Chapter Nine
The nightmares again wrenched Elijah from sleep. Rolling from the bed, he drew on his pants, his hair damp with sweat pasted to his neck. His skin felt sticky and the residue of terror lingered in him. Bright sunlight filtered in through the drapes.
He exited his room and clambered down the steps and out of the house. He walked past the barn and around to the smaller creek nearest to the main house. The sun rose over the mountains and lighted the range in soft hues, but its beauty did nothing to soothe the edginess he felt from his dreams.
A deep part of him now wished that he had taken Sheridan last night. He had felt the insane notion to unburden himself to her. But then he had seen her need for more, and it had scared the hell out of him, because he’d wanted to give it to her. Despite knowing he was broken.
He should have taken the heat she offered. He gritted his teeth, fighting the hardening of his body. He hated to admit it, but some of the only nights when he had slept undisturbed were after he’d taken her. She’d been right when she wondered if the reason he never allowed her to sleep with him fully was because of his dreams. He had not wanted her to know of his failure that still tormented his mind daily. Or of Emma’s failures.
Walking over to the spring, he drew a bucket of water and plunged his head into it. The cold slammed into him and he welcomed it. He heard a rustle behind him and turned to see Sheridan walking towards him. His mouth went dry. There was sensuousness to her movements that was inherent. Her hair rippled down her back freely and she wore a soft blue fitted shirt tucked into a brightly pattered flared Mexican skirt. She held something in her hands and as she came closer he saw that they were Lilacs.
She stepped in front of him, her eyes tracing the water than ran from his hair down his chest, into his pants. She graced him with a sweet tentative smile and held the flowers out to him. Her smile was a potent lure and a scent that was uniquely hers filled his nostril.
Curiously he took them. “What are they?”
“Surely you recognize flowers.”
He frowned. “Why are you handing me flowers, Sheridan?”
“I am courting you.” She laughed softly as if embarrassed by her fanciful notions.
He thought she had never looked more out of place, sultry and mysterious, innocent. Tension began to steal through his body. “A woman doesn’t court a man.”
She lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “This woman does, and I am courting you.”
He stared at her nonplussed. What the hell does he say to such a statement?
“Do you remember the first time you brought me flowers, Elijah?”
His mind tried to keep abreast the shift in conversation.
Without waiting for him to respond she plunged ahead. “You had saved me from almost drowning myself and I slapped you for being ungentlemanly then you kissed me. You brought me flowers the following day to apologize for being inappropriate. As if you couldn’t resist, you kissed me again and then brought me flowers again a few hours later.”
“Are you still refusing to acknowledge that you were spanked?”
“You were being ungentlemanly, that is all there is to it.” Though her voice was stern her lips twitched. “Every time you kissed me you brought me flowers. After two days, I had over twenty bouquets.”
Her voice dipped and the memory swirled around them. The smile that teased her lips turned even more sensual. “When I asked you what you were doing, you said you reckoned you were courting me.”
She stepped in closer to him, almost touching her breast to him. He restrained the urge to haul her into his arms and take her lips. “I reckon I am courting you now.” The sweetness of her smile caught him off guard, stealing into the corners of his heart.
He watched in disbelief as she turned and skipped towards the barn. She skipped. As if she had not just completely stunned him. He was not sure what amazed him the most, her declaration that she courted him, or the feelings rushing through him. He sifted through the emotions, unable to name them. A nervous feeling swept through him when he identified his feelings. It was fascination. He hated that she was tying him in knots. If only she didn’t fascinate him so.
She was courting him.
He looked at the flowers wondering what to do with them. He cursed himself for not throwing them away. What he saw in her eyes when she spoke of courting, scared the hell out of him. He saw her loneliness, her hunger, her thirst for a home and a family. What annoyed him the most with Sheridan, is that she made him feel. The coldness always thawed around her. She made him want to yearn for something new and wonderful. Almost. But he’d had a family once before. He’d lost them and he did not need another. But God she tempted him. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, and loving Sheridan would be a mistake.
***
Sheridan knocked gently on the door and waited until Miguel bid her entry. She entered with a tray of biscuits done to perfection, bacon, and eggs. She smiled to see him sitting up in the chair by the window overlooking the rolling grasslands. “How are you feeling?”
“Very well, Senora.”
She placed the tray on the oak table in front of him and poured him a cup of black coffee. Instead of leaving as she customarily did, she sat in the chair opposite to him. He bit into a biscuit and a deep rumble of satisfaction came from him. “Cook has outdone herself. These biscuits are perfect.”
Sheridan chuckled. “I will tell her.”
He took his time demolishing the eight biscuits and several rashers of bacon with the mound of scrambled eggs. It was only after he had his fourth cup of coffee he lazed back in the chair and glanced at her shrewdly. “You deliberate, Senora?”
She cleared her throat delicately, wondering where to start.
“It is best to spit it out,” he said gently.
She nodded and poured herself a cup of the coffee. She hated it black but she needed something to do. “You and Elijah have been friends for years, Miguel.”
He canted his head to one side. “Si.”
She fidgeted when he imparted nothing else. “He doesn’t know I am here.”
“I reckon he doesn’t.”
“He has nightmares,” she blurted.
“I reckon that all men that have gone to war have nightmares, Senora.”
“I asked him what they were about. Do you know?”
She wilted under the look he gave her. She shored up her nerve and met his glare head on. “I love him Miguel.”
“I know, Senora.”
“You know?”
“Si, and it is only for that reason why I will answer the questions you have.”
She nodded in relief. “He said they were about his wife. I never knew he was married,” she said softly.
“Her name was Emma.”
Was? “So she has passed away?”
“His family was taken in one of the raids in retaliation to the Sand Creek Massacre.”
Sheridan’s stomach cramped at the dispassionately way Miguel replied. Family? There was a deep part of her afraid of what he would say. “Family?”
“He had a son, Senora.”
The cup rattled in her hands. God, had she ever known Elijah? He had a wife and a child who had been killed. Her hands tightened on the hot cup painfully. “The last time we rode the range…he had said he never intended to have children. I never thought…” she closed her eyes, praying that she hadn’t gotten pregnant from their cabin encounter. “I never thought he’d not wanted children because he lost a son. Why would he not tell me? How did they die Miguel?”
Indecision chased across his face. She placed her cup down and leaned toward him in earnest. “Please Miguel. I ask you not to betray his confidence, but only what would be common knowledge.”
With a sigh he stretched his legs out and clasped his fingers across his stomach. “This happened three years ago. When Elijah eventually came to the Creek and met you, it was because he needed to be away from the memories at Triple K. His family’s spread dwarfs the Whispering Creek three times over. He is one third owner, but he has not been home in a long time. He was holed up in his mountain cabin for months when I convinced him to visit here. Sayin’ I needed his input with Thomas being absent.”
Miguel was silent for a while and Sheridan restrained the urge to implore him to continue.
“I never expected him to react how he did when he met you, Senora.”
She was not sure if the quiet condemnation in his voice was directed at her or himself. “What happened, Miguel?”
He grimaced. “Over a dozen Cheyenne swept down on the Lazy S outfit where his wife and child visited Emma’s family. The Indians don’t normally take prisoners, but wanting to wreak vengeance how the whites did to their people they took six women and four children that day. Joshua Kincaid, Elijah’s brother, is the best tracker this side of the Mississippi, so they did not wait for the authorities. I was the only one that rode with Elijah, Joshua, and Noah. Many were too afraid at the knowledge they were hunting over twenty braves. But the Kincaid brothers did not hesitate. They went huntin’.”
She had heard about the horrors of Indian raids and her heart bled for him.
Miguel glanced at her. “Their captors had satisfied their blood lust and their carnal lust. All of the women had been raped, some many times. We caught up to their camp after one and a half day’s ride. The Kincaid brothers had no mercy and they became legends in these parts. It was only the four of us against a dozen seasoned warriors, but somehow we conquered. When it was all settled Elijah found his wife amongst the bodies. His son’s throat was cut and a knife had been plunged into her breast.”
Sheridan felt light headed at the suddenness of the blood leaving her head. “Oh my heavens, Miguel.”
“Their blood was still pooling around their bodies. They hadn’t been dead long. Elijah’s wife, Emma, was the only woman that had been killed, his son the only child murdered. Noah, his youngest brother, was the one that noted she was untouched. She had not been raped.”
Sheridan stared at him confused. “Why did they kill her then, do you know?”
“The Indians were not the ones that killed them, Senora.”
Sheridan struggled to understand. She looked down into his shuttered face and what she saw in his eyes had pain ripping through her. “I—”A deep foreboding settled into the pit of her stomach, and she wanted to stop him from saying anything further.
“She had taken her own life and their son’s. The other survivors confirmed it.”
Sheridan could not breathe for the longest time. “But he rescued everyone.”
“She did not wait, Senora.”
Sheridan did not think she had to imagine what Elijah dreamt about. Oh God. The pain would have been devastating. He would have reached her in time.
“I only tell you this because I see how you look at Patron. You cannot hide your hunger.”
Her face went hot with mortification. A denial formed on her lips, but the knowing look he gave her silenced her. “I had not thought I was so obvious,” she said softly.
He chuckled mirthlessly. “You are. From the moment he arrived here, you watched him like a filly in heat.”
She surged to her feet, blushing furiously. “I did not!”
“It was because I knew where Thomas’s interest lay that I did not warn Elijah that you were married. And I had never seen him give any woman attention after what had happened with Emma. When I saw the way he looked at you, it filled me with both hope and despair. Hope because I had though him dead inside after what happened. Despair because I knew he would never take a woman like Emma again to be his...If he ever took a woman as wife again, that is.”
Sheridan stumbled back, pain knifing inside of her. “Are you saying I look like his wife? That was the reason he…was with me?” Her throat burned and she fisted her hands at her side, her eyes unknowingly pleading with Miguel to refute her supposition.
“No, Senora. You look nothing like her. Emma was tall and elegant with the brownest of eyes and the fairest of blonde hair.”
Relief pulsed through her. “Then I don’t understand.”
“Emma was also a lady. From a fine family in Boston. Gently bred, not cut out for the savagery of the west. You both belong in fine mansions having tea parties and carriage rides. You should have maids to do all the work and servants to carry the food. Not live on the western plains where our womenfolk tend to these things themselves.”
“Oh!”
Women like you were not built for this land. For this life. The words Elijah had spoken resounded in her. He had not only been referring to her. Something went hollow inside of her. If he thought her fragile like his wife, he would never sell to her, or marry her. She moved almost sluggishly out of Miguel’s room, deaf to his calls.
She was everything Elijah did not want. Her hands fluttered to her stomach and her heart clenched in pain.
Oh, Elijah, I’m so sorry for your pain.