“I see.” Amanda swallowed hard. She was beginning to see exactly. “I think I’ll go get some coffee—”
“Don’t even think about it,” Luke continued, a light threat in his voice. “As I was saying, when I went to get dressed this morning, something had happened to my clothes. It seems someone hasn’t sewn them at all. It also seems that the tear in my buckskins now extends to both legs, from one end to the other. Naturally, that will cause me some inconvenience, but none that I haven’t experienced before. In the war, you are often without a change of clothes, so do you know what you do to keep your wardrobe intact?”
Aesop squawked. Amanda stared at Luke, her eyes as wide as cornflowers. “No.”
“You try not to sleep in them.” He stood up, less than three feet away from her, and began to unbuckle his belt. “Otherwise, your shirts become sweaty too fast, they wrinkle and tear. Even your trousers should be removed. When you’re down to one pair, you don’t have much of a choice, do you?” He raised her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“I wouldn’t know.” Amanda choked, the color staining her cheeks a bright pink. She was aware of him shucking his trousers and then his drawers, of him standing so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his body, even through her own clothes. It was erotic and strangely compelling, to be standing in the confinement of the wagon, with Luke buck-naked just a few feet away. She almost swayed toward him, her fingers aching to touch the bronze chest that faced her, or the masculine heat just below his waist that she knew without looking was hard and ready for her.
She wanted him. God, how she wanted him. Yet, she was afraid. Luke had the power to hurt her, and she didn’t want anyone to have that kind of power. Closing her eyes, she let a single tear drop as his fingers gently caressed her face, then softly, enticingly, her lips. She gave a little gasp as he pulled her into his arms, his body, naked and arousing, pressed against her own. Any doubt she had about his own arousal was swiftly destroyed as she felt the heat of him rubbing against her, throbbing and unforgiving.
“Feel that and tell me you don’t want me.”
It was as if he could read her mind. Amanda’s lips parted to flatly deny him, but his mouth took hers in a kiss, her words with it. It was just like the night in the Harvey House, just like the night when he seduced her with such expert tenderness. Amanda could do little more than push against him half-heartedly as his tongue played with hers, then slipped inside her mouth in a wildly exciting rhythm that made her forget everything except the man who held her. A moist heat spread through her body like hot honey, flooding her veins, culminating there, where his hardness teased her with a searing promise.
“Amanda. Mandy, sweet Mandy.” He groaned, cupping her round bottom, pulling her impossibly closer. Logic swept from her mind, reason deserted her. No book ever taught her how to deal with this, and now, although every instinct was against it, her body cried out for what he was giving her.
“Please.” She whispered when his mouth left hers, though her body still leaned toward him. She gasped when he cupped a breast, his thumb brushing the taut nipple through the fabric, arousing her in spite of herself.
Yet, he felt her resistance, knew she was still fighting both herself and him. Gently, he released her, staring at her with a frown, angry at himself for the desire she aroused with little more than an innocent kiss. He had meant only to teach her a lesson, and now found himself tortured as well.
She gazed at him with passion-drugged eyes, and he saw those eyes cloud with confusion, then mortification as she realized what had happened.
He had taken pity on her and released her. Embarrassment flooded her, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand, fighting the sobs that threatened.
“Here.” He handed her the clothes. “Fix them by morning. Or else you’ll be sleeping with me naked every night. And I’m not sure either one of us could take it.”
She nodded, horribly grateful when he eased away from her, then slipped into the bed, covering his dark, masculine body with a quilt silvered by moonlight.
Amanda may not have known everything. But she knew when to quit.
“He ain’t gonna be too happy about that telegram.”
Damien spat onto the ground, then settled more comfortably against the pine bluff. They were already deep in Indian territory, the last legal refuge for the Five Civilized Tribes. But there were others about, others that didn’t conform to any government edicts, who saw a white man as nothing more than a potential scalp. Damien didn’t like to think about that, and he pulled down his Stetson and glanced about uneasily.
“Haskwell don’t like much,” Butch agreed. “And he was pretty pissed about us losing that girl. How long we been tracking her now?”
“Too long.” Damien shaded his eyes and stared at the endless horizon. “We should have been able to catch up to her easily. If it wasn’t for your horse going lame, we’d have had her.”
“What the hell did you want me to do? When you steal a horse, it sometimes happens. I should kill that sheep rancher. Trust a sheepman to have a lame horse.”
“You know, if Miss Amanda Edison had turned to school manning like any normal woman, this wouldn’t have happened. No, she had to write a book and finger Haskwell,” Damien said.
“And if she should take it into her head to testify, he’d be dangling neck first from a cottonwood,” Butch sneered. “She’s startin’ to piss me off, too. I ain’t had to work this hard since we went after Clyde Barnes.”
“I remember old Clyde.” Damien grinned, his soulless eyes showing dim emotion. “Chased him from Nevada straight east to Texas. Caught him in the panhandle and staked him out for the Indians.”
“Right.” Butch grinned, his scar whitening. “By the time them Commanches were through with him, old Clyde had nothing left but his—”
“Butch, lookey there.” Damien cut off this pleasant discourse and pointed to a puff of dust in the distance.
Butch rose, then joined his companion on the bluff. There, just below them, was the outline of a small wagon train keeping faithfully to the Chisholm trail.
Butch and Damien exchanged a grin. Seems like luck was turning their way.
“I have to admit, I don’t understand.” Aileen gazed at Amanda, her freckled face wrinkled in a frown. She bent over the swiftly rushing Canadian River, beating a shirt against the rocks, forcing the crystalline water to cleanse the garment. “I wouldn’t mind being married to Luke Parker. He’s quite a handsome man.”
“I am aware of his physical qualities,” Amanda replied, dipping her feet into the pool—anything to keep from thinking about that night. Luke had her completely in his power, and he knew it. She, Amanda Edison—who’d won prize after prize at college for her treatise on “Natural Selection and the Earth Today,” on her calculus papers, on her editorials—was putty in the hands of the southern gunslinger. She could almost hear his smug laughter. It wasn’t to be borne.
“And he’s nice enough. Just yesterday he helped Jake when that bear cornered his calf. Scared the living heck out of Jake. But Luke has good aim and a cool head. He killed the bear and helped Jake out of a jam, without anyone getting hurt. Even Pop said it was quite a feat.”
“I know,” Amanda said.
“Then what is it? I remember that night you were going out. Didn’t it go well? Does he have problems in bed? Can’t go the whole trail? I can help you with that. Sex happened to be my former occupation, you know.”
Amanda felt her color rise straight up to her hair. “I don’t think that’s his problem.” She choked, pulling her feet from the water.
“What then? What is really bothering you?”
Amanda shrugged. “Luke just isn’t…right for me. And I have no intention of calling any man my master! And it’s other things. I don’t know how to describe it.” Amanda glanced down at her journal.
He called me Mandy. He held me and I wanted him so badly I could think of nothing else. This desperate longing never ceases, but grows by day like
the endless fields of blue-bonnets. I’m afraid I shall be consumed by it, lost like Tantalus, stooping to drink from the water which is always receding and must always recede….
“Then what are you going to do?” Aileen laid out a shirt, then reached for a pair of trousers, holding them in the water once more. The water swirled through the legs, washing away the dust and grime from the trail, taking the sweat and smell of cattle from the rough material. The current was so strong that Aileen had to grasp the material with both hands to keep it from washing downstream. “I think it’s a mistake to keep defying him. It didn’t work the last time.”
“Perhaps,” Amanda replied coolly. But her emotions were neatly capped. Pride and intelligence dictated that she win this one, and not just the battle, but the war. Her lack of self-control frightened her, along with the thought of what would happen if they were alone again. “But then again, perhaps I haven’t tried hard enough. As John Dryden said, ‘Beware the fury of a patient man.'”
Picking up Luke’s laundry, Amanda sent it over the river’s edge, and watched it float downstream, ignoring Aileen’s gasp of horror.
Chapter
13
“I think we should cross here.”
The Reverend and his followers looked at Luke doubtfully, then their eyes turned back in unison to Pop Finnegan. The trail driver spat a wad of tobacco juice onto the ground, then turned his attention back to the river.
“Why here, laddie? Looks rougher than the rest.”
“It is,” Luke agreed. They were standing on the bank of the Canadian River. Luke was actually waist-deep in the muddy water, using a stick to test the depth and the current. Tossing the stick aside, he stepped closer to the bank, ignoring the freezing brown liquid that swirled around his legs.
“I think we’re better off here in spite of the rocks,” Luke said finally. “That still pool down farther indicates depth. I know these damned rivers. From the last rains, they’re liable to be much deeper than even a month ago. That little puddle could drop off fifteen feet.”
Pop scratched his chin thoughtfully while the Reverend nodded. “I think he speaks the truth.” The preacher looked at Luke with renewed respect. In the past few weeks, Luke Parker had proved invaluable to them. Not only could he shoot with a deadly accuracy, but he seemed to know this land like the back of his hand. Even the flank and drag riders, cowboys hired by the religious men to get their Herefords to Texas, seemed to consider Luke the main authority.
Pop shrugged. “Well, if that’s what you all want to do, I ain’t going to argue. But those rocks look dangerous to me. We’d best be right careful how we go about getting them wagons across….Why, will you look at that.” Pop’s words cut off quickly and he gestured to the river.
Luke glanced at the water, started to turn, then his head swung quickly back. There, in the midst of the churning river, floating placidly downstream, was a pile of clothing. Pants, shirts, socks—all came drifting downstream, splashing over the rocks, then continuing down past the group of men.
Pop cleared his throat. “Looks like your buckskins, Parker.”
Luke stared, fury building up inside of him. It couldn’t be, she couldn’t have…but the parade of clothing continued to float by. Cursing, he tried to reach one of his shirts, but the current took it swiftly past him and it disappeared downriver, along with the rest of his wardrobe.
“I don’t believe her. Jesus Christ, I don’t believe that woman!” The words tumbled out before Luke could stop them and he trudged from the water, shaking like a wet wolf, his anger palpable.
“I’ll be damned.” Pop spat amid the incredulous stares of the religious men. “You think your wife did this? She sure is crazy. Pretty thing, too. What a shame.”
“I’ll be back.” Luke leaped onto his horse, jerking the reins and kicking the animal into a gallop. When the dust settled, Pop turned to the Reverend and shrugged.
“Just like my old aunt Mathilda.”
Luke caught up with her at the wagons, where she sat in the dust as the other women packed up their belongings for the river crossing. Amanda was surrounded by books, and was making notations in her journal. She glanced up when she saw him, ignoring the thunderous expression on his face.
“Cumulonimbus.” She indicated the puffy cloudscape. “That is an indicator of rain within the next twenty-four hours. I would suggest we put off our crossing until then.”
Luke stared at her in disbelief, barely aware that Aileen scampered off, eager to get far away from his wrath. Fury sent the blood pounding through his head and his hand tightened so hard on the reins that the horse reared.
“Is something wrong?” Amanda got calmly to her feet. She had forgotten the clothes, forgotten everything in her latest scientific interest. But the look on his face reminded her, and the color drained as she suddenly realized she was in trouble. Big trouble.
“I think I’ll go help Aileen now.” Amanda picked up her journal and Aesop’s cage, as if nothing unusual was happening. As if his entire wardrobe, newly sewn, was not floating downriver along with a collection of prairie grass and twigs.
She started to walk past him, but Luke’s hand shot out, capturing her wrist. Amanda struggled, dropping the cage.
“Let me go—”
“Get up on the horse.” He didn’t recognize his own voice, it was so laced with anger. Amanda shook her head and tried to pull away.
“I’ll ride with the wagon,” she replied cooly.
“Get on the horse. I’m not telling you again.” His teeth were gritted, and his beautiful blue eyes blazed. When she hesitated another moment, he simply reached down and effortlessly hauled her onto the saddle, knowing full well she’d rather die than ride like this. Forcing her into the seat before him, he tucked her skirts beneath her, then tightened his arm possessively around her waist and pulled her up against him. Amanda cried out as he kicked his mount, and headed west.
“What are you trying to prove?—” she began, hoping to maintain a cool distance between them. He glared down at her with such open anger that she instinctively shuddered.
“How dare you? Especially after the other night, how dare you do such a thing? I’m beginning to believe you are crazy,” Luke thundered.
“I am not!” Amanda twisted in his lap, then gasped as he tightened his grip. “Take your hands off me! As Carlyle said—”
“Amanda.” His voice was cold and even, far more frightening than his open rage. “Listen to me carefully. If you’re trying to discover my breaking point, you’re almost there.”
She believed him. She could sense the barely leashed tension in his body. His rippling muscles were so close to her own skin that she could feel the hardness of his flesh, as if it took everything in his power to check his temper. Amanda swallowed hard, wondering if perhaps she hadn’t miscalculated. It had only happened once before, but the mistake had cost her a grade.
This time it could cost her far more.
“Where are we going?” Though she knew she was treading on dangerous ground, the anticipation was undeniably worse.
“We are going downriver,” he replied in the same icy tones. “There’s a bend a few feet below where the Canadian forms a pool.”
“And?” Amanda didn’t want to be spared any details.
“You are going to retrieve my clothes. Every last one of them.”
“What if they aren’t there?” Ever the working mind, Amanda couldn’t help but ask. Luke glared at her. “Pray.”
“Why looky here, Butch. We got us a band of religious folk.”
Damien grinned as the Reverend came to the forefront of the group, his Bible lifted in his hand. Women sobbed quietly as the two gunmen rode into camp, firing sporadically, sending the children scurrying beneath the wagons. Now they stood in the semicircle, sheltering their little ones from the outlaws, while the scarred man called Butch kept his gun trained on the minister.
“What is it you want? If you are looking for money, we have very little. We only
wish to travel to Texas, there to live in peace,” the Reverend Weaver said quietly.
“Ain’t that real nice, Butch?” Damien chuckled, his soulless eyes looking out onto the cluster of holy men and women. “They want to go in peace! That’s right brave of you, Reverend, but not real smart. We’re looking for the girl.”
Aileen glanced at her husband, while Jake stood a few feet back and watched the flat prairie. Luke and Amanda had been gone for less than an hour. They could come back at any time with the rest of the men, without realizing that they were riding into an ambush. Bravely, she walked up to the men, holding her shawl tightly around her, as if for protection.
“There is no one else,” Aileen said quickly. “Just us. The Reverend Weaver and his followers. You must have the wrong—” She gasped as Butch grabbed her, his smile evil.
“You don’t look like no Reverend Weaver’s nothing.” He chuckled as she struggled to get free. “And we think you’re lying. Search the place, Damien.”
“Let go of my wife,” Jake demanded, his lined face white with anger.
Butch cocked his gun and held it to the girl’s head. “Make me, cowboy. Now you just be real quiet and cooperate, and the little missus won’t get hurt. It’s not her we want. We want the other one. The writer. Amanda Edison.”
Jake’s fists tightened. Aileen stood completely still, warning him with her eyes not to do anything foolish. Helpless and furious, he watched as Damien rifled through the wagons, searching for a sign of Amanda. The other women huddled near the chuck wagon, glancing toward the river, some of them sobbing. Damien’s head popped out of the canvas, a huge grin spreading across his face.
Aesop’s cage dangled from his finger.
“It’s her all right.” He grinned as Butch’s hand tightened on Aileen’s shoulder. “It could only be Miss Edison.”
Butch nodded, releasing Aileen. He watched the girl stumble across the prairie, and into her husband’s arms. He gestured at them with the gun, indicating the group of women.
“Now all of you just mosey on down here.” He pointed to the closest wagon. “Damien will make sure you’re real comfortable before tying you up. Looks like we got some more riding to do, to find them.” Actually, that suited Butch just fine. The less witnesses and trouble-making church folk around, the better.
Wild Is the Night Page 14
