“Jericho,” she moaned. “That feels wonderful. You are wonderful. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
* * *
Maddie heard herself cry out and her breath caught in surprise. She had never felt like this before, so free and floaty, and happy—ridiculously, gloriously happy. He was touching her. Touching her. She moved convulsively under his hand. She wanted to sing and laugh and weep, all at the same time.
Jericho’s lean, hard body lifted over her and then his weight pressed against her everywhere. She felt him slide into her and then withdraw, then enter her again. And again.
Her hands closed into fists and she lifted her face and found her mouth open wide against his shoulder. His motions were slow and controlled and he didn’t stop moving, even when she began to moan. Something built inside her until her body suddenly clenched and the darkness behind her eyelids exploded into a shower of stars.
His raspy breathing grew more and more uneven until all at once he stilled. With a shout he pulled out of her and spilled himself onto the quilt.
“I didn’t want to do that,” he confessed. “I wanted to bury myself inside you and just let it happen.”
She reached up and wrapped her arms around him. “I would have liked that, Jericho. Why didn’t you?”
He raised himself up on his elbows and looked down into her face, still breathing hard. “Think a minute, Maddie. It’s the only responsible thing I could do. I don’t want to send you back to Chicago with a baby in your belly.”
She tightened her arms across his muscled back and remained quiet for a long time. She had not thought beyond this moment, not considered possible consequences. Madison O’Donnell, who prided herself on always assessing consequences, had lost her head and followed blindly where her heart had led her, had tumbled into bed with a man for the first time since she was widowed.
What is happening to me?
Jericho rolled away and pulled her close. “Maddie...” He started to say something, but she laid a finger against his mouth. In a heartbeat he was asleep.
She tipped her head to study his face. His dark lashes were longer than they looked when he was awake and the beginning of a beard shadowed his chin. Squint lines radiated from the corners of his eyes, and his mouth...
A white-hot bolt of desire stabbed below her belly. His lips, his well-shaped mouth, made her want him all over again.
Jericho was not just any man; Jericho was extraordinary, unlike anyone she had ever known. He was so unusual she could scarcely believe he was real.
She smoothed back the black hair tangled over his forehead and noticed that her fingers were trembling. She would not allow herself to think about him riding away in the morning. She was glad for this night with him. She would remember it the rest of her life.
* * *
Someone was banging on the hotel-room door. “Miz O’Donnell? Miz O’Donnell!”
Maddie sat up. “Yes? Who is it?”
“It’s me, Sandy. I’ve gotta find the sheriff right away. The Tucker gang is robbing the bank!”
“Now? In the middle of the night?”
“Yes, ma’am. You know where the sheriff is?”
Jericho was already out of bed and into his jeans and gun belt. He yanked open the door and confronted his deputy.
“What’s happened, Sandy?”
Sandy’s mouth gaped open. “Well, I...” The boy turned beet-red. “You know Rita, the waitress at the restaurant? She woke me up pounding on the jailhouse door, screamin’ about somethin’ she saw on her way home from the restaurant after her shift.”
“What,” Jericho said as patiently as he could, “was it she saw?”
“Well...” The kid looked down at the floor. “Sheriff, you don’t have your boots—”
“Sandy!”
“Oh, yeah. Rita saw four men on foot, leadin’ their horses down Main Street.”
“So?”
“Well, Old Man Warriner was stumblin’ along out in front of ’em, lookin’ like he’s seein’ a ghost or somethin’. He had a revolver stickin’ in his back.”
Damn. They were going to force Warriner to open the safe. “Sandy, guard the jail. Might be they’re also gonna try to break Dipley out.”
“Yessir, Sheriff.” He beat a fast retreat down the staircase and Jericho scrabbled under the bed for his boots.
“Maddie, I want you to stay here.”
“There are four of them, Jericho. Only one of you.”
“Do what I say,” he ordered.
“But—”
He threw on his shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, then turned to her and grasped her shoulders. “Don’t argue.”
He kissed her. Then he kissed her again, harder. “And for God’s sake, stay out of sight.”
Once outside the hotel, Jericho raced down the shadowy street toward the brick building on the corner across from Ness’s mercantile.
The bank looked dark and deserted. No light showed through the window of Warriner’s office, where the safe was located. Probably black as a coal mine inside. There was no sign of anyone outside.
As he approached, he worked out a plan.
He scouted the perimeter of the building. Sure enough, behind the mercantile he found four horses tied to an elm tree. He recognized two of the animals as part of the Tucker string.
Damn fools. They expected to escape on foot with the Wells Fargo sacks? That made no sense. One of the outlaws would have to bring the animals around at a signal from inside.
Jericho crouched, laid one hand on the closest animal and waited for someone to challenge him. Not a whisper. Quickly he untied the reins and ran them off one by one with a slap to the rump. Tucker wouldn’t hear the noise from inside the bank.
Then he crept around the corner to the bank entrance and quietly inched the heavy oak door open. He was perfectly positioned to surprise them.
The interior was as dark as a mine shaft. With one hand on the wall and the other on his Colt, he moved to the iron-latticed teller’s window and slid on through the turnstile. Now a faint light showed beneath the door to Warriner’s office.
A voice drifted from behind the door, followed by an odd muffled whump. Then another. Making no sound, Jericho moved to the door and pressed his ear against the wood. More voices and a man’s throaty laugh. Tucker.
Very carefully he laid his hand on the brass doorknob and began to twist it to the right. When it would turn no farther, he edged the door open a crack.
The first thing he saw was Old Man Warriner, a red-orange bandanna stuffed in his mouth. The graying banker was sitting on the floor by his big walnut desk, his wrists tied in front of him. He wore what looked like his nightshirt stuffed into brown gabardine trousers; looked as though the gang had rousted him out of bed. A tiny kerosene lantern threw weak light onto his puffy face. His eyes were wild with fright.
He’d have to be careful. Warriner didn’t deserve to get hurt.
He pushed the door a scant inch wider. Four men, Tucker and three others, were wrestling open the heavy safe door. Scorched chair cushions were tossed into the corner. That explained the noise he’d heard; when Warriner refused to open the safe they must have shot off the combination lock, using the cushions to muffle the sound.
“That’s far enough, Rafe.” Tucker bent, lifted the lamp and peered inside. “There it is. Four of them big Wells Fargo bags of gold. Lefty, you go get the horses. We’ll lug the gold sacks out and load ’em.”
A skinny man Jericho recognized started for the door. Jericho drew his other revolver and kicked the door wide open.
“Hands in the air!”
Tucker made a move toward his sidearm, and Jericho sent a bullet through the holster hanging on his hip. He didn’t want to kill him; he wanted the gang to stand trial.
&nbs
p; “Drop your gun belts,” he ordered. The men unbuckled and let their weapons drop to the floor. All but Tucker.
“Hell if I will,” the outlaw growled.
“Hell if you won’t.” Jericho sent a well-placed slug into the man’s upper arm, then flicked a look at Warriner.
“You okay, Sol?”
The banker nodded and held up his bound wrists.
“Now, gentlemen, you’re under ar—”
Tucker suddenly swept his boot against the lamp, and the room went black. Jericho couldn’t see a damn thing. Scrabbling sounds came from the vault, and he figured the gang was hefting the canvas bags to their shoulders, using the darkness as cover.
He ducked back, using the door as a shield, and sent a shot over their heads. “Drop the bags,” he ordered.
Two loud clunks sounded. That left two men still loading up. He crouched in position and peered around the door, desperately trying to see movement, shadows, anything that would tell him who was where.
Too late. A shot zinged past his shoulder and two more thudded into the wood plank door at his left. But the flashes from the fired weapons revealed their positions.
“Sol,” Jericho yelled. “Lie flat.” He heard the banker slide his bulk onto the floor.
He aimed at the paunchy outlaw closest to the door, and fired a bullet at knee height. A high cry and a thump told him the man was down. But Tucker was still armed, and from the scratching sounds Jericho figured the others were scrambling for their gun belts.
A sickening realization swept over him. He had his two Colts. They probably had six, maybe eight revolvers between them. Any second they’d start spraying bullets all over him. If he stood up, he wouldn’t stand a chance. All the same, he wished like hell he could get to their weapons first.
Then from somewhere behind him a rifle cracked. What the devil— He’d ordered Sandy to stay at the jail, but for once in his life he was glad his deputy hadn’t obeyed. Jericho flattened himself on the floor.
The shot was high enough to miss his head but just the right height to smack into the shoulder of someone standing. A shouted curse told him he was right.
Another rifle shot skimmed past his prone body and into the blackness. This one zinged against something metal—the safe, he guessed.
“Sheriff,” a raspy voice whispered. “It’s getting light. Draw them outside.”
Sandy. He elbowed himself sideways until he was protected behind the open door.
Sandy stopped firing.
And so did Tucker’s men. No sound came from the office except for the heavy breathing of the one he’d nailed earlier and the guttural cursing of the man Sandy had apparently hit in the shoulder.
Jericho waited in silence while sweat ran down his neck. A rustling sound told him his deputy had backed out of the bank foyer and was waiting for the gang to emerge. If he lay here long enough, the gray light of dawn would illuminate the single window in Warriner’s office and he could see where to aim.
But then so could they. The gang was trapped inside, but the minute it was light enough they’d retrieve their guns.
No good. “Sandy?” he whispered. “Move outside.”
No answer. Smart boy. Sandy was already outside, waiting. When the gang broke for an escape, they’d be caught in the crossfire—Jericho at their backs, Sandy in the street, facing them.
He drew in a deep breath and prepared to wait it out.
It didn’t take long. The light filtering through the window went from gray to peach-pink. When it started to turn gold, the gang members made a run for it.
Afraid he’d hit Sandy out in the street, Jericho held his fire, waiting until the men made it outside. The paunchy guy was hanging on to another man, limping badly on his bloodied knee, and the fourth, the skinny one, was clutching his shoulder.
Jericho opened fire, shooting well over their heads to avoid hitting his deputy. An echoing rifle shot sounded from outside, and then nothing. No shots. No cries. No voices. Not a sound.
A shiver went up his spine. What the hell was happening out there?
He stood up, raced for the exit, and pulled up short. What he saw was the worst thing he could have imagined.
Chapter Eighteen
Maddie! What was she doing here? Tucker had her pinned with her back against his filthy shirt, a thick-fingered hand squashed over her mouth. One of Jericho’s rifles lay in the dust at her feet.
His belly tightened as if a horse had kicked it. It had been Maddie, not Sandy, who had fired shots at the gang from behind him? He shook his head. Not possible.
Yeah, it was possible. Damn idiot woman! She’d sneaked over to the jail, somehow eluded Sandy and lifted his spare Winchester off the gun rack in his office. Tucker must have maneuvered himself behind her, probably shoved one of his men forward to cover his move and then grabbed her from behind.
Dammit, what did he do now?
She squirmed in the outlaw’s grip, her long yellow skirt tangled around Tucker’s denim-clad legs. Jericho’s mind went numb. He couldn’t get off a shot without hitting her.
“Drop your guns, Silver,” Tucker yelled over her head. He yanked his arm tighter across her midriff. “I’ll kill her if you don’t drop ’em!
He had to do it. He couldn’t risk Maddie getting hurt.
He tossed both revolvers onto the ground in front of Tucker and then stood motionless, studying the situation. What now?
One of the outlaws lay on the ground, a gaping wound in his thigh in addition to the shattered knee Jericho had given him. A quick glance told him the horses had strayed a few hundred yards into the field behind the mercantile.
“Get the horses, Rafe,” Tucker shouted.
One of the men, the skinny one Maddie had winged in the shoulder, started for the field. Purposefully, Jericho moved closer to Maddie, who was still imprisoned by Tucker’s scarred hands.
The outlaw tightened his hold. “Stay back, Silver.”
Jericho kept walking slowly forward. “You’re not gonna shoot me out here in broad daylight, Tucker. Whole town’ll be waking up, hearing all this gunfire. That’s a lot of witnesses for a murder.”
He stopped a scant yard away from Maddie. “Thought I told you to stay out of sight,” he intoned, working to keep his voice steady.
She looked into his eyes and his heart stopped. Defiance, not fear, shone in their green depths. And something else—pride. Pride? Damn fool woman!
He swallowed hard. Yeah, she’d probably saved his life showing up when she did. But a jolt of irrational fury bit into him anyway. “Dammit, you should have sent Sandy instead.”
She blinked slowly. Twice. That must mean no.
Jericho kept talking. “On the other hand, Mrs. O’Donnell, you did me a good turn.”
This time she blinked three times. Yes.
Sandy bolted around the corner of the bank into Tucker’s view, but before the deputy could aim his rifle, one of the outlaws pointed to Maddie. Sandy looked her way, and the man plunged forward and kicked the weapon out of the deputy’s hands.
Jericho sucked in a long, slow breath. Tucker had his hands full holding on to her. The wounded man lay moaning on the ground, and the skinny guy, Rafe, was collecting the horses from the nearby field. The paunchy one had Sandy covered, and another man held a revolver aimed at Jericho’s heart.
Could he...?
Nah. Even if he could reach one of the weapons on the ground, he’d be dead before he could lay a finger on it, and Maddie along with him.
“Back off, Silver,” Tucker snapped. He tilted his head toward Sandy. “You, too, deputy. Now, soon as Rafe gets those horses over here, we’re gonna load up them sacks of gold and ride out. Your lady friend’s comin’ with us.”
Jericho froze. He couldn’t let Tucker take her. But how
could he stop him?
Favoring his wounded shoulder, the skinny man led the horses to within a few yards of Tucker, and at that moment Jericho made a decision. He couldn’t force the issue now, but he had to make sure of something. He moved forward another step and under the cover of jingling bridles, spoke very softly to Maddie.
“You still have that lucky piece you always carry with you?”
Three blinks. Good. She’d remembered. She still had the pistol in her skirt pocket.
Rafe and the paunchy guy each heaved a canvas sack of gold onto the back of a horse.
“What about me?” the man on the ground whined.
“Dusty, you’re no good all busted up,” Tucker snarled. “I’m leavin’ you behind.” He lifted his hand from Maddie’s mouth and jammed a revolver barrel under her chin.
“Don’t say nuthin’,” he warned. He jerked his head toward Paunchy, who lashed her hands together with a strip of rawhide, lifted her onto the nearest horse, and attached it with a lead rope to Tucker’s mare. He looped the rawhide binding Maddie’s wrists around her saddle horn, then the outlaw swung his bulk up onto his own mount.
The other two men gathered up Jericho’s two revolvers and both Winchesters, and handed them to Tucker, then hefted the two remaining Wells Fargo bags onto their shoulders and manhandled them up behind their saddles.
The downed man lay cursing in the dust while the three remaining gang members clambered up onto their mounts and galloped toward the open field. Tucker was leading the fourth horse with Maddie.
“Hey,” screamed Dusty. “Wait!”
“Fat chance,” Tucker yelled over his shoulder. “You kin keep Dipley company in jail.”
Clenching and unclenching his fists, Jericho watched the dust rise after them and ground his teeth. He should do something, but what? Wasn’t a damn thing he could do without getting Maddie killed.
Just before they reached the edge of the field, Maddie twisted to look back at him and tried to smile. His heart turned to stone. He bolted for the jail, another rifle and a horse. Just as he was about to mount, Sandy stopped him cold with a question.
Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone SheriffThe Gentleman RogueNever Trust a Rebel Page 16