Chapter 21
Twenty-One
I t was time for bed. And Sage was already in the tent. The very small tent.
Jackson gave his horse one last rub before tucking the brush away in the saddlebag. All the while he’d been grooming the horses and thinking about the coming night, his gut had cinched tighter until he felt like he couldn’t draw in a full breath.
A part of him wanted to go into the tent, lie down beside Sage, and pull her into his arms. Yet another part of him objected to doing so because it would be wrong. Because sleeping with a woman—even innocently—was a privilege reserved for marriage.
The trouble was, with the hug they’d shared earlier still fresh on his mind, he wasn’t sure he’d end up being innocent if he was in such close confines with her again.
He’d already proven he was too weak that night in Centreville above the pub when they’d shared a bed. The temptations had been too great and his desires too strong, and he’d ended up holding her.
With how much his feelings for her were continuing to grow, he trusted himself even less around her. He didn’t want to compromise Sage any more than he already had.
However, some of the other fellows camping in the river bottoms were still sitting around their campfires. They would notice if he didn’t join his wife in the tent and instead threw his bedroll down in the grass. Not sleeping with her would raise too many questions he didn’t want to answer, particularly from those in his traveling party. No, he’d have to go in and perhaps put their bags between them—if he could manage to fit them in the middle.
The reverend had bedded down near the fire, his arms crossed behind his head, his face pointed heavenward, his eyes still wide open. Two of the other traveling companions were sitting on a log by the fire and were sipping from whiskey flasks. The other was snoring loudly in his tent nearby.
Jackson drew in a breath of the cool night air and peered up at the cloudless sky and the dark firmament with the constellations on full display—Cassiopeia and Perseus shining the brightest. He’d spent many nights stargazing during his months camping in this area with his crew and had memorized most of the stars.
It was difficult being back. He couldn’t deny that. His thoughts had been jumbled with memories and flashbacks during the past couple of days, and his heart had swelled with grief and pain that first moment he’d reached the bend in the road and saw the remains of the bridge as well as the debris on the riverbank below.
Nonetheless, he hadn’t experienced the same level of despair that had plagued him since the accident. Maybe he’d been too distracted by Sage. Especially because a possessiveness had been compounding inside him, so that when any other man looked at her with even a hint of desire, he wanted to tackle them to the ground, punch them in the eyes, and then roar at them never to even glance at her again.
The beast he’d thought was tamed had reared up inside him. Would he always struggle with that beast?
He silently cursed himself for placing Sage into a situation like this where her honor was at stake…because of him. But hopefully they would be able to put an end to their fake marriage tomorrow.
He hesitated only a second outside the tent flap before shoving it aside and crawling inside.
The triangular-shaped tent sloped low, and his head brushed against the canvas. The darkness prevented him from seeing her or the luggage, but he could feel a bag by his knees and could hear her shifting, probably trying to make more room for him.
He felt around for his bedroll only to find that she’d already laid it out with his blankets. Because the night would grow cold, he’d warned her earlier to sleep in her shoes and clothing, and he intended to do the same.
Crawling forward, he tried to move his bag to act as a barrier between their bedrolls, but he only managed to scoot it at an odd angle before he gave up, stretched out, and covered up.
When he finally lay motionless beside her, he allowed himself a breath. Maybe he could do this after all. Maybe the darkness and the cold would act as a natural barrier. Maybe she was asleep and wouldn’t even notice he was there.
“Are you okay?” Her whisper skimmed across the darkness.
The kindness of her concern only made him all the more aware that she was mere inches away. But he couldn’t think about that, couldn’t start focusing on how close she was. Instead, he clenched his jaw and tried to put her from his mind. “I’m fine.”
“You seem upset.”
He was upset at himself. But he couldn’t admit that because doing so would only force him to admit how obsessed he was over her.
She was quiet for several moments, so that the only sounds were the low murmur of voices from the campfire and the crackle of burning wood. “I’m sure being here is hard,” she whispered.
Being back at the bridge was hard, but being so close to her was even harder. It was one thing to become immersed in his work projects and the engineering feats that he developed. But it was an entirely different matter to allow himself to be absorbed by a woman. What if he failed her? Made mistakes? Ruined things? Caused a disaster?
The truth was, he did often fail, make mistakes, ruin things, and cause disasters. The biggest one lay just up the river a hundred feet.
Was that why he’d called off his engagement with Meredith? Even though he’d never been consumed by her, maybe he’d been afraid he’d ruin their relationship and marriage with his propensity to make so many mistakes.
What made him think he could ever do better with Sage? In fact, with the strength of his feelings for her and just how much he thought about her, he had an even greater chance of causing a disaster.
“I just want you to know,” she continued, “that I’m here to listen if you want to talk about anything.”
“Thank you.” Conversing more about his grief and guilt would take him another step forward in bringing about a resolution to the accident. However, he was in no frame of mind to discuss it, not with how turbulently his thoughts about her were roiling and not with how close she was beside him.
She drew in a shaky breath, as though trying to calm herself, but calm herself from what? Was she nervous to have him beside her?
His muscles tightened. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable with his presence here tonight any more than he had that night above the pub. He pushed up to his elbows. “If you would be more comfortable without me in here?—”
“I’m comfortable.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.” Her voice was almost shy.
The trouble was, he was the one uncomfortable, and he was afraid he would end up reaching for her, even with his best efforts not to.
He exhaled a tight breath.
“Something is wrong,” she persisted quietly.
Before he could think of how to respond, her fingers brushed against his arm.
He drew in a sharp breath this time.
She made a trail from his bicep down his forearm to his fingers.
With each inch she moved, his muscles coiled tighter.
As her fingers grasped his and then began to intertwine, he was wound up enough that he felt as though all it would take was one more tiny touch from her and he would snap.
Swallowing hard, he tried to make his arm loosen and relax.
“Jackson?” His name from her lips was like a caress.
He managed a responding sound.
“I want you to know”—she hesitated—“that I care about you.”
Her whisper was tender, but at the same time was like a seismic wave rolling into him and undoing all the control he’d willed himself to have.
A groan pushed for release. This was torture. For an eternal second, he closed his eyes and battled against the pressure crushing him so that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t even think. All he knew was that he wanted her—and not just physically. He wanted all of her—body, soul, and spirit. And he wasn’t sure how he could possibly go on another second without her.
A war—one he was afraid he’d lose—raged in every corner of his mind. He needed to crawl immediately out of the tent and stay away from her, even if that meant confessing to Pastor Abe that he wasn’t really married to Sage.
“I think,” she continued, “that…I’m falling in love with you.”
Falling in love?
He stiffened. Even though he’d already admitted to himself that his feelings for this woman defied all reasoning and that he was in love with her, her confession sent a burst of panic through him.
Hadn’t he just told himself he wasn’t ready for a serious relationship? That he’d only end up making a mess and hurting her?
She brushed her thumb over his, bringing all his attention to that spot, to the delicate touch, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her body, the beauty of every inch of her. For a second, he was lost in the sensations, and all he wanted was to lie beside her like this and feel her caress forever.
She shifted slightly.
She’d just told him that she loved him and was waiting for him to respond. But what could he say? He couldn’t reiterate it, couldn’t encourage her love, not when he was an utter mess of a man.
He sat up and tugged his hand from hers.
She grew motionless, didn’t even seem to be breathing.
He had to say something, needed to explain why he was no good for her, but the words were trapped inside.
The air in the tent was suddenly stifling. His heart was pounding too hard, making his head throb. He had to go outside, get away from her, and try to make sense of everything. He swiped up his bedroll and the blankets and began to crawl toward the tent entrance. As he reached the flap, he paused.
In the darkness he could make out her stiff outline.
“I regret…” He wanted to assure her that she wasn’t at fault, that the problems were all his. “I cannot—sleep in here—with you. It’s a mistake…”
He blew out an exasperated breath then scrambled out of the tent, dragging his bedroll with him.
Across the low dancing flames, Pastor Abe pushed up to his elbows, as though he was ready to spring up and come to Jackson’s aid. The other two fellows sipping whiskey paused to stare at him too. He supposed he looked like he was escaping from a burning building.
He stood to his feet and jabbed his fingers into his hair. The truth was, he was running away from fire before he played around with it and burned Sage and himself. He was doing what was best for them both. Wasn’t he?
Why, then, did he feel as though he’d pushed her away and left her to suffer all on her own?
Despondency fell over him, and his shoulders drooped under the weight. He’d only wanted to keep from causing her pain, but what if in the process he’d hurt her even more?
He railed a silent curse at himself before lowering himself to the blankets and bedroll that sat in a heap outside the tent door. Yes, he’d done what he’d predicted. He’d made a greater mess of the matter.
That’s what he was good at—messes and mistakes and never living up to expectations, especially his father’s. Even though he knew he had to stop letting his father’s voice define him, he couldn’t seem to shake the echoes.