At the touch of his warm mouth and tickly mustache, a shudder of desire rippled through Tía.
Johnny didn’t seem to notice. “I sure hope you can forgive me, Tía. I haven’t figured out how to recognize Morgan Todd’s women in time to keep from getting attached to them.”
He lifted her other hand and placed one in the other. Then he turned and walked over to the musicians. “The young lady wants to dance,” he said. “Tía, what would you like?”
Tía was so frustrated she wanted to pick up something and throw it at him, but she restrained herself. “A Mexican waltz, any one will be fine.”
Johnny raised an eyebrow at her, and Tía stuck out her tongue. One of the musicians yelled “¡Olé!” and they all stamped their feet and strummed their guitars until they found a chord they liked. Within seconds they were playing a chiapanecas, a sprightly Mexican waltz. Men paired off into couples, with bandanas tied on the arms of the men chosen as the female partners, and scrambled to form a double circle. Johnny stepped close and took Tía’s hand. She started to pull hers away but inexplicably changed her mind.
“I thought you wanted nothing to do with one of Morgan’s harem,” she said.
“Bad as my pride’s been trampled, I reckon I can’t afford to eliminate women on that basis. Wouldn’t be any left. I’m just going to have to remember not to get so high and mighty, expecting a woman to just drop everything because I come around. I know you must hate wasting your time with me, but he’s dancing to Judy’s tune right now. Maybe us two rejected suitors can show them we know how to entertain ourselves while we wait our turns.”
Without waiting for her to say yea or nay, he pulled Tía into the inner circle and got into position. Men were on the outside of the circle, the make-believe women and the few real women sprinkled among the dancers on the inside. The musicians hit their stride, and Tía and Johnny joined inside hands and placed their free hands on their hips.
A group couple dance, it started with partners stepping on the outside foot and then swinging the other foot across and in front of the outside foot. As she got into the swing of it, Tía became sure she had chosen this so she would have an opportunity to kick Johnny. Cruz, Lupe, their partners, and Judy and Morgan were in the outside circle. Carmen was in the inside circle.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” Johnny said.
Tía stamped in place on her inside foot and aimed her outside foot in front, over and across, but she missed Johnny again. Either he was sprier than he looked, or his timing was too good.
Ignoring him, Tía stamped in place on her outside foot, released Johnny’s hand, and clapped twice. Johnny grabbed her hands, swung them twice, and then they placed their outside hands on their hips and repeated the same sequence of steps, claps, kicks, and foot stampings again.
Tía felt immediately better. Dancing did that for her. No matter how bad she might feel, dancing made it better. This particular Mexican waltz was fun. Johnny seemed to know it well. He kicked and stamped and clapped and held hands at all the right times. When they came to the part where they had to embrace and clap behind their partner’s back, he kissed her on the neck.
“Stop that, Johnny Brago.”
Her voice must have lacked conviction, because he only laughed, grabbed her around the waist, and swung her into the next position. The firmness of his hands caused her heart to beat faster and her pulse to quicken in response. It didn’t seem to matter that Johnny Brago had been as mad as she; he danced as if he purely enjoyed it.
The chiapanecas ended, and the men yelled for more music, but the musicians were ready for a tequila break. Nothing could induce them to play again immediately. Tía saw Judy and Morgan slip away from the crowd and glanced sideways at Johnny to see what he was going to do about it. But he was looking at her and seemed unaware of Judy. For the first time in Tía’s life, she felt like a full-grown woman.
“Your girlfriend’s getting away,” she said.
“I told you she ain’t my girlfriend anymore.”
“You were fightin’ over her today.”
“Is that what you’re so mad about?”
“Of course not,” she said, quickly, probably too quickly from the look in his eyes. She walked away from the crowd, toward the back door of the house.
Johnny followed. “If that’s all it was, you didn’t need to get your feathers all ruffled up like that. I wasn’t fighting over Judy. Morgan Todd insulted her, and I hit him.”
“How’d he insult her?” Tía stopped walking, reached up, and picked a long, slender leaf off what was probably a peach tree. She couldn’t tell in the dark.
Her fingers caressed the leaf and then, almost as an afterthought, ripped it in half. Johnny felt there might be some kind of warning in that for him. He wanted to reach out, take her in his arms, and hug her, but of course he couldn’t do that in front of half the people in the territory. Then she’d have herself a reputation. He had to struggle to remember what she’d asked him. “Well, come to think of it, Morgan insulted me first, then I hit him. Then he insulted Judy, so I hit him again. Then he started trying to hit me back…” His voice trailed off.
“How long you two been fighting over Judy?”
The silky smoothness of Tía’s sweet voice did not deceive him for a second. If she’d had a gun, he reckoned he’d be dead by now. “We’ve been fightin’ since before he ever saw Judy. Morgan used to be a whiskey drummer, going from fort to settlement to railhead, selling whiskey to saloons and shopkeepers and Indians. He never stayed in one place this long before. ’Course Tombstone ain’t that old. It’s only been sitting in them hills a little over a year. Todd bought into one of the mines, and it hit pay dirt. So now he’s rich, and I’m still poor.”
Tía could not imagine why Johnny’s complacence about fighting with Morgan Todd over Judy could make her so angry, but it did. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out the bracelet he had given her. “Here, Johnny. Maybe you can impress Judy with this.”
She slapped it into his hand, turned on her heel, and ran toward the house.
The dance ended with exultant shouts for another encore. Laughing and disheveled, Judy leaned weakly against Morgan Todd.
“Bravo!” he shouted. “Well done! I used to think you had a wild streak…” He pulled her into his arms, still responding to the almost painful flush of pleasure he’d felt watching Judy dance that solo before the chiapanecas. “But I was wrong. You’re wild all the way through.”
“I thought you liked blondes.” Leaning back in his arms, aware of the heated bulge of his sex pressed against her thighs, Judy smiled provocatively and reached up to let her long brown hair down. She had been fuming ever since she’d seen Johnny kiss Tía. It felt good to be wanted. And Morgan Todd did want her; there was no mistaking that. His desire was obvious and intoxicating. She felt good. Good and desirable and beautiful—the way only a man could make her feel. Johnny could go to hell! She didn’t need him or his narrow-minded hypocrisy or his cheating with that little maggot Tía Marlowe!
Maybe Morgan was a womanizer, and maybe he would never marry her, but at least he didn’t play games with her. He had his other women, and he didn’t care what she did when she wasn’t with him. They never questioned one another. He was almost as accepting as Grant—but far more attractive. And he was all man, from his expensive leather boots to his sun-streaked brown hair. He knew exactly how to make a woman feel like a woman.
With roughly possessive hands on her waist, Morgan turned Judy and walked her toward the orchard.
“Lead the way,” he said, his breath rustling against her cheek.
“Why should I? That would be aiding and abetting the enemy, wouldn’t it?” Judy teased.
“Because if you don’t,” he whispered against her ear, “these men are going to get the thrill of their lonely lives when I bed you here.” His lean fingers pressed against her waist. Her feet barely touched the ground as he propelled her, laughing, in front of him.
“Poor baby! You sound so—”
They had reached the trees. Pulling her roughly into his arms, Morgan leaned against one of the tree trunks. His mouth claimed hers, cutting off the rest of her teasing remarks. A warm lethargy settled over Judy. She seemed to float in his arms, pleasantly aloof from his passion, untouched by it, and yet pleased and comforted by his heated attention and his obvious need for her.
Morgan kissed her urgently. His hard male intensity was a testimonial to her feminine desirability. Pleased and validated by his lust, Judy sighed and relaxed against him.
He relinquished her lips only to press hot kisses against her throat and breasts. She strained blissfully against him. This time when he insisted that she lead the way, she did so without protest.
She led him to the old playhouse at the back edge of the orchard. The roof shone with silver moonlight, but the inside was dark and forbidding. Judy hesitated. Morgan moved close behind her, grinding his hardness against her hips. His pulsing warmth caused her to moan softly.
His hand forced her downward. Lost in the bliss of his need for her, Judy complied. His hands found her breasts and squeezed until she cried out. It didn’t even matter that he was rough, insensitive. Morgan always hurt her, and he never seemed to know it. She accepted him heedlessly, unthinkingly. She needed him.
Judy was kneeling on all fours. Morgan’s hands were impatient, almost angry as they lifted her skirts, groped at her pantalets. Shuddering in anticipation, Judy waited. He entered her, and she whimpered like a lost child, enjoying the helpless sound of her surrender, inexplicably relieved by the feel of the coarse dirt under her hands. She reveled in its coolness, its grittiness. Not like the smooth, slick heat of the man…
“Oh, God!” Morgan groaned, arching against her forcefully, then becoming still. The sharp intake of his breath and the way his fingers dug into her hips pleased her.
“Judy, love…” He turned her, then pressed her down onto the mattress. To her surprise, he didn’t fall heavily on top of her. Propped on one elbow above her, he stroked her cheek, kissed her throat, held her close.
Reveling in the unusual attention, Judy sighed.
“Judy, baby…”
Slowly he undressed her, then began to suck and kiss her small, cone-shaped breasts until her nipples burned. Judy surged with an excruciating fire. Usually, even the second time, Morgan took her quickly, but this time he lingered, showering her breasts, her waist, and her belly with kisses. Caressing her slowly, tantalizingly, he ran his tongue down her belly, and Judy’s body buckled forward. “Don’t do that!” she cried.
“Lie still,” he commanded.
“No!” Confused, her breath coming faster, Judy squirmed under him. She was feeling things she had never felt before, as if he were on the verge of ripping away the protective mantle of her aloofness. She could not let that happen. He frightened her. She didn’t want to feel anything herself. The passion was for him, her gift.
Hoping to distract him, to arouse him to some other action, Judy spread her thighs and wiggled her hips, crooning softly, “Now, baby, now…”
But Morgan would not be sidetracked. Ignoring her efforts, he lowered his head to kiss her damp warmth.
“No!” she cried.
“Hush!” Ignoring her, he lowered his dark head and kissed her breasts, her throat, her mouth, his hot lips burning into her, causing a trembling in her that added to her fear. His mouth moved back to her breasts, and he lingered there until she was moaning, then his lips slid back beneath her belly, teasing her, slipping into her navel.
“No…please…”
“Oh, yes,” he whispered, his hot breath moving even lower. “I want you to know how it feels to be teased and tortured. We’ll see how well you hold up.”
Holding her wrists so she could not protect herself, Morgan lowered his head and made hot little licking motions in the nest between her thighs until she was thrashing wildly.
“No! Johnny! No! Please…”
Morgan stopped. His head raised. Relieved, Judy started to struggle up into a sitting position.
“Slut!”
Stunned by his sudden fury and bewildered as to the cause, Judy heard the hiss of his indrawn breath and felt his hand like fire against her cheek.
“Whaa…”
“You little whore. Call me Johnny!”
Gasping, Judy cowered away from him, covering her head, expecting more blows, but Morgan stood up and backed away from her, his face a mask of fury.
His hands dropped to his sides. He wasn’t going to hit her again. Relieved, Judy tried to cajole him. “Hey! Call me Sadie. Or Juliana. Call me anything you like.”
“Don’t you dare laugh at me. I…” Morgan clamped his jaws against the words that almost spilled out. I love you.
Horrified at himself, disbelieving, he backed away. The little whore had almost gotten to him. He laughed—a short, shaky jeer that ended in a grimace. To hell with Judy. Nobody got to Morgan Todd. She had called him Johnny. Him!
Morgan ran a shaking hand through his hair. He couldn’t believe the way she’d had him going there. It was a good thing he’d found her out. Next he’d have been wanting to marry her. That was a laugh. Morgan Todd marrying a faithless little jezebel like that!
Turning away in contempt, he ran all the way back to the house, stopping only once to adjust his trousers before he left the trees.
Captain Rutledge was a bit long-winded. Andrea could barely force herself to sit still. Hearing the strains of music from outside, she glanced toward the back of the house, envying Morgan, Judy, Johnny, and Tía. Morgan Todd had made his excuses and disappeared after one drink. Tía, Johnny, and Judy had not even waited for that.
Rutledge was vague and expansive, saying far too much and at the same time far too little. If Steve hadn’t been held captive, too, the after-dinner conversation would have been deadly. As it was, Andrea contented herself with watching Steve, smiling at all the right times, barely listening to her companion’s words, until Rutledge hit on a topic that interested her.
“Todd mentioned the two of you are planning to take your own silver out. That’s a bit risky, isn’t it?”
Instinctively Steve bristled. He had never particularly liked Rutledge. Anything the man opposed instantly looked more desirable. “Russ Sloan took his shipment through last week with no problems,” he said stiffly, reminding himself that he was the host and Rutledge his guest.
“Well, I don’t see the need for it. You could never justify a harebrained scheme like that to my satisfaction,” Rutledge said, leaning back in his chair.
“We’re not asking for military sanction, Captain,” Steve murmured.
Winking at Andrea, Rutledge smiled. “Frisky young buck, your brother. Typical of his generation. They think they’re invincible and act on it. No interest in listening to older, saner heads. Reminds me, Steve, There’s a young lady asked me to give you her regards: Sara Jane Melrose, used to be Stagner. I’m sure you remember her. Fine-looking blond woman. Family was Scandinavian. You remember the Stagners. Had that ranch south of St. David years ago. Parents are dead now. Both of ’em. Sara Jane’s husband was killed a little over a year ago in a brush with those murdering swine of Chatto’s. Apparently you made quite an impression on her last month when you came to the fort. She sent an invitation for you to call on her.”
Steve’s face remained impassive. “Thank you, Captain. Tell Mrs. Melrose I’m honored she remembers me.”
“Your brother is quite a ladies’ man, Miss Burkhart. Sara Jane is the prettiest young widow in the Arizona Territory. Every unmarried buck I know is lining up to court her now that she’s out of mourning. I’d be lining up myself except that Mrs. Murdock and I have set the date.”
Steve murmured his congratulations and went on to say something complimentary about Mrs. Murdock. Around a sudden ache in her throat, Andrea murmured what she hoped was a suitable reply. This was an eventuality she hadn’t counted on—another woman. She could almost feel
the cogs turning in Steve’s head. He would no doubt jump at the chance to divert some of the frustrated energy he had expended on her.
Andrea squirmed in her chair. Jealousy and frustration burned within, but she tried valiantly to keep it out of her eyes.
Steve squared his shoulders and looked at Andrea. His blue eyes level and strangely ruthless in his handsome face, he directed his words at Rutledge. “Tell Mrs. Melrose I will call on her as soon as I can arrange it.”
Andrea lowered her gaze.
“I’ll do that,” the captain said, smiling, completely unaware of the turbulent undercurrents that swirled between Steve and Andrea—making her dizzy, making him furious.
“Soon as I see her. She’s in Tombstone visiting her uncle for a few days. Well! I guess you’ll be seeing her before I will if you’re going that way with Todd tomorrow.”
“We’re leaving first thing in the morning if the Indian trouble has cooled off.”
“You can count on it. You’ll not be bothered with Indians after Major Hart, Captain Rodgers, and myself get through with them,” he said, leaning forward. “You may see a stray or two, but no force of significance can withstand Major Hart’s drive.”
“Good,” Steve said quietly, glancing meaningfully at Andrea.
“I can’t discourage you from taking this trip?”
“On the contrary, Captain, the information you’ve just given me makes it both feasible and attractive.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Shimmering on the windowsill, moonlight made the room seem bright as day. Andrea was sorry she hadn’t pinned Steve down as to the time she should meet him, but it was too late now. The musicians had played until almost midnight. Steve had finally gone out and cut them off.
The house felt silent. Everyone would be asleep.
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