“Well, I’d gladly let you take care of it if I had a little whiskey.” He laughed.
“Just some rotgut, but that would work.” She frowned at the old bottle on the counter.
“I’ll be fine.”
“You do want to go back, don’t you?” Her eyes sparkled at him. “To your troops? Looks like I’ll have to take care of it.”
“Yeah, sure.” His eyes strayed to hers. “I guess you’re right. In a while…okay?
Right now, I’m hungry.” He winked.
“Do you feel like sitting at the table?” She put two tin pans on the table along with the food she’d prepared.
Reaching for the chair, he winced with the sharp pain it caused. His wound continued to nag him despite her attention. Good looking, good cook. The Black Widow had many talents, it would seem.
Maggie.
He had to remember to call her that. One slip could be fatal. Still, a woman like Maggie being the Black Widow didn’t seem possible.
As they ate, he watched her. Even her eating habits were well mannered. She looked so clean and fresh, and he could have sworn he smelled lilacs. How could a woman smell that sweet with no tub to bathe in, no luxuries? A woman who lived in basic squalor smelled like a flower. Did she bathe in the creeks and rub
flowers all over herself? He pictured that in his mind and woke the sleeping tiger within himself.
She smiled and blushed again when she caught him staring. Her pink cheeks enticed him to touch her. His fingers grazed her cheek. So soft…her skin felt soft and smooth, and she leaned her head against his hand for a second like a kitten soaking up his endearment.
“You’ve been very kind.” His voice went husky as he stared into the golden embers of her eyes.
“Anyone would have done it.” She moved away from his touch, took his empty dishes. She glanced at them and laughed. “You
were
hungry.”
After she cleaned the dishes she turned to him. “We’ll fix that shoulder now.”
She handed him a bottle of homemade liquor. It was cloudy, so obviously, it had been sitting there a while. “Drink some.”
He took it and tasted it. It wasn’t that good, but he shrugged. “Okay.”
“Can you hold your liquor?”
“Better than most, yes. Although, I don’t indulge in it often.”
“Well, drink till you think you had enough because this is gonna hurt some.
You’re a big man. You could end up hurting me if I don’t get you knocked out.”
“You’re very kind to take care of me.” He watched her. She stayed almost on the other side of the room. Did he scare her? It never occurred to him that she might be afraid. He stood up and followed her to the counter. She whirled, and he was right behind her. She gasped, her eyes wide.
He touched her cheek lightly. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not a mean drunk.”
“I’m not.” Her breathing sounded ragged as he stared into her eyes. She licked her lips. His gaze followed the action. “Only—only of the way you make me feel when you stare at me like that.”
“And how do I make you feel?” he asked, moving closer. He took another drink this time a bigger swig. He needed to pass out quickly because he wanted her badly, sore arm and all.
She glanced at the bottle then back to him, and her eyes softened. Her eyes dropped. “On fire.” Her words slipped out in a low purr as she admitted her feelings with a shyness that surprised him. Her long lashes veiled her thoughts.
Her cheeks tinted pink.
He sucked in a breath at her admission, and then reached to feel a wave of her silky hair. She didn’t move, simply trembled.
“You’re a beautiful woman. Maybe you should be afraid of me because I want to take liberties I haven’t been invited to do. Would it be all right if I kiss you?
Because I
sure
want to.”
She stared as though considering the idea, and suddenly her lips parted, an invitation. “It would be…very all right….” Her eyes followed the movement of his mouth and she gasped.
Moving closer, he smelled the lilac. He lowered his head. She stretched on tiptoe, straining toward him. Taking her into his arms, he touched his lips tentatively to hers.
Pillows.
His mind reached for something to describe the incredible softness of her lips. He kissed her again. Emotions swirled, hands moved, lips claimed and reclaimed. She literally melted into his arms, her tongue meeting his halfway as they waltzed to silent music. As he pulled away, she looked up at him helplessly.
“You better lie down. I’m going to fix that wound now.” Her voice had dropped, low and throaty.
His vision hazed, his head hurt, and he fell against the bed.
***
When he came around enough to know where he was, what had happened, his
wound had begun healing, and the pain had subsided some.
She handed him a cup of sweet potato peel coffee. He sipped it, recognizing it, his gaze fastening on her above the rim of the cup. He loved her eyes, almond shaped and seductive. He’d dreamed he kissed her and it was heaven. Looking at her as she sat on the side of the bed with one leg sticking out, barefoot and in that excuse for a dress, he grew warm with urges he shouldn’t contemplate. How could he keep reminding himself who she was if she tempted him beyond reason?
Had he imagined the kiss between them, or was it a dream?
“Feeling better?”
“Yes, I do, thanks. How long was I out?”
“Three days.”
He tried to pull himself up, startled that he had slept that long. “Three days. I think I need to get up and stretch my legs. I’ve been lying here too long. I’m stiff.”
His gaze slid over her.
“As long as you feel up to it, that’s fine. For a while there I wasn’t sure I’d done the job right. You slept so long, but from the looks of the wound, you needed it.
You’re healing well. It looks much better today. Some of the redness is gone.
You’ll be able to return to your camp soon.”
Her words sounded like a lonely echo, and he stared at her. He massaged the shoulder below the wound. “It feels much better. A little sore, but much better.”
Her defenses seemed to be subsiding. He watched her as she moved about the room. He watched the lovely sway of her hips as she went about putting their cups away. The hunger a man feels when a beautiful woman passes by claimed him.
“Are you hungry?” She went to the fireplace and stirred something in the pot.
A strange tension loomed between them that hadn’t been there before, an awareness of each other.
“A little,” he admitted. Coming to stand beside her, he looked into the pot. The same stew, and he grimaced. That first day it had been good, but for how long could she eat the same thing, and with such little nourishment? “You ever catch rabbit or squirrel?”
Pride and humiliation mingled on her face as her cheeks crimsoned. She whipped about, not realizing how close he was; her hair brushed his face. “I used to have some traps, but they wore out.”
“Give me a day or so to rest this shoulder, and I’ll make you a couple of traps.”
He volunteered undeterred by her pride.
“Why would you do that?” Her breathlessness surprised him as she stared into his eyes.
“Because…” His glance raked her, all of her, and he cleared his throat. “You need them. Besides, I feel I should pay you or something for fixing my shoulder.”
She moved away, restlessly. “I need no payment. But the traps would be nice.”
Her voice was soft, melodic in the morning silence as she stirred the stew once more.
“I thought I’d take a walk. Would you go with me? I don’t know my way about this area, yet.”
She locked gazes with him, and nodded. “All right. I never thought about anyone getting lost in these woods. I know them so well.”
“Don’t you ever feel unsafe here, caught up in a war you didn’t start?”
“I’ve been in a war since I was born.”
He took her hand, and they went outside. She seemed aware of their hands though, and a little uncomfortable, as they walked out into the woods among the pines. A few wild flowers grew haphazardly on the ground. The sun went behind a cloud and the forest grew darker.
“You’re takin’ a chance, walkin’ in the daylight around here. The woods are full of Federals. If they spotted you, you’d be dead. You gotta know that.”
Her warning made him pause. “Maggie, what are you doing stuck on a
mountaintop in Arkansas? What’s going to happen to you?”
She glanced at him and frowned, obviously alarmed by his concern. “I hadn’t thought much about it. I guess I’ll just stay here till I can figure out where I should go.”
“Is there nowhere you
can
go?” He looked into her smoldering eyes.
She stopped abruptly, tears behind her lashes. “What do you care? You’re a white man, a rebel. Why would you care where I go, what I do?”
Caught in an emotional struggle, he sighed. “You nursed me back to health.
You obviously care deeply about people, and I think you are a very nice person. I hate to see you stranded in some little shack that is barely standing on its own, is all. I should worry about you living here.”
“Well, don’t. I’m a slave. Have you forgotten, a runaway slave? I can’t pick or chose my home for my own. I have no money, no way of doing better.” She shook her head as if refusing to deliberately induce his sympathy. “You’re a white man.
You wouldn’t understand, but we need to leave it like that.”
“How much would it cost to buy your freedom?”
“Lord, I don’t know. My master would rather see me dead than paid for.” She almost laughed.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and stared down into her somber face, wishing he could light a smile there. Wishing there was some way to protect her.
“Look, I got a place in Texas. It isn’t much, but it’s better than this. You could go there, at least until I’m done with this war.”
She moved out of his arms and started back toward the cabin, trudging through the tall grasses, her skirt hiked so she didn’t stumble.
“Dammit!” He caught her to him and whirled her around to look into her face.
“Honey, I care about you.” The endearment rolled off his tongue before he realized he spoke it, but the soft spot in his heart said he meant it.
“Well, don’t!” she snapped. “I did what I had to do, that’s all,” she sputtered, her tears falling freely. Confusion crossed her lovely features. “Don’t worry about me. I know how to survive. Besides, you’ve only known me a short while. You can’t possibly
care
about me.”
“Can’t I? Look at yourself. You’re barefoot, your house leaks, you have barely enough to keep you alive, Maggie. This isn’t living. It’s existing. You deserve better than this.”
“How would you know? You don’t know anything about me.”
The air stood still between them. Awareness drew them into each other’s arms.
His heart banged in his chest as he stared at her. The fact that he liked her shocked him, and at that moment, he wanted her, too. It hit him like a hammer to the head. He wanted the
Black Widow.
Her sad eyes hit him, and he melted.
“I’m part black…where am I going to go?”
“You’re also part white.”
He smiled and touched her cheek gently with the back of his hand. She rubbed her face against his fingers, and he drew her to him. His lips grazed the top of her head. He heard her draw breath. Slowly, he picked her up off the ground and held her high in his arms. Her hair splayed against her shoulders, her dress strained against her breasts.
“You’ll bust that wound open.”
“It’s worth the risk.”
She relaxed a bit.
He brought her down, slow and easy, feeling her curves against him as he did so. Then their lips met in a storm of emotions unspoken. His kisses were feather
light at first, going over the delicate bridge of her nose, up across her eyelids, over her cheek and finally, at last to the softness of her lips. Her mouth opened to him, like a flower reaching for sudden sunlight. Eager, warm, soft….
He picked her up in his arms again and carried her toward the house, their kiss never breaking. He kicked the door open with his boot and carried her inside. As he set her down in the middle of the room, he met her hot gaze. “Maggie.”
He groaned. Breaking away from her took too much effort. She was
his
at that moment. She stood so still, staring as if wanting him as badly as he wanted her, and the knowledge of it made him swell with pride. The look in her eyes mixed with surprise and white-hot desire. Her defenses were down, laid bare.
Heat curled between them like a soft sheet. He slowly reached for her again and took her back into his arms. Her head went back as he trailed demanding, wet kisses down her neck to her shoulder. Her hair splayed almost to the floor, and he ran his fingers gently through the strands, relishing the silk of it. “A man could die happy in your arms.” His lips moved to the shell of her ear. “Tell me if you don’t want this. I still know how to be a gentleman. Problem is, with you, I don’t want to be.”
“Oh God…I
should
stop you. You know I should,” she cried out, shaking her head, but then her gaze dropped to his lips and she looked lost. “You don’t fight fair. I want this as much as you. I can’t hide what I feel. I truly wish I could. You know I want you to touch me…I see it in your eyes. It’s not in me to lie. From the first moment I saw you, I wanted you. It’s not right for a black woman to seek out a white man. It’s not right.” She shook her head and tried to turn away, her expression turned to shame.
Jesse moved her chin with the tip of his finger. “There are no rights or wrongs today,” he whispered. His lips feathered over hers.
“That’s why I brought you here.” She barely managed an admission between hot kisses. “I’ve never brought anyone
here
but you. I guess I went a little crazy. I couldn’t leave you there.”
He smiled at her admission.
“You’re a white man, a rebel; I should have left you alone. If I had any sense, I would have, but I gotta admit, something pulled at my heart as I looked down at you.”
“I remember asking if you were an angel.” He kissed the tip of her nose, and then her eyelids.