She swung at the memories, wishing to fling them away. The sweaty, smelly Injuns who’d hurt her. Who threw her to the ground and ripped off her clothes. Who slapped her and violated her in the hot summer sun. laughing all the while. And when they were done, they vanished like the wind, as if they’d never been there. They took everything from her, leaving her lying in the road like refuse.
Anger that she’d buried long ago simmered to the surface of her heart. She’d buried it deep, along with her hope. It was as if she’d died that day, and every day since then she’d moved through life like a shadow. Invisible, without substance. A ghost that no one remembered.
The room brightened as LeRoy turned up the wick in the lantern. He set it on the hearth, then sat on the floor and faced her. Only a foot away, she shook with an unnamable fear. But she knew she wasn’t afraid of him; she was afraid of her conflicting feelings. He regarded her thoughtfully, and his eyes sparked with compassion. She was no longer invisible, a shadow. He saw her—saw through her—and it caused her great consternation.
“Why did you come after me?” she blurted, unable to bear his gaze a moment longer.
He let her question settle around them. Silence was his answer. Her mouth went dry, and she considered getting up and pouring a glass of water, but she was afraid to move. She felt pinned by his eyes.
“Why do you call yourself Dan?” he asked softly. His voice lacked the harsh judgment or mockery she’d expected. His eyes urged her to speak.
She fought the need to spill out her heart, for someone to understand her. But if she told this man anything, he would despise her. Old Bill’s words taunted her, whispering in her head, reminding her how worthless she was. Spoiled goods. Worse than dirt.
When she said nothing, he leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the glowing embers. Soft light played on his skin and caught between his fingers. His nearness was both unsettling and calming to her, not unlike her wolf’s companionable silence. She’d never seen a man so thoughtful and quiet. Was that the Injun in him?
He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands. Still staring at the dying fire, he spoke. “I’ve spent my whole life with my feet in two worlds. The white man’s world and the Cheyenne’s.” He let loose a slow breath. “Never felt right in either. White men see me as an Indian and hate me. The Cheyenne had no use for me, and now they’re all gone from Colorado, herded like cows onto reservations in Oklahoma. Made to learn to farm, till the ground. The buffalo they hunted are all gone too. Once the Front Range was full of ’em—Cheyenne and buffalo both—but no longer. My ma’s people had to change their ways, and the way they looked at the world, to survive.”
Gennie frowned. The Injuns were all gone? How could that be?
“So I understand a bit ’bout feelin’ out of place.”
Gennie knew what he was getting at. But he didn’t truly understand. He was a man, and there was always a place in the world for a man, even in the untamed West. But not for a woman. Not a woman like her.
“How long’ve you been livin’ up here?” he asked, turning to look at her, his head cocked.
Gennie shrugged. Her throat tightened against the words. She didn’t try to speak with a low voice. No point any longer. “Maybe eight, ten years.”
LeRoy’s eyes widened. “You get down to town much?”
She shook her head.
“Ever?”
She shook her head. LeRoy blew out a hard breath.
“All this time alone?”
“Not all,” she managed to say, turning her face to Peluche. The wolf slept at her side, and Gennie stroked her fur. “Three winters . . .” She did a mental count. Yes, three years since Old Bill had died. Three years that felt like thirty. She suddenly felt so old, shriveled, empty. When she shivered, LeRoy got up and went to the stove. He brought her back a hot cup of that tea his mother had sent him with. She breathed in the calming aroma, and her sore limbs stopped hurting.
“What’s your mother like?” she asked, trying to make polite conversation, trying not to stare at his strong broad shoulders and gentle hands that looked like smooth carved wood.
He chuckled, and the warmth of the sound stabbed her heart. She looked at him and got suddenly lost in his dark eyes. It took all her resolve to wrench her gaze away. He sat across from her again and leaned close.
“A lot like you, my ma is.” He cocked his head again and studied her as if she were a strange animal he’d found. “She’s . . . uh . . . strong. Strong-willed.” He grinned. “Capable. Hard-working.” He smiled bigger, and her heart shuddered. “Brave too, like you. And not afraid to speak her mind. She puts folks in their place. The way you did with me.”
He added, “I think you two would like each other.”
She tried to picture this Injun woman LeRoy described. “It’s clear you love her,” she said, pushing thoughts of her mother away. She hardly recalled anything about her mother—or her father and brother. That photograph was all she had left of them.
“What about you?” LeRoy asked gently, drawing her attention back to him. “Where’s your family?”
She swallowed, and tears built in her eyes. Last thing she wanted was to break down and cry—again—in front of this stranger. Her legs itched to run, but she had nowhere to go. She was trapped in her cabin with this man—and with memories that swarmed her heart like a batch of angry bees.
“Gone,” she finally said. “Dead,” she added. Strange, it felt good to say it.
More words pushed from her heart, stirred by the angry bees. “Injuns killed them. Old Bill said they were Pawnee.”
LeRoy merely nodded and looked away. He then said, “Pawnee used to be the biggest tribe in Colorado Territory. They were enemies of the Cheyenne.” He chewed on his thoughts a bit. “Cheyenne were mostly peaceful. Not like the Pawnee. A violent bunch. But they’re gone too.”
Gennie looked at him. “They get moved to Oklahoma?”
LeRoy nodded. “But most had been wiped out by the time the government hauled them away, just two years ago.”
Gennie felt a rush of relief flood her at the thought. More like sweet satisfaction. She hoped the Injuns that had killed her family had met a painful end. The hatred sat in her gut like sour meat.
“How old were you?” he asked. “When your family was killed?”
She picked at her fingers. “Twelve.”
LeRoy sat in respectful silence. Gennie was grateful he didn’t press her to say more.
He played with a thread poking out of his shirt. “I lost my pa at that age. I saw it happen. He got thrown from a horse and smacked his head on a fence post.”
Gennie noticed his voice was rough with emotion. Tears glistened in his eyes. The sight stunned her. He said so quietly she almost didn’t make out the words, “I miss him.”
The ache in his voice set off the ache in her heart for her father. How could she still feel such pain and loss this many years later? Yet, it was clear LeRoy felt the same as she did. They’d both grown up without a father to protect and teach them.
He came over and sat next to her. “Tell me what happened,” he said, taking her hands in his.
Gennie jerked at the touch of his warm fingers holding hers. She started to pull away, but his eyes snagged hers. “You’ll feel better if’n you talk, let it out. I reckon you haven’t had anyone to talk to in quite a spell.”
LeRoy waited. He looked as if he’d wait till the end of time. Her palms felt clammy, and blood thumped in her ears. She longed to tell him what happened. Tell him everything. But fear froze her tongue. He’ll despise you once he knows the truth. Don’t tell him!
“You’ll hate me,” she choked out.
“I won’t.”
He regarded her so kindly and with such compassion, she didn’t know what to do. A rock lodged in her throat as his touch sent shivers up her spine. As if unlocking a tightly jammed door, the warmth from his hands coursed through her, unhinging her silent protestations. Moonlight slipped into the room and sm
eared the floorboards, and Gennie saw a spattering of stars above the shimmering glow of snow out the window. The world hushed as if waiting to hear her story. The story she’d never told a living soul.
But she could no longer hold back. Just as she couldn’t stop the snow from falling or the stars from shining, she couldn’t keep the words from spilling from her heart. Oh, why try? The worst that could happen was he’d laugh at her, then leave. But what if he didn’t laugh?
“Dan was my brother’s name,” she said finally, pulling her hands away and getting to her feet. She paced back and forth in front of the hearth. “My little brother . . . He was . . . eight when the Pawnee slashed his throat—”
“What’s your real name?” he asked in hardly more than a whisper.
She rolled the word on her tongue. It had been years since she said it aloud. Bill had told her to pick a boy’s name when he pulled her off the mule and carried her into the cabin that day. She’d been Dan ever since.
“It’s Gennie. Short for Geneviève.”
“Gennie,” he whispered, searching her eyes as if looking for her lost identity. Her name sounded like a prayer on his lips. A sigh shuddered in her chest. “It’s a purty name,” he said, giving her a smile that melted the last mound of fear. “Fit for the purty woman you are—short hair, spunk, and all,” he added with no sarcasm or lechery in his voice.
No one had ever told her she was pretty. It unsettled her and sent a hot flush to her cheeks. But he wouldn’t think her pretty once she told him her secret.
“I noticed that photograph,” he said, nodding at the table beside the chair. “I can’t imagine how awful that musta been. To watch your family get killed.”
She could only nod as the words clogged her throat.
“How come those Pawnee didn’t kill you? You get away?”
Gennie sucked in a breath, hearing their taunts in her head. Feeling their rough hands on her skin, the burning and pain as they forced themselves on her, one after another. A scream ricocheted in her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Tears dribbled out onto her cheeks, and her lips quivered.
“Oh,” she heard LeRoy say evenly. She didn’t dare open her eyes, and she flinched when she felt him take up her hands again.
He squeezed them softly, and her heart hammered against her ribs. She loosed a shaky sigh.
“So . . . this fella—Old Bill. He the one found you . . . after . . . ?” More tears pushed out at the sound of his tender words. They were like soothing balm to her pain. Like the salve his mother had made.
“Did he . . . take advantage of you too?” She sensed he didn’t want to pry. That he was just trying to suss out what she’d been through, why she was pretending to be a man.
Nodding, she could no long hold back the flood. Like a mighty raging river, the pain and memories and longing burst out in great sobs, and before she knew it, LeRoy pulled her to her feet and gathered her up. His strong, muscular arms wrapped around her like a blanket, and she wept into his shoulder. With gentle strokes he smoothed her hair and muttered words she couldn’t make out. His cheek pressed against her head, making her knees go weak. And when she sought to pull away, he kept her tight against his chest, as if afraid to let her go, afraid she’d run again.
“Stay,” he whispered. “Stay here. You’re safe. No one is gonna hurt you. All that happened so long ago. Let it go. Send it down the river on mighty waves. Let that pain just come out and be done with it.”
At the urging of his words, all the hurt and anger and fear overflowed her heart in a torrent and spilled out in her tears. How long she wept in his arms, with him gently rocking her, she didn’t know. But by the time her tears dried up, his shirt was soaked, as if he’d been caught in a downpour. She pulled back and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
“Oh my,” she said looking at his wet shirt clinging to his chest. “I’m sorry I—”
“Listen, Gennie. You know it isn’t your fault, what happened to you. You understand?”
When she didn’t respond, he lifted her chin to look at him. “You’re not to blame. You gotta stop blamin’ yourself.”
She wanted to believe him. She truly did. But how could she? “It’s . . . I don’t . . .” Oh, he’d never understand.
“Then what is it?” he asked, his voice as soft as a dove cooing.
The years of feeling worthless and unloved crashed down on her, like that snow-laden tree branch. Her breath came out in shallow pants under the crushing weight of her heart’s judgment.
“What man would ever want me? I mean, want me in a right proper way? I’m . . . a . . . I’m tainted—”
“That’s hogwash.”
Gennie tried to wiggle free from his arms, but it was a feeble attempt—he held her fast. She felt like a greasy pig trying to squirm out of the butcher’s hands.
“But I am!” she protested.
“Listen to me,” he said softly. “It’s not what we done or what’s been done to us that makes us clean or dirty. It’s who we are on the inside. It’s how we live, treat others. About respect and honesty and kindness.” She stopped squirming and let his words sink in. They rang of truth. Of what she believed in her heart.
He continued. “You showed me your heart—even beneath your rough ’n’ tough disguise. You saved my life, dragged me to your cabin and stitched me up. Why, you took pity on an orphan pup and raised it like your own young’un. Gennie, you got more compassion and love than you know what to do with.”
She stood there staring at him, at those eyes brimming with kindness, tears streaming down her face. He stroked her cheeks and wiped away the tears with the back of his hand. Gennie trembled at his touch.
Joy danced in his eyes, and it puzzled her. “Why . . . why are you smiling?” she asked, confused. Why was he still cradling her, not pushing her away? Why wasn’t he running?
“Because of how beautiful you look, tears and all.”
Gennie’s mouth fell open, and LeRoy stared at it. The longing in his eyes was unmistakable. It mirrored her own.
“I’m not—” she began, but before she could say another word, his warm, moist lips were on hers.
Stunned, she tried to pull away. Fear clawed her throat, and she felt suddenly trapped. But instead of forcing himself on her, the way Old Bill had when he was drunk, LeRoy stepped back, then gently cupped her face in his hand.
“Gennie, Gennie.” He waited until the fear stopped raging and she could look in his eyes. “I don’t want you to be scared of me.” He waited while she sorted through her raging emotions. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid of the feelings welling up in her. Feelings for this man who had saved her twice. No, three times, Gennie. He unleashed your pain. Was this some Injun magic he was using on her? No, she reasoned. What she saw in his face was no magician’s trick. She’d once been loved. She knew the look. But how could LeRoy feel such affection for her—after knowing the truth?
“Gennie?” he asked, his voice thick and choked with need. With what she remembered love sounded like. His eyes searched her soul, deeply and tenderly. He swallowed and laid a hand on the side of her head, his touch as light as a butterfly’s.
“Do you want . . . I mean . . . would you let me kiss you again?”
Her breath caught in her throat as her longing tangled up with his. Like two wild weeds entwining, knotting them together.
“Oh yes,” she breathed, her every nerve shaking with longing. “Oh yes.”
Chapter 12
LeRoy closed his eyes and melted into her kiss. No lips he’d ever kissed had tasted so sweet and brought such joy to his soul. It made not a lick of sense, but there was no denying the cry of his heart. He hardly knew this woman, and yet, holding her in his arms, it felt like he’d known her all his life. That she was the one he’d been looking for in the eyes of all the women he’d courted over the years.
His need to protect and care for her welled up like a geyser, gushing out from the pit of his soul. But it wasn’t pity he felt for her. Or j
ust some arrogant desire to show what a capable, strong man he was. She was his match in every way, everything he wanted in a wife. It hurt his heart to think how she’d suffered these many years. And it astonished him to think how she’d survived up here in the mountains all alone. But she’d be alone no longer. He’d make sure of that.
Passion stirred in him, like a gush of blood, as he deepened the kiss. He pressed her tight against him, letting her softness and warmth heal his own heart and fuel his need. He hadn’t realized how much he needed a woman in his arms until he kissed her. He’d thought he could manage just fine alone. No wonder his ma had scoffed when he said that.
When he found his hands starting to roam over Gennie’s body, he pulled back and blew out a hard breath. He had to stop now or he’d never be able to restrain hisself. Every nerve screamed out to join with hers, to lose hisself in her soft skin and explore all her secret places. But he reined in those wanton desires with a scolding. You’re movin’ too fast, pardner. She’s gonna need time to feel safe in your arms. A lot o’ time.
Gennie turned her flushed face from him, and he longed to know her thoughts. But he’d pried enough for one night. He needed to let her be, to sift through her emotions.
She went over to the hearth and busied herself building up a fresh fire. Within seconds she had the twigs snapping and flames dancing under a stack of dry pine logs.
He grunted and ran a shaky hand through his messy hair. He’d be a liar to say he didn’t have some sifting to do hisself. He looked around her cabin, at this life she’d carved out for herself. What was he thinking—to take her away with him? Ask her to just up and leave all this and march into civilization after, what, ten years of isolation? He hadn’t thought that far ahead. But he knew one thing—no way would he head down the mountain without her. Not even for a day. If she wanted to stay up here, he’d stay with her. Somehow.
Wild Secret, Wild Longing: A Sweet Historical Western Romance Novella (The Front Range Series Book 3) Page 10
