Elizabeth Lowell - Only His

«I’m going to look around,» Caleb said from outside the shelter. «I’ll be gone for several hours. Don’t build a fire.»

«All right,» Willow answered.

She waited, listening, hardly daring to breathe, remembering the savagery of Caleb’s voice. She heard nothing but the fitful windunravelling the last of the storm. When she emerged tentatively from the shelter, she was alone and the sun was pouring a cataract of golden heat over the land. Clouds retreated with each passing minute, revealing newly whitened peaks.

«Caleb was right,» Willow said aloud, hoping the sound of her own voice would hold loneliness at bay. «It snowed. But then, Caleb is always right, isn’t he? That’s why I hired him.»

Willow shivered as she remembered Caleb’s savagery when he questioned her about Matthew. It was as though the very fact of her brother’s existence somehow offended Caleb.

«Not my brother,» she corrected herself quickly. «My husband. I have to remember that. Matthew is my husband, not my brother.»

Yet what Willow remembered was the intensity of Caleb’s eyes when he watched her lick honey from her fingertip, and the huskiness of his voice when he asked her if she was going to kiss his small hurts and make them better. She had been tempted, so tempted, and he had seen that. He wanted her, she was drawn to him, and he thought she was married.

Scarlet burned suddenly from Willow’s breasts to her hairline as she realized that he must think her a flirt at best, and at worst…

Fancy lady.

Willow took a deep, steadying breath. It would be for only a few more days. A week, perhaps. Then they would be among the five peaks and Matthew would find them and they could all laugh about her necessary disguise as a married woman. Until then, she needed the disguise more than ever.

Caleb was a wild, sweet fire in her blood.

With a curious, tingling shudder, Willow forced herself to think of something other than the man whose uncertain temper and crooked smile kept throwing her off balance. She concentrated on the sunlight beating heavily down all around her, stripping veils of mist from the wet land. Although the ground was cool, the air was rapidly becoming almost hot.

The horses had emerged from the cover of the forest and were grazing. They ate hungrily, looking up from time to time, but otherwise relaxed. Their calm told Willow that no one was nearby. For a few minutes she watched their coats steam in the rapidly heating air, reassured by the familiar presence of her Arabians. Within an hour the horses would be dry, and so would the meadow.

Willow went into the shelter and came out carrying the shotgun, a blanket, lavender soap, Caleb’s cavalry shirt, and her clean camisole andpantelets. Watching Ishmael for any sign that she wasn’t alone in the meadow, she went to the creek and followed it downstream from the camp until she found a patch of willow bushes growing right next to the water. Behind the screen of bushes she undressed until she wore only the scarlet flannellongjohns.

When Willow knelt and put her hand in the water, she barely bit back a shriek. The creek was colder than the streams she was accustomed to in West Virginia, much less one of the sun-warmed farm ponds where she had bathed whenever she could sneak away.

«The sun will warm you up,» she told herself firmly. «Now get to it before Caleb comes back.»

Willow temporized, washing in reverse of her usual order rather than stripping down right away. Still dressed, she wetted her hair and worked it into a lather. The soap fairly seemed to explode into bubbles when it hit the water. Very quickly she had lathered and rinsed her hair twice. Sitting on her heels, she wrung out her hair and shook it over her back to dry. Then she peeled off the cotton flannel and washed herself to the accompaniment of gasps and gritted teeth whenever cold water hit a particularly sensitive part of her body.

After blotting herself dry as best she could with the flannel, Willow stepped into herpantelets and camisole. She shook out Caleb’s big shirt and pulled it on over her head, lifted out her hair, and settled into shivering herself warm. It took only a few minutes. She gathered everything she had brought and walked out of the willows, looking for a warm, sunny place along the brook to wash her clothes.

A hundred yards away, Ishmael’s head came up and his ears pricked together as he saw Willow emerge from cover. He watched her walk along the stream for a minute, then went back to grazing. Certain that no one would be able to sneak up on her — except, perhaps, Caleb — Willow knelt near the water, set the shotgun within reach, and began washing her flannel underwear. When she was finished, she spread the flannel underwear on the meadow grass to dry.

The heat of the sun amazed her. Already the snowline was visibly melting up the mountain peaks, retreating with every passing minute. The air was almost hot. Its silky dryness was like a tonic after the days of overcast and rain. It was difficult for Willow to believe that she would be wanting heavy clothes when the sun went down. At the moment, even with wet hair, she was warm enough to consider peeling off Caleb’s heavy woof shirt and lying down on a blanket in the sun while her hair dried. She compromised by unbuttoning one of the rows of buttons and allowing the cavalry shirt to flop open on the right side.

The horses continued to graze quietly, assuring Willow that she was alone in the meadow. She shook out the blanket, set the shotgun nearby, and began combing snarls out of her hip-length hair. It was a tedious job, but in time most of the water-darkened strands hung freely down her back. With a sigh of relief she stretched out on her stomach to let the sun complete its work of drying her hair. Then she would finish grooming the thick mass with her brush.

The light breeze, the hum of insects working over the meadow, the muted song of birds, and the hot sun combined to unravel Willow. With a long sigh, she slid into sleep.

When Ishmael nickered, she awoke with a start. Even as her hand closed around the shotgun, she recognized Caleb approaching her with long, easy strides. Hastily, she sat up and flipped the blanket across her legs. Her hair slid forward over her shoulders in an untamed fall of gold. Frantically, she groped around the blanket but couldn’t find the brush and comb.

«Good thing nobody is nearby,» Caleb said. «Between that red stallion and your underwear drying on the grass, it would take a blind man to overlook us.»

«You didn’t tell me to keep the horses in the forest,» Willow muttered as she rearranged the blanket to cover her bare feet.

«I didn’t tell you to keep your pants on, either.»

Caleb’s voice was neutral, giving no indication as to his mood. Willow looked cautiously at him through the screen of her dark amber eyelashes. His smile flashed crookedly against the black backdrop of his beard.

«Don’t worry, honey. If I wanted the horses in the forest, I would have picketed them there myself. As for your clothes,» he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners, «they don’t stand out nearly as much as that red stud.»

Relieved, Willow smiled up at Caleb. The day was too warm and too unexpectedly wonderful to spend arguing. His own smile widened as he bent and scooped up the brush and tortoiseshell comb that were peeking out from the meadow grass.

«Looking for these?» Caleb asked.

«Yes, thank you.»

Instead of putting them in Willow’s outstretched hand, he moved behind her, knelt, and calmly began combing her hair. After her first, startled reaction was ignored, she accepted the small intimacy.

For such a big man, Caleb’s hands were light and surprisingly gentle. Patiently he worked the remaining snarls from Willow’s long, sun-warmed hair. With an unconscious sigh of pleasure, she relaxed beneath his hands.

Caleb’s eyes narrowed as he measured her response to his, but he made sure that Willow saw nothing of his response, for he didn’t think he could conceal the hunger in his eyes and body. Delicately he drew the comb through the incandescent gold of her hair, easing out all tangles before he set the comb aside and switched to the brush without interrupting the slow rhythms of his hands moving over her hair.

«You’re very good at this,» Willow said after a time of hushed silence.

«I had a lot of practice when I was a boy. My mother had a hard time carrying a baby. Most of the time she was so ill she couldn’t wash and comb out her own hair.»

«You did it for her?»

Caleb’s answer was a rumble of sound that had no meaning beyond agreement. «Mom had no daughters and no other living children until Rebecca.»

«Your sister?»

«Yes, my baby sister. She was beautiful, as sleek and quick as a mink. All the boys wanted her, but she wouldn’t have any part of them, until…»

Willow heard both sadness and rage in Caleb’s voice and sensed that the girl called Rebecca hadn’t made a happy choice in her man.

«I’m sorry,» Willow whispered, touching Caleb’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. «It must be very hard for you to be away from your family.»

Caleb had no doubt that Willow meant every word she said. He also had no doubt that she made no connection between herself and a girl called Rebecca Black. When Caleb thought about it, he realized Willow’s ignorance was hardly surprising. Reno wouldn’t be likely to discuss one conquest with another.

Anger prowled in Caleb, but it was no competitor at the moment for the desire that permeated every bit of his big body. He lifted a fistful of Willow’s thick hair and let it slide from his grip in a silky, golden waterfall. The scent of lavender drifted up to him. He knew that her clothes would smell of the same lavender soap she had used on her hair. He inhaled deeply, letting the fragrance expand through him. For some reason he liked lavender even better than the rose sachet JessicaCharteris preferred. Lavender refreshed his senses and tantalized them at the same time.

«My father was an Army surveyor,» Caleb said almost absently as he watched the silken drift of Willow’s hair down her back. «He was gone more than he was home. I did what I could to care for Mother. The part I liked best was brushing her hair. It was black and straight, like mine. Light used to makebluewhite rainbows in it. I thought it was the softest, most beautiful thing in the world, until now.»

Willow shivered as Caleb’s palm moved caressingly from her forehead to her nape and burrowed beneath the thickness of her hair. His hand lifted and let the smooth strands slide away.

«Soft as a kitten’s chin,» he said huskily, «and the color of the summer sun. My mother used to read me fairy tales about princesses with hair like yours. I never believed them, until now. Touching your hair is like touching sunlight.»

Caleb resumed brushing Willow’s thick hair with slow sweeps of his hand. Strands of gold shifted and shimmered beneath his touch. As though alive, filaments of hair lifted and clung to his hands, silently asking that the gentle caresses continue. Strands followed his fingers, clung to his shoulders, and fanned across his chest in soft invitation. He fought against the temptation to unbutton his shirt and feel the silky touch on his bare skin. His shirt remained fastened, but he couldn’t prevent himself from rubbing a handful of her fragrant hair against his cheek. He inhaled deeply, then forced his fingers to release the locks of hair.

«I think the t-tangles are out,» Willow said hesitantly. «Should I get dressed now?»

The sensuous shiver in her voice made Caleb smile. «No hurry. We’re not going anywhere today. I thought I’d catch another mess of trout and gather some more greens before the weather goes bad again.»

«More rain?»

«Probably.»

«When?»

«After sunset.»

Willow sighed. «I was told the plains were dry.»

«They are. You’re in the mountains now. But compared to where you came from, it’s plenty dry. That’s why you keep licking your lips.»

«I do?»

«You sure do, honey. If you’re carrying any oil in that big old carpetbag of yours, you might put some on. Bacon grease works, but you get tired of the taste real fast.»

For a few moments there was only the whisper of soft bristles moving through Willow’s long hair. She closed her eyes and savored the unexpected luxury of having her hair brushed by someone other than herself. Then a thought struck her.

«How will you catch the trout?»