Sunset Embrace (7 page)

Lydia laughed. She had come to enjoy all the Lang-stons, but particularly this girl who was so open and honest . . . and tolerant. "No. I'm not tired. I've slept enough in the past few days to last me a lifetime. But Lee's going to wake up soon and be hungry as a young bear."

She reached into the crate that they used in lieu of a cradle and patted the infant on the back. It was a miracle to her how much she loved the baby. After her mother had died, Lydia doubted that she would ever love another human being again. Maybe she loved the baby because he was totally dependent on her and couldn't hurt her. He wouldn't know any better than to love her back.

The wagons rolled to a halt just as Lee finished feeding. Lydia was rebuttoning her gown as Bubba steered the tired horses into the closing circle. No sooner had he unhitched them than Ma entered the wagon.

"How'd you like to get out of here?" she asked Lydia.

"Y
ou mean get up? Leave the wagon?" Lydia asked nervously. The only experience she had had with other members of the train was with Mr. Grayson and Mrs. Watkins. She wasn't ready to face the scrutiny and scorn of any of the others.

"Don't you feel up to it?"

"I think so," Lydia answered cautiously. "But I don't have any clothes."

"I brung some with me," Ma said, tossing down a bundle. "They're Anabeth's and prob'ly won't fit just right, but they'll have to do unless you want to wear that bedgown from now on."

Lydia was shaky as she stood, but was soon being bathed out of a basin and dressed in well-mended stockings, bloomers, and petticoat. "You ain't no bigger than a titmouse," Ma said disparagingly, eyeing Lydia's slender hips and thighs. "How you carried a babe, I'll never know."

That didn't hold true for her breasts. The bodice of the dress wouldn't close over them. "Tarnation," Ma said, aggravated. "Well, we'll button it up as far as it will go." Lydia felt that she would burst as she was squeezed into the material, but at least she was covered.

Luke had rubbed bootblack on her shoes and replaced the strings. She sat on the stool to lace them on while Anabeth pulled a brush through her hair.

"Now, ain't you pretty," Ma said proudly, crossing her arms over her stomach as she surveyed her handiwork. "Mr. Coleman brought me some quail he flushed out today and I've got a stew already simmerin' on your fire. It'd be a treat for him to come to his wagon and see that he had a fine meal waitin' for him, now wouldn't it? He's tendin' those horses of his. Why don't you move Lee's bed over near the tailgate and sit outside for a spell? The fresh air will do you good."

Timidly Lydia let herself be led outside. She was amazed by the activity going on. Sounds she had been listening to for almost a week now were matched to actions. Women were bent over campfires and portable ovens cooking the evening meal. Men were unhitching and rubbing down horses, carrying firewood, hauling water. Children were playing and shouting, racing between the tongues of the wagons.

"Here's Luke bringin' you some spring water." Ma had things well organized. "Why don't you get a pot of coffee boiling? I'm sure Mr. Coleman would appreciate that."

"Yes, I'll do that," Lydia agreed breathlessly. She would welcome something to do. People were beginning to notice her. She was aware of the nudges, the speculative, curious glances, the hushed conversations.

"I've got to see to our dinner, but I'll be right over yonder if you need me," Ma said.

Lydia was left alone. She busied herself with stoking up the fire, with stirring the fragrant stew, with making the coffee, with unnecessarily checking on Lee. When she ran out of things to do, she sat on the stool Luke had lifted out of the wagon for her, and stared into the fire. Not for anything would she raise her eyes to meet the curious looks cast in her direction.

That's how Ross found her. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her sitting there minding the cooking supper. The late afternoon sun set her reddish hair afire. Her cheeks were rosy with self-consciousness and the heat of the cook fire. Her figure was much daintier than he had imagined it to be. The voluminous gown had hidden the delicate bone structure and soft curves. She could almost have been a child sitting there obeying a strict parent. Until she turned around. Then that illusion was shattered. She was a woman.

When she heard his approach, she leaped from the stool, knocking it over as she spun around. For a moment their eyes locked and held. In hers lurked wariness. His were glassy, as though he had just been dealt a stunning blow and didn't know where it had come from.

Her neck was slightly arched in order to look up at him. Her throat was long and slender and had about it a fragility that made him want to touch it. Starting at the base of it where a frantic pulse was beating, his gaze couldn't help but meander down to the deep cleft between her breasts. Calico, thread, and buttons were dangerously strained to contain her maternally lush bosom. He found it damnably hard to keep his eyes off the spot.

Her hand lifted and fluttered uneasily at the top button, which had captured his attention. "Ma thought I needed fresh air."

"Where's Lee?" He was mad as hell and his voice showed it. He was angry because she looked wholesome and not wicked as he knew damn good and well she was and because, for only a fleeting moment, he had been glad to see her waiting there for him. He wished to God he couldn't remember Lee's mouth sucking at her nipple, wished he didn't remember its color. He wished he wouldn't think of burning neat whiskey every time he looked into her eyes. Most maddening of all was the nervous habit she had of flicking her tongue at the corners of her lips each time she spoke.

"Lees right there." She pointed toward the tailgate where the child lay sleeping in his makeshift bed. "I can hear him if he cries." She blotted her palms on the skirt of the blue calico dress and hoped he wasn't going to bawl her out where everyone could hear. Because more than likely she would yell right back and disgrace herself even more.

He stepped to the crate and peered inside. A quick smile made the corners of his moustache twitch. Lightly he patted the baby's behind, which was sticking up slightly. Lee preferred sleeping on his stomach with his knees curled up under him.

When Ross turned around, Lydia, too, was smiling fondly down on Lee. Their eyes met again, briefly this time, before both looked away. "There's coffee ready." She gestured toward the fire,

"Thanks."

He eased off the lasso that had been looped over his shoulder and hung it on a peg outside the wagon. The rifle, he braced against the wagon wheel. He unbuckled his gunbelt, untying the thong around his thigh. Lydia had never seen a man wearing a holster anchored to his leg that way. Watching him take it off his hips made her stomach feel funny.

Careful not to spill a drop, though her hands were shaking, Lydia poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him. His fingers were long and tapered, strong looking. The knuckles were sprinkled with dark hair, but it barely showed up against his tanned skin. She withdrew her hand quickly after he had taken the cup from it. Nervously she wrung it with the other hand.

"Stew smells good."

"Ma made it."

"Oh. Well, it smells good just the same."

"Yes, it does."

They didn't look at each other. He finished drinking the coffee in silence. The camp noise went on around them. They were impervious to most of it and painfully aware of each other.

"Guess I'll wash up," he said at last.

"Luke brought water from the spring. The stew will be ready by the time you're finished."

He stepped behind the wagon and poured a basin of water from the pail. Stripping off his shirt, he wondered why he was sweating so much. Again and again he doused his head and chest with the water, but his skin refused to cool.

Lydia listened to the splashing sounds until Marynell and Atlanta Langston came running up to her. In Marynell's sweaty, grimy hand was clasped a bouquet of Indian paintbrushes and buttercups. "We brung you some flowers, Lydia," Marynell said, grinning a jagged smile. Two days before, she had shown Lydia the bloody tooth Zeke had pulled the night before.

"How lovely," Lydia exclaimed, taking the damp and drooping cluster of wildflowers from the girl's extended hand.

"Smell," Marynell instructed, pushing the flowers toward Lydia's nose.

"They sure smell sweet," the more shy Atlanta piped up.

She knew what the girls were up to, but wouldn't spoil their fun. She brought one of the buttercups to her nose and pretended to take a whiff. When she lowered the bouquet, she could see the sticky yellow pollen clinging to the tip of her nose. The girls shrieked with laughter.

"We tricked you, we tricked you," they chanted.

"Oh, you! What have you done?" Lydia remembered that once she and her mother had played this game. She had never had anyone else to play with. It felt good. She rubbed at the buttery smudge on her nose.

"Them flowers would look right pretty on your dress," Marynell said. "Wouldn't they, Atlanta?" She nudged her sisters ribs.

"Sure would."

"I guess they would at that." Lydia undid the topmost button Ma had been able to pull together and fasten. She breathed easier, but was alarmed by the amount of bosom that swelled up between the fabric. By pushing the stems of the flowers into the buttonhole, the blossoms filled the space nicely and partially covered her cleavage.

If she had looked in a mirror, she would have seen what a sensual contribution the Bowers made to her appearance. But then she wouldn't have recognized it as sensual or seductive. She had had a man; she had borne a child. But of romantic matters she was innocent. Mating had been something forced on her. She couldn't imagine any woman actually inviting it.

Ross, still on the other side of the wagon, was aware of the chattering, but he was distracted by his own thoughts. It had been pleasant to return to his wagon and find supper cooking and fresh coffee brewed, but the girl owed him at least that much. He had taken her in, hadn't he? When she didn't have a roof over her head, hadn't he taken her in and let her languish away her days and nights in
his
bed?

He pulled on a clean shirt. She was doing all right by Lee. He couldn't fault her for that. The boy was growing a little each day. He had filled out since she had been nursing him. He didn't look so shriveled and sickly.

Holding up his shaving mirror, Ross combed back his wet hair. When had he last combed it? He didn't remember. And for the life of him he couldn't imagine why he was bothering to now. Except that Victoria had taught him that a gentleman went to some effort to make himself presentable at dinnertime, even if he was still wearing his work clothes. It sure as hell had nothing to do with the girl who had spruced herself up. Nothing to do with her at all. Still, they might be living close together for a while. He supposed it would make life easier if they could be nicer to each other.

Ma had called to her girls from across the camp and they had skipped away. Lydia dipped a tasting spoon into the stew and sipped at it. It was delicious and almost ready.

"Evenin'."

The voice was masculine and melodious with the slow drawl of the South. There was nothing intimidating about it. Nevertheless, Lydia's heartbeat accelerated. She didn't want anyone talking to her. Only moments before, Leona Watkins and an adolescent girl Lydia presumed to be her daughter had stalked by, their eyes forward, their noses high. The girl had risked a curious glance at Lydia. Mrs. Watkins had pinched her daughters arm hard in remonstra-tion. If the man who had just spoken to her meant only to ridicule her, she would just as soon he not have.

Not wanting to show her fear, Lydia raised her eyes with open challenge. The man was young, maybe a few years younger than Mr. Coleman. He swept a wide-brimmed hat from his head to reveal soft brown hair that curled snugly around his head. He was dressed in a white suit and blue vest with a gold watch chain dangling from its slit pockets. His eyes were sad, wistful, and kindly blue. His skin was pale save for his cheeks. They were stained with high color.

Lydia didn't say anything. She was surprised to find open curiosity, perhaps friendliness in his face, but no censure. "Allow me to present myself, Miss Lydia. Winston Hill at your service. And this is Moses."

He referred to a tall, stately black man standing at his side. He had on a somber black suit with a white shirt and black string tie. There were threads of white in his hair and eyebrows. But his face was unlined and eternally youthful.

Lydia was so taken by the pair and their courtly manners that she said the first thing that popped into her head. "You know my name."

Winston Hill smiled. "I apologize for the gossip that sweeps through the train, but yes, everyone has heard of you and your remarkable beauty. I'm glad to say that this time the rumors weren't exaggerated."

She blushed, never having heard such a compliment on her appearance. "Pleased to meet you," she said.

"And you. You're looking after Mr. Colemans new son. A commendable and charitable occupation in light of your own recent loss."

She had never heard talk quite like his. It was pretty. The words dripped off his well-shaped lips slowly, like honey. "Thank you. But he isn't any trouble. He's a wonderful baby."

"I've no doubt. I admired the beauty and courage of his mother. Not to mention his fathers prowess." He lifted a linen handkerchief to his mouth and coughed several times. He seemed embarrassed by it, frustrated. "Moses and I will bid you a pleasant evenin' now. If we can ever be of service, please ask."

Confused by his mannerisms, Lydia stammered, "Thank you. I will."

"I hope so." His smile was white and straight. "Oh, evenin', Mr. Coleman."

Lydia turned to see Ross standing behind her at the end of the wagon. He looked as hard and indomitable as Mr. Hill looked soft and guileless. His chin lifted a notch in greeting as he said tersely, "Mr. Hill, Moses."

"We're keepin' you from your supper. Miss Lydia." Before she knew what he was about, he leaned forward, grasped her hand, and brought it to his mouth. His lips brushed the back of it. She stared transfixed as he replaced his hat, nodded to her, and then strolled away, Moses beside him.