Cloudcastle

by Nan Ryan

  Kane was back across the room, removing his wet shirt. He undressed there before the fire, just as he had undressed her. Natalie didn't pretend to turn her head away. She watched him strip to the dark, wet skin and stand before the fire, his back to her, feet apart, leisurely drying his long, lean body, his damp raven hair.

  The white-ribboned scars on his back pulled and danced, the sinewy muscles in his wide shoulders and his long, powerful legs bunched and slid with his movements. Abruptly, he turned around and Natalie quit breathing. He stood perfectly still. A naked god framed in the glowing firelight.

  Natalie stared in wonder and felt an erotic heat spreading throughout her body. Idly she wondered which radiated the most heat; the blazing fire or the naked man. Both were warming her; making her hot. Both held her transfixed. Both could burn her if she got too close.

  He moved. She tensed. Natalie was terrified Kane would walk across the room and get into bed with her. And she was terrified that he would not.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Kane lowered his muscular arms, letting the towel slip slowly through his fingers and drop to the floor. He stood unmoving, his steady gaze riveted to the bed. Anger and arousal made his blood surge hot, his bare body harden. In that state it was easy for Kane to tell himself that Natalie deserved any form of punishment he chose to mete out.

  She had behaved like an ungrateful, empty-headed fool, causing him no small measure of despair. His heart had sped out of his chest when he awakened to find her missing. The vision of her lying frozen in the snow had caused him more pain than she would ever know. Scared speechless, throat constricting with a panic that choked and strangled him, he had rushed outside, praying to find her alive, feeling he could not bear it should anything happen to her.

  And now she calmly lay there, unrepentant and proud. Safe and naked in his bed because he had gone out into the storm and, for the second time in a week, saved her luscious neck. Shouldn't he be rewarded? Didn't he deserve a little thanks?

  Kane drew a labored breath. Let her fight him if she chose; he would have no trouble subduing her. He wanted her, had wanted her from the first moment he'd laid eyes on that glorious hair flaming brightly under the blazing New Mexico sun.

  Wanted her with a passion that burned as hotly as the roaring fire heating his backside. Wanted her with an animal hunger that tempted him to fall upon her and take her violently, ruthlessly, turning a deaf ear to any pleas for mercy. Wanted her with an overwhelming, disabling tenderness that nudged him to kneel worshipfully at her feet and beg for her sweet kisses, her gentle caresses, her silky body.

  Kane shook his dark head vigorously and gave a great groan of despair. Damn her! Damn her to hell! The flame-haired Jezebel would have to torture some other man until eternity! Not him. He didn't need her, didn't want her, would not let her into his heart. He would not hold her again and allow those pale arms and legs to wind around him like silken vines, holding him, imprisoning him, choking him!

  My God, he was far from being the only man who had been between her legs. Only one of the many who'd tasted the sweetness of her lips, her breasts, her… The thought sickened him. She was exactly like Susannah; the face and body of an angel, the heart and soul of a whore.

  Kane whirled about and flung himself facedown on the long horsehair couch, snatching a coverlet over himself Teeth grinding, total erection throbbing painfully between the cushions and his bare, tight belly, he lay in agony, his blue eyes glazed with unsated desire.

  And he never knew, never dreamed, that not twenty-five feet from where he suffered, Natalie suffered as well. She'd not taken her eyes from his fine masculine form; had not once looked away. Snared, she watched unblinkingly while he. stood there before the fire facing her. She saw the full arousal of his powerful male body and guiltily admitted to herself that she was glad it had happened.

  He wanted her.

  Kane wanted her just as she wanted him and he would simply walk across the room and take her. A gentle throbbing began low in her belly and a wet heat between her legs made her instinctively part them: waiting, expectant, eager. She arched her back and felt the pleasing abrasiveness of the sheets upon her tight nipples. Her body was as ready as Kane's.

  Natalie's eyes widened in disbelief and she flinched when a great groan issued from Kane's lips and he threw himself facedown on the sofa. She lifted her head from the pillow and stared at his long, reclining body, the back of his dark head. She opened her mouth to call to him. Closed it without uttering a sound.

  Tears stung at the backs of her eyes and she slowly sank back to the pillow. It seemed an eternity that she lay there in agony, desiring him, needing him. Then, at long last, finally, mercifully, passion passed and Natalie sighed tiredly as the sounds of Kane's sure, even breathing told her that he slept.

  And she was grateful that the naked, sleeping man had not come to her bed. Surprised that he was apparently much stronger than she. And puzzled that, knowing his body, if not his heart, had wanted her—he had not taken her.

  Natalie yawned and turned sleepily onto her left side. Never would she understand the strange paradox that was Kane Covington.

  Bright light awaked Natalie. Slowly she raised up, hand holding the covers over her bare breasts. All the drapes had been opened to a brilliant Colorado sun, its first showing in five days. The snow had stopped, and through the tall north windows Natalie could see vast stretches of bright blue sky.

  At the foot of her bed, on top of the soft fur comforter, a pair of clean tan trousers and a navy flannel shirt were folded neatly. Men's dark stockings and snowy white underwear lay on the shirt.

  Natalie's eyes drifted to the horsehair sofa. It was empty. Cautiously, she looked about and saw Kane pouring coffee into one cup. Fully dressed, he came to the bed and handed her the coffee.

  "Th-thank you." She struggled to preserve her modesty and at the same time take the cup from him, her eyes regarding him nervously. "You are welcome." The hard-planed dark face was inscrutable. He stood by the bed, booted feet apart, eyes on the steaming coffee. He slid his right hand under his belt at the small of his back and his steady gaze lifted to her face.

  "I've work to do in the barn. If you're still dead set on leaving, I'll not stop you. In a couple of days some of the deepest drifts should be melting; if you can wait, I'll take you then."

  "I'll wait, Kane."

  He nodded curtly, turned, and walked away. Natalie sipped the hot, black coffee and watched him shove long arms into his coat. He took his black Stetson from its peg and, twisting the brim in long, lean fingers, said, "I've filled the tub with hot water for your bath. You can take your time; I won't come back in before noon. I laid out some clothes; they'll be too big, but I thought you might like to sit up for a while today."

  "Yes," she said, "I would like that. I'm feeling much stronger and… I… Kane, about last night… I'm sorry."

  "So am I," said Kane, and Natalie knew he was speaking of more than her attempted escape. She blushed in the bright, glaring sunlight, recalling how he had stood before her, naked and aroused. And her reaction to the sight of him.

  He turned away, opened the door, and stepped out onto the porch.

  Natalie shook off all thoughts of the night before. She had plenty to worry about besides her primal passion for Kane. There was Ashlin and the journal. She had to get to the bottom of it all. Ashlin would return from Denver in three days. She'd be back at Cloud West by then. She would have to confront him, question him, seek the truth.

  Natalie finished her coffee, took a warm bath, and stepped into the tan trousers. To her chagrin, she found that although the fine gabardine pants were far too long—she rolled the cuffs up several folds—they were almost too snug about her hips, so lean were their owner's flanks. Natalie settled the pullover navy flannel shirt above her head and had a terrible time trying to maneuver her stiff right arm up through a sleeve.

  She sighed with triumph when finally she smoothed the soft navy wool down over her b
reasts. The shirt, a style meant to hang outside the trousers and strike the body just below the waist, reached to Natalie's thighs. She smiled fleetingly, buttoned the two buttons at the shirt's yoke, and went about searching for Kane's hairbrush.

  She found it in a shelf of a bookcase, a comb stuck into its fine bristles. Other personal articles rested there as well. Several coins and some folding bills. A small sack of pungent smoking tobacco, papers, and sulfur matches. Onyx shirt studs, a gold-cased pocket watch, a pearl-backed pocket knife.

  Natalie looked with interest at Kane's scattered valuables. As though she could find some insight into the man himself by studying his things, she touched the shiny watch, fingertips gliding over the smooth case, the attached chain, the glass face. She picked up the pearl-cased knife, put it back.

  She smoothed the folds of a shiny black silk bandanna, and felt something solid beneath it. Natalie lifted the shimmering scarf and stared down at a small, shiny object. Eyes narrowed, she let the black silk flutter to the shelf and reached for the gold-tipped arrowhead. It lay heavy in her palm and Natalie felt the fine hair of her nape rise.

  Kane knew of the gold! He had found the Cliff Palace, she knew it. Her fingers closed around the shiny metal arrowhead. She couldn't let him attempt to take the treasure. It was dangerous; Tahomah had told her no white man would take the gold and live. She would tell Kane. As soon as he came inside, she would warn him. And pray he would listen.

  Sighing, Natalie placed the gold-tipped arrow back on the shelf, laid the black bandanna on top of it, and removed Kane's comb from the brush. Her mind on the arrow, she lifted the brush to her tangled hair. Stroking absently, she moved to the books in the next shelf Scanning the titles for something that might hold her interest, she saw leather-bound volumes of Dickens's Tale of Two Cities and Great Expectations. Fitzgerald's Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. Hugo's Les Miserables. There were Shakespeare and Keats and Shelley. Tolstoy and Mark Twain and Dostoevsky.

  And there was a worn, well-thumbed, black leather Bible. Natalie laid aside the hairbrush and took it down. Feeling the need for guidance and comfort in this time of uncertainty, she turned swiftly to some of her favorites passages; Scriptures that offered solace and strength.

  Choosing one of the favorite chapters she had memorized as a child, Natalie flipped the fine parchment pages to the Twenty-third Psalm. But she didn't read a word.

  A faded, much-fingered daguerreotype caused her to blink and raise the Bible closer. An angelically beautiful young girl was smiling up at her. Long dark curls cascaded around a flawless, heart-shaped face. Huge dark eyes looked straight into the camera and into the eyes of anyone holding the Bible. Perfect, turned-up nose, rounded, healthy cheeks, small, full-lipped mouth. Lovely throat and shoulders revealed in a gown of some soft pastel.

  And across a full left breast, the inscription read, My darling Kane, I shall love you until eternity. Your adoring Susannah.

  Natalie read and reread the words. And she looked once more into the dark, sparkling eyes of the breathtaking young beauty. Speaking aloud, she addressed the absent woman.

  "Susannah," she said scornfully, "you are a fool and you have from now to eternity to realize it." She shook her head sadly. "And I am too."

  Suddenly unreasonably angry with the smiling Susannah, Natalie slammed the Bible shut and put it back on the shelf But another secret treasure had been hidden inside and it fell from the pages and fluttered to the floor.

  Natalie leaned over and picked up the curiosity from the carpet. A lock of hair. Holding the shimmering strand between thumb and forefinger, Natalie went to a window. Strong winter sunlight turned the soft lock of hair a fiery reddish-gold.

  Natalie tossed her head, swinging her loose, long hair about to fall over her shoulder. She bunched the reddish-gold tresses up in her hand and, with shaking fingers, laid the fiery lock amid her own red curls.

  A little gasp of wonder escaped her open lips. It was her hair! Her own hair; the exact same shade and texture as the unruly mass now spilling down over her breast. Natalie again lifted the lock before her face.

  Instantly the hot day at Spanish Widow came rushing back. With vivid clarity she could see the lock of hair she now held lying on the wooden floor of the adobe weigh station. Snipped off clean by the speeding bullet of a bloodthirsty Apache warrior. If you wish to keep it, you'd best keep your head down had been the words uttered coolly by a stone-faced Kane when the incident occurred.

  That was the last she had thought about the clipped hair. She didn't recall seeing the auburn lock again. Had no idea when or why Kane had picked it up. Staring at it now, her pulse quickened. She felt a wave of hope and happiness surge through her.

  That dark, hot night they had spent together at Spanish Widow had meant something to him, just as it had to her. He had taken the lock of her hair and put it in his shirt pocket. He had brought it to Colorado with him. He had saved it all this time. He had cared a little.

  Natalie found herself eagerly looking forward to Kane's return from the stables. She tried to read, but her eyes kept lifting from the printed page, going to the door, expectantly, impatiently. She put the book aside and again brushed her long, red hair until it snapped and crackled and shone with fiery highlights.

  At long last she heard him coming toward the house, booted feet crunching across the frozen ground. He stopped on the porch and stamped the clinging snow from his boots, and Natalie, seated on the horsehair sofa, hurriedly bit her lips to give them color, fanned her long, flowing hair out over her shoulders, and waited, smiling.

  Kane walked in and looked directly at Natalie. Her red hair lay in shimmering waves about her face and shoulders, the strong sunlight coining from behind setting it afire. Her emerald eyes were upon him and behind them lay a glow, as though some inner happiness illuminated them. Her full lips were red and moist and parted. She was smiling warmly at him. She wore his clothes, the navy flannel of his shirt concealing the curves he knew lay beneath, his tan trousers tight about her feminine hips. Bare feet peeked out from beneath the folded pants legs.

  Never had she looked more adorable.

  And that rankled Kane. Made him mad as hell.

  He had purposely spent the morning away from her. Had stayed alone in the cold stables, telling himself that his pretty patient was a brittle, experienced woman; a woman as hard and jaded as he.

  And now there she sat, looking for all the world like an innocent sixteen-year-old who had just laid aside her dolls to smile sweetly up at her very first beau.

  "You might have cooked something for our lunch," he said harshly, jerking his Stetson off, releasing a shock of raven hair.

  "I'll do it now." She rose, at a loss, her smile slipping a bit.

  "Forget it." He hunched out of his jacket. "I'll do it myself." He waved her back to the sofa.

  They ate in strained silence after she made several attempts at conversation and he answered coldly with clipped one-word replies. And then they were like two polite strangers, avoiding each other's eyes, saying little, watching each other cautiously.

  Kane's dark and sullen good looks unnerved Natalie. His quiet, moody presence made her long to slap him smartly… or to pull his dark head down and kiss the hardness from his lips. Natalie's soft beauty, the expression of puzzlement in her huge green eyes, made Kane want to jerk her up and shake her by the shoulders… or to lift her in his arms and kiss her half senseless.

  The strain was taking its toll on them both, so two days later when Kane woke Natalie and said quietly, "I'll take you home now," she replied honestly, "Thank God."

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  "Sure you'll be okay?" Kane stood framed in the doorway of Natalie's white bedroom at Cloud West.

  "I'll be fine," she assured him from the depths of the big four-poster with its white silk bed-hangings and white lace-trimmed sheets and pillowcases. She smiled at him, plucked nervously at a lacy white cuff of her nightgown, and added, "You've taken care of everything." She indicat
ed the blazing fire in the white marble fireplace, the silver tray with hot tea and toasted bread on the marble-topped table at her elbow.

  As soon as the pair had reached Cloud West, Kane had built a fire in Natalie's big upstairs bedroom, put water on to heat, and gently ordered her to take a hot bath and get into bed while he tended the horses.

  When he returned from the stables, he put on the kettle for tea, sliced the bread, and searched until he found a small pot of blackberry preserves. He entered her bedroom to find her primly in bed, her long cinnamon tresses gleaming on the snowy pillow.

  "I don't like leaving you alone." Kane's jaw tightened. "My housekeeper will be back in a few days, Kane."

  "I'll be on my way, then," Kane said. And did not move. "Thank you for everything. And Kane…"

  "Yes?"

  Natalie drew a deep breath. Then hastily, "You've found, the Manitou gold, I know you have." Kane looked at her, said nothing. "Don't take it, Kane. It's not safe, you'll be…it's dangerous, truly it is, you—"

  "Good-bye, Judge," drawled Kane, and his hands went to his slim hips. He stood there unmoving, his hooded eyes accusing, cynical. Slowly he pivoted and walked out into the corridor.

  The sound of his footfalls going down the stairs mixed with the deep, deriding chuckling coming from his broad chest. Natalie sighed, shaking her head despairingly. He didn't believe she was worried for his safety. He thought she was only concerned with keeping the gold for herself.

  Impetuously, she threw back the white silk covers and leapt from her bed. She flew across the floor shouting, "Kane, Kane!"

  Kane halted midway down the steps, turned, and looked quizzically up. One hand gripping the polished banister, the other holding up the flowing white nightgown, Natalie rushed down the steps, her bare feet skipping hurriedly, flaming hair in wild disarray about her shoulders. She stopped on the step where he stood in a wary stance.