Chapter 13
“Icouldn’t stand it if I lost you,” Shane said when he stopped kissing her long enough to take a breath.
She snuggled closer, savoring the sweet music of those words. “I feel the same,” she answered softly. “I was afraid that the snake had killed you.”
“That rattler was probably halfway to Oregon country by the time I hit the ground. Poor old diamondback, just sunnin’ hisself on a rock, mindin’ his own business when he looks up and sees Cherokee’s hooves coming toward his head.”
“Who?”
“Cherokee. My buckskin. My best horse—the one I told you that you couldn’t have.” He tilted her chin up and kissed the tip of her nose. “You’ve a fine nose, Mrs. McKenna,” he teased. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“You never told me your horse had a name.” Shane trailed a ribbon of light kisses up to her eyelids, and she uttered a small sigh of delight. “That tickles.”
“You never asked me if he had a name.” He planted a caress against the left corner of her mouth and then gently nibbled her lower lip. “There are . . . lots of questions . . . you’ve never . . . asked me.”
Thrilled, she pressed closer to him. She wanted to pinch herself to see if this was really happening, or if she’d conjured it up out of a dream. And now that she was wrapped in Shane’s strong arms, she couldn’t resist teasing him. “Such as . . . how did your horse throw you?”
“You’re a cruel woman,” he pronounced. “And I wasn’t thrown. I bailed out when Cherokee switched ends and started fallin’ backwards on top of me.” He groaned. “It didn’t do a damn thing for my sore ribs. They must be just cracked. If they were broken and I’d hit the ground that hard, I’d be pushin’ up clover.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” She reached up to stroke his face, running her fingers over his high cheekbones and tracing the curve of his brows. He had shaved that morning, but already a tiny stubble of gold had sprung up on his face; she liked the feel of it against her skin.
“Never ask a horseman how he was tossed off.” Shane caressed the nape of her neck, sending shivers of anticipation through her. Then he kissed her again, so thoroughly that she forgot her fear of the snake and Shane’s tumble off his horse. All she could think of was the way he was touching her and that she didn’t want this embrace to end.
“Caity.” His breathing deepened, as though he’d run a long way, and he fumbled with the linen stock at her throat. “Caity . . . let me love you.”
“Yes . . . yes.” She strained against him. She wanted more, wanted to be so close to him that she wouldn’t know where she stopped and Shane began.
His kisses became demanding, urgent, feeding the flames of the heat inside her. “Caity, girl.” He groaned. “I want—”
The sound of a gunshot cut through his words.
“Son of a bitch!” He stiffened and pushed her reluctantly away. “Talk about bad timin’.” Instantly alert, he looked around and ran to his buckskin to yank his rifle from the saddle scabbard.
“No . . .” She was stunned, aching for more. “What’s wrong?”
“That was gunfire.”
Her heart was still racing, and she felt weak inside, but whether it was from fright or disappointment, she couldn’t say.
All traces of desire and tenderness had vanished from Shane’s hard features. “Stay where you are!” he warned as he mounted his horse, wheeled Cherokee around, and drove his boot heels into the gelding’s sides.
“Shane, wait!” she protested. “What if something’s happened to Derry? I want to come with you!”
But he was already too far away to hear her.
“Shane!” she shouted again. “You can’t . . .”
She exhaled sharply. “He can’t keep doing that to me. If he thinks I’m going to spend the rest of our married life waiting while he tends to trouble, he’s got another thought coming.”
Shane hadn’t been with her in County Clare when she’d had to arrange her father’s funeral, and he hadn’t been there when she’d faced down a dozen starving beggars intent on ransacking her house.
She hadn’t survived by waiting for a man to come to her rescue. And she wouldn’t last long in the wilderness if she played the Dublin miss.
The question was, could she get on this abominable creature without assistance? With a shrug, she decided that there was only one way to find out.
“Easy, Bessie,” Caitlin coaxed as she approached the mule. “Nice beast. Pretty girl,” she lied.
Bessie flicked her ears, and her bulging eyes took on a malicious gleam.
“Good mule,” Caitlin soothed as she seized the reins. Bessie pawed the grass with one hoof. “Stand still.”
The mule backed up a few paces, nearly yanking the leather reins from Caitlin’s hands.
“I said, stand still!” She snapped the bridle sharply, and Bessie rolled her eyes. “You behave, or I’ll have Mary slit your gullet and roast you over an open fire,” Caitlin threatened in a cold whisper.
The mule froze.
Muttering a prayer under her breath, Caitlin thrust the toe of her boot into the stirrup and flung herself up and over the saddle. Bessie started forward. “Whoa!”
The mule kept walking as Caitlin struggled to untangle her leg. Bessie broke into a trot, and Caitlin pulled hard on the reins.
The animal stopped short.
“Yes!” Caitlin cried. “That’s it.” She jammed her toe into the stirrup, hauled the mule’s head around, and slapped the leather across Bessie’s neck. “Get up!”
The mule broke wind, shuddered from neck to rump, gave a halfhearted kick, and began to trot in the direction Shane had ridden.
“Faster!” Caitlin shouted, and urged Bessie into a bone-pounding canter.
To Caitlin’s relief, nothing seemed amiss as she rode into the barnyard. She could see Mary and Derry standing on the front porch while Shane, Gabriel, and Justice talked to Rachel Thompson near the paddock.
Shane was still mounted on Cherokee, and Justice had climbed the corral fence and was hanging off the top rail by one arm, obviously listening to the conversation.
Derry looked up and saw her, waved, and then went back to playing with the corn-husk doll Mary had given her at breakfast. Mary nodded but didn’t speak. Her face was stern as usual, yet her attention seemed focused on Shane and the others.
Bessie needed no urging to join Shane’s buckskin and Rachel Thompson’s horse. The mule brayed and trotted over to nuzzle Cherokee’s rump.
Shane looked up. “I see you got here under your own power.” He gestured toward Rachel. “She says that someone slaughtered one of their cows last night.”
“But we just heard a shot—”
“Gabe fired off a round to bring me in,” Shane explained.
“Nice mount.” Rachel grinned at Caitlin.
“I like her,” Caitlin replied dryly. “She has such a comfortable trot.”
“I’ll bet.” Rachel whipped off her Spanish vaquero’s hat and slapped it against her leg. She still wore men’s clothing, and her face was dusty, but her hair was clean and pulled back severely in a single braid.
She had a pleasant face when she smiled, Caitlin realized. “You say your father lost a cow?”
“Didn’t lose it,” Rachel answered as she put her hat back on. “Somebody carved off the back quarter.”
“Cow stealing is serious out here, isn’t it?”
“About as serious as you can get. Your man, here, hung a rustler last winter.” Rachel glanced at Gabe for confirmation. “Didn’t he?”
Gabriel nodded.
A hollow feeling filled Caitlin’s belly, but she refused to give Rachel the satisfaction of letting her see how the thought of Shane’s taking a human life tore her up. She bit back her swelling questions and waited in silence.
“Don’t fill Caity’s head with such stuff,” Shane said, dismounting and reaching up to help her down from the mule’s back. “I executed a rustler. But he was worse than a cow thief. He and another lump of buffalo dung raped and murdered an Indian woman. I came on him too late to stop it, and too late to catch his partner. I had to bury the woman, so I thought it best to send him to his heavenly reward as well.”
“Why didn’t you take him to the magistrate?” Caitlin demanded. “Surely there are laws against murder—even in Missouri.”
“Not when a white man kills an Indian,” Gabe said. “If McKenna got the bastard to the nearest settlement without getting backshot by the other rustler, it would be his word against the killer’s. And if the law did convict, it wouldn’t be for murder.”
“Last white man arrested for shootin’ a Shawnee boy was Jeb Hammer, over to Kane’s Crossroads. As I remember, Jeb got thirty days in jail and a fine,” Shane said. He motioned to Justice. “Take these animals, son.”
Justice leaped off the fence into Cherokee’s saddle, and Shane handed the boy Bessie’s reins. The child guided both horse and mule around Rachel’s bay, and rode over to the stable door.
“You know what the fine for killin’ an Indian is around here?” Shane asked Caitlin.
She shook her head.
“Two dollars,” he replied.
Caitlin stared at him in disbelief. “That’s outrageous.”
Rachel nodded. “That’s what the jury thought. But hell, the judge needed to pay his liquor tab at the bar, so somebody had to ante up some silver.”
Rachel’s horse watched the other animals until they were out of sight in the barn; then she shook her head and danced nervously.
Gabe ran a hand gently over the animal’s neck and whispered softly to the mare. The bay quieted and rubbed her nose against him. Obligingly he scratched under her chin.
“Is that Indian you’re speaking?” Caitlin asked.
Gabe nodded. “Osage.” He flashed a rare smile. “Love words.”
“You’ve a rare hand with horses,” Rachel said.
“I like them.”
“It shows.” Rachel glanced back at Shane. “I’d best get riding. Big Earl will beat the shit out of me if he finds out I rode over here to warn you about the rustler.”
“I’m surprised he doesn’t blame me,” Shane replied wryly.
“Naw, Beau thought of it first. Anything my brother comes up with, Big Earl pisses on,” Rachel said. “Big Earl thinks you’re lower than an Ozark hellbender, McKenna, but not low enough to shoot one of our cows for the meat.”
“Your father’s gettin’ soft in his old age, isn’t he?” Shane asked. “Takin’ my part against Beau’s?”
Rachel laughed. “He’d take Satan’s part afore Beau’s, and that’s a fact.” She shrugged. “Can you blame him? Have you ever seen a more worthless pup than Beau Thompson? It’s a damn shame them renegade Indians kilt my big brother Al and left Beau alive.” She looked at Caitlin. “If you see Beau, steer clear of him. He’s meaner than a prairie tornado and as stupid as hog turds.”
She pulled her hat down tighter and retied the cord under her chin. “Only one has anything to do with Beau is that half-wit you shoved on us, Nate Bone. More trouble I never saw than him. No patience with horses and shoots like a blind man.”
“I didn’t send Nate to Big Earl,” Shane said. “I ran him off Kilronan because he’s an Indian hater. He couldn’t stomach workin’ with Gabe. Your father didn’t need to hire him on.”
“Sure he did,” Rachel answered. “Thought it would get your goat. No end to the mess Big Earl will get hisself in if he thinks it will hurt you. Even hirin’ on prairie trash to ride herd on his stock.”
“You watch Nate Bone. Watch him close. He could be responsible for the trouble on both places. I catch him at it, there’ll be another hangin’—if he lives long enough for me to string him up.”
Rachel shook her head. “I doubt it’s Nate. He’s a sly, whiskey-suckin’ snake, but one man couldn’t cause such mischief alone. Big Earl thinks it’s renegade Indians, and I’m inclined to believe he’s right. I hear tell there’s been cows slaughtered over to John Mahee’s spread near Twin Forks.”
“Well, Big Earl might be right,” Shane replied, “but one way or another, it’s got to be stopped. I appreciate you comin’ over, Rachel.”
She grinned. “Keep your powder dry.” Her smile faded and she grew serious. “I have to warn you to stay clear of Thompson land. Big Earl’s given orders to shoot trespassers on sight.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Shane said.
Gabe climbed the rail fence and dropped a lariat over a horse’s neck. “I’ll ride back with you to the line,” he said. “McKenna will want our animals driven in tonight, anyway.”
Shane nodded. “I’ll get the mules and the cattle out of the east pasture. You bring in the rest.”
“No need to put yourself out on my account, Gabriel,” Rachel said. “I don’t need no watchin’. I sure ain’t no Irish gentlefolk.”
Caitlin noticed that Rachel’s eyes softened as she watched Gabe saddle a pinto gelding. And it didn’t escape her notice that Rachel waited for the Indian wrangler, or that they rode out side by side, not talking, but obviously easy together, as if they were old friends.
“How did you get on Bessie?” Shane’s hand closed on the top of her shoulder.
“What?” Caitlin turned to look directly into his eyes.
He grinned and tipped her chin up with the pad of his thumb. “I asked you how you got back in the saddle by yourself?” Then he leaned close and brushed her lips with his.
Instantly she felt a flash of heat shimmer through her. “Easy,” she said breathlessly. “All you have to be is meaner than the mule.”
Supper that night was Mary’s infamous rabbit stuffed with wild onions and sage, some sort of baked root that tasted like potatoes, and raw wild greens drizzled with bacon fat. Naturally Mary provided a large wooden bowl of Indian fry bread to accompany the meal.
Out of deference to her, Caitlin thought, Mary had served her feast in the newly furnished dining parlor. Caitlin wondered what her mother and grandmother would think of their precious delftware being used by a pipe-smoking Indian woman, a cowboy, and Shane McKenna. Somehow she thought that her mother would be most distressed by the last.
When the meal was finished, it was customary for the men to leave the table while she and Mary cleared away the dishes. Tonight Caitlin had come to supper with another idea in mind. She watched until Justice was nearly done eating, and then she brought a book from under her apron and propped it against the table.
“I promised Derry that I’d read to her tonight,” Caitlin said. “I hope you don’t mind if I do it here where the light is good.” Without waiting for an answer from any of them, she opened the green, leather-bound cover of A Thousand and One Nights, translated from the Persian by Edward W. Lane.
Derry climbed up into Caitlin’s lap as she began to read quietly. After a few pages, Caitlin glanced up and peeked through her lashes to see Gabe listening intently to the story. Justice made a great show of wanting more fry bread, but she noticed that he didn’t eat it; he merely crumbled it on his plate.
By the time Caitlin reached the part where the beautiful queen held the sultan mesmerized with her tale, Caitlin’s audience was hooked. Even Shane leaned forward to hear what would happen next.
Derry’s head nodded, and Caitlin felt the child’s breathing slow.
“Sleepy, darling?” Caitlin murmured. Derry didn’t answer.
“Why stop story?” Mary demanded as she poured her coffee into one of Caitlin’s delft saucers. “Good story like Osage stories. Sky People stories.” She reached across the table and touched the book. “Is more?”
“Much more,” Caitlin assured her. “Treasure and magic and wicked genies. But it’s time for Derry to be in bed.”
Mary nodded. “So. Maybe you read more tomorrow night.”
“Maybe,” Caitlin agreed. “If Derry wants to hear this book.” She flashed the Indian woman an innocent smile. “She might want another one.”
“No,” Justice chimed in. “She’ll want to hear the rest of this one. Derry likes genies.”
“I’ll carry the little colleen upstairs for you,” Shane offered.
As the three of them left the room, Caitlin heard Gabe ask Justice, “What exactly is a genie?”
“It’s an animal. They have them in Ireland,” the boy supplied quickly. “A genie is something like a weasel, only bigger.”
Upstairs, Shane stood silently and watched as Caitlin removed Derry’s dress, petticoats, pantaloons, and shift, and tugged a white linen nightgown over her head. Derry slept soundly through the process, only sighing and snuggling down when Caitlin tucked her into her bed.
“I feel awful putting her in without giving her a bath,” Caitlin whispered to Shane.
“What she really needs is her own room,” Shane said, slipping an arm around Caitlin’s waist.
She stepped into the hall and closed the bedroom door. “I don’t know how she’d take to that. She’s slept with me since we left Ireland.”
He moved to pin Caitlin playfully against the wall. “I think it’s time we did something about all our sleeping arrangements.” He leaned close and kissed her on the mouth. “I want you, Caity—as a husband wants his wife.”
Heart thumping, she turned her face away. Her lips tingled from the heat of his kiss, and desire fluttered in the pit of her stomach.
Her throat constricted so that her proper words flowed like warm butter. “The arrangement between us made sense,” she murmured. “After being parted for so long . . .”
Was it normal to feel this way? she wondered. Did a decent woman long for her husband’s touch the way a wilting rose yearned for rain?
“Too long, Caity.” He kissed her forehead. “I want to be with you. I need you.”
Caitlin shivered. “Not now, Shane—not while the children are awake.” She wanted him to sweep her up in his arms and make love to her, but uncertainty still lurked in the back of her mind. There was so much about Shane that frightened her. . . .
He nodded. “Aye. As much as I’d like to, I can’t stay with you now. Gabe’s going to stand guard from midnight to dawn, but I need to take the first watch so he can get a few hours of sleep. I’ll knock on your door when I come in.”
“I can’t promise,” she answered, moving out of the circle of his arms. “I want things to be right between us, but I’m not certain that this is the time. What if you get me with child?”
“If I do, then that will settle our question, won’t it? Wait for my knock, Caity.” He gave her a long look before turning away and descending the stairs.
Her heart was fluttering, and she struggled for breath. Thoughts—brazen thoughts that she didn’t know she possessed—taunted her. “Come soon,” she whispered, too low for him to hear.
But if you do come, will I have nerve enough to open the door?
It was past nine when Mary finished the last of the kitchen chores and retired to her own cabin. For the better part of an hour, Caitlin sat at the dining parlor table stitching the sleeve of a dress she was mending for Derry. Finally, when she was sure that Justice was asleep in his bed, she went to the kitchen and poured hot water into a basin to wash.
There were no sounds in the house but the sighing of the fire and the slight creak of settling timbers. Moonlight poured in the kitchen window, illuminating the room with a pale golden glow.
Using a bit of French soap that she’d brought with her from home, Caitlin carefully bathed herself from head to foot and dried herself with a clean towel. She had washed her hair the day before, but she took great pains to brush it and pin it up in a soft knot.
The room was warm, but gooseflesh still rose on her arms and shoulders. She felt as nervous as a bride on her wedding night.
She was a bride. Not only had she not been with any man in eight years, she and Shane had been together only a few hours before he went away to America.
“If only I was a virgin,” she murmured. “Better we had never consummated the marriage.” Then, at least, Shane would have known that she’d been faithful during their separation.
A log snapped in the fire, and she jumped.
“I’m not afraid,” she lied to herself.
Trembling, her mouth dry, she tiptoed up the stairs and into Shane’s bedchamber. She’d brought no candle, but she needed none. She made her way to the bed and slipped under the blanket. And then she waited.