The Moon and the Stars (12 page)

She had to keep going, no matter what. Brace was not going to get away with accusing her of shooting Michael.

 

They had been riding hard for two days. Mr. Renault expected to reach San Antonio by the next day. When they stopped for the night, he made camp beside the San Antonio River.

Caroline picked up the tin plates and cups and walked down to the river, thinking she wasn't nearly as sore as she had been the first two days of their journey. She carefully made her way down the slope and bent to wash the dishes in the clear water.

She could feel Mr. Renault's eyes on her, but then, he was always watching her to make sure she didn't try to escape. She stood for a moment looking longingly at the cool water.

With determined steps she returned to camp, dried the plates, and slid them in the canvas bag as Wade always did. “I am going to take a bath.”

He was polishing his rifle and looked at her over the barrel. “Can you swim?”

“Of course I can. And anyway, the river doesn't look more than four or five feet deep.”

He closed one eye and looked through the barrel, and then inspected the stock. “The swiftness of that river can sometimes take you by surprise. Even though it is not wide, it flows all the way to the Gulf.”

She drew in a breath. “I am not going to swim away, if that's what you think.”

He glanced up at her with a sardonic twist to his lips. “I know that. Because I can swim faster than you.” He smiled slightly, catching her off guard. “I could go with you to make sure you do not try to escape.”

She turned her back to him. “Up until now, you have been a gentleman, but I trust you a little less
than a rattlesnake.” Her cheeks flamed, and the thought of him being nearby while she bathed sent her heart pounding. She wondered why she should have such erotic fantasies about him.

He reached for his saddlebag, opened the flap, and tossed her a bar of soap. “I was not suggesting I watch you, Mrs. Duncan.”

“Well, I . . . well—”

“Take heed of how swift the current is. I do not relish going in fully dressed to rescue you.”

Without a word she picked up her blanket and stalked off down the shadowy riverbank. She had worn the same clothes for days, and she intended to wash them in the river and wrap herself in the blanket, even if she had to show some of her skin. She could not abide going without a bath for another day.

As she walked along, she undid her hair and allowed it to flow down her back. When she rounded a bend, she found a secluded spot that suited her purpose. She was surprised to find that she trusted him not to follow her. But he would be listening, and she knew his hearing was very good.

Caroline was pushing her trousers down her hips when she hesitated. He had displayed a code of honor where she was concerned, but just the same, she waded into the water fully clothed and then undressed, taking off everything but her shift. Then she washed her trousers and shirt.

Soapy foam flowed through her fingers as she lathered her hair. It felt glorious to be clean. She did not hear the heavy tread of the man who had squatted down on the bank watching her in the moonlight. Soap was stinging her eyes, so she dunked her head
under the water. She was startled when she heard a deep voice.

“Well, now, I never did see a prettier sight in my life,” the stranger said, watching her closely. “No, ma'am. I never did.”

Caroline crossed her arms across her breasts, as fear rose up inside her. The man was heavyset and at least six feet tall. He appeared to be in his thirties, and he wore a gun in his holster.

“Go away,” she said, moving toward the middle of the river.

“I think I'll just come in there with you.” He removed one of his boots and tossed it behind him. “I been needing a bath, and nothing could be sweeter than having a good-looking woman to wash my back.”

She took another step back. She had two dangers to contend with, the man and the swift current. She chose to take another step backward and felt the underwater flow pulling at her. She planted her feet wide, trying to keep her balance, not knowing how long she could keep the swift water from carrying her downstream.

“If you don't leave now, I will call my friend.”

He grinned at her and removed his other boot, then tossed it up the bank beside its mate. “If you call out, I'll pick your friend off before he can help you. I don't wear this here gun for show.” He stood up and whipped the gun out of the holster, aiming it at her. “If I was you, I'd just keep quiet.”

“I don't want any trouble. Just please go away,” she said, taking another step back and feeling the dangerously surging current.

“Nope, can't do that. You can like it or lump it—you already tickled my fancy.”

Wade seemed to appear out of nowhere. Caroline saw him, but the stranger had not detected his presence. Wade quietly stepped just behind the man and said, “You had better tickle your fancy somewhere else.” He pulled the hammer back on his gun and placed the barrel against the man's temple. “Lower your gun or you are a dead man.”

“I'll shoot her,” the man countered.

“If you try, you will be dead before you cock the hammer of your gun,” Wade stated in a deadly calm voice.

“I like to know the name of the man who draws down on me,” the man said. “My name's George Samples.”

“I am Wade Renault.”

“Aw, hell. I should'a known it was you with the French accent,” Samples said, dropping his gun as if it had burned him. He thrust his hands over his head. “I ain't gonna mess with you, Renault. I know your reputation—you'd as soon shoot me as not.” He wiggled his fingers to show that his hands were still in the air. “I might be dumb, but I ain't stupid.”

Wade reached down and picked up the man's gun, then threw it into the river.

“Renault, that was my pa's gun. Couldn't you just take the bullets out and give it back to me?”

“The gun stays where it is.” Wade's tone was deadly, establishing the fact that he would suffer no argument from the man. “You tied your horse in the clump of bushes to my left. Mount up and ride away—right now. If I do not hear your horse clearing
that hill before I can count to twenty, you will be a dead man.” He started to count. “
Un, deux, trois
.”

“But my pa's gun—”

“Think of it this way—you get to keep your life, so consider yourself fortunate.” Wade realized he had been counting in French and changed to English. “Four, five, six.”

“Hey, lady, I'm sorry. I didn't mean any harm. I was just funning.”

“Seven, eight, nine—”

“I'm going—I'm going!” George Samples grabbed up his boots and sprinted through the bushes, unmindful of the thorns that stabbed his bare feet. He jumped on his horse and rode away as fast as he could. He was thinking that no one in Uvalde would believe him when he told them Wade Renault had pulled a gun on him and he was still alive to tell about it—if he made that hill before the bounty hunter finished counting to twenty.

Wade turned his attention to Caroline. “You can come out now. It is safe. Monsieur Samples will not be returning.”

She faced another danger—her feet were beginning to slip from under her. “I can't.”

“Caroline, do not make me come in after you.”

“I can't move. The current—” She was suddenly swept under as if some force had dragged her down. She fought against the surge of the water and tried to reach the surface, but the current was too strong for her. She twisted, turned, and kicked her feet, but nothing helped. Just when her lungs were starving for air and the fight went out of her, strong arms lifted her up, and she was carried to the surface and away from the dangerous flow.

She coughed and sputtered, expelling river water. She was so weak she had to lean her head against his shoulder and allow him to swim toward the bank.

The moon cast its golden light across the water, and the ebony skies were alive with thousands of stars. It seemed to Wade as he glanced down at Caroline that the stars were reflected in her eyes.

Caroline felt at a disadvantage, since she was scantily clad in a transparent shift, and he was fully dressed. She turned her face against his rough shirt, fighting against the hot feelings that ran through her when his eyes swept over her body.

His mouth was near her ear. “You did not heed my warning: I told you the river was swift.” He was aware of each breath she took, of each movement she made, and it stirred the fire higher and hotter within him. Reluctantly he lowered her to her feet in knee-deep water.

“I was afraid.” She stumbled and almost fell, so he lifted her in his arms and carried her onto the bank.

“You should have known I would not let him hurt you.”

She cuddled close to him, closing her eyes. “I knew you would take care of that man. What I was afraid of was that I was going to drown.”

His grip tightened on her, and her arms slid around his neck.

“I was not going to let that happen either,” he stated with force.

“No, I don't suppose you would. Brace wants me delivered to him alive. He probably wouldn't pay you if I were dead.” She pushed against him. “Would he?”

She felt his deep intake of breath as he lowered her to her feet.

“You might want to retrieve your trousers and shirt before they drift downstream,” he told her, his French accent deepening—a habit she had noticed from time to time.

She moved away from him, and when she looked back, he was walking toward camp. She had been in his arms wearing very little, and he had not even noticed. He had been fully dressed, and she had certainly been aware of him. She bent to pick up her trousers and shirt and wrung as much water out of them as she could. Then she gathered the blanket about her and stared at the river. She would probably be dead now, or worse, if it hadn't been for Wade.

She frowned. But if it were not for him, she would never have found herself in a dangerous situation where she could either be ravaged by a strange man or swept down the river to the Gulf of Mexico.

She stood on the riverbank for a long time, staring at nothing in particular. She had seen the predator in Wade tonight. That stranger had been terrified of Wade, and with good reason. Wade would have shot the man if he hadn't dropped his gun. She knew it, and the man had known it.

Something had happened to her when he had taken her in his arms and carried her out of the water. Her heart was still hammering inside her from the experience. When she had felt his hands on her, she had wanted him to touch every inch of her body.

She had wanted him to kiss her and never stop.

Caroline was certain that she must be losing her mind.

Wade's Colt was wet because he'd had to go in the river fully clothed. He removed the bullets and ran a rag through each chamber. He inspected it and dried it again. It had always been his habit to keep his guns in perfect condition; they could be the difference between life and death for him.

His hearing was very acute, and he picked up the sound of Caroline returning to camp. He heard every move she made and attributed the heaviness of her tread to anger.

He did not want to think of her as a woman, but when he had carried her scantily clad body out of the river, and she had nestled in his arms, he had wanted to press his mouth against those trembling lips. When he'd reached shallow water, he had had to force himself to set her on her feet.

He wanted to possess her mind and her body. He wanted her to belong to him in every way a woman can belong to a man. His body swelled and throbbed
just thinking about her. Angrily, he spun the chamber of his gun. He was thinking nonsense. Michael Duncan had probably had those same feelings, and look where they got him.

He had to remind himself that she was a woman who had killed her husband. But he remembered the stranger aiming his gun at Caroline, and then the river almost sweeping her away. The woman was nothing but trouble for any man.

He blew his breath through the Colt chamber and spun it around again. Then he thought about how he could always tell what Caroline was thinking by the way she smiled. If she was amused, her blue eyes sparkled. And when she was angry, they were like gathering storm clouds. He was entranced by the delicate gestures she made with her hands when she was attempting to make a point about something. He could not imagine those hands pulling a trigger to kill a man.

He had watched her sleep last night, wondering how her hair would look if it fell freely down her back. He ached to touch her, not to just make love to her, although there was that too—he wanted to hold her body against his, to feel the softness of her skin, to feel the fullness of her lips against his.

He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her.

He took a deep breath. Caroline Duncan was the last female he could ever get tangled up with. He was taking her to Charleston to face her accusers, no matter what.

He slid bullets in the six chambers of the Colt and then with more force than was required, he shoved the gun into his holster.

He was trying to remember the faces of some of the women who had warmed his bed over the years, and there had been plenty of them. But at the moment he could not remember a one—none of them had left a lasting impression. No woman had ever touched that certain part of him that had come alive with Caroline. In the past, when a woman pleased him, he would stay with her a day, maybe two, but no longer than that. He had not been with a woman in over five months. He had not wanted another woman since the package with Caroline's picture had come to him in the mail.

He leaned back against his saddle. Caroline was different from any other woman he had known. He flattered himself that he was a good judge of character, and unless she was the best actress he had ever met, he could not see her taking anyone's life.

She was within sight now, and her footsteps sounded lighter, perhaps she had lost some of her anger. He closed his eyes, pretending to be resting. She was trying to move quietly so she would not disturb him, but he heard her when she draped her clothing over the branches of a tree.