Romancing the Wilderness: American Wilderness Series Boxed Bundle Books 1 - 3

by Dorothy Wiley

  He had never felt these overwhelming sensations before. He marveled at the intensity of feelings that could make the rest of the world disappear as if nothing else mattered.

  The few times in his life that he had coupled with a woman had been quick and lukewarm at best, with little kissing and no affection. The empty experiences left him feeling only regrets and guilt. And a hope that someday making love with a woman would be just that—making love.

  Just from kissing her, he could tell that making love with her would be utterly different. Her lips and mouth seemed made for his, as they joined with his to form a perfect union. And the thought of joining with her made his imagination go wild. He only knew he was lost—lost to the swirling fiery chaos happening within his body.

  He wanted to go on kissing her forever to keep feeling as he did now, but his hands thought otherwise. They took over his will and began to move over her body. First, down her back and the curves of her bottom, to the top of her legs. Just touching her made his blood hot. He drew her close, feeling the softness of her breasts press up against his chest. Oh, how he longed to feel their warmth in his hands. He rubbed a single finger against the bare skin of her neck and shoulder.

  “Catherine, do you have any idea what you do to me?” he breathed.

  “Probably the same thing you do to me.”

  She ran her fingertips and nails across the opening at the top of his shirt. The sensations she drew from him with just that simple touch surprised him. It made him want to tear the new shirt off his back.

  “I’ve never felt like this.” His voice broke with uneven huskiness.

  “Neither have I,” she whispered into his neck. “Kiss me Sam, and never, ever stop.”

  He kissed her until she groaned from deep in her throat. When he deepened the kiss, her lips and body asked for more. And he wanted to comply. They were both trembling with desire.

  Then she nearly pleaded, “Sam, I want you, all of you,” her voice fierce, yet sensual.

  “I need to find us a safe shelter.” If he was going to make love to her, he would take his time—savor every moment exploring her exquisite body. “We can’t. Not here, not now, out here in the middle of an open pas….ture.” His breath caught as she started untying his leather breeches.

  “Indeed we can,” she said, her voice sensuous and insistent as she rubbed her soft fingers across his abdomen. “The grass is tall and soft.”

  “I wish we were a thousand miles from anywhere.”

  The tight muscles of his stomach tightened even further. In fact, his whole body was growing rigid with desire. He could not believe this well-bred lady was willing to love him out here in the middle of a pasture. But her feelings had nothing to do with reason. She was entirely caught up in her own desire.

  He couldn’t deny the excitement at the prospect of loving her right here, but his warrior instincts kept springing to life. “It isn’t…safe, we’re out in the open,” he struggled to say.

  Could he let down his guard long enough to enjoy their coupling? Could he stop thinking for once long enough to just feel?

  Then she touched him again, lower, and he decided he could. He definitely could let down his guard. Right here. Right now.

  His hand enveloped the back of her head and he brought her lips to his. This time his kiss was deep, exploring, and even more fervent. If it was possible for a kiss to claim someone, this one did. He wanted to make her his, so he could go on kissing her like this for the rest of his life.

  Then, a dark corner of his mind leapt up, warning him to stop.

  If he didn’t stop now, he was committed. Committed to her for life. Would she grow tired of the wilderness and want to return to all that Boston offered? Worse, what if something happened to her too? His heart did a backflip.

  He quickly stepped away, trying to get the blood flowing into his head again. He needed to think. Looking down, he ran the fingers of both hands through his hair.

  “What?” Catherine asked. “Please, I want you to go on. I know it wouldn’t be proper. But I don’t care anymore. You said we have to make our own rules here in the west. What’s important is that I love you, Sam. That’s my destiny. If you stop now, it will kill me, I’m sure.”

  “That’s what has me worried,” he confessed, his voice cracking. “Something or someone killing you.” Unable to stand the look of anguished disappointment on her face, he turned his back to her. He took a few steps away. “I’ve had too many people I loved taken away. I couldn’t stand it if you were too.”

  Then she took a step toward him. “Sam, even if we have only one day on this earth together, I will love you forever.”

  He spun around, suddenly sure he wanted her back in his arms. “There’s something important I want to say. Catherine, I….”

  Before he could finish, he stared in stunned disbelief. Then in horror, as she collapsed to the ground.

  Chapter 28

  Stephen’s big stallion was the first to thunder into their camp. He quickly glanced around but the only sounds of commotion came from the children playing, and William, Bear, and the Judge riding in behind him.

  “What’s going on?” John yelled to him.

  “Is everything all right?” Jane asked, concerned.

  “Frank Foley has escaped. His brother broke him out of jail,” Stephen said. “They came this direction. We thought he came here.”

  “They must have skirted around our camp so they could make a clean getaway,” William suggested.

  “We saw no sign of them,” John said, loading his pistol. His rifle carelessly leaned against a nearby wagon wheel.

  “We’re all fine, but Catherine and Sam are still gone,” Jane said, sounding worried.

  “John, stand guard while we circle the area,” Stephen ordered. “And load that rifle too.”

  The horseback men split into two groups, Bear with Stephen, and William with Judge Webb. They rode in opposite directions searching the area about a hundred yards out from the perimeter of the camp.

  Stephen found the three children playing hide-and-go-seek with Kelly in a tiny clearing on the other side of camp. He heard Kelly call out, “Ollie, Ollie oxen free,” signaling that she had caught one of the children and the others were all free to come out. He remembered playing the game with his brothers as a youngster but was too worried to enjoy the memory. He rode up and instructed her to hurry them over to the center of their camp and put the children in Jane’s wagon.

  By the time he and Bear returned, William and the Judge were waiting for them. None of the men spotted anything of concern. Now they just had to locate Catherine and Sam.

  “I’ll find them,” Stephen told the other men. “Sam needs to know Foley’s out there somewhere. The rest of you stay here with the women and children. Frank and Bud probably went to meet up with their men and then they may come back here.”

  As the others dismounted, including the Judge, Stephen checked his weapons and got an extra pistol and ball pouch. Then Bear helped him locate the nearby tracks of Sam and Catherine’s horses. Stephen took off following the tracks that led away from the main road heading west.

  “Watch yer back,” Bear yelled after him. “That rake is the type to shoot you in the back.”

  The tracks led to a narrow trail that ran parallel to the river. It was clear the two were just leisurely walking their horses. Stephen wanted to catch up to them before Foley did. If given half a chance, Sam would kill the traitor even if it meant sacrificing his own life to do it.

  Stephen rode through grass that reached his stirrup, keeping a careful watch for anyone who might be hiding in the dense brush and trees that followed the path of the river. A thick copse of pines made long dark afternoon shadows in the field. Stephen scanned the area carefully for signs of either Sam or Foley.

  About a half-mile away, the tracks led back to the main road. There he noticed another set of fresh tracks. Frank and Bud’s? Almost immediately, he heard a shot. The report came from the middle of a near
by pasture.

  He turned George in the direction of the sound and gave the horse his head. At a fast gallop, it was only a minute or two before he caught sight of Sam.

  He sat in the deep grass, slumped over.

  Stephen urged George on and raced up to Sam. His brother cradled Catherine’s head in his lap.

  Stephen’s insides tightened as he dismounted. “My God, what’s happened?”

  “We shouldna shot her. Now that big fellow will be a coming after us,” Bud complained, as he towed Sam’s horse behind his own mount. “I thought we skirted around their camp on our way out of town to avoid tangling with them again. I told the men to wait for us near the creek like you said.”

  “My plan changed when I saw him out here with just that woman with him. I figure that rider we heard coming in a hurry was one of them. He’ll go back and get the others. I doubt the Captain is foolish enough to come alone after five men. Then they’ll follow our trail to where our men are waiting. We’ll set ourselves up further down the road and ambush all of them. Just like shooting dumb buffalo. Hell, we might even skin them when we’re through.”

  Bud snickered. “You always was a smart one.” His brother turned to look at the buckskin. “You sure got yourself a fine-looking horse here.”

  “That horse is just the beginning. These are rich folks. After we kill them, we’ll double back tonight and get the rest of their horses, must be at least a dozen of them we can sell up in the Ohio Territory or in New Orleans. We’ll also get their money and take our pleasure in their women. We left a prize back there dying with her man, too bad I didn’t get a chance to taste her,” Foley said.

  He found it difficult to hurry. His left arm still hurt enough that he could only ride at a slow lope. Trotting pained him even more. His jaw clenched in fury at what the Captain had done to him. He could still feel the fingers of his missing hand. He kept looking down where his hand ought to be. The sensation was driving him crazy.

  But he’d paid the Captain back now. He wouldn’t be kissing that black-haired beauty anymore. A person shot with a large-caliber gun, if they didn’t bleed to death, would soon die of the wound.

  His only regret was that someone had interrupted his plan. He had intended to take the Captain’s woman right then and there as part of his repayment to the arrogant son-of-a-bitch. He would have made sure that the Captain was still alive enough to hear him do it and hear her screams. That would have been all the better.

  As soon as they’d heard a rider coming though, he’d told Bud to grab the buckskin while he took a quick shot at her. Then they had left in a hurry.

  But he had a new plan now and he would keep the buckskin. He liked this horse. He’d wanted one like it all his life. Buckskins had more stamina, harder feet, and stronger legs than other horses. The Captain should have traded him for the whiskey as he’d offered. If he had, his woman would still be alive.

  He remembered those days scouting for the Red Coats. They had paid him handsomely. He was just doing a job like everyone else. That didn’t make him a traitor. If the lobster-backs had won, he’d have been rewarded for his service to the Crown, not considered a traitor. He’d have been a hero. Well, I get my own rewards now. He peered back at the fine horse Bud towed. That horse was one of those rewards, and he had waited long enough to ride him.

  “Hold up,” Foley bellowed to his brother. He pulled a small jug out of his saddlebag and took a long drink of whiskey. Then he stepped off his mount, dragged the rein over the horse’s head, and handed it to his brother. Since he only had one hand to hold the reins, Bud had tied a knot in them to hold them together.

  He took the buckskin from Bud and tried to put his boot in the stirrup.

  The horse sidestepped and his foot fell out. “You stupid son of a…,” he cursed. He yanked down hard on the bit, deliberately hurting the gelding’s mouth.

  The buckskin set back, dragging Foley along. It was all he could do with one hand, even though he was a big man, to hold onto the stout horse. The gelding’s eyes bulged with equine fury as it tried to rear up. When the horse strained against him, he yanked hard enough on the bit to tear the mount’s mouth.

  Serves him right.

  Foley grabbed the braided handle of the horsewhip he kept on a loop around his wrist. He grunted, bristling with indignation. Holding both the rein and the whip’s handle tightly in his hand, he viciously slapped the horse across the muzzle. As blood streaked the buckskin’s nose red, he smirked, glad he had let the rebellious animal know who was in control.

  But the horse reared, whinnying. With ears pinned back like arrowheads nearly flat against his head, the gelding strained against him, pulling his head up. Then the buckskin jerked his head down and crow hopped, yanking the rein out of Frank’s hand and causing him to lose his balance. He tumbled to the ground.

  Neighing in a loud prolonged cry, the gelding reared and pawed the air.

  Screaming, he rolled just in time, feeling the horse’s deadly hoofs pound the ground right next to him.

  Despite no longer being controlled by the reins, the rebellious beast seemed to want to continue to fight him. The horse’s nostrils flared with heavy breathing and the damn animal turned to kick him, throwing both back legs high up into the air.

  He quickly rolled away, narrowly escaping the buckskin’s left rear hoof.

  Seething with anger, he cursed, as the horse took off at a full gallop. “Bastard!” he shrieked after the animal.

  “Frank, let’s get. That rider we heard could be coming after us,” Bud complained. “You can get that horse later.”

  Foley snatched his own horse’s reins from Bud, then spit. “I’ll get them all.”

  Chapter 29

  Sam stared up at Stephen, anguish suffocating his soul as he held Catherine, limp and bleeding, in his arms. The ache in his heart became nauseating and his throat tightened as he tried to speak. “Foley…he shot her. They ambushed us. I should have heard them.”

  Stephen quickly dismounted and knelt beside them both. As his brother checked Catherine’s pulse, Sam continued to press his hand against the wound, trying his best to stop the pouring blood.

  He fought to keep his emotions in check, but he was failing, miserably. His whole body quavered with heart-crushing foreboding. “She’ll die, and she’ll never have a chance to be happy. She said she loved me. And, oh God, I turned my back on her. I literally turned it, Stephen. That’s when Foley shot her. If I hadn’t turned and stepped away, I would have been the one shot.” A sharp stab of guilt buried itself in his chest.

  Stephen drew his knife and cut a large section off of Catherine’s petticoat. “Allow me to have her,” Stephen said, as he folded the cloth into a square. “I’ll check her wound and tend to it. She’s still alive. We just have to stop the bleeding.”

  He reluctantly laid her shoulders down on the ground and stood up. He gazed at her through glistening eyes. It was sickeningly familiar. And just as senseless. Catherine, possibly also lost too soon.

  He remembered kissing her. Kisses that freed passion held too long at bay. Kisses filled with the promise of love. Kisses that offered a new chance at life.

  Now, that murdering thief had stolen all that and more.

  He wanted to scream. He clenched his fists at his sides. How could he have let this happen? He should have gone after Foley immediately. He’d known the man was a killer. Why hadn’t he? He knew the answer. Because he wanted to love her more than he wanted revenge.

  He loved her.

  He loved her! He was certain of that now. He had never been more certain of anything.

  Then desperation gripped him. Was she slipping away? He shuddered and glared down, nearly senseless with worry, barely able to breathe. He tried to focus on what Stephen was doing.

  “God, don’t let her die,” he begged.

  “The blood flow is slowing,” Stephen said.

  He sucked that small offer of hope into his lungs and knelt next to Stephen. They began examinin
g the wound carefully. The lead had passed across the very top of the muscle between her neck and shoulder, just above the collarbone. Whenever Stephen lifted the cloth, blood seeped down both sides of her left shoulder.

  “The ball hit the very top of her shoulder muscle,” Stephen said, “not bone or lung. Fortunately, the path of the wound is rather small. No more than a half-inch. With that high caliber weapon, another inch further down might have killed her. The good news is that since it was so powerful, it passed cleanly through her. We must keep pressure on the wound or she will lose even more blood. This cloth is soaked through. Use your knife and cut up the rest of her petticoat. Do it now Sam.”

  Stephen’s tone seemed to bring Sam out of his shock. He hastily cut off a good size piece of petticoat and then, after Stephen removed the saturated cloth, gently applied pressure to the wound himself. He hoped they could stop the bleeding entirely.

  “Are you sure she won’t die?”

  “I’m sure of it. She’s strong and she has a very good reason to live,” Stephen said looking at him.

  He prayed his brother was right—on both counts. The ball had not hit anything vitally important, but she had lost a lot of blood as well as all color in her face. And there was always the risk that the wound could fester and poison her.

  “Foley and his brother rode up to us right after they shot her. I was on the ground holding her, afraid she was dying, trying to stop the blood pouring out of her. Unfortunately, my rifle was still on my horse. They heard you coming, grabbed Alex, and took off in a hurry. I started to throw my knife or use my pistol but I didn’t want to release the pressure on her wound. My hands were so slippery with her blood, I probably would have missed anyway.”

  “He just had to have that gelding, one way or another,” Stephen said.

  Sam took a quick peek at Catherine’s wound. “The blood flow has slowed considerably. Cut another bandage and then take over for me,” he said, his anger heating as shock yielded quickly to fury.