Trilby (15 page)

“Sissy!” Trilby called in a curt whisper.

Sissy moved quickly onto the porch ahead of Naki. She looked unsettled, so Trilby maneuvered just in front of her while they made their goodbyes.

She hadn’t known if Thorn was aware of the under
currents until he darted a glance back at Naki and then at Sissy before he met Trilby’s worried eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he said under his breath. “I’ll handle it.”

“You don’t understand,” she said quickly, mindful of being overheard while Sissy was asking Jack to help her into the car.

“Yes, I do,” Thorn said. “It’s all right.”

Oddly that pacified her. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the warm, moist palm hungrily. Her face colored, and he held her eyes for a long, taut moment.

“I know exactly how he feels!” he whispered fiercely, his eyes as stormy as Naki’s had been. He abruptly let go of her hand. Then he led her to the car and helped her in with a stony face and without another word. All the way home, Trilby heard nothing that was said. Her palm still tingled.

L
ISA
M
ORRIS WAS
drifting between reality and a dream. She smiled as she remembered the swing in her backyard when she’d been a little girl. Her father had been away on maneuvers, and she and her mother had stayed with her maternal grandmother in Maryland. There had been a huge Victorian house and a big yard with a swing hanging from the branches of the trees.

“I do so love to swing,” she whispered dimly.

“What a hell of a thing to be dreaming about,” came a disgusted, sarcastic voice.

She forced her eyes open. A man was standing over her, a tall, lean man in a soiled officer’s uniform with the tunic open. He was unshaven and his thick black hair was lying rumpled on his broad forehead. There was no male beauty in that rugged countenance, and he had lips that seemed set in a permanent sneer. In his big hand was a thick shot glass that looked recently drained.

“Captain Powell?” she asked huskily.

“Himself.” He nodded. He set the shot glass down with a thud. His bloodshot eyes looked down into hers. “How do you feel?”

“Sore.” She grimaced as she moved, and then flushed as she realized that she was wearing nothing under the sheet that covered her. She was horrified.

“Oh, for God’s sake, I’m a physician,” he said icily.
“Do you really think that at my age a woman’s body is any mystery?”

She swallowed and clutched the sheet. She was woozy from the drugs and her hip and side were stinging from the bad burn, but she had a little modesty left. “You’re a man,” she began, trying to explain her embarrassment.

“And you’re a married woman,” he added. “Moreover, a married woman who’s lost a child.”

Her face clouded. Yes, he would have reason to know. The night she lost the baby, he’d stayed by her bedside all night long. He’d held her hand and talked to her in a voice so soft that it hadn’t seemed like this cynical man’s at all. David, she recalled, had been away on maneuvers. She hadn’t known at the time, but he’d been in Douglas with Selina that particular night.

“You stayed with me,” she said drowsily, and smiled. “Did I ever thank you?”

“I’m a doctor,” he reminded her. “It’s my job.”

God forbid, in other words, that anyone should accuse him of tender feelings or compassion, she thought suddenly. He was very soft under that nasty veneer. No wonder he did his best to terrorize the people around him.

She lay back against the pillow with a shaky sigh. Her hair was loose around her white shoulders. She looked drawn and wan, but the man looking at her found her beautiful.

“He hasn’t left a mark on you, except that one on your cheek,” he said unexpectedly.

She touched the bruised place. “He hasn’t ever hit me before.”

“That wasn’t what I meant, although I hold him in
contempt for it, just the same. I meant,” he added slowly, searching her eyes, “that you seem untouched.”

She lowered her eyes to his tunic. Under it, thick black hair was visible where his red long johns were unbuttoned. She averted her gaze quickly. That evidence of his masculinity seemed indecent in this room, despite his profession.

“Do I embarrass you?” He laughed. He sat down beside her on the bed and turned her face back to his taunting eyes. They were a vivid, bright blue and they seemed to see right through her. “You don’t like looking at me, do you? I’m ugly and hairy, and the kind of ruffian a woman like you wouldn’t give a second look, even if you weren’t married and decent.”

She caught her breath at his plain speaking. “Captain Powell, please!”

“He hit you,” he said harshly. “I could have killed him for it! My God, he never deserved you!”

It was beginning to dawn on her that he cared about her predicament. She looked up at him with shy curiosity. “You’re very blunt, sir.”

“Yes, I am. Blunt. And a little drunk. I drink to forget what the Apaches did to my wife and son, Mrs. Morris. They tied me to a post and made me watch it.”

Her hand went up to his face and she touched his cheek with shy compassion. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

His voice broke. He lay his unshaven cheek against her breasts over the sheet and began to weep. Hot tears fell on her. She felt them even through the fabric, and she hesitated for only an instant before she cradled his face to her. Déjà vu, she thought. He drank to numb his pain, but he wasn’t proof against it. How often did he
feel this torment—and have no one to share it with, no one to hold him? What a travesty life was, she thought miserably. Was anyone free from suffering in all the world? Her arms tightened around him and she cradled his head to her, whispering soft words of comfort.

A long time later, he lifted his head and moved away from her, his face quiet and faintly shamed.

“I have felt so sorry for myself,” she said quietly. “You make me ashamed. I have so little to mourn, compared to you.”

His back stiffened. “I drink too much,” he said abruptly. “Do you need something to help you sleep?”

“No, thank you. The pain is—is not so bad.”

He nodded and started out.

“Captain…Powell?”

He turned, hesitant after his loss of control. “Yes, madam?”

“Please. Do you have a—a shirt or something that I could put on?” She flushed and dropped her eyes.

“Forgive me. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been around a decent woman.” He moved into the other room and came back with a white dress shirt, a very long one. He laid it beside her on the cot. “You are in no condition to put it on.”

She went scarlet. “Sir…”

“Doctor.”

After a minute she gave in to the offer of help. He was a doctor, and she was too dazed and in too much pain to manage alone.

He slid an arm behind her, helping her into a sitting position. She groaned, because every movement was painful. He’d put salve on the burns and lightly ban
daged them, but any motion that pulled the skin was excruciating.

“Just sit still and let me get you into it,” he said stiffly.

He pulled the sheet down. In the faint light of the lamp, he looked at her small, pert breasts. His expression changed. She felt his professional interest change to a very personal one, and her body reacted to his intense scrutiny in a way she didn’t understand. David had never looked at her. He’d taken her, very roughly, but not in love. He’d never wanted to look at her nude body. But this man was not only looking, he was telling her with his eyes that he found her exquisite.

I must not enjoy this, she told herself. Only a kept woman would allow a man to look at her nudity so openly and not protest.

“Captain Powell,” she said, shaking, then drew an arm up over her breasts with flushed embarrassment.

His vivid blue eyes searched hers. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Forgive me. I…” He fumbled with the shirt and eased her arm into it, gently putting it in place before he moved it around her and helped her put the other arm in. He buttoned it with big fingers that barely managed the task before them they were shaking so badly.

He helped her back down and drew the sheet over her again. “It will be sore for several days. If you are determined to return to your barracks, your—your husband will need to help you dress until the healing process has time to take hold.”

“I have no intention of going back to the barracks. And even if I did, sir, my husband cannot bear the sight of me,” she said through her teeth, her eyes staring
straight up at the ceiling. “I could expect more help from a passing stranger than from him.”

He looked down at her wan face for a long, long time. “I cannot imagine a man so blind, madam, that he could resist the sight of you unclothed. And if saying that to you is indecent, then I am indeed a sinner in need of salvation.”

He turned and left the room, a little unsteadily. Lisa stared after him in mute surprise. Her body tingled with new sensations, ones that her neglectful husband had never been able to arouse in her. She clutched at the sheet and closed her eyes. She prayed for a long time, confessing her pleasure in Dr. Powell’s eyes and her need for forgiveness. She was a married woman to whom infidelity was unthinkable. Even if her husband had indulged in a sinful affair, she was a different kind of person. She was not free to enjoy any sort of relationship, even an innocent one, with another man. Not until her divorce was final. All the same, the doctor’s eyes had provoked a sensation she’d never known in her life. She hoped that by morning he might think it had been a dream. Perhaps in time, she could even convince herself that it had been.

C
OL
. D
AVID
M
ORRIS
was off post, as he had no right to be, spending the night in Selina’s arms. It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last, he thought. He did love this woman.

He rolled over, his face stark in the moonlight that came in through the window. His behavior had shocked him. He hadn’t meant to hit Lisa. God knew, she was entitled to be outraged at the way he’d treated her. He’d married her to advance his career; he’d dragged her out
here to a life for which she was unsuited; he’d made her pregnant and then ignored her when she miscarried; he’d been having a passionate affair with another woman. When Lisa had announced that she was leaving him, he’d hit her. He groaned aloud. He hadn’t meant to strike her. He certainly hadn’t meant her to catch on fire and be so badly burned.

“What’s the matter?” Selina drawled sleepily.

“My wife is divorcing me,” he said.

Selina sat up, no longer sleepy. “Divorcing you?” Her face beamed.

“Yes,” he said, with a rough laugh. “You can marry me, if you like, when the divorce is final.”

She wept for joy. It was the end of her particular rainbow, more than she’d ever dared to hope for. “Oh, David, I’ll be so good to you,” she whispered fervently. “So good.”

She pulled him down beside her and began to prove it, the best way she knew. Long before his mind gave in to her, his body did. It was just as well to let Lisa have her divorce, he thought as his body began to surge. Just as well, indeed.

L
ATER THAT DAY
, as he rode back toward the post, he heard sounds that alarmed him. Carefully, cautiously, he eased his automobile into the shade of some paloverde trees and cut the engine. Ordinarily he rode his horse down here, disgusted with the infernal machine that broke down more often than it served him. But he’d been in a hurry to get to Selina.

He listened. Horses. Many horses. As he watched from his concealment, a party of men—Mexicans, judg
ing from their huge sombreros—cautiously worked their way toward Douglas.

He didn’t recognize them, but he knew they weren’t locals. There was something about them that fairly screamed of revolutionaries. They would bear watching. When he got to Fort Huachuca, he could phone the garrison in Douglas and report this troop movement. If they were operating on American territory, all hell was going to break loose soon. Perhaps there was something to those rumors of smuggling and a local junta that he’d been hearing lately.

T
HORN
V
ANCE RODE
over to the Lang ranch with plenty on his mind. He couldn’t get Naki to talk to him for the first time in memory. He knew the Apache was fascinated by the Langs’ bespectacled female guest, but he didn’t know what to do about it. If the man’s emotions were involved, it could be a sticky situation, especially given her brother’s opinion of Indians. He didn’t know what might come of the ill-fated relationship, and he had no authority to keep Naki away from Sissy Bates.

On the other hand, he might be able to talk to the girl if he could find an opportunity. Perhaps that would be possible on a hunting expedition, so he’d made preparations to take the Langs’ guests up into the mountains for a camping party.

Jack Lang was less than enthusiastic, but Richard showed the first real interest of his trip.

“Jolly good!” he exclaimed, aping his idol, Theodore Roosevelt. “When can we leave?”

“At first light,” Thorn told him. “I don’t want to be out after dark unless we’re encamped, given the Mexican situation.”

“Certainly. But won’t we be near the border?” Richard persisted.

“No,” Thorn assured him. “Farther away from it, if anything.”

“In that case, I’m game. How about you, sweetness?” he teased Cousin Julie, who leaned against his shoulder with pure coquetry.

“I can hardly wait,” she said huskily.

Trilby should have been jealous. She wanted to be. But when her eyes met Thorn’s curious ones, she felt her insides caving in. Her gaze lowered to his hard mouth and she wanted it with such an unexpectedly fierce need that her nails dug into her palms. She turned away to straighten a doily on the table, and all the while she felt Thorn’s eyes on her back.

“Are you bringing Samantha?” Mary Lang asked Thorn.

“Not on this trip,” he said, his voice oddly deep. “She’s staying with my cousin Curt and his wife in town.” He didn’t add that Samantha had begged to go with her father. She didn’t seem to enjoy staying with Curt and Lou. Why hadn’t he ever noticed that before? He’d have to talk with her about it sometime soon.

“How nice for her. She’ll miss you, of course,” Mary said.

Thorn didn’t agree, but he was too polite to say so. “I’ll be by at first light to pick you all up,” he said.

“Thorn, you’re welcome to take my car, too, if you need it,” Jack began.

“We’ll go up on horses. It’s the only way to get there, I’m afraid,” Thorn said. “If any of your party can’t ride…”

“Don’t be silly.” Richard chuckled. “Ben and Sissy and I grew up on horses, and Julie rides like a native.”

“Trilby doesn’t, though,” Thorn observed.

“I can learn,” she said curtly.

“Indeed you can,” he replied, watching her. “I’ll teach you.”

She had visions of that, of Thorn’s hands on her arms, on her body as he sat behind her and held her on the horse. She felt hot. Her hand went automatically to a fan and she began to move it against the stifling heat.

“I tried to teach her,” Richard said, stung by Thorn’s attention to Trilby. “She’s very slow—”

“That’s unfair, Richard,” Sissy cut in. “You were impatient and you shouted at her. You aren’t a good instructor. I expect Thorn will be more patient.”