He threaded his fingers through her hair, cupped her head and planted a slow burning kiss on her mouth.
Her insides melted like the butter on those hot biscuits, his taste sweet as the honey they’d eaten. The hungry embrace went to her head, and she clung to him to keep from falling off the steps. Their bodies blended into a single exquisite being, sharing one desire that flashed between them like the distant heat lightning. Soundless, bright and elusive. His ardor encompassed her every pore, became all there was in the world. All she ever wanted there to be.
“You are my wild, beautiful girl,” he whispered, nibbled his way along the line of her jaw, tasted the curve of her throat and lingered in the hollow. His hat tumbled to the porch, but he seemed not to notice. The wind stirred fine wisps of his hair, tickling her cheek. An unexpected and virile need urged her to give all she was or would ever be to this man. Surround herself with his taste and smell and feel. The passion became a tangible, possessive demon. How delightful that they were so close they could feel, taste and smell each other. A strange and pleasant sensation she had never before experienced.
“Calder,” she murmured, and ran her hand up under his shirt along the laddering of his ribs. Soft down, warm skin, tight muscles aquiver under her touch.
He replied in a language she did not know, but understood, breathed her name. She shifted enough to touch his mouth with hers once again, prolonging the taste of him. Honey and coffee and a masculine essence that she would have known anywhere, in any dark corner of the universe. Blindfolded, she could follow him across endless miles of prairie. If she kissed a hundred men, a thousand men, she would always know this one, above and beyond all the rest. For what remained of her life.
His arm tightened around her waist, the other hand cupped her buttocks to pull her even closer. A groan rumbled from deep in his throat. Under her cheek the rise and fall of his chest, the beat of his heart, the racing of blood through his veins. A rhythm, a haunting song needing no words.
His mouth covered hers in a gentle plea for more, his desire throbbing against her like a live, insistent, most secret thing. That she did not know how to quench his needs frightened and enthralled her. Passion washed over her until there was nothing else. Not her hopes or dreams, not her fears for Tyra and Rowena, nor her dread of all her tomorrows.
He uttered her name over and over. A mantra whispered against her skin, igniting yet another flame. Even as the repetition faded, she sensed his withdrawal, a stillness that coalesced into retreat. She could not let him go, would not, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.
Though she desperately prayed for it, he did not try to kiss her again. Instead he put space between them, took long deep breaths and stared toward the horizon as if he sensed something about to appear there. After a long moment of silence, he pried her fingers loose. Uttered the words she had dreaded.
“I have to go.”
“Take me with you.”
“Oh, God, I can’t. I won’t.”
“I shall follow you.”
“Don’t. No, don’t do that. Stay here. Be safe.”
A great hole opened inside her. “Where will you go?”
He cleared his throat, reached for levity. “I have a bank to rob, you know. Then, well, we’ll see.”
“I could help you.”
“No.”
“I told Baron. I saw the safe, I told him I would tell you all about it.” Clutching now at anything, this lie that even she had begun to believe. Anything that would make him stay longer.
“That’s nonsense. Why do you think I would allow such a thing? You could be hurt, killed. No.”
“What if you could not stop me? What if I went to Baron and he said I could help? He would, you know.”
He touched her cheek with the ball of his thumb. “Don’t, Wilda. Don’t even joke about such a thing.”
“She needs help. I want to help her.” Motioning toward the hulking cabin behind them that sheltered Rachel and her beautiful children. “The money is for her, isn’t it?”
He nodded, glanced at the house where inside Rachel moved about. “You are helping her, and I will too. Each in our own way. I wish mine could be different.”
“You don’t have to steal. There are other ways. You have a job.”
He snorted. “A job? What I’m paid will do well to feed me. It’s not just that, though. The Yankees took everything I had, my parents, my brothers, my home, my heart. And getting back at them is like a fire burning inside me. I can’t put it out. Worse than a flame, it drives me, keeps me on this path, like I can’t quit until I’m dead. If I could get out of this I would. But I can’t.”
Sadness curled around her heart. “What about love?” she finally asked.
He turned his back on her, shoulders broad and tight and stubborn. “That is the last thing I want. Without it, I’m safe. No one can get at me. If I love something, then I open myself to losing it. No, I’ll never love. I won’t allow it. It gets you nothing but heartache.”
She reached out, stopped short of touching him. “But I love you,” she whispered.
“No, you don’t. Go back to your remittance man, he’ll take care of you. You don’t want to love anyway, not anymore than I do. With him you won’t have to worry, he can’t hurt you if you never love him.”
She wanted to tell him how wrong he was, but could not form the words. Silently, she watched him go, tears sliding down her cheeks. Gabe’s hoofbeats faded, echoed within the blackness that encompassed her heart and soul.
Chapter Eleven
After Calder rode away and left Wilda with Rachel, she tried to forget what he’d said about love and getting hurt. She immersed herself in the chores. The children kept her busy while Rachel washed the children’s meager clothing. She prayed he’d change his mind, turn around and come back, say he hadn’t meant what he said. But day turned into evening, supper came and went, the children were put to bed, and still no Calder. They sat outside and watched night creep across the plains. Wilda was amazed by the heat that lingered long after the sun set. The incessant hot dry wind did little to cool her. She gazed in the direction where she’d last seen him, felt foolish with the hope that he’d return. He wasn’t coming back.
In the full darkness of night, Rachel rose from the rocker on the porch. Sighed. “I’m going to bed. Stay up as long as you like. You won’t wake me. Just step over the children.”
She lingered in the silence of the dark night, the wind around the eaves her only companion. And she missed him. As if they’d been lovers. Her loins burned with the memory of being with him. His lips, his touch, the way his hair tickled her cheek when they kissed. The vagaries of the words of the sisters at St. Ann’s that warned young women to beware the seductions of men, had done nothing to prepare Wilda for this feeling of amorous denial, of expectant passions…of such great loss.
He had done what she’d asked, rescued her and left her somewhere safe. What she hadn’t asked, nor expected, was this extreme passion she’d developed for him. Or was it just for sex? She hated to think that might be it. Her desire to have him hold her overpowered everything else. But it appeared that he would not return.
It was up to her what she did with her life. A strange and new feeling. Someone else had always been in charge. Instead of feeling free, she felt only an emptiness. There was no place to go, no one to share her life with. And she didn’t like that feeling at all.
She rose and stepped from under the roof to gaze at the stars. Faced into the wind, let it cool the hot tears, and whip the smell of him from her hair and her fingertips and clothing. Her nipples hardened again, even as she struggled to forget his gentle caresses, and she heard something nearby that stilled her heart.
Hands folded together over the wild beating in her chest, she held her breath, waited, listened. Footsteps crept toward her but the soddy cast a shadow that disguised the unknown. Was it Calder or someone else? One of Prescott’s hired hands stalking her? Trees swayed along the ridge line, like gigantic soldiers marching. Again, a stealthy movement off to her left.
Against the eastern horizon the late rising moon cast a golden glow into the sky and dimmed the stars. Shaking loose from the enchantment of the night, she turned, ran, tried to make it back to the steps and up on the porch. Heart banging, mouth gasping for air. But hard fingers bit into her arm, a voice she knew rasped in her ear. “Hush, woman. Do you want to wake them? They’re dead if you do.”
She swallowed the scream that rose in her throat, sucked in more air. “What do you want?” No need to ask who. The rank stench told her. Baron.
“You. Shut up and come with me, now.”
Her resistance against his grip brought the harsh command, “Do as I say or see them die. Maybe him too.”
Not necessary to ask who he meant. She knew that as well. “He’s your friend. Would you kill your friend?”
“I gave him his life, I can take it back. Now move, this way. I brought a mount for you.”
Even as he roughly shoved her toward the waiting horses, she threw a frantic glance over her shoulder in the direction Calder had taken. But the ridge cut an empty slice from the sky. He would not return.
Filled with a growing panic, she allowed the outlaw to boost her onto the back of a horse, lash her hands to the pommel and lead her away. Without a fight. A glance over her shoulder, a whispered goodbye to Rachel and her children. Fear lodged in her throat. She would never see them again.
****
Eyes aimed forward, Calder rode at breakneck speed across the prairie. Leaving Wilda was the hardest thing he’d ever done. One look back and he’d be lost. He had to escape her hold on him.
Far across the valley, he slowed a sweating Gabe to a walk. All that day he spent wandering. Not sure if he would bother to return to Baron and Deke and their plan to rob the bank, or just keep riding west. Back there somewhere he’d lost his hat, and the wind yanked at his hair. Maybe he’d lost his good sense along with it. He headed for a place which would not be kind to a woman like Wilda, yet each time his thoughts strayed to the feel of her soft skin under his hands, he was tempted to turn back. Grab her in his arms and forever join their bodies and souls.
During that night, he and Gabe moved aimlessly through the Smoky River valley. From out of the blackness heat lightning struck with a deafening crash. Gabe screamed, lengthened his stride and Calder gave him his head. Maybe he could escape the demons that chased him. Man and beast thundered through the hellish darkness.
Reminders of Wilda pursued his flight, linked to him like a persistent shadow. Her smooth skin, the sweet smell of her hair and flesh, the desire that burned in his groin until he wanted to bay at the moon that rose to meet him. A feral lust for the beautiful woman with hair like flames ignited a passion too long smothered by rage. Not love. Surely not that. Must be plain old lust.
Sure. It was lust. Pure and simple. He should’ve taken her. Laid her down right there on the dirt floor of the porch, shoved that pretty little calico dress up around her face so she couldn’t aim those innocent blue eyes at him. Should’ve pumped his seed into her. Rid himself of the driving, powerful, agonizing ache. Rid himself of the ugly need he had no patience for. It weakened a man to love a woman, especially one like her. Kept him from his one purpose in life.
Huge storm clouds blotted out the moon, and the land grew as dark as his mood. From the minute he’d fallen on her in the creek, she’d put a spell on him. Put laughter and joy back in his heart. Tricked him into wanting her body more than anything else. But he was over it now and forever. He’d put her behind him with all the other memories he no longer wanted.
At his command the valiant bay raced on into the darkness, the sound of his breathing loud, labored. Finally he slowed him to a walk. No sense killing poor Gabe over this human weakness.
He shut his mind and heart to her, drove her away with visions of his murdered brothers, his father lying in his own blood within sight of the house, his mother, dead of the pox. All victims of that Yankee war that would not end for him, no matter what he did.
And he was tired of messing around. Baron was right. They had to do something big, something to avenge all those who had been slaughtered in the name of those damn Yankee do-gooders. Making up reasons for killing southerners. The James brothers, the Youngers, Quantrill and Baron, all had the right idea. War doesn’t give one whit for its victims. It kills men, women and children, treats them all alike. And this was war. Just because Lee had surrendered ten years ago meant nothing. He would fight on. Hit those rich Limey bastards where it would hurt them the most. Their banks.
He would not go back to the Johnson place to see the red haired foreign woman. He would forget the spell she had cast upon him. Never say her name, not even think it. Reining Gabe to a halt, he watched the storm clouds lit by distant lightning, thought of his family and all he had lost, then turned the bay toward the only home he had. The outlaw shack along the banks of the Smoky River.
****
Wilda’s backside ached from the long ride with her hands bound together over the saddle horn. She no longer wondered where Baron was taking her, but only wished they would arrive so she could get down off this dreadful beast.
Up ahead, a man stepped from the shadows, shouted. “Halt or taste lead.”
Her mount spooked, danced, ropes cut into her wrists as she struggled to keep from slipping off. She bit her lip and refused to cry out. Baron reined up, calmed both horses.
“Gawdamn, Deke, I like to had me a fit when you come out like that. Don’t you ever say nothing?”
“Didn’t know who you was.”
“You seen Calder?”
“Nope.”
“Wonder where the hell he went. What’s keeping him?”
“He ain’t gonna like this. You bringing her.”
“Too bad. I’m through caring what he likes. She can help us with the bank, and that’s what she’s gonna do if I have to hogtie him along with her.”
The relief that surged through her left her helpless. He was not going to kill her, at least not until he found out she’d lied about the bank.