on over and have dinner with me? Roger Holstein, ma'am—'
Kristin spit at him. A roar of laughter went up, and the young man's face darkened with fury. He lunged for her.
The man he'd called Bear pulled him back. 'You keep your hands off her.'
'Why? We weren't even supposed to bring her back. We were supposed to find Cole Slater. So you tell me why I can't have the woman.'
Another man by the fire stood up. 'Why should you have her, Holstein? What's the matter with the rest of us?'
'No one's gonna have her, and that's the way I say it is!' Bear bellowed, and Malachi slumped against the rock, relieved. Bear took a step toward Roger Holstein, shaking his fist. 'You listen, and you listen good. The woman is mine. I took her. And I'm still the law in this unit—'
'Hell!' Roger Holstein muttered. 'We ain't no unit anymore. The war is over.'
'We're a unit. We're a unit because we belong to Fitz, just like we always have. And I was there that day Cole Slater shot down Henry and half a troop. He ain't no fool. If he hears that she's already been abused by you pack of trash, he'll take his time. He'll come after us slow and careful. And he won't be alone. He's got a pair of brothers who can pick the eyes out of hummingbirds in the next damn state with their Colts.' Bear hesitated, looking at Kristin. 'We don't hurt the woman.'
'Hell, Bear, I wasn't going to hurt her!' Roger complained. 'I was gonna make her have a hell of a good time!'
'You don't touch her. Fitz decides what to do with her. By my mind, leaving the lady her tender flesh and sweet chastity will come in real handy as bargaining power.'
For a moment, Malachi thought that fighting was going to break out right then. He prayed silently that it would not; he would never be able to slip away with Kristin if it did.
He didn't think that his prayers would be answered. The tension among the men was as thick as flies on a steer carcass. It escalated until every man in the place was silent, until only the sound of the crackling fires could be heard.
Then Roger Holstein backed down.
'Have it your way, Bear. We'll see. When we get back to Fitz, we'll see.'
'Damned right, we will,' Bear agreed.
Malachi looked at Kristin. Her eyes were closed again. She was silent and probably grateful that the situation had calmed.
Thank God it was Kristin there and not Shannon. Shannon was incapable of keeping silent She would be raging and fighting and biting and kicking and creating complete disaster.
Malachi sank against the rock, closing his eyes, exhaling slowly. He wondered what had made him think of Shannon.
The whole damned night had been filled with Shannon, he reminded himself wryly. But she was safe. Delilah would just be releasing her sometime around now. And she would know that there would be no way in hell to follow a trail that cold.
Thank God it wasn't Shannon? he queried himself. Hmph! If it had been Shannon, he wouldn't be here now. He wouldn't be sneaking into Kansas in his Confederate uniform. He'd be headed south. If it had been Shannon kidnapped, he would have pitied the damned Red Legs.
No, she surely hadn't been a Circe this evening. She had been a complete spitfire, stubborn, willful and…
Beautiful.
Just like the woman in his dream, the sweet vision who had brought him from the brink of death. She was beautiful, perhaps even more beautiful than Kristin, for she was a searing flame, with a life so vibrant that her golden hair was touched by the fire, as were her eyes, brilliant, sparkling, searing. Her voice was like a lark's, sweet and pure…even when she yelled.
Actually, he wasn't thinking about her eyes.
He was thinking about her hands, and the tenderness in her fingers when she had cleansed and bound his wound.
No…
He wasn't even thinking about that.
He was thinking about the provocative swell of her breasts when she leaned over him, when she brushed against him. He was thinking of the lithe and shapely heat of her body, the slimness of her waist, the softness of her flesh, the full sensuality of her lips.
Shannon had grown up.
He slunk down into the rock, pulling his hat low over his forehead. She was still Shannon McCahy. The little brat who had been on his tail since he had first walked onto the McCahy ranch. She had fired at him that very first time, and she was firing at him still.
He smiled and leaned back.
He had kissed her once. To shut her up. They were all playing innocent when a Yank officer had come by the ranch, and Shannon, bless her sweet, sweet hide, would have gladly handed him right over.
And so he had kissed her.
It did seem to be the only way to shut her up.
But the kiss had been sweet. Her passion then had been that of anger, but passion nevertheless, and it had feathered against his senses until he had realized who she was, and what he was doing.
But now, tonight, he remembered that kiss.
He opened his eyes and clamped his teeth together. He knotted his fingers into fists and then slowly released them, suddenly aware that he wanted her. That he desired her, hotly, hungrily and completely.
Wanting a woman wasn't so strange, he reminded himself. Over the years, he had wanted a number of women, and, during the war, when lovers were quickly won and lovers quickly lost, many young women, like many men, were quick to seek the solace of the moment. The women he had wanted he had often had. The widow in Arkansas, the desolate, lonely farm woman in Kentucky, the dance-hall girl in Mississippi.
Once, it seemed like a long, long time ago now, there had been a girl he had loved. Ariel Denison. Ariel… He had even loved the sound of her name. They had been very young. The sight of him could bring a flush to her cheeks, and the warmth of her dark eyes upon him alone could bring forth all the ardor in his heart and soul. Her father had approved, and they were to have been married in June. They spent what May days they could together, hand in hand, racing down to the stream, daring to swim together, daring to come to the shore and lie naked in the sweet grasses, making love. He'd never known anything so deep, or so wonderful…
But by June, she was gone. A cholera epidemic swept through the countryside, and Ariel, smiling to the last, had died in his arms, whispering her last words of love with the last of her breaths. He had not cared then if he contracted the disease. He hadn't cared at all, but he had lived. Since then, he hadn't fallen in love again. He had given his passion to his land; his loyalty had been to his family and, once the war came, to the Confederacy.
He didn't remember much about love…
But no man lived long without desire. He was used to that. So it was strange to discover with what depth and fervor he desired Shannon.
The brat. His foremost enemy. The ardent, fanatical Unionist. The bane of his every trip to the ranch. Shannon…
'Hey!' came a sudden, loud shout. 'Did you hear that?'
Malachi turned around, looking over the rock toward the camp. The guards by the horses were moving. Half the men had begun to settle down for the evening.
Now they were waking up.
Bear strode toward the guards. 'What? What is it? I don't hear anything.'
'There's something there. Something out in the bushes.'
They had seen him. They had heard him, Malachi thought.
But they hadn't. The guard was pointing in the other direction.
'You scared of a bobcat or a weasel?' Bear sneered.
'It weren't no weasel!' the guard protested.
Bear paused, then shrugged. He looked at two of the men. 'You, Wills, and you, Hartman, go take a look
