Loving the Lawmen

by Marie Patrick

  She ducked under the mare’s head to reach her other side. “From the look of this stall, I don’t think it was on anyone’s list of chores.”

  “There’s a fresh pile of hay right there,” he said nodding his head. “Be my guest. We’ve got more important things to deal with right now.”

  “Yes, Inez told me about the cattle,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  He gave a curt nod. “So am I.” His voice turned low and hard—edged with something dangerous.

  She remembered the man he’d shot dead in the saloon. Fear slid down her throat to land in her belly like a stone. “So you think it was the Everetts?”

  Nat swept off his hat, dropping it on the post between the stalls. “Hard to say. Holt’s up there now, looking for tracks.”

  Her belly twisted. The thought of him leaving again so soon to face untold dangers made her legs go weak. Somehow it hadn’t mattered that the Everetts had the ranch under siege, because Nat would be there—they’d be together and somehow he’d be safe. But Holt’s tracking meant the tables would turn. Nat would leave, and might never come back. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t convinced you to go ahead with the fiesta … ”

  “I should have put a few men out there last night, instead of concentrating all my attention on the house. But it seemed the obvious target.”

  He was letting her off easy, when they both knew going through with the fiesta had been her idea. Maybe it was his way of apologizing for the terrible things he’d said. Maybe he just wanted to leave with a clean slate?

  But now fear for his safety had wiped away all that hurt. She didn’t care about last night. She’d forgive him anything, if only he wouldn’t go. But she knew him well enough to know nothing she said would stop him. She drew in a long trembling breath. “What will you do if you catch them?”

  “They’ll hang.”

  Christie felt the blood drain from her face. He said it so matter of fact, as though taking a life meant nothing at all. “Without a trial?”

  His mouth flattened in a thin line below his glittering blue eyes. “A man comes on another man’s property and kills twenty head of his cattle—that’s all the justice he deserves.”

  She shivered. “I’ll never understand such violence.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s the way it is here. So you might as well get used to it.” His tone turned cynical again. “All of your organizing and high principles can’t change that.”

  “I wouldn’t begin to try,” she flung back. “It would be a waste of my breath to try to talk sense into a man as stubborn as you.”

  He flashed a slow, heart-stopping smile. “Is that a fact?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t help but smile back. “I do believe you are the most pig-headed man I’ve ever met.”

  He chuckled. “Well that makes us even then, doesn’t it, because you’re the sassiest woman I ever met.”

  “But not the boldest.” She lifted the latch on the stall, to sashay around him. After replacing the brush on its nail, she turned back around with her hands on her hips. “I’d say Delia’s girls have that one all sewn up.”

  He sauntered closer, pinning her with his cool blue gaze. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You can speak your mind when you want to.” He lifted a curl dangling at the side of her cheek. “But somehow I don’t seem to mind so much. Must be those brandy eyes.” His hand trailed down the line of her jaw until he held her chin in his hand. “I never thought you could get drunk looking into a woman’s eyes. But sometimes when I look into yours, I believe I can.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t get so close,” she whispered.

  “You wouldn’t say that to Antonio,” he breathed against her neck.

  She shivered. “I wouldn’t allow myself to be alone with him, if that’s what you mean.”

  Nat brushed the back of his hand along the side of her cheek. “But you trust me?”

  There was plenty of air sweeping down the narrow tunnel of stalls, yet for some reason she couldn’t breathe, so rather than speak, she simply nodded her head. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t about trust. It was about something more—something dark and wild and hot, licking at her skin whenever he was near. Some unknown force she couldn’t name, making her want to touch every bit of him.

  “Well maybe you shouldn’t.” He dipped his head to brush his lips to her neck.

  Her heart raced in her chest. Little sparks danced over her skin to meet at her center in one hot flame. She knew she should tell him to stop, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she drew him closer.

  He placed a soft kiss below her ear, then ran his hands down the length of her back, pressing her closer and closer, until she could feel every hard part of him. “God! Do you know how long I’ve waited to do this,” he breathed against her ear.

  “Not as long as I’ve wanted you to,” she rasped.

  “How long is that?”

  “Forever.” And this could be my last chance, a voice said, crowding out all sensibility before his mouth covered hers. This is what you want. This is what you’ve always wanted, it whispered from somewhere deep inside. With his tongue plundering her mouth and one hand roving over her breast, her mind went blank—lost in the ecstasy of his heat.

  His body was so hard, his mouth so hot, all she could think of was getting closer—touching him.

  When he reached up under her skirt to yank down her bloomers, urgency turned to rapture in a blink of an eye. There was no time to be shocked with him stroking the slick heat between her thighs. Before she knew what was happening, she was backed up against the wall panting for breath.

  His probing fingers created an urgent need—so swift and so hot, she moaned out loud. Part of her said she shouldn’t let him do what he was doing, while the other part writhed with joy, not wanting him to stop. An exquisite throbbing began to build inside of her. And then to her complete frustration he pulled away. She wanted to scream—pull him back.

  “If you don’t want to do this Christie, just tell me to stop.” His voice turned thick. His midnight eyes burned blue fire. “But you’ve got to tell me now.”

  “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered, for indeed she did not. In that moment, she had a curious desire to know what lovemaking was all about. And if her damaged reputation was going to prevent her from marrying when she returned home, now was the perfect time to find out.

  But that didn’t stop her thighs from quivering as he lowered her down to the fresh pile of hay on the floor. She had a vague impression of him fumbling with his trousers while the heat of his mouth against her lips played havoc with her brain, making her forget where she was—who she was. She barely noticed him nudge her legs apart with his knee. Little rivers of pleasure trickled over her skin, making her blood run hot.

  Until he thrust into her.

  A sharp sweet stab of pain woke her from the dream.

  Her eyes flew open to find Nat staring down at her with what looked like disbelief clouding his eyes. He made to pull away, cursing under his breath.

  She pulled him back. Whatever his misgivings, it was too late. It could not be undone. She’d gone this far, and by God, she wanted to know the rest.

  That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. He covered her mouth with his, starting to move inside of her again. Eventually the pain began to ease. The mysterious urgency started again, followed by sweet tugs of pleasure that grew and grew. She climbed higher and higher with each silky thrust, until just when she thought she could stand it no more, she burst over the top in a dazzling sweet release.

  He must have experienced it as well, since seconds later with one final thrust a primal groan escaped his lips. Delicious contractions of pleasure pulsed on and on, long after he collapsed against her with heavy rasping breaths.

  Christie trembled, savoring the raptures of bliss washing over her.

  She never wanted it to end.

  Merciful heavens!

  Lovemaking was a wondrous thing. She would have never dream
ed it in a million years. All she could think of was doing it again.

  When he raised himself up to look at her, she smiled back in wonder. “Oh my!” Was all she managed to say. If that was making love, she’d be missing a whole lot more than the security of marriage. Damn the Everetts for ruining her life! She’d shoot them herself if she got the opportunity.

  “Oh my, is right, querida.” Nat’s features mirrored her bliss, then his brow furrowed in a slight frown. He rolled away. “Damn! I should never have let this happen.” He pushed himself to his feet to begin buttoning his trousers. “I thought maybe you and Antonio … Damn! I should have known better!”

  “What?” Her and Antonio? Was he mad? What a preposterous notion. Her reputation was destroyed, it was true, but she had no feelings for Antonio.

  Christie’s swallowed hard. A sick feeling slid down to settle in the pit of her belly. After such a glorious awakening it wasn’t the reaction she’d hoped for. How could something so beautiful make him so angry?

  The sight of him methodically buttoning his trousers snapped her around. She scrambled to her feet to pull on her bloomers, then shook out her skirts, smoothing the front with the palms of her hands attempting to collect herself. “I’m glad it happened,” she said. “And I’m especially glad it was you.”

  “Well, it shouldn’t have been me.” His eyes narrowed dangerously on her. “Taking a woman’s virginity is a husband’s right.”

  “What does it matter?” She gave a slight shrug. “I shall never marry.”

  “You say that now, but someday you’ll change your mind.” He shook his head. “What I’d like to know is, how did you do it? All those days alone with Antonio and you’re still a virgin! Hell, most nuns couldn’t achieve that!”

  “He was a riding companion—nothing more.”

  “It didn’t look that way when you danced with him.” Nat lifted his hat from the post, then slapped it against his leg. “Dammit, girl! I’ll never figure you out.”

  If he wasn’t so serious, she might have laughed. “I’m sorry, but you have to admit, it’s rather difficult to slip such a thing into polite conversation. By the way, Mr. Randall,” she mimicked. “Just in case you’re thinking of making love to me, my virtue is intact.”

  He glared at her under a darkening brow. A little muscle worked in his cheek. “Funny, really funny.”

  “Well, you and your conscience can relax,” she said with forced brightness, continuing to dress. “I have no intention of holding you accountable.”

  He didn’t bother to smile back. “That’s not the way it works.”

  “Why?” His superiority rankled. Did he imagine her some clinging, simpering female who needed taking care of? “You needn’t feel responsible for me in the least. I don’t need your protection.”

  He looked as though he might say something, then he rammed his hat on his head with the flat of his hand. “Good.” He turned and strode for the stable door, throwing over his shoulder, “If that’s the way you want it, that’s the way it will be.”

  • • •

  Nat leaned his head back on the rim of the tin tub and closed his eyes. Four days of tracking and the trail had gone cold. A soak at Maggie’s bathhouse was just what the doctor ordered.

  They’d sent the doors swinging on half a dozen saloons, but finding Billy and Cecil in Sacramento was like looking for a bullet in an outhouse at midnight. Several people had seen two men fitting the Everetts’ description ride into town, but no one knew if they’d ridden out.

  The aromatic scent of cigar smoke drifted past Nat’s nose. He dragged his eyes open to spy Holt splash down in the tin tub next to him. His black hat cocked back on his head and a satisfied smile told Nat he’d already paid a visit to one of Maggie’s girls upstairs. “Ohhhh darlin’! This water is hot enough to roast a rump for supper.”

  “I think I’ll have the chicken,” Nat drawled. “Well, what did you find out?”

  Holt took a pull on the bottle of whiskey in his hand. “I found out Maggie’s new girl, Kate, doesn’t waste much time getting down to business and she has real soft edges.”

  “And?”

  “She’s not much for endurance though.” Holt grinned. “I was hoping for three, but before I knew it, she’d fallen right off to sleep.”

  “You were supposed to pump her for information, not ride her to exhaustion.”

  “Well, what do you expect?” Holt grinned, passing the bottle his way. “I haven’t had a woman in damn near a week.”

  Nat took a long swig. It was difficult to keep the exasperation from his voice. “Never mind, I’ll talk to Maggie. If any of the girls have heard or seen anything, she’ll know.”

  Holt laughed. “You’ll have to be real sweet to get her to talk now. She’s mad as hell you came straight to the bathhouse without giving her a pinch and a tickle first.”

  Nat groaned inwardly. It was just as well. He didn’t have time for romancing whores. A few hours of shuteye and they needed to be on their way.

  It seemed he’d acquired a knack for angering women of late. Christie wasn’t speaking to him either. Although he wasn’t surprised after what had happened in the stable.

  Damn! He should have seen the signs. He should have known she was a virgin. But he just hadn’t wanted to believe it. When she hadn’t protested—had eagerly accepted his advances, there was no going back. It was too late for recriminations. The deed was done. If she’d only said stop, when he’d given her the chance.

  He’d hoped to speak to her that night at dinner, but she hadn’t come down. Then Holt had burst through the front door to inform him he’d picked up the Everett’s trail.

  Nat sighed. He should have gone up to speak to her then—before he left, but then he’d remembered the easy way she’d dismissed his regret, how she’d tossed her head and smiled just as bold as you please, as though the loss of her virginity was inevitable. She said she was glad it was him, but he couldn’t help thinking if it hadn’t been, it would have been someone else—Antonio, no doubt. She swore they were just riding companions, but at the fiesta they danced more like lovers.

  He should have felt relief.

  She’d released him of all responsibility by her own words.

  But he didn’t.

  Things just weren’t that goddamned simple.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Leigh?” Christie’s chin dropped as she entered the dining room the following morning.

  Leigh glanced up from his empty breakfast plate and broke a lazy smile. “That’s right, darlin’. It’s me. Good old Leigh has come to take you home.” He patted his lips with a white linen napkin and leaned back in his chair. “That was the best meal I ever ate. I tell you I was near starved to death.”

  Christie dragged her jaw slowly back into place. When Inez informed her she had a guest, he was the last person she expected to see. She’d hurried to the dining room, hoping to find Ellie or Roscoe with some news of Nat. But instead, there sat Leigh, looking immaculate in a fawn-colored frock coat and a white, silk button-down vest. “How did you get here?”

  “I took the stage most of the way, then I rented us a buggy. No need to fret. Your papa is footing the bill. Sit down.” He waved from where he sat at the head of the table. “Let me pour you a cup of tea.”

  Christie moved slowly to the table. But instead of sitting down, she stood, regarding him with her hands braced on the back of a chair. Mention of her father lifted the veil of fantasy she’d been hiding under for the past month, exposing her to the consequences of her kidnapping and the reality she must face. “What do you mean, he’s footing the bill?”

  “To get you home, of course. You didn’t really think he’d let you stay here after what’s happened?”

  “Home?” she whispered vaguely. “I can’t go home. Uncle Will still needs me.” Of course he didn’t really need her anymore. The grief of Aunt Cora’s passing was subsiding and the store was running smoothly. But it was the only excuse she could come up with
at the moment.

  “We’ve been getting along just fine without you,” Leigh said, pouring her a cup of tea from the silver rimmed pot. “Now that the rough patch is over, I expect we’ll do alright on our own. With any luck, I’ll get in a card game or two in Sacramento while we’re waiting for your train.”

  Christie sank down in the chair. It was all happening so fast—too fast. She didn’t want to leave, not without giving Nat a piece of her mind. If only she hadn’t pleaded illness and come down to dinner that night. Now it was too late. He was gone. She’d never be able to say what she needed to.

  How he had done it—turned her words around to make her feel fast and cheap, as though making love to her had meant nothing at all. Any tenderness she’d felt had turned to contempt. For the past three days, all she’d thought of was setting him back on his heels.

  Now she’d never get the chance.

  But what choice did she have? Her father wished her to come home. He’d finally sent the money to end her exile. Still, it angered her that he issued orders from so far away, expecting her to meekly comply.

  Nothing had changed.

  And now it never would.

  She’d be forever under his thumb.

  Her voice rang hollow in her ears. “I’ll need some time to pack—to say goodbye.”

  “Pack what? I’ve got your trunk in the back of the buggy. Just say your goodbyes and we’ll be on our way.”

  • • •

  Christie swallowed hard in an attempt to maintain her composure. But the further the carriage rolled down the lane, the quicker her eyes filled. To avoid Leigh’s embarrassing questions, she kept her gaze trained on the ranch long after it sank out of sight—long after her heart could bear the sight.

  Saying goodbye had been more difficult than she imagined. She’d miss Inez and Heriberto’s wedding. No more lemons picked fresh from the tree. No more flamenco dancing under the stars.

  No more Nat.

  She’d never see Dos Almas again.