Malachite (The Jewels of Texas Historical Romance Series Book 5) (7 page)

For the hundredth time she peered into the darkness, watching for any sign of a wagon.

As she turned away, she buried her face in her hands and struggled to hold back the tears that threatened. Why, oh, why had she allowed her children to leave this morning with Malachite Jewel? What if Byron was right? Oh, sweet heaven, what was she to do? She couldn’t leave her sick daughter to go out searching for the others. And she couldn’t stand being here and not knowing where they were. But the curse. Oh, sweet heaven, the curse of Diablo had her terrified.

She was so distracted she didn’t hear the crunch of wagon wheels or the muted sounds of voices. Suddenly the door was thrust inward on a blast of frigid air, and the children bounded in, followed by Malachite.

“Oh! Where have you been?” Millie demanded.

“We had a grand adventure, Mama.” Little June danced excitedly into her mother’s outstretched arms. Her hair and clothes were stiff with what appeared to be dried blood.

Blood?

“What in the world... ?”

“Malachite taught us the Comanche ways,” May added.

“He killed a deer with only a knife.” Birdie’s awe was evident in her voice. Both she and May also bore traces of the same stiff substance. “And then he wrapped us in the wet hide so we’d stay warm and dry.”

Millie couldn’t help herself. As she bent and gathered the little girls into her embrace, all her fear suddenly turned to anger. Glancing over their heads, she shot Malachite a look of pure venom. “How could you keep these children away so long? You knew about the curse. You know I expected them home hours ago, and that I would be worried.”

“But, Mama, we—”

As little June started to speak, Millie said sharply, “Go upstairs and change out of those clothes. When you’ve washed up, we’ll have supper.”

“But—”

“Right now. Without another word.”

“Yes’m.” Dejected, the two little girls turned away.

“My mama will be worried, too. Good night, ma’am. Thanks again, Malachite.” Birdie excused herself and raced toward her own home.

When they were alone, Millie turned the full force of her fury on Malachite.

“Byron warned me. But I didn’t want to listen. In fact, like a fool I defended you. And all the time that I was here, all alone and worried sick about my babies, you... you were so busy teaching them some foolish Comanche trick with your knife, you never even bothered to think about my feelings.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked them back. She wouldn’t cry. Not in front of this hateful man.

With her hands balled into fists at her sides, she faced him. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

He studied her for a long moment, noting the heaving of her chest and the tears she was determined not to shed.

In a quiet tone he said, “I’ll see to the horses and wagon.”

She stared in stunned disbelief as he walked out the back door, closing it firmly behind him. Leaving her no way to vent her fury.

* * *

“Supper’s ready,” Millie snapped. “If you can spare the time.”

Malachite, returning from the shed, closed the door and dropped an armload of firewood on the hearth. Then he rolled his sleeves and washed before heading toward the dining room and taking his place at the table.

“Are we alone tonight?” May asked.

“Looks like.” Millie ladled food onto their plates.

“What is this, Mama?”

May and June, sensing their mother’s still-simmering temper, were unusually subdued.

“The last of the stew.” Millie set a plate of biscuits on the table, along with freshly churned butter and a little bowl of fruit conserve.

“But there’s no meat in mine.” June lifted a spoonful and watched it drip back into the bowl.

“There are a few pieces. That’s the last of the beef. Tomorrow I’ll see if Rufus Durfee will trade me some meat for a few dozen eggs.” As Millie filled their glasses and was about to take her place at the table, she heard April calling from upstairs.

With a weary sigh she turned away. A short time later, after two more trips up the stairs, she returned to the dining room and woodenly began to eat.

“Is April better or worse?” Malachite asked. It was the first he’d spoken since returning from the shed. His tone, Millie noted, was far from repentant.

“The fever’s broken.” Millie lifted her coffee to her lips and discovered that it had grown cold. She set it aside and crossed to a sideboard to retrieve the apple cobbler.

When everyone had been served, she cut a piece for herself and carried it to the table. She managed three bites before April’s cries drifted down the stairs.

Gathering her dishes, she deposited them in the kitchen, then proceeded up the stairs to comfort her daughter.

When she returned she found the table cleared. In the kitchen, May was washing the dishes, and June was drying them. Malachite was reaching over their heads, placing the clean ones in a cupboard.

“That isn’t necessary.” Millie hated the tone of her voice. But it couldn’t he helped. She’d reached the end of her patience. “As I’ve told you before, you’re a paying boarder. There’s no need to help with the chores.”

He continued as though he hadn’t even heard her. Through gritted teeth she said to her daughters, “When you’ve finished here, go up to bed.”

“What about my sums, Mama?” June asked.

“And my spelling words?” May added.

“They’ll have to keep until tomorrow. Right now you’re going to bed. Besides, judging by the sound of that wind and rain, it may be sleeting or snowing by morning.” Millie actually hoped it would be. She’d already made up her mind that the girls would have to miss school until April’s fever was gone. There was no way she would allow them to ride with Malachite Jewel again.

A few minutes later the two little girls dutifully headed toward the stairs, with Millie following. She could feel Malachite’s dark gaze practically burning into her back, but she was determined to ignore him.

She was weary beyond belief. She couldn’t wait for this day to end so she could fall into bed. She undressed quickly and pulled on a night shift. Unpinning her hair, she brushed it long and loose, then tossed a shawl around her shoulders and made her way to her daughters’ room.

The little girls were already snuggled between the covers. Millie sat on the edge of June’s bed, prepared to hear their prayers.

“Mama,” June whispered. “Why are you so sad?”

“Because,” she said patiently, “I was worried about you.”

“But we tried to tell you what happened. Why wouldn’t you let us tell you about our adventure?”

“All right.” She struggled to hold herself together for one more minute. “Tell me about your... adventure. Birdie said Malachite wanted to teach you the Comanche ways by killing a deer.”

“No, Mama. That came later,” the little girl said. “First came the accident.”

“Accident?” Millie’s heart nearly stopped.

“A wheel came off the wagon. The team broke loose. We nearly tipped over. In fact we would have if Malachite hadn’t leaped down and righted it with his own hands. We were all crying. But Malachite shouted for us not to worry. And after he got us out of the wagon, he ran and caught the team and said he’d have to fix the wagon ’cause we were too far to walk.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Millie’s pulse was racing at the image that had crept into her mind.

“No, ma’am. But then it started to rain, and there wasn’t any shelter. So Malachite killed a deer and skinned it and covered us with the skin to keep us warm and dry. And then he finished fixing the wagon and brought us home. And all the way here he was worried about you.”

“About... me?”

“Yes’m. He said knowing the kind of mother you were, you’d be worried sick. But Birdie said you’d understand.” Little June caught her mother’s hand. “You do, don’t you, Mama?”

“I... yes.” She swallowed. She understood so much now. She only hoped it wasn’t too late to make amends.

After tucking her daughters into their beds, she walked down the stairs, marshaling her courage for the task ahead. And prayed she’d find the words to convey her regret at her unforgivable behavior.

Finding the kitchen and dining room empty, she made her way to the parlor. It was empty, as well.

Straightening her shoulders, she walked to Malachite’s bedroom and knocked. Hearing no reply, she knocked louder. The door slid open a crack.

“Malachite.” She pushed the door wider and stepped inside.

The bedroom was empty. On the night table was a block of wood that had been fashioned into a carving of a woman and children. She picked it up and ran her hands over the smooth surface, shocked at the fact that, despite its lack of refinements, it already resembled her and her daughters. Feeling somehow that she had violated a privacy, she set it down quickly and glanced around. In one corner of the room was a pile of wet, discarded clothes forming a puddle on the floor. She noticed that Malachite’s hat and cowhide jacket were missing from the peg on the wall.

He was gone. She gritted her teeth and swallowed a wave of bitter disappointment.

Probably gone to Buck’s saloon, she thought. She couldn’t blame him. At least there he wouldn’t have to explain himself. At Buck’s a man could find some peace. Or if he chose, he could find himself a woman who wouldn’t act like a shrew. A woman who would know how to smile and make a man feel like a man.

That was something she seemed to have forgotten how to do entirely.

I
n the shed, Malachite rolled up his sleeves. After a long, hard day of wrangling cattle with the cowboys and then dealing with the wagon and the frightened little girls, he was weary beyond belief. But this was one more chore that couldn’t be put off. He slipped the knife from his waist.

Hanging from a wooden beam was the carcass of the deer he’d killed out on the trail. With sure, even strokes he began to gut it. With each slice of the blade he thought about Millie’s angry reaction.

Comanche tricks. Is that what she thought of him? A fool who would endanger innocent children, just to teach them a few tricks?

He’d expected better of Millie Potter. Somehow he’d convinced himself that she was nobler than most people. That she wouldn’t judge him by his ancestry. Wouldn’t care that he was the bastard son of a worse bastard, or that his mother was a member of a warrior tribe whose people had declared war on her people.

Blood drenched his hands and seeped along his arms, but he took no notice. All his thoughts centered on Millie. He shouldn’t be surprised by her reaction. After all, he’d expected her to be concerned when her children hadn’t arrived home by dark. It was natural for a parent to be worried, especially since she’d entrusted her children to a stranger.

And she was bound to note the dramatic change in the weather. And the truth was, he hadn’t given her much reason to trust him.

But something else kept working at the edges of his mind. Now he had time to mull over what she’d first said when she’d confronted him.
Byron warned me. But I didn’t want to listen. In fact, like a fool, I defended you.

As he began carving up the meat, his eyes narrowed with sudden realization. Of course. That fool banker had been here, planting seeds of distrust. In his mind he could imagine the smug look on Byron Conner’s face as he fed Millie’s fears.

Millie. When she’d confronted him, she’d been fighting back tears. Tears. That bothered him more than he cared to admit. And she’d looked so exhausted. Drained. And why not? She worked from sunup to sundown without a break. She took on chores nobody else in the town would dream of in order to keep her little family together. He’d watched her. Trading eggs and butter for supplies at Durfee’s Mercantile. Measuring out miserly amounts of flour and sugar for her baking. Stretching the meat to last one more meal. And on top of all that, right now she was probably more worried about little April’s illness than she let on.

April. The little girl seemed more affected by the loss of her father than the other two. Probably because she could almost remember him. Almost remember a time when her mother wasn’t alone and struggling to get through one day after another. Almost remember the sounds of laughter and teasing and ... loving.

He continued carving up the meat, dropping the chunks and strips of bloody flesh onto the hide stretched out on the dirt floor of the shed. And with each stroke of his knife, he felt his anger dissipating.

None of this had been Millie’s fault. Maybe he should have explained about the accident along the trail. Even if she wasn’t in a mood to hear, maybe he should have forced her to listen. At least then she would have known the truth. Would have known how close they all came to disaster.

His mother had always said that one of his biggest shortcomings was his temper. That temper had caused him to flee his village in a rage when Evening Star had refused to give him the name of his father. That temper had caused many a barroom brawl when some cowboy, drunk on cheap whiskey, had slandered his heritage. And later, that temper had caused him to flee to the wilderness after he’d been forced to pay the highest price of all. A price that even now he couldn’t allow himself to think about without unbearable pain.

When he finished with the bloody carnage, he cleaned his knife, then plunged his arms into a bucket of water. He pulled on his cowhide jacket, then gathered up the hide containing the meat and made his way to the root cellar, where he carefully stored the bounty against the coming winter.

A short time later he climbed the stairs and stepped into the warm, fragrant kitchen.

* * *

Denied her chance to apologize, Millie had looked for other ways to make amends. Despite the lateness of the hour, she heated a big kettle of water, then retrieved Malachite’s wet clothes and began scrubbing. When they were clean, she strung a line across one end of the kitchen and hung them to dry.

That done, she set a pan of biscuits on the coals, then rolled out fresh bread dough and began kneading. With each slap of the heel of her hand, with each vicious punch, she berated herself.

Malachite Jewel had kindly offered to see her children safety to school and back. And how had she thanked him? By attacking him the moment he walked in the door. By suggesting that he had somehow enjoyed being caught out on the trail, far from civilization, in freezing rain, with three helpless little girls.

She closed her eyes a moment against the wave of shame.

How could she have behaved in such a horrible, spiteful manner?

She covered the dough with a linen square and set it aside to rise. Then she started a fresh pot of coffee. When Mick occasionally joined his friends at the saloon, he’d always been grateful for some strong black coffee on his return home. And biscuits, she thought, removing the pan from the coals and arranging several freshly baked cinnamon biscuits on a plate. Mick always claimed it took the edge off the whiskey.

Weary, she pressed a hand to the small of her back. The aroma of the coffee was too tempting. She poured herself a cup and carried it to the table. She would drink this and go to bed. Her apology would have to wait. There was no point staying up for Malachite. He might not come back until dawn. And even then, there was no telling whether or not he would be receptive to what she had to say. She wouldn’t blame him if he packed up and left forever. He could always take a room above Buck’s, where he’d be guaranteed plenty of high-stakes poker games and a few fancy women thrown in for good measure.

She took a sip of coffee and let it warm her. The heat of the kitchen lulled her. Resting her chin on her hands, she wondered what sort of drunk Malachite would be. She’d heard of men who couldn’t handle the whiskey. Men who beat their women. Somehow she couldn’t picture Malachite Jewel doing that.

Her mother claimed her father had always just tumbled into bed and snored loud enough to wake the dead. As for Mick, he’d always come home looking for loving. The thought brought a smile to her lips. The first smile she’d permitted herself in hours.

With her chin still resting on her hands, she closed her eyes. Just for a moment, she promised herself. Then she would finish her coffee and go up to bed.

It was the last coherent thought she had before she drifted to sleep.

* * *

For a moment Malachite was puzzled. In the kitchen firelight, strange shadows twisted and danced. With gun drawn, he leaned his weight against the door, shutting out the icy wind. The shadows went still. When he drew closer, he realized they were his pants and shirt, smelling of lye soap and hanging on a line.

Curious, he stepped beyond them, then stopped short.

Millie was seated at the table. Her hands were resting on the tabletop, her cheek pressed to her hands. Alongside her elbow was a cup of coffee that had grown cool.

This was a Millie he’d never seen before. Her thick red hair had been brushed long and loose and fell provocatively over one eye. Her nightgown of white muslin, with softly rounded neck and long sleeves, would have been modest except for the fact that it had slipped, revealing one pale creamy shoulder. Her shawl lay pooled at her feet on the floor.

He holstered his gun, then dropped to his knees beside her and studied her by the light of the fire. Her breathing was slow and easy. With each rise and fall of her chest, he felt his own tightening. She was so lovely. The whiteness of her skin fascinated him. As did the freckles that paraded across her nose. Such a tiny, upturned nose. He counted more freckles on her shoulder and wondered if there might be freckles on other, more intimate places. That thought brought a rush of heat.

Everything about her was small and delicate. And yet there was such strength in her. And dignity. She had carved a place for herself and her family here in this rough town. And though she worked hard and made her home a pleasant place to be, it was plain that it wasn’t just her good food or her spotless housekeeping that attracted people. It was Millie herself. She was fun to be around. She genuinely liked people. And they, in turn, responded to her.

She sighed in her sleep and his gaze was drawn to her lips. They were slightly parted, perfectly sculpted. Lips made for kissing. That thought brought more heat.

He continued to kneel beside her, debating whether to leave her asleep at the table or to carry her up the stairs to her bed. If she were to stay here, she would be only a step away from his room. From his bed. Dangerous, he thought. But carrying her to her own bedroom would be equally dangerous.

The problem was solved when she stirred, then opened her eyes.

“Malachite.” She lifted her head and started to rise. “I must have... How late is it?”

“Sh.” He caught her hand, holding her still. “I’m sorry I caused you so much worry today.”

“No. No.” She touched a finger to his lips to still his words.

He struggled to show no emotion as he absorbed the sexual jolt. He could have stayed like this forever, with her touch so gentle upon him and her eyes all soft and heavy-lidded with sleep.

Very slowly he stood, drawing her up with him.

“May and June told me what happened,” she whispered. “I feel so terrible about the way I behaved. If it hadn’t been for you, I might have lost my daughters today. And what if April hadn’t been sick this morning and I was driving the team? I shudder to think what would have happened to all of us.”

The thought had already crossed his mind. “Then I’m glad it happened to me and that I was able to keep it from becoming a disaster. But I’m still sorry to have caused you such pain. I could see how concerned you were.”

She lowered her head, avoiding his eyes. “I was a shrew.”

He caught her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You love your children. You had a right.”

“But I wouldn’t let you explain.”

“My fault.” He stared down into her lovely face and felt his heart hitch. “I didn’t try very hard to explain. I do that sometimes. Just shut down. It’s the only way I can control my temper.”

“I don’t usually lose control of mine. I tend to get past my anger by throwing myself into my work.”

He nodded. “That’s what I did. Out in your shed. Worked off my temper on the deer.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “You were in the shed?”

He nodded. “Carving up the deer I killed. I figured you could use the meat.”

He had been out in the bitter cold, doing a kindness for her. The knowledge warmed her. And shamed her. “And here I thought...” Her mouth closed. She swallowed.

“You thought what?”

“Nothing.” He hadn’t gone to Buck’s to cool off. That realization brought a smile to her lips. “I happened to spy your wet clothes in your room, so I washed them.”

“I noticed. Why were you in my room?”

“I went looking for you. To apologize.” Still feeling shaky, she said, “I made you some coffee.”

“Smells good.” But he didn’t turn away or lower his hand. Instead, he moved his fingers slowly from her chin to her cheek. “You smell good.”

She blushed. “I probably smell like soap.”

“You always smell like your baking.” His voice lowered, and his hand moved seductively along the smooth skin of her face. “I’ll never be able to smell cinnamon and spice again without thinking of you.”

His words brought a deeper flush to her cheeks. “I’ll get you some—” she tried to back away, but he held her fast “—coffee and biscuits.”

“It isn’t food I want.” He stared directly into her eyes.

She felt a jolt that had her trembling. His meaning was far too clear. “You’ve been out in the cold shed for hours and...”

“I know a way to get warm.” His hand tightened at her shoulder, holding her close when she would have run.

He could feel her nerves jumping, could see the fear in her eyes. It only added to her charm.

“You can’t, Malachite. We mustn’t.”

“You’re telling that to the wrong person. I’m a savage, remember?” Though he tried to soften the threat with a smile, there was a dangerous glint in his eyes, leaving her in no doubt that he meant every word. “I don’t have to abide by the rules of civilized society. I take what I want. Without asking permission.”

“You’re just saying that—” she stiffened as he lowered his mouth to hers “—to frighten me.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” He brushed his lips lightly over hers and heard her moan.

It wasn’t fear she was feeling; it was pleasure. The sweetest pleasure in the world. But even as she thrilled to his kiss, an alarm bell sounded in her mind.

“This is wrong.” Already breathless, she reached up, intending to push him away. Instead, she found herself raking her fingers through his hair, dragging his mouth more fully to hers. Every part of her strained into the kiss.

Sweet heaven, it was even better than the first time. She thought she’d imagined it. The heat. The passion. The danger. But there it was again, building, teasing, taunting her. And she was helpless to stop it.

“It doesn’t feel wrong to me.” He dragged his lips from hers to roam her face. “It feels so right.” He kissed the corner of her lips, the curve of her cheek, the arch of her brow. And with each press of his mouth she sighed and felt her resolve weaken.

She could feel needs beginning to surface. Needs so long denied. For the sake of survival, she’d buried them under layers of responsibility. Now they rose, stripping her of common sense. All she could think of was this man in her arms, whose kisses brought her pleasure beyond belief.

“This is madness.” She struggled for some semblance of sanity. “I need time to think.”

“Don’t think.” His clever hands moved along her sides, tracing the outline of the small, slender body beneath the filmy nightgown. When his thumbs encountered the swell of her breasts, they paused to stroke until he felt her nipples harden. Her gasp stirred his blood and tightened his loins.