by Jodi Thomas
“All right.” Sloan didn’t increase his pace, but raised his voice slightly. “I’m sure May will loan you one of the single brothers. Sleep beside whoever you like, but we are spending the night at their fire.”
McCall seemed to turn to stone.
Sloan slowly walked past her. “I’m only guessing, but I’d think Moses would be a man you wouldn’t want to make mad.”
“I’m not sleeping with you!” she whispered between clenched teeth, as though the idea were too foul to say aloud.
“Fine,” he answered only a few inches away from her. “How about sleeping beside me? From the way the woman smelled me, I’d guess I will be in more danger of being attacked by May than you will be of being bothered by the brothers. You’ll be safest close to me, and maybe I’ll be safe with you by my side.”
He fought down his anger. She was acting as if she’d been picked as the sacrifice. “I won’t even touch you, General. Hell, I wouldn’t touch you if you wanted me to. What do you think I am, some starved man who’ll take a woman against her will? I should be the one upset. I’m the one who has to sleep next to a woman who spends most of her free time thinking of where to ship my body after she kills me!”
“I don’t know what you are or who you are,” she answered, “but you’ll never touch me again and that is final.”
Sloan took a deep breath. After what had happened between them, he doubted he’d ever convince her he wasn’t the kind of man she seemed to think he was. All right, he had kissed her once when she hadn’t expected it. And he had touched her, so intimately he ached inside just remembering it. But he’d never attack her; couldn’t she see that somewhere layered beneath years of life’s dust was a man of honor? Or did she think that only the brave generals and majors had honor? Was it too impossible to believe that a man who’d fought and lost, a man who’d been in prison, a man who’d changed sides in the middle of a war, could still have integrity?
“Sleep with me at hidetown.” He lifted his hands in surrender from a battle not fought. “I’ll not bother you, I swear. Come morning, we’ll be on our way and I’ll keep as much distance between us as possible for the rest of the trip.”
They had reached the wagons. McCall didn’t answer as she hugged several of the children and covered others already asleep. Sloan just stood watching her, knowing she was a woman who hated being manipulated. But couldn’t she see that he was a victim here, too? He had no more choice in the matter than she did. Moses could help them out a great deal if they stayed on friendly terms with him.
“The steaks were too tough,” Alyce grumbled as she pulled a blanket around herself.
Sloan knelt beside her and put another log on the fire. “That was all they had.” He wasn’t sure if the old woman was talking to him, or mumbling in her sleep.
“Sometimes,” she continued, “you bite off more than you can swallow when the meat’s tough.”
He looked at her, but her eyes were closed.
McCall climbed into the wagon and pulled out two extra blankets. She threw them at him and jumped back down before he had time to offer help. “Bite anything tonight, soldier, and I’ll—”
Sloan stepped aside for her to lead the way back to hidetown. “Don’t go threatening me again, General.”
McCall stormed ahead of him. “I’m not threatening, I’m promising. Keep your hands to yourself all night if you value your fingers.”
He followed her. “I should have been a little more careful picking a better-tempered female. You’d think you’d be happy to be my woman. After all, I’ve bathed in the past season.”
She stopped so quickly, he bumped into her in the darkness. “Don’t ever call me ‘my woman’ again.”
“Or what?” Sloan just had to push it. Like a boy playing with a porcupine, he had to poke once more.
“Or I’ll make myself your surviving woman,” she answered.
Sloan laughed. “I’d bet the brothers will be glad to hear you’re free again. Tell me, what does a widow wear when her second man dies?”
“Blood-red,” she whispered. “Your blood.”
Sloan was getting so used to being threatened, he was starting to enjoy it.
He reached across the darkness and took her hand. Forcing her fingers to bend over his arm, he marched into the circle of the hunters’ camp.
McCall dug her fingers into his arm as tightly as she could while he pulled her along one step at a time. She’d never met a man she disliked more. He didn’t seem to care that what they were about to do would raise every eyebrow in town back home. Even if he didn’t touch her, just the idea of agreeing to sleep beside a man she hardly knew broke the rules. She thought of telling him that she’d never slept beside any man, not even the major, but she doubted he’d believe her. When she’d been married and they’d been home where the beds were wide, the major liked his privacy in slumber. She’d always been a bedroll, or a bunk, or a room away from Holden in sleep.
The others already circled the campfire and McCall bit back her anger as she noticed one buffalo hide had been spread out for company. Two of Moses’ brothers looked asleep already. Adam and his woman were already spread out on another hide, as usual showing no interest in each other or what was going on around them. The fourth brother sat with his legs wide apart on a hide by himself. As she watched, May moved from the fire where she’d been warming and joined him, cuddling into the space between his outstretched legs. She leaned against the dirty Shirt covering his chest as if she’d found her nest. He grunted loudly and circled his arms around her.
Sloan spread out one of the blankets on the buffalo hide. “Nice of you to ask us to share your fire,” he said to the brothers, but none acted like they had the sense of hearing.
“You’re welcome,” Moses said as he pulled Eppie from the shadows. She’d washed her face and smiled with pride as she passed McCall. “We don’t waste much time after dark, but my Eppie sometimes sings to us.”
Eppie shook her head as if suddenly shy.
Moses lowered himself on a blanket and pulled Eppie gently down to her knees beside him. His wide rough hands moved over the back of her buckskin dress. “She’ll sing.” He sounded grumpy, but his hands were gentle. “Sing us one of those songs you’ve known all your life.”
Eppie shook her head.
His fingers spread wider and continued to move over her back, dropping low atop her hips and then reaching high into her hair. The movement was slow, caressing. His hands pulled at the material covering her full body and pressed hard enough to sink slightly into the flesh beneath her dress. Eppie arched her back, flattening her full breasts against his chest as his hands continued to move over her from throat to hip.
McCall felt her mouth go dry. She’d never watched a man touch a woman so. She could almost feel what Eppie must feel. The fire of needy fingers moving over her. The longing for more.
Glancing at Sloan, McCall was surprised to find that he was watching her, not Moses and Eppie. His eyes were so dark they looked black and his stare was haunting.
McCall looked away, afraid of what she might see if she met his gaze.
Moses stopped his hand over the fullness of Eppie’s hip. His fingers pressed against her dress, imprinting deep into her flesh and pulling her hard against him. “Make yourselves comfortable; my Eppie will sing.”
Sloan removed his jacket and gun belt, then lowered to one knee on what was to be their bed. When she didn’t move, he raised his hand toward McCall.
She wanted to run. She wanted to stay. She wanted to watch this couple more, and she wished she’d never seen as much as she’d seen already. When her fingers slipped into Sloan’s palm, he pulled her gently toward him. McCall knew it was their time to perform some strange ritual as they bedded down.
While she knelt, unsure of what to do, he shoved her coat from her shoulders and let it fall beside his. Then he took both her hands and pulled her slowly down to sit in front of him. She leaned against the inside of his knee as he reached
behind her and pulled the ribbon holding her hair.
She wanted to pull away, but she knew the others were watching. If she was to act the part of his woman tonight, she’d have to play along. Somehow they had to make the others believe that she and Sloan were a couple.
When her hair was free, he lifted it over one shoulder and twisted it around his fist, pulling her head slightly toward his shoulder with the action.
Glancing up at him, McCall saw a smile touch the corner of his lip. He tugged again and she leaned into his leg.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered, so close she could feel his words against her cheek. “Lean back against me and relax.”
McCall’s body felt like it might break from being held so tightly in check, but she did as he’d asked. If he touches me the way Moses touched Eppie, I’ll scream, she thought, then wondered who would save her in this gathering of the scrapings from the bottom of humanity?
Eppie’s sweet voice began to sing, a song she must have heard her mother sing. The words were blurred, a mixture of English and some other tongue forgotten generations ago. But the song had survived, passed down from one mother to another in lullaby.
Slowly, McCall relaxed as Sloan’s hands began to braid her hair into one long rope. With each turn of the braid, he pulled the remaining hair through his fingers, carefully avoiding any tangles.
When he finished, he lowered to the blanket and waited for her to join him. His eyes were so dark she couldn’t read his thoughts. Only the slight twitch of a smile told her he was enjoying the evening.
The song continued, sweet and light like a cool breeze, rocking everyone to sleep as if they were still children. McCall carefully lay beside Sloan, an inch away. She could feel the warmth of him on one side of her and the heat of the fire on the other. All the fears of the day slipped away. Sloan turned on his side and offered her his arm for a pillow. His eyes were still dark with a fire she didn’t understand, but he made no attempt to touch her.
McCall rested her head on his arm and closed her eyes as Eppie’s song ended. Despite all the threats and fights, she felt safer than she had in years. He pulled the extra blanket over her shoulder as her thoughts turned to dreams.
Deep into the night, McCall heard noises and twisted in her sleep, fighting to awaken.
Sloan brushed her arm gently and whispered, “Hush, now, darling. Don’t be afraid. It’s only May, moving through the prophets.”
McCall, still half asleep, giggled and rolled over, not wanting to witness any of May’s romances. She rested her head against the solid wall of Sloan’s chest and relaxed to the steady pounding of his heart.
Just before first light, she felt Sloan jerk suddenly. McCall raised to one elbow above him and saw that he was still sound asleep. In the dying firelight, his face twisted in pain and his lips tightened as though he refused to cry out, even in sleep.
“Sloan?” McCall whispered, frightened by a dream that could cut him so deeply. “Wake up! You’re dreaming.” Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
With a violent jolt, he shook and came full awake. For a second, he seemed confused, as though he had to blink away nightmares before he could see reality.
“Sloan?” McCall thought fear overcast his eyes. For the first time since they’d met, she realized how young he must be. Ten, maybe fifteen years younger than her husband, the major. Almost her age. In waking, a hint of the boy remained before the man could shove him aside.
Then he blinked again and the hardness was back, aging his face with memories more than years. The boy in him disappeared.
“McCall,” he whispered hoarsely. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she answered, glancing around to make sure everyone else was still asleep. “I just felt you fighting a nightmare and thought you’d want to be awakened.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Sloan lay on his back and stared up at the night sky. “The dream will be waiting for me when I sleep again.”
McCall brushed her fingers along the side of his face, remembering the fear she’d seen. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he answered coldly. “It has nothing to do with you.”
Wondering if she’d embarrassed him by having seen him sleeping, she whispered with more kindness than she usually allowed in her voice, “My father used to make me tell him my nightmares so they’d go away. He’d sit beside my bed and listen to my dreams, then walk over and open the window as if he’d sent them away. Then he’d turn out the light and tell me the nightmare wouldn’t bother me again.”
Sloan didn’t answer. In his silence, with his hair falling over his forehead, he almost looked like the little boy she thought she’d caught sight of before. She couldn’t resist touching the thick brown mass that never seemed to stay in place.
He refused to look at her or acknowledge that she was touching him. “My nightmare hasn’t gone away in three years of running. I doubt telling you will help, no matter how many windows you open.”
McCall continued to stroke his hair. There was such a sadness about this man, a sadness deeper than any fatal wound. She’d lost her husband in the war, but Sloan had lost any peace even in dreaming.
Maybe it was because she couldn’t think of anything to say. Or just because there were times when actions must replace words so that souls can talk. Or maybe, for tonight, there was a need that had no reason. McCall didn’t want to examine the questions, but only to continue to brush his cheek with her fingers. She wanted to touch this man. The need to feel someone alive in her world of numbness was so strong, she was suddenly willing to risk the safety of her self-made confinement.
He closed his eyes and didn’t move. Had he turned an inch away, she would have stopped. Turning an inch toward her would have frightened her. But he stayed perfectly still as she moved her fingers through his hair, then down again to brush over the rough thickness of his day-old beard.
She told herself her actions were aiding a worried mind, helping him fight back a nightmare that was too terrible to voice. But she knew she was lying to herself. In truth, she’d sometimes wondered what it would be like to touch a man so boldly. She wanted to feel the texture of this lost warrior, both in the softness of his hair and the roughness of his jaw. McCall had to be honest enough with herself to admit that it wasn’t just any man, but Sloan she longed to touch as she was now. Men had always been strange creatures to her. Creatures hard to understand and impossible to predict.
As he remained stone, she brushed her knuckles over his cheek and raked her fingernails gently across his throat. His eyelashes tickled the tips of her fingers, and his mouth opened slightly as she brushed the corner of his lips where he allowed a smile to sometimes break through the hardness.
The major would have thought her ridiculous if she’d have touched him so, but McCall guessed Sloan would not only allow her folly, but understand.
For a moment, she thought he might be asleep. Her hand moved to his chest and she laid her fingers gently over his heart. The rapid pounding told her he was very much awake.
“I remember when you touched me like that the first night we met,” Sloan whispered, so low it was almost to himself. “I wondered how a woman could test for life so easily.”
“I thought you were asleep.”
“How could I be?” he asked. “I think if I’d been near death that first night I would have come back at your touch.”
First light warmed the horizon and McCall smiled. “You kept your word. You slept beside me without touching me. I’m afraid I’m the one who broke the bargain.”
He opened his eyes and turned his head slightly toward her. “You sound surprised. Did you doubt me so completely?”
“Yes.”
“But you made no such promise to me, so you haven’t broken any word.”
She smiled. “So you don’t mind?” She trailed a finger from his sideburn to his chin.
“I don’t mind,” he repeated as he closed his eyes and added, “I don’t mind at all.”
>
McCall forced her hand to return to his chest. “I owe you an apology.” Her father had always insisted she own up to being wrong when proven so. “I didn’t believe you’d hold to your word.” She thought of telling him about the derringer in her pocket, but she couldn’t bring herself to prove her words. She’d admitted them; that was enough.
Sloan gently placed his hand over hers. “Go back to sleep, General. I’ll wake you at full light.”
McCall snuggled down at his side and closed her eyes, thinking he’d never have to know of the gun.
Twelve
SLOAN TRIED TO lie perfectly still as McCall’s breathing slowed and deepened. But the corner of his mouth couldn’t help but lift a fraction. He’d won a battle. She trusted him more, and for some reason that was important to him. Over the past few years he’d given up caring what people thought of him. But she’d changed that by stepping into the middle of his beating in the station house.
He wanted nothing more than to roll toward her and kiss her fully on the mouth, but he would wait. Someday the girl in the tintype would return, and he wanted to be near when she smiled again, truly smiled. For the first time in his life, he had something to look forward to and wait for. By the way she’d touched him, he knew she’d someday come to him. Then he’d see again the passion in her blood that Alyce Wren thought was there. He only hoped he lived long enough to see the day.
As thoughts of the dangers they still must face crossed his mind, a shot rang out from the direction of the wagons.
“Winter!” Sloan shouted.
McCall’s hand fell from his chest. She jumped up beside him, grabbing for her coat as he strapped on his gun belt.
The brothers and May remained asleep, but Moses was on his feet as well, listening to the morning air like an animal who’d heard a twig snap. He glanced at a waking Eppie. “Stay here in camp,” he ordered, then turned to Sloan and lifted his rifle.
“Trouble,” Sloan whispered as he grabbed his Winchester and glanced at McCall. “Stay here with the others. We’ll be back.”
