Shelter from the Storm

by Patricia Rice

  Cash studied on that a moment, his gaze drifting over the rosy hues of Laura’s throat and shoulders and down to the gentle curve of her breasts where she snuggled against him. He had been aroused the moment she had touched him, and his hunger didn’t diminish with his inspection. He could remember her response last night to his smallest caresses, and he knew he had found the treasure right under his nose that he had spent a lifetime searching for.

  He brushed his lips across her silken hair and pressed her closer, unwilling to let her go. “Laura, you don’t have to say that just because of what we’ve done together. I know what I am and what you are. There’s really no common ground for us. I’ve not brought you any happiness, just destruction. You’d do better to let me go.”

  Laura tweaked a curl in the light mat of hair upon his chest. “Are you questioning my judgment?”

  Cash caught her hand and held it still. “I’m questioning your sanity. I love you. I want to keep you. But there are walls of obstacles in the way. You need time to consider them before you make any final decisions.”

  Laura pressed a kiss to the flesh beneath his arm, then nibbled between words. “I’m. . . not. . . leaving.”

  Cash groaned and caught her hair, dragging her head back so she could meet his eyes. “I’m not looking for a mistress. I want a wife, a mother for my children. Any woman who marries me will be tainted by what I am, what I was. It will never change.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Laura ignored her fear, opting for the courage to fight for what she wanted.

  Cash read her fear and steeled himself for the inevitable. It had to be said, though. What he would do when she turned him down, he could not imagine, but there was literally no other choice. “Will you marry me?”

  The fear disappeared, and Laura snuggled back down to his shoulder. “Of course.” Her hand began an exploration of his bronzed chest, locating old scars and smoothing them with her touch.

  “Of course?” Stunned, Cash stared at the ceiling. “Of course? I’ve just asked you to condemn yourself to a lifetime as an outcast of society, and you just say ‘of course’? Don’t you even want to think about it awhile? Shouldn’t we argue over where we’re going to live, how we’re going to live? Shouldn’t there be some expression of concern over whether or not I still have the funds to support you? Laura, you can’t just say ‘of course’ to a question like that. Maybe I better go ask your Aunt Bessie for your hand. You obviously need a keeper.”

  Laura slid her fingers to his side and tickled him under his arm until Cash squirmed and turned over to face her. His gaze was wary as he met her gentle smile. Unshaken by his suspicion, Laura merely took this opportunity to admire his manly shoulders, running her fingers over them as she spoke.

  “I’m not Sallie, Cash. I should certainly think you would know that by now; I’ve told you often enough. I’ve loved you since I was a little girl. Why should I throw away now what I’ve spent a lifetime wanting? I’m sorry, Cash, you’re trapped. I’ll have all my relatives hold you at gunpoint until you say the words in front of a preacher. You’re going to make an honest woman of me whether you like it or not.”

  A chuckle built and rumbled upward as Cash caught her wandering hand and brought it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the palm, then nibbled on each finger. When she closed the gap between them, he carried her hand downward, pulling her hips to meet his.

  “I like it. I like it a lot. Honest women should be revered. If marriage is what it takes to make you honest, I’ll be happy to oblige. Come here, pequeña, I want to give you a taste of what lies in store for an honest woman such as you.”

  Cash’s nonsense filled Laura with joy, but the love in his touch raised her to new plateaus of ecstasy. Running her fingers through his hair, splaying her hands across his back, she took the love with which he showered her, and gave it back threefold, opening her body to accept his, taking him into her heart, and offering all she possessed into his care.

  Cash took what she offered with gentleness at first, then with fierce desire. Love outpaced passion, and they were well and truly one before their bodies sealed the vows their hearts had already taken. The aftermath of pleasure was just one reward for their loving.

  Tears streamed down Laura’s cheeks as Cash lifted his greater weight from her. She arched upward to hold him a little longer, and he pressed a kiss against her cheek, discovering the moisture there.

  Touching a finger to the tears, he stroked her face wonderingly. “Tears, Laura?” He couldn’t believe they were tears of regret, not after what they had just shared. But he was as yet uncertain to the sources of feminine emotion.

  She shook her head defiantly. “I never cry.”

  Cash smiled at that. “I know. I can remember you sitting on that ridiculous little pony, your little lip quivering as you told me that your daddy got blown up on a boat. You didn’t cry then. Or when your big dog died. Or when we laid Sallie to rest. Even last night, you didn’t shed a tear. You’re a hard woman, Laura Kincaid.”

  She burst into tears at that, and buried her face in Cash’s comforting shoulder as he turned over, taking her with him. All the years of holding back broke through the dam of loneliness, flooding the present, clearing a path for the future. Cash held her tight and wished he had been a wiser man. So much could have been prevented if he had been.

  But there was time yet to make up for it. Stroking her hair, he asked, “Where would you like to live, Laura? The wagons are loaded and ready to go anywhere you want.”

  Sobs lessening, she accepted the handkerchief he rummaged from the table. “Live? I thought you would be returning to California.”

  “That’s still a long and dangerous trip, love. We could take the river halfway there, but the railroads don’t go to California yet. We’d have to find a wagon train. Or go by ship around the Cape. I’m not about to put you through that. By the time we got to the desert, you could be with child, and the journey is just too dangerous. I’ll sell the ranch, and we can settle anywhere else you like.”

  Laura had scarcely given it any thought. She had always assumed he would return to California, away from the slurs and insults he bore here. She studied the matter awhile. “I don’t know anything about the North except that it must be cold a lot, and different from here. I don’t know if I would like it. I suppose we could go south. They say so many were ruined that land is practically free for the taking, but I’d feel like a vulture preying on other people’s grief. I just always thought you would go west. I don’t know enough of what is out there to make that kind of decision.”

  Cash lay propped against the pillows, holding the woman he meant to marry against his chest. Their future rested on this decision, and he wanted it to be the right one. “I can’t see you living in a sod hut on the plains. That’s not what I want for you.”

  “It has to be somewhere where we can take Jettie and the children. I promised them a home. I’ll not let Ward’s child be raised in ignorance. Is there somewhere like that?”

  “Not in this world,” Cash admitted sadly, gathering her hair into his hand. “Not in the world we know now, leastways. We’d have to make a new one.”

  A new one. A new world where people were accepted for what they did and not who they were. A world where Cash could be seen as the man he was, and not the boy he had been. The thought appealed to Laura, and she played with it, letting the feeling spread deep down inside of her.

  “We can build one,” she offered recklessly, “The old one is gone. The war took everything, don’t you see? It’s gone. Watterson’s place is gone. The slaves are gone. Society as we know it is gone. There aren’t enough men left to quibble over which ones are blue-blooded gentlemen. There’s no one left to work the farms. Clothes are being made by machines, not by hand. It’s all changing, Cash. Can’t we change with it?”

  Cash ran his hand up her nape, gripped his fingers in a hank of hair, and lifted her up so he could see her face. Excitement danced in her eyes, and he regarded it wit
h innate suspicion. “I’m not sure I’m hearing what you’re saying. Do you want me to sell the farm and buy a machine? I meant for Mark to have this land. He has roots here, no matter where we go. I don’t want to sell it.”

  Laura propped her hands on his shoulders and gave him a smile. “I don’t want to sell it either. We both have roots here, Cash. This is our home. We know the problems we face. Why run from the problems we know to ones we don’t know? If we stay here, maybe we can change the world just a little bit. You heard those men last night. They’re willing to help us rebuild. You’ve got friends here, Cash, you really do. It can work. We can make it work.”

  Her excitement was contagious, but Cash felt the need to play devil’s advocate just a little while longer. This was her future she was gambling away. He had to make certain she understood all the ramifications. “Sallie hasn’t been buried a month, Laura. There will be hell to pay if we marry now, and I don’t intend to wait a year for propriety’s sake. If we go somewhere else, no one will know that Mark was born out of wedlock. I’ll adopt him, make it legal, but the scandal will never be there as it will here. I can pass for anything I want anywhere in this country but here. You’re asking to be cut off from all proper society, Laura. I can’t do that to you.”

  Laura made an unladylike face. “What’s one more scandal or two? I should think everyone would breathe a sigh of relief once Mark has a proper daddy and they don’t have to worry about which man I’m seeing now. They can find some new amusement for a change. At least we’ll know who our friends are. And anywhere we run, there’s always the chance that rumor will follow. I’d rather have it right out in the open. The days of hiding family secrets in the attic are over too. Cash. The newspapers are making certain of that. Can we try it? Will it cost too much?”

  Cash’s gaze softened as he found the hope in Laura’s face, and he here her to his chest. “I’d like to add a new wing on where the tree fell in. It could have a sun porch just for you and chambers for us, and a nursery, and a new sewing room. It will be grander and more modern than anything Stone Creek has ever seen, and it won’t take a bevy of slaves to keep up. People will be so eager to see the insides, they’ll ignore the scandal just to get invited. And horses don’t require a lot of manpower. I know horses, and the demand for them is strong right now. We can build a stable that they’ll come wide and far to find. Then we can start exploring your notions abut machinery. I’ve heard about some that can make a difference at harvest time. They’re a gamble, at best, but I’m willing to take a few risks.”

  “A master of understatement, you are, Cassius Wickliffe,” Laura chuckled against his chest.

  “And you, my wife-to-be, are too clever for your own good. You’re going to hear about it if you start that school for ex-slaves. And I don’t think I even want to know what you have planned for that sewing machine. Maybe I should arrange it so you have no time for anything but sewing baby clothes.”

  “Baby clothes are easy.” Laura dismissed this threat with a scoff. “But there’s always a need for new fashions. If I can teach Jettie Mae . . .”

  Cash’s kiss stopped her words from going any farther. “Later, Miss Machiavelli. Right now I’m going to make love to you. Then we’re going to meet the train and pick up Mark. And then we’re going to find a preacher. Practice agreeing with me. Say ‘I will.’”

  Laughing, Laura tangled her arms around him as he flipped her over. “I will.” And then she pulled his head down for a kiss that straightened him out all the way to his toes.

  Cash came up grinning. “You’re damned right, you will. Want to try that again?”

  And she did.

  Copyright & Credits

  Shelter from the Storm

  Patricia Rice

  Copyright © Patricia Rice, 1993, 2011

  All rights reserved

  Book View Café Edition September 3, 2013

  ISBN: 978-1-61138-295-2

  First published by Onyx, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc. March, 1993

  Cover illustration © Kim Killion

  Cover design by Killion Group

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  v20130721vnm

  About the Author

  With several million books in print and New York Times and USA Today’s bestseller lists under her belt, former CPA Patricia Rice is one of romance’s hottest authors. Her emotionally-charged contemporary and historical romances have won numerous awards, including the RT Book Reviews Reviewers Choice and Career Achievement Awards. Her books have been honored as Romance Writers of America RITA® finalists in the historical, regency and contemporary categories.

  A firm believer in happily-ever-after, Patricia Rice is married to her high school sweetheart and has two children. A native of Kentucky and New York, a past resident of North Carolina, she currently resides in St. Louis, Missouri, and now does accounting only for herself. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, the Authors Guild, and Novelists, Inc.

  For further information, visit Patricia’s network:

  For further information, visit Patricia’s network:

  Book View Café

  www.patriciarice.com

  Facebook

  Twitter

  Blogspot

  Word Wenches

  Backlist eBooks

  www.bookviewcafe.com

  About Book View Café

  Book View Café is a professional authors’ publishing cooperative offering DRM-free ebooks in multiple formats to readers around the world. With authors in a variety of genres including mystery, romance, fantasy, and science fiction, Book View Café has something for everyone.

  Book View Café is good for readers because you can enjoy high-quality DRM-free ebooks from your favorite authors at a reasonable price.

  Book View Café is good for writers because 95% of the profit goes directly to the book’s author.

  Book View Café authors include New York Times and USA Today bestsellers, Nebula, Hugo, and Philip K. Dick Award winners, World Fantasy and Rita Award nominees, and winners and nominees of many other publishing awards.

  www.bookviewcafe.com

  Sample Chapter: Moonlight and Memories

  When Nicholas Saint-Just woke, it was to find the black-clad figure of his sister-in-law grimly waiting for him, a glass of sherry near one hand and fresh bandages at the other. He winced as he reached for the glass. She sat down beside him and held it so he could sip.

  “What in hell is the brat screaming about?” The infant’s cries pounded through his brain with the remains of the brandy he had imbibed the night before.

  “She is most likely hungry. Annie will see to her shortly. She will need a name, you realize.”

  The woman he had scarcely noticed these last months spoke curtly, with only a vague hint of the lilting accent of her ancestors.

  “Give it any name you like.” Removing the glass from her hand, Nicholas gulped the sherry. When she did not move, he regarded her through narrowed eyes. Until now he had barely exchanged three words with this woman. She was a timid little thing who stayed out of his way, but because she gave Francine someone to talk to, he had not objected to her presence.

  Now, after his wife’s death, he would soon be forced to acknowledge the awkward situation.

  “The child is a girl, not an it. Francine wanted her very much. Perhaps you could call her Francine in remembrance.”

  Instead of going away, the irritating woman began probing the bloody bandage at his side. Nicholas closed his eyes and let her fuss. Dominic had always been naive when it came to a pretty face, and this Irish female had more t
han a pretty face. Unfortunately, she had none of the manners of her betters.

  It was a pity Eavin Dupré couldn’t resemble Francine more. A soft voice and delicate charm would go a long way toward ending this pain eating at his innards. With his eyes closed, Nicholas could almost see his wife’s frail, blond beauty, hear her enchanting southern voice with the exotic hints of her parents’ French and Spanish accents.

  Dominic must have gone out of his way to find a woman so opposite to his sister in looks and breeding.

  Grimacing as the bandage came off, Nicholas opened his eyes again. The witch wore black as usual, but it went well with her white complexion and black hair. Heavy black brows and thick lashes should have looked coarse, but instead they accented damnably wide green Irish eyes and rose-stained cheeks. She never met his eyes, but he could feel the contempt with which she treated his wound.

  “Call the creature anything you like, just keep her out of my sight. And hearing.” The infant’s screams in the other room were escalating.

  “Francine for her mother and Jeannette for St. Joan.” Eavin cleansed the angry slash with a solution left by the doctor. “And Madame Dupré means to take her to New Orleans, so you needn’t worry about hearing her for long.”

  “Over my dead body!” Abruptly shoving Eavin aside, Nicholas threw his legs over the edge of the bed, only to discover he wasn’t dressed. Holding the sheet to his waist, he shouted, “Bring the old biddy in here! And get the hell out while I find some clothes.”

  Not certain how well her plan had worked, Eavin scampered to do as told. It would be much more pleasurable to stay and tell the arrogant creature what she thought of him, but she knew better than to beard a lion in his den. And Nicholas Saint-Just was no less than a ferocious lion as he began yelling for servants. Eavin just hoped she hadn’t unleashed an uncontrollable beast.