Silence stretched out between them, pulled thin like a sheet of pastry, and she wanted to weep with the fear that their bond, which yesterday had seemed stronger than cast iron, might snap if she drew in the wrong breath.
Then, a warm, tickling sensation touched her ear. Hot breath exhaled. Teeth closed around the sensitive lobe. She swallowed but didn't move, her eyes tightly shut. A change in the quality of the light hitting her eyelids suggested a shape blocking out the sun that shone through the window. Dylan's heavy weight eased onto her, pinning her to the bed. Their hands remained locked together. His lips trailed across her cheek and sought her mouth. A sob escaped Lydia as Dylan ravaged her mouth with violent tenderness. She ran her free hand up his back and into his hair.
“My poor darling,” he murmured into her mouth. “You must have been so scared. You're so brave, Lydia. Did you really think I would turn from you? Not a chance. If you'd had to entertain instead of cooking, I would have understood.”
Tears streaked down her temples into her hair. Lydia opened her thighs wide to accommodate Dylan better. His sex had swelled to full tumescence and he eased it gently back into her. Lydia whimpered, her sobs merging into quiet pleasure-cries.
“I love you.” Her lips traced the words across his as he plunged deep into her well, pulled back and plunged again. Every deep drive set her sex clenching and her skin tingling.
“You know I love you, Lydia.”
Joy welled up from the dark places she'd forgotten she had, turning them to starry brilliance. No matter what tomorrow brings, I will never forget this moment. “I know you do, Dylan. We love each other. It's perfect.”
She clung to him, one hand on his neck, the other locked with his as his luscious thrusting set her eager flesh on fire. Pure ecstasy radiated out to every limb, every hair, until she felt sure she must be glowing with it. Her breath sucked in, and she released it with a soft sigh, the power of the orgasm too strong for screams. Instead she welcomed Dylan's claiming and returned it to him. Never will I feel this way again. This man is unique. We're one.
Passion ebbed, and she half-drowsed, not aware when Dylan rose, pulled on his clothes and prepared to leave. She felt his soft kiss, heard him murmur, “I'll come back soon,” and closed her eyes. He eased the covers over her naked body. His boots echoed on the floorboards.
Chapter 10
“What kept you, Sheriff?” Rob demanded, eliciting a shout of laughter from Jesse.
“Never mind about that,” the blond man wheezed, scratching the stubble on his cheeks.
“That's right, never mind, you two whippersnappers. Jesse, what's wrong with your wife that she doesn't make you shave?”
Jesse only laughed harder. “She was still asleep this morning when I left, so I got away without the lecture on respectability. And watch who you're calling whippersnapper, old man.”
“Very funny,” Dylan groused, only half joining in the banter. His heart remained with his woman, tucked into that warm bed. “Lydia says the stranger is named Samuel Blaylock, which, I'm sure you'll agree, is pretty similar to Sam Bly. He's older with grey hair, a fancy mustache and a limp.”
Jesse's laughter cut off as the gears in his analytical mind began grinding. “Sounds just like the fellow from Colorado. How interesting is it that I came all the way home to find a safer life for my wife and kid, only to find the same killer who tried to do us in the next state over?”
“That is something, Jesse. You have some luck,” Rob said, perching his rear on the desk. Jesse paced across the room and leaned against the wall.
Dylan circled the desk and dropped into his chair, propping his feet up on the wood and deliberately knocking Rob off the edge.
“So, gentlemen, what are your suggestions? I know I'm the boss here, but Jesse, you grew up in this town, and Rob, you never left. I have deputies not only for backup, but for feedback. How do we storm a stronghold on a flat, empty prairie without us all getting killed?”
“Bring a big posse,” Rob replied immediately. “The more targets there are, the better everyone's chances.”
Dylan nodded. There's sense in that.
“Come at them at night,” Jesse added. “Deep night. Gives us the advantage. There will certainly be a watch, but a watch isn't the same as a whole camp milling around. Keep the lanterns as dark as possible. Communicate with bird calls.”
“Who knows bird calls?” Rob complained.
“My wife,” Jesse replied promptly. “She's been teaching me. Most people don't notice birds, but imitating a day bird at night is a form of communication. We should also go on foot.”
“No horses?” Dylan frowned. “Being on the ground takes away an advantage, Jesse.”
“Yeah, maybe, but it's quieter. Horses are big and heavy. They'll make a lot more noise crashing through the dry grass.”
Damn, this kid is smart. I would never have thought to go on foot.
“That needs to be a really big posse,” Rob pointed out. “If we don't have horses, we should have even more men.”
“Everyone who wants to can go, I'd say,” Dylan replied. “I think we might be surprised what we find there, and I don't want to be outgunned. These are professional criminals and killers. We might have more men, but they're nice family men. Bankers, shopkeepers and ranchers. They have their families to protect, but that doesn't mean they know how to take a life. Who here other than me has actually killed a man, and won't freeze at the critical moment?”
“Not me,” Rob said, “unless the hanging I attended counts against my credit. I swear I won't freeze though.”
Hope not, Dylan thought.
“I have.” Jesse met his boss's gaze with a cold, hard stare.
This kid never stops surprising me. So is this what he's hiding under all that humor? I'm lucky he's on my side. “That might be it then,” Dylan admitted. “But I suppose such things are normal enough in a small town posse.”
“Yes, and don't forget, every man in this town will rise to the occasion, regardless of experience,” Jesse reminded him. “They have wives and daughters, mothers and sweethearts and sisters who are at risk. No one will forget the way they fire-bombed an innocent woman's place of business in order to create a diversion. Another gang member, one who will not be any bother to us, tried to kill Addie over in Colorado…”
“And the rest thought nothing of slaughtering a train full of women and children,” Dylan added.
Rob scowled.
“They've already proven themselves uncivilized and dangerous. We're not exaggerating that the threat to the town incorporates every man, woman and child.”
Rob shuddered. “To think they've been lurking beside us for who knows how long, just waiting for their chance.” He shook his head. “Let's take these bastards down.”
“The hard part will be planning this without them finding out we're coming. We don't know if anyone in town is on their side. Once we call the meeting, we're committed,” Jesse said. “No one can be allowed to leave once they know our plan.”
“Well, then, we'll call them tomorrow at sunset. It's too late to start this now,” Dylan informed them, looking at the low light beaming in the window. “So let's get this planned out and then head home. I'll take first watch, since I've already had a break. We have to be on guard now.”
“I'll stay too,” Jesse volunteered.
Dylan shook his head. “Go let Addie know to keep her head down. She's a likely target, since she's known to be associated with you. Rob…”
“I'm going home,” the young man replied. “I have to let Ma and my sisters know to lie low.”
“Good thinking.”
“Will Lydia be all right?” Jesse asked.
“I think so,” Dylan replied. “She was powerfully mad at me for asking Billy Fulton to watch over her.”
The chuckle that greeting his pronouncement sounded more like tension than mirth, but what else could be expected, under the circumstances?
After a few minutes resting, Lydia woke up
to the scarlet sunset beaming onto her face. While normally late afternoon would be filled with a simple supper and readying herself for bed, this time energy bubbled through her. She felt wide awake, and now that Dylan had gone, powerfully angry.
“That Ilse Jackson is going to get a piece of my mind,” she muttered. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she began rehearsing everything she wanted to say to the spoiled, dishonest brat in furious, hissing murmurs while she washed the residue of Dylan's love from her thighs and slipped into clean, intact garments. A deft twist rendered her thick, black hair presentable for public. Then she scooped up her reticule, in which her now-reloaded derringer resided, its weight a welcome comfort against all the cruelties of life. I won't shoot Ilse. I won't. But I won't promise not to slap some sense into her. She needs it.
Her thoughts trained on the woman who made everyone's life miserable, Lydia hurried out of the store and down the street, heading for the Jackson home.
“Lydia? Lydia?” A soft, female voice called to her, breaking through her intense concentration. She turned to see Addie West, her burnished hair escaping a demure bun, approaching her from the direction of the home she and Jesse had purchased.
“What can I do for you, Addie?” Lydia asked, not wanting to slight her friend.
Addie drew so close to Lydia, they were nearly touching. “Is it true about the sheriff?”
Addie's hushed alarm set off warning bells in Lydia. She answered in an intense whisper, “What did you hear?”
Addie drew in a deep breath, and laid a hand on the now-unmistakable swell of her belly. “That he was nearly shot. That you saved him. That the robbers are moving directly against the town.”
Lydia nodded grimly. “Can you shoot a gun, Addie?”
The younger woman dipped her chin.
“Then I suggest you make a point of arming yourself everywhere you go.”
Addie's gaze hardened, revealing a core of steel Lydia had never seen before. “I'm never unarmed. Never.”
Lydia nodded. “Good girl.”
“Jesse told me a bit about these robbers. They have no respect for women or children. They are everyone's enemies. Watch yourself, Lydia.”
“Of course,” Lydia agreed.
Addie seemed to relax a bit. “So where were you off to in such a hurry?”
As Lydia opened her mouth to speak, a flash of movement across the street drew her eye. She turned and her face hardened.
“What on earth, Lydia?” Addie gasped.
“Remember when you came by the shop, after hearing rumors about a petition to close the saloon?”
“Yes,” Addie admitted. “Some people have too much time on their hands.”
“That they do,” Lydia agreed. “How would you feel if someone added your name to such a document without your permission or knowledge?”
Addie made a face. “I make my own decisions.”
“Exactly. And one decision I made was to have nothing to do with that petition. Excuse me a moment.”
Leaving her friend, she stormed across the red brick street to the front of the mercantile. Inside, she could see Becky Heitschmidt working away at her sewing machine. The woman lifted her arm in a friendly wave, but Lydia, intent on her quarry, did not return the greeting. “Miss Jackson,” she enunciated in extreme disgust.
Ilse's head shot up from the basket of purchases she'd just carried out of the mercantile and she frowned at Lydia. “Yes?”
“I have a bone to pick with you, miss.” Peripheral movement revealed that Addie had trailed after Lydia and now flanked her, also leveling an angry, brown-eyed stare at the town's most annoying citizen.
“Can't it wait?” Ilse asked with a careless laugh, smoothing a strand of shiny black hair back under her blue bonnet. “I have to get these goods home. It does them no favors to be out in the cold.”
“Sorry, Ilse,” Lydia said, her words polite but her anger dripping from every word. “It can't wait. You crossed the line this time and I expect you to listen to what I have to say about it.”
Ilse laughed, but in the face of Lydia's rage, it sounded strained. Good. “What on earth can you mean?”
“I told you I didn't support your petition. I made it perfectly clear I wanted nothing to do with it. For you to have written my name on it anyway was wrong. I'm mortified, and very, very angry. Have you ever seen what happens when an Italian woman gets angry, Miss Jackson? It isn't the cold rage your German brethren favor, and I don't care in the slightest about making a scene.”
Uncertainty crept across Ilse's pretty, pouty face. She bit her lower lip and took a step backwards as though to flee.
Oh, I don't think so, you little brat. Time to face the music. Lydia inhaled a deep breath, ready to blast Ilse to kingdom come, but she never got the chance.
“Oh, no!” Becky shot to her feet, dumping a lapful of pinned fabric onto the floor. “James! James, are you there?”
“What is it, honey?” Her husband hurried to her and laid a hand on her back. “The baby…?”
The breath she drew into her heaving lungs shuddered. “There were men… strangers… in the street. Oh, dear Lord. They….” She stuttered to a halt, swallowed. A tear slid down her cheek. “Get the sheriff, James. Hurry.”
“What? What happened? Rebecca, what are you saying?”
“They took them. Lydia, Addie and Ilse. The strangers took them away!”
James froze in place, staring into the street, which suddenly seemed eerily empty. Then he hooked an arm around his wife's waist and hauled her back, away from the window.
“James, what are you doing? Go get the sheriff.”
“I won't leave you alone.” He tugged her behind the counter and pulled out the shotgun he normally concealed there. “We're going together.”
Keeping his arm tight around her waist, James guided his wife to the door and out into the street.
“So, you're saying the soddie in question is here?” Dylan touched a roughly sketched map Jesse had drawn of the unclaimed land north of town.
Jesse nodded.
“Wait, I know that place!” Rob exclaimed, suddenly overcome with exuberance. “One time I brought…” he trailed off, his face coloring. “Never mind,” he mumbled.
Jesse raised an eyebrow at him. “Not much of a spot for a romantic interlude,” he commented. “Don't you have any class, boy?”
“Let's discuss Sarah a different time,” Dylan urged, not wanting to get drawn into a lengthy conversation about the sweetheart the boy pretended not to have. Rob's angry muttering changed to jaw-hanging shock.
“How did you…?”
“Later,” Dylan insisted. “Jesse, stop teasing him. This is not the moment.”
“Sorry,” the younger man said, though he didn't look at all abashed.
“So we gather the men of town tomorrow at sunset and tell them…”
The door to the jail flew open with a resounding crash that rattled the windowpanes and set the bars vibrating. Dylan overturned his chair with him still in it. His head knocked hard on the floor and for a moment, tiny stars seemed to be circling.
“Now hold on a gol-durned minute,” Jesse shouted loud enough set Dylan's head throbbing even harder than the blow had. “Have you lost your mind, Heitschmidt? You can't come in here with that! What the hell are you doing?”
Shaking himself, Dylan slowly rose to his feet to see James, one arm tight around his wife, the other cradling a shotgun. Becky shoved herself back against her husband, as though trying to hide. Tears streaked down her face and she sobbed so hard, she could scarcely breathe.
“What's happening?” Dylan asked, feeling sluggish and stupid.
“Sheriff, sheriff you have to come, you have to… Oh Lord.” She brought her hands up over her face and wailed.
“What is it?” Dylan demanded. “James, you'd best point that thing somewhere else.”
James let the muzzle of the shotgun drop to the floor. He leaned on its sturdy barrel as though for support
. “They were here. The robbers. They grabbed women from the street. Rebecca saw it.”
“What?” Jesse stepped forward, eyes wild. “What women? Who did they take?” His breath puffed between his lips like an angry bull. “What women?”
“Settle down, Jess,” Rob urged. “Don't scare the lady. Miz Heitschmidt, who did they take?”
She drew in several gasping inhalations and scrubbed her hands over her face. “Ilse…” she gulped. “Addie.” Jesse cursed vilely and didn't excuse himself. “And Lydia.”
The stars returned, pinpricks of light floating around Dylan's head. He blinked to dispel them, but his knees gave way and he sank down, perching his rear on the desk for support. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I saw it. They were talking. Addie and Lydia looked mad. Then five men jumped out from between the mercantile and the bank, you know that dark little alley…”
Though he had to strain to understand over her endless sobs, Becky's words slammed into his head like a hammer. He nodded, feeling numb.
“One put a hand over each woman's mouth. One took Lydia's bag and threw it in the street, and they wrestled them back into the alley.”
“Did you see which way they went?”
“I'm sorry, sheriff,” James said, sounding anything but, “I wasn't going to leave my pregnant wife alone for a minute, nor was I going to take her anywhere near dangerous, violent men. We came straight here.”
Though he wanted to be angry, he had to admit James had a point. He's not a lawman. “Gentlemen, our plans have changed. Get everyone you can find and meet me at the church in an hour. If I don't show up, carry out the raid without me.”
“But…” Rob started.
“Robert Fulton,” Dylan said in his lowest, coldest voice. “You are a lawman. Do your duty.”
High Plains Passion Page 17