“I’ll be riding out. Thank you for the company, Sarah.”
“It was a pleasure.”
As they stepped outside, Carlson replaced his hat. “I hope you’ll let me call again.”
“Of course.” Sarah was forced to snatch up the dog when he came toward her guest, snarling and snapping. “Goodbye, Samuel.”
She waited until he’d started out before she put the puppy down and walked over to Lucius.
“Lucius.” She leaned over, to speak to him as he unhitched the horses. “You were quite rude just now.”
“If you say so, miss.”
“Well, I do.” Frustrated, she ducked under the horses to join him. “Mr. Carlson was considerate enough to drive me back from town. You looked at him as though you wanted to shoot him in the head.” “Maybe.”
“For heaven’s sake. Why?”
“Some snakes don’t rattle.”
Casting her eyes to the sky, she gave up. Instead, she snatched the bottle of whiskey from the wagon and watched his eyes light up. “If you want this, take off your shirt.”
His mouth dropped as if she’d hit him with a board.
“Beg pardon, ma’am?”
“The pants, too. I want you to strip right down to the skin.”
He groped at his neckcloth. “Mind if I ask why you’d be wanting me to do that, Miss Conway?”
“I’m going to wash your clothes. I’ve tolerated the smell of them-and you-quite long enough. While I’m washing them, you can take that extra cake of soap I bought and do the same with yourself.”
“Now, miss, I-”
“If, and only if, you’re clean, I’ll give you this bottle. You get a pail of water and the soap and go into that shed. Toss your clothes out.”
Not sure he cared for the arrangement, Lucius shifted his feet. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll pour every drop of this into the dirt.”
Lucius laid a hand on his heart as she stamped off. He was mortally afraid she’d do it.
Chapter Seven
Sarah rolled up the sleeves of her oldest shirtwaist, hitched up her serviceable black skirt and went to work.
They’d be better off burned, she thought as she dunked Lucius’s stiff denim pants into the stream. The water turned a mud brown instantly. With a sound of disgust, she dunked them again. It would take some doing to make them even marginally acceptable, but she was determined.
Cleanliness was next to godliness.
That had been one of the proverbs cross-stitched on Mother Superior’s office wall. Well, she was going to get Lucius as close to God as was humanly possible. Whether he liked it or not.
Leaving the pants to soak, she picked up his faded blue shirt by the tips of her fingers. Deplorable, she decided as she dampened and scrubbed and soaked. Absolutely deplorable. She doubted the clothes had seen clean water in a year. Which meant Lucius’s skin had been just as much in need of washing. She’d soon fix that.
She began to smile as she worked. The expression on his face when she’d threatened to empty out the whiskey had been something to see. Poor Lucius. He might look tough and crusty, but underneath he was just a sweet, misguided man who needed a woman to show him the way.
Most men did. At least that was what Lucilla had always said. As she beat Lucius’s weathered shirt against the rocks, Sarah wondered what her friend would think of Jake Redman. There was certainly nothing sweet about him, no matter how deep down a woman might dig. Though he could be kind. It baffled her that time and time again he had shown her that streak of good-heartedness. Always briefly, she added, her lips thinning. Always right before he did something inexcusable.
Like kissing the breath out of her. Kissing her until her blood was hot and her mind was empty and she wanted something she didn’t even understand. He’d had no right to do it, and still less to walk away afterward, leaving her trembling and confused.
She should have slapped him. With that thought in mind, Sarah slapped the shirt on the water and gave a satisfied nod at the sound. She should have knocked the arrogance right out of him, and then it should have been she who walked away.
The next time… There would be no next time, she assured herself. If Jake Redman ever touched her again, she’d…she’d…melt like butter, she admitted. Oh, she hated him for making her wish he would touch her again.
When he looked at her, something happened, something frantic, something she’d never experienced before. Her heart beat just a little too fast, and dampness sprang out on the palms of her hands. A look was all that was necessary. His eyes were so dark, so penetrating. When he looked at her it was as if he could see everything she was, or could be, or wanted to be. It was absurd. He was a man who lived by the gun, who took what he wanted without regret or compunction. All her life she’d been taught that the line between right and wrong was clear and wide and wasn’t to be crossed.
To kill was the greatest sin, the most unforgivable. Yet he had killed, and would surely kill again. Knowing it, she couldn’t care for him. But care she did. And want she did. And need.
Her hands were wrist-deep in water when she brought herself back. She had no business even thinking this way. Thinking about him. If she had to think of a man, she’d do better to think of Samuel Carlson. He was well- mannered, polished. He would know the proper way to treat a lady. There would be no wild, groping kisses from a man like him. A woman would be safe, cherished, cared for.
But she wished Jake had offered to drive her home. This was nonsense. Sarah wrung out the shirt and rubbed her nose with the back of her damp hand. She’d had enough nonsense for the time being. She would wash thoughts of Jake away just as she washed the grime and grit and the good Lord knew what from Lucius’s shirt.
She wanted her life to be tidy. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as grand as she’d once imagined, but it would be tidy. Even here. Sitting back on her heels, she looked around. The sun was heading toward the buttes in the west. Slowly, like a big golden ball in a sky the color of Indian paintbrush. The rocks towered, their odd, somewhat mystical shapes rising up and up, some slender as needles, others rough and thick.
There was a light smell of juniper here, and the occasional rustle that didn’t alarm her as it once would have. She watched an eagle soar, its wings spread wide. King of the sky. Below, the stream gurgled, making its lazy way over the rocks.
Why, it was beautiful. She lifted a hand to her throat, surprised to discover that it was aching. She hadn’t seen it before, or hadn’t wanted to. There was a wild, desolate, marvelous beauty here that man hadn’t been able to touch. Or hadn’t dared. If the land was lawless, perhaps it deserved to be.
For the first time since she had arrived, she felt a sense of kinship, of belonging. Of peace. She’d been right to stay, because this was home. Hers. At long last, hers.
When she rose to spread the shirt over a rock, she was smiling. Then she saw the shadow, and she looked up quickly.
There were five of them. Their black hair was loose past their bare shoulders. All but one sat on a horse. It was he who stepped toward her, silent in knee-length moccasins. There was a scar, white and puckered, that ran from his temple, catching the corner of his eye, then curving like a sickle down his cheek. She saw that, and the blade of the knife he carried. Then she began to scream.
Lucius heard the rider coming and strapped his gun-belt on over his long underwear. With soap still lathered all over his face, he stepped out of the shed. Jake pulled up his mount and took a long, lazy look. “Don’t tell me it’s spring already.”
“Damn women.” Lucius spit expertly.
“Ain’t that the truth?” After easing off his horse, Jake tossed the reins over the rail. Lafitte immediately
