Heart of a Dove (29 page)

“Thank you,” I told him, slightly flustered at his ministrations. Though I knew he was just being polite.

“It is a messy task,” he told me. “There, that should do it.”

“Lorie, how’d you like to take Fortune for a spell?” Boyd asked, lifting his hat to swipe at his sweating forehead.

My eyes flashed to Sawyer; I wanted to ride on the wagon and be near him.

Boyd collected her reins and passed them to me, before I could say either way. He added, “I’ll take a turn on the wagon seat. You’ve not ridden all day.”

I said helplessly, “Thank you, I would like that.”

Afternoon passed into a lovely blue evening, the clouds on the western horizon streaked with a startling, blazing violet, sizzling with gilt-edged, ruby radiance. My trousers were stiff with dried blood; Angus chose a spot near the river, which rushed and sang in its never-ending chatter. After the tents were set and the horses watered, I stripped and changed into my own clothes, then hauled the washboard from the wagon bed. The mosquitoes were thick on the bank, but I knelt with determination, scrubbing Malcolm’s trousers and the shirt I’d worn all day, using a smidgen of a cake of lye soap from our limited supply. The soap was the same butter-cream color as the box of candles in the wagon and its scent called to my mind the hours I’d spent helping Mama on Mondays, our wash day.

The deer was butchered into pieces; faintly, I could hear Boyd and Sawyer joking as they worked together, some distance down the river’s edge. There seemed to be no tension between them at present, for which I was truly grateful. Malcolm came to the river with me for a time, hauling along a stack of additional dirty garments. As I worked, he strung the clothes line. The air had cooled as the sky darkened, though sweat streaked between my breasts from the exertion of scrubbing. After the last shirt was clean, I stood just as Malcolm trotted down the bank; he caught his toe on a root and squeaked in alarm, crashing into me and taking us both into the river. The rushing water closed over our heads, obliterating all other sound; when we surfaced, I choked on an inadvertent mouthful of murky liquid, shuddering at the coldness. Malcolm floundered and cried, “Lorie, I’m sorry!”

I rolled to my knees, the water flowing around my waist, as Malcolm laughed joyously at the situation, splashing water over my head, ducking under like a river otter as I gasped at the icy droplets. Malcolm tugged at my arms and cried, “Let’s swim a little, Lorie-Lorie!”

“Son, absolutely not,” Angus said firmly, wading into the water and grasping my forearms. “It’s getting dark, and you’ll catch a chill.”

He helped me to my feet; I moved ungracefully, slogging in my wet skirts, and then had to bend forward to vomit up river water; it tasted unusually foul. To my dismay, Angus tucked me to his side, soaking himself in the process. He observed, “Lorie, you’re frozen.”

“I’m just soaked,” I said hoarsely, though my teeth were chattering. “It was…an accident.”

In my tent, shucked bare for the second time in an hour, I shivered violently as I dried myself with a linen, the firelight dancing orange against the canvas. I heard Sawyer and Boyd return from butchering the deer, and Malcolm offered a breathless explanation for why he was sopping wet.

“An’ Lorie-Lorie threw up all over the place!” he concluded.

“Lorie, are you all right?” Sawyer was instantly at the entrance to my tent, concern rife in his voice. I ached to untie the lacings and pull him inside with me…I was so cold and he was so very warm. My heart only increased its frantic pace at these futile longings.

Still naked, wrapped in the damp linen, I moved close to him and assured, “I am. I’ll be out straight away.”

I pressed my palms to the canvas, sensing him so near.

“Dress warm,” he said, low. “You’ll be chilled.”

I dressed and wrapped in my shawl, hurrying to rebraid my hair, and finally joined them, the scent of roasting meat rich in the air.

“Lorie, I didn’t mean to pitch you into the river,” Malcolm said apologetically, looking over his shoulder at me. His hair was damp and standing on end, though he was in dry clothes. He’d filched a piece of venison, his lips shiny.

“I know,” I assured him, sinking carefully to his left side, again closer to Sawyer.

I was still icy, even wrapped into my shawl, and held my numb hands to the fire.

“It’s a bit late for a swim,” Sawyer teased, though his eyes told me,
I wish I could hold you
.
I’ll warm you, Lorie, my sweet Lorie
.

I want to be in your arms with all of my heart
, I told him back, though I said, “For Malcolm, it’s never too late for one.”

“Thought I saw a snake swimmin’ along,” Malcolm added. “I jumped out right quick at that.”

“A hoop snake?” I giggled.

“Them things don’t swim,” he told me, as though I should have known better.

Malcolm and I adjourned before anyone else; for nearly an hour after, the men chatted quietly. The scent of the fire was comforting, as was Boyd’s tobacco, though I rolled restlessly, knowing that I must tell Sawyer what I suspected. Agony ripped through me at the thought. At long last they retired, banking the fire and murmuring quietly. I listened, tensile with anxiety, as Sawyer said quietly, “I’ve got it, Gus.”

Heart throbbing, I went to one elbow and strained to listen. Angus replied too quietly for me to hear, but moments later I shivered and glowed with relief as I knew that Sawyer was settling near the entrance to my tent, rolling a blanket to put under his head. I waited as long as I was able, until I was certain that everyone else had disappeared into their own tents; to the right, Malcolm mumbled sleepily to Boyd. I crawled to the entrance and unlaced the bottom tie, allowing me to reach my left hand and touch Sawyer. He took it immediately within his, between his warm strong hands.

I moved as close as I could, my heart thrusting, begging me to put the rest of myself into his hands. I sensed that he had turned to his side, facing me as I faced him, the canvas between us; we could not risk more, not before everyone was asleep. He tipped his head and kissed my folded fingers, the back of my hand, then my palm, before enclosing it once more between his. My breath was fast and uneven at this tenderness, the incredible warmth of his lips.

“Lorie,” he whispered. “You’re so cold. Have you your shawl?”

“I do,” I whispered.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he told me, low and soft. “Wrap in your shawl, and I’ll be right here.”

In the next tent, Boyd and Malcolm were talking, albeit quietly, their voices gently rising and falling.

“You rest, I’ll be right here,” Sawyer whispered, so close, and I took a measure of comfort in that.

He kissed my hand and cradled it to his chest, where I could feel his heart. I curled even closer, wrapping my fingers into his, holding fast. For a time I slept, despite everything, my other arm braced under my head on the ground. When I woke again, the stillness of night was deep and complete. My hand rested on Sawyer’s chest and I could hear his steady breathing; he was asleep. I untied the rest of the laces and crawled directly out, finding him on his back, a rolled blanket under his head, another beneath him. In the dim glow of the banked fire, I knelt and studied his face, one arm sprawled above his head, the other palm-down upon his chest. My heart ached with so many things, love and hope and fear that what we’d found would be dashed upon the rocks in far too short a time. I knew, looking down at him as he slept, that I must tell him.

Oh God, not yet, not yet. Not yet. You don’t even know for certain, not yet. You’ll bleed soon. It was just the once
.

I swallowed and looked nervously to the other tents, silent in the night, and then I curved against his side, wrapping my arm over his chest, holding him close. Sawyer stirred, turned at once and collected me directly against his warmth and strength.

“Sweetheart, you’re still so chilled,” he whispered into my ear, kissing my cheek, my temple. “I was so worried when we returned and I couldn’t warm you at once. Come here, let me now.”

“Come inside with me,” I pleaded in a whisper, and his eyes drove into mine.

“Lorie, I don’t…” he paused, holding me close; it was clear from his expression that he was determining how to say what was on his mind. At last he continued, softly, “Sweet woman, I don’t want you to think I’m just after…just after the gift of you. God knows I long for you,” and my heart thundered against him, as I could feel his thrusting back. “I long so for you, but I won’t have you thinking I would take advantage of you that way.”

“I don’t think that,” I whispered honestly. “Sawyer, I don’t think that. What’s between us is…so much more.”

He nodded, cupping my face with one hand, his eyes unwavering from mine. He traced my bottom lip with his thumb, before leaning to kiss me softly. He whispered, “Come, we’ll walk a spell.”

He grabbed the blanket and wrapped it over my shoulders before drawing me to my feet, and then whispered, “You best put on your shoes.”

I hurried to do so, noiselessly, and he held my hand tightly as we made our way towards the horses, out beyond the tents. At the base of a group of cottonwoods, Sawyer sat and drew me upon his lap, resettling the blanket so it was around the both of us. He tucked me close to his chest, and in the brilliant starlight our eyes held fast. Just as when he’d kissed me before the storm broke, I was struck with the knowledge that we were meant to be here under this sky, in this place.

When he spoke, his voice was soft and husky with emotion. He traced the side of my face lightly with one hand as he said, “Lorie, you recall the story about the cave in the holler?” At my nod, he continued, “I never finished telling you about what happened the next morning when I went back for my boot. It was freed from where it had been stuck, which was strange enough, but when I bent to collect it, I heard two words spoken to me.”

“From within the cave?”

“To this day, I don’t know exactly, but I heard a voice. It spoke two words: ‘the angel.’ Then all was quiet. Since that morning, I’ve dreamed of my angel…I’ve longed for her. Lorie, the moment I looked at you that night in the saloon, something struck at me like fists. I suddenly heard my granddaddy telling me that when you know, you just know. I hadn’t thought of him saying that since I was a boy, and he told me the story of meeting Granny Alice. He said he’d taken one look at her and understood that she was meant for him. And there you were on that staircase, your beautiful eyes so overwhelmed by what was happening. Clear as day, I knew you were for me. You are my angel, the one I’ve been searching for.” He whispered, “Do you think me crazy?”

Tears spilled over my cheeks, the strength of my feelings pouring forth as I clutched the front of his shirt.

“Sawyer,” I whispered. “You’re not crazy. I know your words for truth. I do, and I know that you are also mine. I can’t explain any better than that.”

He gently wiped my tears with his thumb and whispered, “Do you know what it means to me to hear you say that?”

The lump in my throat didn’t allow for words, as more tears came gushing. He made a sound of concern and drew me close, cupping my head and cradling me. I thought that if he would hold me thusly forever, I would never ask for anything, never want for anything more.

“I don’t mean…to cry,” I whispered against his chest. And in a rush, because I had to tell him, heart stabbing my ribs, I drew enough back to see his eyes and said in agony, “I’m afraid because I may be carrying a child, Sawyer. I won’t know until I bleed again.”

He blinked once, slowly, almost like an owl, absorbing this news. At last he said, “Gus’s child.”

I closed my eyes and nodded.

“Lorie,” he said then, intently, and my eyes flashed open. He said, “It doesn’t change how I feel. Nothing could change that. I told you that you are mine, and I know this for truth.”

Relief and a tiny, sparking flame of hope flared within me at his words. I whispered, “Sawyer, I can’t bear it. I can’t bear thinking of being apart from you, not anymore.”

“Nor I you,” he said. He kissed my lips, softly, and added, “I will do what’s right by you, I swear to you.”

“We can’t tell anyone else, not yet,” I said desperately. “But if it’s true, I’ll have to tell Angus.”

For an instant naked panic flashed across his face, before he gathered himself. I felt that flash in the pit of my gut, cold and chill. He said at last, “You don’t deserve this sneaking around. I don’t want that.”

“I don’t care, if it’s the only way I can be with you,” I said, again with desperation in my voice. “I’m frightened.”

He lifted my chin and his hawk eyes were upon me, steady in the starlight. He whispered, “I’m here. Don’t be scared, sweetheart.” He kissed my forehead, so gently. “You have been through more than I could ever know, but I’m here now.”

I closed my eyes at these words; it was too much, almost more than I could bear. Surely the universe would never be so gracious, so kind, without exacting payment in kind.

I whispered, “At first I thought you hated me, for coming so unexpectedly into your lives. I didn’t ask Angus to bring me with the four of you, I didn’t. I refused to go with him.”

“I was so cold to you, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I know I seemed angry. But I was so overcome with what I felt. I couldn’t admit it to myself until the night that Federal son of a bitch was in your tent and could have taken you from me. Lorie,” and he paused, drawing a breath before he added softly, “Gus is…he’s the closest thing I’ve had to a father in years. He is one of my dearest friends. And he’s…” He faltered a little, as though not wanting to offend me, and I knew immediately to what he was alluding. I had just opened my mouth to speak when he finished, “He’s smitten with you, though he is far too much a gentleman to say it aloud. But I can see it, I remember back when he was courting Grace, when I was a boy. He looked at her the same way.”

My heart clenched with pain at this truth. My cheek was against his chest and I said, closing my eyes again, “I know, I do know that too. I wish it wasn’t so, from the deepest part of me, I wish it wasn’t so. He’s given me so much more than he’d ever know, taking me from Ginny’s. I was a prisoner there and he saved me, however unexpectedly.”