The rich scent of spicy meat stew filled the air.
“She’s family.”
“Yes.” Maybe not by blood but by everything that mattered, Tia was family.
Desi’s face took up that guarded look he didn’t like. He took the package from her hands and set it aside. It wasn’t hard to see where her thoughts had wandered. “She’ll like you just fine, Desi.”
Caine reached back for his saddlebag and fished out his tin plate and spoon. Tracker poured some stew onto the plate and tossed on a tortilla. Sam added a tamale. Caine glanced over at where Desi sat dwarfed by the coat. “Add another tamale on there.”
Sam followed his glance. “Yeah. She could use some fattening up.”
Shit, Caine hoped Desi hadn’t heard that. It only took a turn to see that she had. That full, totally tempting mouth was set in a flat line and those eyes were shooting daggers at him again. He sighed and handed her the plate. “He wasn’t slinging mud. Just concern.”
She took it. “It doesn’t matter.”
He noticed the fine tremor in her hands as he let go. Hunger, fear, anger…? Hell, there were too many reasons that could cause that shaking to pinpoint just one. She didn’t immediately grab up the spoon.
“Maria said to tell you she didn’t make it too spicy, ma’am,” Sam offered.
Desi appreciated that. She’d only met the woman once, early on before James had understood how determined she’d been to escape. Plump and colorful, happily married to the town’s blacksmith, she’d been a too-cheerful reminder of all Desi had lost. Desi’s renewed defiance after the one time she’d delivered food had ensured James had never let Maria back again. “Thank her for me, please.”
“You can tell her yourself,” Caine inserted in his low drawl. “She comes out to Hell’s Eight once a month in good weather to visit Tia.”
Which meant there was no chance she’d find any peace at Caine’s home. Desi clenched the spoon in her hand. The food that had her stomach rumbling a moment before was suddenly as appetizing as glue. No woman wanted her male relations taking up with a whore. If Tia was as formidable as the men implied, she’d spend her days paying for her crimes against decency and her night paying for Caine having to marry her. The future did not look good. She kept her voice even as she said, “Thank you, I will.”
She stared beyond the firelight, to the wildness beyond. It matched the wildness she felt inside. She just wanted to be free. Free of men’s demands, society’s scorn and the personal pain that ate like acid at her soul.
“Desi?”
She resented Caine’s interruption as much as she resented her circumstances. “What?”
He placed his fingers under the plate and pressed, until she either had to lift the plate or wear the contents. She lifted. His cool green eyes met hers with a confidence she wished she could borrow.
“I promise you, nothing’s going to be as bad as you’re imagining.”
5
It wasn’t as bad, it was worse. Desi stared at the bedroll set on the opposite side of the fire from everyone else, the distance emphasizing this was her wedding night. She’d come back from changing into her new clothes and found this. The euphoria and contentment from her full stomach faded. She glanced across the fire to where Caine stood talking to Tracker and Sam. While she didn’t consider twenty feet a token to privacy, Caine probably did. Men, she knew, didn’t mind other men watching them stake their claim. She’d hoped it would be different if she were a wife, but she glanced at the double bedroll again and knew that had been a vain hope.
The Hell’s Eight men did everything together. Legend said they were ghosts of warriors past come back to right wrongs. Others said they’d made a deal with the Devil to survive when the Mexicans had wiped out their town. No one ever said they worried over much about what was proper or respectable. And she was a whore in the eyes of everyone around her. Maybe even in her own heart if she dared to check, but she wasn’t checking and she wasn’t believing it. That being the case, she wasn’t behaving like one.
Deliberately, she picked up the closest half of the bedroll and moved it four feet to the left. She would have moved it farther if a shadow hadn’t come between her and the firelight. A booted foot settled on the far corner of the bedroll. She didn’t need to look up to know who that boot belonged to. She’d spent all day today while riding, watching that boot rock in the stirrup. The three horizontal scrapes across the instep marked it as Caine’s. “You worried about catching on fire?”
“No.”
She gave the bedroll a yank. It came out from under his foot easier than she’d expected. She hit the ground hard enough to leave bruises on her fanny. She also managed to move her bedroll and extra two feet.
His shadow stretched over her, then his hand, and then the amusement in his drawl. “The heat of the fire isn’t going to reach this far.”
She accepted his hand. “I don’t mind.”
He didn’t let go as he bent down and grabbed the bedroll. “I do.”
She snatched it out of his hand, draping it over her arm as she smoothed the wrinkles out. “Then you can stay over there.” She didn’t dare look at his face as she added, “I don’t mind.”
He took her hand again. His thumb stroked over the back of it. “I must be in a real contrary mood tonight because I mind.”
Anger surged from deep within. “Why, because you’ll miss out on an opportunity to show your friends how well you fuck?”
That thumb didn’t even break rhythm. “And here I was thinking I won’t get a wink of sleep watching my wife shiver in her blankets.”
She wrenched her arm from his grip and stomped back to his bedroll. She threw the blankets down atop the saddle. “Do me a favor.”
He came quietly up behind her, but it didn’t matter. The man had too much presence to sneak. The hairs on the back of her neck always warned her when he was around. “What?”
“Don’t try to dress it up prettily.”
“Dress what up?”
She glanced across the fire. Tracker and Sam were staring hard at the flames, pretending not to be aware of what was going on. She lowered her voice. “What’s going to happen here tonight.”
She couldn’t see his eyes under the brim of his hat, but she could see the quirk of his lips. “You got something against sleep?”
She turned and slammed her hands on her hips, anger writhing through her like a living thing. “Stop it. Just stop pretending. If all you were planning to do was sleep, we wouldn’t be over here and—” she kicked the pile of blankets “—we wouldn’t be sharing a bedroll.”
A log popped on the fire. She jumped and spun around. By the time she turned back, Caine was right there, close enough that the edge of his poncho touched her coat. His coat. She swallowed and risked a look at his face. He didn’t look angry, but with him, who could tell? His hand lifted. She flinched. His eyes narrowed. She braced her spine for the blow that was coming. His fingers grazed her jaw, slid along the bone, feather-light, but the drag of the rough callus left no doubt he was strong. His thumb came to rest against her mouth as his fingers cradled her cheek.
“The bedrolls are over here because we thought you might be a bit uncomfortable without privacy. The bedrolls are together because it’s damn cold and you’ve taken enough chill for one day, and also because you’re my wife, and my wife sleeps by me.”
“Why?” It felt strange to speak against his thumb, but she didn’t let that stop her.
“Because it’s my right to protect you.”
She