Branded Hearts

Cade used both hands to scratch his head. His blond hair stood up on end. “Those two ain’t cut out for rustling any more than I’m cut out for ranching.”

“But the Rockin’ G’s half yours, Cade.”

“A piece of paper don’t change who I am.”

Cade couldn’t be more wrong. Two years in Andersonville and a piece of paper had changed Garret. Ma’s will. That one sheet of dry, crinkled paper carved a wound in his heart that would never heal. Made him pray he could turn back time and put to rights all the wrongs he had done his mother.

“You’re thinking about Ma again.” Cade wrapped his arms around his bare waist. The cool night air caused gooseflesh to prickle up his arms.

“What makes you say that?”

“That ugly scowl on your face, like you owe the world.” Cade stood and walked over to the door. “Big brother, you don’t owe no one nothing. Not the past, not me and ‘specially not Ma. Start living in the here and now and stop looking for trouble where it ain’t. Give Kit and Hawk the benefit of the doubt. It’s what we woulda hoped for.” Opening the door, he slipped back inside the cabin. Except for the soft glow of the lantern in the cabin window, blackness prevailed.

The benefit of the doubt. A fair chance to show his mettle. It had taken the worst hellhole in the Confederacy to give Garret his opportunity to grow to manhood. To show other men and himself just what he would do and, more important, what he wouldn’t do to survive. Was the Rockin’ G Kit’s chance? Could Garret turn his back on her and still live with himself?

He entered the cabin. Cade had already hit the sack. His deep, regular breathing brought a twinge of envy and regret to Garret. His brother had no worries. He could sleep easy.

Garret peeled off his clothes and lay on his straw mattress. Restless, he was tempted to get out his mother’s quilt and wrap himself in the memories of his early years. But he didn’t. That life was long ago, best forgotten, along with the desire that flared each time Kit O’Shane looked at him with her icy blue eyes. He fell asleep haunted by images of her full lips and soft body.

A knock hammered through Garret’s dream.

“Mr. Blaine? Wake up, Mr. Blaine.” Kit’s voice pleaded from behind the door. Garret fought off sleep as he shook his head. He wrapped a Navajo blanket around his waist and trudged across the room.

He threw open the door. The lantern in her hand blinded him for a moment. His eyes adjusted to the light, and Kit materialized from the glow. Fine, thick strands of ebony hair blended into the night, streamed down her shoulders and framed her oval face. The first few buttons of her shirt were undone, exposing a hint of the fullness beneath. Blood rushed to his brain and he came instantly awake, aware of the pulsing energy in his loins. “What the hell’s going on?”

“It’s the mare.” Kit’s gaze flickered over his face, his naked chest, then hid behind a thick fringe of dark lashes. Her voice sounded hoarse. “She’s going to drop the foal. I thought—”

“I’d want to know.” Finishing her sentence was like sharing an intimacy. “Let me get my pants on.”

“I’ll meet you over at the barn.” Her eyelashes fluttered, and she bolted off before he could stop her. The swinging light marked her progress across the yard.

Garret grabbed his frayed jeans from the wall peg. From behind his curtain, Cade mumbled. His rope bed creaked as he turned over, then his even breathing returned. Garret thought about waking Cade then changed his mind. He didn’t want to throw those two together any more than necessary. Sitting down on the bed, he pulled on his pants and boots, then headed for the barn.

Kit alone, with her hair unbound, could be a helluva temptation. A temptation even he might not be able to resist. Eve in the Garden hadn’t been able to resist the serpent’s apple. Garret only hoped he could do better against Kit’s native beauty.

Heat radiated across Kit’s cheeks as she returned to the barn. She hadn’t expected Garret to answer the door with only a blanket around his waist. The hard lines of his chest had stirred a deep yearning in the core of her body.

The intensity of the emotion bewildered her. After the destruction of the village, a part of her had died, but Garret’s tousled hair and contoured arms and shoulders rekindled life into her dormant woman’s soul. Made her dream of his lips on hers. She pushed open the door and wished she could leave her quivering knees and pounding heart outside.

Chili danced outside the mare’s stall, following the horse’s restless movements. Hanging the lantern on an iron hook, Kit leaned on the stall gate. Lines of sweat darkened the sorrel’s brown hide. A trickle of blood snaked down the horse’s fetlock. The mare kicked the gate, sending vibrations through Kit’s fingers.

The barn door opened, and Garret strode in. With his shirt open, she could see the corded muscles along his ribs and abdomen. Panic tore at her. Kit fought and controlled the fear. He’s not going to hurt you. He doesn’t want you. The wave diminished to a ripple of apprehension. Along with regret. Deep inside her, a part of her longed for Garret’s touch. Fear forced her to bury the hot emotion.

She stared at the door expectantly. “Cade coming?”

“No. Didn’t figure we needed him.” Garret’s eyes became flat and unreadable.

He’s too close. Survival instincts screamed at Kit to back away. The scent of soap clung to his clothes, beguiling her. With little effort, she quieted the warnings in her head. “We should be able to handle this.”

An undercurrent of tension evaporated from his voice. “Yes, we should.” Kit didn’t understand if he was referring to the mare or to something else.

The mare kicked the stall as her extended stomach quivered. “She could break a leg or cut a tendon,” Kit worried out loud.

Garret pondered for a moment then suggested, “We can pad the gate with blankets, but we don’t have enough to line the walls.”

We. The word left his lips and lodged in Kit’s heart. Garret made her dream of a man who could permanently destroy the fear Jando had instilled in her.

One day, maybe, she would be able to dream. But not while Jando lived. She turned her mind to the task at hand. Yesterday’s chores gave her an idea. “We could use the bales in the loft to build a wall.”

Approval warmed his eyes. He smiled, and Kit found herself lost in the curve of his lips and in the hint of a dimple in his left cheek. “You get the blankets. I’ll throw down the bales.”

He lit another lantern on the shelf, then climbed the ladder. The wood floor creaked under his weight as he moved to the far side of the barn. She could hear him grunt softly, then his heavy steps back. A bale fell to the floor in front of her. Then he retreated for another.

The steady beat of his feet reassured Kit. Each step told her of his presence, but she didn’t have to deal with the strange conflicting emotions his closeness caused. Searching the barn for blankets and flour sacks, she let the task command her thoughts.

“Move aside.” Garret puffed behind Kit. He lugged a hay bale over his head. With controlled strength, he dropped it inside the stall, next to the wall. The mare pranced to the opposite side.

“Let me help.” Kit turned to grab a bale.

A callused palm checked her motion. Garret’s thumb massaged her arm, and heat radiated through the thin cloth of her shirt. “Those bales are too heavy for you to lift.” The hard line of his jaw softened, and his eyes melted into a gentle moss-green.

Confusion with her own smoldering emotions made her blurt out, “You didn’t seem to think so yesterday.”

“I said lift, not shove.” Garret tossed the gentle reprimand aside as he released her. Her arm felt cold, as though she needed the warmth of his touch. He returned to the pile of bales at the foot of the ladder.

Kit had to compose herself. Garret Blaine had actually been considerate. He had teased her. She glanced toward him, his back straining to lift the heavy bale. Lantern light turned his hair golden, and without his Stetson, a cowlick sprang free. For once he didn’t look dry, hard and unforgiving. His broad shoulders seemed ready to support her, his strong arms ready to protect her.

Three more bales and he effectively boxed the mare into the center of the stall. When he had finished, he paused, standing so close she could study the swirls of his ear, the way the hair around his neck curled, and see the rays of the starburst scar on his temple. His shirt smelled of crushed hay and a musky masculine scent from his labors.

Kit tore her gaze away from him and concentrated on the mare. “I don’t know what else we can do.” She used that word, too. We. And she was without fear. Instead, she felt an anticipation that offered both promise and danger.

Kit and Garret spoke to the horse, their voices intertwining, alternating from one to the other. Their comforting tones and gentle pats soothed the animal. Only when her sides quivered, the signal of a labor pain, did the mare toss off their hands and roll her eyes.

“This could go on for hours.” Garret leaned on the gate, his shoulder brushing hers. “Why don’t you turn in?” Chili whined as he looked eagerly at the dark tack room.

Shaking her head, Kit combed her fingers through her hair. “No. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.” The dog slumped to the floor, clearly disappointed.

An awkward silence dominated the barn. Garret rubbed his temple, his fingers tracing the rays of his scar.

“You get that in the war?” Kit’s gaze centered on his temple.

Self-conscious, Garret withdrew his hand. “In a manner of speaking.”

One dark brow arched. Her exquisite mouth crooked to the side. “What does that mean?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clasped his hands together and stared at the spot where his thumbs interlaced. “I was in Andersonville for two years.”

“I’ve heard stories about the place—”

“None of them could be as bad as the truth.” He unclasped his hands and stepped away from the stall, turning his back on her. “Twenty thousand men stuffed into a prison built to hold a few thousand. Disease, starvation, abuse were everywhere.”

“Did one of the guards do that?” The concern in her voice made him face her. Garret found himself hypnotized by the play of lantern light across the planes of her face and the shimmer in her hair.

“No.” He fought to find his voice. “A Union officer. He threw a rock, hit me in the head.”

Long, slender fingers lay over his hand, then withdrew, trembling. Kit bit her lower lip. “It must have been horrible.”

He stood with her in the glow of the lanterns, surrounded by darkness, and felt they were the only two people on Earth. Nervousness made him try to make light of his situation. “I came in with about twenty other Blues. Nineteen years old, brash, tough and cocksure.”

“Sort of like Cade.”

“Worse than Cade.” He smiled at her exaggerated shocked expression. Then the smile faded as he remembered the rest. “That lasted all of ten minutes. That’s when the rocks started flying. The prisoners were trying to stone us. Kill us for our boots, uniforms and share of food. I saw a captain aim for me and then everything went black.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.