What had begun as a gentle, insistent throbbing grew to a pulsating demand met with each thrust and retreat. Higher and higher they climbed until, finally, Hope reached the shattering peak of ecstasy. With a cry of pure delight, she clutched Drake’s sides, glorying in the feel of each delicious plunge of magnificent satisfaction.
The feel of Hope tightening around him tore Drake apart. With a groan, he buried his face against the sensuous taper of her throat. Filling her completely, he surrendered to the shuddering white-hot satisfaction.
Slowly, Hope relaxed. When Drake rolled off her and dragged her against his side, she went without complaint. His breathing was harsh and ragged as it grazed the top of her head. To Hope, it was the sweetest caress, matched only by the sound of his heart pounding beneath her ear. She nuzzled closer. Never in her life could she remember feeling anything as wonderful as the arm encircling her shoulders.
“No regrets?” he asked, tossing the comforter over their naked bodies.
The yawn she had been about to stifle died in her throat. Her heart tightened and she couldn’t seem to stop the instinctive response that rippled through her. “No,” she whispered hoarsely. “No regrets.”
Closing her eyes, she blinked back tears. Her contentment evaporated quicker than steam off boiling water. She shouldn’t feel disappointment, but she did, and felt it deeply. She’d asked nothing from Drake Frazier, and nothing was exactly what she’d received.
Silly fool! she chided herself angrily. What did you expect, sweet words of love? And from a gunslinger no less!
“Hope?”
Closing her eyes, she pretended to be on the verge of sleep. She could feel Drake watching her, but she didn’t have the courage to face him; not yet. She was too disappointed, too angry with herself for expecting something she could never have.
“Hope, are you awake?”
She forced her breathing to go slow and even.
Goddamn it, Hope! she mentally screamed at herself, Didn’t you learn long ago that love is for other people, not you? Why should this time be any different? Because Drake had accepted her scars. So? Why wouldn’t he? It would be an awful dull ride without someone to dally with. And no one else is available.
That he had made love to her before today didn’t matter in the least. She knew his motives for what they were now. At least, she thought she did.
Chapter 11
Six days saw Hope well enough to sit by the campfire for the evening meals. She felt guilty at having to let Drake run and fetch-and-tow for her, but her strength hadn’t returned enough to let her do much by herself yet.
Yet, Hope thought as she sat huddled beneath a warm wool blanket. She stared vacantly into the dancing flames that would cook their dinner as soon as Drake brought it back. The sky above was black as ink, with a layer of clouds covering all but a handful of twinkling stars from view. The moon could be distinguished only by the silver glow it radiated from behind its fluffy white covering. The Platte River gurgled as it twisted at her right, like a gigantic snake. Somewhere, a wolf bayed at the moon.
Most nights, the low notes of Drake’s harmonica rivaled the pleasant sound of trickling water. Tonight, he was out hunting game, and Hope found she missed the music almost as m
uch as she missed the man. Even knowing he would be back soon didn’t settle her unusually alert nerves.
Her hair was still damp from a recent bath. She combed the snarls out with her fingers, letting the crackling warmth of the campfire dry the hair in glistening curls around her face and shoulders, then tied the thick chestnut strands back at her nape with the thin strip of leather she had found among Drake’s belongings. A twinge shot through her shoulder and her hand dropped to her lap. The baggy denim trousers he had bought her felt rough against her skin.
Wrinkling her nose, she glanced down at her shirt—Drake’s shirt. The plaid material hung from her shoulders, the shoulder seams falling halfway to her elbows. In compensation, she’d rolled the too long sleeves up over her wrists, halfway between forearm and elbow. The tail was purposely not tucked in, her sole attempt to conceal the indecency of her male attire—not that anyone would see to care. But she still had some pride!
Sighing, her thoughts turned to Drake. Perhaps it was the spicy scent that still clung to the flannel enveloping her shoulders that brought on the thoughts she had, until now, so steadfastly avoided. Or perhaps, more likely, it was the emptiness she felt with him gone.
She shouldn’t miss him, she told herself. Shouldn’t but did. All week he’d been the epitome of kindness. With ease he thawed the cold wall she had constructed. When she needed the hairbrush, he was there to fetch it. When she was thirsty, he was there with a sip from his canteen. And the nights!
Hope blushed to the tips of her toes when she thought of the long, hot nights spent enfolded in his embrace. Her vow that she would never let him touch her again had melted when she’d felt his lips on hers. And she wasn’t sorry. Convinced though she was that the attention couldn’t last, she’d enjoyed every second. No words of love were spoken, and she quickly stopped waiting for them. He didn’t love her, he probably never would, but for now she would greedily take what he gave without asking for more.
These nights would be remembered, as would the gentle way he had nursed her. When she was alone again, she would think of this time fondly, without regret. But she did not look forward to seeing “civilization” again.
A frog croaked from a place downstream. Hope smiled at the pleasant sound as she picked up a rock and tossed it into the water. It landed with a loud splash. The sound masked the frog’s throaty croaks, as well as the crunch of dirt made by footsteps slowly creeping up from behind.
The fire was nothing more than smoldering embers by the time Drake returned to camp. The wolf continued to bay in the distance. It was a dark, ominous sound. The half-wild mustang beneath him snorted as the two dead rabbits he’d slung over the saddle horn slapped the horse’s shoulder.
Scowling, Drake dismounted. The prickle of apprehension that had hit him from out of the blue nearly an hour before was still pulling at his gut. Try though he might, he couldn’t seem to rid himself of it, though he could think of no logical reason for the feeling of intense foreboding.
Running a palm over the back of his aching neck, he surveyed the camp. The smell of charred mesquite was still thick in air that was sweet with coming rain. Hope was nowhere to be seen. Nothing wrong there. He hadn’t expected her to be awake and waiting for him. She was still recuperating, she needed her rest; no matter how good it would have felt to look into her smiling face right now.
A vision of dark hair and bewitchingly large eyes floated at the forefront of his mind as Drake guided the horse toward the wagon. Another surge of morbid anticipation rushed through him.
Goddamn it, what was wrong with him? Nothing was the matter. Everything here was fine, perfectly normal. Perhaps too normal.