wind, scattered in all directions. She couldn’t think straight. Who was this man? Who was she? What wondrous place had he brought her to? What miracle was he working in her body? But even as her mind toyed with illusion, reality tried to reassert itself. Time became her enemy. She wanted it to stand still. She wanted them to remain forever as they now were. Gavin’s mouth released hers, yet hovered close, so very close.
“It’s not right.” His voice was low, hoarse. His breath was warm upon her. She forced the quiver from her voice, speaking louder than was necessary in hope that it would give her words conviction and strength.
“We’ll forget this ever happened.” But she knew, even as did he, that they could not forget. He’d said the same thing moments before—or was it hours before?—but only now did she truly understand what he meant.
“I’ve never wanted any woman the way I want you.” There was something almost frightening in the resonance of his whispered confession, a depth of emotion she felt incapable of accepting and unwilling to deal with. From what well of strength did she summon the courage to free herself from his embrace? Perhaps she would never know. She dragged in a quick gasp of air as she stepped away from him, her hands pushing against the wall of his chest.
“You must go.”
“Rachel …”
“Go now!” she cried, knowing that soon there would be no stopping the tide that carried them into perilous waters. For a breathless moment, she thought he would refuse. Then she saw him take his own step backward.
Chapter Seventeen
Rachel’s fingers fumbled nervously with the buttons of her bodice. Her stomach was tied in knots, and a sleepless night had left her without energy. Yet she knew she couldn’t delay going to the main house any longer. She couldn’t expect Dru to prepare the family’s breakfast The woman had been exhausted by yesterday’s outing. She glanced quickly at her reflection in the small mirror atop the bureau. There were gray shadows beneath her blue eyes, and her face looked as white as a sheet. She pinched her cheeks several times between her forefingers and thumbs, trying to revive a hint of color. She couldn’t risk Dru thinking she was ill—or worse, suspecting that something had happened the night before. Her stomach tightened with a jolt as the memory of Gavin’s kisses flooded over her, around her, through her. It had been like this throughout the night, his specter invading the cabin time and again. Relentless. Persistent.
“No more,” she pleaded softly.
“No more.” Before she could turn coward and return to her bed, she pulled her fur-lined cloak from the peg by the door and threw it over her shoulders. It never happened. It never happened. Oh, Maggie, I wish you were here. You could tell me what to do. It never happened. It never happened. Gavin … Oh, Gavin. She jerked open the cabin door, and with head bent forward beneath the warm hood of her cloak, she hurried toward the main house. Just as her hand touched the doorknob, she heard the clatter of hooves and turned to see Gavin riding his black gelding out of the barn. He never looked toward the house, never saw her standing there, would never know how she longed for just one glimpse of his steel-gray eyes. It was just as well. It would have been her undoing. She twisted the knob and entered the house.
“Look what you did!” Sabrina’s shrill cry brought Rachel up short. With a quick glance, she assessed that the disaster wasn’t as dire as the girl’s voice had indicated. But by the time Rachel closed the door and rid herself of her cloak, Petula was already in tears as she stood in the middle of the egg-splattered floor, broken eggshells surrounding her feet.
“Don’t cry, Pet. It’s not so terrible,” Rachel said as she hurried forward.
“But it is, Miss Harris,” Sabrina insisted.
“Those were all the eggs. We’ve been out and collected them and there won’t be any more until tomorrow. And Ma said she’d like an egg for breakfast. She hardly ever eats any more, but she wanted something this morning, and now Pet’s ruined Ma’s breakfast.” The younger girl’s sobs increased.
“I .. . I ….. didn’t mean … mean to.” Rachel pushed tangled brown hair away from the child’s face as she knelt beside her, unmindful of the hem of her dress mixing with the gooey mess on the floor. She kissed Petula’s cheek.
“Hush, now. Shhh. Your mother will understand. We’ll make her a grand breakfast, something she’ll like much better than eggs.”
“Wh .. ….. what?” Petula sniffed then rubbed her sleeve beneath her nose. - “why don’t I go ask her?”
“But then she’ll know what Pet did,” Sabrina interrupted in the same high-handed tone. Rachel turned her head, casting a meaningful glance toward the older girl.
“Do you think your mother wouldn’t understand about a little accident?” Sabrina bowed her head.
“No,” she mumbled.
“No,” Rachel repeated.
“Of course not. Now, help Pet clean this up, and I’ll go see what we can tempt your mother’s appetite with.” The set of Sabrina’s shoulders was still slightly mutinous, but she nodded her head as Rachel rose from the floor.
“Miss… Miss Harris?” Petula stuttered, still trying to control her tears.
“I… I ruined your dress too. Look.” She pointed at the egg stains on Rachel’s skirt. It was one of her favorite day dresses, a pale blue wool, and it did, indeed, look ruined. But Rachel managed to conceal her dismay as she calmly reached for a cloth lying on the dry sink and wiped away what she could.
“It’ll wash,” she told Petula, her voice light.
“It’s not important.” And she knew as she spoke the words that they were true. Petula’s feelings were far more important than any dress. For the few minutes it had taken to deal with Petula’s crisis, Rachel had forgotten her own problems, but as soon as she reached the door to Dru’s bedroom, they came rushing back. Dru was more than an employer. She was Rachel’s friend. She was sick and dying, and Rachel had come
so close to betraying her. How could she face her? She leveled her shoulders, drew a deep breath, and pushed open the door.
“Dru?” The room was shrouded in shadows.
“Is everything all right out there?” Dru’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Yes.” Rachel crossed the room with measured steps.
“Just a little tiff between sisters. I’ve seen it before with my nieces and nephews.” She stopped beside the bed.
“I’m afraid there won’t be any eggs for breakfast.”
“It’s not important,” Dru replied with a shallow sigh.
“I doubt I could have eaten it anyway.” Rachel’s eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the room by this time, and she stared down at the woman in the bed. It seemed to Rachel that Dru had withered away overnight.
“Dru, please. You must try to eat something.” She leaned forward, touching the papery skin of Dru’s arm.
“Perhaps later. What I’d like is for you to sit with me a while. Would you do that for me, Rachel?” A shiver of fear raced down her back.
“If you’d like.” She reached for the chair against the wall.
“Wait.” Dru’s voice seemed even weaker.
“Help the girls with their breakfast first. Then come back. I’ll just close my eyes and rest for a while. I’m so terribly tired today.” He was a coward and he knew it. Gavin reminded himself of that fact numerous times as he rode Scamp across the acres of grassland that made up the Lucky Strike. There was little a cattleman could do in the winter except pray and hope that the blizzards and freezing temperatures didn’t last too long, that the calves didn’t drop too soon, that the wolves and coyotes didn’t strike too often. There wasn’t anything he could accomplish by spending the day in the saddle, chilled to the bone by the icy November winds. But he was a coward and he knew it. He couldn’t face Dru this morning, not while Rachel’s image was still burned into his brain, not while he longed to taste her lips, feel her soft flesh beneath his hands; not while desire to possess her raged in his body. He jerked back on the reins, bringing the gelding to a sliding stop. He pushed his hat back on his head and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. What sort of spell had that blonde witch cast over him? Never once in his thirty-three years had he been so obsessed with a woman. He’d known his share and found out he could get along well enough without them in his life, at least any particular one for any particular length of time. When he’d felt the need of a woman, he’d found the saloon girls in any town were sufficient. He could spend a few hours with them, finding release within the soft warmth of their bodies, then forget them. Perhaps that was what he needed now. Perhaps he needed to head up to Bonanza City or Custer, somewhere far enough away that Dru—and Rachel—would never hear of it. For a few dollars and a little time, he could rid himself of this obsession. He’d been abstinent too long. But even as he thought it, he knew it was useless. He knew he would return still wanting Rachel Harris. And not just her body. He wanted to sit with her while she read to the children. He wanted to watch her brushing her hair by candlelight. He wanted to race with her through another mountain meadow, hear her laughter as she tripped over Joker’s clumsy feet. He wanted her completely, totally, absolutely, unconditionally. And with all he was, all he’d ever believed, he knew it was wrong to want her. As long as he had a wife, it was wrong. He dug his spurs into Scamp’s black sides and sent the horse hurtling forward at a mad pace, afraid to think any longer, afraid of where his thoughts were leading him. After preparing the children’s breakfast, Rachel went to her cabin and quickly changed out of her soiled gown. Upon her return to the main house, she found Dru fast asleep. Knowing that Dru always read to the children from the Bible on Sunday mornings, Rachel sat down with them near the fireplace and read several parables from the Gospel of John. More than once she paused in her reading, feeling a terrible hypocrisy. Thou shalt not covet. Could God ever forgive her the rebellion of her heart? Rachel returned to Dru’s bedroom throughout the morning, but every time, she found the woman sleeping. She couldn’t bring herself to wake her, not when she could see so clearly the fatigue written on her face. Several times, she stepped outside, her gaze sweeping over the valleys and mountains, never admitting to herself what she was watching for. Once, she saw Stubs come out of the bunkhouse, his coat collar pulled up against the cold. He raised a hand and waved to her before entering the barn. She shivered as a lonely wind whistled through the trees, then turned and went back inside. It was shortly after noon that a knock sounded on the door. The girls were in their bedroom, involved in cutting out scraps of cloth for doll dresses, so Rachel went to answer the door herself, certain that it was Stubs. When she pulled the door open, she was surprised to find Patrick O’Donnell’s giant frame filling up the opening.