CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tessa started to protest his pushing her away, but Micah calmed her with a smile and pulled her close once more. She knew what he wanted now and adjusted her position so that he glided easily inside her. A sigh escaped her as he filled her. She had craved this closeness, this physical and spiritual oneness, for far too long.
She looked down into his eyes, letting her hair fall like a drapery around them, and hugged him tightly with her thighs. This unfamiliar feeling of being in control of their loving both thrilled and disturbed her. "Now what do I do?" she whispered.
"You ride.” He rocked beneath her, sinking deeper within her. The movement sent shock waves of sensation through her, calling forth an instinct to move with him in a slow, seductive dance that gained speed as passion and need increased. She braced herself against his chest, fanning her fingers across hard, sweat-slicked muscles.
She could feel the pressure building within her, near to overflowing. If only she could make this ecstasy linger. Raising up on her knees, she experimented with pulling away from him. His hands gripped her hips to draw her back down, his eyes mirroring the pleasure she felt.
"You're a fast learner," he said. "Now I'll teach you something else.” He moved his hand from one hip, and slid it across her thigh to cover her crisp brown curls. She gasped as his thumb delved there, sending spasms of pleasure through her, spasms that rocked them both.
They rode in earnest then, from walk to lope to gallop.
Her release shook her like a jolt of thunder, reverberating through her in waves. She saw her own joy reflected in his face, and then he bucked beneath her, the sensation rocketing through her, leaving them both empty and fulfilled, too spent to move or speak.
#
Tessa dozed with her head on Micah's shoulder, his strong arms encircling her, forestalling all danger of her slipping off the narrow bunk. Even in sleep, she knew she smiled. Happiness filled her like the scent of a sweet perfume, seeping from every pore.
Then she heard it, the sound which had pulled her from her slumber: a noise like a gunshot, somewhere nearby. She raised her head, straining her ears to listen. There they were again. Three shots, close together. A distress signal. "Micah, wake up!” She shook him.
Something in her voice must have alerted him. He sat up beside her, still holding her close. "What is it?"
"Gunfire. Someone's trying to summon help.” She reached for her gown, which lay in a tangle on the floor beside the bunk. "I'll go get dressed. You saddle two horses. We'll travel faster on horseback."
She raced to the house and wasted no time pulling on clothes and shoes. By the time she returned to the barn, he had saddled two horses and lit a lantern. The gunshots still sounded at regular intervals.
Soon they no longer needed the gunfire to guide them. The acrid scent of smoke blew from the east, a burning tar and wood smell that sent a wave of fear through her. She urged her horse into a jarring trot.
They saw the first flames long before they reached the chapel. Set on the rise as it was, it was visible from a long distance away. Tongues of fire licked the roof beams and engulfed the wooden cross just outside the door. Half a dozen people had formed a bucket chain from the creek. Micah and Tessa raced to join them.
"What happened?" Tessa asked the woman in front of her in line. "Who found it?"
"The preacher was asleep inside," she said. "Luckily, the smoke woke him. We were on the way home from visitin' my sister when we heard his cries for help."
Tessa passed the full bucket and paused to stare up at the outline of the church against the night sky. The tarpaper roof had already burned away, leaving the roof beams like ribs sticking out from atop the charring walls.
A boy of about ten came over, a pistol in his hand. "I'm out of bullets, Papa," he said.
"That's all right, son," a tall, bearded man said. "I think we've done about all we can here."
"Go watch your little brothers," a woman admonished. "See that they don't get too close to the fire."
"Yes, Mama.” The boy turned away.
"It's gettin' away from us," another man agreed.
"We'd better see to keeping it from spreading," one of the women said.
The men stripped blankets from the horses and wet them in the creek, then dragged the sodden wool around and around the burning building. The heat was more intense now, as the whole chapel glowed with flame, and the smell of cinders brought tears to Tessa's eyes.
She found Reverend Deering on his knees under a tree, staring at the collapsing building. She knelt in front of him, hoping to distract him from that horrible vision. "How do you think it started?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I walked around the yard myself before I retired, to make sure all the campfires were doused."
"It wasn't a campfire," Tessa said. "That would have started outside the chapel. There's nothing burnt but the building.” She reached out and clasped his arm. "Thank God you woke in time to save yourself."
He shook his head. "I was sound asleep when I heard a knocking, and someone yelling for me to leave."
"But the woman back there told me you found the fire -- and that you shouted for help."
"I did. When I woke up, I could smell the smoke. I searched, but there was no one there.” He nodded. "I believe the Lord saved me."
Tessa thought of Will. Had he been the one to save Reverend Deering?
A cry went up from the crowd. She turned in time to see one of the walls collapse in a shower of sparks. She shuddered, and brushed ash from her hair. Who would have wanted to burn this place, and why? She turned back to the preacher. "Did you see anything else, hear anything else, that might point to who did this?"
He shook his head. "It was such a pleasant night out. We had a little bit of a breeze after the heat of the day, and I could even smell flowers.”
She sighed and patted his hand. The poor man had obviously been caught up in fantasy. The flowers that bloomed this dry time of year had little fragrance.
#
Will watched the fire from a distance. He'd come upon it just as the first smoke was curling up from the roof, and rushed to wake the preacher before he smothered to death. Then he'd taken off after the rider he'd seen fleeing the scene, but he'd lost him in the darkness.
Tessa was kneeling in the dirt over there by the preacher. A few hours ago, he might have tried to use that scene to his advantage, to bring the two of them together. But now he knew it was no use. Tessa had made her choice. He had no control over her any more. As much as he regretted it, he was man enough to see that it was time to let her go.
The first wall collapsed in a great shower of sparks. The others would follow soon. In a few more hours, Deering's Indian chapel would be reduced to a pile of ashes. He should build the next one of something more durable, Will mused. Stone and iron, the kind of things that lasted.
A woman's scream rent the night, pulling Will from his musings. He looked up to see one of the traveling women, the mother of the boy who had fired the gun, being restrained by two men. She was gesturing toward the fire and moaning about her baby.
Quick as lightning, another man shot from the crowd. Will recognized Fox, his long hair streaming down his back. His shirt pulled up over his nose, Fox fought his way through smoke and cinders, searching for the child.
If Will had had breath in him anymore, he would have held it, as he was sure everyone else did, watching the man run over coals and through smoke, toward the child, who sat screaming amid a rain of sparks. Fox reached the boy and jerked him up into his arms, then started for the clearing.
The second wall of the chapel swayed, and creaked, and began to fall, its descent heralded by a gasp from the crowd, and a single woman's scream. "Micah!"
The coals felt hot even to Will, who had thought he would never feel warm again. Flames licked out at him, and he wondered if this was what it was like in hell. He tried to move faster, knowing he had seconds to reach the man and the boy in his arms.
He slammed into Fox, knocking him to the ground. The wall collapsed around them, cinders sizzling as they hit Will's ghostly form, with a sound like bacon frying. Will draped himself over Fox and the boy, shielding them from the brunt of the flames. Fox tried to squirm free beneath them, and Will hit him hard with the flat of his hand. "Lie still," he hissed.
He could feel the pounding of Fox's heart, that sign of life that held man and spirit together in one frail form. Oh, Fox was not frail by human standards. His corded muscles radiated the strength of a young man accustomed to hard work. But Will knew too well how fleeting such strength could be. Will had only to move back and fire would melt away all Fox's strength. A man Will had regarded as his enemy would be done away with, or at least badly injured.
The prospect held little temptation for him. Instead of moving back, he held himself more closely over Fox and the boy, as if he might merge his own restless spirit with the younger man, and reclaim the vitality that had been denied him. He could almost feel what it would be like to be Micah Fox; he could feel it because he himself had once been not so very different from the man he sheltered now. He knew what it was like to struggle for acceptance in a place where you were different. He had not forgotten the healing to be found in the arms of a woman you loved, who loved you in return.
They lay together for a long while, until the worst of the flames subsided. The boy began to wail, and at last Will moved back. The air reeked of smoked earth and burnt cloth, and he saw that Fox's pants had been burned away below the knee, his flesh saved only by the tough leather of his boots.
Slowly, Fox rose to his feet, the boy in his arms. He looked around, dazed, then walked out across the ashes, toward the boy's waiting mother, and Tessa's waiting arms.
Will turned away, weary. The ghostly body that had seemed so light before now sagged like lead. He needed rest, and quiet, and time alone.
#
Tessa did not try to speak to Micah right away. She merely wiped the soot from his face with a damp rag, and brushed the ashes from his hair with her fingers. When everyone agreed they had done all they could, they mounted their horses and rode back to the ranch. Reverend Deering refused her offer to spend the night at the house. "I'm wide awake now," he said. "I'd rather ride into town and try to think."
Micah followed her into the house, to the kitchen, where she heated water and made tea, strong and full of sugar. The stench of smoke still stung her nose and she wondered if it would ever leave her -- the smell or the memory of seeing that wall fall to engulf Micah and the boy. How long had they lain there, surrounded by fire but not burning?
"Did you see what happened?" he asked after a long while.
She nodded. "I couldn't bear to watch, yet I couldn't keep from watching."
"Will was there -- with me," he said.
Some part of her had known this. Perhaps in staring through the flames, she had glimpsed his form, sheltering Micah and the boy. "I think he saved the preacher too," she whispered. She stared into her cup. "I guess this means he didn't push you off the roof that day."
"I don't think so.” He paused, then added. "There's something else."
"What is that?"
"When we first arrived, before the whole building had started to burn, I noticed glass around the base of one corner, as if someone had bashed a lantern against the side to start the fire."
"Who would do something like that?" she asked.
"Someone who hates Deering. Or more likely, someone who hates Indians."
She reached for his hand. "I don't want to think about that tonight. I just want to go to bed."
"All right.” He rose and moved toward the door.
She went to him and laid her head on his shoulder. "Don't leave me alone tonight. Please."
Wordlessly, he took her hand and led her up the stairs. In her room, she lit the lamp, then turned and began to unbutton his scorched shirt.
When they had both stripped, she wrapped herself in a robe and took their clothes down to the back porch. She'd have to soak them in vinegar water to take out the smell. She was turning to go back inside when she spotted the zinc hip bath, hanging in its place on the wall. A bath would be wonderful.
She took the tub from its hook, and ladled a bucket of warm water from the boiler. Micah met her halfway down the stairs. The sight of him, standing naked on the landing, made her blush, even though she couldn't stop herself from looking at him. "I thought we might take a bath," she said, holding up the bucket.
He took the full bucket from her, and the tub as well. "That's the best idea I've heard in a while."
She went back to the kitchen for more water, then retrieved a pair of towels from the pantry shelf, along with the bar of lavender soap she'd left there to scent her linens.
When she returned to the bedroom, she found that Micah had lit a second lamp, and filled the tub with the steaming water. She bent to arrange the towels and soap on a chair and he slipped up behind her and began to unfasten her robe.
"Wait, my hair --” She reached up and began to fumble with the pins.
"Your hair is beautiful.” He deftly plucked the pins from the tangled locks and combed his fingers through the strands. "The bath's ready," he whispered, feathering a kiss alongside her temple.
He led her to the tub and lowered himself in first, then held up his arms to guide her to a seat between his knees. "Ahh, this feels good," he sighed, wrapping his arms beneath her breasts and pulling her closer.
She leaned back against him, reveling in the feel of his hard body pressed against her, the evidence of his desire straining between them. She ran her hands down his legs, delighting in the sensation of the wet, silky hairs against her palm.
His hands did not stay still for long either. They moved to cup her breasts, thumbs idly brushing her nipples until she squirmed against him and gasped. "Micah, we're supposed to be taking a bath," she scolded, laughing.
"Of course."
His hands moved away, and at once she wanted them back, but he returned quickly, with the pitcher from the washstand and the bar of soap. "Bend forward and I'll wash your hair," he said.
She obediently bowed her head and he sent a cascade of water over her. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the luxury of his fingers massaging her scalp, enveloping her in a cloud of lavender-scented lather. He poured more pitchers of water until no trace of soap remained, and her hair lay against her skin like satin. "That was wonderful," she sighed.
"I don't intend to let the rest of you feel neglected.” He took up the soap once more and coasted it along her shoulders, down her arms and across her belly. Once more he gathered her breasts in his palms, kneading and massaging, until they were slick and soapy, the nipples extended and aching.
"Do you think they're clean enough?" she gasped.
"Maybe. But what about the rest of you?” He slid his hands down her belly, ripples of arousal following in his wake. He moved down, soaping her thighs, lavishing attention on the nest of curls between her legs. She writhed against him, sending water sloshing out of the tub.
He loosened his hold on her for a moment as he reached for the pitcher again, and, more water cascading over the side of the tub, she rolled over on her stomach to face him. "My turn," she said, with a wicked grin.
His eyes sparked with desire, and he threw up his hands in surrender. "I'm all yours."
She took her time with the soap, lathering every inch of him, beginning at the toes. She reveled in the taut slickness of his wet skin beneath her caressing fingers, and acquainted herself with every curve and bump of his body. The muscles of his thigh jumped as she skated her palms over them. When she began to lather his erection, he groaned, and sank further into the water, eyes half-closed.
Kneeling between his legs now, she soaped the flat plains of his stomach and traced the muscles of his chest. His flat brown nipples pebbled beneath her palm, and she squeezed her thighs together tightly against the growing ache within her.
> When he reached out and pulled her near, she did not protest, pressing herself full-length against him, enjoying the easy slip and slide of their wet bodies together. He captured her mouth in a devouring kiss, and continued to kiss her as he lay back and ducked his head under, causing her to jerk away, squealing and laughing.
He raised up and smoothed back his wet hair, water streaming off of him, drops glittering in the lamplight. "You still have some soap right. . . there.” Grinning, he flicked his fingers at her nipple. "Better make sure it's well rinsed," he said, just before he leaned forward and took it into his mouth.
On her knees in the tub, Tessa scarcely felt the hard tin bottom or the now-cool water, or anything but Micah's warm mouth on her, lavishing attention on each breast in turn with dizzying effect. She arched her body toward him, anxious to be even closer.
He obliged by pulling her tightly against him. "Wrap your legs around my waist," he murmured.
She did as he instructed, his erection captured between her thighs, rubbing against her with each movement of his body. Still holding her close, he stood and stepped out of the tub, trailing water over to the bed, where he set her bottom on the edge of the high mattress.
Drawing back a little, he smoothly entered her. His hands clasped her buttocks and drew her tightly against him once more.
She twined her fingers in his hair and pressed her forehead against his chest, lost in the trembling waves that coursed through her body with each thrusting movement. A low cry rose up somewhere from deep inside her, an animal sound that both frightened and thrilled her. Micah had unleashed this other side of her, a primitive, passionate nature she never knew existed. With each jarring thrust, she felt closer to some elemental core of her being, some secret rapture never before revealed.
Their thrusting grew more rapid, almost violent. Her release shook her, sensation burst forth in one shattering moment. As her senses slowly returned to normal, she discovered she was sobbing, clinging to Micah and crying like a child.
#
Tessa swore she was crying for delight, but as he held her, listening to her sobs subside, Micah wondered if some part of her didn't sense that he had meant this last time together as a way to say goodbye.
The smell of smoke still clung to him, a scent of death and hatred. Hate had set the fire that burned the chapel, the kind of hate that couldn't be ignored or avoided. He'd seen that brand of evil before, in the eyes of white men who saw the Indians as vermin, to be destroyed.
Men like that didn't differentiate between Indians on reservations or in the wild, or between a half-breed living as a white man and a full-blood warrior. They had burned Deering's chapel this time; what if next time they burned Tessa's home?
He shuddered, remembering the feel of the flames licking all around him, and the icy sensation of Will at his back. Tessa's husband had saved his life, now Micah had to make a sacrifice of his own. No matter how much he loved Tessa, he wouldn't stay here and expose her to the gossip and maliciousness of her neighbors.
She'd spent too many years alone already, without family or friends, with only Will for company. In the end, even he had to leave her. Micah wouldn't see her punished that way for loving him.
He smoothed his hand over her drying hair, and inhaled deeply of the lavender scent of it. He wanted to fix the memory of this moment in his mind, like Tessa's perfect summer day she'd wanted to bottle. In years to come, when times were hard, he'd have this moment to take out and relive. He'd remember what it was like to be loved this much.