Miracle Jones (14 page)

Harrison chopped at the spokes with suppressed violence.
Jesse had left Rock Springs under a cloud of suspicion and had never returned.
At first the rumors were he’d left because Alice McIntyre was pregnant, but when the lady in question never blossomed into motherhood, that rumor had been reluctantly given up by the Rock Springs busybodies.
But other rumors had taken its place, rumors less able to be proved false.
Jesse was accused of everything from theft to rape to murder.
In some ways it was just as well he was gone, Harrison reminded himself.
Jesse, a rake and a libertine, would have probably been suspected in the rapes and murders of those women the highwaymen had abducted and killed.

He heard the rattle of bottles and glanced behind him to the wagon’s dusky interior.
Miracle was taking inventory, he realized, getting ready to hawk her herbal remedies at the nearest town.

He grunted in disgust.
The unsuspecting residents of Rock Springs were undoubtedly next.

The sun rose higher, and while Harrison attempted to fit his newly made spokes into the rim, Miracle, who’d gone back to the camp to gather their belongings together, returned with another bowl of soup cradled in her smooth palms.
“It’s all I have,” she apologized, her nose wrinkling in a thoroughly enticing way.

“Thanks,” he said as she set the bowl down on a smooth stone near the wagon.

“Can I do something else to help?” she asked, eyeing his handiwork with something like criticism.

“I’m almost done,” Harrison said shortly.

“Ah.”

Now what did that mean?
He forced his gaze on his rough-hewn spokes, but his eyes seemed to have a will of their own, turning to where Miracle had settled herself on the step he’d vacated.
Her skirts were tumbled around her, her knees slightly apart.
The lacy edge of her petticoat peeked out, white against her tanned skin.
For the barest of moments he caught a glimpse of lightly bronzed, smooth skin – Miracle’s thigh – before she switched her skirts back in place.

Memories crowded inside his head.
He could almost feel his hand on that luscious thigh.

Harrison drew a sharp breath.

“What’s wrong?” Miracle asked, looking up.

He had to turn away swiftly.
He could remember her beneath him, her legs wrapped around him.
For Chrissake, he could feel it as if it had really happened!
Shaking his head, he ran a hand over his eyes, shocked at himself.
He wasn’t Jesse, by God!
He had more self-control than to fantasize about this woman like that.

“Harrison?” Miracle asked, coming to his side.
She smelled like the fir limbs she’d carried, sweet and fresh and clean.
“Are you sick again?”

“No,” he bit out harshly.

“Maybe you should rest.
Have the soup.”

“No.
I’m fine.”

Puzzled, Miracle stared at his profile.
He dropped his hand and stood silently for several moments, then glanced at her face, his expression unreadable.
“Can I do something for you?” she asked.

His short bark of laughter caused her frown.
“You can leave me alone.”

Miracle sat back down on the edge of the wagon, wondering at his mood.
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?
Maybe you took off the poultice too soon.
I could get you a bit of willow tea, or I have an elixir with laudanum.
It’s a trifle bitter, but –”

She broke off in shock when he suddenly whipped around and stalked straight toward her, cupping her stubborn chin between his strong hands, gazing down at her through eyes filled with a simmering passion.
“Have we lain together?” he rasped.

Miracle’s heart lurched.
“How – how can you suggest such a thing?” she sputtered.

“Because it feels like it,” he said in a voice full of frustration.
“God, I don’t know why.
But it
feels
like it!”

He moved forward yet again, his feet spread apart, his thighs nearly between hers.
She wanted to draw her knees together, but he was too close.
She gazed at him in trepidation.
She knew what he was thinking of; it was exactly what she’d been thinking of herself.
He was remembering those moments when he’d pressed his body against hers, hot and eager and demanding.
But he couldn’t quite decide whether it was fact or fantasy.

“Harrison, I –” she began, but then his hands dropped from her chin to her thighs.
Hard fingers pinned her where she sat while a frown of immense proportions crossed his handsome features.

“I touched you,” he said, watching her.

“No,” Miracle said again.

“Yes, I did.
We slept together.”

“We did not!” Her lips quivered at the lie, and she couldn’t sustain his gaze.
His thumb and fingers were hard and lean against the pliant skin beneath her skirts.
To her dismay, her thighs began to tremble.
“Let go of me!”

“I can’t,” he said simply, gripped by a desire he didn’t understand and seemed powerless to resist.
He kneaded his palms against her thighs in a way that brought waves of terrifyingly sweet pleasure to the most secret regions of Miracle’s body.
Blast!
She was in trouble now.

“Don’t,” she ordered, forcing her voice to be strong.
God’s truth, it was difficult!

“We made love,” he insisted, his own voice set and sure.

“No, you were unconscious, and you – reached for me.”

“Like this?”

He slowly lifted the hem of her skirt, folding it backward, exposing her smooth limbs to his burning gaze, then, as the buckskin hemline was raised still further, her quaking thighs.

“Stop!”

He groaned and closed his eyes.
“I must be crazy,” he clipped out, then bent to replace her skirts.
But he leaned forward too far, and his hip accidentally brushed her inner thigh.
His deep green gaze met hers.
Miracle’s breath caught.
With a groan of submission, he suddenly pulled her tight against him, until once again she felt the hard heat of his arousal against her most sensitive feminine part.

“Like this,” he murmured, remembering.

His mouth crushed hers beneath it.
Miracle tried to argue with him.
She really did.
But when she opened her mouth, his tongue slipped inside and her cry of protest sounded like a mewl of submission.

Harrison had never forced himself on a woman; he was stunned that he seemed to be doing just that now.
But the feel of her was too good, her scent light and seductive.
He wanted to have her on the wagon bed, and by God, if she didn’t put up more of a fight, he soon would.

He gently pushed her backward until her shoulders lay against the hard boards of the wagon floor.
Then his tongue stabbed into her mouth again, mimicking the physical desire to claim her in another, more basic way.
He was running on pure emotion, and to hell with the consequences.

Miracle’s hands were tangled in his hair.
Her body lay soft and pliant beneath his.
She wanted him again.
She wanted to feel him deep inside her.
But Lord, she knew it was a mistake.
A mistake she’d promised the Almighty she wouldn’t make again.

With desperate strength she fought the hot flood tide of desire, stiffening beneath his persuasive seduction.
Immersed in his own passion, Harrison didn’t immediately notice the change.
His blood pounded in his ears.
His hand cupped her breast through the scratchy fibers of her shirtwaist.
He moved against her.

She slapped him with a power that made his ears ring.

“Let me up, or so help me, I’ll stab you again!”

He drew back instantly to realize she held the hunting knife in one hand.
Shock, and a deep sense of disbelief at his own actions, brought Harrison up short.
He was astounded at himself.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized stiffly, aware how woefully inadequate the words were.
His cheek stung.
Pulling back, he stared down into her slumberous aquamarine eyes and saw passion still simmering there like glittering jewels.
She
had
felt the same way!
What was this, some wretched woman’s game to make him feel like an utter lustful heel?
Well, he did.
And he ached with frustration and desire.

“You can put that thing down.
I won’t rape you.”

Bright spots of color flamed in her cheeks.
Her black hair swirled around her head like a dark cloud.
Struggling upward, she tossed her skirts down, trying to restore dignity.

“Something did happen,” he insisted, staring down at her.
He half expected her to get all riled up and rip him open with that lethal tongue of hers, but she didn’t even meet his gaze.
“It did.”

When she still didn’t answer, he stood silent, trying to assess his feelings, his untamed passion, and find some understanding in it.
He was full of disgust at his actions.

“I won’t be a white man’s mistress,” she burst out passionately.

So that was it.
She
had
wanted him.
She just wasn’t willing to do anything about it.
He was relieved that the desire had at least been two-sided.
“I didn’t ask you to be,” he pointed out.

She regarded him with unexpected hauteur.
“There are ways to ask, and ways to ask.”

For a moment, he almost laughed.
He had to admire her guts.
“My actions were – um – inexcusable.
I just thought… I had this feeling, this dream that…” He gave up.
“Well, never mind.
There’s no excuse.”

He was going to bury himself for sure if he tried to explain, so he just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in self-disgust.
“I’ll fix the wheel,” he added under his breath, bending to the task.

Miracle sank her shoulder against the wagon wall as soon as he turned away, closing her eyes in despair.
She knew what he’d felt only too well – and why.
Though she’d done the only thing she could to save herself further humiliation, she felt dirty and cheap for the way she’d deceived him.
Oh, Lord,
she thought, lifting her eyes to the heavens.
If this is a test of my strength, please keep in mind that I’ve never been particularly strong.
Since this was blatantly untrue, she hurriedly changed her plea to,
All right, I’ve been strong, but I’ve never been quite so tempted before.
Why does it have to be this man?
Why now?

Harrison glanced her way, his green eyes watching her with an intensity that brought another quick wave of heat to her face.
Straightening up, Miracle jumped down from the wagon bed.
“I’ll go pack up the rest of the camp and check on the horses,” she said unsteadily.

His answer was a silent nod, his brows drawing together in harsh concentration.
Miracle, afraid he just might remember their night together after all, gathered her skirts and set off to where Tillie and Gray were tethered.

¤   ¤   ¤

It was late afternoon when Miracle swung herself up to the driver’s seat of the wagon, glancing around the side to see Harrison’s signal.
She’d found Harrison one of Uncle Horace’s old shirts, and now she witnessed the fabric strain over his broad shoulders as he motioned with one hand.

“Move forward slowly,” he ordered.

She slapped the reins against Gray’s and Tillie’s broad backs, clicking her tongue to encourage them to move.
Tillie switched her tail in absolute boredom.
“Come on, you,” Miracle chided.
“Get a move on.”

Gray shook his head and tried to reach for an overhanging limb, his lips nibbling at the fir needles.
Muttering to herself, Miracle snapped the reins with renewed force, enough to make Tillie jump but not enough to set her in motion.

“Move forward!” Harrison called again.

“I’m trying!” Miracle ground her teeth, jumping down from the wagon.
She grabbed Tillie’s bridle and yanked on it with all her strength.
Reluctantly, the mare moved her sluggish feet, and Gray, cinched up next to her, was forced into a slow walk, too.

“Whoa!” Harrison called from the back.
“Stop!”

Miracle let go of the bridle, and Gray and Tillie stopped as if they’d run into a wall.
Inwardly cursing them, Miracle trudged through the dry grass to the back of the wagon, sending a spray of grasshoppers up beneath her feet.