by Nan Ryan
“But I’m all gritty and dirty.”
“I told you, there’s no water here.”
“I know you did, but—”
Cole interrupted, “I suggested a bath last night.”
“You did,” she said meekly.
“And you refused. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow night. I’ll say it again, there is no water here.”
Marietta was undeterred. “Both canteens are full.”
“That’s for drinking. Who knows how far we’ll have to ride before we can refill them.”
Marietta turned the full force of her smile on him and said, “I thought perhaps I could just take a little sponge bath.” Cole frowned and rolled his eyes heavenward. She continued, “I wouldn’t use much water, I promise. I could just pour a tiny little bit out into an empty tin plate. That’s all. Please say yes. Just look at me, I’m drenched with perspiration.”
“Go head,” he finally agreed, “but don’t use more than one cupful of water.”
Marietta sprang to her feet. “Thank you, Cole.” He cocked an eyebrow. She had never called him Cole. Pointing, she said, “If you would get your coiled lasso and stretch it out between those two aspen trees there and tie the ends to—”
“Why would I do that?”
She smiled, “I will explain. Once you’ve strung the rope and tied it between the trees, I could toss the blanket over it. That way I’d have a dressing screen to stand behind while I bathe.”
“Why don’t you just go over behind the trees?”
“It will soon be turning dark,” she explained, her large emerald eyes soft and beseeching. “I’d be afraid out there by myself. Who knows, there might be hostile Indians in the area.”
“You afraid?” he said sarcastically. “Jesus. Pity the poor savage that gets his hands on you.”
“Oh, Cole, please.”
“You’re a lot of trouble,” Cole said, but rose to his feet and went for the rope and blanket.
Minutes later a pleased-with-herself Marietta slipped behind the hung blanket, ready to disrobe. And to bring the impassive Cole Heflin to his knees.
The sun was beginning to set, but it’s fiery glow lingered to bathe everything in an ambient rosy light. Ideal. She couldn’t have planned it any better. Her bare shoulders would be luminous in the dying sunlight.
His back resting against a sturdy conifer trunk, Cole sat with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He calmly smoked a cigar, purposely paying Marietta no attention and trying to forget that an incredibly beautiful woman was taking off her clothes not ten feet away.
He was not entirely successful.
Marietta was delighted to find that the blanket struck her well below the shoulders. She finished unbuttoning her soiled white shirt. As she tossed it over the blanket, she said Cole’s name so that he would look at her. She then cleverly engaged him in conversation as she unhooked her camisole and slipped it off.
“Isn’t this one of the most beautiful spots on earth?” she said and, as she had done behind the screen as Maltese had watched, Marietta lifted her tangled hair atop her head and sighed. “Ah, that’s so much cooler,” she commented, knowing that the movement of her raised arms lifted her bare breasts until the rising swell was exposed above the blanket. “I swear, sometimes I don’t know why we have to wear clothes at all, do you, Cole?”
He didn’t answer.
Marietta moved her arms higher and slowly raised on tiptoe so that only her pale pink nipples were concealed behind the covering blanket.
To her amazement, Cole registered no response.
None whatsoever.
She released her hair, reached down and anxiously unbuttoned her snug trousers. She then made a big production of shimmying out of the soft chamois pants, thrusting a hip this way, then that, bumping up against the blanket. On purpose. And as she did so, she shared with her disinterested companion the intimate fact that she wore nothing beneath the trousers.
Laughing merrily, Marietta confided, “You know, when I changed into these riding clothes back there outside Golden, I made every attempt to get these tight trousers up over my lacy pantalets.”
No reply from Cole.
Marietta frowned. “Did you hear me, Cole? I said that I couldn’t—”
“I heard you.”
“Well, anyhow, it was just impossible. I simply could not get the trousers up over my underwear.” She paused, sighed and said, “So do you know what I had to do?”
“Let me guess,” was his cool reply.
“I had to discard the pantalets.” She threw back her head then and laughed gaily. “I have ridden all this way with nothing between me and these snug-fitting trousers.”
Cole swallowed hard, but remained outwardly composed. He drew on his cigar, slowly blowing out the smoke. He continued to sit there in an attitude of total indifference.
“There,” Marietta announced as she tossed the chamois pants atop her discarded blouse. “Ah, heaven, absolute heaven. I am now as bare as the day I was born.”
Cole’s teeth clamped down hard on his cigar. He leaned his head back against the tree trunk and lowered his eyelids. But she wouldn’t let it go. Wouldn’t leave him alone. Damn her.
“Oh, dear me,” Marietta said suddenly, as if surprised. “Can you believe me? Here I am totally naked and ready to take a nice cool bath and I forgot to bring a cloth with me to wash with.”
“Use your hand,” Cole said, annoyed.
“Don’t be silly, Cole,” she laughingly scolded. Then sweetly, “Could you possibly help me out? Do you have a handkerchief I could borrow?”
“No.”
“Well, then, would you be an angel and loan me your neckerchief?”
Cole gritted his even, white teeth. He rose to his feet, dropped his smoked-down cigar and crushed it out beneath the heel of his moccasin. He untied the bandanna, slipped it from around his throat. His firm jaw set, he crossed to Marietta. He held out the silk neck wear. She took it, hoping that he would continue to hold on to it for a moment. That the two of them would hold either end of the neckerchief and look into each other’s eyes for a magical moment.
Cole immediately released the scarf.
“Thank you very much,” she said.
“Don’t mention it,” Cole replied before turning and walking away.
Marietta began her bath. She bent and dipped the neckerchief in the tin plate of water and brought it dripping up to her throat.
“Mmm,” she moaned, tilting her head back. “That feels wonderful. Oh, my,” she murmured and let the soaked silk cloth slip slowly down from her throat to her chest.
Marietta continued to sensuously slide the soaking silk over her nude body, sighing and gasping and carrying on for Cole’s benefit. She kept him informed of just which part of her heated body she was presently cleansing. And she told him just how splendid it felt to have that sopping-wet silk—the very same one he had worn around his throat—gliding over her hot, tingling flesh.
To no avail.
Marietta was now wet all over.
Her pale skin glistened in the dying light.
She was wet and naked behind the blanket. Cole should have been breathing heavily by now. He should have been wanting her so badly he would be suffering in sweet agony. He should have been staring intently at her, his face bathed in perspiration, his heart racing in his chest, his lean body tensed, passion smoldering in the depths of his eyes.
Instead, Cole was, to Marietta’s shocked dismay, totally detached. Just as always. She waited for him to react, to speak, to say something, but she waited in vain. He was as taciturn as ever, simply ignoring her. She could have yanked down the covering blanket and he wouldn’t have turned his head. She could have walked right up to him, gleaming wet and vulnerably naked, and he wouldn’t have bothered to look up!
Marietta was incensed and mortified.
Feeling foolish and rebuffed, she couldn’t wait to get her clothes back on. And she swore to herself that she would nev
er take them off in his presence again.
Marietta could not sleep.
She had not said a word to Cole since her failed attempt to captivate him by taking the sponge bath.
Bedtime had come and gone, but she lay alone on the blanket. When she went to bed, Cole had said he was not sleepy, had stayed up. Was still up. Now as it grew late—well past midnight—Marietta remained awake. She was wide awake. She found herself in a strange state of anxious excitement, a feeling that was foreign and frightening to her.
Cole Heflin was responsible.
Her head turned in his direction, Marietta lay on her back and spied on him from beneath lowered lashes. Bare-chested and barefoot, he paced back and forth like a dangerous panther in heat, his strong shoulders and naked torso gleaming with a sheen of perspiration. The flames of the dying campfire licked at his smooth bronzed flesh and cast shadows over his ruggedly handsome face.
Marietta’s heart beat heavily as she guiltily gazed at him, admiring his striking physique. She was mesmerized by his smoldering, masculine good looks. He was a perfect physical specimen with his leanly muscled arms and broad shoulders.
Much as she despised him, she was unable to take her eyes off him. And she caught herself wondering how it would feel to have those long, powerful arms around her, holding her tight. Would it be thrilling beyond compare to be pressed against that bare, gleaming chest?
At the prospect, Marietta felt her nipples tighten into points of sensation, felt her belly contract sharply. She clutched at the blanket beneath her and ordered herself to calm down, to look away from him.
But she didn’t do it.
Couldn’t do it.
She continued to watch Cole. She shivered with a mixture of fear and fascination. There was an erotic aura about him, as if he had made love to dozens of women. She would bet anything that he had. And that those women had swooned with ecstasy when they were in his arms because he was such an exciting lover.
Marietta was excited just watching him pace back and forth. She told herself it was not entirely her fault. It was natural that she would be drawn to such a magnificent figure of power and sensuality. His physical beauty and superb animal strength were impossible to ignore. She was far from civilization in a primitive environment and in danger of falling under the spell of this erotically attractive man.
Marietta frowned.
This wasn’t the way she had planned it! He should have been falling under her spell. What on earth was wrong with him?
He couldn’t possibly be so magnetic, such a figure of power and sensuality, if he was not a hot-blooded man. There had to be a fiery nature beneath that impassive exterior. And she could well imagine what he might be like if that blazing passion should ever be unleashed.
Marietta trembled at the thought.
Sixteen
Cole continued to pace restlessly before the dying fire.
It was late, but he wasn’t sleepy. He did not dare lie down. Couldn’t trust himself to stretch out beside this tempting Jezebel who had driven him half-crazy by slowly taking off her clothes a few feet from him.
His blood was up.
Had been up since she had stripped down to the skin and rubbed his wet bandanna all over her bare flesh. He had suffered as he sat there trying to keep his eyes and his mind off her. More than once he had been tempted to yank down the blanket and draw her, wet and naked, into his arms and kiss her senseless.
Jesus, how he had wanted her.
Wanted her still.
But he’d be damned if he’d let her know it. He was on to her. Marietta was a mean, selfish little bitch, bent on making a slavering fool of him. Well, lots of good old-fashioned luck to her. She wasn’t quite as irresistible as she supposed. Nor was he as easily seduced as she assumed.
Cole stopped pacing.
He withdrew the still-damp bandanna from his hip pocket and held it in the palm of his hand. He glanced toward the blanket where Marietta lay. She was asleep. Finally.
Cole’s bare shoulders sagged with relief. He guiltily raised the silk bandanna to his face and inhaled deeply, hoping to catch Marietta’s unique scent. He breathed in. He shuddered, recalling where the slick fabric had been.
Against her wet bare flesh. Touching her, washing her. All over. Cole closed his eyes and impulsively pressed the silk to his lips. He kissed it, brushing his closed mouth lightly against it. He parted his lips slightly. He put out the tip of his tongue and licked at the damp material. He opened his mouth wider. He sucked a small portion of neckerchief inside.
Then abruptly jerked the bandanna out of his mouth and stuffed it back into his pocket. He stalked over to the blanket, stood just above, staring down at the sleeping Marietta. He was angry with her. She had kept him awake for hours when he badly needed his rest. Damn her.
Cole exhaled irritably, lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. He yawned. Finally, he was growing sleepy. He sank to his knees on the blanket and stretched out beside Marietta. Close, but not touching. He released a long sigh of exhaustion, closed his burning, bloodshot eyes and instantly fell asleep.
Disappointed that she had been unable to captivate him, Marietta was unusually disagreeable for the next couple of days. She complained. She ridiculed. She criticized. She was going at him hot and heavy one noontime just after they had stopped to rest. They had been there but a few short minutes when, to Marietta’s puzzlement, Cole, without saying a word, rose and casually walked over to the black stallion. He swung up into the saddle and unceremoniously rode away, leaving her behind.
Marietta frowned.
She got to her feet and stood there baffled for a minute. Then she began running after him on foot.
“What in blazes do you think you’re doing? Where are you going?”
“To Texas,” he calmly replied.
“Well…well, wait! What…what about me?”
“You’ll have to find a new sparring partner, I’m worn out.”
“But you can’t just leave me in the middle of nowhere! I don’t know where we are.”
“That,” he said, “is your misfortune.”
And on he rode.
Marietta’s anger was immediately replaced with panic. Without him, she would be lost in this dense mountain wilderness. She couldn’t even discern directions, had no idea how to get to a city. She might never find her way out, might die here alone.
Truly frightened, Marietta stopped running beside Cole. Out of breath, heart racing, she ran back to camp and hastily gathered up the gear. She anxiously mounted the piebald mare and galloped after Cole.
When she finally overtook him, she opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with a look.
She fretted in silence for the rest of the day and plotted how she would escape once they were nearer to civilization. She had made up her mind. She was going to get away from this callous bastard one way or another.
When they stopped for the night, Cole knew that Marietta was quietly seething, but he didn’t care. She was so angry she wouldn’t speak to him? Good. The silence was blessed. He hoped it lasted.
As he drifted peacefully off to sleep that night his last thought was that it would suit him fine if he didn’t hear another peep out of her the rest of the way to Galveston.
An hour after he had drifted off to sleep, Cole was awakened by the distinctive sound of a revolver being cocked. Very close. Cole didn’t move. He opened his eyes only a slit and saw, framed in the pale moonlight, the scar-faced Lightnin’ standing above, grinning evilly.
Cole pretended to remain fast asleep.
Marietta stirred and Lightnin’s gaze shifted to her. Quick as a cat, Cole lunged up, surprising the distracted Lightnin’ and knocking him off his feet. The gun was still in Lightnin’s hand. The two men began a fierce battle, rolling around on the ground, grunting and fighting for possession of the revolver.
Marietta leaped up, her heart in her throat, hands pressed to her cheeks, just beginning to grasp what was happening. Lightnin’ had
finally found her. Thank God! Thank God! He had tracked them down at last, just as she’d prayed he would. Excited and relieved, she watched the two men scuffle, each fighting fiercely for possession of the revolver.
After several long minutes of tussling, Cole managed to wrestle the revolver from Lightnin’s hand. The weapon slid across the grassy ground and into the shadows.
Marietta saw that Lightnin’ had lost the gun, but she wasn’t too worried. Lightnin’ was as tough as they came. He would surely be triumphant in this fight. He would soon best the Texan and before the night was over she’d be on her way back to Central City and the stage.
But to Marietta’s surprise and disappointment, the bitter struggle continued. And continued. By now she was wincing and covering her mouth each time another loud, punishing blow was landed on either of their faces. Both men were bloodied. Both were groaning in pain. Both were gasping for breath.
But they kept fighting.
And fighting.
Hopping around above the battling pair now, Marietta watched wide-eyed and grimacing. She was becoming increasingly more worried. If they didn’t stop hitting each other, somebody was going to be badly hurt, perhaps even killed.
An odd mixture of fear and relief warring within her, she began to pray that Cole would give up. Or that Lightnin’ would knock Cole out and the bloody fight would end without the Texan being too badly injured.
Marietta involuntarily screamed when she saw the flash of a blade appear. It was Lightnin’ who wielded the knife. He was going to stab Cole. Lightnin’ meant to kill Cole!
The tendons standing out in Cole’s throat, he managed to grip Lightnin’s wrist and stay his hand. He fought to shake the knife loose. Lightnin’ fought just as hard to free his hand and stab Cole.
“My gun, Marietta! Get my gun,” called the hard-breathing Cole as he struggled to keep the knife’s blade away from his chest.
“Get the gun, Marietta,” ordered the equally winded Lightnin’. “Kill this kidnapping bastard!”
Her heart racing, Marietta stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, as the two men stayed locked in a death struggle. She was paralyzed with indecision. Couldn’t help either man. Didn’t know which one she really wanted to help.