by Nan Ryan
Natalie, head turned on the pillow, watching, held her breath. She saw him move from the night table and become swallowed up in the shadows. Praying he would go to the long, horsehair sofa where he could stretch out and fall quickly asleep, she waited hopefully, listening. She could hear no footfalls but reasoned that he was a lithe, cat-footed man and the carpet was deep and muffling. Tentatively, silently, she lifted her head off the pillow and squinted in the dimness, straining to see the couch… and him upon it.
She jumped, startled. Kane, touching only a forefinger to the back of her hand, said quietly, "I'm right here, Judge. I'll just sit beside the bed and watch you sleep."
Natalie snatched her hand away, mindless of the piercing pain shooting through her shoulder. "Sit. Lie down. Or stand up all day long for all I care," she bit out, and turned her face away.
Kane grinned, drew a cigar from atop the night table, and lit up. Contemplatively, he smoked in the quiet, warm room, his eyes on the mane of tumbled red hair on the pillow, his thoughts on the men who had put it there.
The bullet had been intended for him; of that he had no doubt. She'd been on a bay stallion identical to the one he rode, and she was dressed in men's buckskins. A black Stetson lay beside her upon the snow. They had seen her, mistaken her for him, and shot her.
The Leatherwoods? Sure. But who gave the orders? Ashlin Blackmore?
Natalie, pain quickly overriding her anger, found her thoughts returning to her would-be murderers. She desperately needed to talk to Tahomah. There was no one else she could question; no one else to whom she could relate her dark fears and suspicions. The damning revelations of the worn diary could not be explained away. A sense of terrible fore-boding claimed her as she finally allowed the awful truth to surface.
Ashlin Blackmore was mixed up in this attempt on her life. The bullet had not been meant for her. It had been meant for Kane Covington. Someone wanted Kane dead and out of the way. The Leatherwoods, she suspected, fired the shot. But someone else was responsible. Some one else had given the orders. Someone else had reason to want…
Natalie dozed.
Kane crushed out his cigar, yawned tiredly, hunched his wide shoulders forward, laced his fingers between his knees, and peered at the sleeping woman. In her slumber her face had turned back toward him. The green eyes were closed, the soft, pink lips were parted. Her abundant cinnamon hair was in wild disarray about her head, a fiery strand falling across her left cheek.
"Judge?" Kane murmured softly. "Judger?"
There was no answer. Kane expelled a sigh of relief, leaned back in his chair, and catnapped.
Natalie came painfully awake. Stifling a groan of agony, she looked at the sleeping man beside her bed. She had waited for this moment. But now that it was here, she couldn't take advantage of it. In fact, instead of being delighted to find Kane asleep so that she might slip away, Natalie heard herself whisper through thinned lips, "Kane."
Instantly he was awake. "Judge," he responded, his alert eyes on her face, "what is it?"
Feeling as though she might scream from the intensifying pain, she managed weakly, "I… don't feel too good, Kane."
"Fever again?" His hand shot out to her face.
"No… but…" Her eyes rolled back in anguish, her face paled, and instinctively she gripped his hand.
"Pain?" he quizzed, leaning close. "The wound hurting."
Biting her lip, she nodded.
Kane hastily lit the lamp. He threw back the covers and sat down on the bed. Easing Natalie onto her side, he shoved up the nightshirt and undid her bandage. Relieved to see the wound, however painful, was already beginning to heal, he deftly redressed it, pulled the nightshirt back down, and rose.
"I have no laudanum, Judge, but there's no more effective anesthetic in the world than whiskey." He turned questioning eyes on her pale, drawn face. "Maybe one," she agreed, beads of moisture dotting her stiff white lips.
It was a terrible hour for both of them. In all her life Natalie could not recall the kind of pain she was experiencing. Valiantly fighting to be brave lest her cynical companion think her a foolish, complaining female, Natalie let wave after wave of blinding pain throb joltingly through her without uttering a sound.
Kane, holding the half-full shot glass, watched helplessly as wrenching pain dimmed the beautiful emerald eyes of the suffering woman so foolishly trying to be strong for pride's sake. He knew better than to tell her it was all right for her to cry or moan. She was far too stubborn to listen to any reasoning from him.
"Take another small drink, Judge," he gently urged, and raised the whiskey to her lips. Natalie sipped, made a sour face, and thought the cure must surely be as bad as the cause.
But the horrid throbbing soon abated slightly and Natalie turned to Kane. Almost timidly she said, "Can I have a bit more whiskey?"
Not an hour later, a pain-free, very tipsy Natalie had downed almost three full shots of strong whiskey and was nodding her head yes to more. She drank from the glass Kane held for her, licked her lips, and did not frown at all.
And she fell to talking. She talked and talked and never noticed that the man with whom she was holding a conversation said little more than "Yes, Judge" or "No, Judge" or "Go ahead and say it."
Kane obligingly tipped the whiskey glass up to Natalie's thirsty lips. He knew she was growing drunk, very drunk, and was afraid she would pay for it later by becoming nauseated. But for now her torturous pain was gone and her eyes shone with the radiance of well-being. She was comfortable and relaxed and happy. And talkative.
"… first female magistrate of Castleton County… did you know that, Kane?"
"Yes, Judge."
"… and Devlin killed in the war… Tahomah's chosen daughter… Ashlin Blackmore came to Cloudcastle in…" Information spilled from her soft lips like water from a well. Kane, listening keenly, learned more about Natalie Vallance than he'd ever before known.
"… never truly loved him… "Kane leaned closer. "But he seemed so kind and caring and… "Abruptly her eyes clouded and she stared into his. "I found a journal at his mansion, Kane… and…"
"What kind of journal?"
"A diary… a… it was…" Natalie shook her head. He knew the subject was forgotten when suddenly she smiled and, staring at him like a wide-eyed curious child, reached up and unabashedly touched his right ear. "Did I ever tell you that you've got the nicest ears I've ever seen on a man?" She giggled then, happily, and traced the convolution of his ear with examining fingertips.
"Thanks," murmured Kane, allowing her access to the part of his face that so fascinated her. "About the diary, Judge… what did—"
"They lie close to your head and the hair grows just so in wavy swirls above them," Natalie interrupted, concerned only with Kane's ears. He knew it was useless to question her. "Another drink?" she said, abruptly losing interest in his ears and falling back onto the pillow.
"Judge, don't you think you've had enough?"
She laughed. And her voice was girlish and almost musical when she said, "Not really. Don't be mean to me, Kane. Please don't." Before he could answer, Natalie thrust her slim fingers into her hair on both sides of her head. "Oh, Kane, it's dirty. My hair's so dirty!"
"I'll wash it tomorrow."
"Really?" She released the long, tangled tresses and reached for his hand. He took it and held it in both of his. "Really, Judge."
She found that terribly amusing for some reason. Tinkling, giddy laughter issued from her lips and she tried to speak as she laughed. "You're teasing… me… you don't… you wouldn't… you…" And new peals of laughter overcame her.
Kane continued to hold her hand. She continued to laugh and talk. She laughingly demanded—and received—one more glass of whiskey. She charmingly suggested that he drink with her. They shared the same glass, she urging it to his lips as soon as she had sipped. And she continued with her incessant talking, the liquor loosening her tongue. But it was all nonsensical.
And flirtatious.
<
br /> "… say they think you're good-looking…" Her eyes impaled his dark face. Kane gave no reply. "I said I didn't agree, but you know what, Kane? I do. I always have. You're a very handsome man, but you're… hmmm… scary." She twisted her hand from his grip and lifted it once more to his face. "Your features are so sharp, Kane… you look mad and dangerous half the time." Slender fingers outlined his prominent nose, his strong jawline, the soaring cheekbones. "Are you, Kane?" she asked saucily. "Are you angry? Are you dangerous?" And her hand slipped to his mouth. Two inquiring fingers traced the sculpted contours of his sensuous lips and she felt them move beneath her touch.
"The easiest-going man you could ever hope to meet," said Kane Covington.
"I doubt it, but your mouth is… your lips are so… "Her words trailed away and Natalie yawned sleepily. "I'm tired," she said softly, her fingers continuing their exploration of Kane's mouth.
"Sleep, Judge," urged Kane.
"Hmmm… all right… if you'll… "The sentence was never finished. Natalie lay silent, her eyes still open, fingers still touching Kane's warm, smooth lips. They remained like that for a time. She reclining sleepily, her hand on his face. He, indulgently still, letting her play, watching as her eyelids grew increasingly heavy.
The fragile hand fell away. The big green eyes slipped closed. An appealing little smile curved her soft lips and she turned her face into the pillow. And she slept soundly for the next eight hours.
She awoke with a raging headache and a churning stomach. Cautiously she turned her eyes toward Kane. He was still in his chair, long legs propped up on the foot of the bed, stockinged feet crossed at the ankles.
As if she had spoken, his blue eyes opened. The laughing, likable woman who'd fallen sleep earlier awoke a sick, wretched one. With the speed of a jaguar, Kane was on his feet and fetching a basin. No sooner had he made it back to the bed than Natalie was retching miserably.
Kane held the basin and held her long hair back from her face while she gagged and vomited, her slender body jerking pitifully, tears streaming down her cheeks.
And when it was over, Kane bathed her pale, white face gently, gave her a cool drink of water and a stick of peppermint to cleanse her mouth. "I'm sorry, Kane," she said, her emerald eyes glistening with embarrassment and shame.
"It's I who am sorry, Natalie," said Kane, and her breath caught in her throat. He'd called her Natalie. Natalie, her name. Never before had he called her Natalie. Never anything but judge or justice or… baby, when they had made love. He'd called her baby then.
Natalie felt a shiver of excitement go through her body. When she'd been semiconscious, she had heard a man's deep, kind voice calling her sweetheart. It was Kane. Kane had called her sweetheart. Several times.
"Kane," she ventured softly. "Did… did I say anything foolish while I was—"
"Not a thing, Judge." His voice had lost that soft, seductive Mississippi drawl, his eyes, their glowing warmth.
Kane fully realized that his voice and eyes had changed. It was done purposely. He had caught himself saying her given name, looking at her with affection. He had no intention of letting this pale, lovely woman get under his skin. And he wanted her to know it.
Natalie lowered her gaze from Kane's cold blue one and said no more. The nausea had passed, but she felt drained and strangely melancholy. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, though she lay there awake, wondering at Kane's puzzling behavior. He had been so helpful, so caring, so genuinely tender. Then…
Kane's eyes never left her face. He sat silently staring at her, convinced she had fallen back to sleep. Elbows on bent knees, Kane leaned closer, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
He watched her. And as he watched her, a long-forgotten emotion stirred in his broad, tight chest. So long forgotten, he failed to fully recognize it for what it was.
But it was akin to love.
Chapter Thirty-One
The winter storm gripping the Shining Mountains continued to heap wet, heavy snow on the steep slopes of the towering San Juans, on the high-soaring Promontory Point, and on the remote alpine cabin clinging to its southern face.
Inside the warm shelter of that well-built cabin, Natalie Vallance spent some of the worst moments of her life. And some of the best.
The throbbing pain in her back returned and Natalie, refusing Kane's offer of whiskey, lay clutching the sheets tightly, her eyes opening and closing in agony.
Kane paced the floor catlike, cursing softly under his breath, and begged her to drink some whiskey. Fearing what she might reveal if she again became drunk, Natalie staunchly refused.
So they both suffered.
At intervals her pain would miraculously pass and there would be a lazy, pleasant interlude of calm relaxation. Both would lightly doze or talk quietly or just rest, not speaking, hardly thinking.
It was on the fourth day that Natalie, almost entirely free of pain, remembered Kane's earlier promise. He had said he would wash her hair. She knew he hadn't meant it, but he was in a good mood and she was too. She felt like teasing him a little. "Dr. Covington," she called softly to him.
Kane, drinking hot coffee at the table, looked up, his expressive eyes at once troubled. Rising, he said, "You're worse."
"No, no, I'm not, Kane. I'm fine." She gave a negative wave of her left hand. "I didn't mean to alarm you." Relieved, Kane eased back down in his chair. "Doesn't matter. What, can I do for you, Judge?" He drank the last of his coffee.
"Ummm." She stretched, wiggling her toes beneath the soft fur. "Remember when I complained about my hair being dirty?" She smiled but fully expected to see the hardening of his jaw, the dismissive lowering of his lids over bored blue eyes.
"Want to wash it this afternoon?" Natalie blinked. "Could I, Kane?"
"No," he said, carrying his cup and saucer to the cupboard, "out I can." He turned, leaned a hip against the cabinet, and folded his arms over his chest. "Want me to?"
Natalie's heart gave a funny little skip. "I want you to."
Kane whistled as he went about building up the fire. Satisfied the cabin was warm enough for a sick woman to wet her hair, he went about his preparations, a mild excitement filling him. He so enjoyed touching that glorious, strawberry-gold hair, and she was going to allow him to wash it. He couldn't think of a more pleasant task Scratching absently at his stubbly chin, Kane, shiftless, heated water, laid out several clean white towels and a bar of soap, and lifted a tin basin from under the sink.
Natalie, amused, watched him go about his preparatory chores and felt as though she could hardly wait to feel hot, cleansing water saturate her hair. Kane came forward with a pan of water. He placed it on the chair beside the bed. Natalie looked quizzically up at him.
"Why are you bringing the water over here? I thought I'd get up and go to the—"
"Who's washing your hair? You or me?" But a warm, friendly light gleamed in his eyes and his full lips were stretched into a grin. "Why, you are, Dr. Covington," replied a smiling Natalie.
In seconds the covers were at the foot of the big bed and Natalie, lifted gently by Kane, lay on her back across the mattress, head over its edge, supported in Kane's hands as he sat beside her on the bed.
And then that delicious moment. He lowered her head into the warm water and Natalie felt it lapping up to her ears. It was wonderful, glorious, and she didn't hesitate to let him know.
"Paradise, Kane Covington, absolute paradise."
"I know," said Kane, and she never realized that he meant it was paradise for him.
Strong fingers combed through her long wet tresses, briskly massaging her scalp. And all the while they chattered and laughed and behaved like two foolish children.
Several soapings and numerous rinsings left Natalie's long hair squeaky clean. Head in Kane's encompassing hands, she waited for the towel to go about the sodden locks. With one hand he reached for a dry, clean towel, but paused before draping it around her head.
"I nearly forgot," said Kane, grinning d
own at her. "Young ladies like to use a rinse on their hair, don't they?"
"Well, yes, but it's all right…"
"Stay where you are," Kane said, and eased her wet head back down into the clean water.
Flat on her back, she could not see him but could hear him as he moved about in the kitchen. When he returned, he was grinning as though he'd performed a great feat. In his long-fingered right hand he held a small object wrapped in yellow tissue paper.
Natalie smelled the fresh lemon even before he unwrapped it and held it out for her to admire. He was gone before she could comment, then right back with the pungent lemon, sliced in half. He crouched down and squeezed the juice over her hair, and Natalie didn't have the heart to tell him he should have diluted it with water. Ignoring the stinging of the sharp citrus on her pink scalp, she said simply, "Thank you, Kane."
He dunked her head into the water and told her, "That will make your hair shine."
"It will. But how did you know?" she questioned as he lifted her head and squeezed the excess water from her hair. Tossing a large white towel over her head, he sat her up, turned her about, and took a seat behind her. "Sharon," he said, vigorously toweling her hair. "Sharon, my little sister, used to rinse her hair in lemon juice."
"Tell me about her, Kane"—Natalie's voice was soft, persuasive—"while you dry my hair."
And so the two of them passed that cold, snowy afternoon propped up in the middle of Kane's big bed; Kane drying, brushing, combing his fingers through the mane of clean flaming hair; Natalie allowing him to cradle her head to his chest whenever he felt she was firing. And all the while she coaxed him to talk about his family, he Mississippi home, his past life.
"Sharon's hair was beautiful, like yours," he told her. "It was shimmering gold and silky, and when she'd brush out it, why, it went down past her waist." Kane spoke of Sharon's death, and of his mother's and father's. He told Natalie of his big, beloved old plantation on the coast. "… and we would sit on the verandah in the evenings, cooled by the gentle Gulf breezes, the fragrance of Mother's oleanders and magnolias perfuming the humid air. I spent some of the happiest days of my life there."
