A Kiss in the Shadows

by Marie Patrick

  “She was hiding in the root cellar. He didn’t know she was there. If he had, she’d probably be dead, too.” As soon as he said the words aloud, his gut twisted. Stevie Rae had been very lucky. He had been very lucky. He never would have met her if Logan followed his usual pattern of leaving no one alive. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, despite the circumstances, he was glad he was coming to know her. In the course of their journey, he’d come to care about her.

  Feelings of protectiveness and responsibility flared in his gut. He sat up straighter in his chair, knowing how dangerous those emotions could be. Why had he allowed them to grow? And when? He scratched at the growth of new whiskers on his face, determined to tuck those feelings deep within his heart, where he tucked every other emotion he’d had since…since the Logans had wreaked havoc on his family, but she made it harder than it had ever been before. Watching her brush her long, silky hair did something to his insides, made him want her as he’d never wanted anyone else.

  As well as coming to care for her, he had come to admire her, too. She never complained, no matter how long they rode in any given day, or how sore her behind might have been from spending all those hours in the saddle. Others, he knew, would have. Hell, others had. They would have given up the chase, but not her. Yes, she was trouble looking for a place to land, but he couldn’t fault her perseverance.

  “MacDermott?”

  Startled, Brock snapped to attention. “What?”

  “Where’d you go? I lost you for a moment there.” Amusement twinkled in his eyes, and a knowing grin flashed across his face.

  Brock shook his head. He knew exactly where his thoughts had gone—to her, as they did more and more often of late—but he wasn’t about to admit that to Tim. “I gotta go. I’m not gonna find Logan if I’m sitting here, jawing with you.” He rose from his seat and reached across the desk to shake the sheriff’s hand. “Keep your wits about you, Tim.” He grinned. “And keep your pistol holstered.”

  “You do the same.” The man stood, his hand coming to rest on the mentioned revolver. “Anytime you’re ready to give up the hunt, you could come be my deputy. It’s a sweet deal.”

  Brock smirked. “I’ll consider the offer.”

  He plopped his hat on his head, then left the office, closing the door behind him. The sun had set, but the sky was hazy in twilight. The street still teemed with people going about their business. He reached up to scratch at the whiskers on his face once again, then strolled down the street toward the barbershop, where he knew he could get a hot bath and a shave.

  An hour later, freshly shaved and clean, his body still warm from his soak in one of Luis’s special brass tubs, Brock strolled through the etched glass doors of the Hacienda. A young man, one he didn’t recognize, stood behind the desk.

  “Ah, Señor Brock, so nice to see you again.”

  Brock stiffened, his muscles tightening beneath his skin, until he got a closer look at the clerk. Recognition came swiftly and he relaxed. “Estevan?”

  “Sí.”

  “What happened to you? The last time I saw you, you were just a little boy.”

  “Señor Brock, you tease me. We saw each other just last year. I was no little boy.” Estevan de la Cruz grinned, showing off perfect white teeth and dimples in his cheeks. He must drive all the young girls wild with that smile. “Mama and Papa are holding dinner for you. Come, I will take you to them.”

  Brock held up his saddlebags. “Let me put these away first, but don’t wait for me. I know my way.”

  Estevan nodded and left the room with all the vitality of a sixteen-year-old on the verge of manhood. Manuel and Elicia must be very proud of their oldest child. He’d grown into a charming, polite young man.

  Brock let himself into his room at the top of the stairs, dropped his saddlebags onto a rocking chair in the corner, and left.

  Conversation didn’t stop as he entered the dining room of the de la Cruzes’ private apartments on the third floor of the hotel a few moments later. They were all there—Manuel, Elicia, and their children: Serafina, Estevan, Matias, Luciana…

  And her. Stevie Rae glanced at him, nodded in his direction, then picked up her glass of wine. She took a sip, her straightforward gaze on him until Serafina drew her attention.

  Before he had a chance to greet those around the table, Sofia de la Cruz, Manuel’s mother, came into the room from the kitchen, pushing against the swinging door with her elbow, a tureen nestled between her hands.

  “Señor Brock!” The woman’s dark brown eyes lit up with pleasure. “Sit. Sit.” She gestured to a chair with a quick nod of her head, then lapsed into rapid-fire Spanish, but he only managed to catch a word or two—guapo, which meant “handsome,” and bueno, which meant “good.” Sofia kissed his cheek before she set the tureen in the middle of the table beside a stack of freshly made tortillas and bowls of salsa. The spicy aroma of posole, a hearty soup made with pork, hominy, and beans, rose up to tickle his empty stomach. As Sofia filled their bowls, Brock’s glance slid over to Stevie Rae. She lifted the spoon to her mouth, and her eyes closed in pure bliss as she savored the pork concoction.

  She looks different tonight.

  The thought zipped through his brain as he continued watching her, unable to take his eyes from her.

  He was used to seeing her in her tight-fitting trousers and threadbare shirt, but tonight, the pristine white of her blouse showed off the tan she had acquired riding with him. Her hat was gone, and his gaze rested on a thick, straight sheaf of honey blond hair falling over her shoulders. She glanced up. Their gazes met…and held. A blush colored her cheeks before she turned away.

  It wasn’t her dress that was different.

  Stevie Rae was different.

  She was animated as she spoke with those around the table, gregarious. Her eyes, brilliant blue, sparkled with undisguised pleasure, and her mouth spread into a smile he would spend every last dollar he had to see again and again. She laughed at something Serafina said. He’d never heard her laugh before. The sound touched him deep within his heart, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt happier than he’d been in a long time. He barely tasted the posole. He had eaten because the hunger gnawing at his belly had insisted, but that hunger was quickly replaced by another kind of yearning…for her, and a longing for a real life—one that did not involve chasing criminals and dealing with the lowest of human beings.

  He glanced around the table at the people he’d come to cherish and the desire grew. This was what he wanted—had always wanted. A wife who looked at him with undeniable love as Elicia now looked at Manuel. Beautiful children. A warm, comfortable home. He would have had that life if the Logans hadn’t changed everything, if he hadn’t traded in his silver star in the pursuit of those murderers.

  His gaze drifted to Stevie Rae once again. She watched him, her lovely eyes wide and filled with curiosity and warmth and perhaps a touch of sadness. Had she wanted the same things?

  “How goes your search?” The question came from Manuel and pulled him out of his thoughts. As he snapped to attention, he noticed the children had cleared the table of the dirty dishes, except for a plate filled with sopapillas and a silver coffee service. Only the adults remained in the dining room.

  “Zeb Logan seems to always be one step ahead of me,” he replied, frustration making his voice tight and low. He heard the children washing dishes in the kitchen and lowered his voice even more. “The bastardo frustrates me no end.”

  “We will find him,” Stevie Rae said and his gaze darted to her.

  “Yes, you will.” Elicia passed around the platter of sopapillas. “Keep your faith. He won’t always be one step ahead of you.”

  “Perhaps it is time you gave up this search, guapo.” Sofia pinned him with her dark brown eyes as she poured coffee into his cup. “Perhaps it is time for you to let the past be in the past. Forgive your enemies. Revenge is not always sweet.”

  He stared at Sofia and swallowed the words in his thro
at. There were so many things he could have said to the woman in response. Forgive Logan? He didn’t think he could. And he didn’t want to. Kieran and his family had been good people—honest, loving, hardworking. The townspeople the Logans had killed were good people as well. He owed it to those who had lost their lives to bring the man to justice. There was nothing else he could do. And he wouldn’t rest until he succeeded. “Could you, Mama? Could you forgive your enemies?”

  She thought hard, her brown eyes snapping as her gaze remained on him. After a moment, she bowed her head. “Perhaps not, but I would try.”

  Brock rose from his seat, his stomach now clenched, the soup sitting in the pit of his belly like a rock, the coffee and sopapillas no longer enticing, and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then walked around the table until he stood beside Stevie Rae. “I’ll take you to your room unless you’d like to stay.”

  She turned toward him and took his outstretched hand, slipping her fingers easily within his grasp as she stood. “Thank you all for a lovely dinner,” Stevie Rae said before the door closed behind them and they left the private apartments on the third floor. Her hand remained in his as they went downstairs to the second floor, the warmth of her fingers easing some of his frustration. “They’re lovely people.”

  He didn’t speak for some time, trying to get Sofia’s words out of his head—and his heart. “Yes, they are.”

  “Mama Sofia doesn’t understand, but if it makes you feel any better, I will never forgive Logan for what he did, either. I can’t.” She took a deep breath, released his fingers, then rested her hand on his arm. “I won’t. There is no forgiveness for what he’s done.”

  Brock drew in his breath. She understood, which amazed him and eased some of his heartache. His stomach began to relax, the hard knot of tension melting away with her words. She didn’t think him wrong for pursuing Logan, didn’t think he should let the past remain in the past. The plain simple truth was that Logan had committed numerous crimes—he needed to be held responsible for all the sorrow he’d caused.

  They came to her door and she turned toward him, her steady gaze holding him captive. Her eyes sparkled in the lamplight and all the colors of her hair—from honey to burnished gold—gleamed in the light shining on her head. Her lips parted and her small pink tongue darted out to lick them before her impish grin teased him once again.

  Her smile had enticed him throughout the evening, her lips tempting him to take just a taste, and he couldn’t wait another moment. He dipped his head, lightly touching her mouth with his. She made a small noise, somewhere between a startled squeak and a husky groan before she responded.

  Brock enjoyed kissing and had from the moment he started practicing with a neighbor girl in Paradise Falls when he was thirteen. There was nothing in the world like the first touch of someone’s lips beneath his own, but this…this was different. Her mouth was soft and pliable, moving beneath his in a heady mix of innocence and knowledge. The honeysuckle scent she wore filled his head as her hands reached up and entwined around his neck, her fingers lightly brushing against the hair curling at the collar of his shirt.

  And he couldn’t get enough. He had to have more. Now. He captured her mouth with his own, deepening the pressure, pulling her long, lithe body tight against him as his tongue swept into her mouth.

  His heart hammered in his chest. She tasted like heaven, her response even sweeter than he could have imagined.

  And yet, he shouldn’t be doing this—shouldn’t be touching her at all. He had rules—rules he was breaking for her one by one. He pulled away, a blush warming his face. He needed air with no flowered scent to entice him. Without a word, he left—before he lost whatever sanity he still possessed.

  • • •

  Stevie Rae watched his departure with wonder and amusement mixed with a touch of disappointment, certain the coloring on her face matched his own. She let herself into her room and leaned against the door, the wooden panels stiff and unyielding against her back.

  She had been kissed before—she had been engaged and Lucas had been a demonstrative man, showing the world she was his, but this…this wasn’t like anything she had experienced previously. There had been no possessiveness, no domination as when Lucas kissed her. She hadn’t lost part of herself in the touch of his lips. Kissing Brock MacDermott had been an equal sharing of excitement and anticipation, longing and desire.

  Stevie Rae drew a deep breath and, weak-kneed, stepped away from the door. The exhilaration and expectation of something more didn’t leave her. Indeed, as she changed out of her clothes and slid into bed in her chemise and drawers, she wondered how she’d be able to sleep.

  Chapter 9

  Dressed in her favorite trousers and too-large shirt, both laundered and pressed by Elicia’s staff, Stevie Rae entered the dining room in the hotel for some much-needed coffee. She stifled a yawn as she took a seat in the nearly deserted room. Only three other people—a man, a woman, and a young girl—were there, sitting at a table beneath a shimmering chandelier. They did not speak as they ate, concentrating instead on the plates of scrambled eggs, link sausages, and potatoes in front of them.

  The aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted to her nose and Stevie Rae inhaled, her mouth beginning to water as she made herself comfortable and grabbed the menu. There was nothing she liked better than a good cup of coffee. She knew from dinner last night that she would not be disappointed.

  A grandfather clock in the corner chimed the hour of eight. As if on cue, Elicia swept out of the kitchen, coffeepot in hand, and refilled the cup of the gentleman at the other table. She smiled, promising to bring the young girl another glass of milk before she made her way to Stevie Rae’s table.

  “Good morning, mi amiga,” she said as she nodded toward the cup on the table.

  Stevie Rae turned the cup over. “Good morning.” Her voice came out hoarse and froggy and she cleared her throat.

  “You did not sleep well,” Elicia commented as she poured the coffee, filling Stevie Rae’s cup nearly to the brim. “Was the bed not comfortable?”

  “The bed was fine.”

  “Then it is something else that has made dark circles beneath your eyes.” Her gaze never left Stevie’s face, her dark brown eyes warm with compassion and concern. “This quest you are on—finding this Zeb Logan—hurts your heart.”

  Stevie Rae studied the woman and slowly nodded. It wasn’t only finding Logan that hurt her, it was the memories of what he had done and the new nightmares she’d had last night after her kiss with Brock. In her dreams, she relived every moment of her father’s murder. And more. Logan’s face haunted her, his cruel smile somehow more menacing, his acts of terror so much more horrible as he came after Brock, a bloody knife in his hand. She’d awoken from that particular nightmare bathed in perspiration, a gasp on her lips, barely able to breathe.

  With effort, she brought her attention back to Elicia, firmly pushing the remnants of her nightmares away. “Yes.”

  “What did this man do to you?”

  “He killed my father.”

  Sympathy radiated from Elicia’s beautiful face. “And no matter how much it hurts your heart, you will find him, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, you and Señor Brock are very much alike. You are both determined, yes? Both unwilling, as Mama says, to forgive.”

  Stevie Rae’s muscles tightened, her nerves raw. She drew in her breath, prepared to argue, but she never had the chance as the downward pull of Elicia’s mouth reversed. “I hope finding this man will heal your heart,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity. She gestured to the menu. “I’ll be back to take your order in a moment. Will Señor Brock be joining you?”

  “I don’t know. I have not seen him since dinner last night.”

  The woman nodded, then scurried toward the kitchen, leaving Stevie Rae alone…with her own thoughts, a dangerous prospect. She studied the menu, but the choices held no interest. Indeed, the thought of food made her stomach clench
, but she had to eat, if for no other reason than to keep up her strength. Chasing a man who didn’t want to be caught was an exhausting, frustrating experience no matter how determined she was.

  “Good morning. May I join you?”

  Stevie Rae looked up from the menu, her heart picking up an extra beat at just the sound of Brock’s voice. Warmth infused her, settling in her belly and tying her tongue in knots. She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat and nodded toward the empty chair across from her.

  A sheepish grin curved his lips as he perched his hat on one of the spindles at the top of the chair beside him and slid into the seat.

  Was it possible he’d grown more handsome in the course of a few hours? His hair had been slicked back this morning, combed through with water as he never used pomade. Strands of silver were threaded into the blackness at his temples but didn’t detract from his attractiveness. Not one bit. His eyes, those sharp shards of granite, roamed over her face, which grew hot beneath his perusal. For once, his jaw wasn’t clenched, and the smile stretching his lips made her heart flutter in her chest.

  “I thought we’d stay here for a few days. Get our bearings and rest a bit. Plan our next move.” His eyes flashed like quicksilver and again, a surge of warmth sizzled through her veins, warming her from the inside out. “Is that all right with you?”

  “Yes, that’s fine.” She stirred sugar into her coffee and a sigh of contentment slipped through her lips as she prepared to take her first sip. “It would be so much easier to know where he’s going rather than where he’s been.”

  “One step ahead, but then, he’s always been one step ahead of me. Not for long, though. I will find him.” Determination hardened his features, then disappeared quickly as Serafina approached the table, coffeepot in hand, shy smile curving her lips. Brock turned his cup right side up without a word and smiled at the girl as she poured.