| |
His every muscle was attuned to Anne’s movements, to each subtle flex and twitch. She mumbled in her sleep and curled tighter against him, and despite her oversized clothing, her girlish figure was clear beneath his hands. At the thought of it, Michael’s heart skipped, taking his breath. Always, he’d kept himself away from women. Even Amber’s enticements, he’d deliberately shunned, and now, he knew why. His mama was right about temptation.
The pale break of dawn crawled along the horizon, and Michael counted the minutes as its color spread. The palest shade of pink arose, like the flesh of fish he’d seen at the market. Then the sky flared bright in a dozen shades of red and purple, finally blazoning yellow. The sun unfurling in his eyes, he squinted.
Anne squirmed again and hooked her leg through his.
He gulped. What had he expected? They were married, and married couples lay together. If they were to continue with this, it was only natural.
Yet, she moved her hand to his chest, and his skin flamed where it brushed. She affected him in a way he hadn’t expected. She’d already entangled around his heart, and he wasn’t sure yet what to do with that, how he should behave, how he should react.
The rising heat awakened her, and she looked full in his face. She smiled, sleep-ridden. “Good morning. What was your name again?”
He laughed, uneasily, at her joke. “Did you sleep well?”
Her gaze was especially clear, as if it held the sky. “I had another dream,” she said. She yawned, one hand rising to cup her lips.
“Of me and you?”
Her cheeks blushed. “You’re teasing me.”
He chuckled. “Aye, lass.”
Laughter burst from her lips. “Say something like that.”
He paused, searching his memory. “May yer alwus ’av walls for de winds, a roof for de rain, tay beside de fire, laughter ter chare yer, dohs yer love near yer, an’ al’ yisser ’eart might desire.”
Her eyes grew wide. “That was beautiful, though I don’t know what you said.”
“It’s an Irish blessing,” Michael replied. He clasped his hands together behind her back, and she leaned against his chest, for one moment, this morning, a natural one.
“It was beautiful. I could listen to you talk like that for hours.”
He could hold her like this for hours. He clamped his lips shut; he couldn’t say that. It would be best if they maintained some distance. On the heels of his thought, he inhaled. Then what was this?
A foot landed squarely in the center of his back, the pain of the contact spiking outward, and he and Anne sprang apart.
“Don’t you two look cozy,” Ferguson crowed, “but git up. We leave in an hour.” He turned away, his footsteps fading on the leaf-strewn soil.
Anne groaned. Michael switched his gaze to her face. “What is it?” he asked.
She offered a half-hearted smile. “I ache everywhere. By nightfall, I’ll be dead.”
At her words, his heart snagged, and he snatched her hand, folding it in his. “Don’t say that.” Desperation choked him.
Nothing could take her away. He ... he needed her.
When Michael didn’t release her, Anne paused, the fear in his eyes shaking her. “Forget it. It was a poorly made joke. I didn’t mean it ... I’m all right, really.”
He scooped her up and pressed her tight in spite of her words. She held her breath. What was the matter with him?
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just I ... I lost everything and ... and now, I have you.”
She threw her head back to see him better. Was that a declaration? But of what?
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. Her stomach rumbled and she spoke lightly, hoping to distract him. “You know, I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and I have to ... uhm ... find some bushes.”
That was easily done. But, mounting the horse an hour later, her efforts clumsy, her stomach rolled. The rancid meat offered as breakfast churned in her gut, rising into her throat. Anne clamped her jaws tight, determined not to spoil Michael’s mood with her silly complaints. He settled in behind her, and she tried to relax. When the horse moved, however, her stomach troubles resurfaced and bile rose in her throat. Swallowing hard, she pushed it back down.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, and the late March weather became more like summer. The air, heavy with moisture, clouded her lungs. Though she should be used to it, she’d lived in Florida for most of her life, after all, today’s warm temperatures seemed like too much. They made her long, once more, for home and the coolness of the spring.
Her gaze traveling ahead, she picked out Ferguson’s horse from the crowd, her thoughts of home focusing. What was he after? If he had the farm, then why hadn’t he thrown her family out? He’d taken her away, instead, and that made no sense. What was his reason for it? Men like him were only after two things in life – money or pleasure. So which was this?
Her stomach flipped, and she swallowed again.
The thick oak hammock they’d camped in last night changed to miles and miles of grand pine trees. A carpet of brown needles cushioned the footfalls of the horses, creating unusual silence. A hawk called. Perched on a limb, the large bird dodged the violent assault of a much smaller jay. Flying furiously at its throat, the jay pecked and whipped its wings in the hawk’s face.
Much like how she felt, as if for all her efforts, she couldn’t get ahead. Anne’s spirits plummeted. What was her family doing? Did they miss her? She shut her eyes and tried to picture their faces. Her mama’s sweet smile, Nicky’s strong one, and the laughter of the two babies. Even Papa. She’d like to see him, too.
But would she go back? Would she return to how life was before Michael? The question startled her, and she flicked her gaze over her shoulder toward him. Would she? Michael’s arms pressed in, strong and warm on her sides.
Eighteen wasn’t so young to get married. Other girls married at that age. Her mama had been married by then. She’d be nineteen in two days anyhow and so, that much older.
Two days? The knowledge swept through her and her eyes grew damp. She willed her tears away, her eyelids burning. How could she forget her own birthday? Her mama always planned some sort of celebration. She’d make a cake, wrap a small gift, however inexpensive, and her family would sing.
“What are you thinking about?”
Anne took a deep breath. She wouldn’t bring up her birthday. What did it matter when it was?
“I’m thinking we should play a game,” she said. “When we were moving here, Mama had us play a game to occupy our time. We’d go in a circle telling something we loved. I’ll go first. I love apple pie. Of course, we don’t get apples down here much, so it’s been a while since I’ve had one. You have apples in New York?”
He chuckled. “Mmhmm. Many of them.”
“I’ll bet you have great pies up there then,” she continued. She sniffed. “Your turn.”
Michael cleared his throat. “Well, I love colcannon.”
“Colcannon? What’s that?”
He lowered the reins, resting his hand on his thigh. “Well, it’s cabbage and potatoes cooked together in kind of cake.”
“Cabbage in a cake?”
He laughed, once more. “No, not like a bakery cake, but more in the shape of a pan.”
“Did your mama make that often?”
“Aye,” he replied.
Her smile arose. “Did you know you talk like that whenever I mention your mother?”
“I suppose I do,” he said. “Isn’t it your turn?”
“Let’s see.” Anne puckered her lips. “I love swimming. That’s why I went to the spring. I love it there; the water’s so clear.”
“Do you usually swim without ...?”
He didn’t finish the question, and she chose to speak frankly. “Sometimes, but only when I’m alone. No one’s supposed to see me. Do you swim?”
“Oh no,” he replied. “No swimming for me. The only place nearby is the harbor, and the waters are full of refuse.”
Anne shivered and twisted in the saddle. That sounded most unpleasant. “Can you swim?” she asked. She surprised when Michael shook his head. “I should teach you,” she said. “You’d want to learn, right?”
“You’re going to teach me to swim?” A crooked smile fashioned on his face.
“Well, why not? Everybody should know how.”
“I’d rather watch you.”
His teasing lit a spark, and she swung at him, playful. He dodged the blow with a laugh.
“You, Michael O’Fallen, are incorrigible. You’re worse than Nicky. He’s always pulling pranks. Why it’s too bad I’ll miss my birthday because I’ll bet he has a joke planned.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, covering her faux pas.
Michael curled his fingers around her wrist and pulled it away. “What did you say?”
“N-nothin’,” she stuttered. “I talk too much.”
But he clearly wasn’t going to let it go. “No, tell me, Anne. When’s your birthday?”
“How ... how old are you?” she asked. She heard his sigh and sensed his frustration. She also noticed how he’d adjusted his grip, folding their fingers together. It was comforting, strengthening in a way.
“Twenty,” he replied. “My birthday is on August third. Now, it’s your turn.”
She took a breath. “I don’t want to bother you with it.”
“Now, why is your birthday a bother?” he asked. “I’d think you’d want to celebrate.”
She snorted. “What’s there to celebrate? We’re stuck out here.” Anne waved one hand wide. “We don’t know where we’re going, and there’s everything to consider. Makes it seem insignificant to me.”
“Nothing about you is insignificant.”
She trembled at his words. This was twice he’d spoken so emotionally about the pair of them, and it worried her. Worse, however, was the sourness in her throat. Her head swirled, the earth shifting.
“When?” Michael asked again.
But she couldn’t reply. “Michael ...” she moaned, leaning over the horse’s neck.
He pulled the horse up sharp, and releasing the reins, grabbed for her shoulders as she pitched forward. “Anne?”
“I’m gonna be sick.”
“You and your lousy food. She needs a decent meal and a day’s rest. She’s not used to this.” Michael lifted Anne from the saddle and carried her beneath the pines. Tucking her into his lap, he reclined, her head on his chest.
Ferguson dismounted, his saddle creaking, his boots crunching across the springy turf.
Michael’s gaze hardened. “We’re not moving,” he said, “and furthermore, she needs a ring.”
Ferguson’s eyebrows shot up. He brushed the butt of his gun with his fingers. “A ring.”
“A ring. You wanted us married, and so we are. But she needs wedding ring to make it proper.”
A rumble escaped Ferguson’s throat. “Jist where out here do I get a ring?”
Anne moaned, and Michael tightened his grip on her. “I don’t know. Go gamble for it.”
Ferguson’s eyes sparked, and he leaped forward, swinging at Michael’s head. Michael ducked and Ferguson’s fist smacked the tree. A trickle of blood rolled over his knuckles.
“You don’t tell me what to do, boy!” He hauled back his boot, aimed at Anne.
But Michael, with one hand, pulled the toe upward, and Ferguson tumbled to the ground, landing, his legs splayed.
“You forget why I left New York,” Michael said. “Beat me all you want. I deserve it. But you’ll never touch her. Never.”
A crowd of the others formed. Chief helped Ferguson to his feet. “You want me to take care of him?” he asked. He reached for his gun.
Ferguson, shaking his head, began to laugh and slap his side. “Ain’t you somethin’,” he said. “Yes, sir, the boy’s a man now.” He rubbed his hands together and then threw them wide. “Fellas, let’s take the day off. Nearest town’s five miles. I’m ridin’ in. Gotta find his wife a ring. Ain’t that sweet?”
Whoops echoing over the crowd, Ferguson waved at Chief. “You stay here with them. We’ll be back after nightfall.”
“Michael?”
Hearing his name, Michael ran across the ground and dropped to his knees at Anne’s side. She stared upward, her face lit only by the stars sparkling in the blackness. A chorus of crickets sang nearby, their high-pitched hum a measure of comfort. The silence echoing behind them took some of that away, though, eerie.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“After midnight.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she groaned. “I feel awful. What’s the matter with me?”
He furrowed his brow. “Our breakfast disagreed with you. Do you remember that?”
She bit her lip, seconds later, giving a nod. “Yes. I’m thirsty.”
Michael lifted her head from the soil and pressed a canteen to her lips. Water splashed down over her chin, soaking into her clothing.
“Please tell me I don’t have to eat for a week.” In her next motion, she extended her finger toward his cheek, poking the tip in his dimples.
He captured her hand. “You mess with me when you do that,” he said, “and you have to eat. You need your strength.”
She inhaled and struggled to sit. Michael pulled her to his side, brushing needles from her hair. “I have something for your birthday,” he said. “A gift.” His heart pounded with his words, thumping even harder when she turned her face to his.
“What is it?” she asked.
Michael shook his head. “It’s not your birthday yet.”
He wished it was, though. He’d thought about it a lot while she slept and decided he’d give her the ring ... on his terms this time. But making that decision didn’t stop doubt from badgering his brain. Would she want it? She cared for him, or at least, he imagined she did.
Just the same, was the ring for her sake or for his? For his, he wanted her as his wife. He loved her. But how, in such a short time, was that possible?
She laid her head on his shoulder. “Do you believe in God?”
“God?”
How could she think of God at a time like this?
“Mama does. She took us to church, when we could go. Papa went most times, but then sometimes he didn’t. Anyhow ... Mama says prayer changes things, and I’ve been trying to pray ... you know, about us. Do you ever pray?”
“I don’t know that I’m worth the effort.” Michael laid his cheek atop her head.
She squirmed, dislodging him, her face turning upward. “What could you have done that’s worse than anybody else?”
An innocent question, but it clogged in his throat. She had no idea what he’d done or how far his life had fallen. No idea what his future held or if there was even any hope they’d be together tomorrow.
“Michael?”
He looked away. “I’m not the man you think I am.”
“Do you know what I think you are?” she asked. “I think you’re handsome and sweet and kind. You’re funny; you make me laugh. I think you loved your mama, and life somehow sold you short. That’s what I think. I can’t imagine you doing anything so horrible it’s beyond forgiveness.” She touched his cheek. “I’ve known you what, three days? And already I’ve figured out all of that about you.” She yawned, her head drooping. “I like you, Michael O’Fallen. I’m thinking, I like you a lot.”
Like. Not love. Was that enough for him?
She snuggled into him, and his head bowed. He had no right to ask. She was wrong about him anyway; he wasn’t any of those good things. He should’ve walked away that night in New York. Instead, he’d let his anger get the better of him, and a man had died as a result.
When would he quit living with the guilt?
A couple days’ rest brought color to Anne’s cheeks and put a new light in her eyes. She grew stronger and, one hand planted in the midst of her dish, hungry. It did Michael’s heart good to see her improve, though his giving her the ring hung scythe-like over his neck.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t eat for a week.”
Her cheeks puffed out, she spoke with her mouth full. “I changth my mindth.”
Laughter in his throat, Michael flicked a crumb from her chin. “I think you’ve eaten a week’s worth of food in one meal.”
She swallowed and stuck out her tongue. In her next breath, she dived back into the plate. “Where’d you get all this, anyhow?” She shoveled another bite of cake into her mouth.
“Ferguson.”
Her eyes widened, her lashes spreading, and she spoke mid-bite. “But he hates you.”
“It’s mutual.”
She extended her palm. Fingers cupped, she pressed a morsel of cake into his mouth. “Open up.”
Icing smeared on his lips, she giggled. “Oops.” Shaking crumbs from her hand, she tried to wipe it away. But when he licked her fingers, she paused.
“Tasty,” he said. He smiled.
Lowering her hand, she stared at her fingertips, then seemed to awaken. “So anyhow, what’d he get food for?”
“For you,” he replied, frank. “He doesn’t want you sick. That ruins his plan.”
“What is his plan?”
He made no effort to answer, and she sighed.
“I am tired of living like there’s a sword over my head. I feel like I’m only a means to an end. Plump me up like a hen and put me in the cook pot.” She glanced around the deserted camp. “Where’d they go anyhow?”
“Gambling, I suppose.” His nervousness alongside the warm night left a film of sweat on his skin. He wiped his palm on his pants leg and reached into his shirt pocket. He took her hand. “I’ve got something for you. It’s your birthday, you know, and I want to ask you something. This time, it comes from my heart.”
Anne tilted her head, her golden hair falling over her face. He brushed it aside. His fingers shaking, he clenched the ring in his opposite palm, the edges digging into his skin.
They were already married. Why then did this make him nervous?
He took a deep breath. “I never thought this would happen to me.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he placed a finger on her lips.
“Let me finish. Mama once said the day she met my father was the best day of her life. I couldn’t figure how that was, since I never knew him. But she used to tell me about him, and when she did her face glowed.”
Michael opened his hand and the gold band Ferguson had procured from who knows where gleamed in the firelight.
“Michael ...”
“I know it’s not been very long between us. But I keep asking myself why my heart dances when I’m with you, and it’s like Mama’s speaking in my ear.”
“What ... what does she say?”
“Michael O’Fallen, true love's a gran' ting.” He cupped Anne’s chin in his palm. “I’ve messed up my life, else I wouldn’t be here. But it’s brought me one thing I want to keep more than anything in the world.”
The air stood thick between them, and he fought for his next breath. “I want you, Anne, to wear this ring. I ...” His throat sealed, and he hushed.
She leaned forward, her face inches from his. “You, what, Michael? What is it you need to say to me?”
He lifted her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. She curled it in her palm.
“I’ve fallen in love with you,” he said.
The earth disappeared in her gaze and what he wanted to do, he couldn’t resist. He lowered his mouth to hers, the press of their lips spreading fire across his skin, its flames curling around his heart. She fueled the moment, parting her lips, and he flicked his tongue alongside hers, tasting the sweetness of her cheek.
“I’ve never been kissed before,” she said. She clutched at his shirt.
“Never?” Not that he didn’t believe her. Anne was innocent, unspoiled, and that drew him to her.
She shook her head.
“How was it?”
Was it just a kiss? Or did she feel what he did?
She didn’t answer, but dragged his mouth to hers once more, and the intensity of it this time spun his senses. He lost his breath, yet was unwilling to stop. This was everything. This was life.
She laid a hand on his chest and spoke in a whisper. “Does that answer your question? You are a dear, sweet man.”
Dear. Sweet. Michael’s mood fell. She hadn’t felt the same about it. He should’ve waited; he’d fallen for her too quickly and had spoken too soon.
Hooves rumbling across the ground broke into his thoughts.
Ferguson, his eyes wild, led the group in at a gallop. At the edge of the trees, he slung to a stop and turned in the saddle. “Get on your horse,” he shouted. “The law’s comin’, and we gotta run.”
The girth slipped through Michael’s fingers, and he mumbled, angrily, beneath his breath. “If I’d only left her saddled ... I shouldn’t have felt so sorry for a horse.”
That he’d had compassion on an animal was like him and warmed Anne to him even more. Yet she questioned why he was so panicked. In her mind, he had no reason to run.
Ferguson’s horse revolved in place, spinning in the excitement. “What’s takin’ you so long, boy?”
Michael tried, once more, to fasten the saddle, but his trembling fingers lost their grip and the girth slipped free again. Anne caught hold of his sleeve. “Let me.”
His eyebrows rose.
“I can’t ride a horse,” she replied to his unspoken question, “but I do know how to saddle one.” She took the girth from his hands, fastened the strap, and with his help, climbed in the saddle. Michael’s arms slid around her sides. He kicked his heels into the animal, and it took up a frantic pace. She leaned over its neck to avoid toppling.
What had stopped her from saying she loved him? Her thoughts raced as fast as the horses’ hooves.
I’ve fallen in love with you, he’d said.
Had he? He’d given her the ring. She felt its weight on her hand, and perhaps, she should have said it regardless. After all, he’d kissed her, an incredible thing. Was that love? Or was love that she cared for him? She wanted him happy; she liked to see him smile. Was love the comfort he gave her? He was tender and considerate. Or was it the lightning that shot through her limbs when they touched?
The group of riders spread out, thundering across the turf, clouds of dust rising into the afternoon sky. The pine forest fell away, and the area became a thick, black marsh. The horses’ hooves tangled in the sucking mud, and their flight slowed to a crawl.
Floundering in the depths, her pants legs were soon drenched, mud spattering upwards on her arms and face. Anne squeezed her thighs against the horse’s heaving sides to retain her seat and rocked back against Michael as they rose onto more solid ground.
A commanding voice spoke from ahead. “Stop, right where you are.”