"Why were you chasing me?"
"Because I was afraid you were going to get yourself in trouble."
"What were you afraid of? I thought you'd decided I wasn't worth the effort."
"I hadn't made any decisions yet. You are a girl, and you are a fool. You didn't give Moreau's men a chance to get far enough away. I didn't save you this morning for a gang rape this afternoon."
"Well, Mr. Slater, I wouldn't have been an annoying little virgin then, would I?"
Kristin was stunned when his palm connected with her cheek. Tears stung her eyes, though she wasn't really hurt. She hadn't expected his anger, and she hadn't imagined that she could humiliate herself this way again.
"Get off me!" she demanded.
"I don't want to hear it again, Kristin. Do you understand me?" He stood and reached down to help her up. She ignored his outstretched hand, determined to rise unaided, but he wouldn't even allow her to do that. He caught her arms and pulled her up. She hated him at that moment. She hated him because she needed him. And she hated him because this heat filled her at his touch, and this curious longing grew within her. She was fascinated by the scent of him, amazed by her desire to touch his face, to feel the softness of his beard…
To experience the sweeping wonder of his kiss once again.
She jerked free, and the leaves crackled under her feet as she whistled for Debutante. He followed behind her, dusting his hat off on the skirt of his coat.
"Kristin…"
She spun around. "You know, I've been wondering where you come from. You certainly aren't any Southern gentleman."
"No?" he queried. They stared at one another for a moment. Then his lips began to curl into a rueful smile. "I'm sincerely beginning to doubt that you're a Southern lady — or any kind of a lady, for that matter."
She smiled icily. She could manage it when he wasn't touching her. Then she turned away from him, squared her shoulders and walked toward her waiting mare.
"Sorry. I haven't had much time lately for the little niceties of life."
When she reached Debutante, he was there beside her. She didn't want his help, but he was determined to give it anyway. He lifted her onto the mare's back and grinned up at her.
"I may have to accept your generous offer."
"My generous offer?"
"Yes." His eyes suddenly seemed dazzling. Smoke and silver. His smile lent youth and humor to his features. He laughed. "I may have to bed you yet. To save you from yourself."
She wanted to say something. She wanted to say that her offer was no longer valid, that she would rather go to bed with Zeke and every single one of his raiders than spend a single night with him, but the words wouldn't come. They weren't true. And it didn't matter, anyway, because he had already turned away. He picked up the reins of his big black horse and leaped upon the animal's back with the agility of long practice.
Kristin started out of the forest, heading for the house. She didn't look back. She rode ahead all the way. He rode behind her, in silence.
By the time they reached the house she was trembling again. She didn't want to see him, she didn't want to talk to him. The whole thing had been a deadly mistake. He needed to get his night's sleep and head out in the morning.
She didn't even know who the man was! she reminded herself in dismay.
When they had dismounted she spoke at last, but without looking at him. "The hands eat out in the bunkhouse at about six. Sleep well, and again, thank you for rescuing us all. I really am eternally grateful."
"Kristin —"
She ignored him and walked Debutante toward the stables. Her heart began to pound, because she imagined that he would follow her. He did not.
She didn't rub Debutante down as she should have. She led the mare into the stall and removed her bit. In a worse turmoil than she had been in when she had left, she walked to the house.
Cole Slater was no longer in the yard. Kristin walked into the house. It was silent, and the drapes were drawn against the afternoon sun. Kristin bit her lip, wondering what to do. Depression suddenly weighed heavily upon her. It (was all lost. She would have to leave, and she would have to be grateful that they were alive and accept the fact that nothing else of their life here could be salvaged.
She wasn't sure it mattered. They had already lost so much. Pa. Adam. Her world had been turned upside down. She would have done anything to save it. Anything. But anything just wouldn't be enough.
With a soft sigh, she started up the stairway. At the top of the stairs, she paused, her heart beating hard once again.
There was someone there, on the second floor with her.
There was someone in her parents' bedroom.
She tried to tell herself it was Delilah, or Shannon, but then she heard Delilah calling to Shannon below and heard Shannon's cheerful answer.
"Oh, God," she murmured, her hand traveling to her throat.
Something inside of her went a little berserk. She couldn't bear it if Zeke or one of his cronies had managed to enter that room. Her father's room, a place he had cherished, a place where all his dreams remained alive.
She ran toward the doorway. If Zeke had been in the room, she might have managed to kill him with her bare hands.
But it wasn't Zeke. It was Cole Slater. He had his blanket laid out on the comforter, and he was taking things from it. He looked up at her in surprise as she stared at him from the doorway. He frowned when he noticed the way her breasts heaved and noticed the pulse beating hard at the base of her throat. He strode to her quickly.
"Kristin, what happened?"
She shook her head, unable to speak at first.
"I — I didn't expect you. I mean, I didn't expect you to be here," she said.
He shrugged and walked back into the room, taking a shirt from the blanket and striding toward her father's armoire. "I didn't intend to be here. Delilah insisted there was plenty of room inside the house." He paused and turned back to her. "Is there something wrong with that? Do you want me out of here?"
She shook her head and had to swallow before she could speak again. "No… uh, no. It's fine." He was going to come toward her again. Quickly, before he could come close enough to touch her, Kristin turned and fled to the sanctuary of her own room.
She didn't know what seized her that afternoon. She didn't dare sit and think, and she certainly couldn't allow herself to analyze.
She went out in the early evening to speak with the hands. There was Jacob, who was nearly seventy, and his grandsons, Josh and Trin, who were even younger than she was. Their father had been killed at Manassas at the beginning of the war. And there was Pete, who was older than Jacob, though he wouldn't admit it. That was all she had left — two old men and two young boys. Yet they had survived so far. Somehow they had survived so far.
Cattle were missing again. Kristin just shrugged at the news. Zeke's boys had been through. They had simply taken what they wanted.
Pete wagged a finger at her. "We heard what happened, missy. I think it's time you got out of here."
She ruffled his thin gray hair. "And what about you, Pete?"
"I've gotten along this far. I'll get along the rest of my days."
She smiled at him. "We'll see."
"Hear tell you've got a man named Slater up at the house."
Kristin frowned. "Yes. Why? You know him, Pete?"
Pete looked down at the wood he was whittling, shaking his head. "Can't say that I do."
She thought the old man was lying to her, and she couldn't understand it. He was as loyal as the day was long.
"You just said his name. Slater."
"Yeah, I heard it. From someone. Just like I heard tell that he managed to get rid of the whole lot of the thieving gutter rats." He looked up, wagging his knife at her. "You can't beat the likes of Zeke Moreau, Kristin. He doesn't have a breath of mercy or justice in him." He spat on the floor. "None of them do, not the jayhawkers, not the bushwhackers. It's time to get out."