Rain Shadow(36)

Heat rose in her cheeks. "Why don't you let me? I've slept on the ground all my life."

"All the more reason for you to be comfortable now." He took a sip, and  she dared a glance. "Besides," he added. "I probably won't get much  sleep, so I'll check on the animals every so often."

What would rob him of sleep? Listening for Miguel? Thinking of her?  Imagining him lying in here, she wouldn't sleep well, either.

The air between them seemed combustible, their unexpressed emotions  crackling. Anton felt like a walnut tossed into the air. In an instant  she would zero in on him and he'd shatter into a million fragments.  Wooing disaster, he let his eyes meet hers. He read her desire, as pure  and hot and unexpected as ever, and he wished for the thousandth time  that he'd met her before his heart had turned to stone.

He'd done the right thing-the honorable thing-by marrying her and  providing protection for her and Slade. But he couldn't allow anything  more. Could he?

Exercising more self-discipline than he knew he possessed, Anton stood  and gathered the pile of blankets. Behind him he heard her set the cups  aside. A moment later she spoke from the bedroom doorway, though he  hadn't heard her steps.

"Good night, then, Anton."

"G'night." He blew out the last lantern. She closed the wooden door, and  blackness enveloped the room. Stripping off his boots, shirt and  dungarees, he slipped beneath the covers and stacked his hands beneath  his head, staring into the darkness.                       
       
           



       

Muted sounds came from the other room, and he imagined her undressing,  brushing her marvelous ebony hair out until it crackled, and climbing  onto the enormous rope bed. He closed his eyes and wondered what would  happen if he went to her, slid into the bed beside her and pressed  himself against her silken length. His body responded, and he cursed  softly at the rafters. How in blazes would he ever survive this?

He'd really done it. Bound her to him with a two-dollar ceremony and a  paper certificate. Somewhere in the far recesses of his mind, he should  be wondering why he'd been determined to protect her in this manner.  He'd assured himself it was the only way, and that answer would have to  do. For now, anyway. He had too many other concerns to lose sleep over.  Finally, in the rosy-hued hours before dawn, he slept.

The first long day Anton watched Rain Shadow carry boxes from the attic  in the main house and worry over just which yellowed doily or old dish  should be placed where. The cabin reeked of lemon oil, wood smoke and  occasionally the burnt remains of some unrecognizable thing she'd  incinerated on the stove.

The second long night he watched her help the boys with their numbers  and send them up to the loft. She worked by the fire for a while, then  closed herself in the bedroom while he lay on his pallet near the fire  thinking of Two Feathers' comfortable bones in a feather bed and denied  thoughts of the woman who haunted his dreams.

This second day she'd accused him of being cranky. Out of obstinacy he'd  cleaned and repaired a mantel clock and placed it beside a chipped vase  she'd salvaged from the main house's attic.

The third interminable night wore his endurance to the bone, and the  following morning he chopped wood until physically exhausted.

Tonight, he once again wondered at her peculiar behavior, this hellcat,  who when they'd first met had scorned any and every hint of domesticity  and now behaved as if the very fate of the universe depended on the  arrangement of the dishes on the table. And yet something about her  concern over the discarded dishes and her intense attempts at meals  touched him in a place he'd planned never to leave vulnerable again. For  many years, he hadn't known the comfort a woman provided. He shouldn't  get used to it now.

He studied her dark head bent over her sewing and realized how much he  liked having her with him, how good her cleaning and fussing made him  feel. And liking this warped arrangement frightened him more than he  chose to admit. Having a woman near would be easy to get used to if he  didn't know how much hurt was involved.

She stabbed the needle she'd been using into the dress material and  rose. She strapped the holster bearing her Smith & Wesson revolver  to her leg and caught her coat. "I'm going to check on the horses."

Anton stared sightlessly at the door. The change in her frightened him,  too. Their former bickering and occasional outbursts had at least been a  release, an outlet for the tension that built up between them. Oh, but  she was a fighter! She wouldn't holler uncle no matter how hard her arm  was twisted. That's why her acceptance of his proposal and protection  bothered him.

Ruiz had backed her into a corner. Her fragile, transparent beauty was a  deceptive camouflage for the self-willed spirit beneath. Heaven help  Ruiz if he ever left his backside unprotected. And heaven help him,  Anton snorted to himself, if he ever succumbed to her magnetic appeal.  That's what really scared him.

The wind caught the enormous wooden door, and Rain Shadow fought it  closed behind her. She carried the lantern, shadows bobbing, past the  wagons toward the stalls. Ahead, dark spots on the straw-littered floor  caught her attention. She knelt and studied the drops.

Blood.

Several feet ahead lay a familiar small shape. Rain Shadow knew before  she reached it what it was. The gray kitten lay cold and lifeless, its  fur matted black with blood.

Her pulse roared in her temples, and the barn seemed silent in those  seconds. Jack! she thought immediately, and bolted along the stalls.  "Jack!"

The paint bobbed his head and whinnied attentively.

"Jack," she whispered with relief. She ran her hands across his solid  neck and withers and affectionately laid her forehead against his warm  shoulder. Miguel could have harmed him. He'd been right here. He knew  how much she loved her son, her father, her pony...had he even known she  cared for the gray kitten? What if Miguel thought she loved Anton, too?                       
       
           



       

She jerked her head up. She hadn't stopped to consider the added danger  she had placed Anton in. "I should have gone," she whispered.

Wood creaked and slammed as though the wind had caught the barn door again. Rain Shadow tensed.

"Well, for-" Anton's muffled curse echoed down the corridor. She heard  his boots strike the floor and pause at the spot where the kitten lay.  "Rain Shadow?"

"Back here."

He appeared before the stall, a rifle tucked under one arm. Their gazes  locked, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "Other animals all right?"

At the reminder that she'd checked only her own horse, shame flooded  her. She drew her revolver, and together they searched the stalls, grain  bins and hayloft.

"That son of a miserable-" Anton knelt and wrapped the dead animal in a  burlap feed bag. Shovel in one hand, bag and rifle in the other, he  strode from the barn. When he returned she stood waiting.

He blew out the lantern. "We don't carry this across the yard anymore.  He could pick us off like your blasted bean cans. Tomorrow we're getting  a couple of dogs."

"Why, so he can slit their throats, too?" She stopped behind him.

In the pitch black, she sensed him turn to face her and knew a furious  tension coiled within his body. "No, so they can warn us he's out there.  And if it takes a dog or two, that's better than the stock or one of  us."

He was right, but was it too late for any of this? What was happening?  "This was a mistake. I never should have stayed here. All I did was put  you and your family in greater danger. I'm sorry, Anton. I'm so sorry.  It was selfish of me to stay. I have to go."

She groped for the wooden door handle, but found his arm. Pushing him  aside, she wrenched open the door. He stopped her with a strong hand on  her wrist. "Rain Shadow―"

She broke free and ran. Halfway to the cabin, he caught her around the  waist, the momentum knocking them both to the ground. Rain Shadow laid  beneath him, her cheek pressed against the frozen grass, his breath  harsh against her temple. His rifle bit into the small of her back, but  she lay immobile.

Slowly, he lifted his weight and rolled her over to face him, holding  one wrist in a loose grip. "Think," he rasped. "Where would you go?"

"Anywhere, it doesn't matter. I'll hide Slade somewhere."

"Slade tells me you want him to go to school. How can you hide him in school?"

"We can use different names."

"And your contest?"

She rolled her eyes upward, avoiding his face, feeling hysteria well,  knowing her behavior and words had grown irrational. "It doesn't matter  anymore."