Shoving himself upright, he stalked outside. Some nights the barn walls closed in on him and reminded him of the stockade, and he had to get out to breathe in the fresh air and reassure himself that he was no longer a prisoner. However, nights like these it wasn’t the walls that imprisoned him, but his own shame.
Restless, he walked across the yard, heedless of his bare feet. Seeing a dim light in the side window, he went to it and peeked inside.
His heart skipped a beat then thundered in his ears.
Dulcie lay on the bed, her gown hiked up to her thighs and one hand half hidden beneath it. Her other hand played with her breasts, and her nipples were visibly outlined under the thin cloth. Her head was thrown back and her long red hair fanned across the pillow. With her eyes closed and lips slightly parted, she looked like she was lost in the bliss of her own touch.
Rye had never seen a woman pleasure herself and it was a beautiful sight. It was also sexy as hell. All the blood in his body raced to his groin, making him dizzy with lust.
Dulcie’s soft cry and her flushed face and neck told him she’d found her release.
He stumbled back, away from the window. His erection pressed painfully against his trousers. One touch and he knew he’d be lost.
Awkwardly, he made his way back to the barn and unbuttoned his pants. Even his shame couldn’t stop him this time.
AS Dulcie worked in the garden the following morning, she wiped her perspiring brow. It had cooled little overnight and was already hot and muggy. The heavy air even made the insects seem to hover slower as they buzzed in swarms, occasionally landing on Dulcie’s sweat-dampened face or arms.
She paused to take a break from pulling the stubborn weeds. Her gaze automatically went to Madeline, who was smart enough to play with Aggie under the shading branches of the apple tree. She was soothed by her daughter’s faint singsong voice.
Turning, she sought Rye, who continued to work on the porch. She wondered if he was as miserable as she was in the stagnant heat. Working in the relative shade, he’d removed his hat but, she thought with a guilty sense of disappointment, his shirt remained in place.
Like a lightning bolt, yesterday’s memory of the fire in his eyes and the way his gaze lingered on her lips struck her. She knew too well what that look meant. The low burn in her belly had been on the verge of becoming a conflagration. That ember, if sparked to life, would’ve burned her as surely as if she’d held her hand in a hot flame.
Despite the whiskey she’d drunk last night before going to bed, she hadn’t been able to resist her body’s traitorous desire. She’d imagined it was Rye lying with her, and it was his name she’d nearly cried out when she’d reached her climax. Even now, under the relentless sun, she felt the resonance of Rye’s illusory touches.
Rye stepped off the porch and ambled to the well, and Dulcie was suddenly aware of her own parched throat. Despite every warning she gave herself, she rose and joined him.
Rye finished drinking from the ladle and dipped it into the pail, then offered it to Dulcie. She accepted it silently, her eyes meeting his over the ladle’s rim as she drank from the same place his lips had touched.
Rye quickly looked away, as if embarrassed. “Hot work in the garden.”
She dropped the dipper back in the pail and it hit the water with a muffled splash. “Has to be done.”
“Maybe wait until this evening. Should be cooler then.”
“I’ve got other chores to do then.” She lifted her gaze to the unbroken blue sky. “Doesn’t look like it’ll cool off much anyhow.”
He nodded in agreement.
Awkward in his silence, Dulcie rambled on. “It even smells hot. A person could almost wring water out of the thick air. The only thing that’ll break it is a storm.”
“Seen the same in Kansas and the Dakotas.”
Curiosity stirred her, and she phrased her question as a statement. “You’ve done some traveling.”
He averted his gaze. “Some.”
She frowned, knowing he was holding something back. It bothered her, set her on edge, but what right did she have to know all his secrets? It wasn’t as if she was going to confide hers. One thing she’d learned was that everyone had secrets, whether they realized it or not. And some of those were dirty little secrets, like festering wounds that had no place in the open.
“Madeline seems to be enjoying herself,” Rye said.
“She likes being out. I just wish she had a playmate. It gets lonely out here.”
Although her attention was on Madeline, she felt the power of his gaze on her. “For you, too.”
The impact of his words coupled with his husky tone rolled through her, leaving a trill of arousal in its wake. Angered by both his inference and her body’s reaction, she glared at him. “I don’t have time to be lonely. And even if I was, there’s nothing that says I have to give in to companionship.” She spoke the last word with cool disdain.
He grinned with wry amusement. “Never said anything about companionship. Only that without another woman to talk to, you probably get lonely. I know most women like to visit with other womenfolk.”
Dulcie’s cheeks burned with chagrin. She’d been reading her own frustration into his innocent words. “Sometimes I do miss that,” she murmured.
Keeping her mortified gaze averted, she headed back to her garden. Toiling in the dirt beneath a hot sun was infinitely preferable to dueling with her body’s response to Rye.
Dividing her attention between him and watching Madeline, Dulcie continued removing the ripe vegetables from the garden. Although she didn’t think her daughter would get into trouble around the yard, she didn’t trust her to stay within the confines. There’d already been times when Madeline had disappeared and Dulcie had searched frantically for her. Each time she’d found her daughter, or Madeline had found her. However, Dulcie couldn’t rely on luck indefinitely. That was one reason she wished she had womenfolk living nearer—mothers tended to look out for each other’s children.
After eating, Dulcie had Madeline lie down for a nap. The girl whined and argued, but within a couple of minutes she was fast asleep on the bed, which was cooler than her regular bed in the loft.
Dulcie carried two pails outside to get some water from the well. The approaching ashy gray clouds caught her attention. Although she’d expected rain to break the heat, uneasiness trembled through her.
“Your root cellar have room for you and Madeline?” Rye asked behind her.
She spun around, startled.
“Sorry,” Rye said. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Need water?”
She nodded, and he took the buckets from her and lowered one into the well.
Dulcie mentally shook herself. “Yes. There’s room in there for you, too.”
Rye flashed a smile as he drew the pail up. “We might need it.”
“What about the animals?”
“Is there room for them, too?”
Her first reaction was irritation then she realized he was only teasing her. It’d been a long time since she’d been teased good-naturedly.
Rye lowered the second pail into the well. “Better if they stay in the pasture,” he replied. “If the barn came down with them in it, they wouldn’t have a chance.”
A sweltering breeze sighed across her face, yet Dulcie felt a chill creep down her spine. Almost against her will her attention was again drawn to the northwest.
Rye lifted the second filled pail off the hook and carried both to the porch. Dulcie shook herself free of the lethargy the weather conjured and followed him, refusing to let her gaze fall below his waist.
“Don’t stray far from the house this afternoon,” he said.
“I won’t.” She took the pails from him and went back into the house.
Inside, she filled a large kettle with water and placed it on the stove to cook some of the vegetables for supper. Despite the coming storm, Dulcie had to take care of the produce she’d picked that morning and the day before. If she
put the chore off any longer, she’d lose some of her precious foodstuffs.
Dulcie checked on her daughter, who continued to sleep restlessly in the oppressive heat. Then, although reluctant to begin the time-consuming task, she rolled up her shirt-sleeves.
The front and back doors were open as she sorted the vegetables, but the outside air that moved through the small cabin did nothing to cool it. Dulcie’s hair curled and stuck to her sweaty face. Sometime later she carried the root vegetables to the root cellar, which smelled of rotting potatoes even though she’d cleaned them out the previous month. She left the sacks in the relative coolness.
As she returned to the cabin, she noticed the ladder leaning against the side of the house. She tipped her head back to see Rye repairing the roof, his back to her. How he could bear the heat up there she didn’t know. Although since the clouds now hid the sun, he didn’t have the direct rays bearing down on him.
He moved with an economy of motion, his shoulders rippling beneath his sweat-stained shirt. He muttered a colorful oath and she stifled a smile. Then he turned and spotted her. His face, already flushed from the heat, reddened even more.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Dulcie, I didn’t know you were there,” he said.
She waved an appeasing hand. “Believe me, I’ve heard worse. Are you sure you should be up there already?”
He smiled crookedly. “Didn’t feel dizzy yesterday so figured I was safe.”
She hoped he wasn’t merely trying to placate her. She didn’t want him taking another dive off the roof because he had too much pride. But she also knew whatever she said might be misconstrued or flat-out ignored. That was the way of men.
Forked lightning slashed through the clouds, and she mentally counted the seconds until the thunder vibrated around them. It wasn’t loud enough to wake Madeline yet. “It’s about twelve, fifteen miles away,” she said.
“But it looks like it’s coming in fast.” He quickly gathered his tools. “Look out, Dulcie. I’m tossing some things down.”
She stepped under the porch eave. Once the tools were lying on the ground, Rye’s feet and legs came into view on the ladder. Dulcie knew it wasn’t proper, but she couldn’t draw her gaze away from the long, muscular legs as he climbed down the rungs. When his thighs came into view, she lingered on his groin, noting with an increased pulse the slight bulge behind his button fly. Her mouth grew dry as passion whirled through her, like a sudden gust of wind catching a leaf in its current.
She caught herself a moment before he descended completely. Her face burned, but with shame or carnal desire, she wasn’t certain, which made it even more difficult to bear. The wind picked up, feeling like hot fingers tracing her face.
“Can you help me get this stuff to the barn?” Rye asked.
Unable to trust her voice, she nodded and gathered what she could in her arms. Rye hefted the ladder. They deposited the things in the barn and went back out into the yard. Although no rain fell yet, the smell of a coming shower permeated the air.
More lightning streaked across the dark sky and there were fewer seconds before the thunder rumbled. Rye was right—the storm was traveling quickly.
“I’d better get inside. Madeline is scared of thunder,” Dulcie said.
Rye gave her shoulder a gentle push. “Go on. I can get the rest.”
She nodded and ran into the cabin, crossing to the bedroom to check on Madeline. The room was empty. Dulcie’s heart slid into her throat and she dropped to her knees to check under the bed, but only dust balls greeted her. She climbed the loft ladder, her palms damp and her breath rough. Madeline wasn’t up there either.
Dulcie would’ve seen her leave through the front door, which meant she’d gone out the back. She dashed out the back door and hollered, “Madeline. Madeline, honey, where are you?”
No answer.
“Madeline!”
EIGHT
THE clouds grew more ominous, more black than gray, with an odd tinge of greenish yellow as Rye carried the last load of tools to the barn. A worried frown tugged at his lips. Usually clouds like this heralded more than rain, thunder, and lightning.
As he started out to the pasture to check on the animals, he heard Dulcie’s frantic shout for Madeline. His blood turned icy and he ducked through the corral poles. He raced around to the back of the cabin, skidding to a stop at Dulcie’s fear-filled face.
“What’s wrong? Where’s Madeline?” he demanded.
She stared at him as if he were a stranger. He grabbed her arms and forced her to focus on him. “Did something happen to Madeline?”
“I-I d-don’t know,” she stuttered, her eyes wide. “When I-I went to check on her, she was g-gone.”
Rye forced his own fear aside and kept his expression steady. “When did you last see her?”
Dulcie seemed to take strength from him, and she straightened, pulling her shoulders back. “Right before I took the vegetables to the root cellar. She was sleeping. When I came back in, she was gone.”
“You searched the cabin?”
She nodded, her lips thinning as characteristic impatience returned. “Of course. She’s not there.”
Rye’s mind raced. “You were only gone about five minutes. She couldn’t have gone far. Does she have any favorite places to hide?”
He could see Dulcie’s thoughts clicking, returning to the problem rather than giving in to her fear. “There’s a few.” Thunder clapped, and Dulcie’s salvaged composure faltered. She latched onto Rye’s forearms, her fingernails digging into his skin. “We have to find her.”
“We’ll find her,” he reassured her with more confidence than he possessed. “We can split up and check her hiding places. Where are they?”
She shook her head. “It’ll be faster if we go together. Come on.”
Dulcie took the lead just as the first raindrop struck him. Rye was hard-pressed to keep up with her. Maybe it was the breeches she wore or maybe the terror of her lost child, but he’d never seen a woman move so quickly.
They stopped near a stream some hundred yards from the cabin. Rye scanned the area, looking for any sign the girl might have been there. He met Dulcie’s expectant gaze and shook his head. She pressed her lips together and continued to the next place, a small clearing with rocks that became chairs in a child’s imagination.
“This is her favorite place,” Dulcie said between pants.
Raindrops rattled the leaves above them and plopped dully on the ground.
Rye moved in a small circle, looking around. “She’s not here. Where else?” he asked, keeping his voice calm and firm.
Rye couldn’t tell if the moisture on her cheeks was from tears or the rain. “There’s only one other place I can think of.”
“Let’s go.”
By the time they arrived beside a small pond, he and Dulcie were drenched. There was no sign of the little girl.
A flash of motion caught Rye’s attention. “Madeline!”
He plunged into the brush after her with Dulcie close behindhim. Although the ground was slick with mud, Rye caught up to the slight figure. As soon as he was close enough to see clearly he knew it wasn’t Dulcie’s daughter. He caught the back of the boy’s overalls.
“Collie,” Rye said, trying to evade the kid’s thrashing limbs. “Take it easy. No one’s going to hurt you.”
The boy quieted, but Rye continued to hold him. Collie glared at him, defiance in his tilted chin. “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”
“What’re you doing out here?”
“Didn’t know a storm was comin’.”
“We’re looking for Mrs. McDaniel’s little girl. Have you seen her?”
Collie’s gaze darted to Dulcie, who stood behind Rye. “I ain’t seen her, but I can help look for her.”
“You should get home,” Dulcie spoke to the boy.
“Nah. They ain’t gonna miss me. I know some hiding places she mighta got to.”
Rye turned to Dulcie, silently asking if they should al
low him to help. But she looked away without giving any indication of her thoughts. Puzzled, Rye gave his attention to Collie again. “All right. You lead.”
The boy tore away and Rye and Dulcie followed. For the next five minutes they checked two more places, but there was no sign of Madeline. The rain fell heavily now, and the rapidly cooling air made Rye shiver when he’d been sweating less than half an hour ago. He wondered how Collie was doing with his bare feet, then remembered Madeline would be barefooted, too, and wearing only a threadbare dress.
Collie came to a halt, and Rye stopped. Dulcie brushed against Rye’s arm as she stood beside him.
“Where could she be?” Dulcie asked, desperation edging her voice. She’d forgotten her hat, and her hair had come loose from its band and straggly tendrils stuck to her face.
Collie scowled and his brow furrowed. “There’s another place—”
Before Rye could ask, Collie trotted off, and Rye had no choice but to follow. They’d only gone a hundred feet when Collie veered off the path. Rye squinted through the rain and grayness to see an overhang on the rocky slope that seemed to be the boy’s destination. His boot soles slipped on the slick gravel as he scrambled after Collie.
A few moments later he drew up short at the sight that greeted him. Madeline, soaked and miserable, was hunched over and Collie was standing beside her, awkwardly patting her shaking shoulders.
“Madeline,” Dulcie cried and pushed past Rye.
Collie, appearing relieved to have Dulcie take over the comforting, shifted to stand beside Rye. Dulcie gathered her daughter in her arms. Rye felt the urge to join them, to wrap his arms around them at his own relief. Instead, he put an arm around Collie’s thin shoulders. The boy shivered, and Rye pulled him close against his side, hoping to share some of his warmth.
Thunder’s percussion vibrated through Rye. Balls of ice began to mix with the rain, striking Rye’s hat and shoulders like pebbles flung at him.
Swearing silently, Rye pressed Collie under the scant overhang with Dulcie and Madeline. “Duck down and cover your heads,” he shouted above the storm’s rising din.
A Reason to Believe Page 9
