Sunset Embrace (8 page)

She looked down at the hand that had been kissed. Discomfited by the gesture, she wiped it with her opposite sleeve as she glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Coleman. His face was as dark and ominous as a thundercloud. When he wore that angry look, his bottom lip barely showed beneath his moustache.

"Suppers ready," she said with nervous huskiness. She turned bade to the fire, picked up one of the china plates Ma Had laid out for them, and spooned a hearty helping of the stew onto it. She was holding the plate out to him when she faced him again.

He didn't reach for it. Instead he held his arms rigid at his sides, his hands balling and stretching like he was dying to hit something. The bones in his jaw bunched up as he ground his teeth together. The sun had set and twilight had fallen. The purplish light made his fece look even darker, meaner.

His green eyes shone through the dimness, Lydia saw them slide from her face to the flowers secured between her breasts. Because she was agitated and not a tittle afraid of him, she was breathing irregularly. Her breasts trembled beneath the cloth and the flowers against her flesh vibrated as though they were alive. He looked at them a long, silent time, while she wished he wouldn't. If she hadnt been holding the plate, she would have covered herself from those smoldering, condemning eyes.

"You little tart," he hissed across the gathering darkness. "I don't give a good goddamn what you were or where you came from, but as long as you're under my roof and nursing my son, you'll not be drumming up customers."

Victoria would have swooned at such a speech. Lydia did not Her eyes took on a fierce golden light and her hair seemed to bristle with indignation. She took three steps toward him until she was glaring directly up into his face. Bruisingly, she shoved the rim of the plate into his ribs. He barely had time to catch the plate of hot food before she stepped away, releasing it.

Angrily she spun away, sweeping his booted shins with the hem of her skirt. Mindless of the remnant tenderness in her lower body, she stepped up into the wagon with one swift lunge, and yanked down the canvas flaps.

Cursing and absently rubbing his throbbing ribs, Ross dropped down on the stool and began shoving the stew into his mouth. He didn't taste it, hardly chewed it, but with each bite he gnawed at his resentment like an animal worrying a sore paw.

"Damn the girl," he said as he set his plate aside and poured himself coffee. What did she mean by flouncing around in that tight dress, flirting with that highfalutin' pansy, Hill? Tomorrow she would be out. He would find a way to take care of Lee. Maybe he could get that woman with the twins to wean her own and nurse Lee. He would get rid of the girl if he had to pump cow's milk into his son's stomach.

"'Pears you ain't as bright as I gave you credit for." Ma's voice came out of the darkness to intrude on his angry musings. She walked into the firelight, a dish towel slung over her shoulders. Her hands were red from the scouring she bad given a cook pot and kettle. "You done?" She nodded toward his soiled plate.

He nodded and took another sip of coffee. Ma poured water over his plate and wiped it with her cloth. "Reckon we can save that stew for tomorrow; seein' that only one of you ate."

He shifted uncomfortably on the stool. "Yep," the woman continued, "it's a pity you ain't as smart as I first figured you was."

Boss's breath rushed out from between bis teeth in exasperation, but he took the bait. "Why aren't I smart?"

That gave Ma all the opportunity she needed. "You were blessed with a wet nurse for your son after your wife died. Lee would've been dead for days by now if it wasn't for that girl, who you show not the least bit of compassion or kindness for."

"Compassion!" Ross shouted, jumping to his feet and prowling the area like a caged beast. Everyone on the train was ever aware of the lack of privacy. He lowered his voice significantly. "Kindness? She was flaunting herself in front of every man on this train. Wearing that indecent dress with her , . ."He stuttered, then ended tersely; "Flaunting herself."

"If you're referrin' to Mr. Hill, I seen the whole thing. He spoke to her first, not the other way around. And she looked frightened as a rabbit even to look at him."

Ross's teeth tore at his moustache as he stalked around the fire in a furious circle.

"As for her dress, that's all we had to clothe her in. The one she was wearin' when the boys brung her in was a heap of rags."

"It couldn't have been any worse than the one she's got on. It was straining at the seams."

Ma's mouth quirked with humor, but the darkness hid it. Besides, Mr. Coleman was too wrapped up in his pacing to notice her knowing smile. "She's trash and I don't want her around me or my son."

Ma's smile disappeared. She grabbed his arm and jerked him around. She was almost as tall as he. "How do you know any such thing? She don't talk like trash, does she? Her talk is citified if you ask me. And have you ever watched the way she handles her hands? Graceful like. She eats proper. I ain't never seen no trash that walks and moves the ladylike way she does."

Ma let go of his arm, but drew herself up straighter, more piously. "You seem to put stock in a body's background and family. Never did myself. Always thought it was the person hisself and not who his ma and pa were that counted. But you'd better be careful not to judge her too harshly. She might be the daughter of somebody you might not ought to offend. So the girl got in trouble and had a baby. Lots do. I bet you and Mrs. Coleman had a few tussles in the hay in that horse stable of her pas before you was married."

Ross's lips thinned. "Victoria wasn't like that," he said tautly.

Ma only laughed both at what he had said and at the lofty way he had said it. "Every woman's that way with the right man. And if your woman wasn't, she should have been."

"I won't listen—"

"I'm not here to speak unkindly of the dead," Ma said, softening considerably. He did look like a man going through misery and she thought she knew why. Zeke agreed with her. They had talked about it last night when they had treated themselves to sleeping in the wagon with all the children outside. "I'm just here to remind you that that young woman, whoever or whatever she is, saved your babys life. She tried real hard tonight to pay you back for takin' her in. She wanted to have a good dinner waitin' for you." That wasn't quite the truth. The project had been Ma's idea, not Lydias, but Ma wasn't beyond stretching the truth when she needed to. "And all you did was act as uppity and condemnin' as that dried-up Watkins woman."

She shifted her shoulders righteously. "Seems to me you ain't got no choice but to keep the girl happy to be around you. She might just hightail it away from here and leave your son to fere for hisself. If I was you, I'd make amends for my behavior tonight, Mr. Coleman.'" Huffily she turned and stalked away.

Boss hunched down by the fire and finished the coffee in the pot. One by one the flames of the scattered campfires were allowed to burn down to smoldering embers. Cranky children were put to bed either in the wagons or in bedrolls under them. Members of the train visiting in groups eventually drifted to their own wagons. Ross was spoken to, but he answered in desultory tones. He didn't invite conversation and, because of the recent death of his wife, people honored his need to brood alone.

The evening was still. Only a faint breeze stirred the leaves of the cottonwood, elm, oak, and sycamore that surrounded the clearing where their hired guide, Scout (which was the only name the young man went by), had suggested to Mr. Grayson that they camp for the night.

There was something to what Ma Langston had said and Boss Coleman well knew it. He just didn't want to admit it. It galled him to be harboring someone who reminded him every time he looked at her of what he had come from.

He had been running from his tainted past all his life. Victoria had made him forget it temporarily. Now this girl with the wild hair and defiant eyes and voluptuous body was making him remember things he wanted so badly to forget.

Still, what would he do with Lee if not for her? The baby scared the hell out of him, he was so small. He knew nothing about babies. All he knew was what it was like not to have a mother's love. He had grown up thinking that being neglected was a part of life. Could he deny his son a woman's care? Any woman's? And the girl did love Lee. Ross knew that.

He spat out a word he hadn't had the luxury of uttering since he met Victoria. It felt so good to say it that he repeated it. Absently he banked the fire so only a light fanning and dry kindling would get it going again in the morning. When he had run out of chores, he looked toward the wagon. The lantern inside was still lit, but turned down low. He walked to the tailgate, swallowing hard and rubbing his perspiring palms up and down his thighs.

* * *

Lydia crooned softly to Lee as he nursed. He must have been deprived of nourishment in the womb because he certainly hadn't gotten his fill since he was born. He sucked noisily, thumping her breast with his tiny fist and occasionally thrashing his legs happily.

Lydia took a spiteful pride that she was able to feed him when apparently the woman with the creamy skin and corn-silky hair hadn't been able to satisfy him. Victoria Coleman had impressed everyone as being an ideal woman. Every time she heard the woman's name spoken, Lydia's self-confidence suffered. But Lee would love
her.
Her, not his natural mother.

She wished she had the nerve to fling that fact straight into the self-righteous face of Lee's father. He had called her a shameful name. Tears sprang into her eyes, but now, as when she had first stormed into the wagon, she refused to let them fall. She wouldn't cry. She wasn't what they all thought.
She wasn't!

She couldn't help what had happened to her, though God knows she had tried. How many times had she fought to the point of exhaustion, waking up with her body black and blue and sore as a result of her struggling? Sometimes she had won. Too many times she hadn't and . . .

She closed her eyes and shuddered with painful, degrading memories. Those times she had wanted to die. But if she had killed herself there wouldn't have been anyone to take care of Mama. So she hadn't taken her own life and had been subjected to abuse until Mama had died and she was free to run away.

How could something as sweet and innocent as Lee be born of an act so vile and violent? Stroking the baby's head, she wondered if Mr. Coleman had hurt Victoria while conceiving Lee the way Lydia had been hurt. Somehow she couldn't see him rutting and grunting the way Clancey had. She couldn't imagine him hurting Victoria, whom he had all but worshipped, if Anabeth's account of their relationship was valid.

The flaps of the canvas were flung open and she heard the heavy tread of his boot as he stepped into the wagon. She whipped her head around, sending her hair flying in every direction until it resettled on her naked back and shoulders tike a fleecy mantle.

Whatever prepared speech Ross was ready to recite stuck in his throat, and his mouth opened once uselessly before slamming shut. Lydia was sitting with her back to the wagons opening. The dress that had caused his temper to rise had been peeled off her torso and was bunched around her waist.

With his eyes he followed the softly ridged column of her spine to the place where her body was nipped in neatly to form her waist. Her eyes were wide and inquiring, her lips moist and slightly parted as she gazed at him over an apricot-colored shoulder and a clump of russet curls.

"What are you doing?" The words rasped through vocal cords which seemed to have retired from ever manufacturing another sound.

"Lee's last feeding before bedtime," she said in that low, subdued voice that irritated the hell out of him. Didn't she have a smidgen of shame? Why wasn't she shouting at him for invading her privacy, for not knocking before coming in? But then that really would have made him mad. This was
his
wagon, by God!

She must have seen the anger brewing in his eyes for she turned her head, ducked it, and looked down at the baby at her breast. Ross's body went hot all over and his vision blurred for a moment. He was blinking rapidly when she looked back up at him. "Did you want something?"

He shifted awkwardly and wished he didn't have to stoop. "I..." He started to say that he wanted to apologize but couldn't go quite that far. "I want to talk to you." There. That had a ring of authority to it.

She didn't say anything, which vexed him almost as much as when she spoke in that quiet voice that seemed to touch whomever it reached. Her eyes were steady on him as she kept her head turned to face him. Why in heaven's name didn't she cover herself up? Even though all he could see was her back, his imagination was running wild. Victoria would never have suckled her baby with anyone else in the room. He pushed the thought aside. If he thought about Victoria at all, he wouldn't be able to say what he had to say.

"Thank you," he said shortly.

She stared at him for a long time before responding quietly. "For what, Mr. Coleman? For not bringing men into your wagon and bedding them in front of you and Lee?"

"Goddammit." He squeezed the word past compressed lips. "I'm trying to be nice to you."

"Nicer You think it was nice to imply that I was a whore?"

"That's a helluva thing to say."

"Well, it was a helluva thing for you to think too."

"You shouldn't be using language like that."

"Neither should yout And why are you suddenly bent on being nice to me? Are you afraid I might run off with a man who'll treat me better and leave Lee to starve?"

Ross didn't speak on two accounts. First, he was too angry to. Secondly, he had been momentarily dumbfounded by seeing a firebrands temper in such a small, delicate package.

Lydia, fearing she had gone too far and wondering why he wasn't beating her already, turned away from him and lifted the sleeping baby away from her breast. He burped almost immediately, without her even patting his back. She came of the low stool and onto her knees, placing him gently in the crate and covering him with a light blanket.