Silver Mist

by Raine Cantrell

  “That’s far enough, McQuade. I don’t want your blood spattered on my barrel.”

  “What makes you so sure you’ll get the chance to pull the trigger before I kill you, Clay?” Eden made his move then, raising his gun out and away from his side, his gaze never wavering from Clay’s face, but his action drew a darting look from the other man. It was all the distraction Eden needed. His right forearm slammed the rifle barrel, lifting it high, and before Clay could move, he brought his gun-fisted hand upward into Clay’s belly. Clay staggered back from the blow, releasing the rifle, and Eden grabbed for it, holding the rifle and his handgun on the men surging forward.

  “Hold it right where you all are,” he ordered. There were grumbling mutters, but no one wanted to tangle with him. “Let Jake go,” Eden called out, never once looking away from Clay, who was doubled over, clutching his belly.

  “You’re piling a high score, McQuade,” Clay weakly called out, shaking off Pierce’s offer to help him stand straight. “I’m gonna kill you.”

  “Those three weren’t enough?” Eden asked, and before anyone could guess his intent, he tossed the rifle at Clay’s feet. “Pick it up and use it.”

  “Eden, no!” Jake yelled, elbowing a path through the crowd to come and stand at his friend’s side. He trained his own gun on the men he called neighbor and friend alike. “There’ll be no more killing.”

  “You’re gonna shoot us, Jake?” Flynn Kinnel asked.

  “I’ll do whatever I must to stop you men from taking the law into your own hands again. It’s what you elected me to do. I know those men were guilty of robbing Tucker. They had a right to a trial with a jury deciding what was to happen to them.”

  “Well, we saved us some county money, Jake,” Hank Clare stated, watching Eden, his own rifle held easy at his side.

  “Clay, I’m still waiting for you to make your move,” Eden said.

  Jake moved aside, bringing Eden’s back into range. “Eden, there’ll be no killing.”

  Both men ignored him. But those facing Eden began backing away, even Pierce, the last to go.

  “Pick it up, Clay. It’s just you and me. I’ll make it easy.” Eden reholstered his gun, his hands splayed wide and loose at his sides.

  Clay forced himself to ignore the burning pain in his gut and stood tall. His gaze darted to those men who had followed his lead. There wasn’t a one who would come to his aid now. He eyed the rifle at his feet, judged the time he needed to get it, and once again looked up at Eden.

  He didn’t find the telltale flicker of facial muscle or the blink of an eye to indicate fear. He faced a killer.

  “It’s a little different this way, isn’t it, Clay?” Eden asked without emotion. “Hanging a man in the heat of fury with six to one odds makes a man brave. A man gets drunk on that kind of power, but one on one, no fury, just the cold thought of picking up a gun and killing a man makes you look inside yourself.”

  “You’re goading him, Eden,” Jake warned, knowing he had to stop them, unwilling to shoot either one.

  “I know,” came his calm reply.

  “You think I’d make it that easy for you, McQuade? I figure your game. The moment I try grabbing for my rifle, you’ll shoot me.”

  “You want mine on the ground, too?”

  “Eden, he’s backed off. You know that. Don’t force me to use this on you.”

  “You do what you need to, Jake. Clay has a choice. He picks up that rifle and uses it, or he rides away.”

  “You calling me a coward, McQuade?”

  “I’m just calling you.”

  Clay started to turn away, but he never completed the move. His drop to the ground and reach were stopped by the bullet that Jake fired, hitting the wooden butt of the rifle.

  “Back off, Clay,” Jake ordered. “Pierce, get his rifle and get him the hell out of here. And that goes for the rest of you. Get your horses and go home.”

  In all the time it took for the men to obey him, Eden didn’t move. When they were gone, Jake stood with Jesse and his two older sons.

  “Had me helpless as a bee in buttah,” Jesse muttered.

  “You tried to stop them, Jesse, that’s all a man can do. You and your boys want to help bury them?” Eden asked.

  “Eden, you know I had to—”

  “We’re always making choices, Jake. He’s your wife’s brother. Me, I’m just a part of your past. I understand the why of it, but Clay—well, friend, just watch your back.” He gazed up at the three bodies. “Figure Amos’ll mind if we bury them here?”

  “That weasel offahed his tree for the hangin’,” Jesse answered. “Don’t reckon he can object now. Eithah of you know who they are?”

  “Can’t tell much from what they look like now. But those boots ain’t a miners,” Jake said.

  “He worked for Lucio. The other two worked for me.”

  “You bein’ a preachah’s son an’ all must figure yore accountable. Ain’t a man gonna hold you to it.”

  “Jesse’s right,” Jake added. “We tried to stop them. Clay was smart enough to hold a few men back to wait for us. They jumped us when we were forced to stop at the oxcart. I should’ve known better.”

  “It doesn’t matter, does it?” Eden asked without emotion. “They’re dead.”

  He rode back to town alone, dismounting behind his office, where privacy and an unopened bottle of bourbon waited. Stripping off Sinner’s saddle, he glanced back at Dara’s house, saw the lamps lit in the parlor, and wondered if she waited. There was a bitter fury locked inside him, and he didn’t trust himself to go near her. He searched above the door lintel for the spare key, and when his fingers came up empty, he filled them with his gun. Pressed flat against the wall, he leaned down to twist the doorknob. It opened easily. A shove sent the door open. The wanning moon’s light didn’t penetrate the dark interior. All he heard were his own steady breaths. A quick mental scan placed every piece of furniture in the room. His wide desk faced the door and the only way out. To its left, a long leather couch filled the wall. A single table and lamp stood in the back comer, behind the open door. There was no place to hide on the right wall, which was lined with shelves and cabinets. Whoever was inside was either behind the desk or the door. He braced himself for entry, crouching low, darting and rolling through the doorway, and coming up fast with his back against the right wall.

  “Are you so angry that you’ll shoot me, Eden?”

  Dara’s frightened voice cut through the dark. His harshly drawn breath was the only sound he made for a moment.

  “I could have killed you.” He located her curled on the couch. Belatedly realizing he still gripped his gun, he reholstered it, and then to vent his anger, he jerked the gunbelt’s buckle open.

  “I had to see you,” she whispered, her own gaze long accustomed to the dark, following him easily, surprised he stood by the door, gunbelt in hand.

  “Get out, Dara.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Not the way you mean, but I don’t want you here.” She knew facing him again would be the hardest thing she had to do, but nothing had prepared her for the cold rejection in his voice. “Please, Eden, don’t send me away. I was worried about you. Matt talked to some of the men, and they said you—”

  “I didn’t touch your brother or Clay. But don’t thank me, darlin’, thank Jake. He stopped it.”

  The ruthless cut of his voice should have warned her, but Dara was caught up in the tension of the dragging hours she had waited, anger for herself growing at the way they parted.

  “Don’t treat me like the china doll Clay made me out to be. Tell me what happened. I’m stronger than you think I am.”

  “Are you?” In a ruthless voice he told her what had happened, sparing her nothing. What Eden didn’t, couldn’t, tell her were his own feelings of guilt and helplessness because he was too late to stop the murders.

  “Eden, please, I don’t care—”

  “You s
hould, love. It’s called self-preservation. If you haven’t come to thank me, I assume your virginal curiosity wasn’t satisfied. I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a distinct disadvantage. I’m in no mood to play indulgent lover.”

  “I came because I care about you! I thought you might need me.” For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer her. Her fingers gripped the smooth leather arm of the couch.

  “Get out. You can’t give me what I need.”

  “And a bottle or some other woman could?” she demanded, no longer shocked that she forgot her moralistic upbringing. But then, Eden made her forget everything but him.

  The door closed with a soft thud. She heard the brush of his gunbelt swing against the wood for a few seconds. He came toward her, stripping off his shirt before tossing it aside. And the danger of his mood came with him. She uncurled her legs slowly, a shiver of fear shaking its way down her back. She moistened her lips, afraid to speak.

  “You’re staying. Accommodate me, love. Undress.”

  The words were coolly delivered, devoid of feeling, and Dara was forced to answer him. “I didn’t come here for this.”

  He couldn’t ignore the quiet desperation in her voice, but there was a savage mood cloaking his sensibilities. “This,” he stated, reaching out to take hold of her arms, “is all I want from you.” He lifted her up against him, his mouth closing over hers possessively, already aroused, rage for the day’s happening fueling his need to lose himself in the sweetly heated scent of her. He was on fire, aching, empty, and wanting all at once. The feel of her long silky hair slipping its knot, spilling over his arms, only intensified that want. Her hands were clawing his back, and he needed to be inside her, to ride out the blackness in the silky sheath that would be soft, and wet and hot and … his.

  “Mine,” he whispered. “Tell me you’re mine.”

  Dara didn’t hear the words. She listened instead to the underlying vulnerable plea of need in his voice. His mouth was hard and hungry, and his long deep kisses made her cling to him. Feelings uncurled painfully inside her, and she was afraid to whisper them silently to herself. She desired him, yet desire was not the force that made her answer the rawness of his passion. It was the power of the whispers he breathed over her skin that made her admit to herself that she loved him.

  “Hold me, love. Just hold me tight. I need you so much.”

  It was a plea that went beyond physical desire. The need wasn’t his alone. Whatever he wanted, she could not deny him. To do so was to deny her own love. Soft pleasure sounds emerged from low in her throat when his hand closed over her breast. The single layer of her shirtwaist offered her no protection from the heat of his touch.

  “Please,” she begged. “Eden…”

  He lifted his head, his eyes savage. His blood surged hot, and he was breathing hard. “Do you want me?” The words were harsh; he had no softness left.

  Dara gripped his shoulders, shivering delicately. “All I want is you.”

  He pressed her closer, lifting her up and into him, rubbing her over the hardened swell of his sex, and both of them shuddered. Her mouth opened under the force of his, his tongue taking her into a deep heavy rhythm that she instinctively responded to.

  She felt him gathering her skirt in his hand, raising it, and she trembled with the force of almost violent arousal.

  His hand was hard sliding up the length of her thigh. She knew the press of his fingers were only separated from her skin by the thin cotton drawers. He paused with his hand on her hip, then, with a wrench, the flimsy tie snapped and the garment fell. Eden lifted her free of them, kicking the cloth aside, his lips closing over one erect nipple, suckling so strongly her back arched and she cried out. There was a quickening inside her that gloried in the wildness of his mouth, the surge of his body, hot and hard, against hers. The sleek skin of his back bore the crescent nail marks she left as he turned with her, his hand between their bodies for a few moments, and then released her.

  Dara opened passion-glazed eyes. He sat before her on the couch, his trousers unbuttoned, his splendid erection blatant. Eden lifted his hand, but he made no move to draw her down beside him. “Now, love.”

  “Eden … I—”

  “I’d hurt you any other way.” Exaggerated courtesy was evident in his husky voice. “Come and sit on me.”

  Passion clamored its demand that she obey. Her heated flushed skin and sensitive nerve endings remembered every moment of the afternoon’s pleasures. Without thought, her fingers moved to her throat, and not even their betraying tremble hindered Dara from slowly unbuttoning each one of the pearl fastenings. But when she began slipping it off, he stopped her.

  “Leave it on and come here, love.”

  She came forward, stood between his spread thighs, uncertain of what to do. Eden slid one hand beneath her skirt, caressing the silken length of her leg, drawing her knee up beside his hip. He held her poised there, his passion barely controlled, reaching out to hold her hip with his other hand as she swayed toward him. Bending his head, he lowered his mouth to her breast, closing over the peaked nipple, teasing her with tiny licks, feeling the taut waiting of her body and the answering pulse that ached deep within his own. Sliding his fingers gently into her dampness, he delicately stroked the velvety soft, swollen heat of her, his lips firming their pressure on the hardened crest. Dara cried out, her hands gripping his head close, her own flung back. “Eden, please … I can’t…”

  He lifted his head. “You can. I’ll show you, love.” He slid the draped folds of her skirt high, guiding her down until she shuddered, her breath as still as his, desire radiating between them as she slowly stretched to accommodate him. And when she was hotly sheathed around him, his groan came from deep inside his throat. He lifted her with deliberate slowness, and lowered her once more, until her innate sensuality maintained his rhythm, her inner thighs brushing the cloth of his trousers, her full breasts grazing the sensuous feel of his hair-rough chest. With his hands firmly on her hips, he rose to meet her peaking ardor, and she cried out with the violently intense sensations that flooded her body.

  He clamped his teeth together, a savage need washing over him, and feverishly he drove upward, plunging her over the edge. One hand twined in the length of her hair, dragging her mouth to his, crushing her lips as she melted against him, and with a last violent thrust, he joined her.

  The pulsing intensity diminished slowly between them, and Dara lay against him, content, the soft caress of his hands on her bare back lulling her until Eden spoke.

  “There’s no going back, Dara, you know that, don’t you?”

  She kissed his throat, whispering, “I don’t want to go back.” He was still hard within her, and she languidly moved, a heated trembling spreading through her.

  “Greedy, love. No more for you.” But he felt himself swell inside her, his passion rekindling as if he had never had her.

  “I want you.” There was a provocative invitation in her voice, the slow gliding rotation of her hips enforcing her demand. She licked the pulse beating in his throat, nipped the velvety lobe of his ear, whispering over and over how much she wanted him.

  “I should take you home.” But his lips were already caressing the soft swell of her breast.

  “Yes, Eden … take me…”

  There was a wildness to the tumultuous passion that overwhelmed them, for he couldn’t get enough of her, nor she of him until dawn edged its intrusion, and with it, the sounds of gunfire.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was early Yarwood who fired the shots at two men who ran off with three of his best horses. Jake rode out after them before Eden arrived at the livery. He spared Early a few minutes to vent his anger, but his charity disappeared when Early, with a searching look, remarked, “Doan’ see how you missed the excitement from yore room at Miss Loretta’s.”

  “I wasn’t in my room. Tell Jake to see me when he gets back.”

  “Damn! He spent the night in
someone’s bed, that’s for sure,” Early said, watching Eden walk away, his gun tucked in his pant’s waistband, his shirttails hanging free.

  Eden stopped off at his saloon, picked up the books along with the weekend’s receipts, asked a few questions, and did the same at the barbers and the cafe he rented out before he returned to his office. He had learned nothing to help Jake. He was concerned over the remark his bartender dropped, that Jake was seen coming from the direction of the Gilded Lily right after the shots were fired. Eden knew he himself would stand for no one daring to question where he spent the night, not only to protect Dara, but simply because he would be accountable to no man. If anyone but Satin Mallory managed the pleasure palace for Lucio, he wouldn’t worry over the implications of Jake being there.

  But Jake was married and in love with his wife. He hadn’t lied about what he wanted for himself or this town. Eden knew him, knew the pride of his expecting their first child, and Jake was not going to risk losing Anne, no matter what privations her condition caused.

  The past came back with a vengeance. Jake had to be trying to get Satin to tell him the truth of what happened the night Linda was killed. She would never betray Lucio, and Eden knew he would never destroy Jake’s belief that Linda loved him. Closing the book before him with a slam, he knew what he had to do. The scent of Dara clung to him, forcing him to acknowledge that he didn’t want his past to touch her. His brother, Dice, was fond of saying that luck often rode with him. He hoped Dara didn’t find out why he had to stay away.

  By Tuesday afternoon Dara, bewildered that Eden hadn’t been to see her, knew where he had spent Monday evening. Small town gossip spread faster than melting butter.

  She bolted from the store when Matt arrived, hating the sly remarks passed within her hearing. Jesse came to play his weekly game of checkers with her father, and she couldn’t wait to escape the confines of the house. For long minutes she stared at the darkened windows of Eden’s office, then walked a ways down by the river, trying to deny that she loved him. Tears didn’t help. Nothing but Eden’s presence would take the incredible pain away.