CAROLINE AND THE RAIDER Page 21

  “W-what did you do then?” Personally, Caroline didn’t want to hear any more of the tragic story, but she sensed that Guthrie needed to finish telling it, now that he’d started.

  “The first thing I did was bury Annie,” he said. “It took hours to dig a grave—the ground was frozen solid—but I was so crazy with grief that I must have had the strength of several men. Once I’d said good-bye to her, I left with just my rifle, the clothes on my back, and Annie’s picture. Then I tracked Pedlow down.”

  Caroline felt a chill, even though the May afternoon was warm and sunny. “Where did you find him?”

  “He was in Abilene, drinking the saloons dry. He wore a lock of Annie’s hair under his hatband, and he laughed when I kicked over the table he was sitting behind and told him to go for his gun.

  “He said he’d settled his score with me, and he wasn’t about to get himself shot.”

  Guthrie rode in silence for a few minutes, and Caroline said nothing, respecting his need to gather his thoughts. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to try to put such a horrendous experience into perspective.

  Finally, he went on. “I put the barrel of my rifle to Pediow’s—in his lap and told him he didn’t have a choice. He was scared all right, but probably not as scared as Annie was when he forced himself on her, and I wanted him to sweat.”

  At last, Guthrie’s eyes met Caroline’s, and she saw the shadows of the torment he’d endured.

  Again, she waited, wishing there were some way to lighten Guthrie’s burden. In the end, though, all she could do was listen.

  “For the next five weeks, I followed Pedlow everywhere he went—a whore’s room, the outhouse, it didn’t matter to me where he was. I was there. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore and he broke and drew on me. I emptied my rifle into him.”

  Caroline closed her eyes against the images that had been flipping through her mind ever since Guthrie started talking. “Dear God,” she breathed. “Did they arrest you?”

  Guthrie scratched the back of his neck. “Let’s just say I’m not particularly welcome in that part of Nebraska anymore.”

  She swallowed. “What made the sergeant hate you so much? And why did he attack Annie, instead of you?”

  “Pedlow hated every Reb. Back in the prison camp, he branded men just like they were animals. I suppose he took a particular dislike to me because I engineered an escape, and he probably caught hell for that from his superior officers. As for what he did to Annie, well, Pedlow was no genius, but he was smart enough to know that nothing he could do to me would hurt as much as knowing he’d made my wife suffer. From now ‘til my dying day, I’ll never forget for more than an hour that I wasn’t there when Annie needed me.”

  Caroline gulped a few times, in an effort not to throw up. Although the war had been over for more than a decade, she still could hardly bear to think of the terrible misery it had wrought on both sides. “You said he—he branded people. Surely Union officers didn’t permit such brutality.”

  “Most of them wouldn’t have,” Guthrie admitted grimly. “But the Yanks needed their best men in the field, just like we did. I don’t guess they had time to stand around making sure people like Pedlow were kind to the prisoners.”

  Guthrie reined in his horse at the top of a ridge. Below in a gully was a cluster of ramshackle buildings and rickety fences.

  “What’s that?” Caroline asked, frowning.

  “It’s a way station for the stage line,” Guthrie answered, in a tone of indulgence. “We’ll spend the night there.”

  The thought of sleeping in a real bed and eating something that hadn’t been rolling around in the bottom of Guthrie’s saddlebags buoyed Caroline’s flagging spirits. “What will we tell them? About us, I mean?”

  “As little as possible,” Guthrie answered wryly, spurring his horse toward a trail that led down off the ridge. Tob raced ahead, barking like a fool and scattering a flock of squawking chickens in every direction.

  A heavy woman came out of one of the buildings, even more upset than the chickens, waving her apron and yelling. Poor Tob skulked back toward Guthrie and Caroline, whimpering.

  The woman smiled and smoothed her calico skirts when she saw company coming. “You folks in need of a place to put up for the night?” she asked cordially.

  Caroline looked to Guthrie to answer, her cheeks flushed.

  He grinned at their hostess in his charming, off-kilter way and touched the brim of his seedy hat. To look at him, Caroline reflected, anybody would have thought he was an outlaw. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “We’ll need a room if you have one. And the use of a bathtub, too.”

  A toothy smile was the woman’s response, and she said, “I’m Callie O’Shea. I run this place, with my husband, Homer.”

  Caroline lowered her eyes and said nothing when Guthrie introduced her as Mrs. Hayes.

  “Your missus is surely a shy one,” Callie boomed to Guthrie, as Homer came out of a barn to take charge of the horses. “I don’t believe she’s said a word yet.”

  Guthrie untied Caroline’s valise from the back of her saddle and winked once at his ‘missus.’ “Once she’s had some food and a hot bath, there’ll be no shutting her up,” he said.

  Callie laughed uproariously at that and led them through a crowded kitchen with four big wooden tables lined with benches and then down a dark hallway. “Best room in the house,” she said, pushing open a creaky door. “You’re lucky you got here before the four o’clock stage.”

  Guthrie set Caroline’s valise on the foot of a large four-poster bed covered with a worn but still colorful quilt. “How much?” he asked, hanging his hat on one of the bedposts.

  “Two bits,” Callie answered, looking curiously at Caroline’s trousers and shirt, as if she’d just noticed them. “Four bits if you each want a bath. You have to go out back for that, by the way. Homer done curtained off a place for bathin’.”

  “We’ll share one,” Guthrie said nonchalantly, and Caroline stared at him. He handed Callie two coins and she went out, promising to start the bathwater heating right away.

  “Suppose I don’t want to share a bath with you, Mr. Hayes?” Caroline inquired pointedly, arms akimbo, when they were alone.

  He shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling off one of his boots. “Then I guess you’ll just have to go without one.”

  Caroline looked at the bed with longing. “It isn’t proper, our sleeping together,” she whispered.

  Guthrie grinned. “Hypocrite,” he said. “I’ve had you in the grass, on a rock, and draped over a tree limb. Seems to me it’s about time we made love in a real bed.”

  Caroline folded her arms. “I want you to take another room. Or sleep in the barn.”

  He reached out suddenly, caught her by the waistband of her trousers, and flung her down onto the mattress beside him. He moved his hand from her waist to the crux of her womanhood, cupping her shamelessly. “Shall I prove to you, right now, that you don’t want that at all?”

  Caroline felt her nipples jutting against the inside of her shirt, and the place Guthrie was holding was growing achy and moist. “No—yes—damn you, I don’t know!”

  Guthrie chuckled and bent to scrape one flannel-covered nipple lightly with his teeth, at the same time opening the buttons on her trousers and putting his hand inside. “You know,” he breathed, “if you are carrying my baby, and we do get married, you’re going to have to work on being more obedient.” His fingers parted Caroline, and she gasped at the resultant shock of pleasure as he thrust them inside her. At the same time, he worked her expertly with his thumb.

  Caroline was writhing helplessly, needing what he was giving her too badly to break away. “Oh, Guthrie—damn you—”

  He chuckled at her predicament and told her to open her shirt. As much as she longed to defy him, she couldn’t; she fumbled with the buttons and bared her breasts.

  For long, torturous moments, Guthrie just admired them, his fin
gers and thumb driving Caroline slowly and rhythmically toward madness. Then he took one pink tip into the warmth and wetness of his mouth and began to suckle.

  Caroline made a low, growling sound in her throat as Guthrie made her ride his hand, first at a trot, then a gallop. She was vaguely aware of a loud clatter, but she didn’t know whether it was the stage arriving or the bed springs creaking, and at the moment she was too desperate to care.

  Guthrie led her into a place of light and fire, covering her mouth with his own to muffle her cries, and for a few moments, she actually thought she’d die of the pleasure. When the dazzling brightness faded and her sated body at last lay still, she realized she was weeping.

  She was emotionally drained, and the many uncertainties of her life encircled her, like wolves just outside the glow of a campfire.

  With a tenderness Caroline had never suspected he possessed, even in his most endearing moments, Guthrie kissed the moisture from her eyes. Then, very gently, he undressed her and put her beneath the covers. “Sleep,” he said.

  Caroline closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the room was dark and there was a fire flickering on the stone hearth. She sat bolt upright. “Guthrie?” There was no answer, though she could hear laughter outside the room. “Guthrie!”

  The door creaked open and his form appeared in the doorway. “It’s all right, Wildcat,” he said gently. “I’m here.”

  She swallowed. “I thought you were gone. I thought you’d left me.”

  He crossed the room and kissed her forehead. “I’m not going to do that, Wildcat. I promise.” He lit the lamp on the bedside table and turned the wick so that it burned brightly. “Are you hungry?”

  Caroline felt foolish for carrying on so, now that she was fully awake. Just moments before, she’d been a child again, riding west on an orphan train and praying for a way to keep her sisters with her. “Yes, as long as we’re not having jerky,” she answered.

  Guthrie chuckled. “Callie made venison pie,” he said.

  Caroline’s mouth watered, but she narrowed her eyes and looked at him suspiciously. “How come you’re being so nice to me, Guthrie Hayes?”

  “Maybe I like you,” he answered, with a shrug. She noticed then that he’d shaved, and his hair and clothes were clean.

  “You took my bath!” she accused.

  He grinned. “Well, in that case, I guess you’d better take mine,” he replied. “I’ll bring the tub in after you’ve had your supper.”

  “I thought Callie said we had to bathe outside.”

  “She’ll make an exception.” With that, Guthrie got up and left the room. When he returned, just minutes later, he was carrying a plate on a rustic wooden tray, along with a glass of milk and utensils.

  Caroline reached eagerly for the tray, being careful to keep the covers over her breasts with one hand. Callie’s pie was hot and succulent, filled with carrots and potatoes and big, savory chunks of meat. “These people must think I’m nothing but a layabout,” Caroline said, after taking the edge off her hunger with a few large bites and several sips of milk.

  Guthrie, seated on the foot of the bed, grinned. “They think you’re a tired woman who’s been on the trail for too long,” he replied.

  Just looking at him, Caroline was filled with a dangerous tenderness. It was frightening, the way he could make her so angry at one moment, and melt her with his smile the next. And then there was the unbelievable passion. “You’ve been very kind,” she told him, her voice wobbling slightly.

  He acknowledged the compliment with an almost imperceptible nod, then rose from the bed. “I’ll see about that bath I promised you,” he said.

  Caroline watched as he left the room, then settled back against her pillows. She’d eaten every scrap of her pie, and drained her milk, and now that she was rested, she felt much better.

  Almost half an hour passed before Guthrie returned carrying the bathtub. Callie was right behind him with two huge buckets of steaming hot water.

  Once Callie had poured the water into the old, scarred wooden tub and left the room, Guthrie built up the fire and sat down on the raised hearth to smoke one of those thin cigars he liked so much.

  Caroline knew it would be a waste of time to ask him to leave, so she got out of bed, draped in the quilt, and made her way regally to the middle of the room. She stepped into the deliciously hot water and sank down, the patchwork coverlet billowing around her.

  Guthrie grinned and shook his head. “Don’t you think it’s a little late to start acting modest?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Caroline said, flushing and lowering her eyes as she remembered the incident before she’d fallen asleep. She let the quilt fall away and nodded toward her valise. “There’s a bar of soap in my bag. Would you get it for me, please?”

  He pondered the question for a few moments, then tossed the cigar into the fire and crossed the room to comply with her request. Instead of just handing her the soap, however, he knelt beside the tub and began to lather her back with it.

  Caroline closed her eyes and enjoyed the utterly luxurious sensation. When Guthrie continued to bathe her, she didn’t protest. She let him lather and rinse every part of her, and then she stood in the warm crimson light of the fire and allowed him to dry her.

  By the time he lifted Caroline and carried her to the bed, resisting him was the furthest thing from her mind. She watched as he put the door latch in place, then turned toward her, unbuttoning his shirt. By the time he crossed the room, he had shed the last of his clothes.

  He laid the covers back and slid in beside Caroline, reaching out to turn down the lamp so that the only light in the room was the romantic glow of the fire. Then he lay on top of her, raising himself on his forearms so that he wouldn’t crush her. With a sigh, he bent his head and kissed her.

  It took so little, where this man was concerned, to ignite all Caroline’s senses. Tearing his mouth from hers, he trailed his lips gently down her body, stopping to nibble at her neck, to taste each of her breasts, to set her satiny belly a-quiver. And then he put Caroline’s legs over his shoulders and she was lost.

  He loved her at a leisurely pace, no matter how she urged and begged, and when he was through making her arch her back and alternately curse and praise him in breathless gasps, he lowered her to the mattress and sheathed himself in her.

  She’d thought she had nothing left to give, but soon she was moving wildly beneath him, her hands roaming over his back and buttocks, her entire body moist with the effort of pursuing something he kept just out of reach. When he gripped Caroline’s bottom and lifted her so that he could delve into her depths, however, her body suddenly buckled in the throes of a savage release.

  Through her own cries, muffled by the palm of Guthrie’s hand, she heard him surrender. When his body stiffened and then shuddered violently, she felt a love so woundingly poignant she was certain her heart was breaking.

  Guthrie collapsed beside her, when he was spent, his head cushioned on her breasts, and she held him, her fingers deep in his rich, soap-scented hair. She wanted to say, “I love you, Guthrie,” but she didn’t dare. She was too afraid of what his response might be.

  Presently, when he’d regained his composure, he took one of her nipples again, and she could feel him growing hard against her thigh. She welcomed him when, minutes later, he entered her a second time.

  Now their coupling was slow, with none of the desperation that had driven them before. Caroline’s climax unfolded in delicious stages, each new height bringing a little moan of surprised pleasure from her lips. Guthrie came long after she’d finished, groaning huskily as she flicked at his earlobe with her tongue.

  Perfectly content, Caroline cuddled close to him and fell asleep. When she woke up again, the fire had gone out, the room was cold, and she was alone.

  Despite Guthrie’s assurances that he wouldn’t leave her, Caroline was alarmed. She climbed hastily back into her trousers and shirt and crept toward the door of the ro
om.

  Chapter

  Even though she moved as quietly as possible, the boards creaked under Caroline’s feet when she made her way down the hallway and peered around the corner into the kitchen.

  Guthrie was sitting at one of the trestle tables, a fan of cards in his hand, one of his thin cigars between his teeth. Two men sat across from him, with their backs to Caroline, carefully studying their cards. Her eyes rose to the clock ticking loudly on the wall behind Guthrie; it was nearly midnight.

  Disgusted, but nonetheless relieved that he hadn’t ridden off and abandoned her, Caroline went back to the room and exchanged her clothes for a nightgown from her valise. Then she stirred the ashes in the fireplace until she uncovered glowing embers. Once she’d added a few pieces of kindling from the neat little stack of wood to one side of the hearth, a happy blaze crackled.

  She was sitting in a rocking chair in front of the fire, brushing her hair, when the door opened and Guthrie came in.

  “Did you win?” she asked, without looking at him.

  She heard him chuckle, heard the bedsprings creak and the thumps of his boots as he tossed them onto the floor. “I broke even. Unless you count finding out Flynn is headed for Cheyenne as winning.”

  At that, Caroline turned to meet Guthrie’s eyes. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt, looking for all the world like a tired husband at the end of a long day. “Those men know Seaton?”

  “They talked to a man who fit his description,” Guthrie replied with a yawn.

  Caroline got out of the chair and moved slowly toward the bed. Despite all her intimacies with this man, it still came as something of a shock to find herself sharing a room with him. She didn’t even want to think of what Miss Phoebe and Miss Ethel would say if they knew. “When?”

  “Yesterday, along the trail.” Guthrie divested himself of the rest of his clothes and crawled blithely into bed, stretching and then cupping his hands behind his head. “You look like a gypsy princess, with the firelight shining in your hair.”

  Caroline scrambled over the foot of the bed and crawled under the covers, careful to keep to her own side of the mattress. “When was the last time you encountered a gypsy princess?” she asked reasonably.