by Connie Mason
Dawn opened her eyes, felt hard male flesh bearing her down onto the mattress and screamed. “Damn you, Billy! It’s not my fault. Go back to your whores. Let them satisfy you. The pain … The pain …”
“It’s Cole, Dawn. You’re having a nightmare.”
Suddenly Dawn went limp beneath Cole’s weight. “Cole? What are you doing?” She tried to dislodge him. “Get off me!”
“I’m trying to keep you from hurting yourself. You were having a nightmare. Are you all right now?”
“I … yes, please get off me … Oh, God, it hurts.”
Cole lifted his weight from her, struck a match to the lamp and settled down beside her on the bed. “Does your back hurt?”
Dawn stared at him. “How did you know?”
“It’s obvious from the way you’ve been carrying yourself that you’re hurt. Lie on your stomach. I’ll get the ointment.”
“No, please, just leave me alone.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”
“It isn’t proper.”
Anger suffused Cole’s rugged features. “How can you think about proper after all you’ve endured? Was it proper for Cobb and his cohorts to rape you? Was it proper for Cobb to beat you?”
“But Billy didn’t—”
“Just turn around, Dawn, and don’t try to deny what’s obvious. Don’t you think I’ve got eyes?”
Dawn shouldn’t have been surprised that Cole believed Billy had used her sexually. She’d been his wife. Billy had had every right to use her. She was the only one who knew the truth. Billy hadn’t been able to function as a man with her. He’d blamed her for his failure to please him, accusing her of being cold and ugly, but she’d learned the truth one day when he’d gotten drunk and told her about his injury. He’d paid whores to pleasure him in other ways, ways that sickened Dawn when he bragged about them. But no amount of beatings could induce her to duplicate those wicked things.
Cole returned with the jar of ointment, saw that Dawn hadn’t moved from her back and gently turned her over. “I’m going to raise your nightgown. I’ll try to be gentle.”
Dawn heard the sudden intake of Cole’s breath and could well imagine what her back looked like. Billy hadn’t spared her this time. He’d been drunk and demanded sex when he had returned to the cabin after a month’s absence. But nothing had changed. He hadn’t been able to perform and took his frustration out on her.
She felt Cole’s hands on her flesh. Gentle. So gentle she wanted to cry. The warmth of his fingertips spread over her and through her like tongues of pure flame. Healing. The heat settled in the pit of her stomach and lower. She’d never felt like this before. It frightened her beyond reason. She moaned and arched into his touch as his fingers massaged ointment lower, onto her bruised buttocks.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No. It … it feels good.”
“So do you,” Cole muttered beneath his breath.
He swallowed the groan rising in the back of his throat and cursed his body’s reaction. He had hardened the instant he’d touched her silken flesh. Beneath the bruises and welts her golden skin was smooth and supple. Her body was thin but shapely. He recalled how she’d looked poised on the bank of the river, reaching up to the moon, her nude body and perfect breasts a feast for his hungry eyes. He’d seen women more shapely and beautiful. Morning Mist came to mind. But something about Dawn captured his senses. She called forth all his protective instincts.
His hands moved slowly over her bottom, spreading ointment and warmth with them. The taut mounds flexed beneath his touch, and he had the crazy urge to bend down and kiss away her hurt. With regret he set aside the ointment and pulled down her nightgown. If he touched her a moment longer he’d be tempted to do more. “There, is that better?”
“Much better,” Dawn said, rolling over onto her back. She couldn’t look him in the eye. Allowing this particular man to look upon her ugliness made her sad, and she didn’t know why.
Billy had delighted in goading her about her ugly dark skin and unattractive body. He ruthlessly called her a bag of bones, letting her know how lucky she was to have him. She’d tried to ignore his insults, but after a time she’d come to believe she truly was homely and unlovable. Not even her father had loved her.
“Get some sleep, Dawn. We’ll leave for town after breakfast tomorrow.”
Cole lay awake until he was sure Dawn had fallen asleep. Then he closed his eyes and drifted off. In that brief moment before sleep claimed him, he was shocked to realize that his fingers still tingled from touching her sweet flesh.
After breakfast the next morning Cole boosted Duke Riley onto Old Betsy’s back and waited for Dawn to come out of the cabin. She had tried to convince him to leave her behind, but Cole wouldn’t hear of it. It occurred to Cole that Dawn was unnaturally reluctant to go to town, and he blamed Cobb for her lack of confidence. If Dawn was to make her own way in the world after he left, she had to learn how to mingle with people. Taking her into Dodge was a start.
She finally appeared in the doorway. Cole was pleased to note that she wasn’t walking as stiffly as before and assumed the ointment had done its job. He helped her to mount and they rode off. Duke complained bitterly the entire time it took to reach Dodge. Riding the mule, his hands tied to the saddle horn, he swore so long and so loudly that Cole had to stuff a gag in his mouth. Cole had checked Duke’s wound just this morning and was pleased to note that it showed no sign of infection. Two men had been killed during the train robbery, and Cole wanted Duke to live long enough to hang for his crimes.
The closer they got to Dodge, the more nervous Dawn grew. Isolated as she’d been at the cabin, she’d never cared about her appearance, but being among people changed everything. She looked like a ragamuffin dressed in Billy’s cast-off clothing. The fact that she’d been married to an outlaw wasn’t going to endear her to anyone, she realized. The only way she could make a new life for herself was to go where no one knew her. And that took money.
The jailhouse was the first stop for the three dusty riders.
“So you got another one,” Sheriff Tayler said as he met them at the door.
“So it seems,” Cole said dryly. “This one needs a doctor. He’s Duke Riley, a member of Cobb’s gang. Showed up at the cabin looking for the money. That’s two down and two to go.”
Tayler untied Duke, locked him in a cell and sent his deputy for the doctor. Then he rummaged through his Wanted posters and found one for Duke Riley.
“There’s a two-hundred-dollar reward for Riley. The five hundred for Cobb hasn’t arrived yet, so I’ll just add this to it. The money to cover both rewards should arrive on the next mail train.”
“Give it to Cobb’s widow,” Cole said, indicating Dawn, who had tried to blend into the woodwork while Cole conducted his business.
Dawn hadn’t escaped Tayler’s notice. He couldn’t help wondering why she avoided looking at him. He admitted to being damn curious about the identity of the skinny woman wearing cast-off men’s duds sizes too big for her but decided to bide his time. But the shock of learning that Billy Cobb had had a wife was clearly evident in his incredulous expression.
“Cobb was married? Well, I’ll be damned.” He tipped his hat. “Howdy, Mrs. Cobb.”
Dawn raised her head slightly, her eyes wary as she nodded to Tayler. “Please call me Dawn. I don’t care to be identified with Billy Cobb.”
If Tayler was shocked by the livid bruises on Dawn’s face he didn’t show it. “Can’t say as I blame you. Cole says the reward money is to go to you. I’ll see that you get it.”
Dawn said nothing, but inside she was fuming. Damn Cole Webster for assuming she’d take his charity! She had money, plenty of it, if he’d just go away so she could claim it.
“Have you recovered the train loot yet?” the sheriff asked.
“No, but I will,” Cole said fiercely. “I’ve never failed yet. I might have to dig up the whole damn yard but I’ll find it. If you have no furth
er need of us, Sheriff, Dawn and I have business to conduct.”
“What business do we have in town?” Dawn asked as they rode away from the jailhouse.
“First off we’re going to visit the general store and buy you something decent to wear.”
Dawn reined in sharply. “I don’t want your charity.”
“It’s not charity. When I killed Cobb I cut off your only means of support. It’s no more than right that I make amends. Buying you a few new duds isn’t going to beggar me. Later you’ll have the reward money, but unfortunately it won’t last forever.”
Dawn’s blue eyes flashed with resentment. “That’s another thing. I won’t accept the reward, it’s yours.”
Cole grinned. “You sure are one stubborn woman.” He grasped her reins and took off down the street. Dawn’s mount followed obediently behind him. Its rider was not so docile.
Cole dismounted in front of Cartwright’s General Store, swung Dawn from the saddle despite her protests and tethered their horses to the hitching post. Dawn balked when Cole took her hand and led her through the door but finally acquiesced when she saw people staring at them. The last thing she wanted was to bring attention to herself.
“Can I help you, mister?”
Cole smiled at the proprietor, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a potbelly. “Are you Mr. Cartwright?”
The proprietor’s chest expanded proudly. “That I am. What do you need?”
Cole pulled Dawn out from behind him. “New clothes for the lady. From the inside out. And boots. Everything she might need.”
Cartwright peered owlishly at Dawn, adjusting his spectacles to make sure he was seeing right. “She’s a half-breed, ain’t she?”
Dawn stiffened, but Cole seemed unperturbed. He gave Cartwright a daunting look. “That’s right. So what? Are you refusing my money?”
“Joseph Cartwright! You have no right acting like a self-righteous prude. Go about your business, I’ll take care of things here.”
Cartwright skulked off, obviously intimidated by his forceful wife.
“I’m Lucinda Cartwright. You’ll have to excuse my husband, he can be a mite thick-headed at times.” A round little woman with rosy cheeks and a sweet smile, Lucinda Cartwright was a staunch advocate of women’s rights. Be they red, white or black, Lucinda believed that all women deserved consideration from the opposite sex. And the right to vote.
“Now then, I believe you said you’d like your wife outfitted properly,” Lucinda said, sizing Dawn up with a practiced eye. “She’s a mite skinny, but I’m right handy with a needle. I can alter anything that doesn’t fit.”
Startled to hear herself referred to as Cole’s wife, Dawn raised her head and looked Lucinda in the eye. “I’m not his wife.”
Lucinda saw the yellowing bruises marring Dawn’s pale cheeks and gave Cole a look that would have slain lesser men. “Oh, my, you poor child. What happened to you?”
“I fell,” Dawn said before Cole could form a reply.
“Of course you did,” Lucinda said, sending Cole another lethal glance. “Come with me, child. We’ll find you something pretty to wear.”
“She’s to have a complete outfit from the skin out,” Cole said. “Nothing fancy. And a spare of everything. And boots and shoes. Better throw in a warm wrap, too. Winter’s coming on. Add anything else you think she’ll need. Oh, if you have any of those split riding skirts, she’d probably appreciate one of those.”
Lucinda nodded, her face still grim. She blamed Cole for Dawn’s bruises and was hanging on to her temper by a slim thread. This was the kind of abuse she abhorred. If she could, she’d take a horsewhip to every man who beat his woman.
“I’ll return in a couple of hours. Is that enough time?”
Lucinda nodded jerkily and directed Dawn toward the women’s section of the store.
Two hours later Cole returned to the store. Lucinda Cartwright met him at the door, her face mottled with rage. “You animal! You pig! How dare you beat that poor child? Did you think I wouldn’t see her back? She’s a mass of bruises. I have a good notion to take a horsewhip to you.”
“Hold on a darn minute, lady. I didn’t touch Dawn. I’ve never beaten a woman in my life. Her husband did that to her.”
“Then it’s her husband I’d like to horsewhip. I hope she’s not going back to him.”
“Her husband is dead.”
Lucinda gave him a speculative glance. “Did you kill him?”
“I did.”
“Good riddance. Dawn will be out in a minute. She’s so thin I had to take in nearly everything she selected. Once she puts a little meat on her bones she can let out the seams.”
Suddenly Cole’s gaze shifted past the rotund Lucinda to where Dawn had just emerged from behind a curtain. His breath caught in his throat. He’d suspected that Dawn was lovely but he hadn’t realized just how lovely. Her slimness was eased by the fullness of her breasts. She wore a split riding skirt of butter-soft doeskin that hugged her hips and flared around her ankles. Her blouse was made of practical cotton in a blue color that matched her eyes. Cole could tell by the way the material hugged the curves of her breasts that she wore no corset. Senseless objects, actually, but many women set store by them. On Dawn, a corset would have been as useless as tits on a boar.
Dawn’s hair had been combed back from her face and tied in place with a blue ribbon. Her golden skin and exotically tilted blue eyes utterly captivated Cole. He couldn’t help staring. He knew then that he wanted her.
“She looks lovely, doesn’t she?” Lucinda said admiringly. “I’ve wrapped her other purchases and tied them with string so they can be attached to your saddle.”
After Cole settled the bill, Dawn bade the kindly Lucinda good-bye and followed Cole from the store. She was troubled by the way Cole had stared at her. Had her new finery changed her so much? She was astute enough to realize that Cole wanted her. His hunger was clearly visible in the volatile depths of his green eyes.
Chapter Four
Conversation was sparse during the ride back to the cabin. Cole was having difficulty adjusting to feelings he didn’t understand and liked even less. Pity and compassion he could deal with. But another emotion that had nothing to do with pity was plaguing him and it made him uncomfortable.
Dawn’s thoughts paralleled Cole’s. In the general store Cole had looked upon her with desire. She’d seen desire in the gazes of Billy’s cohorts and had learned to fear it. Yet she didn’t fear Cole. He’d been nothing but kind and thoughtful to her, considering how she’d lied to him about the train robbery money. Dawn knew she was no beauty. She was skinny, her skin was golden instead of milk white, her mouth was too wide, and her eyes tilted at the outer corners. She looked foreign and exotic, certainly not beautiful.
Dawn glanced covertly at Cole, admiring his tall form and easy grace in the saddle. Though his hat covered most of his mahogany-colored hair, she recalled how it turned to flame beneath the relentless prairie sun. His skin was tanned, but she suspected that, like most White men, it was pale in places the sun didn’t touch.
“The cabin is just beyond those trees,” Cole said, breaking into her reverie. “Unless you tell me where the money is hidden, I reckon I’ll start digging again.”
Dawn bit her lower lip in consternation. How could she let him take the money when she needed it so desperately? How can you keep it when it doesn’t belong to you? her conscience challenged.
They came out of the trees into the clearing. The cabin sat basking in the midday sun, serene and peaceful. Suddenly Cole pulled up sharply; Dawn reined in beside him.
“What is it?” Did Cole sense something she didn’t? she wondered.
“I don’t know. Instinct tells me something is wrong. Take cover in the woods. I’m riding in. Don’t leave until I tell you it’s safe.”
Cole rode toward the cabin. Everything seemed just as they had left it, but the jangling of Cole’s nerves told him otherwise. Living with Indians had taught hi
m many things. One was to follow his intuition; it rarely failed him. He dismounted several yards from the cabin, tethered Warrior to a post and paused near the shed to study the situation. He heard nothing out of the ordinary. Saw nothing amiss. Cautiously he crept toward the cabin and kicked open the door.
The cabin was empty. Cole felt a rush of relief, but it was short-lived. His gut still hurt and the hair prickled at the back of his neck. Maybe he was getting old, he thought, spinning around and directing his gaze to the yard and beyond. He stood in the doorway, alert, his narrow-eyed gaze skimming the surrounding area. He saw an arm and head poke out from behind the shed a second too late. He drew his gun and crouched slightly to the left. It saved his life. Had he been standing, the bullet would have entered his heart. Instead, it struck his left shoulder and exited his back, lodging in the doorjamb behind him.
Cole staggered, regained his balance and remained on his feet through sheer will. Seconds later the gunman recklessly exposed himself, expecting to see Cole laid low by his bullet. Cole was ready. Raising his gun, he aimed and fired. Cole’s aim wavered slightly, but his bullet hit solid flesh and bone. The man gave a yelp of pain and ducked back behind the shed. Cole heard the gunman galloping away just as he began a slow spiral to the ground.
Dawn had heard the first shot and watched in growing horror as Cole’s body jerked and he struggled to remain upright. She had no idea how he found the strength to aim and shoot, but it appeared that he had wounded his attacker. Suddenly Dawn saw a man on horseback burst from behind the shed and beat a path toward her. She had the presence of mind to remain hidden as the man pounded hell for leather past her. He was bent low over the saddle, a bright blossom of blood staining his shirt, but she recognized him instantly as he thundered by. It was Sam Pickens, a member of Billy’s gang.
She didn’t give Sam a second glance as she broke her cover and rode toward the cabin. She slid from the horse before he came to a full stop and dropped to her knees beside Cole.
