Sleep had almost won over when Wes heard the door open and close softly. He didn’t bother to open his eyes as Allie lifted her side of the covers and slid beneath the quilts.
‘‘Are you asleep?’’ she whispered.
‘‘No.’’ He didn’t move. Just the sound of her voice made him very much awake.
She waited several breaths before asking, ‘‘Is now the right time to kiss?’’
He thought for a moment. It seemed like a decade ago that they’d kissed in the cafe. Could it really have been only this morning?
‘‘So, you’re interested in kissing?’’
‘‘If you’re not too tired.’’ She moved closer. ‘‘No one would be watching us.’’
Wes extended his arms, and she rolled against his side with covers bunched between them. He waited as she wiggled into place, moving her hair above his arm, finding just the right spot for her head on his shoulder.
He leaned slightly toward her and brushed her wild hair from her face. Even in the shadows, he could see her beauty. Featherlight, he touched his lips to hers.
‘‘Again,’’ she whispered.
He laughed against her hair, loving the way it smelled like rainwater tonight. When his lips lowered again, the kiss was deeper, drawing her response.
He pulled away. ‘‘Again?’’
Her face was calm, as though she were ordering dinner and not making his heart pound double-time.
‘‘Yes. I would like another.’’
He didn’t move. ‘‘First, pull the covers away from between us.’’
Rocking slightly, she tugged the covers and rolled back against his bare skin. The thin material she wore did nothing to bar the warmth of her body from his.
Wes felt like he was being tortured in paradise. ‘‘Closer,’’ he asked against her hair. ‘‘Move closer, Allie. You feel so good.’’
She followed his order, pressing against him.
He rewarded her with another kiss. If his mind could have worked at the moment, he would have wondered at this strange creature who thought a kiss was so wonderful. But he couldn’t think, all he could do was feel. He was drowning in a pool of pleasure and making no effort to swim to the surface.
The kiss deepened as he parted her lips and tasted her. His hand moved slowly along her back, stroking her gently, treasuring her. As the strokes grew stronger, she molded like liquid fire against him.
The feel of her enchanted him. Her nearness made him believe there was more than hardness and struggle in life. With just a kiss, she took him to where no other woman ever had… to a place of peace.
Finally, when he broke the kiss, she rolled onto her back and let out a long sigh. ‘‘Thank you,’’ she whispered, as though he’d given her a gift.
Wes raised to one elbow and watched her. He felt like a youth in his first encounter with love. He had no idea what to do. What she’d let him do. He was looking at a banquet of pleasures with a teaspoon in his hand. If he moved too fast, if he took too much for granted, she’d run. He could feel it.
‘‘Talk to me, Allie.’’ He gently placed his hand on her abdomen. Her slow breathing didn’t quicken with his touch. Her calmness brought him great pleasure.
She didn’t answer.
‘‘Talk to me. I need to know what you’re feeling.’’ Wes almost laughed aloud. He’d never said such words to a woman. Most of the time he’d only been interested inhowthey felt, notwhatthey felt. But Allie was different. She was like fine china. The wrong move might shatter her.
‘‘I like you to kiss me,’’ she said with her eyes closed.
‘‘I didn’t think I’d like it so much, but I do.’’
‘‘And?’’ He spread his fingers across her stomach. The perfection of her so near was intoxicating.
‘‘You don’t frighten me as other men have.’’ She opened her eyes. ‘‘You’ve never harmed me. With you, I no longer wait for a blow to strike.’’
Wes didn’t want to know. He never wanted to know. He knew he’d hate hearing it. But he had to ask. She had to tell him. ‘‘Allie, how have you been hurt?’’
The soft glow of peace faded from her eyes. He felt her breathing quicken beneath his hand. He could see terror jolt through her… pain too great to put into words.
‘‘Allie, tell me,’’ he said. ‘‘It was more than beatings, wasn’t it?’’
She clamped her mouth tightly closed, but couldn’t seal away the hurt in her eyes. Her whole body had gone cold, as if what she’d endured had killed something deep inside her.
He touched her hair, stroking it lightly. ‘‘It’s all right,’’ he whispered, wishing he hadn’t asked. ‘‘You don’t have to say anything.’’
But panic still flickered in her eyes. In one swift movement, she slid out of the bed and ran from the room.
Wes wasn’t sure if she was running from the nightmare she’d seen or from him. He lay on his back and swore to the ceiling. Without a word, she’d told him all she needed to. She’d suffered what polite ladies call ‘‘a fate worse than death.’’
He’d once heard his mother say that, if a man ever forced himself on her, she’d kill herself rather than live with the shame. But Wes saw no shame in Allie’s stare, only fear. How many times had she been attacked and used until now the mere thought brought panic?
His mind filled with visions he didn’t want to see. He’d seen all the horror he could handle in war; he didn’t want to view more. But the visions of Allie kept coming. Wes felt a ball of hate knot in his stomach. He wished he’d killed the preacher and the cripple who drove the wagon with the cage. And every man who’d looked at her and thought her less than a woman. How many days had they made her life a hell?
Slowly, he calmed. Allie had survived. No matter what happened, she’d survived. And there had been enough of her spirit left to reach out and take a chance with him.
‘‘Allie,’’ he said, knowing he was alone. ‘‘Thank God you survived.’’
She sat in the corner by the fireplace where the brick connected with the wall. The sheriff rested quietly, his bleeding lessened with each bandaging. Owen, the station manager, had stumbled off to his room in the back. Jason slept soundly on a kitchen pew. The room was almost as quiet as her cave.
Tucking her knees beneath her chin, Allie watched the way the firelight danced on the walls of the room. She didn’t want to think about her life before Wes. The nightmares would come back. He had no idea how hard she’d fought to forget what he asked her to remember. She could never tell him of the horror in the nights when her door was unlocked, and she’d fight until she couldn’t fight anymore. She couldn’t even tell him of how the wagon driver used to hold her and let men grab at her breasts as if they could pull the tender flesh off in their rough hands. She could tell Wes nothing. She knew she never would. The name she’d been called drifted across her mind…throwaway woman.Wes was the only one who thought she had some value. If she told him, he’d think less of her.
There would be no sleep tonight, she promised. The sheriff’s moaning would keep her awake and Jason, even asleep, somehow guarded her from evil. She would stay awake and not let the nightmares bother her. Then, with dawn, she’d start trying to forget all over again.
Allie didn’t look up when she heard Wes come downstairs. The shadow of a man draped in a quilt moved across the dancing firelight along the far wall. She could hear him lifting his saddlebags and guessed he was getting fresh clothes.
Staring at the floor, Allie thought of her home in the cave. This house was larger and warmer, but a place like this would never be home.
A blanket slipped gently around her shoulders. She looked up into Wes’s warm brown eyes now dancing with firelight.
‘‘I thought you might be cold.’’ He’d put on his extra pair of trousers and a dry undershirt.
‘‘I’m fine.’’ She rested her chin back on her knee.
He knelt in front of her and smiled as he pulled the blanket tight over her shoulders, cocooning her in its warmth. ‘‘I was thinking.’’ He picked his words slowly. ‘‘You may very well be the bravest woman I know.’’
Without commenting on what he was doing, he lifted her, blanket and all, into his arms. ‘‘I had a colonel once who said the hardest part of being brave is staying alive. Any fool can get himself killed. But a brave man, a true warrior, is the one who can stay alive, no matter what.’’
He started up the stairs with her in his arms. ‘‘What happened to you isn’t as important as the fact that you
