Night Hawk

by Beverly Jenkins

  Maggie however saw none of this; she was too busy being overwhelmed by the marshal’s mastery and skill. Having been a dance hall girl, she knew most of the current dances including the waltz, and whoever his teacher had been had taught him excellently. He was a marvelous dancer and even though she was wearing old boots, trousers, and a too large shirt, he guided her as if she were a queen. The intensity in his gaze holding hers made memories rise of kisses that parted her lips and hardened her nipples like wild cherries. That night was one she’d readily repeat because this surprising enigma of a man had her enthralled. They stepped and moved in rhythm with the music as if they’d been dancing together their entire lives, and his hand on her back burned like a brand.

  And then the music slowed and faded away. As they drank each other in, and her heart started beating faster in response to his mesmerizing presence, applause rang out, along with a bunch of whooping, hollering, and whistling. He slowly traced her mouth and then swept her up into his arms. Neither of them heard the deafening roar that followed them as he carried her through the door and out into the night.

  The kissing began immediately; hot, seeking, melding of their mouths punctuated by roving hands and breathless sighs. Heat from his lips trailed down the side of her throat while his hand relearned the feel and weight of her breast, and it berried in welcome. As he boldly undid the buttons on her shirt and bared the camisole beneath, winds of passion blew across her skin. When his mouth closed over the thin cotton to artfully pleasure the nipple beneath, lightning flashed, setting off booms of sensual thunder that made her moan. He moved his attention to the twin and the bliss was so brilliant, she thought she might dissolve. His hands tugged the camisole free of her trousers and pushed it high so he could enjoy her without hindrance. The licks, sucks and gentle bites were buffeting; glorious. As he continued to feast, her hips moved sinuously in the age-old rhythm of the lovers’ dance. Rising up again, he captured her mouth, filled his hands with her hips, and pulled her flush against the hard promise of his need. It matched her own, so she pressed back shamelessly while her palms moved blindly up and down the tensed muscles of his arms.

  “This is not the place for this . . . ,” he husked out.

  “I don’t care . . .”

  He opened her trousers and slid them down her legs. She quickly undid the buttons of his shirt and moved her hands possessively over the soft hair on his chest. His hot hands explored her drawers-shrouded hips and then the soft, damp place in between. She could feel the storm of completion building, and although she wanted to be swept away by it she didn’t want the pleasure to end, so she widened her stance so he could ply her as decadently as he pleased.

  He found her wet and slick, and he was so hard and ready he was on the urge of exploding. He turned her around. Tracing a finger down the satin skin of her back, he savored the softness at the base of her spine and the heart-shaped rise of her hips. His touch left her a moment so he could undo the placket of his leathers. He then eased his shaft into the place he most wanted to be.

  She gasped as her muscles tightened and held. He clenched his jaw and fought against his male need to stroke himself to completion.

  The positioning was as new to her as it was scandalous. While he moved within, his hands kept her nipples pleading with plucks and tugs before they toured roughly down her ribs to toy with the trembling nodule at the apex of her thighs. All the while he brushed his lips across the edges of her arched throat.

  He stroked her with long, drawn-out teases that closed her eyes. Her trousers were pooled down by her ankles, effectively hobbling her movements so all she could do was take what he was giving her and gorge herself on the intoxicating rhythm of his thrusts.

  When the rhythm increased her body answered; moving, twisting, bending as pleasure replaced all else. Completion was rising, she couldn’t delay it any longer and when it exploded it flung her up into the stars.

  Her orgasm triggered his, making him pump his hips and hold her tight and yell out his release until all that remained was the clattering of the train against the tracks.

  Maggie felt ripe and lush, as if she were an exotic fruit ready to be plucked, and what a plucking it had been. Even now, his hands were running slowly over her spine in a calming and soothing manner that was accented by slow, gentle strokes. She melted back against him in weary surrender, and he kissed her lovingly. His final withdrawal made her groan with longing and dismay.

  “Wait here,” he whispered against her ear. “I’ll be right back.”

  Maggie had no idea where he was going, nor did she care. All that mattered was his pledge to return.

  Alone in the darkness, she continued to be dazzled by the memories of his thrusts, caresses, and kisses. The night air brushed against the places he’d left bare and damp. She knew she should pull up her trousers and right the rest of her clothing but the wantonness he’d placed in her blood lingered like a fever, making her want to bask in her night-shrouded, half-naked state. Who knew people made love that way? Being with him was quite an education, and her throbbing, pulsating body was eager for the tutoring to resume.

  He announced his return with the warmth of his jaw against her cheek and languid, teasing passes of his hands over her breasts. “Brought you some water so you can clean up.”

  But she didn’t want to move, and what he was doing only reinforced that stance. His hand now circling hotly inside her drawers over the surface of her hips added more fuel. “I can’t do anything until you stop . . .”

  “No?” he questioned quietly.

  The touring hand made her spread her legs in response to the searing plucks and circling of already blooming flesh.

  Ian knew this interlude should end, but he couldn’t stop touching her. Her skin was like silk and her lithe body fit against him perfectly. He couldn’t refrain from brushing his lips against her neck any more than he could stop stroking his hands over the velvet curves of her behind. Forcing himself to step back, he took in a deep, calming breath. Once he felt capable of controlling himself he used the water from the canteen he’d fetched inside, along with a clean handkerchief from his saddlebag to slowly banish the remnants of their loving from her thighs.

  She righted her clothes. When she was done, she stepped back into the circle of his arms and he placed his lips against her brow. The tight, answering pressure of her arms around him filled his soul with a surge of emotion he couldn’t name but didn’t ever want to lose. “Do you want to go back inside?”

  She shook her head negatively against his chest. “Can we sit out here for a while?”

  During his outlaw years, Ian had made love in a variety of places but never on the small connecting platform between two railroad cars. She continued to astound him.

  He used a hand to get his bearings on the short iron fencing and made himself comfortable on the wooden floor. She cuddled up in his lap, and he whispered, “Perfect.”

  Chapter 15

  Maggie thought the moment together perfect as well. Cuddled against his chest and heartbeat, she felt sheltered and precious, rare concepts in her life, and she wanted to bask in his nearness for as long as the fates allowed. “What’s the first thing you want to do when you get home?”

  “Sleep.”

  That amused her. “And after?”

  “Ride my land to see how it’s been faring without me.”

  “How long have you been away?”

  “Almost a year.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “It is. Left a friend behind in charge of things.”

  “How big is your place?”

  “About fourteen hundred acres.”

  She pulled back. “So much?”

  “It’s smaller than some, larger than others. Wyoming’s a big place.”

  She made herself comfortable again. “That’s still a lot of land. The farm I grew up on was half an acre.”

  “What happened to it after your parents died?”

  “Sold for back taxes.
It hurt knowing I’d never be able to go back.” And it had, but she had the memories of it and her parents to let her know that once upon a time she’d had family and love.

  “Were you still living there?”

  “No, by then I was at the convent.”

  It was his turn to pull back and stare down.

  “It was the only place I could find work. I’m pretty sure the sisters took me in out of pity, but they worked me from sunup to sundown for a good six years. Been drifting since.” Maggie quieted and listened to the rhythmic sound of the train on the tracks. She craved permanence in her life, but it remained elusive and she got the sense that her future would hold more of the same. “May I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why’d you become an outlaw?”

  When he didn’t offer a ready reply, she said apologetically, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

  “No. I’m thinking about the answer.” Finally he said, “I don’t know. Seemed like a grand idea at the time. I had no money, no way to make any. I met Neil July and when he asked if I wanted to join him and his friends, I said, Why not? I’d always liked adventure, and it was a way to get even with America for not letting me practice law.”

  Maggie went still. “Law?”

  “I’ve a degree in the law from the University of Edinburgh.”

  Once again, this surprising man left her all but speechless. “Truly?”

  “Yes. Changed my name to Bigelow though. Didn’t want to jeopardize my certificate by being arrested under my real name.”

  “Bigelow isn’t your name?”

  “No. I was christened Ian James Vance.”

  “How many people know this?”

  “Only a few, and now you.”

  “Why tell me?”

  “Felt you should know I suppose.”

  “Because of what we just did?”

  “No, because of who you are.”

  She wasn’t sure she understood. That he would trust her with such a secret filled her heart, though.

  Ian wasn’t sure why he’d revealed the truth about his identity to her, either. It wasn’t anything he’d planned, but it seemed right, and he supposed that when they parted and went their separate ways, he wanted her to remember him as the man whose feelings for her were growing by leaps and bounds, and not the marshal who’d had her in custody.

  And his feelings for her were rising like floodwaters. For a man who’d sworn to never risk his heart again, the last few days had been humbling. She’d managed to breach the walls he’d built around himself without exerting much effort, leaving him to wonder how to prevent the burrowing from spreading further, or even if he wanted to. In truth he might as well try and stop time for all the success he was having keeping the walls in place. He was powerless to resist her smile, the effects of her spirit, or the desire to make love to her. “Do you have your heart set on Ohio?” He wanted to know if he had a chance of changing her mind.

  “I do. That’s where I was heading when I gave you the slip at the Tanners’. I was going to find work there and save up enough to take the classes I’ll need to be able to teach children someday.”

  “As starving as folks are for someone to open a school, you wouldn’t even need the certificate in a lot of places.”

  “I know, but the certificate would give me the standing I need to inspire my students to aim even higher.”

  Ian understood. In spite of the disenfranchisement taking place across the country, men and women of the race continued to battle for education in hopes it would offer their children and grandchildren better lives.

  “My father grew up free in Philadelphia, and after receiving his Oberlin certificate he returned home and taught school until Mr. Lincoln’s war.”

  “I’d heard Philadelphia was very important during abolition.”

  “It was. He’d often talk to me about the rallies at Mother Bethel AME, and the people he met during those times, like Douglass and the Forten family, and the great William Still and his daughter Caroline, who grew up to be one of the race’s first female doctors. Mostly, though, he talked about education, and how important it was to me. My mother emphasized the same. She’d been forced to attend the missionary schools when she was young, and although she hated being away from her family and told on a daily basis how godless her people were, she hoped her education would help her tribe better understand the forces lined up against it. She read voraciously.”

  Ian listened as she told him about the Black colleges established in Pennsylvania before the war, like Cheyney State Training School, which opened in 1837; Avery College, which began taking students in 1849; and Lincoln University, founded in 1854. Having not resided in the States during those years, he found the information helpful in filling in some of the blank spots he had about the journey America’s African descendants had taken on their way to the present day.

  “My father always said that he was inspired to aim high by his father and other men like Edward Jones, who graduated from Amherst College in ’26, and John Russworm, who graduated from Bowdoin College that same year. Had he not lost his life in that fire, I believe he would have accomplished much.”

  “Where’d the fire happen?”

  “In our barn. He’d gone in to make sure the livestock were bedded down for the night. No one’s sure what happened next—whether he fell or tripped—or if one of the cows kicked over the lantern he was using to see by, but a fire started. My mother was in the house with me and by the time we smelled the smoke the barn was fully engulfed. She ran inside to try and find him but a second later, the roof collapsed and they were gone.”

  Ian felt her pain.

  “I still miss them,” she whispered.

  He tightened his hold and pressed his lips to the top of her head. He couldn’t imagine having lost his mother at such a tender age. Beneath the tremendous grief and sorrow she had to have been terribly afraid. Were it within his power to build her a school wherever she wanted, he would, and make certain her pupils had access to everything they needed to be successful, to make her and their parents proud. His mother had been keen on education as well. She once told him that although he’d never be able to stop the bigots from calling him a half-Black bastard, she’d make sure they’d never be able to call him an ignorant one.

  “You must’ve had an awful lot of schooling to be able to study the law.”

  “I did. Some of Mother’s lovers were kind enough to not only give me dancing lessons but a few arranged for the occasional tutor. Once I was able to read well enough on my own, my natural curiosity drew me to books of all types, and I read whenever I had the opportunity.” It was a pastime he enjoyed. His mother had been well read for a woman of her times, and he felt a special connection to her whenever he picked up a book. Ian felt her give a shiver. “Cold?”

  “A bit.”

  “Do you want to go back inside?”

  “Truthfully, no. I’m enjoying being cuddled up with you.”

  The darkness hid his smile. “We can’t sleep out here, though.”

  “I know. I’ll miss you when we part in Denver.”

  His heart twisted at the thought of her leaving him. “I’ll miss you, too. Why don’t you come to Wyoming with me?”

  She looked up. “As what?”

  He shrugged. “We could use a schoolteacher.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “But where would I stay?”

  “With me.”

  She was still studying his face. “That wouldn’t look right. People would think I was your whore.”

  Marry me, then, he almost said, but stopped short. “I’ve a neighbor you could board with. Her name’s Georgina but everyone calls her Georgie. She’s in her seventies and sharp as a bear trap. You two would do well together.”

  For a moment she didn’t reply but then asked, “How many children are there?”

  Ian had no idea, so he lied. “A dozen or so.”

  “Is
there a school building?”

  He lied again. “Yes.” He couldn’t believe himself, but chalked it up to a desperation he’d never experienced before.

  “May I think about it and give you an answer when we reach Denver?”

  “Of course.” His lying notwithstanding, he’d wanted her to agree now but knew she’d have to come to a decision on her own.

  “That’s a very sweet offer, Marshal.”

  “Just want you to have an alternative to having to scrape by.”

  “I appreciate that.” Her voice softened. “May I call you Ian now?”

  “I’d like that.”

  She reached out and stroked his cheek. “You’re such an outstanding man.” Her hand brushed his scar. “How’d you get this?” she asked softly.

  “A fight in a Mexican cantina during the first year I rode with the Julys. Man accused me of coveting his wife. I’d thought I was a pretty competent fighter up until then, but he was better, and had a knife.”

  “Was she beautiful?”

  “No, but he thought she was.”

  She chuckled softly.

  A flash of lightning filled the dark sky, followed by a loud clap of thunder. “Looks like we’ll be getting a storm,” she said. “Which means we should probably go inside.”

  Ian didn’t want to move. Spending the rest of his life with her curled up in his lap suited him just fine, but they had to go inside. “In a minute.” He raised her chin and brushed his lips across hers until they parted to receive his kiss. As they caught fire, the sweetness of her poured into him like spring rain, and he drank until he had his fill. “All right. We can go now.”

  It took a while, however, because neither wanted to leave the other, or the desire they’d rekindled. Finally, reluctantly, they pulled away, rose to their feet, and stepped over to the door.