Deep as the Rivers (Santa Fe Trilogy) (32 page)

   
The blood surged so quickly to Olivia’s face that she thought her skin was being boiled from the inside. “Micajah Johnstone!” she almost shouted. “Colonel Shelby’s ‘parts’ are no concern of mine—at least now that I’ve escaped his immoral snares.” That declaration had not sounded exactly as she had intended, and the blood in her cheeks “boiled” even more fiercely.

   
Micajah ignored her discomfort and pressed on. “Hit don’t look thet away from where I’m a squattin’. Th’ two o’ yew ‘er circlin’ each other like a couple o’ bobcats fixin’ ta den up in th’ same cave.”

   
“He’s arrogant and insufferable and I may be stuck with him in our cabin all winter. He mistrusts all women because of his dead wife who was—so he says—quite blatantly wicked.” Since she had gleaned that piece of information from his rather explicit feverish ravings, she did not truly doubt its veracity, but his low opinion of women in general and her in particular angered her with its unfairness. And it hurt her, too, but she would never consciously admit it.

   
Micajah scratched his head consideringly. “Then mebbe hit’s up ta yew ta change his mind.”

   
“I don’t give a fig what he thinks of any woman.”

   
Micajah didn’t reply but knelt down beside her and dipped his hand into the pot of brains and ash, withdrawing a big blob of goo. “Let me work on this fer a spell. You cud use a coolin’ down in th’ creek. This here warm sun ain’t a gonna last much longer so late in th’ year. Might’s well enjoy hit whilst yew kin.”

   
The idea of a bath did appeal. She could wash her hair with that small piece of scented soap she’d gotten from the last trader who happened by. Obviously she did not want to primp for Samuel Shelby. She only wanted to be clean. She desired a little luxury. Thus rationalizing, she smiled at Micajah and said, “A good wash sounds wonderful.”

   
Olivia wiped off her hands and stood up but just as she started to walk toward the cabin in search of soap and towel and clean clothes, Micajah casually mentioned, “When yew take a mind, them stitches got ta come outta Shelby’s side.” He watched her stiffen, then nod.

   
“If he’s up to it, so am I.”

   
As she stalked up the hill, Micajah grinned to himself and set to work, whistling.

* * * *

   
When she reached the cabin, Samuel was asleep. Grateful that she did not have to face those mocking blue eyes, she slipped quietly inside and gathered her necessaries, then headed to the bliss of cool, clear water. As the sun dropped lower toward the beckoning trees, she climbed out, smugly recalling Samuel’s mocking of the fact she had not learned to swim. Now she was as fast and graceful as an otter in the water, thanks to Micajah.

   
Olivia dried her hair by brushing it until it crackled and gleamed like polished copper. Then she slipped into her fresh clothes, the newest doeskin leggings and tunic she had sewn. The knee-length tunic tip was embroidered with beads and quills, a skill old White Hair’s wife had taught her. Although she was a novice, she thought the simple pattern had turned out pretty well.

   
“I love to wear things that I’ve created for myself,” she murmured, smoothing the butter soft skin over the curve of her hip. She certainly had not put it on for Samuel Shelby’s gratification!

   
Now there was the matter of taking out those blasted stitches. With a grim smile she gathered up her things and headed back to the cabin.

   
When she walked through the door, the sun was at her back, gilding the masses of her hair until it glowed like molten red-gold flame, spilling across her shoulders. She looked flushed, pink from a bath and the soft pale cream-colored skins of her tunic clung lovingly to the sweet curves of her body. Samuel felt his throat close up and his heartbeat accelerate, not to mention a sudden throbbing in the lower regions of his anatomy, which leaped all too eagerly to attention. Thank heavens he was half covered by a heavy quilt!

   
“You look like that Osage princess from my fever dreams again,” he said, trying for a light tone to cover up the effect she was having on him.

   
“This outfit isn’t half so fancy. I can’t sew like the women who made that dress,” she said dismissively.

   
“Implying that you did sew this one?”

   
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. And it’s damn comfortable, too.”

   
“I’m impressed.”

   
She opened the medicine possibles sack and pulled out a small, wickedly sharp penknife and ran her fingertip along the side of the blade, then said with a falsely sweet grin, “I couldn’t care less. All I came in to do was cut out those stitches. Micajah said you were bellyaching about them hurting.”

   
That quickly took the steel out of his erection! She advanced on him smiling coolly with the knife gleaming evilly in her small hand. “Why do I think you’re going to enjoy this even more than you did sewing me up?”

   
“Because this time you’ll be awake to feel it?’’ she answered his rhetorical question with one of her own.

   
He leaned back and crossed his arms on his chest. “After surviving a dozen bloodthirsty Osage bucks, don’t think you can frighten me.” He patted a spot close to him on the big bed. “Come on. I’m ready...if you are.”

   
Dare her, would he? Clutching her little knife and a small tweezers, she walked over and sat down, although not as close as he indicated. “Pull down the blanket. You haven’t got anything under it I haven’t already seen,” she said boldly, hoping to make him feel as flustered and embarrassed as he made her feel.

   
“Then you won’t mind seeing it again.” Calmly he flung the quilt away, baring his body to the top of his thighs.

   
“Not that far down!” she said much too quickly, her voice much too high as she angrily yanked the blanket back up to his waist, trying not to notice the washboard hard ridges of his chest and belly and the seductive patterns in that black body hair. “Roll on your good side,” she commanded. “Before I decide to snip something more than stitches!”

   
He did as ordered, facing away from her. She noted that he moved his body with considerable care. That healing slash was still quite tender.

   
“Hold still. This is going to hurt,” she said with false relish. Samuel muttered something unintelligible, but did as he was told.

   
Willing her hands to remain steady, she began to work on the first small stitch, biting her lip in concentration. As the flesh had knit together and healed over, the small strands of sinew she had used as thread had drawn tight and worked their way deep into his skin. Carefully she inserted the tip of the razor sharp knife beneath the sinew and twisted up and out.

   
Feeling a sharp pinch of pain as the thread snapped, he grunted.

   
“I said hold still,” she repeated crossly, snipping the next stitch the same way. The thread would not come free as easily. No help for it, she had to touch him to steady herself. Although no longer hot with fever, his skin was still warm and smooth beneath the palm of her left hand. She could feel the hardness of muscle over rib bones as her fingers pressed down. Laying aside the knife, she used the tweezers to pull the sinew free.

   
Olivia could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, feel the quivering tension in his body while she worked the stitch free, pulling on the pink tender flesh until she knew it must indeed hurt him far more than she had anticipated.

   
The pain was bearable. He had felt a lot worse on numerous occasions, but having her so close, hovering over him, touching him with her soft, cool hands, was sheer torture. He could smell the faint fragrance of wildflowers and feel the brushing of her hair as it fell against his back and shoulder, tickling his sensitized skin until he thought he would scream with frustration.

   
His erection was back, never mind her knife or the pain. Then he heard her voice, choked and low as she murmured, “I... I’m sorry. Really, I don’t mean to hurt you.”

   
Olivia worked as fast as she could, snipping and pulling until the last stitch, which would not budge. She chewed her lip in vexation. “I can’t get it loose.”

   
“Pull harder.”

   
“I might make it bleed again.”

   
No chance. All his blood had rushed somewhere else, but Samuel was not about to tell her that! “Just do it,” he said, he hoped calmly.

   
Olivia took a steadying breath and leaned over his side, squinting in concentration, then placed two splayed fingers carefully on either side of the healing flesh where the stitch stuck out defiantly. Using her other hand she gripped the tweezers firmly and pulled harder.

   
As she worked, she was unaware of repositioning her body closer to his. Samuel felt her squirming behind him and all but forgot the burning in his side. One long fiery lock of hair fell onto his chest and he took it in his hand, wrapping it around his fist and raising it to stroke the silk against his lips.

   
The stitch gave way and pulled free. Olivia would have lost her balance and tumbled from her kneeling position on the edge of the bed if not for the anchor of her hair in Samuel’s fist. She yelped when her scalp tingled in pain, and jumped forward in reflex at the same time he rolled onto his back, trying to let go of the tangled hair in his hand, but it was too late.

   
Suddenly she was above him, staring into his eyes, their gazes locked, inches apart, their mouths also inches apart. For a heartbeat neither moved. Then instead of releasing her hair he pulled gently on it, drawing her down until her upper body was sprawled across his, her breasts pressing against his chest. Time was suspended. They had no idea for how long as they continued to stare into each other’s eyes until at last the warmth of their breaths met and intermingled. What happened next was inevitable.

Chapter Fifteen

   
Micajah hallooed into the cabin. “We got us a real treat fer supper. Lookee whut my trot line done give us.” He held up a stringer of dark greenish catfish. When he stepped inside, he could see Olivia leaping from the bedside as if snakebit, her hair tangled and her face flushed. She had bathed and selected one of her best outfits, and she was breathless, unable to meet his eyes, as if guilty of some heinous crime. Shelby didn’t look too comfortable either, sitting huddled in the center of the bed, scowling fierce as a treed cougar. Micajah smiled to himself.

   
“I was just removing those stitches as you asked me to do,” she said, replacing the medical implements in their sack and unrolling a length of clean bandages. “I’ll get to work on frying those fish as soon as you gut them and give Devil his treat.”

   
“No need ta rush. Thet hound kin wait. Jest take care o’ yore patient first,” Micajah replied genially, tossing the wriggling catfish onto the table while the dog sat watching him from the doorway, ears at attention and head cocked expectantly. Micajah looked at Shelby and said, “Sparky fries th’ best catfish I ever et. Jest wait till yew sink a tooth inta one.”

   
“Right now I’m so starved I’d eat one raw—skin, guts and all,” Samuel replied.

   
“I don’t think your stomach is up to anything as greasy as fried fish yet,” Olivia said neutrally as she held out the bandage for his side.

   
Micajah whistled jovially, seeming to ignore them as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot ever steaming at the edge of the hearth. “I’ll let yew two settle up betwixt yoreselves,” he said with deliberate vagueness, then slung the fish across his shoulder and headed out the door with Dirt Devil at his heels.

   
Samuel raised his arm and looked down at the healing wound in his side, then flexed the muscles across his shoulder and back. “I’m feeling a lot stronger.” He waited for her to sit down beside him again and apply the wrapping, then added suggestively, “So’s my appetite.”

   
Olivia could see the challenge in his eyes. Taunt her, would he? She would show him she was no fainting miss. If only her heart would cease its trip-hammer beat and her skin lose the heated flush that tingled everywhere from her face to her most intimate parts. She could still feel the warmth of his breath mingling with hers, the pressure and command of his mouth in that interrupted kiss...a kiss she had ached for. It was madness to desire him. He would only hurt her again.

   
Forcing herself to remember the cold betrayal of his ugly bargain with Emory Wescott, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to wrap the bandage around his waist. There was no way to do it without coming far too close to the muscled hardness of his black-furred chest. She unconsciously chewed her lip as she held one end of the cloth strip pressed against the wound and began to reach around him with the bandage.