Cherish

by Catherine Anderson

  Unable to help herself, she clung to him with her gaze as she longed to do physically. The only time she’d felt really safe since this nightmare had begun was today in the bedroll wagon, when he’d held her. And no wonder. Even covered by black denim, the powerful lines of his upper torso were evident.

  The only other man she’d ever seen without his shirt was her father, and that had been only a glimpse, for Papa had quickly ducked into the bedroom to cover himself properly. Going by what she recalled, though, her father had been pale-skinned and thin, his arms not much bigger around than hers.

  Race Spencer’s arms were thrice that size, his forearms thick and ridged with sinew, his upper arms and shoulders bulging with pads of muscle. She remembered how, just beneath his bronze skin, distended veins marbled the otherwise glossy smoothness. She also recalled how perfectly she had fit against him when he’d held her, her round places filling his hollows, and his filling hers. She wished his arms were locked around her now, that he’d hold her like that again, stroke her hair, make the jumpy, electrified feeling inside her go away. By the fire, maybe, with a blanket drawn over her. So she could forget. Maybe even sleep for a bit.

  Madness. Until yesterday, she’d never been alone with a man. Not even with Henry, to whom she would soon have been officially betrothed. Once they’d slipped away into the front parlor, with her parents right there in the adjoining room, and Papa had pitched a fit when he found them. An unmarried woman didn’t keep company with a man without a chaperone, Papa had informed her later. Never. No matter how innocent the situation, it simply was not done. Now here she sat, wanting Race Spencer to hold her while she slept.

  Appalled at herself for thinking such things, she averted her gaze, her cheeks as warm as if she were standing near the fire. It was wrong to stare at the man, especially when she kept remembering how he’d looked half-naked.

  The slender pieces of green wood he fed to the fire finally caught, snapping and crackling as they sent up a spray of orange sparks. The sudden flare of light cast flickering patterns of amber into the darkness, illuminating the figures of two men approaching. Their voices rose and fell, interspersed with laughter, as they made their way into camp.

  “Got any coffin varnish?” one called.

  “It’s even fresh,” Race replied.

  As the men drew closer, Rebecca recognized them as Corey Halloway and Johnny Graves. Over the course of the evening, Rebecca had revised her opinion of them both. Johnny, the bosom gawker, reminded her a little of Samuel Stevens, a young church brother of hers whom she’d known all of her life. Incurably mischievous and irreverent, Samuel kept his parents and many of the elders in a constant dither, making them despair of his ever growing up. Secretly, Rebecca had always enjoyed Samuel’s pranks, his lively wit, and his penchant for laughter, and she hoped he never changed. Everyone had a special gift to give others, and Samuel’s was the ability to make people smile. Johnny Graves was like that, his blue eyes dancing, his attitude about most things flippant and devil-may-care.

  After joining their boss at the fire and pouring themselves some coffee, Corey and Johnny hunkered near the flames to warm themselves and rest. Their positions didn’t strike Rebecca as being very comfortable. Her own legs would have soon grown weary of the strain. But these cattlemen seemed content to rock back on a boot heel for hours, one knee uplifted to rest their arms, their gazes fixed on the fire.

  “We just saw Preach and Madison down at the tether line, rubbing down their horses,” Johnny said, nudging his hat brim up to look at Race.

  “How many head did they bring in?” Race asked.

  That had been an oft-repeated question tonight, the counts ranging from zero to only a few, and with each report, Race’s expression became a little more grim.

  No longer convinced that prayer was a magic cure for every ill, nor even certain, at this point, if there was a heavenly Father to whom she might appeal, Rebecca found herself crossing her fingers and holding her breath, something she hadn’t done in years. Please, let it be better news this time!

  “Nine,” Johnny replied.

  “That’s a help.”

  Johnny nodded and took a slow sip of coffee. “Yeah. Maybe things are starting to look up.”

  Race lifted a battered tin cup from where it had been sitting on one of the rocks. After gazing into it for a moment, he tossed away the contents with a flick of his broad wrist.

  Corey crouched with his head bent, curtains of white-blond hair falling forward to hide his expression. “You need us to spell you tonight, watchin’ after Blue?” He glanced up. “I imagine you and Miss Rebecca would like to get a little rest.”

  Race took his time answering. “If you wouldn’t mind watchin’ him for the next little bit, it’d be much appreciated. I got some business to take care of.”

  Johnny drew his cup from his lips, swallowing and swiping at his mouth with his shirt sleeve. “Not a problem. We aren’t going anywhere for a spell. Not until I’ve had at least two more cups of coffee, anyway.”

  “Great. I never did get a chance to talk with Rebecca, and after that, I should probably get her settled for the night. I imagine she’s tuckered.”

  Rebecca’s stomach dropped. Talk? She thought back to what she’d said out by the graves and recalled having told him that she would give him more details later. And she would, of course. He had every right to know. It was just—oh, lands, she hated to get into that right now. After all the bad news he’d been getting all evening? Why risk angering him by confessing that someone else’s money was at the root of all his troubles? Especially since, because of it, he apparently had lost a great deal of his own.

  Race pushed to his feet and brushed his palms clean on his pants. As he turned in her direction, his sharp gaze routed through the shadows to give her a long perusal. Illuminated by firelight and cast against the darkness behind him, he looked more like a wood carving than a flesh-and-blood man, the open collar of his shirt revealing a swatch of molten bronze chest, his black trousers reflective with muted gold. Amber flickered over his face, etching his chiseled features in shadow.

  With a catlike fluidity he moved toward her, his boots touching the ground so lightly that his footfalls could scarcely be heard. With each stride his massive shoulders shifted, his powerfully roped arms swinging loosely at his sides, his broad hands curled slightly and always hovering near the dull-finish handles of his Colts. His expression told her nothing as he drew up before her. Neither did his brown eyes, which glittered with reflected light as he locked gazes with her.

  “You feel like takin’ a little walk before you turn in?” he asked. “I need to stretch my legs.”

  A walk? She glanced at the darkness beyond the firelight. It had to be well after midnight. Then it hit her. A walk.

  She imagined peering at him over the top of a short bush. Somehow the picture no longer struck her as being very funny. Horribly embarrassing was more like it. At home, such things were never discussed or alluded to. She couldn’t imagine having a man accompany her to do her necessary business. On the other hand, the thought of his leaving her behind in camp made her feel panicky.

  “I, um—yes. A walk would be nice.”

  He reached down and took her arm. He had a grip like a steel vise, yet it was also oddly gently, the pressure of his fingers firm but not bruising. Once she’d gained her feet, he led her from camp. The moment they moved beyond the firelight, Rebecca couldn’t see. She peered into the blackness, her footsteps faltering.

  “You night blind?”

  “A bit.”

  She no sooner spoke than she caught the toe of her shoe on a rock and nearly fell. Abandoning his hold on her arm, he caught her from pitching forward, then slipped an arm around her waist, his large hand splayed over her side, his thumb and forefinger resting perilously close to the underside of her breast. Rebecca’s breath snagged. No man had ever dared to touch her so familiarly, not even her father. She wondered if the fact that Race Spencer had cared fo
r her last night and then again today made him feel that he could take liberties with her person.

  “A bit?” His tone was laced with amusement. He steered her around something in their path that she was unable to see, his hand shifting slightly on her side as he pulled her to follow him. Reacting instinctively, Rebecca grabbed hold of his fingers. He glanced down. “You feelin’ nervous about my hand bein’ there, honey?”

  Her mouth had gone suddenly dry. “I, um…a little.”

  He flashed her a crooked grin, his teeth gleaming white in the moonlight. Looking up at him, she was heartened by the fact that she could at least see the shadowy cast of his features now. “Well, I’d say we got ourselves a problem then. I’m gonna be a whole lot nervous if I turn loose of you. I’m afraid you’ll trip.”

  Since she’d already nearly done so, she couldn’t very well argue the point. “My eyes are beginning to adjust now, I think.”

  He looked ahead. “Can you see that rock?”

  Rebecca peered into the gloom. “What rock?”

  He veered sharply to the left. “That rock.” He chuckled, the sound deep and vibrant. “I don’t think you can see quite good enough to do your own navigatin’, if it’s all the same to you.” He glanced back down at her. “As for the hand, it ain’t gonna go nowhere. You got my word on it.”

  In her estimation, his hand wouldn’t have to go very far. His thumb already grazed the beginning swell at the side of her breast, the heat of his touch making her skin tingle even through the layers of cloth. In all fairness, however, she doubted the touch was deliberate. With his fingers splayed, the spread of his hand could have encompassed a supper plate. Nevertheless, she couldn’t quite bring herself to release her hold on his fingers.

  “Is them church fellas the gropey type?” he asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “You know—gropers.” He wiggled a captured finger. “Judgin’ by the way you’re squeezin’, I’d wager that you kept company with some fellas who was given to coppin’ touches without askin’ you first.”

  Without asking her first? Rebecca gaped at him for a moment, so appalled to think there might actually be women who would grant a man permission that she couldn’t think what to say. When at last she found her voice, she said, “I’ve never kept company with any gentlemen.”

  He arched a dark eyebrow. “Never?”

  “Only when my parents were present. Unmarried men and women aren’t allowed to be alone in our church community, and Ma and Papa strictly observed the rule.” A wave of sadness hit her at the thought of them. Her voice going taut, she added, “I guess those times are forever behind me. My life will probably be quite different from now on.” She laughed softly, the sound without humor. “I guess it already is. Here I am, taking a walk late at night with a man, and without a chaperone.”

  He drew her around another obstacle. Squinting, Rebecca tried in vain to see where he might be taking her.

  As if he guessed her thoughts, he said, “There’s a big pile of rocks up ahead. I thought we could find a place to sit and talk for a spell. You needin’ to stop before we get there? I reckon your eyeteeth must be floatin’. I can find you some bushes if you want.”

  Rebecca felt the heat of a blush spread from her cheeks to her hairline. “No, I, um…I’m fine, thank you.”

  “You sure? Don’t be bashful. Privies is few and far between out here. I can turn my back and roll myself a smoke while you’re doin’ your business.”

  That morning, Rebecca had used the Arbuckle can in her wagon, and she fully intended to continue to do so, the only problem being how she might empty it. “No, thank you.” Hoping to distract him, she added, “I didn’t realize you smoked.”

  “I don’t much. Does smokin’ offend you?”

  “I, um…don’t know, actually. I’ve never known anyone who indulged.”

  Both of his eyebrows went up at that revelation. “My God, darlin’. What do you church folks do for fun?” Even in the moonlight, she saw a twinkle enter his eyes. “No courtin’, no coppin’ touches, no smokin’. I don’t suppose drinkin’s allowed either.”

  “Spirits, you mean?” She smiled at his appalled expression. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  He shook his head. “You got some rough trail ahead, sweetheart. The real world ain’t quite so right and proper.”

  Out of the darkness, the pile of rocks suddenly loomed before them. Rebecca gave a startled squeak when Race grasped her at the waist and swung her up to sit on a boulder. Leaning forward, she peered at the blackness below her dangling feet. “Are there jagged rocks down there?”

  “I won’t let you fall,” he said huskily.

  Resting a hand on each side of her, he stepped close, pressing his wide chest against her knees. His advance brought his face to within a scant inch of hers, and she straightened, feeling unaccountably unsettled. In the pit of her stomach, she had a fluttery sensation that intensified every time she looked at him. She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Are you sure it’s safe to be here?”

  He followed her nervous gaze. “You think I woulda brought you here if I thought it wasn’t?”

  She knew he wouldn’t have. In the space of a day, she’d come to trust this man in a way she really couldn’t justify. How many times had her ma cautioned her never to place herself in compromising situations with men? According to Ma, the male of the species, no matter how pious, was cursed with powerful physical yearnings that could overcome his good sense. Race Spencer was far from pious, yet as she gazed into his dark eyes, she felt no fear of him.

  “What?” he asked softly.

  “Nothing.”

  His mouth quirked at one corner. “There’s somethin’. Whenever you’re feelin’ upset or worried, it’s plain on your face.”

  It was rather unsettling to have him verify her suspicion that he could read her so well. “It’s just that my ma would have conniptions if she could see me now. She maintained that it was perilous for a young lady to be alone with a gentleman.”

  The grin that flirted with his lips took hold, deepening the slash in his lean cheek. Rebecca stared at it, wondering if it had been a dimple in his younger years that had become more deeply chiseled by time and harsh exposure to the elements.

  “And what, exactly, are you afraid I’m gonna do?”

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Ma just said gentlemen have powerful yearnings that can get the best of them sometimes. And that I shouldn’t trust them.”

  He startled her by reaching up to grasp her chin. He traced the shape of her mouth with the pad of his thumb, his gaze holding hers. “Your ma was a smart lady,” he admitted in a gravelly voice. “You shouldn’t trust a man too far, darlin’. You’re too pretty by half, and it could get you into trouble.”

  Rebecca’s heart skittered. Not that she believed for a moment that she was all that pretty. But there was a strange heat in the look he gave her that she found rather disconcerting. “Are—are you saying I can’t trust you?”

  She realized he’d been staring at her mouth as she spoke. As her question trailed away, he lightly dragged his thumb across her lips again. After a long moment, he said, “No, I ain’t sayin’ that.” He smiled and lowered his hand back down to rest it on the rock. “You can trust me, darlin’. I give you my word.”

  He seemed almost reluctant to make that promise, which she found even more alarming. Her lips tingled where he’d touched them. Regarding him with a concerned frown, she scratched with her teeth to make the sensation abate. “I’m glad,” she blurted. “If I couldn’t trust you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  At her admission, Race’s smile faded. An ache spread through him as he studied her small face. She truly would be in a pickle without him. That went a long way toward explaining the frantic expression he had glimpsed in her eyes several times.

  “Well, don’t worry on it,” he told her. “You can trust me, honey.” Race meant to live up to that promise if it killed him. She desperately needed
a friend, and he wanted to be that for her. Any overpowering urges that came over him would have to be set aside. It was just that simple. He offered her his handshake. “Friends?”

  Almost pathetically eager, she crossed his palm with her fingers. “I hope so,” she whispered.

  He enfolded her slender hand in his. There was an unmistakable note of doubt in those words. “Can I take that to mean you’re thinkin’ somethin’ could happen to make us not be friends?”

  She averted her gaze to stare off into the darkness. “Are you certain we’re safe from the ruffians out here?”

  Sensing that she needed to circle the question for a bit before she answered, he allowed her to change the subject. “I got men ridin’ guard. Six of ’em, now that it’s full dark. On top of that, we’re both wearin’ black, which don’t show up good at night, so we ain’t makin’ targets of ourselves. And if trouble comes callin’, I figure I’m handy enough with a gun to hold it off until my men out there can reach us.”

  She sighed and began worrying the buttons of her bodice with tense fingertips. “That’s good to know.”

  He caught her chin with the crook of his finger, forcing her to look at him. “Rebecca, what is it that’s troublin’ you?”

  By her expression, he knew she dreaded telling him. She lifted her gaze to the star-studded sky above them, managing to avoid his gaze after all. “I, um…” She gulped. “I just don’t want to make you angry with me.”

  “Why would I get angry with you?”

  “Because of your cows. Losing so many, I mean. My being here has visited misfortune upon you, and I’m afraid that—” She broke off and looked back down at him, her eyes shimmering in the moonlight. “When you find out what those ruffians are after, I’m afraid you’ll detest me.”

  Race could see that the possibility frightened her, and he supposed, if he were in her shoes, he’d feel the same way. “Because they’re after money?” he asked gently.