Texan's Touch

TWO

NICHOLE FELT THE stranger’s hands moving along her side. The wound still throbbed but it no longer burned, and the pounding in her head had eased. She seemed to be floating deep beneath murky waters. Only the skin he touched came alive as his warm fingers moved over her.

Without opening her eyes, she waited, trying to guess what this man in blue might do next. If she’d learned nothing else from her big brother, it had been to anticipate the unexpected from the enemy. Only this Yank wasn’t acting like an enemy.

Slowly, she tightened the fingers of her right hand and felt her Colt still in place. The fool hadn’t bothered to remove the weapon when he’d had the chance. After years of riding with the Shadows, she’d learned to keep her grip tight even in sleep.

Warm water dripped across her waist just before a cloth gently stroked her flesh. Long strong hands moved to her back and lifted her slightly from the table. She felt his fingers spread along her skin as he began wrapping a soft bandage around her.

Nichole tensed. She’d never encountered a man who so boldly touched so much of her body. In fact touching anyone, or being touched, was not a part of her life.

“Easy now,” he whispered as he worked. “I’ll have you all bandaged up in a minute.”

She tried to relax, as if still in sleep, while his fingers slid along the bandage, checking his work. The warmth of his caress penetrated the material in healing strokes. She’d always thought a lover’s hands would feel like this-strong, and sure, and kind.

He lifted her carefully from the table and rested her head on his shoulder as he pulled her shirt down over her injury. She felt his heart pounding next to hers and smelled the hint of shaving soap and wool. Nichole pushed the memory of a blue uniform from her mind and gave herself over to the sanctuary of his arms.

“You’re going to be all right,” he whispered against her cheek. “No matter what happens to me come morning, you’re going to live. Who knows, maybe you’ll even allow the world to know what a beautiful woman you are hidden beneath these dirty clothes.”

He cradled her against him and moved to the half-crumbled fireplace. Very gently, he knelt and sat with his back against the brick. He sat her between his chest and knee as she stretched her legs toward the warmth of a dying fire. She could feel his heart beating as his knee braced her back and his outstretched leg rested against hers.

She fell asleep with his hand gently brushing over her short hair and the warmth of his body barring any cold from her back. For the first time in years, her fingers uncoiled from her weapon. Her hand moved against the wall of his chest. His embrace seemed to welcome her safely home.

It was almost dawn when she awakened. Without moving, she slowly opened her eyes. The man, only inches away, slept soundly, his warm breath brushing her forehead. One of his arms draped across her shoulder, the other lay along her leg, his hand resting just above her knee.

Nichole shifted slightly, watching his face. As her hand found the gun, she couldn’t stop staring at the man. His hair was chestnut brown, his face tan and handsome. Tiny worry lines ran along his forehead. Light brown stubble covered a strong chin. Nothing seemed hard or cold about him, unlike every man she’d known. There was a strength about him, a quiet strength.

Slowly, she raised the Colt.

He reacted to her movement and opened his eyes.

Sleepy, brown eyes, filled with worry, stared at her for a moment before he smiled with what she thought was pride.

“’Morning,” he whispered as his hand moved along her leg and across her hip to gently rest against her side. “Feeling better?”

Nichole straightened. He’d touched her so easily, so naturally, as if he’d done so for a lifetime. “I’m fine,” she lied. In truth she wasn’t sure she had the energy to stand. “And I thank you for taking that bullet out of me last night.”

The man chuckled. “I somehow guessed your voice would have a slow low drawl to it, but I never thought your eyes would be green. So green. Like full summer just after it rains.”

He looked away, thinking he was making a fool of himself. She was his patient, his enemy. “I checked the stitches I had to make in your side about an hour ago. They were holding, but you’ll have to take it easy for a few days.”

His voice died suddenly as she brought the barrel of her weapon to his throat.

“Did you touch me last night?” Nichole had to know how much liberty this Yankee took while she was unconscious.

“I did,” he answered as if he didn’t know he’d just signed his death sentence. “Doctors usually do touch their patients.”

“How much?”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “No more than was necessary during the operation. Afterward, I did my best to clean away all the blood around the wound.” He let out a long breath. “But when you were bandaged and sleeping.” His confession came slowly. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen anything but war. I couldn’t stop myself from…”

Nichole forgot about the throbbing in her head and the pain in her side. Her finger tightened slightly on the trigger. This man had to be telling the truth. Why would he lie about such a thing? Unless he had a death wish. She’d heard of men just looking for a reason to die and be done with the war. She was torn between killing him for what he’d done and letting him live just to ruin his plans.

“Where?” she demanded. “Where’d you touch me?”

The man stared at her with gentle brown eyes. “I assure you, miss, it was nowhere improper. No more than we’d have touched if dancing.”

Now it was Nichole’s turn to laugh. She’d never danced in her life, and probably never would. She was in the company of men enough to hear how they talked, and she’d be willing to bet most of her comrades would have fondled her plenty if they had the chance and knew she was a woman.

Pushing the gun against his throat, she whispered, “I have to kill you, Yank.”

He didn’t look surprised. “I know,” he answered as he swallowed. “I thought about it last night. If you don’t, one of your friends will at dawn. They’re all just beyond the door. But if you kill me first, they’ll never learn you’re a woman. It’s the only way you can be sure of your secret.”

The man closed his eyes as though waiting for the end.

When she didn’t pull the trigger, he whispered, “It’s Adam, Adam McLain. My home address is engraved on my medical bag. If you’re able, let someone know I’m dead. If you don’t, I have these two brothers who’ll never stop looking for me.”

“You’re the chattiest corpse I’ve ever met.” Nichole saw no fear in his face. Either he was the North’s biggest fool, or he’d seen enough killing to be hardened to even his own death.

Adam looked down at her. “Maybe I’m just tired of all the killing. Until I touched your cheek last night, I’d forgotten what a woman felt like. I’d forgotten there was anything soft and beautiful in this world.”

“I know,” she mumbled, wishing she’d shot him before they talked. His words scraped against her heart, causing more pain than the bullet lodged at her rib. When her parents had died three years ago, her big brother had done the only thing he could do. He’d taken her with him. She hadn’t slept in a bed, or bathed with soft soap, or had a man so much as hold her hand. She’d grown from a girl to a woman without anyone knowing.

He moved slowly, not toward the gun at his throat, but to brush his fingers along her jawline. “Is it Nichole?”

“Yes,” she answered. “But I’ve been called Nick for so long I probably wouldn’t answer to anything else. Once upon a time, a lifetime ago, it was Nichole Casey Hayward. But now, it’s just Nick.”

She knew she should end this discussion. The proper thing to do would be to shoot him and be done with it. But his touch was so light, so caring. Without lowering the Colt, she turned her head slightly so that his fingers trailed along the length of her throat.

Nichole was starving, color-blind in a war that was never ending. They’d both been robbed of years of youth and discovery. And for one moment, one timeless moment, she stepped away from reality and responsibility. For just a blink in time she wanted someone to see her as a woman and not a fighting Shadow. She wanted there to be more in her life than running and hiding. She wanted there to be this man.

Moving his long fingers over her chin, Adam lifted her head slightly as though he’d read her mind.

She let the gun slip away as he lowered his lips to hers. A hunger sparked in her as his mouth gently covered hers. She felt his hand slide into her hair as she tasted the warmth of his lips.

The shattering of the door echoed through the room like a cannon shot. Adam instinctively tightened his grip around Nichole’s shoulder. She reached for her gun.

“Nick!” a bear of a man shouted. “Nick!”

To Adam’s surprise, she lowered her weapon as a huge, wild half animal of a man stormed forward. He stood well over six feet with coal-colored hair to his shoulders and a beard of curly hair that stood out in every direction.

“Wolf!” she answered. “Wolf, over here!”

The giant shoved the bloody table aside and knelt to one knee. “I sent the others on ahead. I figured if you were dead, I wanted to kill the doc with my own hands. If you were alive, I’d let you do it, then we’d be on our way.”

The huge man stared at them, as if he were seeing a two-headed cow. His gaze narrowed to Adam’s arm resting protectively across his sister’s shoulder and a Union jacket covering her legs.

“What’s going on, Nick?”

“Nothing.” She looked at Adam. “I was just kissing the Yank.”

The big man slowly stood, drawing in air as if he planned to use half the room’s supply in one breath. “You kissed him?”

“Actually, I was kissing her,” Adam answered, seeing no need to lie or hide behind her.

“Shut up!” Wolf growled. “You’re a talking dead man.”

Nichole leaned away from Adam. “You can’t kill him, big brother, I kissed him.”

Wolf rubbed his face with a beefy hand, as if he could rub away what his eyes were seeing. “You kissed a damn Yankee?”

“I kissed a very kind man who saved my life.”

Wolf sobered and looked straight at Adam. “I thank you for that, Doc, and I’ll see you’re buried proper for it.”

“You’re not killing him, Wolf. He saved my life. I’m the one who kissed him, and I’ll be the one who shoots him.”

Wolf seemed to relax slightly, as if concluding that his little sister had finally come to her senses. He turned and moved toward the remains of the door. “I’ll saddle your horse,” he mumbled as he shoved wood out of his way. “But don’t go around kissing no one else. I can’t be limiting the number of Yanks I shoot.”

As the door fell back in place, Nichole pushed away from Adam with a groan. “Go!” she whispered. “If you stand on the table, you should be able to jump to the loft. From there, go out the place where the roof has fallen in. I’ll give you to the count of thirty, then I’ll fire. You should be in the woods by the time Wolf opens the door and finds you gone.”

“But-”

“There’s no time.” She pushed him away.

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek as his fingers moved over the soft curls of her midnight hair.

“One,” she whispered. “Two.”

“God, you have beautiful eyes.”

“Three.”

“Thanks.” He jumped on the table and pulled himself into the loft.

“Four,” she forced the words out in a hurried breath. “When this war is over, I’ll find you, Adam McLain, and finish that kiss.”

“I’ll plan on it, Nichole Hayward,” he said, and smiled down at her a moment before turning toward the opening in the roof.

“Five,” she whispered as she shoved away a tear with her free hand. “Six.”

Adam was several yards into the blackness of the woods before he slowed. As he moved through the undergrowth at the creek’s edge, he heard a single shot shatter the cool dawn air. A bullet-meant to end his life. The solitary blast brought him back to the reality of hell.

Silently, he slipped into the cold water and began moving upstream. If the kid, called Rafe, had followed the stream up to find Adam’s camp, it made sense that if he followed the water’s guide, he’d eventually reach the Union hospital tents.

The stream widened, growing deeper and slippery, but he didn’t dare move ashore and leave a trail Wolf could follow. Nichole might not want him dead, but her brother had no such weakness. He’d track Adam down if he had the time.

The wool uniform was soaked to the shoulders, but still, Adam moved. Dawn light slid between the branches in slivers of silver, reflecting off the water in diamond brightness, but bringing no warmth. The smell of spring was thick in the air, but fear pulsed through Adam, muting all else.

Twice, he fell, losing ground to the rushing water, but he didn’t dare slow his pace. If Wolf was on horseback, it wouldn’t take the reb long to overtake him.

Rushing water drowned out most sounds, but Adam could hear the low thunder of a horse’s hooves coming toward him. When he tried to increase his speed, the stream fought him for progress.

Just as he leaned to dive beneath the water, he heard someone shout, “Adam!”

Suddenly, Captain Wes McLain, dressed in his cavalry uniform and riding a powerful roan, was splashing through the stream toward Adam.

Wes didn’t pull the reins when he offered his arm to his brother. As he’d done a hundred times in childhood, Adam locked his hand at his brother’s elbow and Wes did the same. With one mighty pull, Adam swung up behind Wes, and the roan turned to reverse his track.

They sliced the stream with wings of sparkling silver. The huge animal spanned the distance to the camp in thundering seconds. When Wes turned the horse toward land and headed for the hospital tents, he slowed enough to shout, “Trying to get yourself killed, little brother? I thought you had more sense!”

Adam ignored the teasing. “I was managing fine. How’d you find me?”

“It took me about a minute to figure out what had happened in your tent. Whoever kidnapped you left a trail even Daniel could follow. When the tracks hit the water, I knew they wouldn’t be heading north.”

He slowed at Adam’s tent and gave his brother a hand down. “I decided the rebs weren’t looking for soldiers to kill, so they must have needed a doctor. And if they crossed the line to get one, they were desperate and you probably wouldn’t be coming back.”

Adam moved into his tent with his brother following. “You guessed right.”

“And you helped them, of course.” Wes reached beneath the straw mattress and pulled out Adam’s total supply of liquor-a half bottle of whiskey. “Your war’s with the angel of death, brother, and no one else. I was just hoping you had time to make them believe that before they shot you.”

After a long drink, Wes made a face. “This is terrible.”

Adam laughed as he pulled off his wet uniform. “It’s what you left here last month.” He tossed his shirt aside. “And you’re right, I did what I could for the injured Gray Shadow.”

Wes stopped in midgulp. “You saw Shadows? No one sees Shadows.”

“I did.” Nodding, Adam ordered, “You’d better get into dry clothes, too.”

Wes took another swig of whiskey. “Stop mothering me, Adam. I’ve lived in mud and rain for half this war. Could you find the Shadow camp again? I’d love to get my hands on a few of them.”

Adam shook his head. He thought of telling Wes about the black-haired, green-eyed woman, but somehow that seemed a betrayal. She’d saved his life, just as he’d saved hers, and they were bound by that even if they stood on different sides of a line. “They were riding out when I escaped. They’re too far south by now.”

Leaning back on his elbows, Wes ignored the mud on his boots as he relaxed on the cot. “For once, you may have an interesting story to tell, but I’ve no time. I’m just riding through toward a little place in Virginia called Appomattox. Word is Lee’s going to surrender. I saw the first of this war at Bull Run, and I figure to see the last.”

He finished the whiskey.

Wes’s words took a few minutes to register. “The war may be over?” Adam let out a long breath.

“It may.” Wes stood and looked at himself in the shaving mirror hanging by the bed. “Daniel is north already with a leg injury. May’s at his side. He’ll be home months before we can get there.” Wes touched a thin scar running across his left cheek, then turned away from his reflection. “But if this war ends, start home as soon as you can. I’ll catch up.”

Adam knew he’d be moving at a snail’s pace with the wounded. Wes would have no trouble finding him. Adam nodded as his brother stepped to the opening.

“Stay safe,” Wes mumbled. “Keep an angel on your shoulder.” He repeated the phrase their mother always told them.

Wes had said the same words since they’d been boys running half-wild. Then he added, as he always did, his own ending. “And your fist drawn until your brother is there to cover your back.”

The older brother disappeared into the maze of tents. For four years, he’d been the best fighter the Union had produced, but if the war was ending, Adam could only guess how Wes would survive. War pulsed through his veins as strongly as peace pumped through their younger brother, Daniel’s.

Adam would be going home to a fiancée, Daniel to a wife, but Wes…

“Bergette!” Adam slapped his forehead. How could he have forgotten about her? He’d kissed another woman without one thought of his fiancée waiting at home. Sweet little shy Bergette who’d promised him she’d wait.

He should be feeling guilty or calling himself every name of the fool he was. But Adam could still taste Nichole’s kiss on his lips. The warm feel of her body sleeping against his chest was still with him. Bergette was a faraway memory, no more than a tintype in his mind, but Nichole had been flesh and blood. He’d almost risk running into her brother if he thought he could find her again.

This war better end fast, Adam thought, or he’d go mad.

Perhaps he already was. He was daydreaming about a Shadow… in every sense. A woman who slipped back and forth across enemy lines. A woman who, if he ever found her again, would probably slip just as easily in and out of his life.