She was so close, on the edge of another shattering climax, her body tightening, building toward release. The whimpers easing from her throat deepened, becoming more of a groan as she moved against his hand. And then he stopped caressing her, his fingers no longer between her aching folds.
Stevie Rae sucked in her breath and opened her eyes, but before she could beg him to continue, Brock grabbed her hips in his big hands, and guided her until she hovered just over him, barely touching him. He moved his hips to slide his fully engorged shaft against her wet folds, seeking and finding her entrance. He thrust upward at the same time his hands at her hips pulled her down. Stevie Rae let out a groan as he filled her completely.
“Don’t move. Let me,” he whispered before he took possession of her mouth.
Slowly, he started moving against her, flesh against flesh, heat against heat. Water sloshed out of the tub, but Stevie Rae didn’t care as new sensations whipped through her. There were no deep thrusts into her body, but a steady movement of his hips against her, his hard shaft filling her, which was just as powerful. Again, her body prepared—tensing, coiling, so very close to that moment she sought. Her breaths came in short gasps even as her lips met his and her tongue plundered his mouth.
“We should move to the bed,” he whispered in her ear when she broke the kiss, his body no longer moving against her, but now utterly still. She had been so close. Stevie Rae gasped as her eyes flew open to see his smile. Was he purposely bringing her to the very brink of release then not following through? Building the torment as well as the pleasure?
“What?”
“We should move to the bed.”
“I don’t think I can. I…”
“But I can. Hold on.”
Stevie Rae wrapped her arms around his neck as Brock sat up, then wrapped her legs around his hips as he instructed. Still joined together, he used the sides of the tub for leverage, then lifted them both out of the water. The floor around the bathtub was a sudsy mess, but neither of them cared.
He brought her to the edge of the bed, which was the perfect height, and rested her backside on the mattress. “Lie back,” he whispered as he nuzzled her neck. Feeling as if she would fall off the bed at any moment, Stevie Rae lay back as he’d asked. He brought first one of her legs up to his shoulder, her ankle caressing his ear, then the other, and with a wicked grin, began to thrust into her while his hands held her hips steady.
Stevie Rae sucked in her breath. This was new and different, and she didn’t know what to do except experience the flood of sensation. Her hands caressed his chest, the crisp dark hair tickling her palms, but even that became too much. She felt weightless as if she could have floated to the ceiling and beyond. And boneless. He could flip her around like a rag doll and she wouldn’t care…as long as he didn’t stop!
Brock lowered his chest closer to hers but didn’t rest on her, his arms taking all his weight, muscles bulging. Her legs, still over his shoulders, began to tremble as he pressed his hips tighter between her thighs, slowing his movement so that he was no longer thrusting into her, but rather moved against her as he’d done in the bathtub.
The mounting pressure and the heat consuming her was all too much and yet, not enough. She wanted more, wanted him closer still, wanted relief from the physical ache within her. “Don’t stop!” she yelled as she grabbed his hips, pulling him deeper within her, rocking against him, beyond desperate, no longer thinking, just feeling.
Close. So close.
With a deep cry from the depths of her soul, Stevie Rae reached her peak. The pleasure was so intense, tears blurred her vision. Her world darkened even more than it had in the past, but when the darkness fled, no vibrant colors swirled through her brain. Instead, a soft radiant light seemed to warm her with its golden touch until he pulled all the way out of her. Disappointment raced through her. She wanted more. So much more.
She opened her eyes to see that wicked grin stretching his lips and squealed when he kissed her feet and slowly lowered her legs from his shoulders. He scooped her up and began nuzzling her neck. “Brock!” she giggled as he gently laid her in the middle of the bed. “What are you—?”
She never had the chance to ask her question as he crawled onto the mattress, settled between her thighs, and plunged into her, filling her completely. “Oh!” Her legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer, deeper.
A moment passed, then two, before he started to move, his body pressed tightly to hers, his gaze never leaving her face, and then he dipped his head and took possession of her mouth, his tongue sweeping against hers. Excitement zinged through her veins as she caught his rhythm, her hips moving in time with his. Her body tightened around him, her insides coiling, like a spring twisted too tight, and that moment—that utterly wonderful, breathtaking moment—burst upon her, leaving her dazed and filled with awe.
Brock chuckled, the sound vibrating in his chest as his rhythm changed, becoming faster and harder. His breathing quickened and his arms began to quiver as he thrust into her—long, deep strokes she felt to her very core—before a groan ripped from his throat and he plunged into her one last time. He shuddered, his shaft pulsing deep within as the heat of his seed filled her.
He withdrew from her gently and gathered her in his arms, his heavy breath in her ear, his chest rising and falling quickly. Exhausted, her body still pulsating with the force of her release, Stevie Rae laid her head on his chest and listened to the sound of his heartbeat slowly return to normal. Rain slashed against the windows and the wind howled beyond the glass, but here, with Brock holding her close, all was right with the world. Stevie Rae smiled and closed her eyes as sleep overtook her.
Chapter 17
“Hello, Joe.”
Marshal Joe Bennett looked up from the papers on his desk and grinned. “Brock. Glad you could come.” He rose from his seat a second later, walked around the desk in a stiff-legged gait, and held out his hand. Brock took the hand offered him and pulled the man in for a generous hug.
When they broke apart, Brock continued to study him. Joe looked…tired. And so much older than he had on their last visit a few months ago. Wrinkles—or lifelines, as Brock’s mother had called them, evidence of a life well-lived—bracketed his mouth and fanned out from his eyes and more gray streaked his dark hair. Deep circles seemed to bruise the skin beneath Joe’s light brown eyes, as if something kept him up at night, unable to rest and draw strength from a good night’s sleep…exactly how Brock used to feel, until Stevie came into his life. “Your telegram said it was urgent.”
“I think it is.” The man sighed, then perked up a bit when his gaze drifted toward Stevie Rae standing in the doorway, and a smile broke out on his face, effectively erasing that tired look as if it hadn’t been there at all.
Brock smirked—it was no secret Joe loved the ladies and couldn’t resist a little harmless flirtation now and then. The flirting was harmless. Joe was completely and utterly devoted to his wife, Cora. Brock performed introductions with a shake of his head. “I’d like you to meet Miss Buchanan. Stevie Rae, this is Joe Bennett, marshal here in Mora for what? Six years?”
“Eight years now. And married for seven. Can you believe that?” He took Stevie’s hand and brought it to his lips, his mouth curving into a smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Buchanan.”
“Nice to meet you as well. Please call me Stevie.”
He gave a quick nod as he drew her toward a chair, then released her hand as she sat. He leaned against his desk, addressing both of them when he spoke, but looking at neither. Instead, his gaze focused on the view outside the window. “I’ve seen a lot in my eight years as marshal, but nothing like this. It’s most unusual. Not sure if anyone else has ever run into this.”
“Into what?” Stevie asked, drawing his attention.
A look passed over Joe’s face, an expression Brock knew too well. Sorrow. Loss. Regret for the things that should have been said but never were. Anger. The same emotions Brock lived with day
in and day out. He understood. He glanced at Stevie. She understood as well.
Brock said nothing as he gave the marshal a moment to collect his thoughts. Several minutes dragged by, long minutes during which the only sound in the room was a cricket chirping in one of the jail cells.
“Has someone…” He didn’t want to be indelicate, nor did he want to blurt out questions, but he needed to know why Joe had summoned him. The only reason he could think of was that Logan had passed through here and left death and destruction in his wake. As much as he wanted to know, he also didn’t. Things had changed for him. “Did someone die? Was it Logan?”
“What?” Joe’s brow wrinkled as he shook his head. “No, no one is dead. At least not that I’m aware of.”
“Then why did you send for me?”
“There’s something you need to see.” The marshal moved away from his desk, grabbed his hat from the hat rack, then led the way outside into the sun-filled day. The only evidence of yesterday’s torrential downpour, which had soaked everything, was a few puddles in the middle of the road and the mud, which seemed to be everywhere. Joe closed the door, then quickly wrote a note on the small blackboard that he’d be back soon. He put the chalk back on the little shelf beneath it, turned toward Brock, and smirked. “I think you got someone riled up, my friend.”
“Riled up? What are you talking about?”
“You’ll see.” He sauntered down the few steps to the muddy street, untied his horse’s reins from the post, and climbed into the saddle.
“Where are we going?”
“Out to the Garcias’ ranch after a couple other stops. I’ll explain along the way, although once you see why I asked you to come here, everything will be clear.”
As Brock helped Stevie Rae into Willow’s saddle, trepidation skittered up his spine. Why was Joe being so odd? Why didn’t the man just come out and tell him what had happened, instead of being so mysterious? It was unsettling to his already raw nerves.
“Brock?” Stevie asked.
“Hmmmm?” he responded as he tightened the cinch on Willow’s saddle, then rested his hand on Stevie’s leg.
“Are you—?”
He sighed as he reached for her hand, effectively cutting off her question midstream. He already knew what she was about to ask just by the tone of her voice and the expression on her face. He could have told her the truth—he was not all right and wondered if he’d ever be again—but he lied instead. “I’m fine.”
He mounted Resolute, then tugged lightly on the reins and brought him alongside Stevie Rae.
Joe led the way down the street, heading north, but he didn’t go very far. He turned the corner at Wheeler’s Saloon and stopped. When Brock pulled up beside him, he nodded toward the white clapboard wall of the building. “This is why I sent you the telegram.”
Stevie Rae gasped as both she and Brock turned toward the structure. Stunned and disconcerted, he swore before he could stop himself. “What the hell?”
Written on the side of the building were the words Give up, McDermit. Faded and dulled by the recent rain, the shaky rust-colored letters were still easily discerned. His stomach lurched and he tasted bile in the back of his throat. His eyes immediately swung toward Stevie Rae. Her face, so rosy after their lovemaking this morning, had lost all color, and when she met his glance, there were tears in her eyes. And there was nothing he could do. He had no words to set her mind at ease. Hell, there was nothing he could tell himself that would erase the warning written on the side of the building nor cease the anxiety building inside him.
It was a warning. He had no doubt of who had left it, either. The muscles in his stomach tightened even more as he tore his gaze away from Stevie and turned toward Joe. “There’s no chance you have a family named MacDermott living here in town, is there?”
Joe shook his head, and Brock caught the sadness in his eyes before the shadow of his hat brim hid it.
“Is it paint?”
“No, sir. Not paint.” Joe moved his horse closer to the wall and reached out to touch the T. “When I found it a couple of days ago, it was still relatively fresh. You can see where I tried to wipe it off. It’s blood. Whose I don’t know. No one is missing. No one has died. No crimes at all have been reported, not even drunkenness.” He took a deep breath and wiped his finger against his trousers, though there was nothing to wipe off. “I wouldn’t let Wheeler Telford—he owns the place—clean it off until you could see it.”
Brock said nothing. His gaze once more shifted to Stevie. She hadn’t moved. Tears still shimmered in her eyes, but her lips were pressed together. He recognized her expression—he’d seen it enough and he wondered how she was able, time after time, to draw strength and determination from her soul when there was none to be had.
Joe gestured to the wall again, drawing Brock’s attention. “I’ve seen two other warnings, but there may be more that I haven’t. Like I said, you got someone riled up. I’m thinking you know who it is.”
Of course he did. There was only one man Brock pursued, only one man audacious and insane enough to do this.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Joe asked after a long, drawn-out silence.
Brock shrugged and struggled to keep his voice calm despite the fear rampaging through him. “What’s there to say?” He glanced at Stevie Rae once again. She still hadn’t moved. In fact, she sat absolutely motionless atop Willow’s back, her hands clutching the reins in a grip so tight, he was surprised her fingers didn’t break from the pressure. She didn’t even blink, but he suspected she held on to her emotions the same way he held on to his. He drew in a deep breath. “You said there’s more?”
Joe gave a slight nod, then nudged his horse and led the way north, away from town. They picked up a deeply rutted road, one of three choices. Water filled the grooves, producing a viscous mud that seemed to suck at the horses’ hooves. He didn’t speak, which was more than fine with Brock. Stevie Rae didn’t speak either, which was both welcome and frightening. He couldn’t help asking himself what was going through her mind. He couldn’t tell from her expression. Eyes narrowed, lips pressed together, she might have been angry…or upset. It was possible she was both at the same time.
Twenty silent, tense minutes later, the trio turned down a smaller road to a tiny farm that reminded Brock immediately of the Westons’. Memories assailed him. It was hard to forget the bloodstains on the floor and the pervasive smell of death. His hands gripped Resolute’s reins tighter in preparation for what he was about to see, even though Joe had said no one had died.
He needn’t have worried. The farm had that desolate look of abandonment. Glass missing from windows, front door wide open and held in place by one hinge, paint chipped, peeling and faded.
“This farm belonged to the Merriweathers, but they haven’t lived here in years.” Joe tugged on the reins and brought his horse to a stop, then gestured to the barn to his left.
Brock had been concentrating on the farmhouse, and trying to push the memories away. He had not looked at the barn until Joe drew his attention to it but wondered how he could have missed it. The barn was big and painted white, though bare spots showed plain wood where the color had worn away. The faded rust-brown words written on the side were easily seen from the road…if he’d been paying attention.
I’M COMIN’ FER YA, MCDERMIT.
Brock sucked in his breath and tamped down the uncertainty twisting his bowels. It was one thing to chase a man. It was another thing entirely for that man to turn the tables and do the chasing. The moment Logan made that decision, he became more dangerous and unpredictable than he already was. Turning in his saddle, Brock scanned the horizon, waiting for his nemesis to pop out from behind a rock or the abandoned farmhouse and shoot him dead. Would he be brave enough to do it? Was he even still in Mora, waiting for the perfect opportunity?
Stevie.
His gaze focused on her and he exhaled the breath he’d been holding, not only at a loss for words, but filled with an
anxiety and a fear he could not express even if he tried. His mouth dried as his heart began to thunder in his chest. Every muscle in his body tightened as nausea settled in his stomach.
What if she was caught in the crossfire? Concern for her outweighed any apprehension he had for himself. He could handle this—being threatened by criminals was part of the job description for lawmen—but he could handle it much better if Stevie wasn’t with him.
Her gaze met his. She pushed her hat back on her head and leaned forward in the saddle, her wrists crossed and resting on the pommel. One eyebrow rose higher than the other as if she knew where his thoughts had strayed. She spoke for the first time, her voice tight, “Don’t even think it, MacDermott.”
It took effort, but Brock finally managed to tear his gaze away from her and get himself under control. He licked his lips and found moisture in his dry mouth, though his heart did not stop its erratic beat. He could only guess what other warning was written at the Garcias’. “Take us to the Garcias’.”
The marshal nodded and, without a word, led the way.
A short time later, Joe brought his mount to a stop on a small rise above a verdant valley. Stevie Rae stopped as well. Brock did the same, then took a deep breath as he unclenched his hands and released the reins he’d been gripping tightly. Despite the shade of his hat, he squinted while he took in the view.
From this point, one could see forever…or so it seemed. It was a beautiful vista, but Brock didn’t really appreciate it nor did he waste time studying the heavily forested mountains on the horizon. He was more interested in the sprawling ranch house shimmering in the afternoon sun in the valley below, protected by a long, winding rock wall that disappeared into the distance. Smaller buildings dotted the landscape, popping up behind and to the east and west of the main house. Even squinting, Brock couldn’t make out the sign over the entrance, but he could see a fountain splashing in the courtyard beyond the fence.
A Kiss in the Shadows Page 21