Of leftovers she found little, other than a couple of cold griddle cakes and a spoonful of potatoes. So it was back to the staples: a chunk of salt pork, cut up and cooked until crisp, the residue then thickened with flour and poured as gravy over sourdough bread from the Yancey pack of supplies. Her impromptu menu also included pooch, a dish of the chuckwagon trail made up of canned tomatoes, sugar, and bread.
They lingered over the meal, talking, laughing, learning a bit of this and that about each other. Until finally, under the length and stress of the day, Elizabeth began yawning. Politely, behind one palm.
“Oh, I’d better get this mess cleaned up,” she decided, surveying the pans coated in grease and the plates needing to be scraped. “I don’t want to face it in the morning.”
“You wanna wash or dry?”
So, together, they cleared the clutter, straightened the room, restored order to Win’s kitchen.
Concluding, Elizabeth stretched her arms wide in another mighty yawn, then hastily apologized. “I’m sorry, Tom. It isn’t the company, believe me. I’ve so enjoyed talking with you. But I’m just—ooooooh!—so tired, all of a sudden.”
He didn’t really mind the stretching. Not when fabric could tighten across lavish breasts to show off every curve and dimple, and leave whatever was left to tease a man’s imagination. He wondered what sort of camisole she might be wearing underneath.
“Yeah, it’s hittin’ me, too,” Thomas admitted. “Listen, Liz, I think we both oughta sleep out here t’night, in front of the fire. Things’re gonna get a lot colder b’fore mawnin’, and I wanna make sure the fire don’t go out, anyway. So get ready for bed, and we’ll put blankets on the floor right by the hearth.”
She pondered that. “Yes, your idea makes sense. No point in freezing to death.”
When she emerged from her bedroom, shivering, a little later, she was carrying both pillows and every blanket from the cot. Thomas, she noticed, had stripped Win’s bed of covers, as well. They built themselves quite a cozy nest in front of the fireplace, whose flames Thomas had just replenished.
“Brrrr.”
In the south, appearing before a male companion in anything other than full dress attire was simply taboo. Elizabeth’s behavior of standing directly in front of the blaze, in her floor-length flannel nightgown, would never have been considered proper. In fact, downright scandalous.
Especially since far too much of Elizabeth’s quite delectable shape was visible, backlit by the fire. On the other hand, that she felt comfortable enough to do so seemed a point in his favor. Watching her, as he arranged things to their liking, was becoming a definite hardship, and he couldn’t suppress a soft little groan.
“Tom? Anything wrong?”
“Uh. Pulled a—pulled a muscle.” Not entirely untrue. Just probably not what she was expecting. “All right, Miss Drayton, all set.” His outspread palm indicated their sleeping quarters for the night.
Thoroughly—if briefly—warmed, she scrambled down and settled under the blankets with her head on the pillow and every enticing inch of her decently covered, free from temptation. Get thee behind me, Satan!
Stripped down to his heaviest pair of long johns, Thomas scrunched in behind her.
Elizabeth giggled. “My father…”
Oh, Jesus. Her father. Buckets of ice water poured suddenly through his veins. “Ahuh. Your father—?”
“He’d probably have a few words to say about this whole setup.”
Words? From what few dealings Thomas had had with Augustus Drayton last week, there’d be more than a few words. God help him, Gus would show up for any meeting with gun in hand. And rightfully so.
Damn. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.
And he turned on his side, pulled her back to tuck her into the long, lean curve of his body, and slipped one arm over her midriff. There. All comfy.
“Oh.”
He heard her breath of word. For the good, or for the bad; how was she feeling about his casual disposition of her person?
“Liz.”
“Mhmmm.”
“You okay?”
A sigh. He felt it lifted from her toes, all the way up to that remarkable bosom only inches away from his covetous hand. “More than,” she whispered.
He released his own sigh. Contentment. Pure contentment. And he snuggled his chin into the warm hollow between her jaw and her collarbone, closed his eyes, and gave himself up to thought.
What the hell was going on here? Rescuing a kidnapped girl from her abductor was supposed to have been just another job, all in the line of duty. He’d had no interest in any serious relationship with a woman; too many faraway places still called him, beckoning for travel and adventure. He had no wish to get involved. Especially with a female so different from his dream of a Southern Belle.
What the hell was going on?
“Oh.”
Not a breath this time, or a sigh. A word of startlement.
Of course she was startled. Because he was now afflicted by a hard-on, a hefty, truly monumental hard-on, making itself known to her in a most determined way. A mind of its own, this proud hunk of flesh, independent of himself, nosing about where it shouldn’t, seeking what it wasn’t allowed.
Good God. Her father.
Thomas groaned again.
She shifted position, turning to face him. Suddenly the room felt very warm, and in the firelight her dark blue eyes glimmered.
“Liz,” he rasped out.
At least he could kiss her. No harm in that. Surely her father wouldn’t be hauling out the shotgun just because of a mere kiss.
Her lips were parted, soft and red and inviting as a fresh strawberry. Surrendering, he bent his head and took them. Gently at first, barely nibbling around the edges, and then a release for air. Until, with a provocative moan of, “Oh, God…Marshal—!” she flung her arms around his neck and clung to him like a limpet.
With that, Thomas was lost. His mouth plunged down over hers, teeth and tongue wreaking havoc for both; and his hand reached up and found the hard-tipped breast that had eluded him till now. Twisting in his grasp, she subconsciously raised her knee to grate against his loin.
Too close. He uttered a low-toned growl and hung on to what he had captured, and was ready to use.
Except—he couldn’t.
After an eternity of love-play that excited and inflamed, almost to the point of no return, Thomas stopped. Just like that. Cursing, he halted everything as if suddenly doused with a pail of ice water. In some far corner of his mind, he could imagine Travis ridiculing his foolishness while yet applauding his fortitude. You quit, little brother? You quit cold? Damn. What a jackass!
“Tom?” A breathless sound, almost a whimper.
“No.”
“But—Tom…”
“Liz.” He rose slightly, to cradle her sweet firelit face in both his hands. “I wanna do this. I wanna share doin’ this—with you. But I ain’t gonna. This ain’t gonna happen, b’cause I won’t stand hurtin’ you here—t’night.”
Her great blue eyes searched his. Disbelieving. Distressed. “Does that mean–you—can’t—?”
“No. It means I won’t.”
Tears gathered, tipped over, and flooded the dark lashes. “I thought I—”
With one thumb he brushed away the wetness. What a clod! he could hear his brother scoffing.
“You did nothin’ wrong and everything right, Miss Liz Drayton. It’s my fault for tryin’ t’ take advantage of you. Liz. Can you forgive me?”
She gulped, then managed a tiny nod.
Not only a clod, but clumsy, as well.
Thomas scrunched down under the blankets again, pulling Elizabeth into his embrace, letting her head rest upon his chest as the heart inside began returning to its slow regular beat. “It’ll be all right,” he soothed, smoothing one hand down over her tumbled mane. “It’ll be all right.”
Whether he was reassuring her or himself was open to question.
&nbs
p; * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After last night’s tumultuous encounter, the next day dawned free of problems.
Thomas woke to find himself once against curved around his bedmate, her backside snugged into his front, with another giant erection that was almost painful. Hell. He couldn’t go through much more of this.
Carefully easing free, he dragged on his clothes and made his way to the outhouse. At least the storm had blown over and the snow had stopped falling, leaving a sky the color of his eyes: clear, cloudless, and azure blue. Drifts had piled up here and there, mainly around the corners of the cabin, but soon safe travel down to the valley should be doable.
“Oh, hey, you’re up,” he greeted Elizabeth, returning inside. Just as he was, damn it to hell.
“Yes, I am. Good morning.”
Dressed for their journey off the mountain, she was pretty as all get out. And responding with reticence. The memory of his libido, and what he had tried, hung in the air like visible miasma. No wonder she was feeling shy.
A quick breakfast marked by near-silence, a quick clean-up of the cabin’s interior, a quick saddling and packing of the horses, and they were ready to go.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“So you made it home sound as a dollar, young lady,” harrumphed Gus Drayton, in the ranch house parlor.
Elizabeth shrugged. “Well, relatively speaking.”
Everyone had gathered together, as demanded by the patriarch, like a family thanksgiving. In a way it was, as far as the heir’s return from her ordeal unharmed.
The pair had arrived from the mountaintop cabin in early afternoon. Immediately Sonsee, fussing over her foster chick, had prepared a hot meal and the inevitable pot of coffee. Once Elizabeth had had a chance to refresh herself, her father had called in the troops.
Scattered about on various chairs and sofas sat or sprawled or lounged Win Carpenter, who had beamed at the prodigal; Cochinay, sending a wink her way; and both Travis and Thomas Yancey, ready to report.
“I see you’re still using the cane, Daddy,” noted Elizabeth, concerned. “No improvement with the ankle?”
“Oh, some, some. But not enough t’ sit a horse yet. Otherwise I’d’a been out lookin’ for you myself.”
“Win?” She turned to the old outlaw with equal concern. “I’m very relieved to see you here, and apparently getting along all right.”
“I been better, girl,” said Carpenter. “Your paw got the doc out here, and he put me through the mill. Said you did a bang-up job, though. Lizzie,” he managed to twinkle at her, just a little, “you’re lookin’ mighty pretty.”
Refreshing meant, in her opinion, arming herself against the enchantments—no longer available—of a certain tall U.S. Marshal with eyes of azure blue. So she had exchanged her travel-worn and –stained outfit for a lovely pink pin-striped dress and soft leather slippers.
“More than pretty,” put in Thomas quietly. “Beautiful.”
His words sent a chill up her spine and a dagger into her heart. Did his opinion no longer count? “Thank you,” she replied without expression.
“And the Apache that tried t’ kill us?” Doing his best to ignore Elizabeth’s considerable attractions, Thomas tried again to join in.
Cochinay caught that ball, on the fly. “With his tribal leader. Soon’s we got back, and explained everything that had happened, we got holda the sheriff. Then his posse, and a coupla men from the Condor, returned Hawk’s body to Escavotil.”
“Imagine he’ll have burial with honor,” grumped Gus, “once the story gets out of what he tried with my only daughter.”
“Ah—about that—” Win started.
“Baldy, we’ve been over this a hundred times,” interrupted Elizabeth, with some impatience. “Let it go. The man who committed the crime is dead, you saved my life, and now we need to get you absolved of any other criminal dealings over the years.”
Travis set aside his coffee cup into its saucer with a startling clink. Good white china, not blue and black enamel. He’d forgotten where he was, and what he was using. “Your paw would be the man to start them proceedin’s,” he informed her politely. “Anyone who knows President Johnson personally must be on first-name basis with a few judges ’roundabouts.”
Elizabeth sent her intent blue gaze across the room. “Well, Daddy?”
“Hmmph.” Gus thumped his cane on the floor, displeased. “Yeah, I reckon I’ll see what I can do. Prob’ly owe the old rapscallion that much, anyway.”
“You owe him a lot more than that, father of mine,” said she crisply. “And he’s staying right here on the ranch with us, until things are settled.”
“The hell you say!”
“The hell I say! Who knows, you two may end up being fast friends.”
A wide grin spread across her half-brother’s face. By God, Liz was in fine fettle today. Maybe she needed a few more trips up the mountaintop!
“And another thing,” she went on, taking center stage, “you need to make Coch your legitimate son and heir, so that he shares in at least half the inheritance of this ranch.”
“What?” Her father’s complexion, already florid, was turning red with frustration. “What’n hell has got int’ you, Liz? I ain’t about t’ do any such thing.”
The Yancey brothers stared at each other with amazement. At the cabin, they had witnessed a spunky girl with grit and sand. How had she evolved into this spitfire?
Elizabeth put down her own cup. It didn’t clink. With a feminine flirt of her skirts, she swept over to her father’s chair, seated herself lightly on its cushioned arm, and bent sideways to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Yes, you will, Daddy. It’s only right. Because I won’t be here, and someone will need to run the place.”
“You won’t be here?” Gus looked up at her, taken aback. “Where will you be?”
Straightening, she looked out the open window onto treed and grassy land, rich with promise, ripe with hope. “I plan to travel,” she said softly. “I want to see places other than here.”
“But, Lizzie—” Her father sounded hurt. “I thought you liked the Condor.”
“Oh, I do, I do. I love it, Daddy, honestly. But—there’s so much more out there…”
Carpenter shifted position on the upholstered settee he had chosen, and sipped at his mug of willow bark tea. Tiresome stuff, but effective. Sure did help ease the rheumatiz. Now, he had been sitting up far too long and was ready to return to the first floor room a reluctant Gus had allotted him.
Cochinay was lost in his own thoughts. Trust his determined half-sister to take up his cause once more. To be legitimatized at last, to be recognized as one of the ranch heirs—it was beyond belief.
“And there’s one more thing, Daddy.” Elizabeth lay one hand on his shoulder, as if in solace. “You need to marry Sonsee.”
“Aw, now, Liz, you’re goin’ too far. You’re mixin’ int’ somethin’ that ain’t none o’ your concern, and that’s—”
“Another thing that’s only fair, Gus Drayton,” she told him severely. “You think Thunder and I don’t know what’s going on? You’ve been sneaking around behind our backs for twenty years, and it’s about time you make her your wife. No matter what gossip might say, you need to stand up and tell the world she’s yours. Be a man.”
“Be a man!” he spluttered. “Get married! Well, Missy, speakin’ of gettin’ married—!”
“What?”
He surged to his feet, clumping with his cane past her, to confront Thomas Yancey in his spindle back chair. “You!” He stuck the cane tip directly into Thomas’ chest, pinning him in place as if he had thought to make an escape. “You were up in that cabin alone with my daughter for a full day, Marshal Yancey. You compromised her reputation. What’ve you got t’ say for yourself?”
A moment passed. A brittle moment that, if made of glass, would have shattered.
Then Thomas pushed aside the cane and rose, meeting his irate host almost nose to nose. “I’d s
ay you were right, Mr. Drayton,” he assented quietly, and Travis almost fell off his own chair.
“I’m right, am I?” Furious, Gus glared at his adversary. “You done somethin’ you shouldn’ta? Well, what the hell d’ you plan on doin’ about it now?”
“I did not disfame your daughter, sir. But I am a gentleman of the south, and I intend t’ make things right, regardless.”
Turning away, Thomas strode evenly across the thick carpet to kneel down in front of the Condor’s dumbstruck heir. “Miss Drayton.” He smiled up at her, that winning smile that had charmed a few ladies right out of their pantaloons. “Would you do me the great honor of becomin’ my wife?”
She met his gaze, that blue gaze that spoke of summer skies and distant seas. Considered. “No,” she said.
“No!” echoed every male voice in the room, in dismay and disbelief. “No?”
“No.” And she returned his winning smile with a sweet one of her own.
“Ahuh.” In one lithe movement, Thomas regained his feet. “May I ask why not?”
“I want a husband who’s willing and eager, not forced.”
“Ahuh.” More consideration.
Then, without warning, he reached out, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her at such length, with such ferocity and determination, that she was left reeling and dizzy, bruised and buffeted, when he finally let her go.
“Now,” he said casually. “Does that seem forced?”
Dazed, she could only shake her head with the golden hair tumbled loose.
“Think it seems willin’ and eager?”
She nodded.
“Wanna change your answer?”
She nodded again.
“What’s that? Didn’t quite hear you.”
“Yes, Thomas,” she whispered. Then, more loudly, “Yes, Tom, I will marry you.”
“All right, then. Still wanna travel?”
Another nod, with eyes shining like stars.
“May be doin’ some o’ that.” Finally he relented, grinning as if she had just hung the sun and the moon for him. “C’mere, Liz Drayton. I love you more than life, darlin’, and I got big plans for us.”
The next kiss was sin itself, with enough passion and power that the onlookers had to look away, flustered, embarrassed, and deeply pleased.
A Western Romance: Thomas Yancey Taking the High Road (Book 4) (Taking the High Road series) Page 10