Blood and Iron Ch. 04

She wouldn't. Wouldn't permit him to, either, refusing burning fiercely in her eyes. "I ain't afraid anymore, Pa." An urgent whisper, grabbing at his hand, clasping it in hers. "What I feel, what I dreamt about. I had time while I was ridin' you back, while you was layin' here. Time to think what I'd do, if you really...if you didn't wake up." An echo in her voice, of the pain such thoughts had caused her, the dark and misery of contemplation. Her fingers clutched at his, interlaced, soothing herself with the rough, familiar texture of his skin, the dry and pleasant warmth of his hand in hers. Staring into his reluctant eyes, imploring and intense. "And I realized, I didn't have no regrets for the things I done. For findin' you. For kissin' you." Her voice rang from the memory. "Only regrets I had were for the things I ain't done, things I was afraid to do. Things I was afraid even to say. For what'd never happen, if you was gone."

"Alice..." He stalled, swallowing hard, his expression struggling and frozen.

"No, listen," she crawled up closer, moving his hand to touch upon her knee. To close upon his, her own smaller grasp guiding his unresisting fingers. "I ain't crazy. I know it maybe sounds...but this ain't some wild hare. I gave it plenty thought, the last two nights. I love you, pa," her lips quivering as she spoke the word, still unfamiliar on her tongue, striving to infuse it with the depth of the emotion that sang so powerful and fervent from her soul. Gazing at his handsome, weathered features. "I love you, and this ain't but one more part of that. Way things oughta be."

He shook his head, slow and speechless, as her fingers curled at his wrist. Grasping. Pleading. Her heart beating like wardrums in her chest. "You told me I'd find a man that'd make the other half of life sound fine, man I'd maybe want to live with, marry, even have a...have a child of my own. And...well, I figure I met'm maybe long way back." Slight humor, nervous in her smile.

"Jesus Christ." James' despairing mutter did little to soothe the anxious yearning in her eyes. Nor did the way his own gaze evaded hers, stared down blind upon the covers. She had hoped for more than this, for better - that he might have smiled at her, that subtle, bushy smile, accepted her affirmation with another kiss, the same as the one she'd kept reliving in her mind. That his arms would rise up to enfold her, bearing all the love that she remembered...and the desire that she imagined. Not this harsh, conflicted utterance, straining from his throat. "I'm your father, Alice."

"I know," she whispered, pressing closer. Not hiding from the fact - it was everything, it was who he was. "You're my father. My Pa. And there ain't no other man I ever felt about the way I do for you." Dizzy dryness in her throat, as she reached out tentative with her free hand, laid it on his chest. Warm, through the thick and scratchy fabric of his union suit. His heart beating beneath, the subtle kick of it against her palm sending shivers to stream along her nerves. She could smell him, his body, the clothes he wore impregnated with his scent, and the earthy, masculine texture sparked such a fire in the pit of her stomach...she could kiss him again, if she dared to. Slip closer still, climb upon his lap. Doff her remaining clothes to lay with him, as in her nighttime fantasies - if only she knew how, the way of it, the shape of two people joined in passion and desire. What a woman did, when making love.

It was something never talked about, in any but the vaguest, most maddening hints, impenetrable jokes and metaphors from the cowboys far enough away that they thought she couldn't hear. Images of bulls put out to stud, mounting awkwardly their mates; they told her little. She could hardly see men and women in so ungainly a position, and the cows in any case seemed to have no role but to stand in place. There was only the frustrating advice her mother had given, all those years ago. That her husband would be the one to teach her what to do, that the bedroom was a man's domain, a man's concern. Her job just to cooperate with his desires...how useless the words now felt, when she was the one who wanted more. When that hazy hunger ached so hot inside her, and she knew with such a certainty who it was she needed, who could fulfill those desperate, wordless wants.

No help for it. No other option she could see than just to put herself into his hands, to hope. To tell the truth, as she crowded closer, her legs pressed up to his with just the covers and his underclothes to keep them apart. "I ain't ever lay down with a man before, Pa." A prayer in her voice. Clutching at his wrist, keeping his hand so soothing on her knee. "And I know it ain't supposed to be done, if you ain't proper married first. But I don't know if we even could, seein' who we are. And I want..." She swallowed softly, uncertain of the words to speak. Of what to say, to make him see her as a woman to be held, to be desired. "I want it to be you."

Silence. His face was like granite, like a statue, staring sightless down upon the fine-sewn blanket. The seconds ticking breathless by as her thumb stroked slightly pleading at the back of his hand. Hoping that she had not already pushed too far, that this declaration did not make her seem too much the whore that Jack had called her.

She almost feared it must, as he slowly shook his head, spoke low and grave. "I should go." Despair clutching briefly tight upon her throat. "Prob'ly another room around, from the sound of things." But despite these words, he did not move from his place beneath the covers. And there was a subtle weakness to his voice, a slight wavering of doubt that in this moment she rejoiced to hear. As though he were only speaking to himself, an inner argument of what he ought to do...

"You shouldn't." She ventured now still further, slipping up against his side, her legs beneath the covers, her head against his shoulder. His arm maneuvered loose around her back, as though to keep him there with her. His body there, so warm beside her. So real...the hand of his she'd held atop her knee now drawn up before her lips, and such a shiver of delight there was to touch them to his knuckle, a gentle kiss upon that roughened skin. The muscles of his arm tensing behind her neck as she spoke again, murmured into his thumb. "Ain't no need for it. It ain't...you don't got to do nothin', if you don't want. I know it ain't the normal way of things, know I ain't got no real notion of romance or what to say, and you maybe - maybe don't feel nothin' of the kind for me at all." An ache in this admission, to him and to herself. Did he? Could he? Was this just her own peculiar madness, born from all her years of searching? She'd wondered it before, laying there beside him in the past two nights. Her courage stronger then, proclaiming boldly that it didn't matter, that she'd win him all the same...that if she had the blessing of his survival, she would permit no other obstacle to stand in their way.

Not quite so simple, now that her prayers were answered, her plan put to the test. Now that she faced again his eyes, dark and somber even in evasion, and wondered at the how of it...for the moment she could only try to smile, rouse her tongue again to speak. "But I need you here with me, pa." Quiet, encouraging, curled up there against him. "Just to be here, nothin' more. When we was out there on the trail, few nights past...I ain't hardly felt better than I did to have you next to me." Nestling beneath his arm, gazing up to his averted eyes. Even in this uncertainty of this request, there was a warm and pleasant softness inside her to feel him there, the warmth of his body, of his calloused hand held now against her cheek. A spark of gladness as at last his eyes flitted up to hers, contact like the splash of a pebble in a stream.

The pause drew on for a long few moments before at last he spoke. "All right." The sound of it almost pained, tense, his fingers twitching slightly at her jaw. A subtlety of motion, so sweet upon her skin... "All right, fine. Mess a'trouble, anyhow, movin'. Just..." Close enough that she could hear him swallow, his hesitation beneath words that tried for reprimand. "Just lay down on your own side, hear? Ain't got to huddle up for warmth in a bed like this."

Despite this attempt at gruffness, he made little motion to urge her away. Little acknowledgement, either, of her dubious obedience - she hardly parted from his side to settle down beneath the covers, slipping in still close against him. Still with his arm curled careful around her back, her neck. James made no effort made to remove it as he, too, slid back to horizontal, laying on his back beside her. Her cheek upon his chest, fingers lightly splayed atop his stomach, fingers tracing at the cotton bandage that lay beneath his clothes. The slight crusting of his blood, incompletely cleaned away. Soaking in his presence, in the warmth of this nest together - she'd slept much the same as this, the past two nights beside him, but it was by far a stronger feeling with him now awake. Alive. Accepting this almost-embrace...perhaps it was only for his injury, for the earlier weakness that he'd shown, but she could not resist pretending that he desired this as much as she. That he felt the same kindling of heat inside his chest, the ticklish excitement of laying there so close and tender, of just that paltry woolen layer between their skin. That he imagined as much as she what might transpire if he lost the sturdy union suit, if she dared remove even her corset, if he could run his hands along her body...oh, her breasts, her skin, her stomach tingled at the thought.

Enough now just to sleep. She was blessed already with his survival, with his acceptance of the shared bed, however grudgingly. Contented just to close her eyes, to gently rub her cheek upon his side. To loose her mind to drift, to dream of things so recently beyond admission. Quietly exulting in this togetherness, in having again beaten back the world's attempt to take him away from her - there was a glow of pride in this, scarcely even fading as sleep crept in to claim her.

-----

The next morning found James somewhat more alive, aware, clear-minded. Somewhat unsettled, as well, by the night before, by what had felt like hours in the darkness with her body there beside him, and the temptations that it posed. But the dawn at least distracted him with a hunger quite mundane, his appetite kicking temperamentally into action after his almost-unbroken fast. Alice followed solicitous at his side as he stumbled down to breakfast, ravenously devouring the offered servings of eggs and chorizo until at last his stomach settled its persistent grumbling to lay down instead heavy and quiescent. Little effort to spare for discourse; engaged with his food, he bothered just to genially grunt in response to Javier's conversational overtures across the table. Only afterward was there really the chance to talk - the meal finished, pacing now around the outskirts of the villa. Forcing his stiff, protesting legs again to motion, after long immobility.

"Does it hurt?"

She was first to speak, walking close beside him. Her gaze dropping down briefly to his abdomen, as though to elaborate on the question; his own fingers followed closely after, trailing on the slight bulge of bandages beneath his clothes. "Just a touch." A dull ache still inside, cold and deep. It sharpened when he moved, when he bent or turned at the waist, but he'd been through far worse. "Reckon whoever you got to stitch me up did good work."

"'m glad." Her smile added weight to the words, a flash of pink and brilliant white. A tone of mild confession on her tongue. "I was...don't think I ever been scared before, the way I was when haulin' you back. When you conked out on me..." Her head lightly shook. "Still ain't sure how I managed to get you up on that horse. Panic, I s'ppose."

He tried a smile of his own, brief and mildly sardonic. Somewhat cheered despite himself by her presence at his side. "And here I thought you weren't afraid of nothin'."

"Almost nothin'," she corrected him brightly. Grabbing for his hand - in the moment's warmth, the glow of this new day, he could not find it in him to object. "Guess the only thing I'm scared of is...you."

Silence then, a beat of faint confusion as the humor in her eyes dissolved into sincerity. "Losin' you, I mean." Quieter than before, her fingers curling possessively with his. "Don't rightly know what I'd do if I did. If you'd died out there..." Her expression heavy once more with feeling, solid and intense with the memory of what had almost been. So beautiful, those muddy, verdant eyes...

"Well." He turned away. Took his hand from hers, though his soul protested at the removal. At the loss of those slender fingertips touched gentle to his skin. Frustration bubbling up poisonous once more inside him - at himself, for seeing her so. At her as well, for tempting him, for the madness that she'd spoken in the night before. She wanted him. To be with him, for him to take her as though she were his wife...it was nonsense. She didn't know what she wanted. "Maybe better if I had." His step felt slower, tired, returning to his pacing. Not looking at her as he spoke. "Better if you'd just left me there."

She followed close behind. Disappointment in her tone, aching in his ear. "That you wantin' to die again?" It was almost a rebuke. "Thought maybe the brush with it might've cured you."

His sigh was low and slightly bitter. Three footsteps crunching in the dirt before he answered. "Told you before, it ain't about what I want. 'ts just about what's best. What's gotta be." His lips twisted, thin and joyless. "Won't do you no favors, havin' me around. And me...ain't got much purpose for myself, keepin' on."

Another silence, lingering, before he answered back. "Weren't so long ago you said I was worth keepin' on for." A taste of accusation, softening into clemency. "I want to be, pa. If you ain't lyin', if that's really how you feel...then let me be your reason. Let me try." She was beside him now, her shoulder brushing at his arm. Looking at him, though he refused to meet her eyes. "You said before, years you spent with ma'n me was the finest you ever had - we could maybe have a thing like that again. I could be...with you, I could..."

She trailed off, the slightest, nervous warble to her tone. Spoke again a moment later, louder, fierce with feeling. "Anyhow, I promise, it does me plenty good havin' you around." Her voice a trifle husky with sincerity. "I wouldn't hardy have nothin' left myself, if you was gone."

He snorted low beside her, dismal, quiet. Disbelieving - she could say that all she liked, but she was just a girl yet, ruled too much by fancy. By this delusion of a dream...how poisonous a sweetness he felt, though, in the offer gently spoken. In the vision of a life again like that he'd left behind, of honest toil and quiet idyll. Of children underfoot, and a loving woman at his side.

She'd been so hesitant to speak the role she clearly thought to play. That she should step into her mother's shoes, live with him as though she were his wife. Absurd. Impossible. And yet a moment's wish ached silent in his heart, letting the image to linger in his mind. Riding home to see her dusty beauty waiting for him in the shadow of the doorway. Her satin lips, so sweet and zealous, lifting from his shoulders all the burdens of the day. Warm nights together, slipping off her clothes to find the angel there beneath, tasting of the pleasures that those in love can share. Perhaps one day to see her slender belly swollen, bulging radiantly outward, and know again the nervous bliss of fatherhood...

Reality was heavy, bitter, tugging down again upon his bones. A pang of sorrow for what could never be, for the mirage that looked so damnably divine. "I ain't got no use left in me, little rose." Blunt, cold - though his tongue did soften just a touch, to speak her favored name. Even the mundane, the trivial, stood in the way of such a dream. He was in no state to run another ranch, the way he'd done before. "No use, and nothin' left to teach. Ain't no good, neither. Maybe you'd cry a titch, if I was gone...but plenty soon you'd be glad you left me in the dirt. Find some man who ain't your papa, who can maybe give you some of them things you been thinkin' about."

He spoke it firm and final, like the closing of a book. So it was something of a surprise to feel her grab his arm, pulling hard enough to force him round to face her. "Ain't you listened to nothing I said this whole week past?" A bubbling of anger in her tone, her eyebrows sitting low and fierce above her gaze. Accusation scratching at her throat. "Think I'm lyin' when I tell you how I feel?"

It was hard to find an answer, confronted by her eyes. Thrown off-balance by this abrupt display of her intensity. "It ain't..." The words emerged uncertain, stumbling. Trying to be soothing, to explain what had seemed to him so clear, a moment prior. "Ain't that you're lyin', really. I reckon you believe it, every word. But you - you ain't got the years in you to know what you'd really feel. You ain't much more than just a girl, still. Innocent." Trace discomfort, thinking that. Remembering the purity that she'd confessed to him the night before, and the sinful hunger it had called up in his gut. "Hell, you ain't even been dancin' 'til a couple days ago. You're thinkin' all this about me just 'cause...'cause you thought I was important, 'cause of how sudden I run off. Ain't got the experience to know how easy you'd move on, realize how crazy you was feelin'." His voice firming to a solid certainty for these final words.

She still did not agree. "Thirteen years." The reminder sliced sharp across the space between them, pronounced deliberate and high. Her fingers squeezing tightly at his wrist. "Thirteen years I been waitin' to see you again. Six years in the saddle, searchin'...and you figure I'd move on easy?" An errant curl of her rosewood hair bobbled slightly as she shook her head, incredulous. Her voice constricting towards a whisper, ferocious and devout. "You figure I'd just forget, after all the work I done to find you? That if you died, I wouldn't just set right after you again?"

His gaze shocked slightly wider, unsettled at her implication. The subtle threat she couldn't mean. "Don't talk nonsense, Alice." His voice not quite as solid as he'd have liked. "You wouldn't do nothin' of the kind."

"Wouldn't I?" Her eyes flashed darkly back at him, glittering emeralds, serious and deep. A sharp edge to the narrow curl of her lip. "Hereafter ain't but one more place to search, if I knew that's where you gone. Wouldn't hesitate a bit."

She stared then for a long few moments, daring him to disagree, as he stood rigid and uncertain. But when she spoke again, it was softer, quieter. An atom of imploring, slipping in amidst her fire. Stepping closer now before him, a scanty half a foot of distance, and how little will he had inside to pull away. "Ain't sayin' it's what I want. Just...I wouldn't have nothin' left if you was gone. That's the truth." His hand still clutched in hers, laid light upon her stomach. "And you got to believe it when I tell you that I need you. That you got to stay with me, pa."

He breathed out low and troubled, slowly shook his head. Not quite a refusal. A plea, instead. "Ain't got much notion what I'd do, if I believed that."

"You wouldn't leave." She answered for him, murmured urgent and sincere. "Wouldn't talk no more about how you oughta die, or how I shoulda left you there behind."

He could manage just a faint and troubled humor, a slight tugging at his lips for this admission. "Suppose that's prob'ly true."