A chuckle rippled deep in the back of his throat. “I’m not your average gunslinger, sunshine.”
Hope slapped his chest playfully. She placed her hands on his chest, one atop the other, cushioning her chin on her knuckles as she glanced up at him through hooded lashes. Each exhalation of his breath fanned her face, set her skin alive with liquid fire. “That I’d already guessed! But you still haven’t answered my question. Why won’t you tell me about yourself? I know you had a life before you came to California. You mentioned your brother and his wife, the problems there, and you said something about Boston. But you didn’t give details. Why not?”
“Probably for the same reason you refuse to talk about your family. Some things aren’t worth rehashing.”
Hope stiffened. She tried to pull away, but the arm encircling her shoulders wouldn’t let her. “That’s different,” she replied flatly, firmly squelching her tumultuous emotions. “You already know about my family. I don’t know anything about yours.”
“Not much to tell,” he shrugged. “The ones I cared about are dead. The ones I don’t give a damn about, aren’t. Isn’t that the way life usually works?”
“Charles and Angelique,” Hope muttered miserably. Suddenly, she was sorry she’d broached the subject. Already, she could feel Drake pulling away from her. Maybe not physically, but mentally he was withdrawing, throwing up his all-too-familiar wall of defense. “Look, if you’d rather not talk about—“
“What do you want to know, Hope?” he asked, his voice as devoid of sincerity as his suddenly leery gaze.
“Whatever you want to tell
me.”
Drake was quiet for so long that, at first, she thought he’d fallen asleep. The rise and fall of his chest beneath her palms was slow and even. Long golden lashes flickered against his tanned cheek.
“My grandfather was a champion of medieval history,” he said finally, his emotionless voice and his words taking her by surprise. “He had an entire library of books devoted to the subject, as well as an authentic suit of armor gracing the main hall, and hand-worked tapestries on the wall. He was also a master with a lute. In the summer, to celebrate my birthday, he would stage a miniature jousting match on our front lawn. I think it’d be impossible to be reared in a house with a fanatic like Thomas Frazier and not have some of his interests rub off.”
“You lived with your grandparents, then?" She frowned. “Hmmm. What about your parents? Did they live there, too?”
“They died when Chuck and I were small. I barely remember them. As for my grandmother, well, I never knew her at all. She died when my mother was heavy with me. I heard she was a good woman, though. Well liked, well respected.”
Hope averted her gaze to the fire. A pang of guilt pricked at her heart as she remembered her accusation that a man like Drake Frazier had never known what it was like to lose someone he loved. He had loved, and he had lost. Perhaps they were not so different after all.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered softly. “I didn’t know.” She ran her fingers lightly over the stubble shadowing his jaw. Gently, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, drawing her arm up until the inside of her forearm brushed against his cheek.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” He turned his face to the side and planted a kiss on the pulse that throbbed in her wrist. “When I think about it, I’d have to say that I’m glad my parents died when they did. This way, they were spared the heartbreak of seeing the monster their son became.”
Hope’s fingers twisted his hair as she turned his head forcefully toward her. “Open your eyes and look at me, gunslinger.” The thick fringe of golden lashes flickered up and she was instantly captured by his sea-green gaze. Hope thought that she would gladly drown in those haunting pools. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Drake. You’re not so bad.”
A rush of air left his nostrils. It might have been a derisive chuckle. Then again, it might not. “I wasn’t referring to myself, sunshine. I was talking about Charles.”
“You really hate him, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he replied wearily, “I hate him. Obviously, the feeling is mutual. Tubbs is proof enough of that.”
When Drake didn’t elaborate further, Hope deemed it wise not to push the subject. Instead, she changed it. Slipping her arm from his hand she asked, “Why’d you come to California? I mean, Thirsty Gulch seems like a long way to go just to get away from your brother.”
“Gold,” he answered simply. Although his eyelids had snapped shut again, one light eyebrow was cocked high in his sun-kissed brow. “What brought you?”
“Gold.” She lapsed into thoughtful silence as her gaze strayed to the raindrops lapping at the window. A shiver touched her shoulders, and Drake’s arm instinctively pulled her closer. Sighing, she let her gaze rove his profile. “Drake? Drake. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me now. I have a question to ask you. Wake up, damn it.”
“Hmmm?” he murmured, stifling a yawn.
“You never said where we’re heading,” she said, shaking his shoulder before he could fall asleep again. “Tell me. I want to know where you’re taking me.”
“Boston,” he answered, his voice slurred with exhaustion. “We’re going to Boston.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “Boston!? I don’t want to go to Boston! I want to go to Virginia.” She gave his shoulder another shake. “Did you hear me, Frazier? I said I want to go to Virginia. I want to go home.”
“The horses probably heard you, Hope.” He heaved a heavy sigh and slowly pried his eyelids open. “Aren’t you the one who insisted on returning to the gold mines? What happened? You seemed pretty determined.”
“That was weeks ago, and I changed my mind. I want to go home.”
“Fine,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “But it’ll have to wait. I have business to take care of in Boston first. I promise, when everything’s been taken care of there, I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Virginia, London, hell, I’ll even take you to Russia if you want.”