In the Arms of a Cowboy

by Pam Crooks

  Her dark eyes lifted, met his. “The day will come when Hannah cannot bear to remove this from her finger. I am certain of it.”

  Before Quinn could reply, she took Tomas’ arm and sat with him in the pew.

  Quinn’s fist closed over the narrow gold band that would bind Hannah to him, keeping it safe, secure, until it was time to slide it onto her finger.

  Silence fell over the church.

  The door to the sacristy opened.

  And Padre Reyes stepped out . . ..

  Warden Frank Briggs groaned.

  His body felt kicked and trampled, like he’d been run over by a damned herd of buffalo.

  He opened his eyes. He blinked at the darkness. At the eerie quiet surrounding him.

  Dust coated the back of his throat. A coughing spasm wracked him. Only then, did he remember.

  Explosions. Hundreds of them.

  His brain relived the deafening noise, the feel of his body being thrown back and pummeled by flying debris, his head hitting the hard, rocky ground, knocking him unconscious.

  He sat up, his body and battered muscles protesting. Instinctively, he searched for Titus and Fenwick.

  They lay scattered in the dirt, out cold. Just as he’d been.

  He couldn’t find the horses. Hell, he couldn’t hear a single nicker. They’d probably hightailed it clear to Mexico by now.

  An unfettered rage built up inside him.

  Landry and the woman. They were responsible.

  The pass.

  He spun around and gaped at the mountainous wall of earth before him.

  It was gone.

  The realization stunned him.

  He trembled from the fury. They’d pay with their lives for this.

  They’d pay.

  He staggered to his feet, swayed from a spell of dizziness and forced it down.

  “Titus! Fenwick! Get your sorry asses up and movin’!” he barked and landed a rough nudge into each man’s ribs. They groaned and stirred.

  His head cleared, little by little. Raw, jagged determination overrode everything but revenge.

  By God, they’d pay.

  Chapter 14

  After running the horses hard all night and most of the morning, Quinn allowed them to make their way into the canyon at their own pace.

  They moved deep into the steep-sided valley. The canyon walls stretched a good sixty feet above them. A mossy curtain of ivy clung to the rock, slick from the seep of water that gathered and pooled into the creek flowing along the canyon floor. Ahead of them, a ridge of bare sandstone jutted outward, shielding anyone taking shelter beneath it from the glare of the sun or the breezes swirling off the mesa.

  Quinn reined his horse to a stop and waited for Hannah to draw up even with him. She tilted her head back and ran her gaze over the cliffs. A frown tugged at her mouth.

  Quinn leaned forward on the saddle horn.

  “Briggs won’t find us here, Hannah,” he said gently. “No one followed us. I’d have known if they did.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, pondering the rushing creek, the narrow trail skirting the edge. “I’d have known, too.”

  He dismounted. She followed, moving slowly, stiffly, as if every muscle in her body ached.

  “Here.” He untied their bedroll and tossed it to her. “We can bed down over there.” He gestured toward the sandstone shelf and the shade it offered. “I’ll tend the horses.”

  Casting their supplies aside, he pulled off both saddles and bridles. Hannah gathered fallen pine needles and cottonwood leaves to cushion the hard earth, then spread one of the blankets over the neat pile. Afterwards, she collected some fallen branches for firewood.

  “You want something to eat?” he asked, watching her while he brushed down the geldings.

  She shook her head. “I’m too tired to be hungry.”

  The admission touched off a spark of guilt in Quinn. He was responsible for her fatigue, for keeping her going--both of them going--at a relentless pace since leaving the Huertas’ camp.

  He left the horses and went to her. She needed matches to start a fire. He delved into his shirt pocket and took out a few.

  Kneeling on the ground, she arranged the wood into a heap. He extended his hand, the matches in his palm. She reached for them. His hand slid over hers and he pulled her to her feet.

  He didn’t let go. The gold wedding band turned easily on her finger. Pensive, Quinn rubbed his thumb against the shiny surface.

  The ceremony had lasted no more than ten minutes. After Padre Reyes closed his prayer book, blessed them, and wished them well, the bandeleros mounted up and rode out of the hideout. Tomas and Sophia, in Fenwick’s rig, led the group south. Quinn and Hannah headed east.

  “What have we done, Hannah?” he murmured.

  A hint of a smile, tremulous and rueful, formed on her mouth. She, too, studied the ring and all its implications.

  “We did what we had to do to survive, Quinn. Sophia was determined to see her plan through, no matter what it cost us.”

  He studied her and wondered what was in her heart when he was only just beginning to discover what was in his.

  He crooked a finger beneath her chin, tilted it up an inch, and coaxed her to look at him.

  “What is such a terrible cost?” he asked.

  She exhaled a breath, soft and confused.

  “I think of things now that I refused to let myself think of before. Earthly things that are forbidden in the convent.”

  “Earthly things?” He gave her time to sort her tumultuous thoughts, to give him her honesty.

  “Every woman thinks of having a man in her life. Getting married. Birthing children. I suspect Mother Superior thought of them, too, in her younger days.” She pulled her hand from Quinn’s, hugged her arms close about her. “I was determined not to think of them. Ever. Now, this marriage of ours brings them all back again.”

  The revelation ended on a note of bitterness. Of frustration.

  “I never intended for it to happen,” Quinn said, frowning. “If I’d have known--.”

  She whirled, facing him again. “When? The night you escaped from prison?” She shook her head, dismissed his clumsy attempt at apology. “You were desperate, then. Just as we were both desperate last night to leave the Huertas for good. We did what we had to do.”

  “I won’t force myself on you,” he said. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to. We’ll get an annulment--.”

  The rest of the sentence stuck in his throat.

  “--in Amarillo.” She finished the sentence for him and made a disparaging sound. “Glory. Sometimes, I think we’ll never get there. And when we do . . ..”

  The words trailed off. Quinn reached for her, his need to comfort, to assure and protect her, overriding his promise not to touch her against her will.

  She let him draw her closer. Surprisingly, a shimmer of tears shone in her eyes. After all they’d been through, he’d never seen her on the verge of crying.

  The sight nearly buckled his resolve not to haul her against him and soothe her anguish with the heat of his mouth. He wanted to kiss away the worry that haunted her, to infuse her with the strength of his body. His fingertip blotted a drop of moisture at the corner of her eye.

  “So many times, Hannah, when I was locked in my cell, shackled in chains, cold, hungry, out of hope, I’d think of”--he hesitated before baring his soul, laying it naked before her--“I’d think of having a woman like you waiting for me when I found my way out. It kept me sane. It kept me living.”

  She didn’t move, didn’t speak, as if her every breath hinged on the words he needed to say.

  “You saved me from a life in hell, y’know that? Over and over again. You’re the one good thing that has happened to me the last four years. A gift, like Sophia says. Rare and beautiful.”

  “Oh, Quinn,” she whispered.

  It’d not been his intent to invoke her pity, to woo or sway her, and when she rose up on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to
his, she took him by surprise.

  The kiss was brief, asking no more than what she gave, but his fingers dallied over her skin, trailed down the slender line of her throat, and curled around the back of her neck. His thumb rested over her pulse, felt it falter, then lurch and pound inside her.

  He suspected she was more affected by him than she wanted to be. The knowledge pleased him. Humbled him. His thumb glided under her chin, up and over the soft curve and onto her mouth, skimming its shape, one side and then the other and back again.

  He expected her to pull away. Maybe she should, to stop them both. He wanted to hear her scold him, to remind him he had no place in her life.

  Her gaze lifted to his, and she did none of those things. He read the uncertainty in her eyes. The hesitancy. He knew the war she fought inside herself.

  “A gift, Hannah.,” he said simply. “My gift.”

  Her gaze lowered, fastened on his mouth, and it seemed she forgot to breathe.

  She was vulnerable. As vulnerable as he was. Quinn’s fingers tightened on the back of her neck anyway, and drew her toward him. Her face lifted to meet him, and giving her no more chances, his lips commanded hers.

  He fought hard to contain the sudden urge of hunger she invoked in him, to keep the promise he’d made to her only a few minutes ago. He thought he’d drown into the softness of her mouth, was certain his bones would melt from the feel of her lips moving tentatively beneath his. His blood warmed and simmered. His manhood stirred with want. And need.

  His head angled, and his mouth opened over hers. He slid his tongue over her lower lip, wetting it, stroking it, and repeated the seduction with her upper one. She moaned and parted for him, and he plunged inside, ever hungry to taste her, to know the intimacy of her. Her tongue met his, shy, demure and guileless in its proclamation that she’d never kissed a man the way she kissed him now.

  It was nearly his undoing. He shuddered and dragged his mouth off hers to seek his control in the soft curve of her neck.

  “Hannah,” he breathed. “God, Hannah.”

  His plea rasped in the air between them, the yearning so blatant she could have no question of his desire for her. She was his wife, vowed to him in the night. He ached to claim her, here, now, with the creek gurgling past them, with the birds singing in the trees, and the sun beaming down on their bodies.

  Her hand splayed over his chest, as if she explored the breadth of them, the tightening of his muscles, the heat of his skin beneath his shirt. She breathed his name, the barest hint of a whisper, and his mouth caught hers again.

  He kissed her hard this time. Showed her no mercy. He cupped the back of her head, keeping her lips to his, allowing her no resistance. His hand found the curve of her waist and swept upward to fill his palm with the delicious weight of her breast, and her nipple pebbled. She molded to him, every soft, supple, sweet part of her.

  He groaned, low in his throat, at the sensation. At how she made him feel, and of all she made him want--.

  Hannah ended the kiss with a gasp. She pushed against his chest, wrenched from his embrace with a half-sob. She trembled, sucked in a breath, and strove for the composure Quinn should never have taken away from her in the first place.

  Knowing he’d gone too far, he grasped her shoulders, but she shrugged him away.

  “Everything is happening so quickly. My life is--is changing. I can hardly think straight. I need time, Quinn, to absorb it all.”

  She hurried from him, abandoning the firewood she’d intended to light. She crawled onto the blanket and curled into a tight ball.

  Quinn refused to feel remorse for wanting her, not when he knew she wanted him just as much. He only regretted pushing her to that realization when she wasn’t ready. She had a helluva lot more at stake than he did.

  He noticed the matches in the dirt. He lit one, touched the flame to the pile of firewood and watched it roar to life, then he finished up the chores. Afterward, he tethered the horses to a young box elder and left them to graze.

  He went back to Hannah, his bootsoles noisy on the rough ground, and hunkered beside her.

  She’d fallen into an exhausted sleep. Her shoulders lifted, then lowered with every deep, even breath she took. She looked deceptively fragile burrowed in her brown cloak. A little sparrow that would crush too easily if she wasn’t handled with care.

  But God, she was strong. She knew how to roll with the punches. To survive when the chips were down. She had spirit. Guts. She was more woman than any other he’d ever known.

  Raw emotion swelled within him. The empty cavern of his chest opened wide and she tumbled inside, wrapped around his heart and found her place within him.

  Hannah. His wife.

  And he’d fallen in love with her.

  He resisted the implausibility of it and vowed Frank Briggs would never take her from him. Nor would Elliott.

  Especially Elliott.

  A more formidable enemy lay in Mother Superior and her convent. Quinn knew Hannah would keep her end of their deal until they reached Amarillo and righted his troubled affairs with Elliott. Then, she’d want to return to the convent.

  He couldn’t let her go.

  He reached out and gently took her limp hand into his. Again, his thumb stroked the gold wedding band in a slow caress.

  He wasn’t a man kin to giving up easily what was his. She was his wife. His love.

  A second blanket lay near the fire, and he spread the warm covering over her. The desolate solitude in the canyon assured him again of their safety and that he could afford a few hours of sleep.

  He tossed aside his Stetson and combed his fingers through his hair. He lifted the blanket, stretched out beside her and winced at the protests his own tired muscles made. Shifting to his side, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

  Their supper passed with few words spoken between them.

  Hannah had risen before Quinn and slipped away to bathe quickly in the cold creek. She was only too glad to shed the old coat and man’s pants Sophia had found for her to wear to blow up the pass. She washed the dust and black powder from her skin and donned the embroidered blouse and green skirt. Afterward, she caught a few fish on a crude pole and line--another survival skill she’d learned from her father.

  By then, Quinn had awakened, and he cooked the fish to perfection, hot and flaky and satisfying to their empty bellies. Yet the tension between them stretched their nerves taut and left Hannah flustered and aching for the fulfillment he could give, but which she could not accept.

  Throughout the meal, his gaze had been bold upon her. She sensed his coiled restraint and was grateful, for she didn’t think she’d be able to resist him if he took her in his arms again.

  She suppressed a sigh of longing--of confusing and unsettled emotions. Quinn rocked her well-laid plans and left them teetering. He made her forget the vows she’d made to Mother Superior, the precious words she’d clung to for months, ensuring her a world of safety and peace of mind.

  Instead, she could only think of the newest set of vows, the ones she’d spoken with him at her side.

  Marriage.

  Her husband.

  Through the fringe of her lashes, Hannah peered at him while he buried the trouts’ entrails to prevent any animals from prowling their camp. He made a fine specimen of a man--tall and strong and a little bit dangerous. But she felt safe with him. Protected.

  And desired.

  Her perusal lowered and settled on his hands while he pressed down the dirt over the hole he’d made. She knew the strength in those hands. The gentleness of which they were capable. And she knew how they felt on her body when they touched her face or caressed her skin or took the fullness of her breast within their tender hold.

  Her heart fluttered. She’d had so little experience with men, had despised and kept her distance from those with whom Pa had associated. Her life with him had prevented her from ever being courted.

  Or seduced.

  Quinn looked up at
her, then, and found her staring. Embarrassed, Hannah tore her gaze away and vigorously rinsed the last of their utensils in the creek. He straightened to his full height and approached her.

  She stood quickly, pressing the wet dishes to her bosom, forgetting to dry them first with Sophia’s towel.

  “A fog’s rolling in,” he said. “We’ll have to spend the night here.”

  She glanced upward. A vaporous cloud had descended from the heavens and covered the moonlit sky with a cataract of mist. Travelling the narrow trails before the fog lifted would be treacherous.

  “All right,” she said softly.

  “Might as well turn in and get a little more sleep. I want to leave at first light.”

  She nodded and he bent and hefted one of the saddles to his shoulder. Hannah sensed his brooding gaze following her movements as she tidied up the camp, gathered more wood and piled it near the fire. By the time she stoked the flames to a robust roar, he’d pulled the blanket over him, leaving half for her. Their saddles lay side by side to pillow their heads. She lifted the blanket and settled in next to him.

  She couldn’t help thinking of her old room in the convent with its tiny cot and crackly straw mattress that itched and poked in her sleep, or how alone she felt there.

  Her pensive sigh rang loud in the fog-shrouded silence. She’d been so sure she’d found her calling at the convent. Now that life seemed far away, and she rarely thought of it anymore.

  Instead, she thought about being with Quinn, of sleeping next to him, of going to Amarillo with him.

  What waited for them there?

  “If you’ve got something on your mind, Hannah, just say it,” Quinn said. He rose up on an elbow. “I want no barriers between us.”

  Hannah hesitated.

  “But if you’re angry because I kissed you,” he went on, his expression grim in the campfire’s golden light. “Don’t expect me to apologize.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not it at all.”

  She didn’t blame him for the kiss, not when she’d melted from the mastery of it, had savored and relished every moment of his mouth moving against hers.