by Night Song
The injured Chase proved to be poor sport. Miles was glad. He owed Chase a lot, especially for the ass-whipping the night the Lady burned.
Cara could hear Miles’s fist meeting the bones of Chase’s face again and again. Certain she was not going to lie there and let Chase be beaten to death, Cara began to crawl toward Miles’s bedroll.
Straddling Chase’s chest, Miles snatched the barely conscious soldier up by the shirtfront and hit him again. He’d forgotten all about Cara—until he heard the angry click of the rifle at his back.
“Move off, Miles.”
He turned slowly. The smile on his face was indulgent. Looking her straight in the eye, he pulled a knife from his boot.
“You don’t have the guts to shoot a man in cold blood, Cara. Now watch. I’m going to cut your man into little pieces.”
He brought the knife up high, intending to plunge it into Chase’s bleeding chest, but he never got the chance. Cara pulled the trigger.
Chase was resting on Miles’s bedroll. “You can take care of yourself, can’t you, schoolmarm?” he whispered.
Cara nodded solemnly.
“Remind me to be more respectful in the future.”
Cara, standing a little ways off, wanted to smile, but couldn’t. “You’ve killed men, haven’t you?”
Chase fought to keep from blacking out. She needed to talk. “In battle, yes.”
“He would have killed you, Case. I had to shoot.”
The emotion in her voice made Chase feel a new and different kind of pain. “I know, darlin’. Come here.”
She went to him, and with a gentle hand he tugged her down, then folded her into the crook of his arm.
“I killed a man,” she repeated numbly.
“You did it because you had no choice.”
“I took a man’s life.”
Chase thought a moment about how best to explain what Cara needed to hear. “Darlin’, sometimes you do what you have to. It isn’t easy, and it isn’t something you forget.” His eyes held hers in the flickering light of the campfire. “The sharpness of the memory will fade in time,” he continued in a low voice, “but you will carry it with you for the rest of your life.”
She looked back out at the horizon and saw the faint colors of dawn seeping into the heavens. She was filled with emotion—remorse over killing a man, relief that Chase was alive and the ordeal was over, and other feelings too jumbled to sort out at the moment. The overriding feeling, though, was one of quiet joy that she and Chase were alive. Alive!
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Like hell.” And he did. Miles had worked him over pretty good. There wasn’t an inch on his body that didn’t scream pain. He’d never be able to ride under his own power. “Sheriff Polk said he and the posse would be right behind me. We’ll have to wait for them. There’s no way I can ride.”
“Then we’ll wait. But if they aren’t here by later today, we’ll have to come up with something. You need a doctor.”
“Oh, I don’t know. The one I have here is pretty good.”
After dragging Miles’s dead body off Chase, Cara had rummaged through his pack for a clean shirt suitable for bandages. Using the knife with which Miles had planned to kill Chase, she’d cut the garment into strips. Cleaning Chase up had been impossible; he’d been covered with blood. It would have taken more water than they could afford to spare, so she concentrated on just his face, then wrapped the big gash on his head, repacked his shoulder bandage, and did what she could for the leg. In her opinion, it hadn’t been nearly enough.
“It’ll take more than a whipping from a two-bit gambler to put me in the ground, so don’t worry. We’ll make it.”
Cara had to admit he did feel less feverish to the touch. The bark tea he’d asked her to make seemed to be doing its job. She, too, had partaken of the bitter-tasting brew and could feel the stiffness in her limbs fading away.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No,” she replied softly. “Strangely enough, he was quite respectful, outside of tying me up and not feeding me. He did cuff me earlier this evening, but I’m fine.”
She sensed his returning anger and moved to soothe it. “Relax, Chase, he can’t hurt anyone else again.”
Cara got under the covers with him. Careful to avoid his injuries, she nestled as close as she could.
“That’s better.” He sighed. Cara thought so, too.
After a few moments of silence, Cara asked, “Does it bother you, being saved by your wife?”
Some men, no, a lot of men, would rather have their lives taken than be saved by a woman. Did he count himself in that group? she wondered.
He raised his fingers to stroke her very dirty cheek with a tenderness that made her feel newly clean.
“What you did for me tonight . . . I will never ever be able to repay. A woman who possesses such courage is looked upon highly by Dreamer’s cousins the Cheyenne, and by me. You have a heart of iron, Cara.”
Cara had tears in her eyes. “You’re very special, too, Chase Jefferson. Very special.” She leaned down to kiss him, savoring it because he was both alive and near, then she slowly pulled away. Chase hadn’t gotten enough, however. He eased her lips back to his, needing more of her vitality and warmth to melt away the anguish and fear that had ridden his soul since Miles dragged her into that buggy.
“Thank God I found you, schoolmarm,” she heard him whisper. His emotion-filled words set off a fresh run of tears, and she clung to him.
They released each other only long enough for Cara to reposition herself beneath the blankets. When she was once again cradled against his side, he leaned over and kissed her on the brow.“Dreamer’s invited us up to visit this summer. I’ll see if he can arrange some type of naming ceremony for you.”
Cara, in the midst of wiping away the remnants of her tears, asked, “What on earth for?”
“Because from here on in, schoolmarm, your Lakota name will be Heart of Iron.”
Cara didn’t know what to say. Tears seemed to be the only vocabulary at her disposal at the moment.
Her show of emotion moved him deeply. However, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease her.
“If you don’t ease up a bit on those tears, Dreamer and I are going to have to name you Heart of Rust.”
Had he not already been injured, she’d have retaliated with a punch. Instead, she kissed him softly. “I love you, Chase . . .”
“I love you, too, Cara Lee . . .”
The sheriff and his hastily gathered five-member posse arrived late afternoon the next day. After making sure Chase and Cara were all right, the lawman surveyed the scene. He knelt beside Miles’s blanket-covered corpse. He flipped back a corner and shook his head sadly.
Prefacing his request with an apology, Sheriff Polk asked Cara to tell him what had happened after Miles rode away from her house. She complied. But when she neared the end, she began to falter, and Chase related the rest.
If Cara’s part in Miles’ death surprised Polk, he didn’t let on. Instead, he instructed the other men to begin preparing for the ride back. Before they could agree on a safe way to transport Chase, Asa, driving a buckboard, came out of the high grass. On the seat beside him sat Sophie and Delbert.
Cara smiled at her beloved friends, then at her beloved husband. They were finally going home.
Chapter 18
Three weeks later, while Cara was inside cleaning up, Chase sat out on the big porch swing watching the sunset Here, where only the grass rustling in the breeze broke the silence, the evening had a different feel from the ones he experienced on the trail. He had spent more nights than he cared to remember huddled beside a fire, too exhausted to sleep, trying to make do with rations that were never enough. Most nights, especially after a forced march, were fraught with weariness, bad food, and short tempers. Now he’d had the experience of living with what folks termed “a good woman.” He relished this peace and solitude. Sleeping on the ground didn’t even come close to
the comfort and bliss offered by the big feather mattress upstairs. The smell of Cara’s biscuits in the morning, the cold lemonade she had a habit of bringing him just when he needed it most, the sounds of her humming, the taste of her lips, all added up to something he wanted to treasure for the rest of his days.
“You know, Sheriff Polk’s talking about retiring to his daughter’s place down in Mexico,” he called to Cara in the kitchen.
“Oh, really? I didn’t know he had a daughter.”
“Yeah, she’s married to some Spanish grandee down there.”
Cara dried her hands as she joined Chase on the porch. She sat on the swing and enjoyed the peace of the beautiful evening.
“You’ve been awfully quiet the last couple of days,” Chase observed. “Are you worried that we haven’t heard from Virginia’s lawyers?”
“No, times being the way they are, there’s probably some Black Code somewhere prohibiting what Virginia wanted done with her property. Sophie doubts I’ll see a cent, and I agree.”
“So nothing’s bothering you?” Chase asked.
“Nope, not a thing,” she lied.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
He continued to watch her as if trying to gauge the truth for himself. Under his scrutiny, her hands did a nervous little dance. She clamped them back down into her lap a bit too quickly before she looked away.
“Do the elders have someone in mind for the sheriff’s job?” She wanted this conversation to dwell on neutral ground only. Why in the world did she have to love this particular man? she wailed inwardly for what seemed like the thousandth time.
“Just a few,” Chase answered, watching her. “Some are more qualified than others.”
What was wrong with her? Chase wondered. All day she’d been as skittish as a horse tied up next to a hornet’s nest. Every time he came near her, she slid smoothly away. She always gave him an apologetic smile, but it was clear she was avoiding him. He took in her appearance in the fading light. Tendrils of hair had come undone during her chores. A few clung damply to her neck. Her blouse was wet and damp below her breasts where water had evidently splashed above the apron, and the top two buttons were undone. She looked hot and sultry from the July heat. Seeing her gave him an idea. She’d managed to stay one step ahead of him all day, but now he thought he had a plan that would most definitely slow her down.
“Tell you what . . .” He slid down the seat next to her. His positioning forced her to stay where she was. “I’ll fix you a nice hot bath.” His hands were slowly undoing the apron at her waist. The minute brushes of his fingers against the thin blouse covering her skin as he worked on the knot sent ripples of flame up and down her length. She knew he would be leaving her soon. She’d convinced herself that if he didn’t make love to her, maybe she could survive seeing him only now and then. But the heat of him made her want to feel him everywhere and she couldn’t protest. Yet she knew Chase; in his own subtle way he was trying to find out what she was feeling.
Chase didn’t think she stood a chance. It had been three weeks since the last time they’d made love. Their combined injuries had kept them apart. But now he felt the shudder rippling her skin when his finger brushed against her back.
The knot finally surrendered and he took an inordinate amount of time easing the apron from her body. She shuddered again and he smiled. She was a passionate woman; he sensed they shared an equal hunger.
Through the thin fabric of her blouse he could feel the lightweight camisole and the heat of her skin. His fingers began to trace the line of her waist. “You’re wet . . .”
“I . . . think I would like that bath,” she said, trying to steer him back to safer ground. Her breathing had begun an all-too-familiar cadence under the seemingly innocent stroking. How did he do it? He ran a bold knuckle over the smooth undercurve of one breast, and Cara’s insides seemed to buckle and weave.
He repeated the lazy gesture on the other breast.
“Chase, please . . .”
“I’ll get your bath in a moment, schoolmarm.”
He gently turned her so that her back pressed flat against the swing. “Sit there and watch the sunset. You’ve worked hard. Let me help you relax.”
When the sun finally died in a ball of red and orange fire, relaxing had to be the farthest thing from Cara’s mind. Her blouse was undone, her nipples were hard and tender, and her skirt was in scandalous disarray. She had no idea when or how her drawers had disappeared. She was conscious only of being deliciously naked under his intimate touch.
Her breasts came in for more delight as he eased down the camisole. One tug left her naked to the soft wind. His kisses soon followed. When he slowly withdrew, the air mixed with the moisture on her nipples to make them harden with need.
Hands followed by lips coursed over her skin both in and out of her clothing. Her nipples ached, her thighs burned with age-old fire, yet still he would not let her rise.
“Not yet . . .” he said in a low growl against her ear. His touches were working slow magic between her thighs. “I’ll let you up in a minute.”
His kisses then slid down between her legs. He moved her skirts aside. She inwardly crumbled when lightning tore through the tender bud of a shrine he worshipped at so beautifully. No matter how many times he loved her this way, the delicious wickedness always set her on the road to madness. Her hips always rose to the rhythm. Blazing heat always seemed to originate from his spark-tipped tongue. And the ending; oh, the glorious, glorious ending was always so powerfully explosive that she screamed his name. This time proved to be no different as he sucked, licked, and loved her over the edge.
Much later, in the silence of the darkened house, the big upright clock in the upstairs hallway chimed four. Dawn would come soon, but for now night still ruled. In their bedroom, the two lovers lay side by side. Happy. At peace.
“So, are you leaving?” she asked softly in the dark. She hoped her tone reflected the neutrality she was determined to maintain. He was not a man to be held by tears or pleading. And she had her pride.
Chase smiled in the darkness. His eyes were focused on the ceiling, but his being was focused on the woman who lay at his side.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“It isn’t a matter of what I want—and don’t answer my question with a question.”
“Well, suppose, Mrs. Jefferson, I told you I want nothing more than to be at your side.”
That got her attention. She turned to face him, and not even the dim light could mask the astonishment on her face. She was so overcome by his statement, she paid little attention to the sheet as it slid down. Her beautiful breasts and the flat trim lines of her waist and belly were bared to his eyes. His manhood rose to the call. Talking suddenly became a very low priority. He’d made love to her more than a few times tonight, and she, bless her wicked little soul, had reciprocated in kind. But it hadn’t been enough, not nearly enough. He wanted more.
Cara was still waiting for him to clarify his words, but instead of an answer, he treated her to the coaxing pads of his thumbs and fingers, over, under, and around the nipple of one breast. A giddy joy spread sharply at the teasing manipulation. For the moment, her mind closed to everything but the pleasure. “Stop,” she said raggedly, but didn’t pull away.
“Such adamant protest,” came his hot whisper, while his hand, moving now to the other nipple, slowly seduced. “Try again . . .” Raising up, Chase put his mouth to the sweet buds his hands had once again awakened and let his tongue feast on the spice there. She groaned in protest and delight. She arched to him, further aiding and abetting her own downfall. In a few more seconds, she knew she would be unable to muster defenses, nor would she even care to. Already she was succumbing to the wild magic his wanton sucking brought to the fore. He would sweep her away and she would love it if she didn’t stop herself now.
“Noooo . . .” she moaned softly, backing away. Her breath, coming in soft gasps, filled the silence. “N
ow stop it,” she warned.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t think when you do that.”
He accepted the compliment with sparkling eyes. “That’s the general idea, isn’t it?”
Cara had as much trouble smothering her smile as she did controlling her pounding pulses.
“Now, you were saying?” she prompted. She was still prey to his eyes, his humor, and her own desire to make love to him again.
“Very well,” he replied in mock defeat, “we’ll talk.” He wanted to get this talking business completed as soon as possible. “Then we ‘talk’ my way, understood?”
“Understood.”
“Gladly?” he dared to ask.
“Hotly,” she threw back boldly.
He grinned.
When he finished speaking, Cara was so outdone she hit him in the chest with a pillow. He’d not anticipated the fairly forceful blow, and the thud against his chest elicited a muffled groan. Before she could strike him again, he pulled the weapon away, but the emotion in her face could not be denied.
“You knew all along you were staying?” she asked and accused in the same phrase. “You let me mope around all week, knowing you had the answer to my mood. You’re rotten, Chase Jefferson, rotten as buffalo meat left in the sun. I’ll never forgive you. Never!”
“Never is a long time, schoolmarm.”
“Don’t tease with me. How dare you let everybody in town know about you being the new sheriff and not tell me! Didn’t you think I wanted to know?”
“It was going to be a surprise.”
“Some surprise,” she summed up. All this time she’d been agonizing because she thought he would be leaving soon. Her heart had ached miserably with the prospect of seeing him only three or four times a year. Yet he’d known he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Well, then you probably don’t want to hear the question I was going to ask next.”
Her stiff profile answered, but he was undaunted. He slid over to where she lay. Once behind her, he pulled the sheet back over them, then gently parted the unbraided length of her dark, heavy hair and helped himself to a warm triangle of naked neck.
