Authors: Madeline Baker
He wanted her.
And she wanted him.
How was he going to keep his hands off her?
More importantly, how was he going to keep
her
hands off him? She wouldn’t run forever. She thought they were going to be married, and that implied a certain amount of intimacy—hugs, at the least, followed by long, slow kisses, and maybe a caress or two.
Muttering an oath, he submerged himself in the water, knowing that even a dip in Arctic waters in mid-winter wouldn’t be cold enough to cool his desire.
Snuggled in her bedroll, Jassy gazed up at the night sky. Stars by the millions twinkled like diamonds scattered across an indigo canvas.
But it wasn’t the stars that she was thinking about. It was the way Creed had looked in the river that morning, his dark bronze body shining wetly in the sunlight, his long black hair framing the most handsome, masculine face she had ever seen.
Creed… Just thinking of him caused her pulse to race and her stomach to curl with pleasure.
She slid a furtive glance at him from the corner of her eye. He was lying on top of his bedroll, fully clothed, his arms crossed beneath his head, apparently lost in thought. Was he thinking of her? What would have happened if she had stood her ground by the river? At the time, she had been certain he was bluffing, but what if she hadn’t run?
A hot flush washed into her cheeks as she imagined what might have happened, imagined Creed emerging from the water, taking her in his arms, kissing her, making love to her…
He wanted her. She wanted him. Why did they have to wait?
She chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. What if she went to him now? Would he send her away again? Or take her in his arms and make love to her?
Only a few feet of ground separated them. She was gathering her courage when Creed’s voice bridged the gulf between them.
“The Lakota call the Milky Way
Wanagi Tacaka
, the Spirit Road,” he remarked quietly. “They believe the
nagi
, or spirit, travels the Milky Way to
Wanagi Yatu,
the Place of Souls. It’s a long journey.
Tate
, the Wind, guards the Spirit Trail, but there are some who believe the spirits of the departed must pass by an old woman before they can enter the land of many lodges. This old woman, whose name is
Hihankara
, the Owl Maker, looks for certain tattoo marks which must appear on the chin, wrist, or forehead of the deceased. If she can’t find a tattoo, she pushes the spirit off the trail and it falls back to earth to become a ghost.”
Jassy smiled, charmed by the tale. Creed’s description made it easy to picture an old woman with long gray braids standing at the edge of the Milky Way, her black eyes sharp as she checked for the necessary tattoo.
“Is that what you believe?” she asked, certain he wouldn’t admit to believing such a fanciful thing even if he did.
“I’m not sure,” Creed answered. “My grandmother believed it, though. I guess if it’s true, I’m destined to become a ghost.”
“Didn’t your grandmother give you a tattoo?”
“No. My mother wouldn’t permit it. She said it was a heathen tradition. I always meant to get one, but somehow I never did.”
Jassy stared at the Milky Way, trying to imagine what it had been like for Creed, growing up with the Indians. It must have been nice, having grandparents, being part of a family. She fingered the beaded choker at her throat. She had never known her own grandparents. She knew almost nothing about her mother and father, except that her mother had been born on a farm in Pennsylvania.
“It’s pretty, the Milky Way, I mean,” she mused.
“Yeah.”
“Do you believe in heaven?”
“I don’t know. I believe in hell, though.”
“I don’t think you can have one without the other,” Jassy remarked. She rose on one elbow and faced Creed. “Reverend Padden said my mama’s soul was bound for hell. Do you think he’s right, Creed? Do you think my mama’s burning in hellfire?”
Creed shook his head. “I don’t know, honey. I’m in no position to judge anyone else.” He turned on his side, facing her, his jaw cradled in his palm. “I wouldn’t pay much attention to what that Bible thumper said if I was you, Jassy. Your mama did what she had to do, same as the rest of us.”
“I guess so.” Jassy looked up at the sky again. Overwhelmed by the beauty of it all, she felt suddenly small and vulnerable. Stars without number, she thought.
“Good night, Jassy.”
“‘Night, Creed.” She snuggled under the covers, and then, before she could change her mind, she scrambled out of her bedroll and slid in beside Creed.
“Jassy, what the…?”
“I don’t want to sleep alone, Creed, please.”
“This isn’t a good idea, Jassy, believe me.”
“I don’t care. I’m…I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know. Ghosts, maybe.”
Creed grunted. He didn’t have the heart to send her back to her own bed, not if she was really scared, but he knew there was no way he was going to get any sleep with her lying there beside him. No way at all.
Nevertheless, he turned his back to her and closed his eyes.
She stirred beside him, her body brushing against his as she curled up against him.
Her scent rose all around him, warm and sleepy, soft and feminine. Alluring. Desirable.
He swore under his breath. If there was indeed a hell, no doubt he would burn in it for all eternity for his thoughts alone.
He woke before dawn to find Jassy’s arms and legs entwined with his. Her hair was spread over his arm like a living flame. Her skin was slightly flushed; a faint smile played over her lips. He would have given a month’s pay to know what she was dreaming about.
And then she murmured his name, her voice thick with unfulfilled desire, and he knew. He tried to ignore his body’s instant reaction, but she was too near, too tempting. Unable to help himself, he rolled onto his side, gathered her into his arms, and kissed her.
He had meant it to be a quick, passionless kiss, but as soon as his mouth covered hers, he was lost, drowning in sweetness.
He was holding her, kissing her, whispering her name. The words became clearer, the shadows became substance. She was aware of the gentle abrasion of whiskers against her cheek. She drew a long shuddering breath and inhaled the scent of man and sweat and dust… She heard a moan, and realized it wasn’t hers…
Jassy’s eyelids flew open as her dream merged with reality, and she realized that Creed was indeed holding her, kissing her.
Her arms slid around his neck, drawing him closer. Pressing herself against him, she parted her lips and let her tongue taste his. And suddenly she was holding empty air.
Creed swore softly as he scrambled to his feet. Another minute and she would have been his in every sense of the word. And then what? Once he had taken her innocence, he would never be able to let her go.
Jassy sat up, looking confused. “Creed, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Nothing, he thought ruefully. How was he going to keep his hands off her when she came alive at the slightest touch, when she offered herself to him without hesitation? She was like fire and silk in his arms, hot and soft and smooth.
Turning on his heel, he headed for the river.
“Creed, where are you going?”
He paused, but didn’t look at her. “I’m going to take a… I need some privacy, so unless you want a first-class education in male anatomy, don’t follow me.”
Glancing over his shoulder, he fixed her with a warning stare, then headed for the river. He doused his head and neck in the chill water, then sat back on his heels, his gaze fixed on the opposite bank.
If his calculations were right, they weren’t more than twenty or thirty miles from Rock Springs. If they rode hard, they could be there late tomorrow afternoon. With luck, he could sell their horses for enough money to buy some decent clothes for the two of them and have enough left over for a couple of second-class tickets on the Union Pacific. Three days on the train should get them into Sacramento. From there, they would take a stage into Frisco. He’d find Rose, get his money back, get Jassy settled someplace, and clear out of her life once and for all.
He’d miss her, though. Still, it was for her own good. He was never going to amount to anything, and she deserved a decent life, marriage to a respectable, church-going, stay-in-one-place man, a home of her own, children. What did he know about any of those things? He had never been respectable and never would be. Worse, he had no desire to be respectable. He had never been one for going to church. Never had a home of his own. Didn’t want children.
But he wanted Jassy. There was no question about that. Wanted her with every breath he took, with every beat of his heart. What was worse, he needed her. He, who had never needed anyone, found himself needing this woman-child in ways he didn’t even fully comprehend.
Muttering an oath, he surged to his feet. He would never be good for her. He had ever been good for any one. But Jassy deserved the best, and he aimed to see she got it. The sooner the better.
She was sitting on her bedroll when he returned to camp.
“Let’s go,” he said curtly. “We’ve got a lot of riding to do today.”
“What about breakfast?”
“We’ll eat on the trail.”
“But…”
“Don’t argue with me, Jasmine.”
Jasmine! He had never called her that. Confused at his anger, she rolled her bedding into a compact cylinder and tied it behind the saddle. She braided her hair, pulled on her moccasins, saddled her horse, all without speaking to him. Head high, chin jutting out, she dug a piece of jerky out of her saddlebags, then climbed into the saddle.
Moments later, they were riding north.
* * * * *
Jassy stared at Creed, wondering what was wrong. Ever since she had flirted with him beside the stream, he had been trying to ignore her. At first, she had thought he was angry with her, but he didn’t seem angry, just withdrawn. His face was like something cast in stone, hard and unyielding. He spoke only when necessary. Insisted they ride from dawn ’til dark, and then, as soon as they’d eaten and the horses were settled for the night, he had taken refuge in his bedroll, pretending to be asleep even though she knew he was awake. Awake and on edge, just as she was.
The attraction between them hummed like a telegraph line, sizzling like summer lightning. He had only to look at her, and her whole being seemed to come alive. Colors were brighter, sounds more clear. Her skin tingled with longing whenever he was within reach, though he made a determined effort not to touch her in any way.
He had kissed her. Kissed her and liked it. And she wanted more. More of his kisses, more of everything.
He had told her they would reach Rock Springs sometime tomorrow, that they were taking a train to San Francisco. But Jassy had lost all interest in finding Rose. The money was no longer important. Nothing mattered except Creed and the wall he was erecting between them.
She stared at his profile, mentally running her fingers through his hair, tracing the hard planes of his face, lingering on the sensual line of his mouth.
Tonight, she thought, tonight she would find out what was wrong. One way or another, she would find out.
She was up to something, he could smell it in the air, the same way he smelled the promise of rain before the night was over.
He had been aware of her covert glances all day. Even now, as she spread their bedrolls beside the fire, he could feel her furtive gaze. She was as nervous as a new bride…
He swore softly. What the hell had made him think of that?
Lurching to his feet, he headed for the shallow waterhole located a short distance from their campsite.
“Creed?”
Her voice stopped him in his tracks. “What?” He didn’t look at her, merely waited.
“Will you be gone long?”
“I don’t know.”
He waited a moment, to see if she had anything else to say, then stalked into the darkness. He was burning up inside, he thought. His blood was on fire. His skin felt tight. And he ached. Oh, how he ached for her.
He flopped down on his belly at the waterhole and buried his face in the cool water. Jassy. She was like a song he couldn’t get out of his mind. Her sweetness, her ready acceptance of him in spite of who and what he was, drew him like a lodestone. He wished suddenly that he could be the man she wanted, the man she deserved.
For the first time in his life, he regretted the choices he had made, the kind of life he had lived. The ghosts of the men he’d hunted rose to haunt him, their skeletal faces accusing and damming. There was blood on his hands, on his soul, and he would never be free of it, any more than he would ever be free of his past, of the fact that he was an escaped convict, a man on the dodge…
He swore under his breath. Life had been so uncomplicated before he met Jassy McCloud, and yet he knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t give up a minute of the time he had spent with her.
Sitting up, he shook the water from his face and hair, then prowled the darkness, edgy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers. He paced for almost an hour to give her time to get to sleep, and then he padded silently back to camp.
The first thing he noticed was that there was only one bedroll, and Jassy was in it, her hair a riot of color against the dull brown blanket.
A muffled oath escaped his lips as he stared at her, his breath catching in his throat as she slowly sat up, letting the covers pool around her waist.