Free A Hero's Heart by Sylvia McDaniel Page B

mingling with anticipation. She watched as he lowered his lips to hers.
    “Why do you make me feel this way, Rachel?”
    His lips covered hers, and the anger that had moments before coursed through her veins changed to liquid fire as he caressed first her top, then her bottom lip.
    Rachel moaned, amazed that the sound bubbled from her. She loved the way his lips made her feel so warm, so hungry. She wanted him to continue kissing her until… Until what?
    She slipped her hand between them and pushed him away. “Wade, stop. We mustn’t.”
    He opened his eyes and Rachel shuddered at the passion reflected from their depths. “Why, Rachel?”
    “It isn’t proper,” she whispered as she watched his chest rise and fall with ragged breaths. “It isn’t right.”
    Wade sighed with frustration and released her, putting distance between the two of them. “It might not be right to your way of thinking, but it feels damn good to me.”
    With that, Wade turned and strolled away, leaving Rachel behind in the grove. She had only kissed one other man in her life. And for some reason the memory of Ethan’s kisses didn’t compare to Wade’s.
    A sudden noise, the scrape of wood against wood, sent her scurrying from the grove. She ran out just in time to see Wade drop the third box of Bibles on the ground.
    “What are you doing?” she cried.
    “I’m dumping the Bibles.”
    Rachel watched as he went back into the water and sloshed to the wagon to retrieve another box. She chased him into the stream and grabbed at his arm. “Stop. You can’t do this. We must have these Bibles for the church.”
    Wade pulled his arm free and climbed back into the wagon. He lifted the box and started to shore. When he reached the bank, he dropped the box onto the ground. Rachel ran to the waterside and tried to lift the heavy box to lug it back to the wagon.
    Several wagons pulled up at the edge of the bank to await their turn to cross the small creek. One of the men yelled at Wade, “What’s in those boxes, Ketchum?”
    “Bibles.”
    Mr. Drake, one of the immigrants, laughed. “Your wife thought she was going to get ’em all the way to Oregon?”
    Wade frowned at the man. “My wife’s father was a missionary who was killed on the trail by Indians. He was going out West to start a church.”
    The man abruptly quit laughing. Wade popped the wooden lid off the box, reached down and lifted out five of the brand new books.
    He handed Drake one of the bibles, “Here, maybe you could use one.”
    Exhausted by the strain and emotion, Rachel watched in disbelief as Wade walked down the row of waiting wagons and handed each woman a Bible, coming back to the boxes time and again until he’d emptied every one. From the expressions on their faces, she knew Wade had just won the heart of every female on this train at the expense of her father’s Bibles.
    It was hard to accept, but she had to give Wade credit. It was better to give the books to their fellow travelers than to leave them by the trail where they would only rot in the hot sun. They would serve people’s spiritual needs as her father had intended. And at least she still had her mother’s organ.
    But Wade’s actions confused Rachel even more. She didn’t know whether to thank him or curse him. Then there was that small part of her that just wanted him to hold her.
    * * *
    Struggling with the wagon in the mud had already delayed them over an hour. Rachel watched the men gather to help Wade free the wheels.
    From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a masculine blonde head bobbing in the crowd. His build caught her attention. Somehow he seemed familiar. She hadn’t seen him previously with the group, and his back was turned to her, but something about the way he carried himself, the shape of his body told her he wasn’t a stranger.
    The man turned and headed toward the wagon, and Rachel saw his face clearly for the first time.
    She did a double take and stared unable to believe her eyes.