Chapter Ten

H ouston stared at the roiling brown river and cursed last night's storm. It lingered on the air, threatening to return, leaving gray clouds hovering low and a strong brisk wind toying with the prairie grasses. If the storm returned, it had the power to make the river impassable for days, leaving Houston's options damn limited as far as he was concerned.

They could wait until the water receded and hope the storm moved on with no others coming to take its place. But they were already behind schedule. As it was now, they wouldn't arrive when Dallas was expecting them. He didn't think Dallas could afford to send his men out on a wild-goose chase, so instead, his brother would be pacing on his bad leg, staring toward the rising sun, and working himself into a slow simmering temper.

Or Houston could haul Amelia and the wagon across the river, and hope the good fortune he'd lost somewhere along the way would catch up with him. Not one thing had delayed him in reaching Fort Worth. Nothing should have delayed him in returning to the ranch.

He prodded Sorrel forward. The horse moved cautiously through the swirling water, but she didn't hesitate. Houston trusted the animal's instincts. If the horse had balked, he wouldn't have pressed her on.

The cold water lapped at Houston's calves. Crossing rivers had never been his favorite part of trailing cattle or moving from one spot to the next.

They reached the middle of the river. The small waves slapped at Sorrel's sides, but the river itself wasn't as deep as Houston had expected it to be. He glanced over his shoulder. Amelia sat in the wagon, worry etched along her delicate features.

Despite the cold water, her concern warmed him. She would soon become his sister by marriage, but he seemed unable to steer his feelings toward brotherly concern. They ran deeper, so much deeper. He pulled the reins to the right, guiding the horse back to the bank from which they'd come.

"What do you think?" Amelia asked as they cleared the water.

"I think it's safe, but I want to take you over on the horse. Then I'll come back for the wagon."

"Why are wooden crosses lining the bank?" she asked.

He glanced toward the crude markers, made from tree limbs. "It's not unusual to lose a man when you're crossing a river, herding cows. Horse gets spooked, cows get spooked. Man goes under, can't swim, the cows stop him from coming back up."

"I suppose, then, that I should be grateful we're not herding cows."

"Yep. Reckon you should be."

She gnawed her bottom lip. "Do you swim?"

"Yep."

Relief quickly flickered in her eyes, trust soon replacing it. Dallas's trust had been heavy enough to bear, hers seemed incredibly heavier.

He positioned his horse and held out his hand, anticipating the warmth of her fingers within his grasp. She slipped elegantly onto the back of the horse and wrapped her arms around him.

"The water's cold," he said as the horse skidded down the bank and splashed into the river.

Releasing a small gasp when the water rose up to their calves, she tightened her hold on him. "How many more rivers do we have to cross?" she asked.

"Not many, but this is the widest and deepest. It would have been better if we'd been able to cross before the storm."

Sorrel momentarily lost her footing. Houston's heart leapt into his throat, nearly suffocating him with the thought of Amelia's falling from her precarious perch behind him, but she clung tenaciously to him while he held fast to the saddle horn, calming the horse with the pressure of his thighs, his sure hand on the reins.

He knew the moment the horse regained her footing. He urged Sorrel forward, breathing an unsteady sigh of relief as the water grew shallow. Sorrel struggled up the muddy tree-lined bank.

Reaching behind him, Houston helped Amelia slide off the horse. He shrugged out of his duster and draped it over her shoulders. "Why don't you see if you can find some dry wood so we can warm up before we head out?"

With concern clearly reflected in her eyes, she rested her hand on his thigh. He would have sworn her touch latched onto his heart.

"Please be careful," she said quietly.

He gave her what he hoped was a smile. He couldn't remember the last time his face had broken into a real smile. The muscles felt tight, unaccustomed to the movement. He hoped he didn't look ridiculous. "Got no choice in the matter. Dallas would have my hide if I left you out here all alone."

She gave him a smile, a beautiful smile that made her green eyes sparkle and chased away the worried frown. The sight of it tightened something in his chest.

He prodded Sorrel back across the river. Once on the other side, he tied a rope to the saddle horn, his intent to lead Sorrel back across the river. He left the other end unsecured, simply threading it through his fingers along with the reins. He didn't want the horse tethered to the wagon if something should happen. Every now and then, a strong rush of water had pushed against them as they'd crossed back over.

His more practical side told him to wait … but the side that housed his heart urged him to take the wagon across and get Amelia to the ranch as soon as possible.

He looked across the river. She stood on the far bank, watching him, not gathering wood as he'd told her. For some reason he couldn't explain, it alarmed him and warmed him to see her watching, waiting for him.

He indulged himself for a moment and envisioned her standing within the doorway of his cabin, wearing that green dress they'd purchased in Fort Worth, her loose hair brushed to a golden sheen, the scent of fresh-baked bread wafting behind her …

He shook off the image. She'd be standing on Dallas's veranda. Houston Leigh would be nothing more to her than a brother by marriage, which was as it should be. Women like Amelia belonged to men like Dallas. And Dallas had branded her as his long before Houston even knew her name.

With a slap of the reins and a coarse yell, he sent the mules moving slowly toward the river's edge. The wagon teetered as it rolled over the uneven, muddy ground.

Houston whacked the reins over the mules' backsides and yelled louder, urging the animals forward into the rushing water. The four mules moved sluggishly, dragging the wagon slowly across the river. Floating brushwood rushed rapidly downstream, spinning and dipping.

The wagon jerked to a stop. Houston slapped the reins and hollered. The mules strained against the harness, strained against the water. Houston was on the verge of jumping into the water in order to work the wheels free when the wagon lurched forward, a loud crack filled the air, and all hell broke loose.

A mule brayed, and the other mules no longer worked as a team. It flashed through Houston's mind that something—possibly a snake—had spooked them.

Then nothing but panic roared through his mind as the wagon began to lean with the force of the current. He released the rope holding Sorrel and prayed the horse had the good sense to cross to the other side of the river. Then he prayed Amelia would have the good sense to ride the horse west.

A log traveling rapidly with the current rammed into the wagon. The mules screeched. Houston was losing control, losing control of the team, losing control of the wagon. He jumped into the river with the thought of gaining control by grabbing the lead mule, but the current was stronger, the river bottom slicker than he'd anticipated. His foot slid out from under him and he went under.

Amelia watched in horror as Houston disappeared beneath the raging current. When he surfaced, he plowed through the water until he reached the back of the wagon. He wrapped a hand around a wheel, then bent, his other hand disappearing under the water, and she wondered if he thought he could lift the wagon, free it, and push it across the surging water.

Then the wagon groaned and tilted further until it looked as though it might topple onto him. She balled her hands around his duster, silently urging him to leave the wagon, to escape the river. As though he heard her pleas, he began to fight the current. She barely had time to release her breath before she realized he wasn't heading toward shore, that his destination was the mules. Helplessly she watched as he struggled to release the mules. An eternity seemed to pass before one mule began to wander toward the shore where she stood.

Amelia's heart leapt into her throat when she spotted another log traveling quickly with the current. She screamed out a warning at the same moment that one of the remaining mules sidestepped and shoved its shoulder against Houston. Houston stumbled backward. The log rammed into the base of his skull. Once again, the current dragged him down.

Amelia threw off his duster and jumped into the river.

White light exploded in Houston's head before the brown water sucked him under. He heard Amelia's scream, and dear God, help him, he thought he saw her leap into the river.

He forced back the pain, forced back the welcome oblivion, and resurfaced to see her splashing in the water, screaming his name.

With long, swift strokes born of desperation, he swam toward her, fighting the current, fighting the fear. If she lost her footing as he had, she'd go under the murky waters … and find herself surrounded by the darkness that terrified her. No sunlight would filter through the churning river to guide her back to the surface. He wanted her to see another sunrise, to know again the feathery touch of dawn.

As he neared, he could see the fear darkening her eyes. Gaining his footing, he snaked out his arm, wrapping it around her waist and drawing her trembling body against his. The mud sucked at his boots as he hauled her to the bank of the river and collapsed in the mud, her body falling alongside his, her breathing labored, his own chest aching as he fought to draw in air. With the blinding stars dancing across his vision, he rose up on an elbow and glared at the quivering woman lying beside him. Her lips were incredibly blue in a face that was amazingly white. He pressed his wet body over hers, trying to warm her.

She laid her palm against his bristled cheek. "You're safe," she whispered.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he growled, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

"I was going to save you."

He threaded his fingers through her tangled hair. She'd lost her bonnet. She was damn lucky she hadn't lost her life. "You little fool," he rasped in a voice rift with emotion. "You brave little fool."

His mouth swooped down to cover hers. Her cold, quivering lips parted slightly, and he thrust his tongue through the welcome opening like a man desperately searching for treasure.

And treasure he found.

He gentled the kiss because she wasn't a whore whose body he wanted to use to gratify his lust. She was a woman whose warmth he wanted to relish as it seeped through his body, touching his heart as none had before her. He wanted to feel the gentle swell of her curves as they pressed against the hard planes of his body. He wanted—for just one moment—to be young again and innocent. To have no knowledge of betrayal.

Her mouth was warm and sweet, so incredibly sweet. And small, just like the rest of her. She tasted so damn good. He savored her flavor the way a man might enjoy a glass of fine whiskey, leisurely, allowing the whiskey to fill his mouth before releasing the brew, allowing it to burn his throat.

He touched his tongue to hers and heard her small sigh. She scraped her fingers up the side of his face and wove them through his hair. He'd lost his hat as well, and for the first time since he'd been wounded, he welcomed the absence of the shadows.

She smelled of the river, but still he caught the slight scent that was hers and hers alone. He longed to give his mouth the freedom to warm all of her, to kiss every inch of her.

She stopped trembling from the cold, and he could feel the intoxicating warmth as their bodies pressed together. Another tremor passed through her body, a tremor that had nothing to do with the cold. He deepened the kiss, his hands bracketing her face, turning it so he could better the angle and touch her mouth with the intimacy of a long-time lover.

Kiss her as he'd never kissed another. Kiss her as he had no right.

Drawing away, he gazed at her. Her eyes were dark with passion, her lips no longer blue, but red, a deep red, swollen from his kiss.

"I shouldn't have done that," he said in a low voice.

Hurt plunged into the depths of her eyes. Gingerly, he removed his fingers from her tangled hair. "I'll get a fire going."

He struggled to his feet and staggered to the place where she'd left his duster. He snatched it up, returned to her side, and spread it over her as she lay there staring at him. A coldness seeped through his flesh and wrapped around his heart. He went in search of something—anything—with which he could build a fire.

Amelia sat up and slipped into the duster, drawing it tightly around her. It carried his scent of horses and leather.

She touched her fingers to her trembling lips. She had always imagined that Dallas Leigh would be the first to kiss her. But she had never imagined the kiss would be like the one she had just received, would make her feel so warm, so scared, so safe. All the feelings jumbling around inside her made no sense.

She watched as Houston built a fire nearby. She waited until he'd brought the fire to life, just as he'd brought feelings to life within her.

She rose to her feet, walked to the fire, and knelt beside him. "I suppose I shouldn't have kissed you back."

"No, you shouldn't have," he said, tersely, never taking his eyes away from the smolderingfire. "But I figure you were probably just scared and not thinking."

"Were you scared?"

Houston felt his stomach clench. By God, he was terrified, more now than he had been when he'd seen her rushing into the river. That kiss had him shaking clear down to his boots.

He'd expected her to be sweet. He hadn't expected her to be everything he'd ever dreamed of when he was younger and deserved dreams.

Damn Dallas! Damn him to hell for wanting women in addition to cattle, land, and wealth. Damn him for wanting this woman, for earning the right to have her.

Houston shoved himself to his feet. "I need to round up the mules. You stay here and dry off."

His long strides couldn't take him far enough, fast enough. Her flowery scent followed him like a shadow. The lingering taste of her lips taunted him, made him hungry for more. He could still feel the soft swells of her breasts shifting beneath his chest. His fingers ached to hold them, shape them, and caress them with a tenderness he'd never known existed.

He released a shudder as he skidded down the muddy bank. He needed a sporting woman. He'd gone too long without spending himself on a woman. That was the reason he found this journey so damn difficult, the reason he wanted to hold Amelia close. He just needed to purge his longings. Maria would help him. She always did. She would douse all the flames, and in total darkness, he'd take her without passion, without love, without hope. And in the darkness, she couldn't see the ugliness that made him the man he was.

He didn't want Amelia to see the ugliness, either, but she would. Sooner or later, she would.

When night fell, Amelia eased as close to the fire as she dared and wrapped the horse's blanket around herself. The wind came up off the river, damp and frigid. She shuddered.

"Cold?"

She lifted her gaze to the man sitting on the other side of the fire. He'd found the horse and three of the mules. She had a feeling that he'd found the fourth mule as well. She'd heard a gunshot, but he hadn't brought any food back to their small camp. Tomorrow, they would comb the banks of the river to see what they could recover.

"A little," she said, hating the way her teeth clicked together as she spoke. She hadn't been able to regain any warmth since he'd ended the kiss.

Watching him, if she didn't know better, she would have thought he was having an argument with someone. His brow furrowed deeply, his jaw clenched, and with his finger, he drew something in the dirt. Then like a man who had lost the battle, he shoved to his feet and walked around to her side of the fire.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she scrambled to her knees so she could see what he'd written. The light from the flames danced over Dallas's brand.

Houston sat beside her, and she met his gaze. "Why did you draw that?"

"As a reminder that he has a claim on you." He stretched out on the ground and opened his duster. "Come here."

She hesitated, her heart pounding. As an unmarried woman betrothed to his brother, she knew she should suffer through the cold, shouldn't welcome the warmth his body could provide. She closed her hand around the watch, her gift to Dallas that was still hidden in her pocket, and lay next to Houston.

He wrapped his duster and one arm around her, crooking his other arm. "Here, use my arm as a pillow," he said quietly.

She scooted back, nestling her backside against his stomach and laying her head on his arm.

"Better?" he asked.

"Warmer." She studied his curled hand, the long tanned fingers. She knew the strength those fingers held, had felt it this afternoon as he'd braced her face and lowered his mouth to hers. The pads and palms of his fingers were callused, and she resisted the urge to place her hand over his, to press palm to palm, fingertip to fingertip.

"What will we do tomorrow?" she asked.

"See what we can salvage. Use the mules as pack animals."

"I guess we should have waited to cross the river."

"Yeah."

She heard his sigh more than his word. "Why didn't we?"

Silence fell heavy between them. Amelia rolled over within his arms and felt him stiffen. "Why didn't we wait?"

"Because we'd already lost too much time," he stated flatly.

"Why did you kiss me?"

"Because I'm a fool."

She touched her fingers to his lips. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand back.

"Don't do that," he said gruffly.

"We shouldn't have crossed the river. You shouldn't have kissed me. Yet, you did both. Why?"

"Because it's been too damn long since I've been with a woman. Don't read any feelings into what happened this afternoon. I'm a man and I've got needs. Needs any woman would fill. Right now, you're the only woman within two hundred miles."

"So it's not me specifically. It's only because I'm a woman."

"That's right," he said curtly.

"And why did I kiss you back?"

"I reckon women have needs, too."

"And any man would do? That makes me no better than a whore."

He released her wrist. "That's not what I meant."

"I know," she said softly. "You think it's the circumstances and not the people that made us turn to each other this afternoon."

"That's right. You won't be turning to me once we get to the ranch. Once you're with Dallas. Now go to sleep."

She rolled over, giving him her back. She watched the flames in the low fire flicker, just as her thoughts flickered. Was he right? Had she kissed him just because he was there? Because she'd been terrified? "Houston?"

She had been quiet for so long that Houston had been certain she'd fallen asleep. He'd never before heard his name come from her lips as anything but a scream. His heart tightened, and he fought against pulling her closer. "What?"

"What sort of man is Dallas?"

A better man than me. He swallowed, searching for the words that would do his brother justice, true words that would ease her doubts. "He's the kind of man who casts a long shadow … a shadow that reaches out to touch everyone and everything. Years from now, people who never knew him will remember him."

She rolled over, pressing her face against his shoulder. "And my shadow will be short. I worry that the man I imagined in the letters doesn't really exist. He seems almost perfect."

"All I can tell you is that I couldn't ask for a finer brother, and I don't imagine you could ask for a finer husband."

"What if he's disappointed when he meets me?"

Tenderness filled him at her insecurity. "He won't be disappointed. I can give you my word on that." Reaching over her, he tucked his duster around her. "Now you'd best get to sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be another long day."

"I'm so grateful you were with me today," she said quietly as she closed her eyes.

Houston couldn't remember if anyone had ever before been grateful for his presence. His mother, he supposed. Certainly not his father.

Unlike Dallas, Houston had never measured up to his father's expectations. He had never been strong enough, smart enough, or fast enough.

"Swear to God, I ought to dress you in girl's clothing!" his father had bellowed the day he had discovered Houston holding a rag doll in the mercantile.

The doll had looked so lonely sprawled over the counter, where a little girl had left her while she browsed the assortment of candies. And so soft. He'd just wanted to see if she was as soft as she looked.

She had been. Her embroidered face had carried a permanent smile, a smile that had made Houston grin crookedly at her.

He realized now that the smile more than the doll had probably set his father off. Or maybe it had been both. Either way, his actions hadn't been of a manly nature. When they'd returned home, his father had taken a switch to Houston's backside. A switch he'd made Houston find.

When the punishment ended, Houston had pulled his trousers up with as much dignity as he could muster. When he had turned, and his father had seen the silent tears coursing down his cheeks, he'd struck Houston's face. The switch had cut into his tender young flesh, leaving a scar that ran the length of his cheek.

He'd hated the scar, often wished it was gone. His mother had warned him to be wary of what he wished for.

When he was fifteen, his wish had come true. Yankee artillery fire had blown the scar off his face, leaving a place for thicker scars to form. He hadn't made a wish since.

But he found himself wishing now. Wishing that the arm holding Amelia hadn't grown as numb as the left side of his face. He could no longer feel the warmth of her body, the sureness of her weight. His one chance to hold a decent woman within his arms through the night, and his arm had fallen asleep.

He thought about adjusting his position, but he didn't want to wake her. His free hand hovered over her face, and like a moonbeam kissing the waters of a lake, he brushed her hair away from her cheek. So soft. So incredibly soft. Like the rag doll he'd held so long ago.

Only she wasn't a doll. She was a woman, flesh and blood, a woman whom Dallas had entrusted into his keeping.

A woman with eyes the green of clover, hair the shade of an autumn moon.

And courage as boundless as the West Texas plains.