Wildfire in His Arms

by Johanna Lindsey

  She was still eating one of the peaches when Degan went to wash his hands in the river. When he came back, he held out his own handkerchief to her. It was pristine white and looked soft as silk, the edges delicately embroidered. Someone had made that with loving care for him. A wife? She was surprised the thought that he might have one somewhere hadn’t occurred to her before. He’d been a man when he came West, not a kid, so he could have gotten married first. But that was one question she wasn’t about to ask him when he might misconstrue it and think she cared either way. But she had to admit she did.

  She wiped her hand on her blanket before she took the handkerchief from him and gave him a questioning look. He was looking at her cheeks when he said, “Your face, even your hair, is glittering with gold dust. While I don’t mind, it will draw attention to you when we get to the next town, so you might want to get rid of it.”

  She laughed. She’d had no idea the soft soap would soak up whatever dust was still inside the leather pouch. She briskly fluffed her hair with her hands to shake the sparkles loose. But she had to shake out his handkerchief several times to make sure she got all the dust off her face.

  She didn’t ask him to inspect her face to make sure she got all the dust off, she just handed the handkerchief back to him when she was done. He didn’t take it, said, “Keep it.”

  So the handkerchief had no sentimental value? Max figured it hadn’t been made by a wife then. Did he have one? Damnit, that question was going to bother her now. Maybe she’d already met his wife. He’d certainly seemed familiar with that woman he’d called Allison. She had behaved in a wifely manner toward Degan. Who else would yell at him like that? An abandoned wife would certainly harbor that much anger.

  Max tried to put Degan’s marital status out of her mind by continuing with her evening chores. She picked up any food scraps that would lure in wild animals, added more branches to the fire so it would last most of the night, and found a thick bush behind which she could relieve herself. When she returned to the fire, she saw that Degan had moved his horse blanket next to hers and was taking a swig from a bottle of whiskey. Both of those things made her nervous.

  But he offered her the bottle as she approached. “For the chill.”

  She relaxed on one count. If Degan got drunk, he could turn dangerous. She started to decline, but she could feel how cool the air was on her bare calves, so she took a swig and managed not to cough. Pure rotgut whiskey. She’d had it before, but she sure didn’t like it.

  She handed the bottle back to him and mentioned the second count. “You’ve moved too close to my blanket.”

  “It’s up to you. You can sleep next to me, or elsewhere. But if you choose ‘elsewhere,’ I’ll have to tie your hands.”

  She gasped, outraged. “You have got to be kidding me! After I saved your life!”

  “And here I thought you did that because you’re growing fond of me. Are you?”

  “No,” she snarled. “I only helped you because I hate to see an unfair fight.”

  She got up and moved her blanket away from his, then sat down and stiffly held out her wrists because she definitely didn’t want to be near such an exasperating man. He came over and tied her wrists. As soon as he was done, she turned her back on him and curled up next to the fire, her coat keeping her legs warm. If anyone was going to get cold tonight it would be Degan since, apparently, he didn’t travel with an extra blanket. She didn’t either, but her coat usually served that purpose, at least until winter set in. And she hoped he spent a miserable night shivering!

  But the next thing she knew, he was moving his blanket next to hers again. “Not fair!” she protested, glaring at him over her shoulder. “You said—”

  “You escaped me in Helena. And your explanation of why you helped me in Butte confirms that I have no reason to think you won’t try to escape again. At least I’m not going to tie your feet.”

  Was that supposed to be a consolation prize? Odious man.

  She didn’t exactly doze off right away. It was early and she was still bristling. It might take hours. But she wasn’t going to talk to him anymore.

  So she was actually startled when she heard him say, “If you get cold, you can use my body heat to warm up.”

  She blushed furiously even though she knew he didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Then she felt him pull her coat up over her shoulders as if he were tucking her in for the night. She didn’t thank him when she could have done that herself if he hadn’t put the rope around her wrists.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  MAX SAT UP ABRUPTLY, disoriented for a moment and not sure what had awoken her. She usually slept soundly. Had it been a noise? If so, Degan hadn’t heard it. The steady, soft sound of his breathing indicated that he was sleeping. She glanced around the camp. It was the middle of the night, and with the fire having died down, she couldn’t see far.

  She wondered if she should wake Degan to investigate. But the horses were quiet, not making any sounds of alarm. If it was a noise that had awoken her, whatever had caused it was already gone. Then she shivered, feeling the cold across her chest and back. Her coat had slipped down to her waist when she’d sat up.

  She reached for it and got the sharp reminder that her wrists were bound together. Still she tried to pull the coat up, but she was having trouble grasping it, so she stretched her hands toward the fire instead. But the breeze was coming from the east, right across the water, and blowing the heat away from her. She almost growled in frustration. She might as well be naked for all the warmth Degan’s fine lawn shirt offered her in the chill of the night.

  She looked at the bottle of whiskey Degan had set next to the fire. The bottle was probably warm. What was in it would solve her problem—and probably make her sick. She reached for it anyway, then laughed at herself. She couldn’t get the cork out of it! At least the bottle warmed her hands for a few minutes, but she was soon uncomfortably cold again.

  She gazed at Degan. He looked so peaceful asleep. He didn’t look at all dangerous now, just like a handsome man getting a good night’s sleep. While she was wide-awake and shivering. He was probably toasty warm, too. And why was she still resisting? He’d made the offer.

  She scooted across her blanket and snuggled against his side, careful not to wake him. Much better. He even served as a windbreak for her. But her coat got left behind. Now her legs were feeling the chill. She tried to get her legs closer to his without touching him.

  Suddenly he rolled over. She tried to get out of the way but wasn’t fast enough and ended up cocooned against his shoulder and chest. His change in sleeping position provided her with a thick arm for a pillow and availed her of more of his body heat—much more than she’d bargained for. She was about to sigh in contentment when she saw his eyes open.

  She quickly said, “My coat slid off me. I’m cold and you said I could use your body heat to warm up.”

  Degan leaned over her to grab her coat and draw it across her legs before he pulled her closer to him and ran his hand over her arm and shoulder for a few minutes. “Is that better?”

  “No, I’m still cold.”

  He moved his hand to her back and stroked her there. “Are you warm now?”

  “That’s a little better.”

  He leaned down and kissed her. His mouth was warm and gentle on hers. She was amazed that such a dangerous, un­emotional gunfighter could kiss so gently yet passionately and stir her up so quickly.

  “Are you getting warm now?” he asked against her lips.

  Max didn’t answer immediately because she was reveling in the delicious sensations that his kiss and his nearness were evoking in her. “That seems to be working, but maybe you should try it again.”

  He did and began unbuttoning her shirt, too. She started to touch him, but it only brought her bound hands up between them. He paused to untie her without being asked. As soon as she was loose, he was kissing her again.

  This wasn’t a quick wildfire of passion like the one th
at had sprung up between them that afternoon. This slow, steady burn seemed to grow hotter and hotter. Yet the same powerful feelings were evoked, that unwinding deep inside her, the sudden racing of blood that made her almost giddy. He even dragged her leg over his as he pressed her even closer. Yet the kissing was gentle! Open, deep, but a slow, tantalizing exploration for both of them. He wasn’t taking, he was giving. Her heart still pounded. She raised a hand to his head and ran her fingers through his hair.

  Another thing that thrilled her about his kisses was that they weren’t spontaneous. They were deliberate, controlled, which meant he wouldn’t stop. He would leave that to her. How surprised would he be when she didn’t?

  His hand was moving briskly along her thigh, over her derriere, even up her back as he kept trying to warm her. He was succeeding—he’d already succeeded with his kisses—but that wasn’t the only effect his touch was having on her. Even through the thin fabric of the shirt she was wearing, the movements of his hand over her body felt more like caresses, an intimate stroking that was arousing her.

  “You’re warm now,” he said against her lips. “Shall I stop?”

  She moved on top of him in answer, her thighs on either side of his hips. He didn’t know yet that she had no drawers on under his shirt. She’d hung her wet ones on the other side of the bush so he wouldn’t see them. But what she felt because of that lack of clothing was amazing. A rock-hard bulge was underneath her. She couldn’t resist rubbing against it.

  Her hands on his neck, her fingers teasing just below his ears, she continued to kiss him much more intensely now, with passion ignited. His hands slipped under the shirt to find her bare skin, creating shockingly sweet, wonderfully hot sensations. She moaned against his mouth as his hands cupped each of her breasts, kneaded them, making them tingle, making her nipples peak. She pressed even harder against him. Breath caught in her throat as the tension built within her.

  But suddenly he was holding her face in his hands, forcing her to look down at him. His eyes were turbulent, his voice raspy. “Do you know what’s going to happen if this doesn’t stop?”

  “Show me,” she whispered.

  With a groan he turned her over onto her back, settled between her legs, and fought with his pants, quickly removing them. Then that hardness was pressing against her for entry, tantalizing her, teasing her, the most amazing thing just out of her reach.

  She raised her legs and hooked her ankles together behind his back and pressed them against him, drawing him even closer to her. “Show me!”

  He slid inside her. It was as if she were shattered and made whole, broken but now complete. Then he started thrusting within her. Nothing had ever felt so right—or so explosive. It happened within moments, a wave of sweet, hot pleasure that engulfed her whole body, rising up, overflowing, pulsing. She was pretty sure she yelled. She definitely held on to his shoulders tightly, moving with him, not letting go until he felt what she’d felt or something equally amazing. Feeling all of his weight on her for a moment told her he did. She melted like jelly then, her limbs sliding off him, a smile on her lips, ecstatic and proud.

  Folks shouldn’t keep stuff like this such a secret, she thought. Luella had tried to tell her that being with a man could be real nice, but that was such an inadequate description for something this blissful.

  He rolled to the side but took her with him, so she ended up half-draped across his chest. She reached behind her for her coat and pulled it over her legs. She was sure she wouldn’t need more than that now. She almost told him that he made a nice furnace, but that would make her laugh. Anything she said right now might make her laugh. She was feeling that good. And his silence was nice for once. She didn’t mind it at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  MAX AWOKE FIRST. AT least, she figured Degan was still asleep since she was still lying snuggled against him. Her cheeks lit up before her eyes were fully open. Did they really make love? If it was just a dream, she wouldn’t have such a silly grin on her lips, would she? She tried to set her lips in a straight line, but she couldn’t manage it because they kept curving upward. So it hadn’t been a dream. She could either be mortified that she’d crossed every line she could cross last night, or she could pretend nothing had happened.

  She started to get up, but Degan’s arm around her back held her down. “I will marry you, of course.”

  Max was stunned by his words. Marriage? Then she realized it was the gentleman in him again, offering to marry her because he thought it was what he should do—not because it was what he wanted to do. He made it sound like a business deal. Of course! He’d said he’d been groomed to run an empire. Ha! When she married—if she ever did—there’d damn well better be a declaration of love first and a swelling of happiness to go with it, not this businesslike proposal that sounded as if he was honoring an obligation.

  She pushed away from him, grabbing her coat so she could cover herself, and scrambled to her feet. “Don’t do me any favors, fancy man. I needed warming last night. You saw to it nicely. That’s all that was, so don’t give it another thought and I won’t either.”

  She marched off before she started railing at him. How dare he offer to sacrifice himself on the altar of propriety and try to make her do the same thing? She was still angry when she returned to camp after relieving herself. Degan had gone off to do the same, so she quickly grabbed her dried clothes and got dressed before putting the rest away.

  She was chewing on a chunk of bread when Degan returned. His expression was as stoic as usual, not a single one of his thoughts revealed. It occurred to her that he might not even realize she’d been offended by his dispassionate offer. She should probably keep it that way.

  “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful,” she said, “but marriage to you feels like a shotgun wedding. I’ll wait for some good, happy reasons to marry, if it’s all the same to you.”

  No answer, not even a glance, so she added, “Do you ask every woman you sleep with to get hitched?”

  “Only the virgins.”

  That could have been an attempt at humor if Degan didn’t look dead serious. She still laughed. “I’m not saying I wasn’t one, but it’s not that big a deal to me anymore, especially now that I’m headed for a hanging. Heck, I was ready to give it up when I was just sixteen.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  She found it annoying to have this conversation with him when his back was turned to her, but he’d started saddling his horse and didn’t stop what he was doing to talk. “Only because the man I fancied up and left town. The Binghams probably ran him off. They’d had me pegged for one of them even back then.”

  “So you say.”

  “You still think I’m lying?”

  “I think I’m now obliged to find out.”

  She stared at him incredulously. The anger was back, but she chomped it down fast. She was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth or snarl at it. Hesitantly she asked, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “We’ll head to Texas after I finish in Dakota.”

  He was going to help her! Max was ecstatic. And all it had cost her was the most incredibly beautiful night of her life. About damn time her luck changed.

  She was still smiling when he came for the blanket she was sitting on so he could saddle her horse, too. She got up to kick dirt on the cold fire in case any embers were at the bottom of the fire pit, then grabbed her coat and hat. She didn’t put the coat on and wouldn’t until they got to town. The day was nice so far, not very warm yet, as early as it was, and there was a little breeze, so she hoped there wouldn’t be another blistering day like yesterday.

  They got to Bozeman around midafternoon. It wasn’t a mining town, so it wasn’t likely to vanish once the ore ran out. Soldiers from the nearby Fort Ellis were in town. The hotel was small, but the room they were given was cozy, with homemade doilies on the furniture and vases of fresh flowers on the tables on either side of the large bed.

  Degan left he
r there, merely saying he’d be back in time to take her to dinner. His taking his valise with him suggested he was going to find a laundress. He didn’t even lock the door. He knew she wouldn’t run off now, not after he’d dangled in front of her the carrot she wanted.

  Max had already resolved never again to wash more than one pair of her clothes at a time. She still blamed Degan’s thin shirt and her bare calves for that chill she’d taken last night, which had led her to seek warmth in his arms. Staring at the bed, she wondered what Degan’s expectations would be after what happened last night. It wasn’t going to happen again. From now on, she’d be sleeping in her heavy clothes to make it clear to him that she didn’t need or want any warming up.

  An hour or so later a package was delivered for her, along with some bathwater. She waited until she was alone to open it, then laughed when she pulled out a skirt, a frilly blouse, and a few different-colored ribbons. What had he done—bought these garments off someone? Aside from overalls and men’s shirts, ready-made clothes, especially women’s clothes, weren’t easy to come by in the territory’s general stores. Women usually made their own clothing or found a seamstress to do it for them.

  Max bathed and then put on the new clothes before Degan returned and told her to put them on. She didn’t mind. The skirt was a pretty pink-and-yellow floral pattern and had room for petticoats she didn’t have. The white blouse had a wide, double ruffle that followed the neckline down the V to where the buttons started. She wore her chemise underneath it so she wouldn’t need her vest. She picked up one of the ribbons, a red one, and tied it in her hair. The hotel room didn’t have a full-length mirror so she couldn’t see how she looked, but she actually felt pretty, something she hadn’t felt since leaving Texas. She also washed the clothes she’d worn earlier in the day since there would be time for them to dry before morning. But she was starting to get bored. And hungry. Degan’s food sack wasn’t there to help with that. He’d told the stableman to dispose of it when they’d arrived in town.