The Desires of Her Heart

by Lyn Cote

  He raised his hand to slap her for this insolence.

  A gunshot rang out. Kilbride jerked around.

  “Oh, pardon me,” Ash said with exaggerated courtesy, “I mis-fired.”

  Kilbride turned and stalked away.

  “Sorry to disturb you, ladies,” Ash said, pushing back the brim of his hat.

  Reva turned and grinned at him. “You didn’t disturb me.”

  “Oh, the lady finally speaks to me. My lucky day.” Ash turned and sauntered off toward cattle and horses.

  “Well,” Reva said in a low voice, the smile in her eyes fading, “we all came through with our skins. I didn’t expect that. We’re going to have to watch Mr. Kilbride. He’ll make you pay. Make us all pay.”

  “If he can,” Dorritt agreed. Her confident words did not reflect her own deep uneasiness.

  From the corner of her eye, she watched Quinn wait until all the others had dispersed. Only then did he leave his post, guarding her. He’d been her champion. This gave her a feeling she could not describe.

  On this earth she’d only ever had one person who could actually protect her: her father. But when she was a child, he had been killed in a duel and left her and her mother alone. Except for God and Reva, she’d been on her own ever since. And usually there wasn’t much Reva, a slave, could do. That everpresent vulnerability suddenly caught her around her lungs, twisting into an awful feeling of being smothered, buried alive, a sensation that had first come that horrible day when she’d lost her father, her family

  That day she lost a father who should have loved her enough not to fight a duel, not to desert her. But she couldn’t change the past. She couldn’t control the future. She only had today. And today Quinn had stepped forward in front of everyone to protect her. She drew in a deep breath. He risked his life for me. So many sensations and emotions bubbled inside her she could not sort them out. Instead, she forced herself to focus on treating Amos’s many minor wounds. It was the only way she could hold herself together.

  Reva leaned close and whispered in her ear, “What you going to do with that Mr. Quinn?”

  She couldn’t deny there were times when images flashed in her mind. She was pressed against him and his lips hovered over hers—so close. The power of this fantasy raced through her, lush and strong. Her whole body flushed. Holding it all in, she shrugged and looked away.

  Reva clucked her tongue. “You’re going to have to face Mr. Quinn. No turning back.”

  Dorritt nodded, still unable to meet Reva’s eyes. What can I do with him? But she really didn’t want to know, didn’t want to face the horrible, wonderful truth glowing inside her. If she faced it, then she would have to make a decision.

  To Dorritt’s relief, the two parties had finally set off by mid-morning. The Anderson wagon had pulled ahead, as if distancing themselves from the Kilbrides. Now hours later, the sun was well past its prime. Soon the cool of the evening would begin. As Dorritt had all day, she kept her gaze forward on the wagon. There, in its rear Amos slumped asleep, his head bobbing in time with the jolting wagon. And in the first wagon farther ahead, her other worry, her mother was lying inside on featherbeds and bumping over the faint packed-earth trail of the Camino Real.

  But over all loomed the fear of how Mr. Kilbride would retaliate against her, Quinn, Amos, Ash, and Reva. Quinn and Ash could defend themselves. She had only to defend herself. But Reva and Amos were vulnerable. And when it came to dealing with his slaves, Mr. Kilbride knew no shame. Her stomach churned with worry.

  From behind, Quinn’s calm voice sounded, making Dorritt glance up. She lowered her eyes again, trying to hide a spontaneous smile. Quinn had appeared to linger protectively near her all day. Over and over, her mind repeated his words, “The first to shoot will be the first to die.”

  As a Christian, the words should have distressed her. But she had never indulged in self-deception. She hadn’t wanted anyone to bleed or die. Yet knowing there was someone close who was willing and ready to defend her to the death—altered her outlook, the trend of her thoughts. Joy, fear, uncertainty, and more emotions crested, ebbed, flowed within her. Something inside her had changed this morning. And she knew for certain the difference was irrevocable.

  Then movement caught Dorritt’s eye and she tensed. Jewell was marching straight at her. Dorritt had been waiting for a reaction. Well, here it came. Falling back and moving away from the caravan so that no one else would hear what was coming, she tried to tighten her defenses, prepare for whatever skirmish Jewell was intent on. But for whatever reason, she found her half-sister less threatening now than she had yesterday.

  Jewell finally fell into step beside her and their people had drawn back from them. No doubt afraid of Jewell’s lowering brow and stormy expression. Good, just the two of us.

  “I hope you’re happy with this morning’s disaster,” Jewell snapped. “After the outrageous scene you caused in front of the Andersons, how am I to make a successful marriage?”

  Dorritt almost replied that Jewell’s father had triggered this morning’s high drama. Instead, she quietly voiced something that came to her unexpectedly, “I hope you’re prepared to begin handling your father’s business affairs here in Texas.”

  “I—” Jewell halted, looking flustered. “Don’t try to distract me with nonsense.”

  Why did I say that? Dorritt shimmered with surprise at her own audacity, but continued, “It’s not nonsense. Before Grandmother Kilbride passed, she taught me how to keep books and—”

  “I’m not here to talk to you about foolishness—”

  “It’s not foolishness, it’s reality. When we reach the Austin settlement, I’ll show you a ledger and teach you how to keep it.” Why am I saying this? How could I make Jewell do anything? “I’ll also show you how to know how much seed to save or buy per acre of land—”

  “Stop this! I won’t be distracted. You have damaged our family’s reputation.”

  Dorritt ignored her. It wasn’t I who damaged the family’s reputation. “Keep your voice down. Do you want the Andersons to hear you? Now listen, mother might have taken over management in Texas. But if she carries to term, I don’t think she’ll be able to handle the business along with a new baby. And she may not return to high health—”

  Jewell hands became fists; she halted and stomped her foot. “Stop!”

  Recalling Jewell as little girl using the same tantrum tactics, Dorritt fell silent, but walked on. Jewell hurried to catch up with Dorritt.

  Jewell’s voice was low but urgent. “Why did you do that this morning? Certainly you knew what it would cost us.”

  Suddenly Dorritt was out of patience. Did Jewell think she had wanted to have her hand forced in front of the deplorable Andersons? “Jewell, I’m sure you won’t understand even if I tell you. All your life you’ve been indulged and petted—”

  “And you have resented that,” Jewell lashed out, her face pink. “Was that why you did it? To ruin my chances of making a good marriage?”

  “I did it because Amos didn’t deserve a whipping just to bolster your father’s pride.”

  “Slaves must be kept in order,” Jewell said, parroting phrases from her father’s mouth. “Runaways must be punished.”

  “Tell me, Jewell, what’s worse than being a slave and being forced to walk through the wilderness of Texas?” Dorritt couldn’t keep the rumbling anger from her voice. “I’m just not going to stand by and take whatever nonsense your father wants to dish out. Things are different here and now.” I’m different here and now, her mind added silently.

  “You keep trying to change the subject but I won’t let you. Don’t you realize the consequences of your defiance this morning?”

  Dorritt didn’t answer immediately. For once, Jewell had a valid question and Dorritt considered it. “No, neither of us can know now what the consequences will be. But you’re right, there will be consequences.”

  “Are you deranged? The consequences are quite clear. You have made us outcas
ts.” Jewell’s lowered voice caught and she gave a half hiccup, half sob. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and blinked back tears.

  Dorritt considered Jewell, not her words, but her. She recalled seeing Mr. Kilbride slap Jewell and felt a glimmer of sympathy. “The past few days haven’t been easy for you.”

  “What do you care about that? You don’t care about me. You never have.”

  Dorritt glanced into Jewell’s stormy brown eyes. “People care about those who care about them,” she said with a wry twist.

  Jewell’s hand flew up, but before it could connect, Dorritt caught her sister’s wrist. “You won’t get away with that anymore.”

  “This new arrogance of yours won’t last,” Jewell hissed. “You shamed my father. He won’t forget it. I won’t let him.”

  “As you will.” Dorritt flung Jewell’s wrist away from her. “But I’m not the one who started this chain of events. Your father gambled away what was left of our fortune. Now we are facing the consequences of that…crime.”

  “All gentlemen gamble,” Jewell said, dismissing the accusation. “The Panic did us in.”

  “That’s what your father used as a face-saving excuse.” Like a fork scraped over raw flesh, the old resentment lacerated Dorritt inside. “But I’m the one who’s kept the books and run the plantation for nearly ten years. I know the truth.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re just trying to shift the blame. I don’t understand why you can’t see you’ve not only spoiled my chance to marry well, but also your own.”

  Dorritt shook her head. “Jewell, you’re only fifteen. You have plenty of time to marry. And you can’t make me believe you won’t contract an advantageous marriage.”

  “And I suppose you’ve decided to become our half-breed’s white squaw,” her sister sneered.

  Like a cork drawn from a bottle, this accusation released Dorritt’s fury. She couldn’t speak. The disrespect shown to Mr. Quinn and herself was appalling. Finally, Dorritt looked into Jewell’s gloating face. “I don’t intend to marry. I never have.”

  Her sister made a sound of derision.

  “Jewell, you are not me. For a woman, marriage is like letting oneself be sold on the block. I won’t do it.”

  “You’re still talking nonsense. No woman willingly chooses spinsterhood. Marriage to any decent man is preferable to being an unwanted old maid.”

  Now Dorritt sighed and half turned to go the other way. “I am not like you.”

  “That’s right. I’m young and beautiful. You are not. And you will have no choice. If my father persuades someone to marry you, what choice will you have?” Jewell’s voice rose. “Are you willing to be known as an ungovernable female? Are you prepared to be rejected by polite society? Are you ready to lower yourself to consorting with a half-breed? Are you?”

  Her half sister’s scornful words sliced through everything else. Jewell was self-centered and willful. But she wasn’t stupid.

  Am I prepared to cross that line? The thought shivered through her like an unexpected frost. All she had as protection in this world was her status as a decent woman and a cultured lady. “I don’t know,” she murmured. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Then she lifted her chin. “Changes are coming, Jewell.” We will all be changing. Or was she the only one as usual who saw what was coming, what was real?

  Jewell stalked off, muttering to herself.

  Father, truly what have I triggered? How will it all end? She recited her favorite verse.

  Delight thyself also in the LORD; and he shall give you the desires of thine heart.

  Reva had said earlier, “No turning back” and it was true. Still, her heart fluttered like a panicked bird caught in a net.

  Quinn watched the caravan quiet down, everyone settling in for another night’s exhausted sleep. The Andersons were keeping to themselves, far ahead of the Kilbride wagons. Today though, the miles weren’t what had tired Quinn. With every step he took, worry for Dorritt had pecked at his peace. From a distance, he’d watched what he thought must be an argument between her and that sister of hers. All day he’d been more aware of her than ever before.

  And he hadn’t thought that could be possible. But today it had been as if she were always in front of him. He’d almost breathed in time with her. What was she thinking? Had he helped her or harmed her by threatening her father? After Quinn left them at the Colorado when Kilbride thought Dorritt was again unprotected, would he retaliate against her? Or would he try tonight? In case that proved true, Quinn must stay near. He heard someone approaching and turned, ready for anything.

  Eduardo and Carlos were drawing near. “Señor Quinn,” Eduardo jeered, “You watch for your lady?”

  Carlos gave Eduardo a disapproving glance.

  Quinn heard more than just the words; he grasped the thought behind them—that she is a lady and not for the likes of you.

  “She’s not my lady.” I don’t deserve a lady. Then Quinn straightened. “But she is a lady.”

  Carlos, now glaring at Eduardo, replied, “Everyone sees that. No one with eyes and ears can doubt the quality of Señorita Dorritt.”

  Even though Quinn agreed with Carlos, he still didn’t like hearing Carlos say the words. “What do you want?” Quinn growled, feeling like a bear with a thorn in its paw.

  “Señor Quinn, I thought we would reach the Colorado more quickly. But we have not. And I must reach home in two days,” Carlos said.

  “You’re leaving then?” Quinn asked.

  “Sí, I go at dawn. I will leave Eduardo and the other two to herd the cattle and help guard the wagon train and protect Miss Dorritt.”

  Quinn noticed Carlos said, “I will leave…,” so it was true. Juan and Pedro took orders from Eduardo and Carlos. But now it was certain Carlos must outrank Eduardo. Quinn offered Carlos his hand. The man worked hard and appreciated the lady and treated her with special courtesy. And for latter reason alone, Quinn should be glad to see him go. “I bid you farewell, then.”

  Carlos shook his hand. “I’m sure we will meet again.”

  Quinn didn’t like that much, but kept his silence. The two Mexicans moved away. Carlos walked to Dorritt and obviously took his leave of her, bending to kiss her hand as if he were a don. Watching from behind a clump of bushes, Quinn tried not to let the sight bother him. After all, Carlos, a half-breed too, had as much chance as he had of winning the lady. Eduardo also bowed over Dorritt’s hand and then walked away.

  Quinn settled himself on the ground to watch without being seen, waiting until Dorritt was safely in the wagon where she slept with her sister. After everyone else had fallen asleep, he would go and bring her out to talk, just as he’d done that night in Louisiana when she had been sleeping in the loft. Perfectly still, Quinn waited.

  Under and around the wagons, the slaves were lying down now, wrapping themselves in blankets. In the distance, Ash chuckled and made Quinn’s gaze seek his friend. Ash was talking very close to Reva in the last of the long twilight shadows. Was Ash really interested in Dorritt’s maid or just flirting? Ash liked to flirt. Something Quinn had never even tried. Slowly but surely the camp turned in to sleep one by one. Again, coyotes prowled, yipping nearby, but wouldn’t venture closer.

  As Quinn waited, Dorritt’s face and form came to his mind. She smiled at him. Her teeth were white and even, except for one of the upper ones which overlapped its neighbor. He liked that her lower lip was just a little fuller than the upper. Her mouth always looked soft and appealing. He closed his eyes as if that would help him shut out the improper images rising inside him, not in front of him.

  “Mr. Quinn.”

  Her low rich voice brought him to his feet with his knife at the ready.

  Dorritt uttered a soft cry. And pulled back.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I must’ve been dozing.” He lowered his knife and swept off his hat.

  “I shouldn’t have surprised you.” She turned to go.

  No. Stay. He caught he
r arm, and the touch unleashed everything he had held back for weeks. He drew her to him. She came willingly and was as soft within his arms as he had imagined. At first, all he could do was process the sensation of her resting against him. The feeling went to his head like too much sun.

  Then he gave in to temptation and let himself stroke her hair, that spun sunshine which always beckoned him. He slid his cheek against hers and felt her breath on his ear. “I wanted you to come out,” he murmured to her. “I was waiting until everyone fell asleep. And then I was going to come and get you, Dorritt.” He waited to see if she’d tell him not to use her given name.

  “Why, Quinn?”

  Again, her breath fanned his ear. She’d dropped the mister. He found it hard to swallow. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For threatening to shoot your stepfather this morning—”

  She looked up at him, the half-moonlight silvering her skin. “Oh no. I was so grateful. You saved Amos from a terrible whipping.”

  “But I showed partiality to you, Dorritt.”

  She looked into Quinn’s eyes—so blue even in the half-moon night. He’d said it all with those few simple yet powerful words, “But I showed partiality to you.” She wanted to reply, “I don’t care.” But of course, she did care. Or she should. I’m so confused. My heart and my mind are at war.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

  “Don’t apologize. You were brave and you can’t know how much it meant to me to…to have someone defend me.” Warm blood rushed to her face. She tried to look away, but his hand caught her chin. He lifted it so she was looking up into those gleaming blue-blue eyes. She found she had trouble drawing breath.

  She saw his mouth dip lower, lower. The thrill of an anticipation she’d never known before zipped through her every nerve. His mouth moved downward—relentless but so slowly, so unhurriedly. And then his lips met hers. She gasped, overpowered. Her heart stopped for one beat and then raced.