Trouble in Disguise: 5 (Eclipse Heat)

by Gem Sivad

Startled, Miri looked down. Ketchum gazed at her out of clear eyes no longer dulled by fever and his tail thumped weakly against the floor.

  “Charlie says he’s only part wolf.”

  Deacon’s words gave her time to get composed and she wiped her face on her sleeve before she answered. “I know that. After I raised him, I let him go. He tried to join a wolf pack but they ran him off. He came back to me torn up somethin’ fierce. I took care of him, let him know he was welcome to stay with me. We’ve been fine since.”

  “You’re both part of the McCallister clan now, and we guard our own.” Deacon’s answer warmed her heart. He handed her a glass of beer and took up his own for a toast.

  “To Ketchum’s recovery and our partnership.” He lifted his mug and waited expectantly. She bumped her glass against his before drinking the warm frothy alcohol. It was just what she’d needed to ease the tension she’d been carrying.

  She didn’t drink often and when she had in the past, she’d been alone with Ketchum and Possum. She curled up on the bed and Deacon pulled a cover over her and took her place on the floor next to the wolf.

  “Sleep,” he ordered her. And she did until he nudged her awake the next morning. She blinked up at him and yawned.

  “That felt fine,” she admitted, stretching.

  “Good. I’m on my way to town. Breakfast can be had in the kitchen if you’re hungry. I figure Ketchum’s well enough to sustain your absence while you eat.”

  Nobody in the ranch house seemed to think it was strange, her moving in, though they’d been a mite slow accepting her wolf. As for her being a woman pretending to be a man, the women just shrugged that away, talking female speak to her as if she was one of them and hadn’t been pretending to be male most of her life.

  “I’ll be back from Eclipse by nightfall,” he said. Since Ketchum was better and she was hungry, Miri walked with Deacon downstairs and went to the kitchen when he left for town.

  The women were gathered around the stove listening intently to one of Eden’s cooking lessons when Miri interrupted to announce her good news.

  “Ketchum’s doing fine. I guess he’s too ornery to die.”

  She saw her mistake immediately. Three interested pairs of eyes turned to her. Eden set the skillet on the back of the stove. Naomi crossed to a curtained area, pulling the material back to show a tub. Charlie’s mother, Rachel McCallister, carried a cauldron from the fireplace where water had been heating.

  The McCallister women worked in a coordinated unit, herding her toward the bathing area.

  “You poor girl, you’re worn out. Whatever happens, you need to take this time to freshen up.” Eden looked pointedly at Miri’s shirt covered in rust-colored stains.

  “I’d be grateful for a bucket of water, and that’s the truth. It’s been awhile since I bathed.” In fact she shivered remembering the cold dunking she’d endured at Deacon’s hands. That had been her last connection to soap and water. She was a mess and it would feel good being clean. The women filled the tub, hustled her into the bathing area and left her to enjoy a soak.

  She’d not ever had such flowery perfumed soap before. It reminded her of the rose-smelling scent she’d doused herself with in the outlaw camp. Only that had been sickly sweet, making her stomach churn a little. This smell was nicer. Miri sniffed the bar of soap, drawing in the pleasing aroma to remember later. Eden had advised her to pour some of the oil in the blue bottle into her water. She dribbled in the oil, then sank into a luxurious bath to relax.

  I’ll skip scrubbing my hair since drying it takes too much time. I need to get back to Ketchum. She soaped her chest, loving the feel of her breasts bobbing in the water. Miri grimaced at their size. She bound them most of the time. Unbound, she made shirts two sizes too big, just to get the material loose enough to hide them.

  “Use that cream on the chair to make your hair nice and shiny.” Naomi McCallister stuck her head around the curtain and caught Miri gawking at her breasts.

  Miri scooted lower in the tub, concealing her body and her blush beneath the opaque soap film on the water. Well I guess my hair’s wet now. She soaped it and rinsed it and then used Naomi’s concoction as advised. Not lingering longer, she climbed out of the tub and wrapped the long pale strands in one towel and herself in another.

  “Reckon you can pass me my clothes?” She poked her head through the curtain to get the ladies’ attention.

  “You’ll have to make do with this, Miri.” It was Naomi again, handing her a dress. “Your pants and shirt are too dirty to put back on.”

  “It’s probably a mite short, Naomi, me being taller than you McCallister women.” Miri frowned at the pale lavender garment handed in to her.

  Naomi pushed the dress into her hands anyway.

  “That’s one of my sister’s gowns. Comfort is a tall woman like you. Charlie went into town yesterday while you were in the sick room and brought you back some clothes for you to change into.”

  It occurred to Miri that the McCallisters had been doing a little too much thinking about her. Argument was silly since she was standing in a towel with water dripping down her back. “I’ll make sure I take care of it.”

  She ducked behind the curtain and pulled on the assortment of clothing in the pile given to her. White undergarments with lacy trim made her snort. The corset she didn’t even bother with. But she pulled the drawers on and the chemise.

  The dress was too nice to be lending out, and Miri wondered how Charlie had been able to coax it from Comfort Quince. She buttoned as many of the buttons as she could before stepping into it and pulling it up the rest of the way. It snugged some over her breasts, not hiding the size of them at all, and she wore a frown when she stepped around the curtain.

  The conversation among the women stuttered to a halt and silence greeted her as all eyes looked at her with amazement.

  “Is Deacon back?” she asked hopefully. His female relatives made her nervous when she faced them alone. Nobody answered as they continued to stare at her.

  “I’ll need someone to do up the buttons,” she said self-consciously.

  Deacon’s aunt stepped behind Miri to oblige and as soon as the buttons were closed, the dress pulled even tighter across her chest.

  Though she was grateful for the clean outfit, it seemed prudent to focus the McCallisters on what was important—Ketchum. She needed to get back to make sure he was faring all right. Her words were sharper than she intended when she spoke.

  “I’ll need my real clothes back. This dress is too tight.” They remained silent, but Eden walked closer and tested the fabric on the shoulders.

  “We can let the dress seams out a little right here. The waist needs a tuck or two, since Miri is so slender.”

  She stepped back, ignoring Miri as if she were a doll to be dressed and put aside. “The length is still a little too short. We’ll let the hems down too on the others.”

  “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I need some kind of a shawl to cover this dress before I can traipse around in public.” Miri rubbed at her wet hair with the towel, trying to look commanding.

  “Why?” Eden seemed puzzled.

  “On me, this dress isn’t decent,” Miri answered sharply. She dipped her head, nodding silently at the fabric outlining the swell of her breasts. “I don’t look right in such as this.”

  Nobody disagreed, a fact that disappointed her in some inexplicable way. Rachel handed her a white scarf to drape around her shoulders and Miri accepted it, wrapping it around her arms and across her chest. Then, being as polite as she could be, she proceeded to set them straight.

  “I won’t need the dresses Comfort sent. You don’t need to fix them to fit me. My clothes will suit just fine once they’re clean.” It wasn’t lost on Miri the way the women avoided meeting her gaze.

  “I’ll just sit on the porch out front until my hair dries,” she told them and took the comb that Rachel handed her as she scooted out the door.

  It’s sure something, this
ranch they call home. Miri sat in the porch swing and rocked herself back and forth while she combed out her hair. The bench was high enough from the porch floor to let her stretch out in comfort. She figured it was because the McCallister men were such long-legged fellows.

  “Mighty flimsy stuff to be standin’ ’tween me and the elements,” she muttered, stroking the soft material of the borrowed dress as soon as the other women had left her alone. Nevertheless, she continued to touch the lavender material with calloused fingers, savoring the feel of what she had on.

  She liked watching the people who lived on the ranch. They were an odd lot for sure. She’d been hesitant to mix with the women, having no experience in that direction. Deacon’s introduction had been embarrassing.

  “You’ve previously met Miss Beauregard in her male guise as Beau. She’s a master of disguise, smart and brave and she saved my life. Miri, meet the family.” Then he’d pronounced each name and though she’d met them all before, she met them all over again.

  Deacon emphasized their partnership. Nobody questioned that they shared a bedroom. Of course, since she was nursing Ketchum, it was a moot point. She’d stood watch from a chair every night, sometimes stretching right out next to Ketchum on the pallet.

  “A body could get used to smelling pretty like this. But I suspect it’s wasted on outlaws.” She sniffed her sleeve and grinned.

  Miri grimaced at the long hair hanging stick straight down her back. It was so fine, it fell out of any braid she tried to secure it with. She usually wrapped it under a kerchief before she put on her wig and then her hat. She currently didn’t know where her hat and the wig were, and that made her anxious.

  “I need to get my costumes back together,” she grumbled as she returned to the big open room they all lived in.

  “Miri, I’ve never before seen silver hair on one so young.” Eden McCallister reached out her hand and picked up one of the pale strands, staring at it as if mesmerized.

  “It’s a sight all right,” Miri agreed, thanking Naomi for the use of the comb on her way through. ”I keep it covered as best I can. It’s unhandy in my business because it’s something people always remember. I should have cut it years ago, but…” She shrugged, not ready to admit that it was her one female vanity.

  “It’s lovely. I can show you several styles that would accommodate the fine texture,” Eden assured her.

  “If it’s your intent on making me into a passable-looking female, it’s wasted time and effort.” Miri frowned at Sam’s wife. “I need to check on Ketchum. No sense in letting him get stupid and die.”

  When she entered Deacon’s bedroom, Ketchum lifted his head and yawned. She crouched by him, scratching him behind his ear to reassure him that it was really her.

  Evidently he had no difficulty identifying her. He closed his eyes and dozed, showing no interest in her female costume.

  Miri held the hand mirror she found on Deacon’s chest of drawers, trying to see herself in the tiny reflection. Her hair was shiny, hanging straight and long. She brushed her hand down its length. That concoction Naomi gave me really made it soft.

  She twitched at the bodice of the dress, trying to make herself smaller or the material looser. Neither thing happened. Maybe if I bind myself again.

  Ketchum raised his head, alerting her that while she’d been primping, Deacon had ridden in the ranch yard.

  One thing for certain, she didn’t feel ready to debut her new costume. Hastily she pulled the dress off. When Deacon came upstairs to join her, she’d changed into her spare set of buckskins. She hadn’t had time to bind her breasts or put on her wig, but he didn’t comment on her clothes or hair.

  “Hiram’s on his way out with Judge Conklin. They’ll get here after supper tonight.” He looked at her expectantly as if that news was supposed to mean something to her.

  “And?” she asked.

  “And we’re making our partnership official. I can’t do it myself. It’s not legal or I would.”

  “Exactly what is it that we’re doing?”

  “Conklin is marrying us. Hiram’s introducing you to the judge as a friend and standing witness to the event.” Deacon tried to school his expression to unconcerned, as though the occasion was of little importance. But she didn’t miss his white-knuckled grip on the back of the chair, contradicting his nonchalant look.

  When she remained silent, he continued with his plans and it was easy to see he’d been busy while gone.

  “Ranger Doyle invited himself to the party too. He also wants a meeting with Beau, after which he says he’s taking the prisoner to jail.”

  Miri leaned against the chest of drawers, drawling in Beau’s best Tennessee twang, “It’s not escaped my notice, McCallister, that you’ve fallen into making the big decisions and left the little ones for me to chew on.”

  She folded her arms, daring him to deny it. At her jibe, a smile curved his lips but he didn’t disagree with her assessment.

  “In case it slipped your mind, being Beauregard is how I make a living.”

  “You aren’t Beau. He’s a part you play and a lot of work has gone into that character. I agree there’s no sense in throwing it away.”

  “So you’re saying I’ll keep using Beauregard when I need.” The knot in Miri’s stomach began to ease. Deacon crossed the room and stood in front of her, drawing her from her militant stance into his arms.

  She knew there were other questions she should ask and things that needed to be discussed but it was hard focusing with him nibbling on her ear and nuzzling a spot on her neck.

  “And then what did you plan?” Her words came out in a gasp as he slid his hands under her buckskin shirt and touched bare skin.

  “After tonight, you’ll be Miri McCallister and for all anyone around here knows, Beauregard moved on.”

  As she considered that possibility, hands that had been stroking upward stilled. Their heat hovered tantalizingly close to her unbound flesh, as if waiting for her response.

  “Well,” she heard the hesitance in her voice and wanted to slap herself. “I don’t see why we have to get married. I like this part just fine.” She stiffened her spine, coincidentally shifting his hands high enough to cup her breasts.

  While they’d been talking and touching, he’d been walking them toward the closet. It wasn’t any more than a curtain across an arched alcove.

  “Deacon?” Her startled question came when he pulled her inside the tiny space.

  “Trust me,” he said. And before she could decide whether that was a good idea or not, he’d guided her to a spot behind the curtain.

  “Oh yes.” She sighed as rough calluses caressed her flesh. She couldn’t see his face and maybe that was a good thing. She said in a rush, “You make me feel like a woman, Deacon. Like I’m the prettiest female ever put on earth.”

  “You are,” he said gruffly, rotating his thumbs over her nipples as he spoke. “I want more than a swive or two before we go separate ways. I want you with me always.”

  Miri enjoyed his seduction but recognized it for what it was. “You think you can keep me senseless and get your own way, don’t you?” She half laughed at the idea but since she felt dizzy with lust, the description fit.

  Miri ached when Deacon abandoned her breasts, one hand sliding to her waist, the other pressing against her rump, moving her so that not so much as a feather could have fit between them.

  “Folks get naked and fuck all the time. I want more than that. I want to be so deep inside of you that I’m part of your soul.” He growled the words at her, the sound making her insides quiver in response. “I want to be part of your dreams and hopes. I trust you to hold my spirit in your hands and make me a better man. Hell, you already have. Believe in us, Miri.”

  Well there he went talking about spirits and souls, all the time herding her toward his own private corral. Miri was pretty damn sure heaven couldn’t be any finer than Deacon’s arms but regardless of that fact, she stepped away from him and out of the clos
et before she could change her mind.

  “Whooee, it’s mighty warm in here,” she said, fanning her face and looking at Ketchum instead of Deacon. “I’m going to check on Possum,” she muttered.

  Lame excuse or not, it got her out of Deacon’s bedroom and away from his gaze. She risked one glance at him before she went through the door, but couldn’t really read his expression.

  She avoided the McCallister women, hurrying from the house to the barn. Once there, she gathered her grooming equipment and entered Possum’s stall.

  “He says I hold his spirit in my hands. Daggone, Possum, that’s a big order to tend.”

  Her horse snorted and stomped his foot as she brushed too hard across his flank.

  “Sorry. This mating business has me flummoxed. I don’t rightly see why things can’t just stay this way for a spell. Heck, more likely than not, McCallister will get tired of partnering with me soon.” But she didn’t believe her own words and grinned shyly at Possum as she thought about Deacon.

  “The Kiowa believe that a woman’s role is to lead her man to the Great Spirit. Shoot, Deacon, being a preacher man and all, doesn’t need me for that.”

  Miri’s ruminations turned from resisting the role of womanhood to questioning whether she was the woman for Deacon. Nobody interrupted her as she carried on a one-sided discussion lasting the better part of the afternoon.

  Deacon heard Miri before he saw her. She stomped up the steps, warning him that she was on her way. He loved her so much in that moment the very marrow of his bones ached to hold her. He’d been scared, afraid that the kid who’d fooled, terrorized and outthought outlaws would climb on her horse and ride away. Deacon looked ruefully at the wolf lolling on his pallet.

  “Ketchum, if you’ve got any influence with her, I’d appreciate your vote of confidence,” he murmured.

  The ears of the wolf cocked forward and he gazed at Deacon as if weighing his worth.

  “I’ll protect her. Hell, I know you’ve done a damn good job. But you can’t be everywhere she gets herself into trouble.”

  Wolf and man stared at each other for a moment before Miri opened the door. Then Ketchum’s tail thumped on the floor in welcome. Deacon remained silent, waiting for the verdict. She stood by the door, arms crossed, glaring at him.