Wild Fire (Book II)

To Have And To Hold

     Emma could feel something wet and sweet pressed against her lips, far far away. It was as if the sensation was being pushed against her tongue from a long dark tunnel just out of reach. Fruit of some kind coated her taste buds, but she had trouble determining what. It tasted good though, the sugar dripping down her raw throat bursting a cool relief in its wake. Her empty stomach groaned with the need of it. And then it was suddenly gone. The last of it lapped up viciously. In its place something else. Thick and padded, ridged against her searching tongue. The soft bite of tobacco behind it. Fingertips? Someone's loving hand feeding her and hesitating there. There was a pause, and then a seemingly quick departure of the fleshy digits.

     Emma felt herself sinking back into the safe cocoon of her mind, retreating from what must have been a dream. But moments later the hand had returned, pressing the juicy fruit once again to her angry lips that took it eagerly. Piece after piece, it returned gently, sliding back and forth across her mouth until she opened and began to munch at the savory slice offered to her.

     As she ate timidly under the blanket, her senses were aware of something warm against the side of her head. A wavering breeze of heat. No... not a breeze...breath. Slow warm breaths passed and fell at the crest of her ear. Soft fur or hair hovering there against the rounded flesh.

    And then a voice. A voice so low and comforting it made her mind pause to focus. She could hear just a little. A sultry whisper that hit her ear drum and made her shiver outwardly. "Dutch..." The name shushed into her senses, curling her up in its hugging tone. A command, a promise. A sounding beacon among the darkness. She clung to it like a living thing she could hold. The only real touch she would permit.

    She felt her satisfied lips twitch in a lopsided smirk as she let it dance in her mind claiming the word. 'Dutch'. She knew the word. Name? Something...someone dangerous? No. It couldn't be. This spoken name she zoned in on was whispered with kindness. Coaxing almost...loving?

     When the fingers probed her mouth again, she twisted her lips away satiated for now. "Little one..." the voice spoke again. More fractured sentences. The firm press of a hand covered the side of her face sending heat all the way through her. "Sleep now..." Two more words and the weight of lips against her forehead pausing there drawing her flavor inside them. They were not 'HIS' lips...the dark one. They were...they...the sweet smell of mint, cigars, and whiskey mixed with horses wavered against her again. They were him. The 'new' arms. The 'new' arms belonged to ...Dutch?

     She pieced the jagged puzzle together in her mind. The hand moved leaving her feeling cold and alone again. Instantly her trembling returned, quaking gooseflesh across her arms. She sighed within. Please don't go. Don't leave her. Please keep her warm.

***

     Dutch leaned back when the girl twisted her mouth away from the next bite. Silently he watched her. Observing the ghost of a smile that pulled at her lips breaking the frown that had been frozen there for weeks.

     He sat the plate down leaning forward on his knees and cupped her small face in his hand. She was so miniature beside him. He wasn't sure because she had never stood in his towering shadow, but he was confident her short frame would stop well below his powerful shoulders. He imagined he would have to lean down just to meet her curious eyes.

     Had they fluttered open before? He didn't recall their color, so reckless at her existence to him till now. His whole palm covered the side of her heart shaped face, fingers reaching well above the top of her brow. He tilted his head at her as if examining a precious stone.

     So fragile and soft she was under his fingertips. So cold the skin that pushed against the natural heat that emanated from the big man. He felt for a moment he might break her. "Where are you little one?" he whispered close to her ear.

     The night sky purpled outside the tent casting long shadows under its door. The shuffled sound of his followers had started to slow around Horseshoe Overlook. Replaced by the sounds of pots and pans and wood being chopped were whispered talking and gentle snores. The world was settling in for the night.

     Dutch leaned, placing a lingering kiss against the girl's forehead. He paused there, tasting the salt from her skin, and closing his weary eyes. "Sleep now." he spoke against the deep furrow that met his mouth. The frown had returned to her face when he pulled his hand and mouth away, and a notable shiver began to tremble in tiny hills down the girl's exposed arms. The sight of it made him scowl. He pulled the blanket up high around her shoulder, tucking it gently under her chin as he stood pondering her. It made the stern constructs of Dutch Van der linde's mind weaken and usher to keep her near.

     "Dutch?" Arthur's growled drawl echoed from outside his tent. The broad cowboys' shoulders could be seen through the canvas flap illuminated by the soft lamp light that glowed on the desktop like pulsing honey. "A moment Arthur." He called taking the cigar and lighting it as he moved silently to greet him outside. "What is it son?" he asked, trying to mask the concern for the girl from his face. "Just wanted to check on the girl is all. I know Lilah will be asking after her. How's she doin?" The deep blues of the outlaws' eyes sparkled like two still ponds against the lamplight. He looked tired, but more at ease than Dutch had ever seen him before. Colm was dead, Micha was gone (Arthur had always despised the man) and his brother in arms, John Marston, was safe and happy and in love.

     "She is as well as one could expect Arthur." he began consciously stepping in front of the man as he tried to peek inside over his shoulder. Why he did so he wasn't sure. Arthur would never hurt the girl. But as he stood there talking to the outlaw, he felt the sudden primal need to protect her. He stretched his tallest before the cowboy, straightening his shoulders and crossing his arms to cup the elbow that held the smoking cigar.

     Arthur met his dark eyes again, a noticeable squint at the older man's overprotective stance. "Ya sure she's, ok?" Arthur questioned suspiciously, straightening his own well sculpted shoulders. "Yes. Son." Dutch tried to keep his voice carless and calm. He could tell Arthur's natural ability to detect danger had kicked in instinctively. He uncrossed his forearms patting the man's arm with the shifted welcoming pose and offered a smile. "Arthur. She will be fine. Please tell Miss Preston that she has eaten, and I myself will make sure she continues to do so." Arthur relaxed and nodded a big 'ok' looking down at his boots.

     Shifting his weight, he chanced a glance back up at Dutch inquisitively. "We know anything bout what happened to the kid?" He glanced towards the closed tent with knotted brows. "I ain't never seen no one zone out like that child in there has. Had to be something pretty bad Dutch." Dutch inwardly winced at Arthur's double negative and winced again at the label of child he gave the girl. She looked young, why sure. But she WAS of age and Dutch was quite sure that behind the soft confines of her cottony chemise that she was quite indeed ALL woman and nothing of a child.

     Dutch leaned sideways, pulling a long leisurely draw from the cigar pleasurably. The flames below his belt had begun to rise again, seemingly looking around at the passing of own hidden thoughts.

     He stood away from Arthur, glancing distantly over the speckle of tents and grazing horses under the now black starlight sky. "I'm not sure Arthur. I had hoped she would stir so that I might ask her, but I am afraid that our little lady has not permitted me the opportunity to do so. You just keep Miss Lilah informed and at bay for me. Keep it positive for John's sake. He has to tangle with that fiery young woman, and we don't want to make it worse on the boy." Arthur let a jestering sneer stretch across his face. "We don't?" Dutch joined him, chuckling and clapping him back on the arm. "You make his life a living hell, you know that?" Arthur nodded victoriously. "Someone has to."

     Satisfied he gave Dutch a swift nod and turned padding back towards his wagon. Dutch watched him go, glowering over the man secretly from his sentinel stance. What was wrong with him? He knew Arthur would never hurt the sweet sleeping doll that curled across his cot inside. So why then, did he feel his hand on the butt of his revolver as he watched walk away? Dutch crushed the cigar under his boot and turned his eyes finally from him walking back inside. Why indeed?