by Candace Camp
Sam sank down on his knees beside her. His eyes were glittering, and his features were sharp and intense. For an instant he seemed a stranger, harsh and frightening. Then he touched her face gently with his forefinger, and his touch reassured her. Curiosity and desire rose within her, battling her apprehension. Amy thought that he would stop if she asked him to, no matter how much he wanted to go ahead. But she wouldn’t ask him. She wanted too much to know, to experience the pleasures that beckoned her, to belong to him. She held out her arms to him.
Sam covered her, his long, hard body touching her everywhere. She could feel the prickle of his curling body hair against her soft skin, the curves and bulges of his muscles, his sharp pelvic bones, and, the throbbing hardness pushing against her leg. He was heavy, but Amy enjoyed his weight on her. He kissed her, his mouth urgent and hungry.
He pressed her tightly to him, moving against her. The hair-roughened skin of his chest abraded her nipples. His shaft throbbed between their locked bodies. His mouth left hers and trailed down her body, loving her throat and chest and breast, then moving onto her stomach. Amy moaned and moved restlessly beneath him, assaulted by a storm of pleasurable sensations. She ached for a satisfaction she could not name or explain.
Brody’s hand slipped down to the juncture of her legs, and this time when he touched the curling red-blond hairs there, she did not jerk away or stiffen. Instead, her legs moved apart eagerly, and his fingers met the slick satin warmth of her femininity. He felt the shock of pleasure all through him. The damp proof of her desire pushed his own passion past the limits. He had to have her now.
He pressed his knee between her legs, moving them farther apart, opening her even more to his questing fingers. Amy whimpered and rubbed against his hand. He positioned himself between her legs and pushed into her slowly. Amy felt a tearing and a brief spasm of pain, and then he was inside her. She gasped at the sweet satisfaction of it, the fulfillment of his body wedded to hers, and she realized how empty she had been until now.
He began to move inside her. She gloved him with her tight heat, so that every thrust brought a friction so exquisite it bordered on pain. Amy matched his movements, racing toward a conclusion she didn’t know, but wanted desperately. She thought she could feel no more, go no higher, but with every thrust he took her beyond where she had been before. He pushed her over the precipice, and she fell with a high, thin cry into an oblivion of sensual pleasure. Her body shook with the intensity of the sensations. Her ecstasy rocketed Sam to his own climax, and he shuddered and groaned, spilling his seed into her.
They lay together in in the aftermath, their bodies sweaty and limp, intertwined. Amy was dazed by the sensual storm she had just gone through. She felt like giggling with happiness, but she was too lazy to even move or speak. She thought she would be content to lie there in Sam’s arms forever, her body throbbing with the force of his passion.
Brody had never known such peace, such complete and utter fulfillment. Amy was his; she had given herself to him, and he had possessed her sweetness. He was still sure he was unworthy of her, but she was part of him now, blood and bone. They could never be separated.
“I love you,” Amy whispered.
Sam stroked a lazy hand down her body. He couldn’t remember ever saying the words before, but now he did, his voice low and hoarse. “I love you.”
Chapter Thirteen
When they reached Austin, Slater took Victoria to the Avenue Hotel, and they parted. Normally he would not have thought of leaving an unescorted young lady to fend for herself, but Victoria’s silence had been like a hair shirt, exacerbating his own sense of guilt and failure. She had hardly spoken to him since their argument. The air had been as chilly between them as if a blue norther had blown in.
Her attitude infuriated Slater. There was nothing more he could do. Victoria was asking for the impossible. She was spoiled, selfish and unreasonable. But he couldn’t keep from feeling that he had failed her, that he hadn’t been strong enough or smart enough to give her what she needed. He reminded himself that he owed Victoria nothing, that her cousin had gotten kidnapped through her own damn foolishness, and that if the two women hadn’t been there distracting him, he might have been able to stop Brody’s escape.
But nothing could make him forget that Brody had outfoxed him again or that Victoria’s trust in him had been smashed. He was able, though, to work up a healthy resentment of Victoria and her high-handed ways. By the time they reached Austin, he was eager to drop her in front of her hotel and hurry on to the Ranger headquarters.
Victoria was equally glad to be rid of Slater. Or so she told herself as she dismounted from her horse and tied it to the hitching post in front of the hotel. There was a lump of tears in her throat only because seeing the hotel reminded her of being here a week ago with Amy. And watching Slater ride away left her with a gaping hole inside her only because it made her realize how little hope she had of getting Amy back.
She climbed the shallow steps and went inside. Eyes turned toward her, both on the street and inside the lobby. Much as she wished she could deny it, the stares made her uneasy.
Victoria went up to the desk clerk. “I’d like a room, please.”
The clerk frowned. “I’m sorry, Miss, unescorted females aren’t allowed in this hotel. You’d better try a place in the First Ward.”
Victoria straightened, and her eyes flashed. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me, Miss, now move along.”
“My name is Victoria Stafford. My father is Edward Stafford. How dare you treat me like a—a common—”
The clerk glanced significantly at Victoria’s travel-stained clothes and windblown hair. Victoria knew that she hardly looked like a proper young lady. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to burst into tears. Why had Slater ridden off without taking her inside the hotel! Blast him, anyway!
She forced herself to swallow her ire and smile. This was obviously not a situation she would win with threats or anger. “I must look a mess. I’ve been traveling rather quickly. An emergency, you see. My father should be joining me soon. I would appreciate it if you could show me to a room now, as I’m rather tired.”
The clerk wasn’t entirely convinced, Victoria knew, but her smile had its usual effect, and her manner of speech assured him of her status in life. He handed over a room key and graciously allowed her to sign the guest register. His suspicions were renewed, however, when he offered help with her luggage and Victoria was forced to admit that she had none. But she already had the key in her hand, and she walked away before he could try to take it back.
The first order of the day was stabling her horse, and she saw to that immediately. Then she carried her small roll of belongings back to the hotel and slipped up the stairs to her room. It was a small room and quite ordinary, not nearly as attractive or comfortable as her own bedroom at home, but after days on the trail, it looked magnificent to her. She was dusty and weary, and she thought for a moment about taking a bath and lying down for a nap. But there were things she had to do; she couldn’t afford to waste any time indulging herself. She had to notify her father of what had happened, as well as locate someone who would find Amy for her. So she dusted off her clothes and did a quick wash-up at the basin.
She went down the stairs and asked at the desk where she might hire a man to track someone. The desk clerk looked at her as if he’d smelled something bad, and Victoria was sure he regretted his decision to allow her to stay at the hotel. “I’m sure I don’t know, miss,” he said finally.
Victoria gritted her teeth and asked him where the Western Union office was, a question that he was at least able to answer. She went there first. Since she had no idea where her father was now, she set two telegrams, one home to the ranch and the other to the hotel in Santa Clara where Mrs. Childers was staying. She hoped someone at one of those places would know how to reach him.
She ate a quick lunch at one of the chophouses on Congress Ave
nue. There wasn’t another woman in the place, and she was the recipient of several curious glances. It was obvious that the business center of Austin was a man’s domain. The waiter was no more helpful about finding a tracker than the desk clerk had been. Victoria decided that the kind of man who could track criminals probably spent his time in a rougher part of town. When she had checked into the hotel, the clerk had suggested she try the First Ward instead. Since his opinion of her had obviously been poor, perhaps that was where she should go.
She asked the waiter where the First Ward was located. He looked at her askance, but replied that it was south toward the river and west of Congress. She paid for her meal and left the restaurant, walked a couple of blocks southward and turned west. There were boarding houses, hotels, saloons and businesses lining the street, just as there had been on Congress Avenue. There were also homes. But it soon became obvious that the homes were small and run down, and that the saloons and boarding houses were seedier. The looks directed toward her were far bolder than those she’d received on Congress Avenue.
Victoria stopped in front of a yard where a sign advertised that Mrs. Gandy took in washing. A robust woman stood in the yard, busily scrubbing away over a large wooden tub. She was flushed from her exertions, and her salt-and-pepper hair had escaped from its high knot and plastered itself around her face. Victoria was glad to find a woman whom she could ask for directions, and she called out a hello. The woman looked up, and surprise touched her face. She came to the fence, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Miss, I think you must be lost,” she told Victoria earnestly. “This ain’t the part of town a lady should be in.’
“I’m looking for someone. A tracker. A man who can find a missing person.”
Mrs. Gandy stared, intrigued, and Victoria went on to relate the story of Amy’s kidnapping. When she was finished, Mrs. Gandy nodded her head sagely. “That’s a terrible thing, him takin’ your cousin like that. But I reckon I can help you. There’s not much goes on in this part of town that I don’t know about. The fella you’re needin’ would be Cam McBride. He’s a bounty hunter, one of the best. ‘Course, he’s mean as a snake, not the kind of man you oughta be dealin’ with.”
“That doesn’t matter. All I care about it whether he can find Brody.”
The older woman shrugged. “Maybe. Nobody’s caught that man yet.” Her voice was threaded with admiration. “But Cam’s hot to get him. He got away from Cam years ago and gave him a scar Cam’ll never forget...” Mrs. Gandy drew a long, curving line across her cheek with her fingernail.
“Where could I find Mr. McBride?”
“Now, that I don’t know. Hangin’ around some saloon or other, I’d guess. Seems to be what men spend most of their time doin’, don’t it? Try Billy Carson’s place. Or maybe Weichert’s. But don’t go in ‘em, hear? Give a boy a penny and send ‘im in to ask. They’re no place for a lady like you to be seen in.”
She gave Victoria directions to the saloons. Victoria went first to Weichert’s. Glancing in, she decided that Mrs. Gandy was right about it being a place she didn’t want to enter. It was narrow and dark, with a long, crude plank bar and a few tables and chairs. A woman sat at one of the tables, laughing and talking to a man. Her face was painted garishly, and her dress was low-cut. Victoria realized with some shock that she was looking at an actual woman of the streets. She stared so long that it finally caught the woman’s attention, and she turned around and glared at Victoria.
Victoria backed away hastily. She found a dirty youngster playing in the street and gave him a penny to inquire inside about Cam McBride. She didn’t find McBride at either Weichert’s or Carson’s, but she learned that he’d been seen at still another saloon, and it was there that she finally ran him to ground.
She asked a passing stranger to go into the saloon for her, and a few minutes later, a tall, thin man walked out of the building and stopped in front of her. He wore a pair of ivory-handled pistols in holsters at his thighs, and in one hand he carried a sawed-off shotgun. There was a long bowie knife strapped to his belt. He had a beard and mustache and long, unkempt hair, all sprinkled with gray. His eyes were the murky color of swamp water, and they gazed at the world with suspicion. His clothes looked as if they hadn’t seen water in months. Over his shirt he wore a sleeveless vest made of pieced-together animal skins. A scar curled across the side of his face, disappearing into his beard.
Victoria’s skin crawled. She had no desire to do business with this man. Just one look into his cold, blank eyes was enough to make her want to run in the other direction. She squared her shoulders. For Amy’s sake, she had to deal with him. “Are you Cam McBride?” His only answer was the barest nod. “I’ve heard you might be able to do a job for me. I need someone to track down Sam Brody.”
Life sprang into his muddy eyes at that name. “I been after Brody a long time. What ya’ want him for?”
Victoria began her story again. McBride watched her, saying nothing. She wound down finally. There was a moment of silence. “Well?” Victoria prodded. “Can you do it?”
“Sure. I’ll hunt Brody for ya’. If I get the girl back, ya’ pay me, but Brody’s mine.”
Victoria felt as if a snake had slithered across her feet. Involuntarily she shivered. “I don’t care about Brody. I just want my cousin back unharmed.”
“An’ what are ya’ willin’ ta pay?”
“Don’t waste your money,” a hard voice said right behind Victoria.
She jumped and whirled around, her heart pounding. Slater stood behind her, his green eyes glittering with anger.
“What are you doing sneaking up on me like that!” Victoria snapped.
“I didn’t have to sneak. You were too busy cooking up your scheme with this slime.”
McBride’s eyes narrowed. “Who the hell ya’ think ya’ are, Slater, talkin’ to me that way?”
“Well, I’m not a carrion-eating buzzard like you, that’s for sure. I don’t make a living murdering people.”
“I never shot a man ‘cept in self-defense,” McBride hissed. “An’ I never shot one that wasn’t wanted dead or alive.”
“Maybe. But you always shot them, didn’t you? Did you ever bring one in alive?”
McBride’s hand tightened around the stock of his shotgun, and for one frozen moment Victoria though he might swing it up and fire at Slater. She must have let out a gasp, for McBride’s eyes flickered to her. His fingers relaxed, and he nodded to her. “Anytime ya’ wanna talk ‘thout this one around, let me know.”
“Mr. McBride…” Victoria began, but the man turned and walked away without a backward glance. Victoria whirled toward Slater, seething. “Now see what you’ve done! Why did you chase him off? If you aren’t going to pursue Amy’s abductor, the least you can do is let me find someone who will.”
“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” Slater said, tightlipped. “I’ll assume you have no idea what kind of a snake Cam McBride is.”
“He is a tracker who was agreeing to find Amy for me until you barged in!”
“He’s a yellow, back-shooting murderer, that’s what he is. He’s a bounty hunter, brings in men with a reward on their heads. Somehow they always seem to have tried to kill him, and he had to shoot them in self-defense. He kills men for money, as surely as any hired gunslinger.”
“But he’s within the law.”
“Sure. But as far as I’m concerned, he’s not within the boundaries of common decency. He sure as hell isn’t the kind of man you ought to have anything to do with.”
“I’m not going to a church social with him! I’m hiring him to find Brody.”
“Kill Brody, you mean.”
“If that’s what it takes. Frankly, I don’t care about Brody’s life. He stole Amy and has done God knows what to her, and it won’t hurt me a bit to see him dead. Why all this tender concern about a criminal like Brody?”
“I’m an officer of the law. That means I bel
ieve in bringing in criminals and seeing that they stand trial for their crimes. It doesn’t mean I believe in shooting them out of hand. McBride ambushes men. He shoots them from behind, or while they sleep. He doesn’t give them a chance to surrender. And he won’t care about your cousin’s safety. If she gets caught in the crossfire, well, that’ll be too bad. All he wants is to get Brody. He carries a grudge against him.”
“So do you. So do I. So does half the state of Texas, probably.”
Slater rocked back on his heels, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and studied her. “So you’re determined to run out with McBride after your cousin. I wish you the best of luck. Maybe you’ll come out of it sane and whole.”
“I didn’t say I was riding out with him. I will remain here and wait for my father. Mr. McBride will look for Brody and Amy.”
“I see.” An irritatingly amused smile curved his lips. “You aren’t going to ‘help’ him like you helped me.”
“He doesn’t need my help. He’s not wounded, as you were.”
“Yeah. I forgot. I’m sure that’s the reason. Not because you’d be scared to spend even thirty minutes alone with him.”
Victoria glanced away, a blush rising in her cheeks. Slater was right, of course; she wouldn’t trust McBride as far as she could throw him. She gazed across the street while her mind raced to come up with an appropriate answer. “You don’t have to like a man to hire him to chase down a—”
The words stopped in Victoria’s throat. A man had stepped out of the small hotel across the way and now stood idly on the sidewalk, glancing around. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and bit off the end, then lit it. Victoria knew that man. His face was imprinted on her mind with all the permanence of a daguerreotype.
“Victoria? What is it? What’s the matter?” Slater moved closer, his hand coming out to steady her arm.