Wind Rider

by Connie Mason

  “For my own good?” he repeated with grim amusement. He lowered his head again, scattering tender love bites along her stomach and lower still, his breath hot against the swollen flesh of her womanhood. “This is for my own good.”

  She rolled her head from side to side, unable to deny the pleasure this magnificent man was capable of giving her. With a will of their own, her hips tipped up, inviting a deeper caress. He raised his eyes and regarded her with such fierce possession, she felt a shattering deep inside her. Then he spread her legs and lowered his head.

  She buried her fingers in his thick black hair and felt the shocking pressure of his tongue. She arched her back as he found her hot center, his fingers exploring the moist folds of her most sensitive being.

  Hannah cried out, all conscious thought centered upon that wet, throbbing place where his tongue played most provocatively. Incredible heat and rapture rose to consume her; her climax was swift and explosive. While her aroused body shuddered in rapture, Ryder quickly divested himself of his clothing. Then, in a frenzy of need only this woman could assuage, he lifted her hips, wrapped her legs around his waist, and thrust into her.

  His breath was hot and desperate against her lips as she rode upon his hardness, wanting it now, needing it as much as he. His hands gripped her bottom as he thrust inside her like a man possessed, fast, hard, relentless, until her mind and body and senses were centered upon that throbbing place where they were joined. Her whimpers and cries of ecstasy were silenced by his kiss as he thrust into her deeply, once, then again . . . and again, his whole body shuddering with the ferocity of his passion. He tore his mouth from hers as his seed, hot and pulsing, spewed from his flesh. She pressed upward against him and felt the shattering jolt of her own climax.

  “Ryder.” His name drifted past her lips on a sigh of contentment.

  “Did I please you?”

  She paused for a breathless moment, then said, “You know you did.”

  “More than your lieutenant?”

  Hannah went still. “Why did you have to go and ruin everything? This is likely to be our last time together.”

  Ryder went still. “Last time together? You’re my wife.”

  Panic seized Hannah. “No, we can’t be together! Our marriage isn’t legal. Why can’t you understand? Trent won’t like it.” She had no idea how damning that sounded.

  Ryder raised up on his elbow to stare at her, his face hard, his eyes glacial. “I do understand, ‘wife.’ Only too well. Of course you must obey your lover.”

  “If I don’t, he’ll...”

  “He’ll what?”

  “He has evidence that can send you to prison.”

  Ryder’s eyes narrowed. “Did he threaten you?”

  ”N-no, of course not.” Knowing how hotheaded Ryder was, she feared telling him the truth. It would likely destroy his pride if he knew she was protecting him.

  “Let Gilmore do his worst; I’m not afraid of him. Get dressed. I’ve decided to take you with me.” His words should have surprised him but they didn’t. When he’d learned that Hannah and Gilmore were lovers he’d wanted to punish her. But once he’d taken her into his arms his intentions fell by the wayside. It was quite laughable, really, for deep in his heart he’d always known the only reason he’d left his former life was to take back what was his. And Hannah was his, no matter how many men she’d bedded.

  Hannah’s lips were stubborn. “I won’t go.”

  “Do you love Gilmore?”

  “No! No! Never!” I love you, her heart silently cried.

  Ryder regarded her through narrowed eyes. Then he grasped her arms and hauled her out of bed. “Get dressed!”

  Hannah’s protest died in her throat when a knock sounded at the door. “Hannah! Are you all right? I thought I heard voices.”

  “Mr. Harley,” Hannah hissed, sending Ryder a startled look.

  “Hannah? Can you hear me?” The knob rattled, and Ryder was grateful that Hannah had thought to lock the door.

  “Answer him.”

  ”I-I’m fine, Mr. Harley. I was having a bad dream.”

  The doorknob rattled again. “Let me in, Hannah.” His voice was softly wheedling. “Let me comfort you. I’ve been thinking about you a lot since my good wife died. We can give each other comfort.”

  “The bastard,” Ryder snarled beneath his breath. “Is he another of your lovers?” He took a step toward the door.

  “Ryder, no! You’ll hang for sure if you do anything foolish. I’ll get rid of him.”

  Suddenly her key fell to the floor as Harley inserted a spare key in the lock on the other side of the door. The panel was flung open and Harley held a lamp aloft, illuminating the room and its two occupants. He took one look at the nude couple, his expression registering total shock.

  “You little slut! How dare you entertain customers behind my back? Did you intend to keep all the money for yourself? From now on I get my cut. And,” he added crudely, “I get to sample the wares.” He turned to Ryder. “Get dressed and get the hell out of here. Next time deal directly with me if you want to bed the little doxy. And 111 collect now, if you don’t mind.” He held out his hand.

  Red dots of rage burst behind Ryder’s eyes. Not only did he hate Harley for mistreating Hannah, but also for assuming she was his for the taking. Flinging himself across the bed, he leaped for the man. Harley blanched, knowing he was no match for his powerful opponent. Not the bravest of men, he decided retreat was the wisest choice. Whirling on his heel, Harley ran. When coal oil splashed from the lamp he was holding onto his hand he dropped it. It smashed on the landing, setting fire to the frayed carpet. Turning the momentary diversion to his advantage, he fled down the stairs.

  Harley’s leg, still stiff from having been broken previously, refused to do his bidding, twisting beneath him. He fell forward, grabbing for air, and bounced down the stairs. He clung for a brief moment to the second-floor landing before spiraling downward. At the bottom of the stairs his head slammed into the brass railing of the bar.

  “Oh, my God!” Hannah stood, frozen, while Ryder beat out the fire with a blanket.

  “Stay here,” Ryder growled once the fire was out. Then he descended the stairs. A long silence ensued before Hannah heard him returning.

  “What happened?”

  “He’s dead,” he said without remorse. “Serves the bastard right. Get dressed and let’s get out of here.”

  But it was not to be. A commotion at the front door sent them scurrying into their clothes. A voice drifted up to them.

  “What’s the ruckus in there? Open the door, Harley. It’s Sheriff Douglas. I was making my rounds and heard a commotion inside.”

  “Go,” Hannah cried, giving Ryder a shove. “Go out the back. I’ll take care of things here.”

  “You’re coming with me.”

  “No. Don’t you see? If I leave, they’ll think I killed him. Go, please go, Ryder. Leave Denver. Go back to Red Cloud.”

  Leaving Hannah to her lover was the last thing he wanted to do, but white laws confused him. He pulled her hard against him and slammed his mouth down on hers. “Your lover will not have you. I will kill him first.” His kiss was fast and hard and brutal. Then he turned and fled down the stairs.

  Hannah watched him disappear into the darkness. Then she followed, avoiding Harley’s body at the foot of the stairs. Composing her face, she opened the door. I’m glad you’re here, Sheriff. I was on my way out to find you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The inn was quiet, having been closed by order of the sheriff. Dawn was breaking over the city. Sheriff Douglas had questioned Hannah for two solid hours, and when he left shortly before dawn he seemed satisfied that Harley’s death had been the result of an unfortunate accident. None of the rooms above stairs had been rented, so there were no witnesses and, lacking evidence of foul play, the sheriff had accepted Hannah’s version of what had transpired.

  Deliberately vague, Hannah had told Sheriff Douglas that she ha
d been sleeping when she heard Harley tumble down the stairs. She had expressed no opinion on how he might have tripped or what he was doing roaming around so late at night. Douglas had ordered the body carted off to the undertaker and told Hannah to get some rest, saying he’d return in the morning to take a look around.

  Hannah had moved quickly after that. She had no idea what would happen to her now that Harley was dead. Would they sell her indenture to someone else, or would she be free to live her life as she pleased? The longer she thought about those indenture papers, the more frightened she became that Trent would manage somehow to purchase them. When an outrageous idea occurred to her she acted without reservation or conscious thought of wrongdoing.

  Desperation drove Hannah as she made her way to Harley’s room. She opened the door and hesitated. But when she thought of being sold again she marshaled her courage and moved resolutely to the desk, where she assumed he kept all his important documents. She knew instinctively that she’d find her papers in the one drawer she found locked, and she began a methodical search of the room for the key. Twenty minutes later she located it in the pocket of one of Harley’s vests, hanging from a hook on the wall.

  The drawer slid open noiselessly and Hannah’s hands shook as she drew forth her indenture papers. Her one fear had been that Harley had already sold them to Trent, who had told her that they had nearly reached an agreement. Thank God the sale hadn’t been finalized. She tucked the document in her bodice and returned everything exactly the way she had found it. Afraid to hide the document, lest the sheriff find it in his search of the inn, she decided to carry the papers on her person until she had time to think more clearly.

  Promptly at eight o’clock the next morning, Sheriff Douglas returned with two deputies and Trent Gilmore. “Hannah, I just heard. Are you all right? How terrible it must have been for you.” Trent was effusive in his sympathy.

  “I’m fine, Trent. Actually, I was sleeping when it happened.”

  “The sheriff has returned this morning to make a thorough search of the place. It’s customary, you know. He has to notify the next of kin. Do you know if Harley had any relatives?”

  “I’m not sure. I think he might have had someone back East; a cousin or something.”

  “He’ll have to be notified so he can let us know what to do about the inn and whatever else of value Harley left behind.” Hannah knew Trent was alluding to her articles of indenture.

  “Take us to his room, Miss McLin,” Sheriff Douglas directed. “That’s as good a place to start as any.”

  Hannah stood silently by as the men began a methodical search of Harley’s belongings. They found a cashbox under his bed with a substantial amount of cash. Douglas was impressed with Hannah’s honesty; she could have taken the money and run.

  “At least there’s money to pay for his burial,” Douglas muttered as he handed the cashbox to one of his deputies. Then he concentrated on the locked drawer he found in the desk. Not bothering to look for the key, he broke the lock with the butt of his gun. “Ah, here’s the address of a Percival Harley. Must be some kind of relative. I’ll send a wire immediately.”

  “What else did you find, Sheriff?” Trent asked sharply. He was more than a little surprised that Hannah’s indenture papers weren’t found in the locked drawer.

  Douglas rummaged around for several minutes longer. “Ah, a sealed will, some bank statements, a bank book, a few bills; nothing of value.”

  Trent gave Hannah a searching look. “I understood Miss McLin was an indentured servant. Are there no indenture documents in any of the drawers?”

  “Look for yourself, Lieutenant,” Douglas said shortly. He didn’t appreciate Gilmore’s intrusion into something that he could handle quite adequately without the army. “There is no mystery here. It’s an accidental death, pure and simple.”

  “I’m not arguing that fact, Sheriff. I’m merely curious as to the disposal of Miss McLin’s articles of indenture.”

  To humor Gilmore, Douglas directed his next question to Hannah. “Did you know that your articles of indenture were missing, Miss McLin?”

  Hannah’s mouth went dry. She was never able to lie convincingly, but this time she must. “Just tonight Mr. Harley told me he’d sold them.” She didn’t dare look at Trent, but she heard his shout of denial.

  “Did he say who bought them?” Douglas asked, ignoring Gilmore’s obvious shock. Hannah shook her head. “I imagine we’ll know soon enough,” Douglas continued. “The man is bound to show up soon to claim his property. Meanwhile, the inn will remain closed, but you’re free to stay on until your new owner shows up.”

  Hannah touched her bodice, where the papers rested against her breast. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  “I’ll be on my way, Miss McLin. I find nothing to suggest that Harley’s death wasn’t accidental. I’ll be keeping an eye out for your new owner. If you need me for anything, you know where to find me.”

  After the sheriff and his deputies had left Gilmore remained behind. Hannah could tell by the simmering anger in his eyes that he was upset at the turn of events.

  “I don’t understand, Hannah. Harley promised he’d sell your articles of indenture to me. Are you sure you don’t know who purchased them?”

  ”I-no, he didn’t tell me.”

  “I had plans for us, Hannah. I rented a house on a quiet street, and I meant for us to live there. You wouldn’t have to work hard, as you’re doing now. All you’d be required to do is please me. I really am quite fond of you, my dear. Perhaps even fond enough to marry you, should you prove fertile and give me an heir.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hannah said, trying to sound contrite while in truth she was elated. “If you don’t mind, Trent, I’d like to rest now. I was up all night, answering Sheriff Douglas’s questions.”

  “And I must return to duty. There’s talk of the militia riding out soon on a search-and-destroy mission. The Sioux and Cheyenne are getting bolder. They’re striking more frequently. Denver is virtually cut off from eastern travel. I’ll try to stop by frequently until your new owner arrives. I’m most anxious to learn who purchased your articles of indenture. I shall offer to buy them myself.”

  Staring at the dingy ceiling gave Hannah little comfort. Despite her weariness, sleep would not come. She had hoped and prayed that Ryder would come for her, but he had not appeared. She knew she had hurt him by saying that she and Trent were lovers, but it had been for his own good. She had advised him to go back to Red Cloud’s village, and now she wondered if he had done as she’d suggested. God, what a muddle her life had become. When she’d left Ireland it had all seemed so simple: serve her seven years indenture to pay for her passage and then send for one or two of her siblings after she found a paying job and saved some money.

  She hadn’t counted on complications like Mr. Harley, or Wind Rider, or Lieutenant Gilmore. How innocent and naive she must have been. And to further complicate matters, she had stolen her articles of indenture. Worse yet, she didn’t know what to do with them. The sheriff would become suspicious when no one showed up to claim her, and he might even reverse his thinking about Harley’s death and charge her with robbery and murder. Yet out of it all had come the one pure emotion she might never have experienced if she hadn’t ventured to America. She might never have known love—not the kind of love she’d found in Ryder’s strong arms. And she wasn’t sorry, not one tiny bit.

  Hannah fell asleep recalling hungry kisses devouring her, the hard, solid weight of flesh, bone, and muscle pressing against her . .. wild, desperate embraces, moans, sighs .. . and the sweetest, most tormenting rapture she had ever known.

  She awakened the following morning feeling as if she hadn’t slept. Dark circles marred the delicate skin around her eyes, and her stomach felt raw and unsettled. An eerie, unnatural silence prevailed in the inn, for normally it was a place of loud voices and raucous laughter. Sickened by the thought of food, she made a cup of tea and sipped it, wondering what was to become of her. Later,
she forced herself to perform a few simple chores, mainly to keep from thinking about Ryder and wondering if he hated her for telling him that she and Trent were lovers.

  Lunch consisted of dry bread, cold meat, and water, which Hannah was barely able to keep down, so unsettled was her stomach. The events of the past few days had taken a toll on her, she decided, although if she was truthful, she’d admit that her stomach had been upset often since she had left Fort Laramie. Lost in her morose thoughts, Hannah didn’t hear the door open or see the tall, broad-shouldered man enter.

  “Hello! Is anyone here?”

  Hannah started violently. Rousing herself from her reverie, she left the kitchen, wondering if Sheriff Douglas had returned. Or Lieutenant Gilmore. She didn’t recognize the powerfully attractive man standing in the center of the common room. He was looking about the deserted inn curiously. He heard her enter the room and spun on his heel to face her. Hannah drew in a sharp breath, stunned by the magnetic intensity of his vivid blue eyes.

  “What happened here? The place is deserted. Are you Hannah McLin?”

  “Yes. Who are you?”

  “Zach. Zach Mercer. I’m looking for my brother-in-law. He promised to come out to the farm to visit his sister and we haven’t seen him. Abby was worried and insisted I come to Denver to look for him.”

  “You’re the man who married Ryder’s sister! He spoke often of you and Abby.”

  “Do you know where he is? I’d hoped I’d find him with you.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know where he is.”

  “What happened here? Something is wrong; I can sense it.”

  “There’s been an accident. Mr. Harley is dead.”

  “Good God! Did Ryder...”

  “No! Ryder had nothing to do with it. It was an accident!’

  “Where is Ryder?”

  ‘”We argued, and he left. I haven’t seen him since.”

  Zach regarded her with obvious skepticism. “That doesn’t sound like Ryder. He wouldn’t run away from trouble. More likely, he caused it.”