Renegade Wife

by Charlene Sands

  And once again, Molly braced herself, but not from the sting of her injury. This time she braced herself against the rapid thudding of her heart, the heat that burned through her body and the warm feelings she was developing for her husband. She’d never had these feelings before, couldn’t quite name them. But she knew by sheer womanly instinct, that she’d be more than a fool to succumb to those feelings.

  Kane reached for a pouch he’d brought over from the wagon and opened the leather thong. “It’s Cheyenne medicine, Molly. It’ll help you heal.”

  Molly didn’t flinch when Kane applied the salve to her cut, not even when she took a good strong whiff of the medicine. “What’s in it?” she asked.

  “Roots, herbs, sumac and…”

  When Kane hesitated, Molly’s curiosity peaked. “And?”

  “It’s best you don’t know.”

  “I want to know.”

  “That’s because you’re a curious little bird. But you have to sleep with the salve on your face. Are you sure you want to know?”

  She nodded.

  “Animal scrapings, bear grease and—”

  “Thank you,” Molly interrupted, deciding she really didn’t want to know. “Smells like a pack of wild dogs.” Then Molly’s eyes widened and she lifted her brows in question.

  Kane shook his head.

  Relieved, Molly figured she could live with the foul-smelling salve for one night. Besides, it wasn’t as though she were on a real honeymoon with a man who might want to kiss her or anything.

  “Still in need of…?” Kane asked.

  Molly nodded.

  Kane stood and offered her his hand.

  Without hesitating, Molly accepted his hand and together they walked off, away from the firelight, into the darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  Molly touched a hand to her cheek, noting how much better her face felt this morning. The salve Kane had administered seemed to have worked wonders. She didn’t know if she had developed a dark bruise as he had suggested last night, since they’d woken early and taken to the road nearly before sunup, Molly not having time to dig out her mirror from her valise in the wagon to take a look.

  But after a good night’s rest, she couldn’t complain about Kane’s hasty departure, she’d been just as eager to leave the camp behind, in favor of embarking on her search for Charlie.

  The wagon moved forward at a comfortable pace, Molly adjusting to the bumps and jiggles that occurred on the rutted road as they made their approach to Camp Stockton. They’d already reached and searched the tiny town of Hermit’s Edge, with Kane making inquires to the proprietor of the mercantile. Aside from a few shops, a blacksmith and the smallest saloon Molly had ever seen—a shack really, with a three-foot bar and no tables—there wasn’t much else in town. They’d moved on rapidly, Kane warning her not to become discouraged—there were more than a few towns along the way just like that one.

  Morning sun grew hot as the hours passed, but she endured the heat with a sense of resignation, gaining a better understanding of this rugged land now. She was becoming accustomed to sweat leaking from her brow, to her dress sticking to her body like morning dew on tall grass and to squinting eyes lowering into thin slits against the powerful light.

  Molly endured it all for the sake of finding her brother.

  As the sun arched directly overhead, the flat, dry desert land they traveled changed color before Molly’s eyes, the earth richer now with trees and shrubs that added soft vibrant hues to the surroundings. From her perch atop the wagon, Molly viewed an overly large spring, the cool waters from the glistening pool beckoning her.

  She turned to Kane, tugging on the fringe of his buckskin. “Can we stop, just for a little while?”

  Kane glanced ahead. “We’re less than a mile outside of Camp Stockton.”

  “I know, but I’d rather not ride into town feeling like a slimy old prairie dog.” She plucked her dress from her sticky body at the shoulders, proving her point.

  Kane shot a quick glance at the spring then gazed at Molly’s expectant face. She mustered her best smile. “Please.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “I’ll water the horses while we’re there.”

  Molly jumped for joy, nearly bouncing out of her seat on the wagon, then hugged Kane around the neck. “Thank you!”

  Kane backed away from her embrace, but Molly was too happy at the moment to allow his rebuff to bother her.

  They were beside the spring instantly, Kane bounding from the wagon and coming around to help her down. Molly placed her hands on his shoulders as he clasped her waist and eased her to the ground. Molly’s arms crept up around his neck and she had a good mind to kiss him. She’d been wanting to ever since last night when he’d picked her up from that clumsy fall and carried her back to their camp. She’d been reckless and foolish, but Kane hadn’t admonished her as she’d expected. Instead, he’d taken care with her, cleaning her wound and administering the salve that really seemed to have helped heal the painful gash on her face.

  Yes, Molly had wanted to kiss him last night. And she had a dickens of a time keeping from kissing him when she woke this morning. During the night she’d awoken briefly to find Kane right beside her, his body wedged against hers, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder while the other latched onto his rifle.

  She’d shuddered at first, seeing the deadly weapon in his hand, but then she realized he’d kept her close in order to protect her.

  She gazed into his eyes, longing to feel his lips on hers once again, longing to feel his body pressed to hers, longing for so many things Kane was incapable of giving. Her fingers slightly brushed a soft curl at the back of his neck, before she stepped away. She began to unfasten the very top button of her dress. “I’ll need my privacy.”

  Kane drew in a deep breath and his face set with stony determination. Molly was beginning to learn that particular expression far too well. “Molly, I’m not leaving you alone out here.”

  “Can’t you water the horses later, or all the way at the other end of the spring?”

  “No.”

  “Kane, you can’t watch me bathe. You simply can’t.”

  “Better me than a troop of soldiers, Molly. We’re close to the camp. No telling how many soldiers might be wandering these parts, keeping a lookout.”

  Molly made a sweeping glance around. She didn’t see anyone. But Kane had a point. The very last thing she wanted was to have strangers watching her bathe. At least Kane was her husband. Yet, the thought of him watching her undress and cleanse herself unnerved her. Propriety told her to step back up into the wagon and be done with this, but layers of dust and sweat on her body from hours on the trail won out.

  “Okay, but step far away. You can do that, can’t you?”

  Kane led the horses up to the bank of the spring to let them have a cool drink, then strode over to a large rock about twenty feet from the water and sat down. “I’ll be right here.”

  Molly groaned. Kane may have an earnest desire to protect her, but deep inside Molly felt that he was enjoying his role as protector far too much. “Turn your back for a minute, please.”

  To her amazement, he did.

  Molly quickly unfastened the rest of the buttons on her gown and stepped out of it. Next came the petticoats. She removed all three and laid them out by her gown on a shrub. Keeping her chemise and bloomers on, she bent to remove her boots and stockings.

  She wiggled her toes and smiled at the newfound freedom. Within seconds Molly entered the water, slowly and with caution. She maintained a good footing and braved another few steps until she was waist high in water. She splashed water on her arms and shoulders and delighted at the spring’s temperature, not too warm, not too cold. Molly could spend the rest of the day frolicking here, but she was all too aware that Kane wouldn’t abide a long respite. Though he didn’t speak of it, Molly knew his impatience stemmed from thoughts of his ailing grandfather. The sooner they made the journey he’d planned, the sooner
they could return back to the Bar J.

  Molly fully understood Kane’s reluctance to waste time, so she dipped her hair into the water quickly, wishing she’d had the benefit of a bar of soap, and scrubbed clean the tresses the best she could. Next she lifted her chemise waist high to wash her legs, running her hands up and down scouring each limb, and as she turned her body to face the bank of the spring, she froze, unable to move, as Kane’s gaze met hers from the edge of the water.

  His buckskin shirt tossed next to her clothing, he stood by the horses, with beads of water glistening on his chest. Bronzed and powerful, standing tall with an unabashed glint in his eyes, he watched her.

  Oh, how Molly wished she were his wife in the real sense. How she wished she hadn’t made this unholy bargain with Kane Jackson. How she wished this mad attraction she felt for her husband would either die in her heart or come to a more satisfying end.

  Always hopeful, and bolder than she’d ever been before, Molly moved through the water, her gaze fastened only to his. Kane’s face bore no expression, but his gaze roamed over her body possessively with unguarded appreciation. For one instant, she felt like a wife in the true sense. For one second, Molly knew what it was like to have Kane’s full attention, to make him see her as a woman with a heart and soul, a woman who would devote her life to him.

  For that one unshielded second, Kane showed Molly all the possibilities. And as she came closer to the bank, water dripping from her body, wearing her cotton chemise like a second skin, she witnessed Kane’s full intake of breath.

  She came out of the water to stand directly before him. Never releasing his gaze, she lifted her chin. “You promised to turn around.”

  Kane lost all semblance of rational thought. Molly stood before him, unclothed but for the thin wet material covering her body, yet she knew no shame, no hesitation. She stood so close that the fresh scent of spring water teased his senses, and her womanly form, easily seen through the gossamer chemise, did something more than tease him.

  Desire shot through straight through him. He longed to take Molly into his arms and press her against him, to kiss her wet lips dry and stroke her body expertly until she bent to his will. Kane cursed himself for each thought, but couldn’t deny them, couldn’t quite control the longing he felt or the pain wanting her created both in his body and mind.

  He explained quietly, “I did…for about a minute.”

  Molly’s eyes went dewy soft. She placed her hand on his bare chest. “Kane.”

  Her delicate touch scorched him and Kane felt the heat of his betrayal to Little Swan with powerful force. He had already loved and lost one woman. He could not take Molly McGuire, not in the way he’d envisioned in his head already a hundred times. He would not make a true commitment to her. He had no right to touch her. No matter what she offered by way of standing there with askance in her eyes and a body that beckoned him with even the slightest movement. Kane meant to back away, but she stunned him with her next words.

  “Kiss me.”

  A thousand reasons why he should deny her raced through his head, yet Kane’s willpower waned and he wondered if he had strength enough to refuse his wife her one request. He thought back upon the will he’d displayed during the O-kee-pa, a rite of passage for young tribal members as they displayed greats feats of courage, hanging by their skewered flesh. Kane had lasted long, had endured the torturous ritual and had earned the respect of the entire tribe. The events of his childhood had made him tough, hard and unyielding, yet this one fiery-haired woman, with green sparks in her eyes, met him head-on and the battle, he feared, was just beginning.

  “No.”

  Molly didn’t seem surprised at his half-hearted refusal. Instead she moved her hand on his chest, her fingertips outlining a slow torturous pattern. “You want to.”

  A guttural chuckle emerged, surfacing to sound more like an animal’s growl. “Don’t tempt me, Molly.”

  “What harm can one kiss do? I’m your wife.”

  On a quick nod, he agreed. “Temporarily.”

  But Molly seemed too prideful to back down. She dug her heels in and stood firm. Kane witnessed her determination and actually admired her for it. “I’ll ask you only this once. One kiss. And I’ll never ask again.”

  Kane stood silent, contemplating, and only the mare’s soft whinny broke the incredible quiet.

  Molly’s eyes watered and she spun around quickly, ready to make a hasty retreat from his rebuff. He witnessed the injury he’d caused, the rejection that Molly couldn’t bare to face, and before Kane thought another moment, he reached out, grabbing her waist and pulling her fully around so their eyes met. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  Then he crushed his mouth to hers.

  Molly’s whimper of delight tore into his senses, nearly destroying his good intentions. He meant to kiss her once and be done with it, but the taste of her lips was a sweet elixir that demanded he drink more. He drank heartily, consuming his mind and body with the softness of her mouth, her heady fresh scent and her willing touch.

  “Kane,” she murmured softly, and he took that opportunity to mate his tongue with hers, exploring her mouth and teaching her more than he should about lust and desire. He lowered her down to the lush grass just beyond the bank of the spring and stroked her body with greedy hands.

  His manhood pressed the confines of his buckskin pants and he thanked all that was holy for the restriction of tight leather and firm resolve. He would not take Molly.

  But kissing her like this was a pleasure he neither expected nor deserved. She’d been an obligation, brought upon by his grandfather. She’d been like a thorn prickling his finger, something he had to endure until he could pluck it free. Kane wanted nothing from Molly but to complete the bargain they’d made. At least that’s what he had told himself. He abhorred his weakness in giving in to Molly’s plea, but he couldn’t deny that kissing her brought him immense pleasure and touching her nearly bare body destroyed all his good sense.

  Yet, he brought Molly pleasure as well, if her little throaty moans were any true testimony. She responded to his every caress with little movements that drove Kane’s sanity to the edge. He kissed her lips, while running his hand over her legs, as he yearned to touch more of her.

  But his mind screamed that he could not touch Molly in her womanly places. Fondling her breasts meant that she belonged to him. The Cheyenne way had been deeply rooted in him since early childhood, but Kane found confusion there, whereas Molly was his wife, and a man had rights in that regard.

  The need was great. He ached to caress her breasts, to mold the ripe globes with his hands and kiss the tips until they pebbled with desire. He ached to make her body as lusty as his own, to bring her the pleasure she sought with each little moan and undulation of her body.

  A sound alerted him and he sat straight up, listening. And far in the distance he saw something that had him rising and lifting Molly to her feet as well. “Soldiers.”

  Camp Stockton was a welcome sight to Molly’s eyes as they rode past rows of limestone and adobe buildings. The hustle and bustle of everyday life reminded her of St. Louis and the home she’d left behind, though this town appeared much more orderly in the chaos. Molly smiled at the silly notion, glancing at Kane’s somber expression, his eyes wary, his sharp gaze focused. He reined the horses to a halt at the request of one of the dozen soldiers whom had escorted their wagon to the center of the camp.

  Still reeling from her encounter with Kane by the spring, Molly wet her lips, seeking moisture and a way to repair the damage done by his lusty assault. She’d barely had time enough to dress properly and tidy up her hair, before the bluecoats showed up, Kane shoving clothes her way and hiding her from curious scouts who had spied their wagon by the spring.

  Kane had kissed and caressed her until her body shook violently, yet he hadn’t touched her in those secret places she’d craved to be touched. He’d held on to his resolve, and Molly would always wonder what might have occurred had the
soldiers not arrived at that moment, ready to guide the wagon to their camp. She’d always wonder if Kane would have succumbed to the desire she witnessed in his eyes, on his face and in the power of his kiss.

  “Welcome to Camp Stockton. I’m Captain Campbell.”

  A tall, well-groomed man strode toward the wagon, dressed in full uniform. He put out his hand to Kane.

  Kane ignored the man’s gesture of welcome. Stunned, Molly sat atop the wagon in disbelief. Many a man might have taken grave insult, but the captain only pursed his lips and eyed Kane with keen interest. “Your grandfather wired me of your arrival.”

  Kane turned to stare into the man’s eyes. “You know my grandfather?”

  “If he’s Bennett Jackson, yes and no. He has wired our camp every year since your abduction, searching for his kidnapped grandson and hoping to hear news of you. I never laid eyes on the man before, but he holds my respect.”

  Kane drew oxygen into his lungs and nodded. “Then you know we came in search of another.”

  Molly smiled at Captain Campbell, hoping to make up for Kane’s lack of grace. “Hello, Captain. I’m Molly Jackson. My husband and I are looking for my brother, Charlie.” She reached into her reticule and produced the tintype of her brother, handing the small image to the soldier. “He’s four years older now. Goes by the name of Charles McGuire.”

  “Handsome boy,” the captain said, squinting at the image. “But I can’t say that I recognize him. Of course, we have two hundred soldiers at the camp and I don’t know all their faces.”

  “Would it be all right if we asked around? My brother is from St. Louis. I think he’d be easy to remember.”

  “A greenhorn?”

  Molly smiled. “I suppose one could call him that. He left home months ago and, well, if it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition, I’d like to speak with some of your soldiers and maybe others in camp.”