Jackson and Grace shared a concerned look.
A worried Jackson asked, “Are you sick?” She’d saved his life. He wanted the time to get to know her better.
“No, Jackson, I’m not, but the time is near.”
In sharp contrast to the humid heat, Grace felt a chill cross her soul. Did M’dear really know her death date? Grace glanced over at William standing sentinel-like beside the door to gauge his reaction, and saw the sadness in his dark eyes. Did he know what M’dear was alluding to?
“In the interim,” M’dear said, rising to her feet with the aid of her ebony cane, “First thing in the morning, William and I will be leaving to tend to a sick child. Her family lives a ways down river, and if she’s as sick as William says she is, we’ll probably be there a few days. Will you two be all right here alone?”
Upon seeing Jackson’s and Grace’s grins, she answered her own question. “Of course you will, you’re in love.”
Leaving them with a twinkle in her eye, she slowly made her way into the cabin.
The next morning Jackson helped William load M’dear’s things onto the raft while M’dear and Grace spent a few minutes talking about the food on hand, which of M’dear’s many plants would need watering, and other things, like what might ripen and need to be picked from the vast garden behind the house. Grace mentally noted each item, then walked with her out to the raft.
William gently lifted M’dear’s tiny frame up into his arms. Boarding the raft, he set her down in a big rattan chair that resembled a throne, then poled the raft away from the bank. Jackson and Grace waved and watched until the raft rounded the bend and disappeared from sight.
In the soft silence that descended, one could hear the ever present hum of the insects.
Jackson slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her gently into his side. “Well, we have this paradise all to ourselves. What do you want to do first?”
He waggled his eyebrows.
She grinned, then asked saucily, “Are you sure you’re up to such strenuous activity?”
He turned her so that they stood facing. He’d intended to give her a quick quip in response, but he paused. Gazing down, he saw the face of a redheaded pirate queen who’d taken on Satan himself to keep her husband from entering death’s door, and his heart swelled. “Have I said thank you for saving my life?”
She smiled softly. “I don’t remember.”
He traced her mouth wondrously. “You are one amazing woman.”
“It’s the lioness who hunts after all,” she replied, her heart full too.
“I’m glad she does…”
He kissed her, the first real kiss they’d shared since his recovery, and time slipped away. As her arms moved up his back to hold him close, there were no memories of hurt, pain, or fear, just a slow, passionate recommitment to relearning each other.
“How about I heat us some water for a bath,” he whispered against her ear.
Grace purred contentedly, “That sounds wonderful.” After yet another stifling hot night, Grace couldn’t wait for the opportunity to feel his lips gliding over her clean, fresh skin.
Tub bathing was done in a spot behind M’dear’s cabin. The unique bathing room was actually a large latticed bower thickly covered with the curling tendrils of M’dear’s thriving grapevines. The riots of vines provided a natural screening for complete privacy.
Seated on the bower’s bench, Grace watched Jackson pour the last bucketful of warm water into the large clawfoot tub. “Do you think Jupiter built this for M’dear?”
“Maybe,” Jackson said, straightening and gazing around. Being the son of a carpenter, he really would have liked to see how it had been constructed, but because of all the vines curling over the latticed wood one could see only the large arch overhead and the two tall walls it rested upon.
“It is a nice spot,” he remarked, marveling at the beauty surrounding them. He then turned his attention to another beautiful sight. “Are you ready?”
They were both fully dressed, but he planned on rectifying that directly.
Grace rose slowly and went to where he stood beside the tub. The anticipation of making love again after what seemed like an eternity had her fairly shaking.
He freed the top button of her blouse and then the one below it. Still holding her captive with eyes that promised to fulfill her every sensual wish, he undid the rest, then brushed the halves aside, his palms grazing her nipples so enticingly, she swooned and closed her eyes.
He kissed her mouth, teasing her lips with the tip of his tongue. While she stood there seeing sunsets, he eased the garment from her to reveal her thin chemise. Enjoying her reactions, he slowly traced a finger down her trembling throat, then whispered it over the top of each breast. While the sensations rose and rippled over Grace in the thick silence, he leaned down and offered a soft kiss of tribute to each golden crest. He slid the camisole down and suckled each nipple so magnificently that her growl rose against the quiet air.
He straightened, then husked out, “Now you can get into the tub…”
Smoldering, Grace put her hands to the button on the waistband of her black skirt. Knowing that she had his full attention filled her with an odd sort of power. The wanton woman inside her enjoyed the way his eyes followed the path of her skirt as it slowly slipped down her legs, then glided up over her firm brown legs and thin drawers for the journey back to her face. Holding his hot gaze, she lifted the camisole up over her head. As she slowly discarded it, he smiled. Her nipples tightened in response and Grace had never felt so brazen.
She leaned up for a kiss, during which he untied the tapes of her drawers, then worked them down. Still kissing him, she stepped out of them and he took a moment to savor her curves and planes with his worshipping hands.
He picked her up in his arms and lowered her into the water. There was so much heat arching between them, Grace half expected the water to begin to boil.
“Where’s the soap?” he asked softly.
Grace pointed to the small ironwork table nearby. On it were a variety of scented soaps, salts, and oils M’dear had given her after their arrival. He sniffed a few, found one he seemed to favor, and came back to the tub.
She reached out to take the soap from him, but he wouldn’t hand it over, saying, “Not so fast.”
Confused, she watched him wet the soap on the wash-cloth. With her still looking on, he soaped it into a lather, and she wondered if he was intent upon what he looked to be intent upon.
“Stand up for me, darlin’.”
He was. Anticipation made her tremble as she slowly rose to her feet, and as if rewarding her, the soapy cloth slid down her back and over her hips in such a suggestive and provocative manner, her eyes closed. He washed her in all the places that he planned on loving later—her breasts, shoulders, hips, then up and down her legs and thighs. She stood there, glowing in the silence, with her nipples hard and her core yearning and knew that every bath she took from now on would remind her of this very special place.
He rinsed her clean, wrapped her tenderly in a drying towel, and carried her the short distance to the pallet on the far side of the bower. He dried her so slowly and so well that when his dark fingers began to circle the citadel hidden in her damp copper hair, her legs parted and her hips rose ardently. Pleased, he kissed her mouth and then suckled her pleading breasts until they sang. He kissed his way down her fresh, scented body, and then under the soft hum of their surroundings placed a kiss on the inside of each satin-skinned thigh.
When he brushed his lips across the soft copper hair, Grace thought she’d dissolve and die. She also thought that this time, she’d be better able to handle his sweet conquering, but she was wrong. His warm mouth and its intimate seekings set off thunder and lightning. His lips played, his fingers lingered, and in the end, her screaming release startled the birds out of the trees.
Moments later, he gave her a soft kiss. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move…”
And she
didn’t. She couldn’t—hell, she had no desire to. She lay atop the sheet-covered pallet throbbing and pulsing with the echoes of his magnificent loving, hoping he would hurry.
And he did. Jackson took the fastest bath he’d ever taken in his life. Clean now, he came back and knelt beside her.
She lay right where he’d left her, nude and beautiful. He traced her mouth and she opened her eyes. For a moment they fed themselves on the desire in each other, silently speaking the way only lovers can, and then he lowered his mouth to hers and began again.
By the time he entered her, Grace was so ready, his first few possessive strokes almost sent her over the edge again, but she held off so she could enjoy him to the fullest.
Jackson knew he wasn’t going to last long, not this time; she was too hot, the paradise sheltering him too lush. The sight of her rising so passionately to match him thrust for thrust was also sending him toward the top. The silky weight of her hips in his hands as he guided her in a bliss-filled rhythm made him drop his head back and increase the pace of strokes. Soon they were both rising and falling in sweet battle. She shattered first, twisting and clutching his strong waist, her voice rising in song. He came next, face tight, and growling.
In the aftermath, they lay side by side, looking up at their vine-covered ceiling.
Jackson said, “Well, if you weren’t pregnant before, you sure are now.”
Grace snorted with humor and playfully punched him in the side. “I hope my children aren’t going to be as arrogant as their father.”
“Me?” he accused, turning over so they were facing. “Who is more arrogant than you, Miss Pirate Queen?”
“You,” she said, smiling.
He dragged her atop him. Resting a hand on each hip, he squeezed her lightly and said, “Our child, or if M’dear is right, our children, will be wonderful, whoever they favor.”
“You really think I might have more than one?”
“Anything is possible, I suppose. Are there any twins in your family?”
She shrugged. “Not that I’m aware of. I’ll have to ask the aunts when we get home.”
She searched his eyes for a moment, then asked quietly, “When are we going home, Jackson?”
He knew this subject would come up eventually, but in light of the good times they’d been having lately, he hadn’t wanted to be the one to spoil everything by bringing it up.
So, in answer to her question he replied just as quietly, “I am home.”
Grace dropped her head for a moment. “Jackson, I have to go back to Chicago.”
“I know, but I’ve got things to do here.”
“What more can you do?” she asked, trying not to get upset.
“I want to go back and talk to Maybelle.”
“Didn’t she say she didn’t know anything about her brother, Champ?”
“I think if I can talk to her again—”
Grace rolled away and sat with her back to him. There was silence for a moment as she tried to put her feelings into words. “Jackson, this Texas of yours scares me to death. Call me a northern coward, or whatever you wish, but I can’t live here, not knowing that while me and my babies are sleeping, night riders could barge in and take our lives, and nobody would care.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “Is that so selfish of me?”
“No,” he admitted, not liking how this conversation would eventually end or the actions they’d probably be taking as a result. “I’m not going back to Chicago, at least, not right away.”
She looked into his eyes and he met her gaze steadily. This is the beginning of the end, she said to herself. “Jackson, I understand that you want to do this for your father, but—”
“It’s not just my father. Trent bragged that he has the warrant for my arrest. If I can get my hands on it, I can start over, we can start over.”
“We can’t do anything if you’re dead.”
“I didn’t ask you to follow me down here, remember?”
“And if I hadn’t, you would be dead, remember?”
He looked away.
Keeping her mouth shut lest she say something she shouldn’t, she picked up her skirt and put it on. “I’ll fix us some lunch.”
Grabbing up the rest of the clothes, she draped a clean towel around her torso and left him alone in the bower.
Jackson wanted to throw something, but he knew it wouldn’t change things. She’d mapped out her position and he’d done the same. He knew he had little chance of getting his hands on that warrant or bringing Lane Trent to justice, but his pride refused to let him give up. Trent and his friends had murdered his father, he couldn’t just walk away from that. He also owed Trent for the dragging. Grace shouldn’t’ve had to witness such horror and Jackson owed Trent for that, too.
Grace had spent quite a bit of time around her father’s adult friends, so she knew a bit about men and pride. For some men pride was their driving force, and Jackson was one of those men. She wanted to grab him by his shoulders and shake him for placing his life in danger this way, but she knew she had no say in how he chose to handle his life. She, on the other hand, had the well-being of her child to consider and she had no plans to raise it in hell. If he didn’t want to return to Chicago with her, she’d go alone.
Lunch consisted of leftover wedges of roast duck between slices of the bread she had made yesterday. It was eaten in silence.
When they were done, he stood and said, “I’m going back to the outside when M’dear and William come back.”
Since he’d said nothing about getting her to the train station or even escorting her back to the outside, she supposed she was to make her own arrangements for home. She wondered if he could see the ache in her heart.
He could. “I told M’dear I’d finish chopping that wood I brought in the other day. I’m going to go take care of it now.”
He noted she hadn’t asked to be escorted back to the train station, or even back to the outside. Independent to the end. Without another word, he stepped off the porch and walked away.
For the next two days they moved around each other like ghosts. He slept in the hammock outside and Grace went to the bed alone. She refused to cry. They argued fiercely.
“Explain to me,” Grace asked him one afternoon, “what it is you’re seeking here. I want to understand.”
“Justice.”
“Jackson, it’s 1884. There is no justice for us. Maybe in seventy-five or another hundred years.”
“I know what year it is, Grace, but should I just give up? Should I just walk away and maybe let Trent kill another child’s father?”
“Your death is not going to bring your father back into your life. It’s not.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why don’t you turn your back on this and walk away? Why let Trent control you like this?”
“He doesn’t control me.”
“Sure he does. You are so much in his control that you’re actually helping him by placing yourself within his reach. That doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Then go back to Chicago, where things make sense.”
Grace’s lip tightened. “Fine.”
She walked back to the cabin with angry unshed tears in her eyes.
When M’dear and William returned, the old woman looked tired as she used her cane to aid her onto the porch.
Grace, sitting on the porch, snapping beans, smiled for the first time in days. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you. It’s good to be back.”
“How’s the child?” Grace asked.
“Doing well, doing well. Snakebite. How are you?” M’dear countered, sounding weary as she eased down onto the cushioned seat of her favorite rattan chair. “Where’s that man of yours?”
“Fishing downstream. Said he’d be back later.” Grace tried to keep her voice light.
M’dear wasn’t fooled; she leaned over and peered into Grace’s face. “You two spattin’?”
Grace’s lip tightened.
“He’s going back to the outside. I’m going back north.”
For a moment there was silence as M’dear searched her eyes. “I see. Almost losing his life wasn’t enough of a sign for him?”
“I guess not.”
M’dear sighed. “Some folks have to follow the path to the end.”
“Trent’s going to kill him.”
“You don’t know that, child.”
Admittedly, Grace didn’t, but when this whole mess had started, she’d pledged to follow him into hell, and she had. Now she was ready to leave. Lane Trent would not have the satisfaction of killing off another generation of Blakes. She was taking her baby home.
She did want to stay here a while longer, though. She’d need to grieve once Jackson left her, and she’d rather shed her tears here, surrounded by familiar peace and tranquillity, than on the long, impersonal train ride home.
Grace turned back and looked to M’dear. “I would like to stay on a few days, if I might.”
“Stay as long as you wish. William will see you to the train when you’re ready to go.”
Jackson decided he’d head down to Austin and see if he couldn’t find Jeb Randolph. Randolph had been a Texas Ranger back during Jackson’s sheriff days and had always been a man of integrity. He was probably the only man who could help Jackson reconnect the strings on a ten-year-old killing and offer advice on how to go about it.
As he packed his gear, he tried to avoid thinking about Grace, but couldn’t. He understood why she wanted him to leave. She was afraid for his life, and Chicago was decidedly safer. But if Jackson didn’t try and right his past, he’d spend the rest of his life with the injustice of his father’s death burning in his heart. Soon he’d wind up blaming her for being the cause of his discontent and he didn’t want that. If he did return to her, he knew he risked having her turning her back on him and not letting him back into her life, but it was a chance he’d have to take.
On one hand, he’d forced her to marry him because he hadn’t wanted his child to grow up without him, but on the other, how could he look his child in the eye knowing he’d done nothing to avenge his own father’s death? For Grace, going back to Chicago was a simple, logical decision, but for him it was much more complex.