“I suppose the mail carrier, Mr. Cummings, will be coming by again soon,” she said, her voice sounding sleepy and satiated.
She’d read his mind. She was getting pretty good at it, the knowledge of which somehow diminished his ardor.
Keeping her voice low, speaking quietly so as not to waken Gabriel, she went on to say, “It’s probably best if he doesn’t discover you have a woman living with you this winter. I mean, he might talk and word might get back to Kurt.”
“Yeah, you better stay out of sight. Smiley likes to talk. I’ll try to find out how the Laski boys are doing.”
She snuggled down into the crook of his arm, her fingers playing with the hair on his chest, and the heat built again down between his thighs.
“I truly believe Kurt’s forgotten all about me. Surely he would’ve been out, searching for me, or at least sent out someone to search for me, by now.”
Tightening his embrace, the thought of Kurt Laski coming after her to tear her away from him, steal Gabriel and rip Petra’s heart out, made Buck’s blood run cold. “We won’t take any chances. So let’s keep you and Gabriel out of sight for now, or at least until we find out what the Laski’s have been up to.”
Right on cue, Gabriel let out a little wail. He’d been kind of fussy the last couple of days, keeping them up nights, with Buck and Petra taking turns pacing the floor. Petra had expressed concern Gabriel might be coming down with something. Buck had read to her out of one of his medical books about babies sometimes getting colic when they started teething. Mollified, Petra had started drinking the tea Buck brewed up special, made of mint leaves and a tincture of chamomile, in hopes her milk would deliver a soothing quality to ease the baby’s discomfort.
It did help, but Gabriel wasn’t sleeping well, and he had a rash on his butt. Buck had made up some of his special salve for it. He kept the ingredients a secret. She’d complained it smelled like fish, sticky as pine tar, and it didn’t wash off. Buck refused to divulge the recipe. The rash, however, had started to clear up.
»»•««
Matt’s naked body shifted next to her, then the bedsprings give with a squeak. With her hand draped over his hip, he rolled away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. In the quiet of the room, Petra thought maybe she’d missed Gabriel’s cry. She glanced down to the foot of the bed, then to the window. Daylight still held.
A lazy smile came to her lips. She stretched and took in a long deep breath. “Hmmm. I feel so good, so rested. Very satisfied.” After getting Gabriel down for his nap, and after their lunch, they’d fallen asleep with their bodies entwined.
Lately, afternoons were their time. Sometimes Matt read one of his stories to her until she fell asleep, or sometimes, like today, they made long, slow love, savoring every touch and lingering kiss. But today, not only had she fallen asleep, but Matt had as well.
Rolling her head to the side, Petra stretched out flat on her back, luxuriating in the afterglow. Their lovemaking kept getting better and better, and the depth and intensity of it continued to surprise and amaze her. Her fingers moved down over her stomach, and her body pulsed in response to her own touch. She’d had no idea she could achieve such earth-moving, mind-altering pleasure. Well, it amazed her and she had to giggle.
Matt had started to get dressed. She rolled onto her side to watch him as he tucked his shirt into his trousers, then reached down for his boots. Rising up on her elbows, she tried to hold him back. “Where are you going?”
Turning toward her, he kissed her forehead. “I heard a wagon pull up in the yard. I never fall asleep in the middle of the day—not unless I’m drunk,” he said, grabbing his coat.
“A wagon? Why didn’t you tell me?” Throwing the covers back, she scrambled out of bed. Searching the floor for her clothes, she chided herself for forgetting the danger, forgetting about Kurt and Beau, the two madmen who wanted her dead. “I’ll get Gabriel upstairs.”
“Stay put.” Grabbing her skirt off the back of the rocking chair, he tossed it over his shoulder to her. “I’ll draw the curtain over the doorway. You heat up the coffee. If it’s Smiley, I’ll offer him a cup. I don’t ask him to stay over. He’ll just have coffee, use the privy, and be on his way.”
Half-dressed, she tugged the sheets and blankets up in an attempt to make the bed, trying to ease her panic by telling herself Matt was right, only the mailman, not Kurt, not Beau.
Buck grabbed her by the waist and turned her to face him, “I don’t believe any of this.” His warm, rough hand cupped her cheek, his brow furrowed—his gaze met hers. “I don’t fall asleep in the middle of the day—never, not unless…”
“I know—unless you’re drunk.” Impatient, desperate to get dressed and out of sight, Petra offered him a quick peck on the cheek as consolation.
She tried to withdraw to button her blouse; however, her captor had other ideas. The more she struggled to be set free, the tighter his embrace became. His lips sought her earlobe, then moved to the nape of her neck, where he began to plant searing hot kisses. Surrendering, she went limp in his arms as ripples of desire flowed in a swirl of passion deep down into her core.
“That’s it.” His voice hummed against her flesh, setting her pulse to racing. “I’m drunk. I’m out of my mind, drunk.” Growling, he found her lips, then kissed her as if there were no tomorrow.
“Stay put,” he said, his hand beneath her chin, tilting her head up, forcing her to open her eyes to meet his gaze.
His imperialistic tone sobered her. She blinked and shook herself free of his hands. Flustered and embarrassed he could manipulate her so, Petra cast her gaze down to finish buttoning her blouse. “Well, I’m not about to run out there and offer whoever it is a welcome.”
In defiance, she said, “The plan is to remain undiscovered.”
“Good girl.” He tapped her on the nose, just to infuriate her. She knew it, and she smiled.
»»•««
Buck shivered and closed the door behind him. The sharp, dry cold seemed particularly penetrating, probably because he wasn’t quite awake yet, having just left a nice, warm bed and the soft, sweet arms of the most enticing woman he’d ever encountered. The cold air took the stiffness out his pecker.
He recognized the wagon in the yard as Smiley’s. But he didn’t see Smiley anywhere. Buck figured the old coot had gone out back to use the outhouse. The team of bays stood with their shaggy heads down.
He started for the wagon with thoughts of Petra in his head, and the smell and the taste of her on his lips. His life had become something entirely different than it had been a few short months ago. Besides letting it run its course, he wasn’t sure what he should do about it. He thought he should be making plans, but he didn’t care to look past his next opportunity to take Petra to bed and explore every inch of her body.
Coming out of his reverie, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, something wasn’t right. About two feet from the wagon, he stopped in his tracks, trying to make out what was wrong.
A dusty, tattered old mailbag—or what looked like a mailbag—lay draped over the dash. The reins weren’t tied off on the brake. And the brake wasn’t set. Coming closer, what he’d thought to be the mailbag was actually Smiley. The man’s hatless head and narrow shoulders hung down over the dash. His arms were under his torso, his legs folded up akimbo over his backside.
The horses shifted a little, taking a step forward. “Whoa, boys,” Buck ordered, and set the brake. He reached over, unsure of what he should do, and touched Smiley’s bald head. He expected to find it as cold as ice, but instead Smiley’s shining head felt hot and clammy. Hell, the old coot was burning up with fever. Buck dropped his hands down to his side.
He had to think. What to do—what to do?
To give himself time to figure this out, he unhitched the team, then led them into the barn, tucking them into stalls with fresh hay and water. He closed the barn door and went to retrieve Smiley from his odd position. Once he had Smiley settled in
his arms, he turned with his burden, headed for the house. The front door opened for him before he stepped up onto the porch.
“Mr. Cummings?” He heard the uncertainty in Petra’s voice, an uncertainty he shared.
Nodding, he answered, “He’s got a fever. He’s unconscious.” Buck moved across the room, headed for the stairs. “I’m gonna get him upstairs, put him in your room. There’s a metal box of medicinal supplies on top of the pantry cupboard. Bring it up, and a cup of hot water with some honey in it. Grab the bottle of whiskey behind the medicine box.”
»»•««
Petra hurried to the kitchen before Matt made it to the top of the stairs. Pulling a chair over to the cupboard, she climbed up to reach the top of the pantry where she found the metal box and the whiskey.
She hadn’t realized Matt had whiskey. She’d never seen him drink anything stronger than coffee. Living with him in such close quarters, in a saloon, it did seem odd he wasn’t a drinking man. After climbing down and replacing the chair, she poured out a half cup of hot water from the teakettle on the stove. Then, deciding to act on her own experience with fevers, she found some towels and filled a basin with cold water before taking everything upstairs on a tray.
When she got to her room, Matt, balancing Mr. Cummings in his arms, was trying to remove Gabriel’s dresser drawer from the narrow little bed. Petra set down her tray and removed the drawer before she drew back the covers. Between the two of them, they removed Mr. Cummings boots and his coat.
Mr. Cummings’ complexion, waxen and devoid of color, his eyes sunken into dark bluish pits, his gray whiskers spiking out in sparse bristles, gave the appearance of a moldy, prickly pear. He looked a hundred years old, and thin, the bones in his face sharp and clearly defined beneath a tough layer of sun-dried, weathered skin.
Matt put his hand on her shoulder, startling her out of her fascination with their patient’s deathly appearance. “That’s good enough,” he told her, taking her by the elbow and guiding her over to the door. “I’ll take it from here.”
“I can help,” she said, turning back into the room.
Towering over her, with a scowl on his big face, he blocked her from reentering the room. “I know you can, but I don’t want you to.”
She made a futile attempt to push past him. “I have to do something for the poor man.”
Unyielding, he gently held her back. “Whatever he needs, I’ll do it.”
“But I know how to nurse a fever, Matt. I’m not some useless female who gets the vapors over such infirmities, male or female, I assure you.”
He huffed with impatience. “Petra, we don’t know what this is. Think of Gabriel. This might be influenza, or pox. Might be exhaustion, but I don’t want to take any chances. So, I’m staying here with Smiley and you’re goin’ down and fixin’ some chicken stock.”
“But, Matt…Mathias Buxton…Mr. Hoyt.” He stalled her protest by pressing his masculine lips against her mouth in a rough and thorough kiss.
“Damned poor timin’, is all I’ve got to say,” he said while he nuzzled her neck, his hands stroking her back. “You’ve spoiled me now. I got to have you in my arms mornin’, noon and night. You’ve become a habit, a habit I don’t ever want to give up. I can’t imagine how I stood it, all alone in a bed all winter long. Nope, I don’t know how I did it. But it looks like I’m stuck up here tryin’ to keep this old goat from cashin’ in his chips.”
With her face turned up to his, Petra made one last attempt. “I still say, I could help.”
He turned her around by her shoulders and gave her a swat on the butt. “You can help by not catching whatever it is I just brought into this house.”
They both heard Gabriel sing out. “There now, now you’ve something to do,” he said, swatting her butt, sending her skipping down the stairs.
Chapter Eleven
It was just as well Buck had fallen asleep yesterday afternoon, as he’d gotten no sleep at all throughout the long night. Smiley, the old coot, had come to after a few hours of good care, in a panic, fighting against Buck, unable to recognize him without all his whiskers. It took Buck a good half-hour to convince Smiley he was safe, at the hot springs, not in the hands of a cutthroat.
Sleeping fitfully after their go-around, Smiley spent the night in a sweat, hallucinating, thrashing, throwing off his covers. Buck worked to cool his fever with cold towels, and at last managing to pour a bit of restorative powder down the man’s gullet a couple of hours before. Buck didn’t think Petra had slept much either, supplying him with fresh water, more soup, hovering around the hallway to keep him company.
With Smiley at last sleeping more peacefully, and Petra and Gabriel asleep in his bed, Buck crept quietly downstairs and out to the barn to see to the animals.
Ike, in her stall a few steps from the tack room, greeted him with a playful whicker. He kept some apples in a barrel next to the tack room door for the horses and mules. He cut one in half and put it in the palm of his hand for Ike to gobble up.
“Bet you can guess why I am out here, talkin’ to you.” Ike chomped her apple and blinked her pretty, big, black eyes at him with indifference. “That’s right, ‘cause I got a house full of sleepin’ people,” he told her, clearly irritated, his voice low and intense. “Never would’ve believed it. If you’d a told me I’d spend my winter playin’ daddy to a newborn, makin’ love to a sweet little half-breed, and nursin’ a silly old codger, I’d a told you, like hell. Over my dead body.”
Ike bobbed her big head up and down a couple of times, then shook it and blew out her nostrils. “It ain’t funny. You can laugh, out here eatin’, sleepin’, shitin’, gettin’ fat, you old hay-burner.” With that, Ike tuned her back on him and flicked her tail. Buck had to stand back or get slapped with it.
“Think I’m full of shit, don’t you. You’re right.” He chuckled. “You’re God damn right, Ike. I’ve been havin’ the sweetest time lovin’ my woman and watchin’ her baby take on a personality all his own. And besides, I’ve been writin’ better stories than I ever did before.”
Buck’s grin sagged a bit, and Ike turned back around. He folded his arms across the stall rail. “Then there’s Smiley, comin’ along and muckin’ up the water a bit. Didn’t see that one comin’. But I should’ve known the good stuff wouldn’t last long.”
Shoving his hands down deep into his coat pockets, he started off toward the chicken-coop in back of the barn, but Ike called him back, butting her head against her stall gate.
Buck snorted, found the rest of the apple and offered it to her. “You don’t let me get away with nothin’. I’ll be back to turn you out into the paddock. You got company, too. I s’pose you already got acquainted.”
With the chickens fed, the livestock turned out for a bit of air and bunch grass, Buck headed back toward the house. The sun peeked over the horizon, but the air held the metallic sharp scent of more snow. The mailbag behind the wagon seat caught Buck’s eye as he passed Smiley’s wagon, and he wondered if it contained anything for him. He figured it was probably illegal to tinker with the mail, but under the circumstances, he thought his chances of getting caught pretty slim. He didn’t have to dig very deep into the bag before he found a bundle of newspapers and magazines with his name on it.
Glancing up to the scudding white clouds above, Buck slung the bag over his shoulder. As soon as he entered the house, the savory smells of coffee and breakfast started him to salivating, reminding him he hadn’t eaten much other than chicken soup since yesterday afternoon.
Petra stood in the doorway of his room with Gabriel cradled in the crook of her arm. “The coffee’s ready.”
For a moment he could only look at her. His breath caught in his chest and formed a sweet knot of emotion, much like the feeling you get when you see a falling star.
She looked like a girl, a thick braid of black hair over one shoulder, her face scrubbed pink, her blue eyes pure and full of light, and this was the intruder. The intruder he never wanted. Sh
e was here, here in his house, in his life, and he didn’t ever want to lose her. The realization hit him so hard he had to cling to the door to keep from crumpling down to his knees.
She shifted the baby in her arms and took a tentative step toward him. “I looked in on Mr. Cummings, he’s still asleep.” She held out a hand to him. “You look about to fall over. I think you have time for some fried bread and eggs.”
He sucked in a deep breath to snap himself out of his trance.
Her words offered him food, but her eyes offered more. He came to her and put his hand against her warm cheek. She tilted her head into his icy palm and closed her eyes.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered.
The second he set his eyes on her, his heart had stopped, then lurched into a rapid tattoo. The sound of her voice—the gleam in her blue eyes—drew him in. Turning to close the door, he dropped the mail sack and in two strides had her in his arms. Gabriel squeaked in protest, finding himself crushed within the embrace.
“I missed you,” is all he could say. “Damned old goat. Why’d he have to roll up to my door?”
Petra giggled, wriggling her shoulders to give Gabriel some breathing room. “I felt his forehead. I think Mr. Cummings will be better in a couple of days, then he certainly won’t need you hovering over him through the night.”
Buck drew back and took Gabriel from her. “Did he see you?”
Petra adjusted Gabriel’s blanket around his shoulders before completely relinquishing him into Buck’s care. “No, he was sound asleep. I don’t see how we’re going to keep Gabriel and me a secret.”
“No, I don’t suppose we can. When he comes to, we’ll do what we have to. I don’t want you to worry. I told you, you’re safe here, and you are.”
Petra set a plate of her fried bread and a skillet of shredded potatoes, onions, eggs and bacon on the table and started to serve him. Buck pulled out a chair for her and she sat down, then he traded Gabriel for the frying pan and put some food on her plate.
Dance Hall Road Page 11
