“Only another mile or two. Are you cold?”
“Yes.”
He pulled his horse to a halt and angled in the saddle. He tugged a shirt from the saddlebag and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“Thank you. Where is this place we’re going?”
“It is a cave deep in the mountains. I have stayed there many times while hunting.”
“Will Silver Feather find us there?”
“No.”
“Good.” As Abby thought about what the night would bring—and the consequences she’d face, her heart pounded against her ribs. Her father would probably disown her and her friends desert her. Most of her friends looked upon the Indians as savages and enemies.
And Davy? How would he react? He’d already said they lived in different worlds. Would he leave her in her world? What about Philip? Despite her earlier belief that her father and Philip were innocent of John Larson’s death, doubt now clouded her mind. Her father’s reactions to Davy’s questions, coupled with the fact that Philip had argued and fought with John Larson, gave her serious pause. What if Davy killed Philip? Would he be tried for murder? The questions sent tremors coursing through her body.
Davy must have felt her shudder because he pulled the shirt tighter around her. “You’re shaking. Are you still cold?”
“No,” she mumbled into his chest.
“Then why do you tremble?”
“I am afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of what tomorrow will bring.” She slipped her hands around his waist, reveling in the feel of the hard planes and muscles of his body. When had she stopped seeing him as her enemy and started looking at him with longing and desire beating in her heart?
Love? She asked herself the question: did she love Davy?
Could someone fall in love with a stranger in just a few days? Even though she’d known him briefly years ago, he’d been a boy then and she a silly, naive girl. Now he was a man, and she a woman. The fire that burned inside her threatened to consume her. One thing however was clear. She didn’t love Philip. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit Philip had always been her father’s choice, not hers. She’d loved the idea of marriage, not the man.
“We are here.”
She glanced up. Oak trees butted up to a rock face, and clumps of mesquite encircled a small clearing. Overhead, a silver moon peeked from behind dark clouds.
“I don’t see a cave,” she muttered.
Davy laughed. “It is there.” He pointed to a dark shadow behind the trees. He slid from the saddle and then held out his arms to her. She went into his arms. He carried her across the glade and through the trees. At the entrance, he sat her on a flat boulder by the entrance. “Wait here until I get a fire started.”
“Okay, but how? We don’t have any matches or flint.”
“I am Comanche,” he retorted and pretended to beat his chest, then grinned. “I have supplies inside from an earlier visit.”
“Your resourcefulness amazes me,” she teased. “Do you have supplies cached all over Texas?”
He shot her another grin, then disappeared into the cave. In a few moments, a golden glow emanated from the darkness. Davy appeared and beckoned to her. “Go on inside and get warm. I will fetch the horse.”
“All right.” Abby walked cautiously into the shadowy recess of the mountain. She didn’t like closed in spaces, and her heart rose in her throat. Noises rushed at her as critters scurried from the light. She knelt by the fire and held her hands to the welcoming warmth.
Footsteps announced Davy’s return. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him leading his horse to a corner of the cave. He tugged his shirt over his head and unsaddled the animal, then picked up some dry leaves to rub the horse down. The sight of his bare chest sent chill bumps running up and down her spine. Suddenly, he glanced back at her. Their gazes locked. The spark that shot between them was almost tangible…alive. She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. Her body seemed to ignite, tendrils of flames warming every inch of her body.
He broke eye contact and walked to the fire and spread the shirt out on a rock to dry. He hunkered down beside the fire letting his weight rest on his heels, then added several pieces of wood to keep the fire burning. Shadows danced along the cave walls. “It will be cold tonight.”
“Yes.”
“I will gather some branches to make a bed for us.” He waited a moment, as if asking her permission, then when she said nothing, left the cave. In about five minutes he returned with several fragrant pine boughs. He placed them by the fire, then spread the blanket over them.
“You know,” he moved to sit by her, “that if we walk down this path, there will be no return.”
She didn’t pretend to not understand. “Yes, I know.”
“You are sure you wish to do this? You must search your heart and know the truth.”
“I have thought much about it, and my answer is yes. Afterwards, even if we cannot be together, I will have this time to look back upon and remember what we shared.” She placed her hand over his and felt the sparks that flew between them. “And you, Running Wolf? Have you searched your heart?”
He nodded, took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Yes. Since the first day I saw you many years ago, you have been in my heart. I am sorry that I have caused you such pain and heartache. I think perhaps that the Great Spirit meant for our paths to cross many years ago.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Cha-na’woonit.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you are very beautiful.”
“As beautiful as the Comanche maidens who seek your company?”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “My mother?”
“Yes.”
He laughed.
“Why have you not married one of the maidens?”
“Because of a young girl I taught how to fish many years ago. I could never get her out of my mind. She has haunted my dreams for so long.”
Abby’s breath caught in her throat. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I love you, Abigail O’Sullivan.”
“Oh, Davy, I love you.”
As he lowered his mouth to hers, Abby lifted her lips to his. The kiss sent flames of desire rushing down her spine, settling in the most private part of her body. As need spiraled through her, she looped her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his. The answer was clear—she loved Davy Larson—and Running Wolf. But what did the future hold for them?
****
Davy trailed feather-soft kisses down her neck to the pulsing hollow of her throat. He tugged her dress down over her shoulders, baring her breasts to him. The soft satin of her skin excited him. He wrapped her in his embrace, loving the feel of her. His hands roamed over her, delighting in her soft feminine curves. He cupped her breasts and kneaded the hardened peaks. She moaned softly. She pressed herself to him, and her response ignited his passion—and his body. Her tongue met his in a frenzied mating.
He carried her to the makeshift bed, sank to his knees and placed her on the blanket, then lay beside her. He ran his gaze down the length of her body. With a shy smile, she covered her breasts with her hands.
“Do not hide yourself from me. You are so beautiful. I have long dreamed of laying with you.” He pushed her hands aside, leaned forward, then took the taut bud of her breast into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth.
A surprised cry erupted from her mouth. “Ohmigod, Davy, ohmigod. I had no idea…”
“The best is yet to come, my love.” He tugged at her dress, and she lifted her hips and slid out of it. He moved his hand down her silken body until it rested on the mound at the junction of her thighs. A hot, sweet jolt of fire ignited immediately. He touched her, and she writhed beneath him, her eyes burning brightly. His body screamed for release.
He claimed her lips again and rolled atop her. Her body fit his as no other had. It felt perfect, as he knew it would be. “I have prayed to the Great Spirit to bring
you back to me. Now you are here. I think you and I were meant to be together. Now I will show you how much I care, how much I love you.” He nudged her knees apart and felt her hesitation. Davy caught her gaze. “I am your first?”
She nodded. It was all Davy could do to hide his satisfaction. He ran his fingertips down her cheek. “Do not be afraid, Cha-na’woonit. I will not hurt you. I want only to love you and please you.”
A smile teased her lips as she welcomed him into the cradle of her hips. “I’m not afraid. I have never been afraid of you. I never will be.”
“Good.” He ran his hand along the satin skin of her thigh, coming to rest on the mound of black hair. She opened up to him. He levered himself up over her, then claimed her lips. Moving very slowly, he settled himself into the saddle of her hips, then gently pushed against her and waited for her to feel him. After a moment, he entered her. As the fragile membrane tore, he absorbed her gasp in his mouth. In a few moments, she relaxed, her body adjusting to his. He raised his head to stare into her eyes. “You are all right?” He ran his fingertips down her cheek.
She nodded.
“The pain is gone?”
“Yes.”
He moved on her, and her eyes widened, then turned a fiery blue. He quickened his thrusts, and she lifted her hips to meet him, sheathing him in sweet satin. Her lips parted, and a whimper escaped them. She entwined her fingers in his hair and tugged his mouth down to meet hers.
“Oh, Davy…please.”
He gripped her hips, then ran his hands up her arms, urging her to raise them over her head. As she did so, he locked his fingers with her, kissing her mouth and laving the sensitive spot behind her ear. He levered himself up to take the bud of her breast into his mouth. She writhed beneath him, her movements quickening. He knew she rode the path of pleasure. His body responded, and he too reached the pinnacle of fulfillment, spilling his seed inside her.
Sated and content, maybe for the first time in his life, Davy lay back on the blanket, taking Abby with him. The experience they’d shared had been the most wonderful thing he’d ever experienced. She curled up next to him, her head on his chest. Within minutes she was asleep. He smiled to himself, then whispered, “I’ll let you rest for a little while, but we’re not done yet.”
****
A sudden rush of cold wind awakened Abby. She shivered, her hand reaching out for Davy. But he was not there. She shoved herself up on one elbow and glanced around the cave.
Davy stood at the entrance, back to her, as he stared out into the distance. He wore only his pants, his hands by his sides. The sight of his muscular back brought back the passion they’d shared last night. Even from this distance, she could see the marks her fingernails had left on his back. What was he thinking? Feeling? Did he regret their night of passion?
“Davy?”
He turned and glanced at her, then walked over and knelt beside her. “The sun is up, my love. You slept late.”
“I was tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” She reached up and stroked his cheek. “Someone kept me awake most of the night.”
He laughed. “Are you complaining?”
“Oh, no, no.” She took his hand and moved it down to cover her breast. “It was the most wonderful night of my life.”
His brown eyes darkened to almost black. “Mine too.”
“I’m afraid you’ve awakened a fire inside me which burns brighter every day. Only you can put out the flames. Now kiss me.”
“At your service.”
With a smug smile on his lips, he lowered his head. She lifted her mouth to his. He ran his tongue over her lips, then drew her into his arms. “I was wondering what we would have for breakfast. Now you have solved that problem.”
“Always glad to help.” She threw the blanket back, and he slipped in beside her. She ran her hands over the broad expanse of his chest, then down to the waist of his pants.
A low chuckle escaped his lips. “You are hungry?”
“Oh, yes. Starving.”
Indeed she felt like she was starving, her body craving his, needing him as a drunkard needed liquor, as a flower needed the sun. He cupped her breast and kneaded the swollen bud. A moan burst from her throat. Just his touch was enough to fill her body with pleasure. When his mouth replaced his hand, she trembled with anticipation.
“Now it is my turn.” She rolled him over on his back and then moved on top of him. Delicious waves of pleasure shot through her, drugging her, leaving her gasping, wanting more. He gripped her hips with sweet torture. He levered himself up to take the throbbing bud of her breast into his mouth. Love filled her—as he filled her—branding her forever as his.
She lowered herself to him, took him in, arched back, took him deeper. Her head fell back, her body going arrow-taut. Her muscles clamped down hard around him as she rode with him once again on passion’s wings.
He muttered a few words in Comanche. As his brown eyes darkened to black, his breath came in ragged gasps. Startled that she could elicit such a response from a man like Running Wolf, Abby found her release and called his name. He moaned loudly and clutched her to him.
Abby rolled to the side, then laid her head on his chest. She fancied she could hear the beating of his heart.
“Ayee, little one, where did you learn such?”
She laughed. “Just seemed like the thing to do.”
“Come.” He rose to his feet, pulled his pants on, then motioned toward the entrance. “The rain has stopped. We will bathe. There is a small stream near here.”
Abby slipped from her warm cocoon, retrieved her dress and pulled it over her head. Davy picked up her moccasins and handed them to her. She stuck her feet into the soft leather, then followed him from the cave. She followed him into a sun-dappled glade where the sound of falling water filled the air. Birds chirped in the treetops. It was so quiet and peaceful she almost forgot what had happened and that which awaited them.
Almost.
Davy stopped and glanced at her. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes, but not as beautiful as you.”
“Are you sure you’re not Irish?” she teased. “You have the gift of gab, my love. Or is it because you have wooed many maidens?”
“There has only been one maiden for me.”
The tender look he gave her sent waves of love washing over her soul. When words failed her, she took his hand. “I am yours.”
“If you keep looking at me like that,” he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the palm, “we are going to be delayed again.”
At the thought, Abby smiled, her body surging to life. She couldn’t get enough of him. But remembering Davy’s mission made her heart skip a beat. “I want to be delayed. I want us to leave and head north to Canada, or south to Mexico. I want to leave it all behind us.”
He kissed her hand again. Regret simmered in his dark eyes. “Ask anything else of me, but not that. I know you don’t understand, but I am a man. It is something I have to do. Now we will talk no more of it.” He led her toward the stream, then into its depths.
Davy released her hand then dove into the blue waters. He surfaced and shook his head, then grabbed her and pulled her under. The icy water chilled her body, sending goose pimples chasing down her spine. She clawed her way to the surface and came up sputtering. He laughed as he pulled her into his embrace.
“I will bathe you, then I must go and find you a horse.”
Abby’s heart sank to her toes. This might be the last time she saw him. With tears in her eyes, she kissed him.
“Comanche women do not cry,” he chastised.
“Oh, yes, they do,” she retorted. “Maybe not when they can be seen, but all women cry for the man they love.”
Chapter Nine
As the sun dipped behind the mountains in splendorous shades of gold, blue and pink, Abby reined in her horse on the ridge above the Triple S ranch. With a heavy heart, she watched Davy ride away. It had taken all her resolve not to plead with him to stay, but
it would have been a wasted effort. She sat there until he crested the hill, then as if he knew she was watching, he turned and waved.
A final goodbye?
Then he was gone.
It was time to face her father.
A quick nudge of her heels sent the Indian pony down the slope. In the distance were a few head of cattle. Two dark mounted figures appeared and cornered a few runaway calves and returned them to their mamas. She rode behind some brush and waited until they rode on. She wanted to go in on her own. Her horse skittered, and she leaned forward to pat its neck.
Abby rode slowly, her heart in her throat. Conflicting emotions warred in her chest. She dearly loved Sam O’Sullivan, still she dreaded facing him. He could be harsh and unapproachable. She sighed deeply, knowing she could not put off the inevitable any longer. The outbuildings came into view, then the corral and finally the main house. A soft glow emanated from the window, and voices drifted up to her. She circled around to come up behind the house. If she could slip into her room and put on one of her dresses, it might go easier. Her father had already scoffed at her doeskin dress and moccasins.
She slipped from the saddle and led the horse the last hundred yards. At the corral, she stopped, lifted the bar on the gate and led the animal inside. The other horses stirred noisily, snorting and pawing the ground.
A yell rang out. “Who’s there?”
“Dammit,” she muttered.
“Someone’s stealing the horses.”
The alarm rang out in the night air. The sound of a rifle being cocked sent her heart rising in her throat. Men ran from the bunkhouse and closed in around her.
“Don’t shoot. It’s me, Abigail.” She walked into the open.
The foreman stood there, rifle in hand, staring at her. “Miss Abigail, is that really you?”
“Yeah, Roscoe.”
“Thank God, we’ve been so worried.” He turned to the man standing beside him. “Pete, go tell the boss that Miss Abigail’s home.”
But before Pete could take one step, her father appeared. One stride took him to her side. “Abby, you’re home. Thank God.”
“Yes, Papa, I’m here.”
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