"Naw, I ain't got time fer thangs like that. George Franklin's got him a likker farm. It's hid real good though. Them fed'ral people's been up here lots o' times a-lookin' fer George Franklin's stills, but they ain't never found 'em. You ain't gwine tell on him, are you?"
"No. The way I feel right now, I may just go help him make more." He was beginning to feel numb.
"Thur ain't no bad likker, Saxon. Some's good, some's better. But you got to be real keerful with that though. It sneaks up on you. One minute yore a-feelin' good, and the next minute yore laid out on the floor."
Unconsciousness. That sounded just fine to him.
"Real strange how that headache come on so fast. Lay and rest or it's gwine git worser." She pushed him into the feather mattress. "I'll lay down with you."
"No!" He jerked out of bed and swayed. Tucking the jug of whiskey beneath his arm, he stepped outside. After sitting awhile on the porch step, he drank more of the corn liquor. It was easier to swallow the potent fluid now.
"Go back in the cabin, Keely," he ordered when she joined him.
"But—"
"Do as I say!"
She sat on the other end of the porch step. "You don't want to be with me no more, huh? You think I'm a bad-un, don't you? What we almost done today... It was wrong, warn't it, Saxon?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he lifted the jug to his mouth, and once again drank deeply.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I shouldn'ta let thangs go as fur as they did. But thur warn't no way I could hep it. I didn't have no control over—"
"I don't want to talk about it anymore." She was in no way to blame for what had happened that afternoon. He'd been in control of every feeling she'd felt.
Chickadee watched him carefully. "You didn't have no dang-blasted headache today, did you?"
"No, but I suspect I'll have one in the morning." He staggered into the yard. "That is if this whiskey doesn't kill me before then."
She watched him lurch down the path and felt her eyes sting. Angrily, she swiped at her tears and snapped for her wolf. "He's contrary tonight. Khan, and it'll ill him more iffen I go with him. He'll be gone fer good soon, boy, but he's still here now, so stay with him."
*
Saxon didn't know what was worse. The dirt in his mouth, or Khan's breath blowing in his face. Khan? Dirt? Daylight? Where the hell was he? Damn, how his head pounded! He wondered how he could get to the stream he heard behind him without moving.
"Khan, do me a favor." The wolf gave no indication he'd even heard the request. Nevertheless, Saxon continued. "Get hold of the collar of my shirt. You can do it, boy. Drag me to that water, and I promise I'll pay you back."
Khan's eyes closed to mere slits.
Despite the way he felt, Saxon managed to grin. If his friends could see him now—Lord, how they'd love this. Saxon Blackwell, face in the dirt, bargaining with a wolf. And all because of some freckled slip of a girl.
Groaning, he got to his hands and knees and crawled toward the stream. Stones bruised his knees, but no pain on earth could feel as bad as the pounding in his head.
Except maybe a rattlesnake bite.
The serpent lay curled up only inches away from his hand, its tail clattering. Saxon's eyes widened, but he remained absolutely still. Khan, however, rose and, head lowered, crept toward the agitated reptile.
"Khan," he whispered, "go get Keely."
If Khan understood, he didn't obey. He continued to slink toward the snake, his huge teeth bared. When he was a scant foot away, the rattler struck out at Saxon.
But Khan was faster, just as the serpent stretched out its body, the wolf lunged and grabbed it behind its head. With sharp, vicious movements he shook the snake, the rattler's body swinging so fast it was nothing but a grayish-brown blur. Saxon scrambled to his feet and took a few steps backward. As he did, he heard more soft clicking. Turning around, he saw another rattlesnake, this one bigger than the first. It too was curled up, ready to strike, and again he froze.
But an explosion of gunfire made him jump. His eyes never leaving the snake, he watched it writhe and die.
"Reckon iffen thur's trouble to be found, you'll find it, Saxon Blackwell." Chickadee lowered her rifle and ambled toward him. "Enjoy yore night outside?"
Saxon glanced at Khan and saw that the first snake was little more than bloody pulp. On shaky legs, he finally made his way to the stream, thankful it was so cold. "Save the sarcasm, Keely."
"Somebody's a-fixin' to git married."
Saxon tried to bring her into proper focus. Had he mentioned marriage to her last night?
"Them snakes is a omen, outlander. When you see two snakes at once it's a sign that somebody's a-fixin' to step offen the carpet." She waded in after him and put a flask in his hand. "Got this from Betty Jane this mornin'."
"More moonshine?" He turned chartreuse.
"Whiskey's the best cure thur is fer what's ailin' you, but no, thur ain't no likker in that. That's—"
"Never mind. Don't tell me." He drank it all. It turned his mouth inside out, as he had known it would.
"Come on back to the cabin, Saxon. Lunch is ready, and I reckon you could use somethin' in yore stomach."
"What happened to breakfast?"
"Et that hours ago. I come out here to git you, but you wouldn't move nary a muscle. I tole you to be keerful with that likker. It's so strong you can near about taste George Franklin's feet in it. He hoed the corn, y'know."
Saxon grimaced. "Don't tell me anything else about that rotgut. The mere mention of it makes me sick." As proof of his words the world began to spin, and the last thing he saw were Chickadee's arms as they reached out to catch him.
*
"If you say one word about what happened to me, I'll cheerfully wring your neck, Keely." Saxon had just awakened. He realized he'd passed out again, but even worse, he knew without a doubt she'd carried him from the stream to her bed. Plus, he was naked as the day he was born.
"Warn't gwine say nothin' about nothin'." She sat on the bearskin rug, shredding oak sticks into thin ribbons. "Ain't gwine do nothin' but set here a-broom-makin'. Ole broom weared out. Hate that it weared out too. A new broom sweeps clean, but the ole one knows whar the dirt is."
Lulled by her soft voice, he closed his eyes again. "What did you make for lunch?"
"That's breakfast a-simmerin'."
"But you said—"
"That was yesterday's lunch. You slept all day yesterday and clear through the night too. Now it's breakfast agin."
He rolled his eyes. Moonshine. Mountain poison. Well, Chickadee had warned him, and he hadn't listened. He got out of bed and noticed she didn't look away from his nude form. Boldly, her eyes made a thorough sweep down his body.
Chickadee knew she was staring, but the sight of him tantalized her. While he'd slept, she'd watched him, memorizing every line and shadow of his sculpted features, finally admitting to herself she wanted him in a way she'd never want any other man.
Saxon made her feel special. His touch, his words, and his sweet, mocking smile had awakened emotions in her she hadn't known existed. He made her feel like a woman, and that was something she'd never cared a whit about. But there was more to being a woman than taking pleasure in a man's flattery and courtesies.
There was making love.
And yesterday she had her first real taste of what that aspect of womanhood was like. Had it and wanted more. Saxon would be leaving soon, but before he did, she was determined he make her a woman. A complete woman in every way. And she'd live on the memories of their lovemaking for the rest of her life.
Surely there was a way to make those memories happen.
That in mind, she continued to inspect his sinewy body. "Reckon yore a-needin' to visit the outhouse, huh?"
He grinned boyishly and felt her eyes on him as he walked toward the door.
"Gwine out thar buck-naked, Saxon?"
"Who's going to see me?" Once outside, he stretched languorously and took in a coup
le of deep breaths. After his trip to the outhouse, he started back toward the cabin.
Chickadee had eyed him with undisguised longing a few minutes ago. He'd seen that smoldering look many times before and knew bedding her would present no problem at all.
But just as he had yesterday, he hesitated. You're getting soft, Sax, he berated himself. Her emotions are like strings in your fingers, and you've only to pull them. She doesn't mean a damn thing to you. Do it, Sax. You 're a master at this. Bend her, take her, make her yours.
But what of her feelings? Could he take advantage of a girl as trusting and innocent as she? Would he be able to go through with it this time?
"Mighty fine mornin', ain't it?" someone suddenly asked.
He whirled. There on a stump sat George Franklin. "Heared tell you got yore first good taste o' corn likker, Saxon. I been a-farmin' whiskey in these here hills fer many a year, but I ain't never knowed a feller who tuk near about two days to come outen what it done to him."
Saxon didn't know whether to run into the cabin and grab his breeches or act as if he owned the world and had every right to wander around naked in it.
George Franklin smiled a toothless grin, looked down at the tanned hide in his wrinkled hands, and picked up a block of smooth, carved wood. "A-makin' Chickadee some shoes," he explained, wrapping the soft hide around the wood. "This here's a last." He held up the block of wood that resembled the shape of a foot. Saxon shuffled in the dirt and quite casually clasped his hands together, letting them fall to his groin.
"Chickadee could take 'em or leave 'em though," George Franklin went on. "Says shoes ain't nothin' but agger-pervokin' foot cages. But the thang is, she cain't never mem'ry to put her right foot in the right shoe and her left foot in the left shoe. I done tole that girl the shoes'll form to the shape of her foot, but she cain't never mem'ry. Sometimes women's jist like that, I reckon. Couldn't git along withouten ole Betty Jane or Chickadee neither, but comes times when I wonder iffen women shouldn't stay in two places. On thur feet in the kitchen or on thur backs in the featherbed."
Saxon nodded helplessly.
George Franklin smiled and swatted a bee away. "Womenfolks need a firm hand, the way I see it, son. I let ole Betty Jane git away with some thangs, but thur comes a time when a man's got to show them contrary females who's boss. Some menfolks ain't agin a-slappin' 'em ever' now and then, y'know. I wouldn't never slap one, but comes a time when they need to be larnt whar thur place is, one way or another.
"Anyhow, like I was a-sayin'," he continued, "it gits cold enough up here to freeze the stank offen shit, and Chickadee's gwine wear these here shoes."
"Uh... would you please excuse me, Mr. Beasley?" He backed up toward the porch step and reached it before he realized he had. He knew immediately he was going to fall, but not for the world would he move his hands from their spot to save himself from tumbling. He fell to his backside first and then, much to his red-faced dismay, slipped off the porch step altogether, his hands still tightly clutching his manhood.
George Franklin leaned on his knees and scratched his nose. "Saxon, tell you what, son. I ain't gwine say nothin' about you a-runnin' around here a-showin' to God yore ass and ever'thang else. We don't do much o' that up here, but maybe you-uns do in that Boston city. Iffen that's how you git yore jollies, have at it, and with my blessin'. But that thar porch step? Rickety's what it is and near about as old as these here hills. Now, iffen I was you, I'd look whar I was gwine. Lessen you want Chickadee to dig splinters outen yore—"
"Good day, Mr. Beasley." He staggered to his feet. "A real pleasure seeing you again."
With that, he ran into the cabin, aching to wrap his fingers around Chickadee's neck. He slammed the door closed and bolted it firmly. Whirling, he faced her fully, his wrath plain on his stormy features. "You knew he was out there, didn't you?"
She looked up from her broom. "Yep."
"Why the hell didn't you tell me then? How do you think I felt standing there bare naked in front of him?"
"Reckon you was as embarrassed as all git out."
Oh, how cool she is, Saxon thought angrily. Did she even know what embarrassment was? He strode toward her with two long steps and yanked her up, thankful her damn wolf was outside and not here to object to what was getting ready to happen.
Like George Franklin said—sometimes women needed to be put in their places.
"Since the day I met you, you've done your level best to embarrass me. Sometimes you don't mean to do it, but other times—I've seen that gleam in your damn green eyes. I've seen how your lips curl up when something awkward happens to me, and I've had enough. Do you hear me, woman?"
"Git yore—"
"Quiet!" he thundered, squeezing her shoulders tightly. "It's my turn now, and I'm going to make you blush, Keely McBride. I'm going to do things you never thought it possible to do to someone. And you—after you get over your embarrassment," he said, jerking her closer to him, "are going to beg for more."
She didn't care a whit for his feelings, and he'd been a fool to care for hers. She needed to be taught a lesson, and he was just the man to teach it to her. Finally, this was his chance to prove to her what a man really was. He'd show her in a way that would leave no doubt in her mind.
He swept her into his arms and, none too gently, deposited her on the bed.
Chapter 6
She skirred to the side. His strong hand stayed her. She aimed her head at his belly and threw herself forward. He caught her and flung her back to the bed.
"I don't care if you are half man, Keely. What matters right now is I am all man. And soon," he said, reaching for the top of her breeches, "you will know exactly what that means."
Never before overpowered and not about to be now either, she began to struggle in earnest and promptly kicked out at him. When her feet met his middle, she reached for his shoulders to throw him over the bed and onto the floor.
But Saxon grabbed her ankles, his fingers wrapping around them like steel chains. "I know you'd like to show me all your mountain-fighting moves, Miss McBride, but I'm in no mood to see them at this time."
His sharp blue gaze nailed her to the feather tick. In his anger, his face seemed carved, as if it were sculpted from the strong but beautiful rock of a mountain, she mused. And those pieces-of-sky eyes of his. It was as if they were alive, with fingers and hands of their own. They had but to look at her and she responded.
Why was she fighting this man?
"Yore lips is so hard lookin', I'm a-wonderin' iffen they turned to stone. Come down here and let me feel 'em."
He watched her through slitted eyelids. She was doing it again. Turning all this around and taking control herself. There was no way in hell Saxon was going to let her do it this time.
"You're going to feel them all right. On every part of your body." He fell upon her, his hand rapidly unfastening her shirt. Without hesitation, he removed her breeches, and only when she was naked did he roll off her.
She closed her eyes. He'd yet to touch her, but her skin was quivering for the feel of him. He hadn't kissed her, but already her insides were shaking like a leaf in a strong autumn wind.
Saxon caressed her with his eyes before he laid his hand on her. Never had he seen such perfection. Her skin, her shape, her scent—she was exquisite. He hadn't planned on wooing her but, unbidden, sweet words came to his lips.
"God, Keely, you're a treasure that defies description. I feel like a starving man who's never had food and is only now beginning to taste it."
He touched his lips to her belly. His mouth began a trail of passion, starting at the tips of her fingers and lightly journeying up her arms, to the sweet slope of her throat, and down across her chest. He lingered at her breasts, his wet, warm touch making Chickadee writhe.
"You like this, little one?" As his lips continued down the silken path of her body, his hands slid up her thighs and into the velvet nest of her womanhood. There they teased and tormented her. They dipped low, tarried
briefly, and finally dove deep within her.
Chickadee gasped, the fire of her desire pinkening her cheeks. "Flustered so soon?" Saxon asked, his fingers continuing their tender torture. "Why, we've barely begun. Before we're finished, your face will be as red as your hair."
Desperately, she searched for words to fling back at him. But her voice had fled at the onslaught of the emotions that had taken her captive. And no power on earth could have made her resist what he was doing to her. Right or wrong, she prayed he wouldn't stop.
His palm circled the mound of her femininity, his fingers still moving inside her. "Do you like that? How does it feel to know I've sought and found that which is most precious to you? Soon you'll know what it is to be a woman. And may you blush, Keely McBride; may all the timidity that hides in this perfect body of yours come to surface."
"Saxon." She arched into his hand—the source of the mysterious, rising want swirling through her. "Please..."
"Mountain girl," he whispered, his lips inching toward where his hand already was, "tell me what you want me to do." His mouth nestled into the soft triangle between her legs, his intimate kisses continuing downward.
"Law, Saxon! Yore a-kissin' me thar!" She brought her knees up, imprisoning his head between her thighs.
"Yes, I'm kissing you here. Kissing you, tasting you, just as I told you I would. So are you holding me captive to stop me, or so I won't get away?" He pushed her thighs apart and smiled at what he saw.
She was blushing furiously, her breasts rising and falling like two milk-white mountains riding out an earthquake. Her eyes were closed, but Saxon knew they were ablaze with fiery, emerald-green desire. And before he made her his, he wanted to see that verdant surrender.
"Open your eyes, Keely."
They fluttered once. "I cain't. I cain't do nothin' but lay here and wonder what yore gwine do next."
"Open them."
She did. And when she had, she saw his need for her. Saw the huge difference there really was between men and women. Never had she seen it look like that before. Embarrassed no end, she covered her face with her hands.
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