The Texan's Touch

by Jodi Thomas

  Nichole wasn’t joking. But she’d take him up on his offer some other time. First things first. “Mind telling me what the deputy needed? Any word on the stagecoach attack?”

  “No. But I thought I saw a paint horse tied around back of his office. After we talked I went to look, but it was gone. Probably not the one you saw that was with the raiders. There are lots of paints.”

  “So what was so important that Russell had to see you right away?”

  “He only wanted to know where I’d been early this morning after Dancing died. The undertaker said I’d been with him so that ended my being questioned. It seems someone broke into Mole’s saloon and did quite a bit of damage.” He looked at her closely. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “Sure. I crawled out the window of your office, snuck into Mole’s bedroom across the way, stole the keys and broke into his place just before dawn. Then, of course, I retraced my steps and put the keys back while he slept nude only inches away, snoring like a pig.”

  Adam laughed. “Sure you did, Nick. Sure you did. And I’ve no doubt Sister went along as your sidekick.”

  He walked out of the room still laughing. Nichole shrugged her shoulders. “So much for honesty.”

  An hour later, Nichole hid behind the door and watched Mrs. Jamison meet Rose, a silent little woman who looked like she’d been raised in a girls’ boarding school. Her hair was brown, her face scrubbed, her dress only slightly reminiscent of a gown Mrs. Jamison had worn years ago.

  Within minutes Mrs. Jamison welcomed her and turned the duties of the kitchen over to her. By noon, Rose had prepared a simple but hearty meal, and by dinner the smell of fresh-baked bread filled the house. Even Bergette approved of Rose’s cooking, but complained that now she’d gain weight.

  When the house settled down for the night, Nichole slipped up to the tiny attic room and dressed in black. As soon as the doctor’s light went out, she had another mission.

  SIXTEEN

  ADAM LEANED BACK from his desk and tried to relax. His office and examining room looked like there had been a savage raid on the place, leaving no survivors. He’d had little time to put away the books he pulled from the study to allow space for Nichole’s bed. All the volumes lined one wall like a narrow unstable bench. Remains of the carpentry work for Dancing’s casket littered the floor of his once spotless examining room along with soiled sheets and discarded bandages.

  The day had been endless. After Bergette said he wasn’t a man because he didn’t want to make love to her, she refused to speak to him. Mrs. Jamison informed him he’d have to pay for Rose, though she was cooking for everyone. She also hinted he look for another place if he planned to continue treating whores or allowing them to die beneath her roof. She didn’t come right out with an open threat, but her words sounded more like Bergette’s than the ailing landlady’s.

  Charles and Lily thought themselves above Rose and offered little help in the kitchen, only ample advice. To Adam’s surprise, Rose held her own with them, taking on her share of the work and no more. She might be yes-ma’aming Mrs. Jamison, but she was a scrapper in the ranks.

  To make the atmosphere more hectic, the deputy had been by three times trying to wrangle a confession out of everyone including Sister Cel. He seemed convinced that since Dancing died there before dawn, someone in the house was responsible for Mole’s worries at the saloon. The deputy proclaimed himself a close friend of Mole’s and swore to catch the culprit. But Mole had his share of enemies. The doctor was far down on his list to “make pay.”

  Deputy Russell also reported the stage robbery was officially blamed on a small band of outlaws in the area. Since there were no living witnesses, the deputy planned to let the stage line worry about the crime. He had all he could handle investigating Mole’s break-in . . . and of course, Dancing’s death, though he didn’t see how Mole could be involved in the crime since he wasn’t even present when the woman died.

  Looking into the blackness beyond the window, Adam tried to put the pieces together. One thing he couldn’t figure out was that the nun did show signs of being guilty when Russell questioned her. She ran and hid every time the deputy knocked and refused to answer his questions. If the idea hadn’t been so outrageous that an old nun would commit the crime, the deputy might have taken her in for a night in jail.

  And Nichole. Adam rubbed his forehead, trying to push away the headache. Since she slapped him that morning after he’d kissed her, she hadn’t said more than a few words to him. Not that he blamed her. She probably thought him both a fool and a coward. How could he explain to her that fighting just wasn’t in his blood any longer? Maybe it never had been. All he’d ever wanted to do since he could remember was to be a doctor and help people.

  He guessed that she wanted him to challenge Mole, maybe even kill him for what he’d done to Dancing. He knew she would have enjoyed hearing him yell back at Bergette this morning. Or maybe she wanted him to prove he was a man and accept Bergette’s offer to go to bed?

  Adam wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Nichole had believed him to be the perfect man and he’d let her down. Her dream of what he was like was just as unreal as his old dream of marrying Bergette and being happy. He wished he could convince Nichole that the perfect man didn’t exist any more than the perfect life did. They were both dreamers caught in mourning a loss made of vapor.

  Moving to the porch, he leaned against the railing and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the night . . . the faraway tinkle of a piano, voices drifting on the air too thin to be words, and horses. He’d grown up with the sound of horses always in the background. His father had been magic with the animals. People said he had a gift.

  Adam chuckled. What Nichole longed for was not one man, but several rolled together in one form. She wanted his brother Daniel’s goodness, and Wes’s hardness, and his . . . his what? What was it Nichole saw in him?

  Voices from the balcony above interrupted his thoughts.

  “I don’t care if we are hundreds of miles from home, Lily, if you disappear on me again, you’ll be looking for your own fare back to Indiana.” Bergette’s voice was high with anger.

  “But I only went to the telegraph office.”

  “Don’t bother with excuses. Now that they’ve hired a cook, I expect you to be more timely with your duties.” Bergette’s voice seemed to pop through the air like dry lightning. “Go get my bath ready while I have a few words with Charles.”

  Adam looked up, as if he could see through the wood and onto her balcony. Footsteps, probably Lily’s, moved away.

  Bergette’s voice was little more than a whisper and the words were unclear as she addressed Charles. Adam thought he heard her say, “see that it’s done.”

  “Tonight?” Charles’ voice was hard with anger.

  “Tonight,” she whispered. “I expect you—”

  Adam turned back into his office suddenly not wanting to eavesdrop. He didn’t care what she had to say, nothing about her interested him.

  “Doc?” Nance Edward walked in eating a hush puppy the size of his fist. “You busy?”

  “Nope,” Adam answered.

  “Good, ’cause I got a question.” He finished off the cornbread roll and wiped his hands on his overalls. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  Adam did his best to look thoughtful. “What makes you ask?”

  “Oh, I’m asking everybody. Sister says there’s no such thing as ghosts except for ‘the Holy,’ of course. Mom says she has to live with one every day of her life. Rose told me she slept with a ghost once, but when I tried to ask a few questions, she give me a hush puppy and told me to get along.”

  “And now it’s my turn,” Adam said. “But first, what got you to thinking of such a question?”

  Nance leaned on the desk. “I hear things, you know, better than most. Some nights I hear walking late in the
night and I know it ain’t Nick, ’cause she don’t make no sound when she crosses the house. I sleep right by the door in Mom’s room so nothing passes that doesn’t usually wake me. Whoever it is walks up and down the stairs sometimes with slow steps, sometimes fast like he’s in a hurry.”

  “Well, I don’t know about ghosts, Nance, but next time you hear someone walking, get up and see who it is. Maybe we have a sleepwalker, or an unwanted guest.”

  “Or a ghost,” the boy added.

  “Or a ghost,” Adam agreed. “When you find out, if you think it’s trouble, yell real loud and I promise I’ll come running. I’ll leave my door open a few inches so I can listen.”

  Nance grinned. “I’ll do that. Maybe we’ll catch us a ghost from the fort. I heard Mom tell Miss Bergette that this house was a barracks once. She said, ‘If these walls could talk,’ whatever that means.”

  “Should you be eavesdropping on others?” Adam asked, feeling a little like a father.

  “I got nothing else to do.” Nance shrugged. “I have to listen to a bushelful to find a pea that’s interesting.” He grinned and disappeared around the corner before Adam could ask more.

  Adam laughed. The boy did seem to be everywhere in the house.

  Looking back, Adam remembered the outline of someone he’d seen moving through the house one night. Could that have been Nance’s “ghost of the old fort?” Now there were so many people living under one roof, he’d be surprised if there was ever a time day or night that everyone was asleep. The house he’d once thought so big was fast becoming claustrophobic.

  Lifting a book, Adam stretched back in his chair and opened to the first chapter. By chapter four, his headache had grown worse. He twisted out the lamp and propped up his feet, thinking he’d rest his eyes for a while before trying to finish the volume.

  All in the house seemed asleep, and the breeze blew in cool from his open window. Adam wasn’t sure how long he slept, but as a cramp in his leg woke him, something moved across the moonlight at the window.

  Alarm jolted him full awake. The thin outline of a man reached the inside door leading to the hallway. Adam realized his rifle was several feet away and the intruder would be deep into the house before he could fetch it. Bolting from his chair, Adam slammed into the figure, thinking he had to save those sleeping.

  The intruder and Adam rolled across the floor, the figure not taking as much force to topple as Adam suspected.

  “I’ve got you!” Adam rolled on top of the man he suspected must be their unwelcome guest or someone Mole sent to cause havoc. “I’ve caught Nance’s ghost.”

  “Get off me.” Nick fought to free herself, slugging at him more with anger than any need to defend herself. “I’m not a ghost any more than you are.”

  “Nick?”

  She gave up her struggle. “Of course it’s me. Let me go, you idiot.”

  “But . . . I thought you were asleep hours ago.” He rolled off her. “I had no idea it was you. Nance said something about someone coming into the house late at night, and I thought . . .”

  Nick raised to one elbow. “Are you sure you weren’t just attacking me for the second time in twenty-four hours? Tell me, Doctor, is this going to be a frequent habit like some kind of twitch you’re developing?”

  “I wasn’t attacking you.” He felt the fool, for he had attacked her. “Are you hurt?” If he’d knocked Bergette off her feet, she’d have probably shattered like a china doll.

  “You’re lucky I saw you in the chair. My mistake was in thinking you were still asleep.” Nick rubbed at her knee. “And it’d take more than the likes of one, Yank, to hurt me.”

  “Why am I lucky?” he asked.

  “Because when I stepped through the window and noticed you, I slipped my knife in its case. Otherwise a second after you touched me, a blade would have been tickling your backbone through your belly button.”

  Adam tried to see her face to decide if she was kidding. He slid his hand along her leg and felt the holster. “You’re armed?”

  “I usually am when I walk the night. There’s always the possibility that some fool out there might attack even a whisper.”

  Standing, Adam reached for the box of matches. Nichole appeared before him as the match lit. She was dressed in black shirt and trousers. But he saw her for only a moment before she blew the light out.

  “No,” she whispered. “This time we talk in my world.” She no longer felt like Nichole, Wolf’s little sister. She was a Shadow now, an equal. Adam was on her ground now.

  Adam dropped the matchbox. “All right, we’re in your world. Only I’m guessing your vision is better than mine in this midnight.” He leaned back against his desk to steady himself in the floating blackness. “How about answering a few questions? Like where you were tonight and how long you’ve been doing this?”

  “Doing what?” she almost sounded innocent.

  “You know what. Leaving the house after dark and . . . and . . . I’m not sure I know what, or want to.”

  Her outline moved from the floor and stood in front of him. He could see little, but he could feel the warmth of her body so near and hear the light intake of her breath. The smell of leather drifted past him as she raised her hand and touched his hair.

  He ignored the touch. “Where have you been, Nick? Don’t you realize how dangerous it is in this town after dark? This isn’t the woods of Tennessee.”

  She pressed closer, her height equal to his as he leaned against the desk. He felt the length of her body only a fraction away from his.

  “What if someone saw you?” He tried to keep his words angry. “Maybe even one of the raiders from the stage? Your life would be worthless if they knew you could identify them. You’ve got to stay hidden at least until the sheriff gets back.”

  Nichole didn’t answer but moved her gloved hands to his shoulders. Her fingers lightly brushed from his neck to his arm and back.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Nick?” She was driving him mad with her nearness and her silence.

  “I’m touching you,” she finally whispered. “I seem to remember you telling me I could this morning. Are you backing down on your word?”

  Adam raised his head and folded his arms across his chest. But the action only brought him in contact with her, and she refused to step away. “No,” he answered. “I’m not backing down, but we’ve a great deal to talk about. You have to look at what you’re doing logically. The war is over now. There is no . . .”

  Her hand stroking his jaw made him forget his point. He felt starved for her touch.

  She pressed close to his forearms and brushed her lips against his ear with her words. “Talk. I won’t stop you, Doc.”

  Adam closed his eyes, trying to think of what it was he’d had to say. All he could think about was the movement of silk at his arms as she touched her lips and cheek against the side of his face. Her journey didn’t reach his mouth, but moved over his skin, exploring the feel of him with her lips.

  Didn’t she know that a woman didn’t advance so? Only right now he couldn’t understand why women didn’t, for the feel of her was intoxicating. Maybe she was just punishing him for the way he’d acted this morning. If he reached for her, she’d probably pull away and remind him that he said he’d never touch her again.

  He tightened his grip on his elbows and found the muscles in his arms became more sensitive to the brushing of her shirt.

  Her warm breath tickled beneath his ear as she slid her cheek along his jawline.

  His head leaned back as her hands moved across his shoulders and began unbuttoning his collar. “Nick.” His voice was so low he hardly recognized it. “We can’t do this. You can’t do this.” He knew they were both attracted to one another, but they had to fight it. There were other considerations. Though logic told him this was insane, he seemed to be the only one fighting any urges at t
he moment.

  “We aren’t doing this,” she whispered as she removed his collar and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. “I’m doing this. You’ll stand still and keep to your word. After all, you made a promise to welcome my nearness.”

  Her fingers clutched the material and pulled his shirt open. “Are you telling me to stop, Adam? Are you pushing me away?”

  “No,” he answered. “Never.”

  She moved her hands beneath the cotton.

  Adam closed his eyes once more and swore beneath his breath. She was torturing him, paying him back for the cold kiss this morning. Now he was positive if he reached for her, she’d be gone.

  She tugged at his arms and he unfolded them, gripping the sides of the desk. Let her play this game, he thought. She was too much of an innocent to take it very far.

  Without moving away an inch, she pulled off her gloves and dropped them on the desk. Then to his surprise she went back to unbuttoning the remainder of his shirt. With each button, her fingers spread the starched cotton apart so that she could feel his warm skin. The tips of her fingers moved along his chest, painfully slow.

  He felt her light touch a hundred times stronger than if it had been a blow. The fresh, wild smell of her surrounded him, making him feel like he was taking her very being inside him with each breath.

  “I want to feel your skin,” she whispered. “Do you mind? After all, you’ve touched mine. Even that first night when my body was filled with pain, I remember how you touched me as you washed the blood away. And in your bedroom just before dawn months ago. I’ll never forget the way your hands moved over me.”

  “I said I wouldn’t touch you again,” he answered. “And I won’t.”

  How could he tell her that the pleasure of her fingers against his skin was shattering any calmness? She didn’t need to remind him of the times he’d touched her. Each moment was vivid in his mind.