Wyoming Wildfire (26 page)

Knowing that she was within minutes of seeing Burch again made Sibyl too restive to remain in the wagon, and she finished the trip astride Hospitality. The need to see him, to feel his arms around her, was so great that she felt a strong urge to gallop ahead alone. Yet, when she remembered the bitterness of their arguments, she was reluctant to be the first person to meet him. The misery of that last week before they left for Cheyenne, heightened by the dreams of the last few nights, was still fresh in her mind. Sibyl slowed Hospitality and put the wagon between herself and the house. Somehow it was a protective shield. Against what? She wasn’t sure.

Burch had been watching for the wagon for days, but it was Balaam who had come running into the house shouting that Miss Sibyl had come home at last. Burch ordered him back to his chicken pens, an order Balaam derisively ignored, and he hobbled out to the porch before Lasso had time to draw the wagon up to the house. His welcoming smile changed to one of bewilderment and uneasiness when he saw no sign of Sibyl or her horse.

“Where’s Sibyl?” he asked, his troubled eyes searching Augusta and Lasso’s faces for any sign of tragedy, his voice tight with unacknowledged dread. “Has anything happened to her?”

“Naw” chuckled Lasso, pleased at seeing his friend wriggling on the spit, roasted by the fires of love. “She’s just playing peekaboo. Come on out, girl, and stop teasing the poor fella. He’s liable to get so upset hell break the other leg.”

“I was just keeping the sun out of my eyes,” Sibyl insisted, emerging from behind the wagon, rigid with mortification that her actions would be interpreted as part of a childish game. “It’s impossible to ride a horse and carry a parasol,” she said, trying to cover her annoyance, “and I refuse to wear a bonnet when it makes me look like a squatters wife.”

“If all squatter’s wives looked like you, there’d be nothing east of the Mississippi except grass widows and old maids,”

Lasso said, laughing unnecessarily hard at his own joke.

“I can endure the sun in my eyes,” Augusta stated flatly, “but I’ll not stand about listening to boyish foolishness until I get freckles across my nose.” The men laughed and the incident passed off harmlessly, but the look of anxiety on Burch’s face, and the one of relief and happiness that chased it off, banished any doubts Sibyl still had of her welcome at the Elkhorn. The barrier was gone, the deadly poison had been drained away. Once again, the path to a better understanding between them lay open. Sibyl uttered a silent vow that this time she would not open her mouth before she considered the consequences, for she knew now that they were meant to be together. Whatever lay in store for them, no matter how much they differed, they would share it together.

Chapter 17

Sibyl’s hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped the last dish Rachel handed her. Her aunt had been gone since noon and the tension between her and Burch had been building to an almost unbearable point.

Lasso had descended upon them before lunch without warning, in a fret over a fever that had both his little girls in bed. In minutes he had talked Augusta into going to the Three Bars “just to take a look at them.” Augusta was reluctant to leave Sibyl, but by the time Lasso had praised her courage, her generous nature, and her selfless concern, she would have felt compelled to walk through a blizzard if necessary. Since Lasso had brought the buggy such extreme measures weren’t necessary, and Augusta soon departed, looking over her shoulder in anxious concern.

Sibyl knew Burch was just as aware of her as she was of him, and all that stood between them was Rachel, a dour, taciturn woman of middle years who Burch had mysteriously produced to care for him while they were in Cheyenne. Burch said little during dinner, but his eyes followed Sibyl like those of a hungry animal. The longing in his glance was almost tangible, and only his broken leg gave her the courage to remain in the same room after Rachel left, without fear of being consumed by his blatant desire.

There was such a raging conflict within her that she felt weak from the force of it. She knew that she loved Burch and that a part of her longed to feel his touch, his nearness, to luxuriate in the pleasure of being loved and desired. It was so tempting to give up and let someone else be strong for her, make the decisions, and worry about the future, to just melt into his arms and forget ever wanting to run the ranch or prove to him that she needed to depend on no one.

But old habits the hard and she could not really let go, could not completely give up control to anyone. She thought of Kendrick and all the other men she’d known. Was it possible that Burch was different from mem? They had made progress toward working out the areas of conflict, so maybe there was hope for them if she could just keep her temper under control. He had treated her so gently this past week that she had begun to believe he might have changed.

Even Lasso wasn’t so overbearing as he once had been.

“Come sit by the fire,” Burch invited her. “You deserve some rest after working so hard.” He hopped to the back door and opened it. A freezing blast swept through the room.

“What are you doing? Close that door!”

“It’s a surprise I had Ned leave on the steps,” he said with a grin, and brandished a bottle of champagne that had been chilling on the back steps. “I thought we deserved a little celebration.”

“Where’d you get that ?” she asked, getting some glasses.

“It’s some of what we ordered for the party. I thought we should test it first, just to make sure it was drinkable.”

“Sit back down before you hurt your leg.” The splint was off, but Burch had been told to be careful for a few more weeks yet. He lowered himself to a huge bearskin rug in front of the fireplace.

“This is nicer than the stove,” he assured her, inviting Sibyl to sit down next to him.

“The fireplace is prettier, but I’m afraid we’ll have to hook up the stove again if it gets any colder,” she owned, willing to be generous. She watched silently as Burch wrestled with the cork, wise enough at least not to offer to do it for him. The wine was so cold there was no pop and almost no fizz when he poured it.

“You’ve ruined it,” she laughed. “Champagne isn’t supposed to have ice crystals in it. It should bubble and tickle your nose.”

“Hold it close to you and it’ll get warm.”

“And give me frostbite on my chest.”

“I’ll thaw it out,” he offered with an uprush of warmth.

“Don’t be absurd,” she giggled, breathlessly fighting a desire to fling all caution to the winds. “What are we supposed to be celebrating?”

“You.”

“Me!” she nearly squeaked, and then had to struggle to get her tumultuous emotions under control. “I thought all you wished to celebrate about me was my departure.”

“I stopped wishing that a long time ago.”

“When?” she asked, unable to resist.

“When you stepped out of that absurd wagon in the middle of the river and called me a rude, obnoxious cowhand and ordered me to get your wagon out of the river.”

“I didn’t say anything so awful,” protested Sibyl, taking a sip of champagne to hide her pleasure.

“That was one of the nicer things you said. You hadn’t had time to get properly warmed up yet.” Sibyl looked through her lashes to find that Burch was smiling in a way that caused her senses to sing. She looked back down, watching the last crystal in her champagne dissolve like her crumbling resistance.

“Aunt Augusta tells me all the time that men won’t like me if I don’t learn to flatter them. I think she’s given up hope of my ever learning.”

“Men will be drawn to you no matter what you say.”

“Why?” she asked, finding that she enjoyed hearing him say nice things about her, restrained as they were. They were much sweeter to her ears than the extravagant and insincere praise of More ton Swan.

“Because you’re the most beautiful woman in the whole territory, and half the men would let you ride a horse over them just to be able to sit and stare at you.”

“I never suspected you were an empty flatterer,” she said, fighting off the delicious feeling of warmth that was spreading over her. “I thought cowboys were terribly practical.”

“Not at all. If we were, we’d go back East and earn an easy fortune sitting behind some desk instead of risking our hides for ornery steers and spending our nights without a woman.

The West is a mighty lonely place, but it makes a man know himself and gives him time to learn what it is he wants.”

“Do you know what you want?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“You.”

Sibyl’s heart thumped painfully. “Now you’re flattering me again,” she panted, trying to still her quavering voice. “ You know you’ve been trying to get rid of me ever since I got here.”

“I’ve fought with you dozens of times, but have I ever asked you to leave?”

“You asked me not to come.”

“And haven’t I eaten every bite of food you put before me, though all the while I was pining for Sanchez’s grub?”

“Beast!” gasped Sibyl with a gurgle of laughter. “If I had only known, I would have told you to eat in the bunkhouse and invited Jesse to share our table.” Some of the molten warmth in Burch’s eyes turned cold and rigid.

“You would have found his dead body in some eddy in the creek.” A glowing desire filled his eyes as he filled her glass.

“I wouldn’t let Lasso in the house so often if I didn’t know he was only interested in your aunt.”

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that,” she revealed, sitting up swiftly.

“Your aunt can take care of herself,” he said, gently settling her back next to him. “Lasso is completely harmless in spite of the loud noise he makes.”

“And I suppose you’re going to tell me that you’re completely harmless as well.”

“I wish I could say otherwise, but I seem to have been defanged and declawed. I’m as helpless as a babe.”

“Of all the fibs I’ve ever heard, that’s got to be the biggest. You are the most ornery, determined, and infuriating man alive.”

“Does that mean you like me some?” It should have been a joke, but there was so much anxiety to his voice that Sibyl couldn’t speak the right words hovering on her lips.

“I suppose I like you well enough. I’ve never really considered it.” She was lying and he knew it.

“Do you think you could love me?”

The words burned their way into Sibyl’s brain, making her take too large a swallow of champagne. The coughing gave her a chance to recover her equilibrium, but when she looked into Burch’s eyes, they blazed with such feverish longing it suddenly seemed too hot in the room. Part of her wanted to shout “Yes!” and throw herself into his arms. But another part was still distrustful and wanted to seek a refuge from those smoldering eyes.

“I haven’t thought of love” she started to say, but the untruth stuck in her throat.

“Are you sure you couldn’t?” His hand reached out to touch her shoulder. Sibyl felt a spasm ricochet through her body and all the tension dissipated. She was left limp and helpless.

“Ours is a business arrangement, and we should never cloud business with personal considerations.”

“We could turn it over to the lawyers.”

“And waste all that money?”

“It wouldn’t be nearly as much a waste as your determination to stay away from me.”

“I’ll not staying away from you.”

His hand was caressing her cheek. “Yes, you are,” he whispered, sliding closer to her and putting both arms around her. She gulped the last of her champagne.

“I’ll not now.” With courage bolstered by wine, she snuggled into his arms.

Isn’t this nicer than sitting opposite each other in a parlor and talking about last week’s sermon.”

“Not even Moreton did that,” she giggled. “He couldn’t wait to get his hands on me.” Burch stiffened perceptibly.

“But Aunt Augusta wouldn’t leave the room. It used to make him quite angry.”

“I can appreciate his feelings,” Burch sympathized, allowing his lips to travel along her shoulder.

“You wouldn’t if you knew Moreton,” she replied, allowing her head to fall back. Burch immediately transferred his attention to the column of her throat. He nibbled her ear and neck until she thought she would boil over.

“Do you love me?” Sibyl asked abruptly, startling him as much by her frightening intensity as by the question itself.

“Yes, I think I’ve loved you from the very first.”

“Are you telling me the truth? You’re not just saying it to shut me up?”

“I love you!” Burch groaned and kissed her with such ruthless passion that Sibyl’s heart rejoiced in her. She threw her fears and doubts to the winds and returned his embraces with joyous abandon, arching against him, begging for him, yearning for the fulfillment only he could give. Unable to wait a moment longer, she tore at his clothes. It seemed that every button waged an individual battle against her fingers.

She lay revealed to Burch’s voracious gaze long before she freed his body of the last resisting button.

“What about your leg?” Sibyl managed to ask before succumbing to the maddening pleasure of his tongue on her abdomen.