Sunset Embrace (10 page)

His clothes were serviceable work clothes but he wore them well. The dark pants fit his long legs snugly. He always wore the black knee-high boots she had first seen. His shirt was heavy blue cotton, but the black leather vest over it looked soft to touch. He had a bandanna knotted around his throat.

Afraid he might notice her close scrutiny, Lydia dropped her eyes to his hands on the reins. The edges of the black leather gloves were curled back to reveal his wrist bones, which were sprinkled with dark hair. He held the reins with seeming negligence, but one subtle flick of his wrist could direct the team. They demonstrated tremendous power, yet were capable of tenderness too. Which had he used when he touched his wife?

Such a thought made Lydia dizzy again, so she directed her musings away from the man beside her and began taking in her surroundings. There were about ten wagons in front of them. She turned her head to look behind her, but gripped the seat in fear of falling off. She couldn't see around the bulk of the wagon and she wasn't about to lean too far over the side in order to do so.

"Where are we?" she asked.

The countryside was lush and green. Wildflowers were blooming everywhere. The land rimming the meadow they were traversing was gently hilly and heavily wooded.

"Just east of Memphis." Ross had nearly recovered, but not quite. He had cursed his own susceptibility when he had accidentally seen her earlier with his son at her breast. Thank God she hadn't taken the whole top of the dress down as she had last night. Instead it had been unbuttoned to her waist, only one breast available to Lee. Ross, despite his aversion to hen had been struck by the peaceful, glowing expression on her face, the smile tilting the corners of her mouth upward. It was the kind of expression a man would love to put on a woman's face.

He shifted restlessly on the wagon seat. What in the hell had he thought of that for? He had certainly never had a woman look up at him with that kind of sublime smile. In his youth, wild and undisciplined as it had been, he had known only whores. Generally speaking, they were businesswomen who wanted him to hurry and finish so they could get on to the next customer.

And then there had been Victoria. He had never expected that kind of passion from her. Ladies of her upbringing didn't enjoy . . . that . . . and he would have been shocked if she had. She had been obliging and patient with him, even affectionate. She had never said no, but she had never initiated it either.

He would never love another woman. That was out of the question. Still, it would be nice to have one smile up at him afterward with an expression close to the one he had seen on Lydia's . . . My God! He had thought of her as Lydia.

Why the hell did she have to fall against him that way? He could still feel her hand sliding over his crotch. His arm still tingled from the contact with her breasts.

He cleared his throat loudly as though to physically throw off his thoughts. "We might be able to cross the river day after tomorrow."

"The Mississippi River?"

Was the girl dense? "Of course the Mississippi River," he said in rebuke.

"Well, you don't have to be so snippy about it," Lydia fired back. She felt like he had slapped her in the face by pointing up her ignorance. She had heard of the Mississippi River, but she had no idea where it was. She had attended only two years of primary school before she and Mama had moved to the Russell place. It wasn't by choice that she was sadly unknowledgeable,

"You're going to sunburn if you don't put a hat on," Ross muttered, looking at the tip of her nose that was already taking on a rosy cast.

"I don't have a hat," she said, staring at him in that cold, haughty way she had.

He flicked the reins over the horses' backs, venting his anger at them. Why the girl should vex him so he couldn't imagine. Maybe it had something to do with his physical discomforts.

Throughout the morning, riders on horseback passed their wagon. Most were men. Ross would grudgingly introduce her. "This is Lydia, She's taking care of Lee." The men would doff their hats politely and introduce themselves. She met their glances shyly, but though they were curious, she didn't meet with the scorn she had expected.

The only one who unnerved her was Scout. He eyed her in a leisurely way. His grin at Ross was sly. "Pleased to know you, Lydia," he said. He had long, curly, butter-colored sideburns and a wide moustache that was almost white. Lydia wouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him. Thankfully he was away from the train most of the time. Everyone seemed pleased with the job he was doing. He had mapped out a route so that they could use roads when possible and flat public lands at other times. He had promised that if all went well, they would camp near shallow running water every night. So far, he had kept that promise.

Bubba and Luke Langston rode up pell-mell when the sun had almost reached its zenith. "Chicken tonight," Luke chortled happily. They had found two scrawny roosters in the woods. He held them up by their wrung necks.

"Ma said she'd fry it up and for the two of you to share it with us."

Lydia was watching Ross as his mouth split wide in a grin appreciative of the boys' exuberance. His smile was heartstopping and, looking at it, she felt a strange fluttering in her breast. It wasn't her milk coming because she had felt that a while ago. This was an alien unsettling, as though something had stirred up her insides and everything was trying to find its proper place again. His teeth were brilliantly white against the dark moustache and tanned face.

"I reckon I could take you up on that invitation if you'll drive the wagon after the noon break and let me give one of the mares some exercise."

"I'd be glad to take a horse out for you, Ross," Bubba said excitedly. His blue eyes had nearly popped out of his head when he had seen Lydia sitting on top of the wagon with Ross where Victoria used to sit. But it was the bodice of her dress that had drawn his attention. He knew his ma would skin him alive if she caught him gawking at the girl, and he wasn't sure what Ross would do either. He found himself fairly shouting to release some of the energy surging through his body.

Ross was shaking his head. "That would leave no one to drive the wagon."

"I could drive the wagon," Luke said. He was jealous that Bubba had been asked to help take care of Mr. Coleman's horses. Ma had said Bubba was the oldest and it was only right that he be offered the job first. Still, Luke didn't want to be discounted altogether, as though he held no more rank in the family than Samuel or Micah or one of the girls.

Ross considered the suggestion while both boys waited in breathless expectation of his answer. "I guess that would be all right. I could keep an eye on you," he said to Luke. "And two horses would be exercised instead of one."

"Yippee," Luke said, whipping his own mount around and heading toward the Langstons' wagon to tell his good news.

"Only if Ma gives her approval," Ross shouted after him.

They stopped but briefly at noon. Lydia went into the wagon to nurse Lee, who had awakened a few minutes before. He had lain in his crate and fretted. Ross had curtly suggested that she not try to get back into the wagon until he pulled it to a stop.

Luke brought her a wide-brimmed straw hat when he came to take over for Ross as driver. "Mr. Coleman told Ma your nose was gettin' sunburned. This is an old hat of Bubba's, but it'll keep the sun off."

Lydia took it, looking sightlessly at it as she turned it over and over in her hands. She didn't know if she was more moved by the Langstons' generosity or by Mr. Coleman's concern.

She didn't see him for the rest of the afternoon except as a pesky dot that bounced along the horizon as he and Bubba rode two of his mares to exercise them.

She grew weary in the early afternoon sun and Luke talked her through getting into the back of the wagon without mishap. She unbuttoned her tight dress, unrolled the mattress, and lay down. Lee lay beside her. When she awoke, Luke was bringing the wagon to a halt in the circle with the others.

Quickly she fed Lee and then, putting his crate on the tailgate in the shade, went about building their fire and getting their supper. She took time to tidy up her hair and bathe her arms and face and neck in cool water before Ross returned looking dusty and sweaty.

He looked at the pot of beans simmering over the fire. "I thought we were eating with the Langstons." The greeting sounded cross and critical, but he couldn't help it. The domesticity of the scene before him—the supper cooking, and Lee sleeping contentedly, and her taking the trouble to look nice for him—made him unreasonably angry.

"We are, but I'd been soaking these beans all day and it seemed a shame not to cook them. I sent word to Ma that we'd be bringing them for our part of the supper."

He didn't like the way she said "we" and "our" either, like they were a pair. "You can take the beans for
your
part. For
my
part, I'm helping Zeke reshoe one of his horses after dinner."

"Very well, Mr. Coleman," she snapped. "I was heating this water for you to wash in, but I think I'll use it to start washing out Lees things instead." She swished past him, moving her skirt out of the way as though not to dirty its hem on his dusty boots.

He had a good mind to yank her around by the hair on her head and tell her that just because she was taking care of his boy, it didn't mean she had anything to do with
him.
But she had already stepped up into the wagon before the right words arranged themselves on his tongue. Besides, if he ever put his hand in her hair, he wasn't sure what he would do.

He turned away angrily, not wanting to think about how good it would feel to wash in warm water. He cursed viciously as he stepped behind the wagon where he was provided some privacy and peeled off his shirt.

Lydia, with the soiled clothes piled beside her, lifted the pot away from the fire before the water got too hot. Then, rubbing a bar of soap over each garment, she dropped it into the water. When all were in, she swished them with a stick.

Her shoulders lifted and fell in a sigh of irritation. He had been hateful again, but then it would be silly for her not to offer to wash his shirt too. Drawing in another deep breath, she rounded the end of the wagon to the far side.

Ross was standing in pants and boots. His arms and chest were lathered white. For the few moments before he saw her, Lydia watched his hands sliding over the wet soapy flesh of his wide shoulders and under his arms. His chest was matted with dark, crinkly hair that twined around his fingers as he washed. The muscles of his upper arms bunched and knotted with each economic movement. His ribs were as evenly corrugated as a washboard. His stomach was flat and tapering.

When he saw her standing there watching him, he became stock-still. Soap bubbles dripped from fingers gone suddenly lifeless. For a long moment they stared at each other, each stunned by the sight of the other.

"I'll wash your shirt," Lydia said at last.

Rather than argue and prolong her standing there, Ross picked up his shirt and handed it to her.

Her eyes averted, she whisked it from his hand and disappeared quickly around the end of the wagon. Ross rinsed and dunked his head in the water. Only after he had dried off did he realize that he didn't have a shirt to put on. He went to the tailgate and vaulted up into the wagon, nearly stepping on Lee where he slept in his crate. He cursed as he bumped his head on one of the slats, then grew more agitated when he couldn't locate any of his clothes.

He stuck his head through the open canvas flaps. "Uh . . ."he said, hoping to get her attention as she wrung the clothes out. She turned around, brushing back a strand of willful hair with a damp hand. "I can't find my clothes," he stated simply.

"Oh. I straightened up this morning. I'll get a shirt for you."

Nervously Ross's eyes scanned the campsite, hoping to God no one was watching her climb into the wagon with him shirtless. Damn! There stood Mrs. Watkins, glaring at them across the grassy expanse, her mouth drawn up like a rotten apple, looking for all the world like a witch-hunter. Her daughter Priscilla was standing behind her with a knowing, smug look on her petulant face. Ross had seen her wear that expression before. It made him damned uneasy.

Lydia, oblivious to their audience, brushed past him. Her brisk movement stirred the hair on his chest and stomach. He ducked out of sight into the wagon. God, the girl was shameless. Didn't she nave one ounce of propriety?

"I folded them up over here," she was saying as she rummaged through tne supplies which she had neatly stacked out of the way. It occurred to Ross suddenly that the interior of the wagon no longer painfully reminded him of Victoria. All traces of her clutter were gone. Things were more neatly arranged to save space and make room.

Lydia handed him a clean shirt that had been folded carefully. She had almost gasped at the sight of the scar. It was above his left breast ana had gouged out part of the muscle. She tried not to let him know she had noticed it.

"Thanks," he said tersely, hoping that she would leave the wagon so everyone could see her outside instead of in there with him.

He should have known that was too much to ask of her. "Mr. Coleman, would you teach me to drive the wagon?" she asked, looking up at him. Even stooped over as he was, she came no higher than his breastbone.

"Drive the wagon?" he repeated vaguely. He was wondering if he should pull his shirt on or wait until she left. Better to put it on now. The way her eyes wandered curiously over his chest was making him perspire even though he had just washed. "I don't think so," he said, cramming his arms into the sleeves. Was she looking at his nipple or at the scar?

"Why?"

"Because the team would probably pull you off the seat, that's why. You're not . . . nusky . . . enough." His fingers were behaving as though they had never buttoned a shirt before.

"Did your wife . . . did Victoria drive the team?"

When he reached the last button, he discovered he had matched them all up with the wrong holes. He cursed under his breath and nearly ripped them free before starting all over again. "Yes, she did."