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"Yes, I am sure it was all a misunderstanding, but please do go on.” She leaned towards him listening intently, her chin rested on the palm of her hand, and her elbow on her knees, in a classic thoug
htful position.
"It really was. The sheriff had caught me hitching a ride with the stagecoach. Your father took me in when no one else would."
"What about your family?"
"I don't have family."
* * * *
"Why not? Everyone has a family. Don't they?” Barbara couldn't imagine life without knowing her mother. Although times had been tough in her childhood, she still had known her parents loved her. She wished she had understood what her father had gone through sooner, and she would have attempted to get to know him as well.
"I never knew mine. My pa was a gunslinger, and my mother gave me up. I lived in the orphanage until I was twelve. I ran away and hitched a ride on the stagecoach that ran through town here, but I got caught."
"What did they do with you?"
"They turned me over to the sheriff in town."
"A twelve-year-old boy doesn't belong in jail!” Barbara said, outraged.
"There weren't any homes for boys like me to send me to here, so the sheriff turned me over to your pa. Buster took me in, taught me how to work, and we became partners. I never looked back,” Vincent said.
Barbara wondered just how hard it was for him during his childhood. To have to be raised in an orphanage, and then finally to be treated like a kid, and given some kind of real home. Her father must have thought of Vincent as a son to treat him so kindly over the years, and without that love, Vincent may have turned to a life of crime to make his way in this world. Instead of working for a living as he did now.
Looking at him at that moment, she could see the twelve-year-old little boy who was just looking to be loved, looking to be held. She felt a strong pull to touch him somehow, to just reach out and comfort him. “That must have been a hard childhood for you. To be alone like that."
"It was a long time ago, and I am not alone anymore."
Finally she gave into the urge to touch him, and placed her hand over his. “No, you aren't alone anymore."
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Chapter Nine
Vincent and Barbara slipped into a daily routine, and an uneasy truce. She never brought up the whorehouse incident again and he kept the conversations light. She tried to forget what she had seen, but the sexual tension stayed heated between them even if it was ignored. She didn't want to share him with anyone else, and yet ever since she saw him in bed with those two women, it was all she could do to not picture it in her head, and imagine she was the one cradled in his arms.
With every day, the panning for gold was becoming more mundane. It was hard work, frustrating when you didn't get a payout, and the sheer harshness of the physical labor threatened to break Barbara.
She had grown calluses where she had none before. Her muscles grew stronger and she lasted longer, but after hours of working the ground, shovel after shovel, she needed a break, and she was getting tired of Vincent's heated glances. They were making her hot and raising emotions in her that she would rather not feel. That coiled sensation in her belly was stronger than she wanted it to be, caused by simple things that she just knew he did on purpose. Did he have to brush up against her, caressing her arm as he gave her the shovel? Did he have to tap her on the bottom as she walked out the door? It was beyond what would have accepted or witnessed in polite society, but in the privacy of their own home, it sent a thrill down her spine that gave her a secret desire to want to ask for more.
It was time to cool off. Barbara was the first to break eye contact and, grabbing the bucket, she made her way into the water. She sashayed into the water, purposefully swinging her hips a little more than she had to. Her skirts were already wet, soaking up the cool liquid. She bent over, using one hand to cup the water, and splashed it over her face, allowing it to spread onto her neck and back and drip onto her breasts.
She let the bucket dip into the water, allowing it to fill slowly, and when it was nearly full she pulled it up. The current fought to keep its hold and Barbara found herself fighting to keep her balance. Her footing on the slick stone was insecure, the skirts she wore had become increasingly heavy with the water. Suddenly her feet slipped out from under her, and she fell into the water. The current pulled her downstream quickly.
Fear gave way to panic as she realized she was fighting a losing battle. Once, twice, she came up gasping for air. Her lungs burned. She screamed, hoping Vincent heard her cries for help. She wasn't sure she had a chance to save herself. Her arms and legs flailed in the water, twisting in the material of her dress. Desperately she let go of the bucket and began to undo her dress, realizing that the only thing the sodden clothing was doing now was pulling her under. She opened her mouth, fighting for air, and her mouth filled with water. She tried not to cough, but the reaction was a natural reflex that she couldn't stop.
Would it be painful to die? Perhaps it wouldn't hurt so much. She wished she had taken the time to learn how to swim. If she lived after today, she would make a point to learn sometime.
* * * *
Vincent looked over in time to see Barbara's slim figure go under the water. His heart stopped as he listened to her wrenching screams before going under again. His feet seemed to move independently of his body as he ran. He didn't even feel the water until he was completely submersed. His arms moved in powerful strokes to where he last saw her go under.
With his heart thundering in his ears he dove, blindly feeling for her body under the water. When his lungs felt like they would burst he came up for air. He treaded water, hoping to see anything beneath the murky depths. Vincent let the water carry him a few feet and dove again. After a minute he came back up for air and repeated the process.
Damn. Where was she?
His chest was tight with the fear of losing her. He would never forgive himself if he...
Something brushed his leg and he immediately reacted, his body jackknifed in the water to let him reach for the strange object and was rewarded with the brush of skin. It had to be her. He grabbed her body and pulled her to the surface. He expected her to be fighting him if she was panicking and drowning. Or to be helping him, if she were alive and conscious. That she did neither of those things sent him to a new level of worrying.
He tried to keep her head above the surface as he swam for the shore. It worried him that Barbara wasn't coughing, or sputtering. She was so unresponsive, but there was no time to worry until he could do something about it. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he moved her to a position so that he could carry her better out of the water without dragging her.
Her lips were a shade of blue that was not becoming, her face was too pale, her eyes were shut, and it was apparent even to him that she wasn't breathing.
"Don't die on me, woman.” Vincent hoped she could still hear him. Perhaps it wasn't too late. People died everyday in this harsh land. The Wild West wasn't called wild because it was safe, but why someone so young? Or so beautiful? It wasn't fair. He wouldn't let her die.
Not so carefully, he laid Barbara on her side so any water would flow out of her mouth. Then Vincent rolled her onto her back. Perhaps if he pressed on her stomach, he could get the water out? He tried and was pleased to hear a sloshing sound. Her chest was still not moving, and out of desperation brought his lips to hers and breathed out, forcing air into her lungs. He did this again, refusing to give up hope. He was rewarded with a sputtering sound as she coughed up water. If she was coughing, then she was breathing.
Thank God!
She was breathing on her own. Vincent brought her into his arms, cradling her as she coughed some more. He held her as tight as he dared, pressing her back to his chest. He wanted to kiss her, to feel her breath on his lips. To open her up and taste the sweet nectar inside, if nothing else than to assure himself that she was still alive.
* * * *
"Tell me you are okay,” he demanded, his words a mere whisper in her ear.
Barbara turned to face him, feeling a little confused. She meant to say something. She wanted to say how scared she was th
at she was going to die, that she didn't know how to swim, and it was a miracle. To say thank you and so much more, but she didn't have a chance. As soon as she was facing him, his lips crashed down on hers with a fervor that was unexpected, and yet welcomed. She felt shocked that he kissed her. Until today she wasn't even sure he liked her, and wasn't sure how to respond.
Tentatively she placed her hands on his chest and softened her lips just as he pulled away from her.
"I'm sorry, I should not have kissed you like that."
"Why not?"
"I meant I shouldn't have taken advantage of you. You have just been through all this and so innocent, and here I am—"
"I know how to kiss,” she interrupted.
"Oh? Are you an experienced kisser then?” he asked with a suddenly amused expression.
"I will have you know that I don't go around kissing men. I am certainly not as experienced as you."
"We should correct that deficiency."
When he was met with confusion, he elaborated. “Kissing."
"I can't kiss you."
"And why not? It's not like you have a beau at home waiting for you. In fact, learning how to kiss may help with that deficiency as well."
He tipped her chin up, turning her face to his. He kissed her, letting the passion out through his lips. Slowly he ran the tip of his tongue along the inner edge of her lips, willing her to open for him. Her lips separated, allowing him entry and he was rewarded with her delicious taste. He delved and thrust his tongue, as though making a game of it as she fought to capture his. He circled within her mouth and she was hesitant at first, but she picked up on the art of kissing quickly.
* * * *
His breath came faster and when he felt his lower half hardening at her naïve but honest reactions, he knew he had taken this too far. Suddenly Vincent picked her up in his arms and began the journey back to the house. If he waited any longer, they might both end up naked on the beach.
And he knew better than to take advantage of her anymore than he already had. Her arms circled his neck as he carried her towards the cabin. His deep voice was tinged with regret as he spoke, “Come on. Let's get you home and warmed up, sugar."
