Читать книгу Caine's Reckoning - Sarah McCarty - Страница 11

It wasn’t as bad, it was worse. Desi stared at the bedroll set on the opposite side of the fire from everyone else, the distance emphasizing this was her wedding night. She’d come back from changing into her new clothes and found this. The euphoria and contentment from her full stomach faded. She glanced across the fire to where Caine stood talking to Tracker and Sam. While she didn’t consider twenty feet a token to privacy, Caine probably did. Men, she knew, didn’t mind other men watching them stake their claim. She’d hoped it would be different if she were a wife, but she glanced at the double bedroll again and knew that had been a vain hope.

The Hell’s Eight men did everything together. Legend said they were ghosts of warriors past come back to right wrongs. Others said they’d made a deal with the Devil to survive when the Mexicans had wiped out their town. No one ever said they worried over much about what was proper or respectable. And she was a whore in the eyes of everyone around her. Maybe even in her own heart if she dared to check, but she wasn’t checking and she wasn’t believing it. That being the case, she wasn’t behaving like one.

Deliberately, she picked up the closest half of the bedroll and moved it four feet to the left. She would have moved it farther if a shadow hadn’t come between her and the firelight. A booted foot settled on the far corner of the bedroll. She didn’t need to look up to know who that boot belonged to. She’d spent all day today while riding, watching that boot rock in the stirrup. The three horizontal scrapes across the instep marked it as Caine’s. “You worried about catching on fire?”

“No.”

She gave the bedroll a yank. It came out from under his foot easier than she’d expected. She hit the ground hard enough to leave bruises on her fanny. She also managed to move her bedroll and extra two feet.

His shadow stretched over her, then his hand, and then the amusement in his drawl. “The heat of the fire isn’t going to reach this far.”

She accepted his hand. “I don’t mind.”

He didn’t let go as he bent down and grabbed the bedroll. “I do.”

She snatched it out of his hand, draping it over her arm as she smoothed the wrinkles out. “Then you can stay over there.” She didn’t dare look at his face as she added, “I don’t mind.”

He took her hand again. His thumb stroked over the back of it. “I must be in a real contrary mood tonight because I mind.”

Anger surged from deep within. “Why, because you’ll miss out on an opportunity to show your friends how well you fuck?”

That thumb didn’t even break rhythm. “And here I was thinking I won’t get a wink of sleep watching my wife shiver in her blankets.”

She wrenched her arm from his grip and stomped back to his bedroll. She threw the blankets down atop the saddle. “Do me a favor.”

He came quietly up behind her, but it didn’t matter. The man had too much presence to sneak. The hairs on the back of her neck always warned her when he was around. “What?”

“Don’t try to dress it up prettily.”

“Dress what up?”

She glanced across the fire. Tracker and Sam were staring hard at the flames, pretending not to be aware of what was going on. She lowered her voice. “What’s going to happen here tonight.”

She couldn’t see his eyes under the brim of his hat, but she could see the quirk of his lips. “You got something against sleep?”

She turned and slammed her hands on her hips, anger writhing through her like a living thing. “Stop it. Just stop pretending. If all you were planning to do was sleep, we wouldn’t be over here and—” she kicked the pile of blankets “—we wouldn’t be sharing a bedroll.”

A log popped on the fire. She jumped and spun around. By the time she turned back, Caine was right there, close enough that the edge of his poncho touched her coat. His coat. She swallowed and risked a look at his face. He didn’t look angry, but with him, who could tell? His hand lifted. She flinched. His eyes narrowed. She braced her spine for the blow that was coming. His fingers grazed her jaw, slid along the bone, feather-light, but the drag of the rough callus left no doubt he was strong. His thumb came to rest against her mouth as his fingers cradled her cheek.

“The bedrolls are over here because we thought you might be a bit uncomfortable without privacy. The bedrolls are together because it’s damn cold and you’ve taken enough chill for one day, and also because you’re my wife, and my wife sleeps by me.”

“Why?” It felt strange to speak against his thumb, but she didn’t let that stop her.

“Because it’s my right to protect you.”

She pulled back against his hold. “I don’t need your protection.”

“Too bad. You’ve got it anyway.” He motioned to the right. “You got any business to take care of before we call it a night?”

The blush rose despite her desire to contain it. “No.”

“Good.” He bent, and with a few flicks of his wrists, resettled the blankets. “‘Cause I’m beat.”

“Don’t you have to stand guard?”

“It’s my wedding night. Tracker and Sam are giving me the night off as a wedding present.”

Just what she needed. She glared at the two men. “What was my present?”

His lips quirked and he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Me.”

It just burst out. “I got shortchanged.”

Unbelievably, he laughed. “I imagine you see it that way now.”

He sat down on the blankets, sliding his hand down her neck, her shoulder, her arm, hooking her wrist in his grip when he reached the ground and tugging her down. “But you won’t always.”

He had no idea what she thought and what she planned. She fell, more than sat, beside him. He caught her the way he always did, as if nothing ever threw him off guard. He lay back against the saddle, his hand anchoring her wrist. “Lie down. Morning will be here before you know it.”

An owl hooted in the distance. The first she’d heard this spring. Was it a good omen or a bad one? She didn’t know, but looking at the sheer size of the man waiting for her to bed down beside him, she had to pray it was good.

“I don’t have a pillow.”

He patted the broad expanse of his shoulder. “I’ve got your pillow right here.”

He expected her to sleep against him. She bit her lip. The wind blew, rattling the bushes. A cold chill went down her spine. Caine’s smile faded to a frown. He pulled her toward him, lifting her arm over his head, directing her fall toward his chest, not giving her an opportunity to twist away.

“If you don’t get tucked in here fast, you’re going to freeze over faster than a stream in winter.”

He let her go when she was lying along his side, her cheek on her hand on his shoulder. “Sleeping like this is going to break my neck.”

One big hand came across her chest, pulling her into his torso as he hitched up. Her shoulder tucked under his arm. She had no choice but to drop her hand. Her fingers caught in the folds of his poncho. As much as she tugged, she was stuck under her own weight, elbow wedged to the ground, head at an even more awkward angle. His coat, made for a much bigger person than she, bunched up over her face. There was a deep masculine chuckle and then several tugs. The coat opened inch by inch, revealing the same amusement in his eyes that had been in his voice.

She frowned back at him. “This is not an improvement.”

Another button popped and the gap widened, enabling her to see his expression. Caine was smiling. A full-fledged smile without the usual reserve.

“I can see that.”

Another tug on the coat had her yelping. The buttons were now caught in her hair.

“Now for sure I know this coat is male.”

She twisted about trying to get a hand free to get to her hair only to find his hands in the way when she eventually got herself clear.

“This would go a lot easier,” he told her, “if you’d stop trying to help.”

“I’m trying to keep from being snatched bald.” Another tug had her wincing.

“No danger of that.”

She was so sick of him pretending to be nice to her. “Because you intend to be careful?”

He was shaking his head before she finished, that full smile diminishing to the level of a grin. “Nah.” The tension released on her hair, leaving only a sting behind. “There’s no danger for the simple reason you’ve got enough hair for two women and then some.”

She dug her elbow into his side as she forced her hand free, checking to be sure she still had hair in that spot. She rubbed the sting. “Well, you may not have that concern for much longer.” She ran her hand through her hair and got stopped about one inch into the procedure by a snarl too big to be called anything less than a mat. She gave it a good hard yank, wincing when it held. “We’re probably going to have to shave my head to get the snarls out.”

Once again, his hands pulled hers away. “No danger of that, either.”

“Because you’re going to forbid me to cut my hair?”

He smoothed his hand over her head, stroking from crown to end, smoothing down the wild tangle, lifting his hand halfway down when a snarl caught on his index finger. Men always loved her hair. There was something about the pale blond color and curl that had them always staring at it with a combination of fascination and awe. His gaze met hers, the smile still tugging at his mouth. “Pretty much.”

Nothing was more galling than his assurance that his forbidding would be enough. “I hate you.”

“You don’t know me well enough to hate me.”

“Trust me. I’ve built a real good case in the short time we’ve been acquainted.”

He didn’t look devastated by the statement. But the crinkles by the sides of his eyes deepened. “Then I guess I’ll just have to work at changing your opinion.”

Oh wonderful. He’d taken her comment as a challenge. “Why can’t you just act predictably?”

He lifted her up and scooted her down, a maneuver that would have left her a lot more comfortable if it also hadn’t left her pressed intimately against him. “If you knew me better, you’d know I am being predictable.”

When she tried to wiggle away, he merely curled in the arm she was lying on. The other hand went to her hip, slipped under the coat and rode down to her thigh, hitching it up. Panic immediately chased anger. The only thing that preserved her modesty were the long folds of her new skirt.

“Lift up for a minute.”

“I’m comfortable just as I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

She wasn’t but that wasn’t important. She tilted her head back and strained for dignity. “I am not sprawling across you. It’s improper.”

And if he said one word about the incongruity of a whore worrying about propriety she’d bite the end of his nose off.

“Gypsy, if both of us are going to keep from freezing our butts off tonight, seeing as our wedding night has us way over here in the hollow, we’re going to have to get closer than your sense of propriety deems fit.”

“I’ll chance freezing.”

“Well, I won’t.”

And that settled that. In the time it took her to draw the breath for a retort, Caine had her kneeling. As fast as she batted at his hands, he was tugging her skirts out from under her knees. God, he was fast. She had just reached around to slap his hands from her rear when he lifted her again by her shoulder and pulled her across his lap and lay down. Gravity took care of her defiance. Her body naturally flowed into the planes of his. Her thigh fell over his and her breasts pressed into his side. Before she could pull her leg back, he took her skirts and draped them over his thighs and tucked them beneath, effectively pinning her with her own clothing.

He met her glare with a raised brow and a smile.

“Pretty slick, eh?”

Did he expect her to praise his trickery?

“Taking advantage through your greater strength is what I’d call it.” Two yanks on the material proved the futility of that effort.

Caine shrugged. “Whatever gets the job done is good for me.” With his free hand he adjusted his hat forward as he braced his shoulders against the saddle. “Grab the blankets would you?”

She was tempted to ignore the order, but the thought of what he would do to get that job done had her reconsidering. That and the next wind that sent the dried grass rustling. It was going to be a cold night and while Caine might be big and arrogant, he was warm. She leaned toward the blankets, forgetting her injuries. Stiff muscles and her bruised rib immediately protested.

“Shoot. I forgot about that.” The blankets were removed from her grasp. A broad palm rubbed small circles on her back as if he thought to absorb her pain through his touch. “You just take your time getting comfortable, and I’ll take care of the covering.”

He said that as if he were being perfectly reasonable, but no matter how he couched it, it was an order and it drove home the fact that he expected her to obey. The knowledge that there was nothing she could do about it ate at her defiance, because once all the settling was done, he’d want to be getting on to other things. Intimate, unpleasant things that were now her duty. God help her.

He tucked the blanket over her shoulder. “Now, what thought just made you stiffen up?”

If he didn’t know, she wasn’t telling him. “Nothing.”

His sigh blew over the top of her head. “Are you back to worrying that I’m ornery in bed?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He pulled her forearm up, dislodging her elbow from his bicep. “Doesn’t appear to me that either of us are going to get comfortable enough to sleep without it.”

A muffled chuckle from across the fire alerted her to how that low drawl of his carried. “Hush.”

“I’ll hush if you’ll talk.”

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

“I want to know what has you scared.”

Her shiver had nothing to do with the wind as memories swamped her. “I just don’t like being with a man.”

“Because it goes against your beliefs, or because of what you’ve been taught?”

“We’re married, it can’t be against my beliefs.”

“I got news for you, Gypsy, many a woman feels it’s wrong to enjoy her husband.”

“I can understand that.”

His finger under her chin tipped her face up. “I can see where you’d have reason to fear a man who’s hurt you, but, Gypsy, I’ve never hurt you.”

Yet. The immediate tag to his assertion lingered in her mind. She just barely kept it from her lips. His hand tilted. Instead of letting her go like she expected, he swapped his fingers for his thumb, the latter brought to rest against her lips, brushing lightly. The fire had died down to the point it was just a small flicker. The faint light wasn’t strong enough to penetrate where they lay.

“And that’s the hitch in your git-along, isn’t it, Desi? You don’t have any idea who I am, or what to expect, so your mind’s just leaping from one awful possibility to the next.”

“You’re a man.”

“And you’re a woman, that should make us more compatible rather than less.”

“Maybe I just need more time.”

His thumb made another of those lazy passes that tickled the edges of her lips and sent little tingles radiating outward. “Time can be a funny thing, Gypsy. You think it’s your friend, but when it comes to fears, it’s your worst enemy. You leave a scare to time’s tending, and rather than making it go away, time turns it bigger and meaner than reality could ever be.”

“So you say.”

His thumb made another pass across her lips, following the swells and dips as if testing the shape of her words. “I know what it’s like to be scared, Desi.”

The “Huh?” escaped before she could contain it. The man was as big as a mountain, had more muscle than a blacksmith and had a reputation that would terrify a hardened gunslinger. What did he know of fear?

“I wasn’t always this big, and there was a time I knew so little about fighting, you could probably have whupped me with one hand tied behind your back.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“Then you’re just going to have to take my word for it the same way you’re going to have to accept I have a reason to start as I mean to go on.”

Because he didn’t see any reason to wait. Because he wanted her. Because she was his and men liked to stake their claims. There wasn’t anything she could do about it, and he was right, she was darned sick of dreading it.

Desi hauled her skirt out from under his thigh and threw herself onto her back. Yanking her skirts up, she spread her legs. Every bit of rage she felt at being, yet again, at a man’s mercy ripped out, along with her snarl. “Then get it over with.”

He came over her, a large black shadow, deeper than the night, scarier, more intense. Her breath caught in her lungs. A fine tremble started in her gut and spread outward, consuming her limbs, ending in her fingers and toes. Dear God, what had she invited?

“Is that what they wanted, Desi? For you to lie there like a doll for them to play with?”

His whisper was scarier than his looming. His whisper wanted to delve, ferret out her past, her weaknesses. “It doesn’t matter.”

There was a long pause. Something touched her cheek, and she shrieked. She was wound so tightly she couldn’t contain it.

A voice intruded into their private battle.

“Just so you know, Desi, I don’t hold the bond between man and wife sacred.”

Sam’s low, cold drawl reached across the fire and the implication had the blood rushing from her head so fast she felt as if she were falling. Except she couldn’t because she was already down. She worked her hand out of the confines of the blanket, grabbing Caine’s wrist. “Please.”

Caine’s snarl was as chilling as the wind. “Shut the hell up, Sam.”

“The lady needs to know she has options.”

Oh God, she didn’t want any more options. One man to deal with was more than enough.

It grated, but if begging saved her from being passed around, even for one night, she’d take it. There were times when pride wasn’t worth the price to keep it. “Please. I’ll do what you want,” she whispered to Caine. She glanced across the clearing to the shadow that was Sam. “don’t call him over. don’t make me…”

“Fuck.”

The epithet tore through her like a shot. She clung tighter, wishing it were lighter so she could see whether her begging was having any effect. “Please—”

Caine’s hand came over her mouth, cutting off the plea. She could feel his stare as clear as a touch, his “My wife doesn’t beg, got it?” She nodded slowly. His hand left her mouth slowly.

“Sam, if you don’t elaborate in the next two seconds, I’m coming over there and kicking your ass.”

Desi ran her tongue across her lips, tasting the salt of his skin and the bitterness of her fear.

“Just saying the lady doesn’t have to suffer thinking there isn’t anyone here who won’t stand for her if she wants it.”

He couldn’t mean what she thought.

But he did. Caine confirmed it. “Sam’s offered you his protection, do you want to take it?”

Was it a trick?

“You’d just let me go?”

“Hell, no, but you’re free to take him up on his offer.”

Some choice. Caine or Sam. Wife or whore. “You’d fight your friend?”

“What’s mine stays mine, Gypsy.”

Oh, yes, he’d fight. Not because he loved her or wanted her, but because his pride was involved. And he considered her his. She understood that.

“So what’s it going to be?”

She didn’t know Sam. She didn’t really know Caine, either, but she knew this one thing. A possessive man wasn’t a sharing man. That made the devil she knew a better choice. “I don’t want his protection,” she whispered.

“Good.” The tense muscles against her relaxed subtly.

“She make a decision?” Sam called.

“Yup. She’s decided I’m the more attractive one.”

“Shit. On top of needing to gain weight, the woman needs spectacles.”

Sam didn’t sound serious or even disappointed.

“You were joking?” she asked Caine.

“No.”

She didn’t know what to do with that flat pronouncement. “I don’t understand you.”

“You might find it easier if you didn’t keep comparing me to cow shit.”

She let go of his wrist. Weariness rolled over her in a debilitating wave, spawning a ripple of defeat. “I can’t help it. I don’t have anything else to compare you to.”