Sunset Embrace (29 page)

Lydia knew the instant his eyes opened. She could feel their gaze on her profile. He lay still for an interminably long time while her heart thudded achingly in her chest. At last he lifted his arm from around her and sat up. He stared down at her.

A compulsion to touch him seized her, a compulsion so strong she had to struggle not to reach up and smooth the furrow from between his brows, to push back the unruly hair that fell over his forehead, to lift the frown from his mouth. But she couldn't. After last night he wouldn't want her touch. So she lay immobile and let her eyes gaze back at him without one trace of expression that would betray the tumult inside her.

She watched as his eyes scanned her breasts, left exposed because she hadn't had the initiative to move and rebutton her clothing. Nor could she have. His arms had kept her imprisoned all night. Shamed, she crossed her arms over her chest.

In his throat, he made a sound that might have been a blasphemous curse. He looked away, but his eyes fell on the skirts still rumpled around her waist and the underdrawers lying in a heap just beyond her feet.

Awkwardly, with uncoordinated motions, he rearranged her skirts more modestly. Her hands were lying limply on her stomach, and when he allowed his eyes to look at them, at the purpled wrists, a grimace twisted his mouth. Though it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do, he forced his eyes back to her face. There were no visible signs of suffering there, except for that haunted vagueness in her eyes.

"Did I hurt ..."
Stupid question, Coleman,
he said to himself.
Look at her, man. She's bruised all over.
He amended his original question. "Are you in pain?"

She shook her head no, still not blinking or relieving him of that accusatory stare. He stood unsteadily. Without another word, he fastened his breeches, picked up his discarded shirt, and left the wagon.

Lydia rolled to her side, buried her face in her hands, and wept. It was a long while before she could force herself to get up and go about routine things. She washed herself thoroughly, not a little alarmed to find traces of blood on her thighs. She scrubbed herself hard as though to wash away the impurities inside her and make herself acceptable. Ruthlessly she raked her hair back and pinned it tight to her head like it was a symbol of her wickedness that should be hidden.

When she garnered enough courage to step outside the wagon, Ross was hunched down in front of the fire sipping the coffee he had brewed. He had already shaved, but he looked haggard.

She laced her fingers together tightly. "I'll go get Lee and then see to breakfast." When he didn't say anything, but only stared into the fire, she took a few steps in the direction of the Langston wagon.

"Lydia."

Her name, spoken sharply, brought her up short and she turned back. He was standing facing her, but she found it impossible to look directly into the green heat of his eyes. "About last night," he began.

She shook her head in denial even before he made the indictment. "Nothing happened between Mr. Hill and me. I swear it. He was sick. He couldn't stop coughing. He coughed up blood. I helped him back to his wagon and gave him his medicine. That's all."

Ross tossed the remainder of his coffee on the ground, cursed, and crammed his hands into his pockets. "That's not what I'm talking about." Another tense silence ensued in which they couldn't look at each other. "I don't think this is going to work out," he said with a deadly calm that chilled her. "As soon as we get to Texas, I'll figure out a way for us to get divorced." Her head was bowed so he couldn't see her shattered features. "It shouldn't be too difficult."

"No," she said raspily. "It shouldn't be."

"Things are in a turmoil all over. Federal troops occupying—"

"Yes."

"I'll make the arrangements."

"All right."

"Goddammit, Lydia, would you look at me?" he ordered on a note louder than their whispered conversation had been. Exasperation was stamped all over him as she raised her forcibly restored face. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. She stared back at him levelly, letting none of her heartache and despair show. "Say something," he commanded angrily.

How did he expect her to respond when he had just informed her she was going to be dumped in the middle of nowhere just when she had become accustomed to living with him? What did he want her to say? That she would be happy to give up Lee? That she would be happy to be alone again, without family, without anyone to look after her in a strange place, without means of supporting herself? Of course he thought she could support herself. By whoring. Tears welled in her eyes, but she wouldn't give this arrogant man the pleasure of gloating over them. She could take care of herself. She had done it once before.

Her chin went up a notch. "I'll go get Lee now" was all she said before hurrying away.

When she returned to their camp, he was standing beside a saddled Lucky, strapping down a full saddlebag. He glanced at her over his shoulder. "I'll be gone for a day or two. Scout and I are going to ride up ahead and look things over. If you need help with anything, ask Bubba."

Her heart rolled to her feet. '"All right, Ross." He finished tying down the leather straps and came to her, the spurs buckled onto his boots jingling musically with each step. The merry sound was jarringly out of place.

He patted Lee on the back and ducked down to kiss his temple. "Good-bye, son." Lydia could feel his warm breath against her shoulder and on her neck. He was so wonderfully close and smelled so good, of horses and leather and shaving soap and man.

When he raised his head, his eyes locked with hers and for a long moment they held. She willed one kind word from him, one tiny gesture that would let her know that he didn't despise her. He did nothing. Turning away, he pulled on his hat and vaulted easily into the saddle.

He clicked his tongue and the mighty stallion wheeled. "Ross," she called quickly, taking two running steps toward him. He reined in and looked down at her. "Be careful," she whispered. From under the brim of his hat she saw his eyes widen appreciably before he nodded and led his horse away.

* * *

The day was hot and everyone was glad that the train didn't try to travel far. Especially Lydia, who had driven her own team. They made camp early. Ma instructed Bubba and Lake to gather firewood. "Hurry up so I can get supper started. Lydia's eating with us. She looks a mite peaked to me and I'm gonna make her go to bed early."

The boys were a good way from the camp when Bubba pulled Luke to a stop and whispered. "I got a proposition for you."

Luke took off his hat, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and asked suspiciously, "What?"

"How'd you like to take care of Ross's horses tonight? Feed and brush them, everything."

The idea was attractive. He was still jealous of his brothers friendship with the older man they both idolized. But such generosity wasn't without its price. "What do I have to do?"

"Finish this here chore of gettin' the firewood and forget where you last saw me when Ma asks."

Luke's eyes narrowed as he considered his brother suspiciously. Bubbas hair was brushed and he had on a fresh shirt. "Just like I forgot all about last night? You gonna meet Priscilla again? 'S that it?"

"Ain't none of your business. You wanna make a deal oh don'tcha?"

Luke laughed at his brothers anxiety. "Well, hell, don't rush me. Lemme think on it for a second here," he said, stroking his chin. Bubbas fists balled at his sides, but he held his temper. It wouldn't do him any good to get angry. That would only make Luke more stubborn. "How about I do the chores and keep my mouth shut, and you gimme that pocketknife you bought off the peddler."

"Aw, shit," Bubba said fiercely. "That ain't fair. That's at brand-new knife."

Luke shrugged. "You must not want to diddle that gal very bad then." He gave Bubba his back and began to walk away nonchalantly.

"Wait!" Bubba cried, rushing after him. "I didn't say no, I just think you're a goddamn crook."

Luke's eyes danced mischievously. "Businessman," he said, tapping his temple with his index finger. "And I'll take my new knife now, thank you,"

Bubba gave him the knife, all the while his face working angrily. Priscilla had told him not to be late or he would have shown this snot-nosed brother of his who was smarter. Bubba thrust his index finger into Luke's face. "You remember now. You ain't seen me."

"Have a good time," Luke said in a singsong voice. "Oh, Bubba, one more thing. You're gonna tell me all about it, ain'tcha?"

"That ain't proper."

"Then I just might remember that I seen you sneakin' around in the woods with Pris—"

"All right, I'll tell you. I gotta go now." He thrashed his way toward the appointed place, leaving Luke laughing behind him.

* * *

Priscilia was vexed. She had wanted to get there late and make Bubba wonder if she was really going to meet him. Instead it was the other way around. When he came rushing up to her full of apologies, she tossed her head angrily. "Well, I'm sure my ma will be bearing down on us at any time. You sounded as noisy as a moose coming through the trees," she said with not a little asperity.

Bubba was disconsolate. "I'm sorry to be late, Priscilla, but I had to make a deal with Luke."

"That little—"

"He won't bother us this time. I swear it."

She had been simmering in anger all day. Scout had left again without so much as a good-bye. Her body had been afire since last night and, even if it had to be a lout like Bubba Langston who quenched it, she wanted no further delays. She put her hand against his chest and said, "I'm sorry I was cross with you. It's just that I'm so anxious for you to kiss me again." She pressed her hand to him. "I swear to goodness, Bubba, but your heart is pounding."

"Yeah, it is. Is yours?"

She was wearing her prettiest dress, but one she had almost outgrown. Her ma had threatened to give it away numerous times, but Priscilla had insisted she keep it. She liked it because it had a scooping bodice that fit snugly over her breasts.

With her eyelids half closed, she lifted his hand and carried it to her breast, placing it palm down over her and pressing hard. "Feel for yourself," she whispered.

Bubba had wised up. He had caught on to the fact that Priscilla could lead a man a merry chase. All day his body had been rioting with thoughts of her and the way she had been primed and ready for him the night before. That morning, when she sidled up to him while Ma wasn't looking and suggested that they meet, he had decided he wasn't going to let her get the upper hand anymore. Ross Coleman wouldn't let a woman get to him this way. If he wanted a woman, he would take her. Bubba wanted to do everything the way Ross would.

Now, to Priscilla's surprise, he pushed her back on the soft grass and swiftly unbuttoned her dress, pulled down her chemise and ran his hands over her breasts, grinning his pleasure when her red nipples peaked and hardened He lay down beside her, sacrificing one exploring hand to unfasten his breeches.

Then he was kissing her, pushing his tongue into her mouth, even as he rubbed his manhood against her skirts and played with her breasts. Priscilia was thinking that she might not have made such a bad choice after all. Bubba's newfound aggression thrilled her. It added an element of danger to it, like he might go a little insane at any moment.

She had managed to wrestle free of her bloomers and now had his hard and pulsing shaft in her hand, guiding him. His mouth was on her breasts, kissing, sucking, making low animal noises.

"No!" he said when she would have done the task for him. "I want to do it." He braced himself over her and thrust inside, driving himself deep and hard into her flesh. She arched reflexively and cried out, but was soon matching her thrusts to his. It never occurred to Bubba to prolong the pleasure. Within a moment, he was exploding inside her, emptying all the desire that had plagued him for months.

"Damn you, Bubba," Priscilia seethed. "You didn't make it last long enough."

He didn't hear her, he didn't hear anything. He only lay sprawled atop her heavily, thinking that it had been about the best thing that could ever happen to a body and that as soon as he got his second wind, he was going to do it.

again. And again. He couldn't wait to brag about it to Luke.

* * *

Ross gave little heed to his surroundings as he rode alongside Scout. The man was taciturn and insolent and reminded Ross of himself a few years back. He didn't like the young man but had agreed to accompany him so he could think, and so he wouldn't have to look at Lydia and remember last night and how good it had been and how much he wanted her again. Only willingly. He would never take her violently again.

Rape.
My God! He had done many things in his lifetime he could be ashamed of, but he had never forced himself on a woman. He had killed men—too many. He had been a thief with no compunction about stealing. He had vandalized property. Lied. Cheated. But he couldn't remember a time when he felt more disgusted with himself.

"All right with you if we camp here?" Scout asked him.

"Fine," Ross said, reining in his mount.

"I'll haul water if you'll get the fire goin'. Ain't much of a cook. If you'll do that, I'll clean up."

Ross nodded as he heaved the heavy saddle off Lucky and dropped it to the ground. Methodically he went about setting up the temporary camp, something he had done a thousand times when on the run. The division of labor, the roughhousing, the cursing of bad luck, the plans for the next big job, the fighting among comrades in crime, were familiar memories. And during all those years of carousing with the meanest of outlaws, he had never assaulted a woman.

He had been putrid with jealousy when he saw her with Hill, though common sense told him that even if Lydia were of a mind, Hill's code of honor would never let him take another man's wife. Before leaving that morning, Ross had made amends, asking Moses after his employer's health and offering to take over some of his chores so he could take care of Winston. Winston had sent his heartfelt thanks through Moses.