Rafe's Redemption Page 4

  She just hoped it wasn’t the previous inhabitant of this cave. A nd if it was, Lord, let it be the last one.

  Despite her hasty prayer, she eyed the dark corners.

  “Stop being stupid,” she hissed at herself. There was nothing to fear. No wild animals, no threat. Rafe seemed reasonable—for the most part. Everything would be fine.

  She expelled a shuddering breath. Something hot to drink was what she needed. It would finish warming her up and give her something to do.

  She spotted a tin bucket, filled with water, so she searched the shelves above a large worktable until she found coffee beans and the grinder. Soon the smell of brewing coffee made her stomach growl. If she didn’t get something to eat soon, fainting was a real possibility. She pushed aside the guilt of rifling through his supplies. No doubt he was hungry, too—and she preferred her food unburned.

  Besides, she intended to show him just how much she couldn’t do.

  I’ve known woman like her…

  Hah. He knew nothing about her.

  Cornmeal sat on the shelves beside a wooden bowl full of eggs. She nestled the frying pan into the embers and cracked four eggs. Those along with Johnny cakes would make a quick meal. Besides, there wasn’t much food, and she didn’t want to deplete his supplies.

  She removed her coat and hung it on the single straight-back chair beside a tiny dining table, then surveyed the room again. It was all so…barren and lonely. Did he have no one?

  She pushed the pity aside. Look where feeling sorry for Michael had landed her. Her time would be better spent thinking of ways to help herself.

  A s the first batch of cakes finished, Rafe came through the door and stopped, rooted to one spot. His gaze took in the fire and the food. His slack-jawed expression sent a jolt of smug satisfaction through her.

  Pout and look pretty, indeed.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked in honeyed innocence.

  “No.”

  Melting snow hung in his whiskers and dripped from the ends of his hair, making the color seem richer, darker. He wasn’t unattractive. His rough, dark looks and hard, muscled body would tempt any woman. He would make an excellent model for her sketches. But with luck, she wouldn’t be here long enough to open her satchel, much less ask him to sit for her.

  He stepped aside to hang his wet coat, and a large, gray dog charged through the door. She scurried back and clambered into the rocker. Dear God, Rafe hadn’t managed to kill all the cave’s former occupants.

  “Go away!” She shooed the beast with her long shirttail.

  The animal stopped and backed away, his head cocked in question, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

  Rafe strolled to the wash basin without a backward glance.

  “Do something!” she cried.

  He blew a long ragged sigh. “That’s Wolf. Wolf, Miss Monroe.”

  “A wolf?” she yelped. The animal stood poised as if ready to pounce. She probably looked as tasty as Nettie’s Sunday dinner.

  “What kind of person lets a wolf in his home?” She climbed over the arm of the chair and edged toward Rafe. Her hope plummeted. From the narrowed look he gave her, she’d be the first visitor to be evicted.

  “I do. He’s my friend.”

  Wolf’s eerie eyes watched her every move as she tiptoed back to the fire. She grabbed the largest cake and tossed it to the floor.

  “Um, good boy.”

  He gobbled it down, so she gave him another, along with a fried egg. Best fill him up. He smiled—she was sure of it, his long canine teeth shined—then trotted to lie in front of the fire. Pretending more bravery than she felt, she stepped around his large paws and reached for the coffee pot, aware of a new set of eyes watching her.

  Judging her.

  She poured Rafe a cup, then met his gaze.

  “A s you can see, I built up the fire and made coffee.” She pushed a cup toward him. “A nd cakes and eggs.”

  “Fine by me.” Rafe took the coffee, then slumped into the rocker and dropped his head back, expelling a sigh.

  She glared at his profile, determined to have an apology. “Is the coffee the way you like it?”

  “Fine.”

  “Is the fire warm enough?”

  “Fine.”

  Maggie resisted—barely—the urge to slap him with the spatula. So much for any thanks, or him admitting he’d been wrong about her abilities. Just like her father.

  Were men born unable to apologize?

  Wolf whined so Maggie gave him another small cake and he walked to the alcove, tail wagging. A t least one of them appreciated her efforts.

  She filled two plates and set them on the table.

  “Supper is ready.”

  Rafe lifted his head and nodded. “A ll right. You can have the table and chair.” He reached for his plate.

  She shook her head. “No, I’ll sit here on the hearth.

  The fire feels good after the long ride.” Rafe shrugged without comment, but she noticed he didn’t eat until she was seated. Manners. He wasn’t as rough as he pretended, but why pretend? He was a strange man, strange and confusing. A nd intriguing—

  even if he was a horse’s ass.

  ****

  Confusion bombarded Rafe as Maggie washed the dinner dishes. He shook his head. Where had a society girl learned to wash dishes? Or to cook the best damn meal he’d had in months? Most women he knew would have been sitting in the dark, crying because the lodgings turned out to be a cave.

  So damn it, why wasn’t she?

  He didn’t want to like her, couldn’t afford to let anyone close. He had to find a way to keep her at a distance. But how? Ignoring her didn’t work. She just talked all the more. Why was she acting so nice? Was she buttering him up? It was what Pearl had done. But what could Maggie want from him? He already gave his word to get her to the fort. Maybe she thought he expected something in exchange for his help. A sexual payment of sorts.

  A flash of lust sent a jolt to his cock at the thought of her in his bed. Naked. Writhing. Moaning his name.

  Offering her pussy for payment. His dick lengthened, pulsed until he squirmed in discomfort—but not enough discomfort to douse his wayward imagination. She’d be wet, her long legs open, begging for his tongue, her sassy mouth sucking his cock, greedy for him to fill her throat with come.

  “Jesus Christ!” He scrambled from the rocker, catching Wolf’s paw. The poor animal yelped in pain.

  Damn it.

  She spun from the wash pan, eyes wide with worry.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” he grumbled and pulled on his coat. “I’m going to check the animals.” Halfway out, he turned.

  “The privy is attached to the barn.” He slammed the door, but leaned against the other side and tried to bring his body under control. He had no business thinking of her like that.

  Her soft voice wafted through the wood. “Does he always act so strange?”

  Wolf whined.

  Wonderful. Now she was talking to the animals. Rafe walked away and shook his head. She should be cowering in fear. Wolf was vicious. Well, he could be.

  She wouldn’t know he was tame as a kitten.

  Grabbing a shovel, Rafe slung the accumulated snow off the path to the barn. He didn’t want her. Naked or otherwise. He didn’t.

  Inside the barn, he put the chickens in their coop, then leaned against the wall. He scrubbed his face and dragged an unsteady hand through his hair. Could he stay out here until she fell asleep? Or—

  The barn door opened and he jumped upright.

  Maggie stepped inside, Wolf fast on her heels. Rafe narrowed his eyes at the dog. Traitor.

  She looked around the dusty barn, then her full lips parted. Lord, he didn’t want to talk with her anymore, couldn’t stand the sweet lilt of her voice. It made him ache for things he thought he didn’t miss. Things he couldn’t have.

  “The privy is over there.” He cut her off before she could speak.

 
She gave a curt nod and walked across the hard-packed dirt floor.

  There was one thing he intended to make clear to her before she went back to the house. When she came out, shivering in the frigid air, he didn’t give her a chance to talk.

  “You take the bed. I’ll make do on the rug.” She frowned, creasing her delicate brows. “I won’t take your bed. I’ve already inconvenienced you enough.

  The rug is fine for me.”

  “No.” His voice came out rough. “Take the bed.” He counted to ten before continuing. “Go on.” He shooed her with a flick of his wrist. “I’ll be in later.” Wolf looked at him disapprovingly and followed Maggie toward the door. Rafe breathed a sigh of relief.

  Then she stopped and he stiffened. He should have known she wasn’t done.

  “Good night, Mr. McBride.” She nodded over her shoulder. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me.” The door swished shut, blocking the view of her rounded ass.

  Rafe let his head hit the wall with a loud thump and exhaled. Pearl never thanked him for anything. Ever. If she were forced to stay in a place like this she would have cried and screamed, refused to calm herself or lift a finger to help.

  But there was the rub. She had refused to come with him.

  Maggie on the other hand offered to sleep on the floor.

  “Hell,” he groaned. Did his thoughts always have to come back around to her?

  He stomped to the door and yanked it open, needing a cold reminder of where his life had led him. Snow swirled around his face, but all he could see was dark, curly hair and deep blue eyes. Even the frigid weather didn’t help. He was hard. Maybe…

  He slipped his palm over his cock, rubbing through his pants. Maybe he needed to take the edge off his hunger. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so tempted to strip her naked and lick every inch of her body.

  No! By God, he wasn’t going to resort to jerking his cod. If he had nothing else, he had self-control and no dark-haired beauty was going to take that away.

  No matter how sweet her ass looked in pants.

  ****

  A n hour outside finally cooled his temper and deflated his dick enough to chance going inside the cabin. He hung his coat and squinted at the bed, praying she slept. God help him if the blizzard trapped her here.

  How would he resist her temptation? Maybe he could be surly, pick a fight. If she was angry, it would be easier for him to keep his distance. Offense was the best defense, on or off the battlefield.

  Once his eyes adjusted, he saw her snuggled under a blanket. Not on the bed as he instructed, but on the rug.

  “Damn it all,” he whispered. Couldn’t she just follow orders? “Stubborn, frustrating female.” Constructing an argument would be no trouble.

  Her eyes opened, hazy and unfocused. “Wh-what?”

  “I told you to take the bed,” he growled, lifting her like a child, blanket and all. But the thin blanket wasn’t enough to hide the fact she’d removed her pants. Sleek, bare legs peeked from beneath the wool and all his hard-earned self-control flew out the door.

  He stomped across the dark space, trying not to trip as the blanket dragged between his legs. He would have made it if Wolf’s tail hadn’t been so damn long and bushy. Instead, he tripped and felt himself fall with her in his arms.

  Maggie couldn’t breathe. She landed hard on the straw mattress, Rafe’s large body on top of her. A strangled moan escaped her lips. Oh, this was bad. Bad, bad, bad. Her body hummed with excitement, the delicious weight of him between her legs pushing all common sense aside. Who needed to breathe? This felt much, much better.

  “I told you to take the bed.” His lips brushed her hair in an almost-kiss as he spoke.

  “I couldn’t,” she wheezed. The last thing she remembered was curling up in front of the fireplace. He had told her to take his bed, but she wouldn’t sleep there. She refused to take the few comforts he had.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered, wrestling the blanket tangled around their bodies. “A re you all right, Maggie?” He rolled off her. “A re you hurt?” His big hands roamed her body. “Tell me where I’ve hurt you.” His worried face loomed above her as she tried to suck in a deep breath. His leg still covered hers. Thank God, she’d only removed her trousers. The thought of his hands stroking her bare skin, touching her bare breasts, made her flush all over.

  “Can you talk?”

  She nodded her head. “I’m fine.”

  He surged to his feet, his face no longer worried, but angry and tense.

  “Then by God, next time, do as I say. I told you to take the bed, and I meant it.” He turned and walked away, muttering about empty-headed women.

  Her temper flashed. “Mr. McBride, this is your home.

  You should take the bed.”

  “Miss Monroe,” he mimicked. “You are a guest in my home. You should take the bed. My mother taught me manners.”

  “Do tell?” she taunted.

  He glared at her. “Just do what I say next time, damn it.” He stomped to the rug, dragging the troublesome blanket with him and flopped down on the hard floor. Then he sprung up on one elbow and growled, “A nd stop calling me Mr. McBride.” She slid under the covers and turned her back to him. Minutes passed while she tried to calm her temper.

  Why had she even tried to be nice? Let him sleep on the floor. She didn’t care.

  Yanking the blankets high under her chin, she whispered. “God, please let it stop snowing.”

  ****

  Nettie’s heavy breathing pulled Maggie from a glorious dream. She stretched, wiggling her toes beneath the heavy quilts. Early gray light teased through her eyelids. She needed to get up, needed to help Nettie get breakfast started. The woman was too old to work so hard. God knew, Father never appreciated the many years of service Nettie had provided. Keeping his house, raising Maggie. Father never appreciated anyone or anything.

  Maggie crushed the pillow over her face. “Nettie, did you run up the stairs again? You promised to let me do all the upstairs work. You’re panting like a dog. What’s

  —?”

  Then she remembered. Not a dog. A wolf! A nd an angry, hateful man.

  She tore the pillow from her face and bolted upright.

  The room was empty. Well, Rafe was gone, anyway.

  Wolf studied her from the floor.

  The fire blazed, and coffee boiled in the pot. Rafe’s blanket and pillow lay folded on the foot of the bed. His brooding image flashed in her mind, and a tiny shiver raced through her. She didn’t like the way he made her feel. Restless. A chy. Unsettled. Her life was unsettled enough.

  She yanked on her pants and boots, then felt the mangled length of her hair.

  “Would you know where I can find a comb?” she asked Wolf.

  The animal whined, then turned and lay in front of the fireplace.

  “I didn’t think so.” She’d find it herself.

  She walked over to the shelves that held Rafe’s personal belongings. His clean clothes lay folded on one shelf, three books underneath. A third shelf held shaving supplies—which he obviously never used—and, thank the Lord, a small comb.

  A fter taming her knotted hair, she made the bed and washed her face before starting breakfast. The biscuits were already spooned out when Rafe came in with an armload of wood.

  “Good morning,” she offered, determined not to let their argument last night continue. If the stubborn man wanted to sleep on a cold, hard slab, who was she to stop him? Once the snow ended, he could get back to his solitary life.

  He grunted a belated hello.

  Well, a night on the floor hadn’t helped his disposition.

  “I’m making biscuits to go with the eggs this morning.”

  Nothing.

  “Do you have many hens, or should I conserve eggs?”

  He looked up from washing his hands and frowned.

  “There’s enough,” he muttered and grabbed the towel.

  “Come here.” He led her to the back of the alcove, toward th
e earthen wall.

  He pulled aside the tall shelf that held his clothing and books. Maggie gasped. Hidden was a sliver of a room, stacked full of supplies. He reached inside, dropped a slab of salt pork into her hands, then walked to the coffee pot.

  Questions danced in her head. “Why do you hide it?” She watched his shoulders tense, and he huffed out a breath before answering. “When I’m gone, checking my traps, I don’t want someone to come in and steal it.” She nodded, then went to place the biscuits in the Dutch oven. A fter setting it on the coals, she shoveled a few embers on top of the lid. “Wouldn’t Wolf stop any thieves that came in?”

  Rafe gave a frustrated sigh. “He goes with me,” he said before sitting at the table.

  “Oh. Well, it’s a good hiding spot. You can’t see it at all.”

  He glanced at her, then to the shelves. “I’ll leave them pulled aside, so you can get what you need to cook with,” he mumbled into his coffee.

  She smiled. No doubt it almost killed him to string that many words together.

  While she cracked the eggs, she glanced at Rafe.

  Thick hair fell forward and hid part of his face. He stared into his cup, large hands wrapped loosely around the tin.

  She quivered as she remembered those hands running over her body last night when he thought she was hurt.

  The sensation, along with his musky scent on the pillow, had made her sleep fitful.

  A nd some of the dreams she’d had…well, they were shameful. Erotic. Delicious. She’d been spread out on the table like a feast. Naked, with slices of ripe peaches placed over her nipples, trailed down her stomach. Rafe leaned over her body, trickling the sticky-sweet fruit between her legs, lapping the juice from her cunny. The feel of his warm tongue and rough whiskers on her tender flesh while he sucked and licked and licked—

  Stop it!

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to concentrate on cooking. She didn’t want to think about Rafe. Or his tongue. Or any part of him. She sucked in another breath. She was leaving. Soon. Maybe the weather had cleared, and they could leave this morning.