Chapter 8
Tempest paced Lucky’s room, back and forth across the braided rug. She felt tired, concerned, and worried. She was used to handling her own problems, but she’d been so startled and frightened when she’d woken up to see an armed man in her bedroom that she’d instinctively run away. If Lucky hadn’t been so close, she’d have gone downstairs to Saul. Now she wished she’d found a way to solve her own problem, but bare hands were no match for a six-shooter.
Still the man hadn’t seemed interested in her. That was growing odder by the moment. Maybe he was trying to raise the window and shout at someone in the street rather than what she’d imagined while her mind was clouded by sleep. She could have misinterpreted the entire event.
But how had he gotten into her room in the first place? She’d had to move the chair to get into the hall. When she’d run out, he hadn’t followed her. It was as if he couldn’t see her.
A chill raced up her spine. Something was wrong, but she feared she was much too late to make a difference. For the man. And for herself.
She trudged over to the door and opened it. She walked back into the hall, and then into her room. She looked at the window. The man stood on the windowsill, hands braced on each side of his body. He crouched, ready to jump.
“Don’t do it,” she said, walking toward him. “There’s a better way.”
He hesitated, slowly turned his head, and looked at her.
She smiled gently, and then held out her hand. “Come here.”
“I’ve got to join my wife and baby.” Tears streaked down his sunburned face.
“Did they go on ahead of you?” She sat down in the rocking chair, so as not to alarm him.
“Yes.”
“Can’t you find them?”
“No.”
“Why not look behind you?”
“I’ve got to go ahead to catch them.”
“Perhaps you need to go back to find them.”
He appeared puzzled, eyebrows coming together.
“They left first, didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
“If they stayed here, wouldn’t they be behind you?”
After a moment, he nodded. He slowly, carefully turned his head until he looked toward the table. He audibly caught his breath. “Louisa, is that you?”
“Go to her.” Tempest blinked back tears at the sight of the woman in a calico dress holding a small, squirming bundle. “She’s waiting for you.”
“That’s our baby?” He stepped down from the window, walked over to the woman, and stood there, arms hanging limp at his sides. “Wife, is that truly you?”
“Embrace your family,” Tempest said. “It’s time for you all to go home together.”
He put his arms around them. Soon their bodies grew misty and slowly dissipated until they were no more.
“Wherever you go, be happy.” Tempest wiped the tears from her cheeks and took a deep breath.
“You’re a Spirit Rattler, aren’t you?” Lucky said from the open doorway.
She froze, startled by his presence, not sure what he meant, and horrified that he might have witnessed what she’d done with the ghosts.
He shut the door behind him and walked into the room. “You’re good, really good.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You see ghosts. Saul just told me the story of a man’s suicide two years ago in this room. Wife and baby dead in childbirth.”
She took a deep breath to slow her racing heart. She couldn’t let him know about her affliction. Only bad things came to her when people knew. “I apologize for waking you earlier. You’re right. I had a bad dream and thought I saw a man in my room. Of course, I didn’t.”
“And you were just now talking to yourself?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to pretend for me.” He stalked over to her. “As it happens, I’m in need of a Spirit Rattler.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“Maybe you can lie to yourself and others, but you can’t lie to me. I don’t know what you call your gift, but in my world, you’re called a Spirit Rattler.”
She felt sick to her stomach. She couldn’t let this stranger get in her way. She had female allies now. She didn’t need him, or any man. The Ladies Benevolent Society would help her get to Indian Territory.
She watched him come closer till he towered over her. She wished she’d stood up as soon as he’d entered her room so that she was in a stronger position, but she’d been weak from the encounter. He appeared powerful and passionate. With no shirt, she could see the hard muscles, the taut nipples, and the smooth, almost hairless skin of his chest. Oddly enough, he had a black tattoo in the shape of a solar cross, an equal-limbed cross set in a circle, over his heart. She wondered why and what it meant. He balanced easily on the balls of his feet, as if ready for battle or to overwhelm her. He appeared more warrior than gentleman.
She caught his scent, and it exacerbated her need. She wanted to lower her nightgown so she could press her bare breasts against his bare chest. Flesh to flesh. Passion to passion. Female to male. As if a flower bud had unfurled into blossom, she felt wet heat flow between her thighs. She wanted him to stop the ache, the desire, the need, but she couldn’t give in to her lust. She knew it was a passing fancy brought on by her heightened senses after a ghostly encounter. She’d been subject to it, as she had been to seeing ghosts, since turning from girl to woman at fourteen, but resisting her impulses came harder with each passing year.
Carefully, she placed her hands, palms down, on her thighs, and took a deep breath. “All is well here. I prefer for you to leave my room now.”
He chuckled, a sensual sound, and then pulled a chair away from the table, turned it around, and sat down with his arms across the back. “We’re going to have a little talk.”
“No. You’re going to leave my room.”
“How long have you been seeing ghosts? Since menarche?”
“Thank you for your earlier help. I’m no longer in need of your services, so you may leave.”
“Did you get any formal training, or are you a natural?”
“Please leave.”
“You saw them all, didn’t you? Husband, wife, baby?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Here’s the big question. Do they talk to you? Can you communicate with them?” He drummed his fingertips on the back of the chair. “From what I heard, sounds like that’s the case. If it is, you’re rarer than hen’s teeth.”
“You’ve overstayed your welcome.”
“Do you have any idea how much I need you . . . a Spirit Rattler?” He leaned forward. “I won’t beat about the bush. Tell me what you want for your help and you’ve got it.”
She felt her breath catch in her throat, hardly able to believe her ears. She was caught between wanting to believe he appreciated her affliction and fear that he simply wanted to hurt her with the truth.
She didn’t answer right away. She’d learned the art of holding her tongue. She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t see and talk with ghosts. But as she’d grown up, her friends had started to treat her as if she were odd and had refused to play with her. Elmira and Lamira, her loving grandmother and great-aunt, had explained that sometimes members of their family saw what others did not. They had comforted her, listened to her tales of long ago or more recent times that she heard from ghosts, and supported her desire to help the ghosts heal and move on. Over time, she’d found that ghosts were her friends when many others rejected her for being different.
“I don’t have time for games.” His amber gaze turned dark.
“I don’t, either.” She frowned, pushing past her weakness in wanting a man like Lucky to accept her. “For your information, you’re not the only person in the world who has needs and lacks time to be bothered with strangers.”
He smiled, dimple appearing and disappearing. “You have needs? What kind? Whatever you need, name it.”
“I’m not going to discuss anything with you.”
He stood up abruptly, paced across the room, and then came back to tower over her. “I hadn’t wanted to do this, but you’re giving me no choice.” He reached down, lifted her to her feet, selected her left hand, and pressed her palm against the solar cross over his heart.
For a moment she struggled to get free, but then she felt lethargic, even woozy, and leaned against him for support. “Let me go,” she mumbled, feeling her thoughts whirl in chaos.
“You’re a Spirit Rattler, aren’t you?”
“I have an affliction.” She felt the words drawn from her, as if she’d needed to say them for a long time.
“What?”
“Nobody wants or likes a person who sees things that aren’t there.” She felt relieved to say those words, too.
“Idiots!” He placed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You’ve been punished or shunned for your gift?”
“Curse, you mean.”
“Never again.” He pressed her hand hard against his chest. “I’ll treasure you for the rare gift you are.”
“You lie.”
“No. I’ll prove it to you.” He hesitated, and then tilted back her chin with one hand so he could look into her eyes. “Tell me true, do you see and communicate with ghosts?”
She hesitated, and then nodded, feeling as if she’d released a great weight. But she also felt tired, so very tired.
She felt him gently move her hand from his heart to his shoulder, and then draw her against the length of him. She felt his shaft press against her belly. He wanted her, and she shuddered with renewed desire. She’d been alone too long, in need too long, rejected too long, so she was vulnerable, knew it, but couldn’t stop thrusting her fingers deep into his thick hair, pressing her breasts against his chest, and then pushing against his hardness.
He inhaled sharply before he eased her away. He stepped back, breathing fast. “I was out of line. That’s not in the cards. I need you as a Spirit Rattler. I won’t do anything that might interfere with your ability.”
“How did you make me answer you?”
“You have your gift. I have mine.”
“I want to know more.”
“Not now. We need to get on the road.”
“You expect me to simply leave town with you?”
“Yes. I’ll pay you for your help, but I must leave for Indian Territory in the morning.”
“Indian Territory?”
“Got anything against it?”
“Oh, no. By pay, do you mean money?”
“Yes.”
“Could it be sent to someone?”
“Sure.”
She felt a great relief wash over her. Maybe she’d misjudged his whiskey-colored eyes, or maybe expediency turned sinner to saint. Either way, for the first time in her life, her affliction might actually be an ability.
“You’ll do it?”
She smiled. “You’ve got yourself a Spirit Rattler.”