Heartstrings

by Rebecca Paisley

  She heard the ripping of fabric and more thunder.

  Rain beat upon her bare breasts.

  Gunfire rent the air, loud enough to overcome the thunder. Theodosia gasped, waiting to feel the burning pain of bullets smashing into her body. She felt nothing but the sting of the rain as it continued to batter her breasts.

  The crack of more gunshots exploded in her ears. The men around her began to shout and move away from her.

  She opened her eyes and watched two of the outlaws crash to the ground beside her. One had a moustache, and the other was the man with the jagged scar on his forehead. Blood splattered her hand and the side of her skirts.

  She looked up. Into the meadow.

  Through the silver drift of rain, a gray stallion charged toward the hill, his hooves ripping up the wet ground and leaving a spray of mud in his-wake.

  And astride the extraordinary steed, both his guns drawn and his long ebony hair flowing like a black banner behind him, was her wish come true.

  Roman Montana.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A violent madness had come over Roman as he watched the Blanco y Negro Gang pin Theodosia to the side of the hill. He swore that in only minutes, they would all be dead.

  His vow burned into his heart as if branded there.

  His powerful legs his only means of staying on Secret’s back, his potent rage unleashing every shred of skill he possessed, he let go of the reins, fitted his rifle to his shoulder, and took careful aim. He had no worry of hitting Theodosia; Secret’s smooth, steady gait enabled him to aim with deadly accuracy.

  He shot twice. When he saw two men fall at Theodosia’s feet, he knew they were dead.

  The other three outlaws returned fire, but Secret’s speed made Roman a target too fast to hit. In seconds the magnificent stallion reached the hill.

  Roman quickly shot a third man, then threw himself off Secret’s back. While he was still in the air, he snatched his dagger from its sheath, and as he fell, he plunged the knife into the belly of the man directly before him.

  The man staggered, but retained enough strength to kick the knife out of Roman’s hand. Roman saw him raise a revolver and rolled to the side in time to dodge the bullet.

  He bolted to his feet and grabbed the outlaw. One arm around the man’s neck, his other curled around the top of the man’s head, he gave one strong heave.

  The man fell, his neck broken.

  Heaving with fury and exertion, Roman looked up and saw the fifth man riding into the meadow. The other four white horses followed.

  Roman whipped out his Colts.

  “Lightning.”

  The soft voice, like the glimmer of a single star in a midnight sky, broke through his savage craze. He lowered his guns and stared at the four dead men lying in the mud.

  The infamous Blanco y Negro Gang. Dead. He’d killed them. They’d tried to hurt Theodosia.

  But one had escaped.

  Again, he raised his guns toward the outlaw riding out of the rain-swept field.

  Something touched his back. Fingers. They trembled.

  “Roman.”

  He groaned, spun in the mud, and lifted Theodosia into his arms. With one mighty motion, he set her upon Secret’s back, then collected his fallen weapons and swung into the saddle.

  Theodosia laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him as he urged Secret into a ground-eating gallop. She could still hear the thunder, rain smacked her skin, and the stallion’s hooves made a battering noise.

  But the loudest sound of all was the beat of Roman’s heart.

  Her breath warmed Roman’s chest. He held her tighter and felt her shake. She was so wet, he thought. Her breath was warm, but her breasts were cold.

  And bare.

  Anger erupted inside him again. He wanted to scream. Instead, he kept Secret on a swift and steady course toward the small cabin in the near distance. When he finally pulled on the reins, the stallion came to an abrupt but smooth halt.

  Theodosia in his arms, Roman dismounted and raced toward the cabin. One firm kick opened the door; another closed it.

  He stopped in the front room. One look at it told him exactly what had happened.

  Theodosia’s belongings lay scattered all over the floor, and Roman knew her gold was gone. Apparently, the Blanco y Negro Gang had found the cabin before they’d found Theodosia.

  He stared at the empty fireplace, knowing he had to voice the question in his mind but dreading its answer. “Did they rape you?”

  She heard nothing but his heartbeat. It sounded through her, releasing a twisted torrent of memories. “The Comanches,” she said, speaking into his chest. “Hammond was glad they killed the Indians, Roman.”

  He frowned. What the hell was she talking about?

  “One escaped,” Theodosia whispered, “with a baby. Hammond hoped they died, but perhaps they were Mamante and his son. You gave them food. A horse, and a rifle. But first you fought Mamante. You returned his pride. He hired the lady from town to bring the picnic. Hammond did.”

  She clawed at his shirt when she saw more lightning through the window. “I tried to find you last night, but the door wouldn’t open. Secret was gone, and I knew you were too. The lady made roast beef, but I could only think of raisin sandwiches.”

  Realizing she was incoherent, Roman carried her into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed. The sight of her bare breasts made him clench his fists.

  But with a gentleness that belied his brutal fury, he began to remove her wet clothes. When she was naked, he drew a quilt over her body, gathered her in his arms, and held her close.

  “He said it was a surprise,” Theodosia whispered. “This cabin. But I would have remembered you, no matter where he took me. He wasn’t the one, Roman. I could not have lain with him.”

  Roman understood then that she had not lost her innocence to Hammond Llewellyn. But what about the Blanco y Negro Gang? “Theodosia—”

  “I smelled the storm. Heard it. The sparrows flew low over the meadow. I imagined the blossoms skimmed their bellies. Beneath the tree. Roman, we were beneath the tree. Picnicking. With all the lightning. Just like my parents. I—I have never known such terror.”

  She made no sound, but he felt her tears wet his cold damp shirt.

  “I was afraid, Roman, and so was he. He left me. And then I was by myself with the lightning and those men. I ran, as quickly as I could. But the lightning chased me, and so did those men. I made a wish. Not on a star, but on Enchanted Hill. And then you came.”

  “So they didn’t—”

  “No. You killed them before they could. One got away.”

  He didn’t speak for a long while. “I’m sorry for leaving you last night.”

  His apology warmed her far more than did the quilt he’d wrapped around her. “It was John the Baptist,” she whispered. “Please believe me, Roman. It was John the Baptist.”

  He understood instantly. She hadn’t betrayed him. Her parrot had.

  The heavy burden of guilt pressed down on him. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “God, I was just so mad, Theodosia. I never took time to think that it might have been the bird and not you.”

  “Anger has a way of relieving us of rational thought.”

  Her intellectual statement assured him that she was calming down.

  She blinked up at him. “Why did you come back?”

  He moved a wet lock of her hair off her forehead, then watched rain slide down the windowpane. “The storm. Llewellyn didn’t know how scared you are of lightning. I hated thinking that, so I came back. The manager at the hotel told me you and Llewellyn had checked out and that Llewellyn had hired a few men to move your things to this cabin. I’d planned to keep you safe from the lightning. Instead, I found you at the hands of the Blanco y Negro Gang.”

  She felt him kiss her bare shoulder and pondered what he’d told her. Still believing she’d spilled his secrets to Hammond, he’d ridden straight into a barrage of bullets for her. He�
��d killed four men for her.

  He might have died for her.

  Such profound feelings came over her that she lost her breath entirely.

  A loud squawk tore through her thoughts and caused her to gasp in air. Shifting, she peered over Roman’s shoulder and saw John the Baptist waddle into the room.

  “They must have turned his cage over when they ransacked the place,” Roman mused aloud. “At least they didn’t hurt him.”

  “Ransacked? Who—”

  “Didn’t you see the front room? Your things are thrown all over the place.”

  “What?”

  “Your gold is gone, Theodosia,” he said softly, hating to tell her but knowing he had no choice. “Your jewelry probably is, too, except for the heartstrings brooch that’s still pinned to what’s left of your gown. The gang was here before they found you in the meadow.”

  Her tears trickled onto his hand, shining up at him like wet diamonds. Staring down at them, he discovered that the tears themselves brought him no dismal feelings.

  But Theodosia’s sorrow tormented him.

  “What shall I do now?” Theodosia squeaked. “Roman, without money, how shall I—”

  He silenced her with a long and tender kiss. And then, his lips still caressing hers, he whispered words he never believed he’d tell to any woman.

  “I’ll take care of you, Theodosia.”

  She had no idea where Roman would take her. Drained as she was, she didn’t care. When he brought her wagon around to the front of the cabin and handed her into it, she took the reins and prepared to follow him wherever he led.

  Starlight and moonbeams lit the way. The storm had died, and the rain had left a fresh scent in the night air. She concentrated on the sweet fragrance and the swing of Roman’s hair across his broad back.

  Several hours later he stopped Secret beside a glade through which a creek bubbled. “We’ll sleep here,” he said, dismounting.

  She climbed out of the wagon and began to make her bed. When she finished, she watched Roman tend to the fire, and felt a deep security over doing the things that had become so familiar to her since having met him.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He made her a raisin sandwich.

  Accepting it, she smiled and held it as though it were the last and most precious food on earth.

  “Where do you want to go, Theodosia?”

  “I was under the impression that you had a place in mind.”

  He finished his sandwich in three bites. “All I thought about was getting you away from that cabin and the town of Enchanted Hill. The next town is Sundt, about five miles west of here. Do you want to go there to find—to have your fliers printed—” He paused, battling angry frustration. “Well, to do what you always do when you get to towns.”

  Stretching out upon her bed, she watched tree branches sway. Droplets of water splashed to her face, but she didn’t care. “Without my gold, I cannot pay—one hundred dollars in gold was to be payment for…” She closed her eyes. In light of all that had happened, how was she to conceive a child for Lillian?

  “I cannot pay you either,” she whispered.

  “One day I’ll send you a bill,’’ he said softly, and smiled.

  She tried to return his smile, but failed. “I do not know what to do now, Roman. The child…I simply do not know what to do.”

  He moved to where she lay and kneaded the tense muscles in her slim shoulders. “Go to sleep.”

  “I shall awaken in the morning and still not know what to do.”

  Lying down beside her, he took her into his arms. “Then don’t do anything, Theodosia. Just be with me for a while.”

  She looked into his eyes, which shone with moonglow and blue twinkles. Perhaps he was right, she mused. In time, maybe she would know what to do about her dilemma.

  Cuddling closer to him, she breathed deeply of his familiar scent. “What shall we do together, Roman?”

  “Nothing,” he replied, smiling tenderly. “And everything.”

  Theodosia finished her two hotcakes well before Roman finished his stack of ten. She couldn’t imagine what he had in mind for their first day of doing nothing and everything, but counted on his ideas to ease the confusion she continued to feel over her plight.

  That thought in mind, she decided to hurry the morning along by cleaning up the pan she and Roman had used to cook the hotcakes. Using a small, thick towel to guard her hand from the hot metal, she reached for the pan handle, then prepared to pour stray bits of hotcakes onto the ground. “Stop!” Roman shouted.

  His shout so startled her, she dropped the pan. “Roman, what on earth—”

  “There are still hotcakes left in the pan.”

  She glanced at the empty pan and his full plate. “Roman—”

  “You were going to throw away the baby hotcakes,” he explained. “They’re the best part of a hotcake breakfast.” He pointed to the tiny round cakes still left in the pan. “Those are the ones that drip off the spoon after you’re finished pouring out the big ones. Come on, Theodosia, don’t tell me you’ve never eaten baby hotcakes. I thought everyone had done that.”

  She picked up one of the dime-size hotcakes and popped it into her mouth. It crunched between her teeth, but held the same flavor as the larger ones. “There now, Roman, I have sampled a baby hotcake. Are you satisfied now?”

  “Good, huh?”

  She realized he was not going to drop the subject of baby hotcakes until she confessed to feeling the same way about them as he did. “I do not recall ever having dined upon a more savory food. Why, I am surprised that the best restaurants in Boston do not serve such delicacies.”

  “Go ahead. Make fun.”

  She wondered if she’d hurt his feelings. “I am not making fun, Roman. I—”

  “You should be.”

  “Should be what?”

  “Making fun. Inventing fun. Having fun. You know what else you can do with baby hotcakes besides eat them?”

  She couldn’t think of a single use for the hotcake scraps, but suspected Roman knew of thousands.

  Roman reached for a few of the small cakes, then examined the area and spotted the exact thing he’d been looking for. “Watch this.” He lay on his belly and dropped a few tiny hotcakes beside the anthill he’d found.

  Curious, Theodosia lay down beside him.

  “Look at the ants take the cakes into the mound,” Roman said, his gaze riveted to the industrious ants. “I used to watch ants for hours on end. I still like watching them.”

  “Ants are one of several groups of social insects that belong to the order Hymenoptera,” Theodosia explained. “The known species of ants are classified in seven subfamilies of Formicidae. The ancestors of ants are believed to have been solitary, fossorial wasps—”

  “Theodosia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Shut up and watch the ants.”

  She did, and before long she, too, began dropping bits of hotcakes for the ants to carry into their mound. When one cake proved too bulky for them to haul, she assisted them by picking up the food scrap and dropping it directly into the mound’s opening.

  Roman didn’t say a word while she played with the ants. He simply watched her, feeling a deep satisfaction when he saw the fascination and contentment in her beautiful whiskey-colored eyes.

  Finally, after over an hour of playing, Theodosia straightened into a sitting position and saw Roman taking off his boots and stockings.

  He sank his bare toes into a mud puddle.

  She watched the dark, sticky mud ooze all over his feet. “Why are you doing that?”

  He shrugged. “It feels good, but if you want to try it, you have to find your own puddle. This one’s mine.”

  She couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to bury their feet into mud. “I don’t care to try it.”

  “Suit yourself.” He leaned forward and pushed his hands into the mud as well. Sinking them deep, he grabbed as much mud as
he could hold, then pulled it out of the puddle.

  Theodosia saw little bubbles rise and pop on the surface of the mud he held, then an earthworm squirmed over his thumb. She couldn’t resist moving over to where he sat. “You have found a member of the Lumbricidae family, Roman, which is a hermaphroditic worm that moves through the soil by means of setae—”

  “Nope. You’re wrong. This is not lubmicditty.”

  “Lumbricidae.”

  “Whatever.” He lifted the worm level with Theodosia’s eyes. “This is Ernie. Yeah, good ol’ Ernie Earthworm, and he moves through dirt by squirming, got that?” He began looking for more worms and soon had a whole handful.

  Theodosia reached for one.

  He yanked his hand away. “My worms.”

  His crooked grin caught her full attention. How she loved that naughty expression of his.

  “If you want a worm, Theodosia, you have to find one yourself.”

  She glanced at the mud puddle.

  He almost laughed at the look of disgust on her face. “I guess to someone who only becomes a bit dusty, the thought of sticking your hands into a mud puddle is about the worst thing you can think of, huh? Tell you what, Lady Immaculate…how about we take a bath after we finish playing in the mud?”

  “Together?”

  “Is that shock I see in your eyes, or excitement?”

  His question made her blush. “I have not been playing in the mud, Roman, therefore I do not need to bathe.”

  She regretted her words the second they left her lips.

  Roman released the worms, slopped up some more mud, and smeared her left cheek. “That’s more than a bit of dust you’ve got on you. You need a bath.”

  She saw mud drip to the bodice of her dress. “Roman, look what you did to me.”

  He found her dismay highly amusing. “Aren’t you going to get back at me?”

  Her head still bent over her chest, she raised her eyes to him, then immersed her hands into the mud and drew forth two great globs of the cold slosh.