A Corner of Heaven

by Raine Cantrell

“My efforts to charm you are poor indeed if you’re thinking about food.”

  “Oh, no. You mustn’t believe that.” She made an effort to keep her tone as light and teasing as his. “I’m thoroughly charmed. If you dare to charm me any further, Colonel, I shall expire at your feet.”

  “The idea,” he remarked with a decided drawl, “has possibilities.” He offered a considering look that swept her from tangled curls to bare toes.

  The silly banter stopped abruptly. Colter’s eyes burned as they held hers in thrall. Languorous memory seemed to glaze her eyes and he was stabbed by an agony of need. The curve of her lush lips, the heightened color of her skin, the hint of a smile, the sudden shudder of a released breath all claimed, I yield.

  “Colter, I beg you, don’t,” she implored, frantic to break the web of sexual tension stretching between them.

  He turned away. “If you’ll put on dry slippers, we’ll join the others.”

  Elizabeth hurried, for his sake and her own. But as they were about to leave the parlor, Colter stopped.

  “I’ve meant to ask, why do you sleep down here, apart from everyone?”

  “It’s private.”

  “Were you planning some entertainment that would disturb their sleep?”

  The keenly honed edge in his voice forced her to look at him. “I sometimes have nightmares and wake Nicole.”

  “Nightmares?” he repeated softly, almost too softly. He caught her hand with his, raising it to his lips. “Someday, Elizabeth, you must decide to tell me about them.” Using the thumb of his free hand, he brushed lightly at the skin beneath her eyes. “And when that someday comes, little fox, the only shadows that will bruise these eyes will come from spending a night being so loved that rest is denied to you.”

  His tenderness was balm to her conscience. She nodded, unwilling to explain that dreams of him had replaced the nightmares, allowing her peace, until Nicole had seen the man lurking nearby. She remembered her promise that she would tell Colter about him, but not now.

  The hours flew quickly. Nicole, behaving like a frisky puppy, claimed Colter’s lap, insisting he play the wooden whistle he had given her. Taking up the hand-carved instrument embellished with flowers, he explained that many of the soldiers whittled to pass the long hours. Nicole refused her bedtime with his support, her tiny arms locked around his neck, her head nestled on his broad shoulder. There she finally slept.

  Elizabeth was touched by a flicker of envy. It shamed her to admit that she wanted to steal their child’s position for herself. She smiled at him, silently offering thanks for his generous sharing with Nicole. All too soon, Rutha was lifting the child to carry her up to bed, and Colter rose. It was time for him to leave.

  “One last thing before I leave you, Elizabeth. Josh told me what happened with Nicole. I confess, I am at fault for not telling you that he’s my man. I couldn’t rest easy without knowing there was someone here that could protect you both.”

  She couldn’t be angry. He meant well, but the fright she had suffered had left its mark. Emily quietly retired after bidding him a safe journey, Josh left to fetch Colter’s horse, and they were once again alone. She smoothed the tiered cape of his greatcoat, needing to touch him until the last bitter minute.

  “Josh,” Colter continued briskly, “has already made a place in the hayloft for my man to keep him out of the elements, but within good watching distance. Allow me this, Elizabeth, for it offers peace of mind.”

  “As you wish,” she returned, knowing she would promise him anything he asked for right now.

  “And you, little fox,” he murmured, caressing her hair with a swift bold stroke, “keep yourself and our child safe and warm.” He pulled on his gauntlets and took his hat from her, bending to kiss her with a fierce intensity. With her whisper for him to keep safe and warm, as well, Colter left.

  He rode out in the icy rain, refusing to dwell on parting, keeping the few hours of peace as a talisman against the coming days.

  Hugh Morgan also rode out from Richmond, heading toward their planned rendezvous, but with a despair that caused him no end of anguish.

  Jenna was not safely ensconced in their hotel room. No one remembered seeing her since the morning, when she had been escorted to work. The precious hours that Colter had stolen for all of them were wasted in a futile search.

  By the time he reached their point of meeting outside the city, Brice, Andre and Colter were there. Hugh longed to hear Colter tell him that Jenna had been with Elizabeth. When he made no mention, Hugh felt his last hope was crushed. He said nothing as they rode north, for he knew what insidious fear could do to a man about to engage the enemy.

  But it crept its way inside him, leaving him most vulnerable.

  Chapter Eleven

  It seemed to Elizabeth, during the week following Colter’s brief visit, that the world she knew was rushing toward destruction.

  The threat of the Yankees firing upon Fredericksburg had trains bound for Richmond crowded with women and children trying to leave before the fighting began. Last spring, the enemy had almost come to the gates of Richmond. General Lee had managed to drive them out and in turn marched into Maryland. No matter how loyal she believed herself, she wondered why, with the Yankees led by Burnside deep on Virginia soil, General Lee seemed reluctant to fight him now. The prayers of the women she worked with had failed to bring enough snow to call a respite until spring. Everyone lived with a sense of danger.

  Refugees poured into Richmond and Elizabeth wondered if their own fear had chased them from their homes rather than the enemy. It was an uncharitable thought, one that made her contrite, but she knew herself not to be alone. Many women were expressing their fear that smallpox would sweep the city. Elizabeth was torn. Tilda Galwey claimed that several doctors wanted to vaccinate healthy children, save the scabs and use them to immunize adults. How could she protect Nicole and herself without exposing them to a greater risk?

  The dilemma plagued her throughout the days at work, where the hours were spent exchanging gossip and rumors that made tempers wax hot.

  General Lee believed the Yankees would cut off the railroad, leaving Richmond dependent upon getting food and goods that came up from the Danville area if another rail could be laid.

  Daily, women spoke in hushed whispers of friends that were buying steamers to run the blockade. If this news wasn’t enough to shock the delicate sensibilities of Southern womanhood, the rumor that President Davis intended to trade the South’s cotton to the Yankees for salt gave them the vapors.

  Claiming that her knowledge came from reading every available newspaper, Jenna added that the North was more than willing to trade clothing, meat, shoes and blankets, all desperately needed items by the South, in return for their cotton. The North needed the cotton to keep their mills open. Any item was open for trade but guns and ammunition.

  “And,” she added with a sly look around the room, “I believe a way could be found around that restriction.” When Elizabeth refused to respond to that provocative remark, Jenna continued, “Davis is—”

  “President Davis,” Elizabeth corrected, unaware of how often she had to remind Jenna.

  “Yes, President Davis, well, he hopes to get fifteen to twenty sacks of salt for a bale of cotton and will be fortunate to get ten. The men who handle the business will likely get the difference.”

  “How could you know that from a newspaper?”

  “Oh, you forget, Elizabeth, I room at a hotel filled with the military.”

  “Those men who would profit are nothing but speculators getting rich off the war.”

  “As they have throughout history, Elizabeth. My, you are in a cantankerous mood of late.”

  “I find it upsetting to think of vultures profiting without thought to the women and children who go hungry.”

  “But thankfully you’re not numbered among them,” Jenna snapped, bending once more to her work.

  Guilt that she and her child had more than enough to eat stille
d Elizabeth’s tongue. Of late, she was uncomfortable with Jenna. The feeling, now that she thought about it, could be traced back to the day after Colter’s visit.

  She had come to work, hugging the joy of her secret to herself, wishing she could share it. When Jenna casually mentioned that she had had a delightful time after accepting a supper invitation from another soldier’s wife who worked for the Quartermaster Department, and so missed seeing her husband, Elizabeth was shocked.

  She certainly didn’t expect handwringing or tears, as she had already judged Jenna’s makeup to lack strong emotional extremes, but lack of any reaction, not even disappointment, left Elizabeth unsettled. It was not her place or right to ponder the personal relationship between Jenna and Hugh. No matter how many times she warned herself, however, the fact that something was wrong nagged her.

  But over the past days Jenna’s mistakes had lessened to the point that Mrs. Marstand mentioned they were being considered to replace two note signers who were returning to their homes, which both cheered and reassured Elizabeth somewhat.

  Her days were also brighter because she knew her daughter was protected when she couldn’t be with her. Colter’s man—Dobie, she learned, although she couldn’t ascertain if that was a first or last name—was taciturn to the point of rudeness. But she couldn’t fault the man’s alertness.

  She was proud, too, that the lessening worry seemed to allow her to become proficient at note numbering. Her tally at day’s end was close to thirty-five hundred. She coped with a recurring hand cramp by using an ointment Mrs. Marstand made and sold for extra funds. Rutha had to know what was in it before she would allow Elizabeth to use it, and the widow had been kind enough to tell her. The boiled bark of white oak and apple had to be reduced to a thick substance and simmered with goose grease or oil, then rubbed well into the stiffened joint. Elizabeth prevailed upon Emily to try some and found it offered the older woman a bit of relief.

  Tomorrow she would receive her first pay, and having discarded the thought of buying a gun, Elizabeth planned a few special treats for their Thanksgiving meal. And she had so much to be thankful for this year, she reflected, her mood lasting long into the night.

  More than she knew, for Colter came again, this time in the hours before dawn.

  Colter stole into the house, Dobie the only one aware that he was here. But unlike a thief, he left behind a trail of his presence from his boots and weapons in the kitchen, hat and gauntlets in the dining room, down to his coat draped over the wing chair in the back parlor where he took a moment to light a candle. Two long pulls of brandy from the decanter chased the chill from his body. He stirred the banked coals, added kindling and, once it caught, placed a log on the fire.

  The bedroom door was open and he walked in, setting the candle in its tin flower-shaped holder on the dresser. Its wavering light allowed him to fill his sight and senses with a sleeping Elizabeth.

  She was lying on her back, one arm flung above her head. Her hair, shimmering where light chased the night shadows, fell across a lace-trimmed pillow like a spill of warm spices, framing her delicate features. From her lashes came intriguing shadows on her sleep-flushed cheeks, and the bruised crescents of a few weeks ago were gone. Lush and slightly parted, her lips drew his gaze for long moments.

  The quilt and linen sheet were partially cast aside, revealing the light, even rise and fall of her breasts. Her neck appeared fragile, surrounded by a loose, rounded neck…Colter stopped.

  A slow move creased his lips into a decidedly masculine smile that was both sensuous and satisfied.

  Elizabeth was sleeping in his missing shirt.

  Memories assailed him as he stood there, her gay laughter, the incredible softness of her skin, the sweetly heated taste of her on his mouth. Tension made his muscles knot.

  Colter unbuttoned his tunic. He could have her passion, but this night, to chase the specter of death, he needed her laughter. Dropping his tunic to the floor, he retraced his steps to the parlor and lifted his haversack. He debated removing one or two of the items within and leaving it, but with a shrug, carried the leather bag back to the bedroom.

  His gifts were stolen from a Yankee whose barn he had been forced to hide in. Looking at Elizabeth, Colter lifted one of his gifts from the bag, absently rubbing it against his trouser leg before he bit into the ripe flesh. Juice, tart and sweet, filled his mouth as he leaned over her sleeping form. With a brush of his lips he left a residue on her mouth and watched as, still asleep, she licked it with a languid tongue that tempted him to capture it. Her head turned to the side, lips pursed as if to receive more. Colter couldn’t refuse this silent entreaty. He lowered his mouth once again.

  The touch was tender, far too brief, but he found a well of infinite patience as he watched and waited for her to follow the elusive taste, murmuring a soft unconscious protest.

  Without a sound Colter settled on his knees beside the bed, nibbling on the ripe apple held in his left hand while the other lightly stroked the tousled curls from her forehead. She frowned, turning from his touch, but his mouth coaxed her back to face him.

  Elizabeth was dreaming. She had to be. But never had a dream seemed so real. She tasted the tart flavor of apple on her lips, not once but repeatedly. The added potency of brandy along with the sweetness of the fruit brought her hand from her side to touch her mouth.

  Very gently, Colter blew on her fingertips.

  Elizabeth’s lashes fluttered. “Apples,” she murmured, drawing her brows together. She stirred, restless, once again inhaling the scent. Her nose twitched. A hint of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. It was apples. Apples and brandy and…her eyes opened. “Colter?”

  A feather brush of his lips closed her eyes. She was dreaming. And she didn’t want to wake. Snuggling her cheek against the soft pillow, she saw again bronze light and shadows playing over Colter’s face. His bare shoulders…yes, they were bare, and her fingers curled with a longing to touch him.

  “Such a shy little fox,” he whispered, stroking her cheek, offering random kisses to her sleep-flushed features.

  Shivers of awareness coursed through her. But she fought them, unwilling to wake, unwilling to face being alone. The soft, fleeting caresses continued, and she knew her body’s restless stir came from the warmth that began to build inside her.

  She fought against the pull that wanted to drag her into wakefulness. The dream was too good, so real, and she needed to hold on to it longer.

  “No,” she moaned, when once more she was pulled toward waking, flinging her arm across the bed as if to ward off an unseen presence.

  “Say yes, love,” he whispered, fitting his mouth over hers in one smooth motion. Colter reached for her hands, lacing his fingers with hers, knowing she was no longer asleep by the sudden tension that bowed her body. And just as quickly, with a deep shudder, she was pliant for him, her kiss welcoming.

  When he lifted his head and looked down, her eyes silently begged for more. The soft linen of his shirt draped the lush swell of her breasts, the sensitive tips hardening to points even as he watched. With a deliberate move, Colter brushed his arm across one peak and felt the deep quiver of her body in response.

  “So hungry?” he asked, repeating the move, her small sound and catch of breath all the answer he needed.

  “Colter?” She gazed up into his eyes, eyes that were the dark green of a hidden forest glen splintered with shafts of sunlight that burned with desire.

  His mouth lavished the sweet taste of fruit on her lips for long moments before he lifted his head. “What do you want, love, my hands or my mouth?”

  Still dazed by sleep, Elizabeth couldn’t answer him. She shifted toward him, brushing her breasts against his chest. Colter moved in counterpoint, softly abrading the cloth across her skin. And still he did not touch her. Her hands reached for his arms, sliding upward slowly, a sigh escaping her to feel the latent power of his muscles and the heat of his skin.

  “I came,” he whispered, brushi
ng her cheek with his lips, “to steal your laughter tonight. But like any good thief I’ll take whatever I can.” His mouth drifted with tiny kisses to her ear, and his teeth, with gentle restraint, worried the velvet heat of her lobe. He felt her cry and tremor deep, deep inside him.

  Elizabeth unconsciously arched her neck to give his lips access. She closed her eyes and used her hands to test the smooth slope of his broad shoulders, flexing her fingers against his heat and power when he groaned in response. The tiny love bites he took, then soothed with his tongue, sent a spiral of fever rushing over her, and she kicked free of the confining covers.

  Colter stroked the length of her body, easing up to cover her breast. Her back bowed reflexively, her breathing suddenly ragged and his a perfect mate. With a gentle finesse that belied his passion-taut features, he smoothed the cloth over his prize, breathing so close to its peak, he could almost feel it draw tight.

  “Both, Colter,” she whispered, urging him closer with her hands locked behind his neck.

  “Love?” he queried, his voice harsh with need.

  “I want your hands and your mouth.” Her eyes were half-closed, watching him, knowing how bold her answer was and beyond caring, as long as he eased the ache he had skillfully kindled.

  He pleased her. The huskiness of her moan incited him like an intimate caress. He nibbled gently, offering silken kisses that grew deeper, hotter, until she rubbed her fingers through his hair, holding his head hard against her breast.

  She arched helplessly when he responded with an urgent suckling that brought a cry of pleasure. Tension coiled inside her, and she wanted him to know the hunger that violently stormed her body. She shifted her head, restless, her hands sliding down to the dark curling hair on his chest, small sounds of need forcing him to lift his head.

  “Tell me, love. I’ll give you—”

  “You. I want to touch you, Colter.” Words and gesture invited him onto the bed.

  Colter didn’t immediately take it. “Look at you, love,” he murmured, one finger brushing the wet cloth over the erect nipple. “So much fire.”