefully, but he wanted no lies between them.

  “It was a long time ago, Caty,” he assured her, the laughter gone from his eyes.

  She had known the kind of life he had led in New Orleans, he had mentioned it before. But they were married now and knowing that he had made love to other women hurt dreadfully.

  “Caitlyn, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” she said, not meeting his gaze. “I knew you weren’t a saint.”

  “Caty, don’t be angry.” His fingertips caressed her arm, making shivers of delight skitter down her arm.

  “I’m not.”

  “You are. You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Admit it, Caty mine. You’re jealous because I made love to other women. But it wasn’t like what we have, Caitlyn. It was never like this.”

  “Truly, Rafe?”

  “Truly.”

  She snuggled into his arms, her head on his shoulder. Outside, the snow fell in large lacy flakes, but inside it was warm, so warm. He had not said the words she longed to hear, but he would. She knew he would.

  The lamp burned low, and Rafe began to caress her, his eyes holding more heat than the hearth, his lips telling her better than words that he wanted her, needed her.

  She surrendered her lips to his, vowing she would never be jealous again, never doubt his love. She would be the only woman in his future, the only woman he would ever want or need.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was spring, and the trees stretched their arms toward heaven, their branches sprouting new growth. The grass poked its head through the last patches of snow, and the birds seemed to sing a little more brightly as they raised their morning hymns to the sky. Black Wind’s belly was swollen with the life she carried, and Caitlyn began counting the days until the foal would be born.

  Scott and Paulie and the others began to ride into the hills and canyons to round up the cattle, driving the animals to the ranch where the calves would be branded and castrated before driving them to market. Her father had made a deal to sell eight hundred head to Fort Laramie, and Rafe was making plans for the drive. Those plans did not include taking Caitlyn along, but she had other
ideas, ideas she wisely kept to herself for the time being.

  Rafe spent long hours out on the range and she threw herself into a fit of spring cleaning, scrubbing the floors, washing the windows, shaking out the rugs, and airing the bedding.

  There had been some losses during the winter, Rafe told her one night at dinner. So far, they had found fourteen dead cows and a couple of dead calves. Most of the animals had been caught in a blizzard up country and froze to death.

  But such losses were normal and Caitlyn did not dwell on them. She spent a part of every day at the holding pens, watching the cowhands brand the calves. It was hot, dirty, noisy work. Dust filled the air, clinging to the cowboys’ sweaty arms and faces. The calves bawled for their mothers, the mothers bawled for their young, and the cowhands cursed long and loud as they wrestled frightened calves to the ground, burned the Circle C brand in their flesh, and castrated the males.

  Usually, Caitlyn avoided the branding, but Rafe’s presence in the pen drew her like a magnet. He had quickly learned the ins and outs of handling a branding iron and she watched with pride as he worked alongside Scott, Nate, and Wishful. Unlike the other cowhands, Rafe worked without a shirt, his muscles rippling beneath his sun-bronzed flesh, igniting little fires of desire within Caitlyn’s breast. He was such a handsome man, such a joy to watch, tall and lean and rugged.

  She made sure she had plenty of food waiting for him at the end of the day. He didn’t seem to care what she served him for dinner so long as there was plenty of it and lots of hot coffee to go with it.

  After dinner, she heated water for his bath while she washed the dishes. More often than not, she washed his back, and that always led to his front, and the next thing she knew, she was in the tub with him, or lying on the parlor floor on the rug in front of the hearth. No matter how many hours he worked, he was never too tired for her.

  He told her with words and kisses and long slow caresses that she was beautiful, desirable. She gloried in his touch, in the power of his body, in the sweet romantic words he whispered in her ear, in the way he cried her name as their bodies came together in the final throes of passion.

  Oh, yes, she thought, marriage was a wonderful thing, and Rafe Gallegher was everything she had ever dreamed of even though he never said the three words she longed to hear.