Sighing, Ashleen swung up on the gelding's bare back, taking the leather reins in her hand. Her skirts bunched up around her thighs, but despite the scandalous length of leg displayed she hadn't the will to tug the cloth down as the faintest of breezes cooled her skin through the thin fabric of her pantalettes. Savoring even that slight comfort, she gigged Cooley into a trot. She raised her hand in salute as she passed the children, but they didn't even bother to ask where she was going. They didn't seem to care.
That would change, Ashleen resolved. Today. As soon as she made things right with Garret she would do so with the little ones as well.
Leaning forward, she urged her mount into a smooth lope, the prairie grass beneath her blurring, the horse's momentum cooling her face, making her hair fly back behind her. She reined in as she crested the hillock where Garret had disappeared, her eyes searching for the paint. She saw the gelding, a splash of roan and white, beneath a scrawny growth of cottonwood a hundred yards from where the wagon trail cut around rim of the hill. Garret was still in the saddle, staring past the dusty ruts to where a creek burbled its welcome, waiting, just waiting for the wagon to come into view.
Ashleen could only be glad that the oxen's plodding pace would give her a little time, for if she had maintained even the slightest of doubts about apologizing to the man who sat astride the horse, this single glimpse of him would have driven those doubts from her mind.
He had dragged his hat from his head, the blazing sun merciless, exposing to her every line of that beloved, rugged face. Deep lines framed that sensitive, sensual mouth, that square, stubborn jaw. Dark brows shadowed eyes that were gray pools of regret.
There was a hunger in him, as deep as the hunger he had revealed to her when he had plunged deep into her body, making them one. But this was a hunger of the spirit, a hunger for the love, the acceptance, the warmth he had just begun to taste in the warm circle of the campsite before it had been snatched away.
No, not snatched away, Ashleen thought, her heart twisting. He had given it freely in exchange for the safety of those he had loved.
And she had been selfish enough to take it.
Swallowing hard, she set Cooley at a walk, winding down the hill toward Garret.
At the sound of the hoof beats he looked up at her, and she could see naked longing before his face fell into its accustomed blank mask.
"You should be back at the wagon." Terse. Flat. The words held none of the warmth she had come to love.
"Renny's driving the oxen," she said as she dismounted, ground-tying her horse. "And as for the littler children, they're dragging about so slow there's not a chance of one of them getting into mischief."
Garret made no move to dismount. He only looked away, his lips thinning.
Ashleen forced a mockery of a laugh. "I swear, it's getting so I'm hungry for just one little squabble between the lot of them. A lizard down Shevonne's back, someone snitching from the sugar stores. I wouldn't even mind so much if Renny gave Liam a bloody nose. At least they'd be talking."
Garret stared off into the distance. "They'll talk. They're just damned tired."
The thought that he would make excuses for them all made guilt sluice through Ashleen. She drew a bracing breath. "No. They're not tired. They're behaving badly. But then, I can hardly blame them."
Garret's chest rumbled with a laugh edged with bitterness, but before he could speak Ashleen rushed on.
"I can hardly blame them for behaving so badly, considering how I've been behaving myself." The last words were soft, tinged with humility, and Garret's head whipped around, his eyes capturing hers.
"You've been fine," he said, rolling the brim of his hat between restless fingers. "You had every right to be angry."
"Angry because you cared so wonderfully for the children while Meggie was sick? Angry because you were always there for me, when I was terrified I was going to lose her? Or angry because you had the courage to do what had to be done to safeguard the other children, when I could not?"
His eyes widened as he regarded her, disbelieving, a residue of hurt still clinging to his features. With a muttered curse he swung down from the paint, but instead of coming toward Ashleen he stalked a few steps away, putting what seemed a world of painful distance between them. "Ashleen," he said at last, "you've done right fine by these young'uns. You would have—"
"Destroyed Meggie's doll? I don't think I could have, Garret. It would've been like... I don't know... like destroying a part of her soul. I know that sounds ridiculous—"
"No. It doesn't." His voice was so low she scarcely heard it.
She laid one hand on the sleeve of his shirt, felt the rigid muscles beneath the soft fabric. "Garret, no matter how much Meggie loved that doll, it wasn't worth dying for. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. For getting so angry with you, in front of the children. For making them think it was your fault somehow. I'm going to talk to them as soon as we make camp. Tell them—"
"No."
She watched him, stunned as he pressed the heel of his hand against his brow, his eyes drifting closed.
"Wh-what do you mean, no? Garret, I—"
"It's better this way, Ashleen. Better that they... well, that they don't get too"—he hesitated, his cheeks darkening—"too fond of me."
"I don't understand."
He crushed the brim of his hat so fiercely that Ash almost expected the thick material to tear. "Liam was getting right fond of me while you were nursing Meggie. Even Shevonne." His mouth twisted, bitter. "Renny'd still as soon spit in my eye as look at me, but the other three—I think maybe it's better if they don't get too used to—to having me around."
