Each Time We Love

by Shirlee Busbee

  It was simple to follow her own trail slowly back to the place where she had left Adam, and she did so with extreme misgivings. Her thoughts were not pleasant or comfortable as she reluctantly made the return journey.

  Savanna didn't regret the loss of her virginity, nor did she totally blame Adam for his first possession of her. She believed that it had been inevitable, but there was no way that she could excuse that second, ungentle taking. He had acted abominably and for that she should leave him to suffer—let alone for what he had done to her father. As for his wife and children... she swallowed painfully. He belonged to them and she had not deliberately set out to wrong them. It had happened and she would be sorry for it for a long time.

  Her mouth twisted. Just see what comes from trying to extract revenge, my girl, she scolded. How much better off would you have been if you had never allowed Micajah's words to sway you? She grimaced. Of course, she'd never really had much choice in the matter, but she couldn't deny that once she'd realized her position, she hadn't been an unwilling participant in Micajah's scheme. Well, she was paying for her foolishness now and she only hoped that after ascertaining Adam's safety, she could turn her back on him and begin the journey home—and forget she had ever met Jason Adam Savage.

  Several hours had passed since she had made her escape, and she was uncertain what sort of scene would be waiting for her when she returned to where Adam had set up camp. Some distance from it, she dismounted and tied her horse to a sapling. Careful to make as little noise as possible, she crept nearer, her emotions and thoughts ambivalent. She didn't want to see her tormentor again, but she was anxious for him, and her heart began to pound with every cautious step she took.

  Creeping to the edge of the camp area, hidden by a clump of tangled foliage, Savanna peered around. Everything looked normal; Adam's horse was still tethered to the same tree, the items she had left were still scattered haphazardly about, but of Adam himself there was no sign. Nothing. The place was empty of any human habitation. Savanna closed her eyes, horrible pictures of him being carried off by mountain lions or bears flashing before her. Forcing down the terror that rose in her throat, she looked again, this time even more carefully, and it was then that she noticed that the knife was missing from where she had left it....

  Frightened, telling herself she had done what she had intended—obviously he had escaped her bonds—she spun around, intent on putting as much distance between herself and this place as she could, and promptly collided heavily with a warm, hard body she knew all too well. His arms fastened brutally around her, and despite her struggles, she was his captive once more.

  Adam was still garbed only in his breeches, and her face was crushed against the heat of his naked chest, his powerful arms wrapped tightly around her. There was nothing the least lover-like about his embrace, nor in his tone as he drawled coolly, "Come back to amuse yourself with my death struggles, sweetheart? Or perhaps you decided to give me a kinder death than starvation and were going to do the deed yourself?"

  It was so far from the truth that Savanna could only gape openmouthed at him. How could he think such a thing? She'd come back to prevent just such an event. Equally furious that he believed her capable of such cruelty and that she had, albeit with the noblest of intentions, brought this latest calamity upon herself, she simply glared at him and closed her mouth with an angry snap. I should never have wasted a second's remorse on him, she thought viciously; never, never risked my own safety to see about his.

  His hands closed around her shoulders and he shook her ungently. "No answer?" he questioned grimly. "Too busy trying to think up some sort of clever lie?"

  Her breathing labored as much from temper as from their straggle, Savanna snarled, "You murdering bastard! What else did you expect from me? Kindness? After what you did to me and my father?"

  An odd expression—regret? shame?—flashed across his face, but vanished as swiftly as it had appeared. His face cold and remote once more, he drawled, "I might have asked you the same question—what the hell did you expect from me? After all, I am, as you have frequently informed me, an unfeeling monster."

  His words gave her a queer sense of pain and miserably she realized that she didn't, most of the time, think of him in those terms. But she should, she reminded herself fiercely. She should never forget who he was or what he had done. Sending him a contemptuous glance, she stared stonily over his shoulder and muttered, "I don't want to talk about it."

  She felt his shrug. "Not much point," he agreed and, spinning her around, shoved her in the direction of their camp. "Where is your horse and the rest of the supplies?" he asked as he shackled her to a small willow tree.

  Glancing down at the despised chains, Savanna wished vehemently that she had thought to hurl them into the deepest part of the pond while she'd had the chance. Since there was no point in not answering his question, she replied stiffly, "About a quarter mile back, tied to an oak sapling."

  Adam nodded and, after shrugging into his white shirt, disappeared into the brush. Savanna stared after him, a mirthless smile curving her mouth. So much for trying to do a Christian act, she thought with bitter regret.

  Adam's thoughts were just as bitterly regretful as Savanna's as he stalked in the direction she had indicated, but for vastly different reasons. He had never used a woman as he had Savanna, and the fact that the loss of her virginity had happened only moments before made the act even more reprehensible. Shame scalded through him and he wondered irritably if being in the company of men like Micajah had turned him into the same sort of bestial animal. Though he tried, Adam could find no excuse for his behavior—at least nothing that satisfied him or lessened his deep feelings of shame and self-disgust. I should never have touched her, he admitted grimly. Never kissed her, never discovered the astonishing fact that she had been a virgin, and he certainly should never, never have unleashed his temper in such a despicable manner.

  He was an extremely troubled and baffled man as he came upon Savanna's horse and mechanically untied the animal and began to walk back to camp. His head ached and his conscience was tearing viciously at him in a way that it never had before in his life. He didn't regret in the least having made love to Savanna and he would even admit that the knowledge that she had been a virgin filled him with a powerful sense of possession and a bewildering pleasure. Of that second taking he simply would not think, not of the brutal act itself, nor of the reasons behind it.

  What he had to concentrate on now, he decided, was how to get himself out of his current predicament—a predicament that could be laid directly at Savanna's damn feet. Despite the earlier events of today, nothing had changed—he was still a fugitive from Micajah's tender mercies, it was still imperative that no one know that he was not Jason Savage and it was just as imperative that he not lead the chase back to his half brother either at Terre du Coeur or in New Orleans.

  Adam sighed. What the hell was he going to do? He couldn't keep riding aimlessly through the Texas wilderness, and yet until he felt confident that he had eluded Micajah, he didn't want to head for Natchez. For a journey of any length, he would need better horses and better equipment, but without any money, how the devil was he to accomplish any change?

  Coldly he admitted that he should have gotten rid of Savanna at the first opportunity—should have left her trussed up on the ground beside Jeremy. She was an unneeded distraction, a treacherous disruption and a dangerous liability. Having given in to a moment of insanity and taken her with him when he made his escape, he should have regained his senses by the time he had gotten to that plantation, and left her there while he disappeared with both the horses and all the provisions. But even knowing what he should have done and what he should do now, wondering if insanity ran in the family, Adam was furiously aware that for reasons which completely escaped him, he was not going to let that flame-haired, witch-spirited little bitch out of his sight. She was his. And she owed him far more than she had paid so far.

  When he got back to c
amp, his mood was bleak and dark. Ignoring Savanna, he retied her horse and unpacked the supplies that she had taken with her. As he glanced at the sun hanging low in the sky, it was, he thought sourly, too late in the day to travel any farther—besides, he had the devil's own headache. They would rise tomorrow before dawn and there would be no more dallying around—he had come to a decision: they would ride for San Antonio, where, as he recalled from the one time he had met the punctilious old Spanish grandee at Terre du Coeur, Don Felipe Santana lived. Don Felipe was some sort of a cousin of Jason's, and while Adam hated to go begging, he didn't see that he had any other choice. Besides, heading for San Antonio would solve several problems—between here and there they were sure to lose Micajah, and Don Felipe would, even if reluctantly, give them food and shelter and provide Adam with new supplies and horses to begin the journey home to Natchez. From now on they would be riding hard and long, and Adam only hoped that he'd be so exhausted at night that the memory of Savanna's softly thrashing body beneath his wouldn't tempt him to seek oblivion in her all-too-seductive flesh.

  It was apparent to Savanna that Adam had come to some decision, although what it was she had no idea, but as they set out at a punishing pace the next morning, she could only wonder where he was taking her and if she was ever going to see beloved faces and familiar places again. She had never ridden at such a fierce gait in her life and she had never been as sore, exhausted, dirty or hungry either. From the darkness of predawn until the darkness of dusk they rode, stopping rarely during the daylight hours and then only for Adam to add, when he could, to their depleted food supply. There was silence between them as they traveled through the wilderness, but it was not the silence of friendship; it was a simmering, angry, resentful silence, one that would take little effort on either of their parts to cause it to explode into something that neither one of them was willing to face.

  Without protest, Savanna continued to wear the breeches he had procured for her, and she didn't murmur an objection when he roughly combed and braided her hair into a pair of thick plaits and tied them on top of her head. She was grateful for the coolness it afforded her, until he briskly jammed the old wool hat down on her head, almost to her eyes, and muttered, "At least no one will see that red hair, and from a distance you just might pass for a youth. Let's hope so. We don't need to leave any clues for dear Micajah to find, do we, witch-whelp!"

  Adam had considered cutting off that tangled mane of red-gold hair, but even with the knife in his hand, he couldn't bring himself to do it, and decided blackly that he was indeed a bewitched fool. The breeches and shirt didn't disguise her femininity as much as he had hoped, the breeches clinging a little too lovingly to her hips and thighs and the shirt, if not hiding her full breasts, at least not calling attention to them. He didn't delude himself about the effectiveness of his efforts to conceal her sex either—only from quite a distance could Savanna ever be mistaken for a young man.

  As they rode steadily southwest, deeper into Texas, the terrain began to gradually change. They had left behind the pine forests and had ridden through areas where oak and chestnut trees had been the main wood, swamp willows and a few magnolia trees interspersed among them. Knowing that Micajah, after wasting a certain amount of time trying to pick up their trail, would no doubt head directly to Nacogdoches to resupply himself and Jeremy before continuing the chase, Adam had taken pains to stay well away from that area. Steadily he and Savanna pressed onward, crossing the Angelina and Neches rivers, riding through endless stands of oak and blackjack, a type of small, black-barked, gnarly oak. Just before they crossed the Trinity River some days later, they caught sight of their first prairie of any size. After so many days of wandering through seemingly endless forests, they were happy to have the landscape open up before them.

  They approached the Trinity River from a high bluff, and once they had struggled across its rapid, muddy flow, the terrain took on a semitropical appearance. There were dense canebrakes to traverse; an abundant variety of green-hued, immense trees grew everywhere, strung with vines of every kind, huge grapevines dominating, and ghostly Spanish moss clung thickly to many of the trees.

  They camped on the edge of the rich bottomland of the Trinity River that night, and as a result of being in each other's company for so long, they had established an almost pleasant routine for setting up camp. Earlier in the day they had surprised a pack of wild pigs, and Adam had expended one of their precious bullets and killed a gilt. They ate well that evening.

  Adam should have been at ease that night: there was no sign of pursuit; his stomach was full for the first time in days; Savanna was not overtly troublesome. And yet... he felt distinctly uneasy. For the past day and a half, the back of his neck had prickled incessantly, and although he constantly glanced over his shoulder, he never glimpsed anything that could explain his increasing sensation that someone or something was following them. Whatever was back there had him puzzled—he took what precautions he could each night against a surprise attack, but if it were Micajah and Jeremy following them, why the hell hadn't they launched some sort of foray against him?

  There were other considerations to bother him that night also. They had used up their small supply of food days ago and were reduced to eating only whatever he could trap or shoot; the bullets were diminishing alarmingly, especially in view of their vulnerable situation. With the corn gone, their horses, while able to find a certain amount of forage—and the forage was bound to improve as the grassy prairies became more prevalent—were less and less capable of traveling much farther, at any speed.

  Staring glumly into the darkness, Adam knew it was only a matter of time before one of the animals came up lame, or simply lay down and died. And being on the run in the vast Texas wilderness, without horses, soon to be weaponless and with no food, made their outlook particularly bleak.

  He glanced across at Savanna's sleeping form and his hard features softened. Her face was gaunt from their ordeal, her hands and arms were scratched and sunburned and her clothing was torn and filthy, but she had endured uncomplainingly, he'd give her that. Of course, he reminded himself cynically, it was her fault she was in this position; if she hadn't been a greedy little bitch and joined up with Micajah to go after the gold in the first place, none of this would have happened. She deserved whatever she got.

  Adam frowned. The powerful attraction she held for him was unabated, and even though he fell into exhausted sleep each night, his dreams were full of her, the sweetness of her kiss, the softness of her body. Generally he woke up in a foul mood, furious that he could not escape from her even in sleep.

  The next morning dawned bright and clear, the sun a hot yellow orb in the brilliant blue of the sky, and the scenery changed again as they rode over small, flat, boggy prairies, raggedly edged by thick timber. The grass was coarse and reedy, and by late afternoon they came upon oaks which changed to blackjack, but Adam had little eye for the terrain. That uneasy feeling that something was on their trail had him increasingly jumpy.

  Perhaps it was because he was concentrating so much on what might be behind them that, just prior to dusk, when the ragtag, tiny village suddenly appeared before them, Adam was taken by surprise. From a small stand of timber he stared disbelievingly at the half-dozen or so shabby buildings clustered protectively together in the middle of nowhere. The sight was unbearably welcome, but, mindful that they were deep in Spanish territory illegally, and not especially inclined to spend his remaining days immured in some godforsaken Spanish prison, Adam hesitated to approach the tattered structures.

  In the fading light, he ran his eyes speculatively over the village—a grand name for the pitiful shacks before him. He suspected that it was a military outpost, which didn't exactly bode well. There were several horses tethered about, however, and he spied a rough corral holding a dozen or so more. Situated out here in the middle of nowhere, the outpost would hopefully be well supplied—although he was aware of the deplorable conditions that were normal at most of t
hese remote garrisons. From this distance he could faintly hear the low of a cow and the squawks and squeals of chickens and pigs, so he knew there was some food available. The problem was getting it and escaping with his hide intact.

  He stared consideringly at the outpost. The inhabitants would be soldiers and perhaps a few families of the more senior men. As he watched, it became apparent that one of the larger buildings was a cantina; the sounds of guitar music, the clink of glass and bursts of raucous laughter drifted to him. His eyes narrowed. The men would be bored out here; they would spend the evening drinking and gambling.... A wolfish smile curved his mouth.

  He glanced back at Savanna. He'd have to leave her as he had when he'd gone to that plantation, and this time there was a very real possibility that he might not make it back if the soldiers discovered him raiding their corrals and storerooms. He frowned. The knots that bound her hands together would have to be tied so that he could be assured that she could escape within a few hours if something happened to him. He wouldn't want her starving to death alone in this copse, nor would he want the soldiers to find her. Adam found himself reluctant to be parted from her; uneasy about leaving her alone, but swearing softly at his own folly, he angrily convinced himself it was the only way.

  His plans were risky, but he had confidence in his own abilities and he intended to be in and out of that outpost without the Spaniards ever guessing he'd been in the vicinity. With fresh horses and supplies, he'd return to Savanna before she'd have time to undo the first knot—unless, of course, he admitted with a grim twist of his lips, he was captured or dead....