Running Wild

by Denise Eagan

  ***

  Crossing the dirt yard, Star watched Nicholas, dressed in a black Stetson, jean pants, a scratched tan leather coat and leather gloves, climb the corral fence and lean over the top. “Harley, you lazy bastard, get your ass back up on that sonuvabitch, and show it who’s boss. Don’chu let it push you ’round, boy, or I’ll kick your ass from June to Jericho.” After that, he spouted a string of delightfully obscene language, which Star had never heard before. Had she been a proper lady, she would have colored up and run. She wasn’t, however, and the obscene language made her smile.

  Inside the corral, two men boxed a dun-colored horse, foaming at the mouth, into a corner. Harley pulled himself off the ground and slapped the dust out of his pants, mumbling under his breath.

  Nicholas jumped off the rail and turned to look at Star. In the cold morning sunlight, his eyes were no longer a deep blue, but a lovely shade between midnight and sky blue and as clear as crystal, startling in his lightly tanned face.

  “That is very interesting language, Nicholas,” Star said, as that heady sensual pull between them from the previous evening battled with amusement for control of her voice.

  He stared for a spell, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “Yes, ma’am. Reckon if you spend much time ’round a horse-breakin’ you’ll hear a deal of ‘intr’esting’ language.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Shall I?” she asked. His smile acted like a tonic on her blood, turning it bright and bubbly. “You know it’s the custom back East for men to apologize should they accidentally utter such language in front of a lady.” She waited for him to blush and make excuses.

  He didn’t.

  Instead he turned full upon her, propped his shoulder against the top rail of the fence, and pushed his hat back in an insolent manner that belied the mirth gleaming in his eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, Star saw Harley climb the fence, as two men brought the horse toward him for another go.

  “That so?” Nicholas asked. “Well I reckon it’s the custom out West for women who don’t like cussin’ to stay away from places where she’ll most likely hear it.”

  He held her gaze boldly, challengingly. How, she thought shakily, how would a man who so easily thwarted convention kiss? Hard—harsh—a man’s kiss. Her lips tingled.

  “I suspect that many of the customs in the West are different,” she said, a trifle breathlessly. “I suspect that Western men do some things much better.”

  His eyes flashed. “Well, we sure cuss better,” he said. “But as for much else, that’s not somethin’ I can tell for sure.”

  Her heart jerked and heat rushed through her body, bringing her nerves to sparkling attention. Oh, she’d been right about Western men. They were just as quick-witted as their Eastern counterparts, but freer and uninhibited enough to enjoy toying with sexual innuendos.

  “Perhaps,” she answered, tilting her head, “those are matters that you and I might consider exploring. I do so enjoy investigative work, and I find that I am developing a particular fondness for Colorado.”

  “I’m sure it’d be a pleasure, ma’am, but much as it grieves me, you’re cutting dirt tomorrow, ridin’ for Texas. Doesn’t leave much time for explorin’.”

  “Are you entirely certain about that? Some explorations require energy more than time,” she said, stepping toward him.

  He stood his ground, neither intimidated at her brashness as her Eastern beaus would be, nor so ill-mannered as to take advantage of her. His only reaction was a slight jump in his cheek, proof of a tightening jaw. “I reckon,” he said, lowering his voice, “that’s not the case with all men. Some men want plenty of time, too.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, then broke through to emerge in quick little spurts. The world around them slipped away and for a moment she couldn’t speak, could scarcely think. She was so near to him she could smell his male scent, pine mixing tantalizingly with the fragrance of his leather jacket and some other sharp, unknown smell. “Old—older men, I suspect, might need more time. . . .”

  His throat worked. His right hand, encased in a big tan glove, tightened on the fence rail. “There’s a world of difference between ‘want’ and ‘need’,” he rasped.

  Her corset was too tight. Oh far too tight. She couldn’t breathe—

  “Virginia,” a voice called out from somewhere far away.

  Nicholas’s head jerked up. He took a step back. Then another.

  Father—

  “Ah, I thought I should find you here.” The voice wasn’t from somewhere far away. Either that or her father could fly, because he was suddenly standing at her side.

  Nicholas nodded at him. “Sir.”

  “Nick. Star—are you enjoying the horse breaking?”

  Horse breaking? What horses? Oh, the ones on the other side of the fence. Where Nick was now turning to look, watching Harley bucking around on the dun again, managing to stay aboard longer this time.

  “It is—it’s exhilarating,” she answered.

  His mouth twitched. “I suspect it is. If you would be so obliging as to accompany me, however, we have some arrangements to make concerning tomorrow’s journey.”

  She nodded. “Of course. Nicholas, I shall see you later, then?”

  He turned back to her. A curtain had fallen over his face, making his thoughts impossible to read. “No, ma’am, pro’bly not ’til morning. I have some business in town this afternoon that’ll keep me into the night.”

  Her father hooked his arm in hers. “Why then, we shall see you first thing in the morning, Nick. Come along now, my dear.”

  “Oh,” she said and ran her eyes over Nicholas’s long, tough body one more time before allowing Father to lead her back to the ranch house. Once out of earshot, Father said in a low, gently mocking voice, “You ought not to tease the wildlife, my dear. These are not the tame creatures you are accustomed to in Boston and New York.”

  “I was viewing, not teasing. Although I must confess, he is—” She paused, searching for a word, while endeavoring to slow the pounding in her chest and quiet the desire sparkling in her veins. “He is eye-catching. I think. . . . Yes, I do believe,” she said, forcing lightness into her voice, “that I might wish to have one of my own.” She turned to smile into her father’s eyes.

  His smile spread, his infrequent dimple popping out. “Aye, daughter, I am not surprised.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Are you not? As Port would gladly point out, he’s hardly urbane.”

  “True, but Nick is well-mannered enough, and what is more, he is a man.”

  She laughed, which helped to calm her nerves. “Of course he is, Father! Why else would I want him?”

  He patted her elbow as they approached the house. “You misunderstand me, Virginia. I meant in character. You’ve met few real men; most of the ones you know are mere caricatures of men. Have a care with McGraw. He is not one of your playthings.”

  Father was right in that. Nicholas McGraw was not at all like the men she knew. Most of the men of their set reacted to the twin challenges of her spirit and intelligence by smugly lauding their societally-bestowed superiority over her, an infuriating game they knew full well she could not win. In defense, she’d learned to hide both under the façade of the flirt, and fought that superiority on a wider scale, in newsprint and speeches.

  But not Nicholas. Nicholas had met those challenges squarely. Somehow, it not only inspired desire, but also soothed her too-often abraded pride.

  She tilted her head and gave her father the little-girl smile that had charmed him so often in the past. “Do you think, sir, that I might not be able to manage him?”

  “It’s merely a warning, imp.”

  “It’s a dare, and now I must insist we return to the Bar M after rescuing Lee, so that we may discover who is correct.”

  Father shook his head as they climbed the steps. “People who play with fire, my dear, get burned.”

  “True, but often the fire’s beauty makes the pain worth it.”


  ***

  Nick followed Miz Montgomery, arm linked with her father’s, as she strolled across the yard to the waiting coach. Every swing of her well-rounded hips sent a fresh wave of lust through his blood. When he recalled their conversation the previous day, that lust turned to rough, driving hunger. His hand itched to slide over the lush curves of those swinging hips, to her waist, over her breasts, and then down toward her belly, while watching those wildcat eyes darken in excitement.

  Damn.

  Damn, what had gotten into him? When he recollected his part in that conversation, he just about winced. He knew better than to talk to a lady like that. A good man, a decent man, respected all women, be they the lowliest of whores or a genuine, high-society lady like Miz Montgomery. He sure as hell didn’t lust after daughters of friends.

  They stopped in front of the open door and Ward helped his siren-of-a-daughter into the coach.

  But Miz Montgomery didn’t act like high-society ladies. Ladies didn’t say things like that. Then again, he thought disgusted as he went over the conversation in his mind, she hadn’t really said anything bad, had only implied it. Ah hell, she’d baited him and he’d gone for the bait like a half-starved coyote. After which he’d high-tailed it into town, to the Golden Nugget, even though it wasn’t one of his regular nights with Eva or May, even though he’d been looking forward to spending an evening talking to Ward. He couldn’t, not when he was lusting after the man’s daughter.

  It hadn’t done much good. Eva’d only taken the edge off, because his brain insisted upon creating visions of black hair and brandy-colored eyes.

  Ward turned to him and offered his hand. With the Montgomerys in one coach and Melinda and the kids in the other, they were ready to leave. “We are very much obliged to you, Nick, for your hospitality. You’ve made this journey worth the while, regardless of its outcome.”

  Nick gave him his hand, and Ward’s greeted his with the fairly-met grip of a man who had nothing to prove. “Monty’ll be fine, sir. I’ve seen him in trouble before. He always lands on his feet.”

  Ward grimaced. “Aye, Nick, and that would be a comfort if my son’s physical welfare were all that concerned me. However, the situation surrounds other weighty matters of which Lee seems entirely unaware.”

  Jess Sullivan. Nick hesitated. He liked Jess, but he doubted his view would hold any sway with Ward. A man like him made his own mind up. “I reckon you’ll straighten it all out.”

  Ward nodded. “Indeed we will. Thank you, again, and should you or your family ever find yourself back East, we should be greatly honored if you would stay with us.”

  “And you too, if you’re ever back this way,” Nick replied, meaning every word—until the window opened and Miz Montgomery leaned out. She flashed her wide smile and said in her husky, singsong voice, “Why that is ever so kind of you, Nicholas. I am sure we’d love to visit with you above all things.”

  He stepped back and tipped his hat. “Any time, ma’am,” he said politely as Ward scowled at his daughter and climbed in. Nick nodded at Horace atop the carriage, who slapped the reins. They started off. For a moment Nick watched them, squinting against the morning sun as they moved through the valley. Oh yeah, she was an a-number one tease and good riddance to her. You, woman, he thought, turning back to the ranch house, are a world of trouble.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  There is no animal more invincible than a woman,

  Nor fire either, nor any wildcat so ruthless.

  Aristophanes, Lysistrata

  Don Predro: She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband.

  Leonato: O, by no means. She mocks all of her wooers out of suit.

  Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

  December 1885, Denver

  Star took a sip of champagne and surveyed the small ballroom, crowded with Jess and Lee’s wedding guests. A little more than a month earlier, her confirmed-bachelor brother had shocked his family by declaring that, far from having a fleeting interest in his actress, he had formed a serious attachment to her. The news had all but sent Father into an apoplexy. At length, however, between a kidnapping, a rescue, and one minor gunshot wound, Lee had persuaded Father of Jess’s good character. A proposal naturally followed, for one could not shoot a woman of good character without proposing. Jess, displaying the perfect manners of the gunshot victim, had accepted, and then insisted upon a wedding in Denver so that her acting troupe might attend. Happily, Marvelous Melinda had insisted upon helping with the wedding plans, which she followed up by inviting them for an extended visit to the Bar M to recover from trials, tribulations and shootings.

  An extended visit with Nicholas McGraw suited Star very well.

  Thoughts of him had followed her to Texas: recollections of his bright eyes and his deep, smooth voice tossing out curse words and sexual innuendoes without a flicker of shame. A thrill coursed through her veins and into her belly as she scanned the crowd for sight of him. Because of the necessity of spending much of their time in Denver planning the wedding, she’d had but two days at the Bar M after leaving Texas. It had only been enough time to fuel the fire. Now, halfway through the reception, she was ready to pursue the reward she’d worked so many hours for: a brief, lust-driven liaison with Nicholas—hot, exciting and discreet, for surely no liaison could be more discreet than one carried on fifteen hundred miles from home.

  “Well, Star, I must confess,” someone said at her elbow, “I’d not have believed it due to the short notice, but you and Port pulled the thing off, didn’t you? Pity he couldn’t be here to enjoy it.”

  Star turned to smile at Del—Caldwell Huntington. He hated his given name even more than Port did his. It was one of the few things they had in common, beyond the fact that their fathers were the best of friends, as close as brothers. In sentiment, it made the Huntingtons and Montgomerys cousins.

  “He missed Meredith horribly, and with mother here now, he felt he should be with her.” Her eyes fell on Del’s wife, Jane, across the room, a woman of medium height and beauty. “We’re very glad you and Jane could come.”

  Pain flashed through Del’s dark eyes, followed by a touch of hope. “I am also. We’ve had our difficulties, but after I returned from San Francisco, we had several heart-felt discussions. I believe that we’re, at last, on the path of reconciliation.”

  Star controlled a wince. Del and Jane had had “difficulties” for the full three years of their marriage. Of course, many marriages had trouble. Caroline Astor, queen of New York Society, rarely saw her husband, who spent most of his time aboard his yacht with other woman. As their separations were quiet and discreet, Society deemed their marriage to be all that was proper.

  Del’s was not. Del and Jane’s marriage was too often the talk of the town—of every town up and down the Eastern Seaboard.

  “Well,” she said hesitantly, “coming here was a good start.” Although now Jane was flirting with Rick Winchester. A better start would be if Jane—and Del—would suppress their attraction to the opposite sex. Or if Del would control his lamentable temper, and Jane her penchant for igniting it.

  He glanced at Jane again and his jaw tightened. “At any rate, that’s not my purpose in seeking you out. I’ve brought some distressing news with me.” With a deep breath, he turned from Jane, took Star’s elbow and led her to a chair against a wall. “Take a seat, sugar.”

  Sugar. Del was the only man alive who would address her so. In their youth he had employed the term to annoy her and then later to attempt to win her favor. Over the years, however, it had become an expression of friendly affection.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Take a seat? Del, you must know that I’m not so paltry as to swoon at the mention of bad news.”

  In the midst of seriousness, his eyes lit up with mischief. “That’s merely because you refuse to lace your corset so tightly as to cause loss of breath.”

  She laughed. “Now that comment deserves a slap, Del Huntington. You ought not to talk to a lady about
corsets.”

  “Generally I don’t, unless I’m occupied with removing them.”

  “Or about that, you rogue! Now, pray tell me your dire news.”

  The amusement melted from his face. “It’s about Isabella Kingston. My apologies sugar, but she’s dead.”

  The blood drained from Star’s face as she sank into the chair.

  ***

  If Nick had any real taste in women, his eyes would be following Lee’s bride around the stuffy, over-decorated ballroom. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman there. In fact, she was the most beautiful woman Nick had ever met, with hair like black silk and eyes the color of a cloudless mountain sky. She had the face of an angel and a body to tempt Satan. Yup, if Nick had any taste he’d be jealous as all get out of the bridegroom, but instead he was fighting to keep his eyes off the bridegroom’s sister. Tall as she was, it was hard not to see Miz Montgomery. She’d pulled back her hair in a dizzying array of curls, with a few light tendrils escaping to tease her temples and to invite a man to kiss her there. It was her shimmering gold gown, though, low cut and hugging her body like bark on a tree, that wrangled his attention.

  From the moment he’d received Melinda’s joyful telegram announcing Lee and Jess’s wedding—and of the Montgomerys’ impending visit—he’d been on pins and needles. Bad medicine though Miz Montgomery was, he’d been unable to suppress the anticipation rushing through his godforsaken blood at the thought of seeing her again. The couple of days she’d spent at the ranch, and the few days he’d been with the wedding party in Denver, had transformed that anticipation into wicked desire, provoked by her seductive smiles, her singsong voice, and the come-hither expression in her wildcat eyes. Some days she really did seem part mountain lion, and she was stalking him.