A Texan's Luck

by Jodi Thomas

'Truce," he said, watching her as if he still feared she might bolt.

  "Do you think we'll kill each other before your tour of duty is over at guarding me?"

  "We might," he answered honestly. "But I've always wanted to die an interesting death."

  He moved behind her and gently helped her off with her coat. She thought of saying she was sorry for flying off the handle when he'd kissed her so boldly. She knew he hadn't intended to harm her. "Maybe making love is like dancing." She turned to face him. "A gentleman never dances above the lady's level of skill."

  He bowed. "I stand corrected, madam." The need for her still reflected in his gaze, but he'd managed to check his hunger.

  She moved toward the dresser. "Captain, how many women have you been with?"

  "That's not something a man talks about to a woman, and especially not to his wife."

  "But I see it as only fair. You know I've had none."

  "All right, I'll tell you numbers, no more."

  "How many?"

  'Two, and both were paid for." He studied her as if trying to decide how much to tell her. "Since you came to me that day in Cottonwood, none."

  "None, paid or unpaid?"

  "None, period."

  She turned, surprised. "Why? I knew you wanted no part of our marriage. I wouldn't have held you to a vow another made for you."

  "Because I didn't want another woman. I tried a few times to go upstairs with a woman for an hour but couldn't

  talk myself into climbing the steps. None of them looked like you ... smelled like you ... were you. You came into my office that day and changed the way I saw women."

  She poured water in the basin. "I'll clean that dressing now."

  When Lacy turned, he'd sat at the table without arguing. He seemed relaxed once more, but she knew he still wanted her. Maybe in the doctoring, they'd find a common ground to stand on once more.

  As she worked, he moved his finger along the inch of space between her camisole and pantaloons. His touch brushed light, teasing, and she was glad something took his mind away from the discomfort she caused in pulling the bloody bandage from his arm.

  She cleaned the wound, noticing his fingers had gently tugged her drawers down an inch until they hung lower on her hip.

  When she made no comment, he unbuttoned the last button of her camisole so that his hand could slide along the skin exposed at her waist.

  "You don't mind this?" He moved his hand over her flesh.

  "No," she answered, closing her eyes and letting the pure pleasure of his touch wash over her.

  "Because I'm your husband?"

  "Because it feels good to have you touch me like this," she answered.

  "Me, or would any man do?" He watched her as if testing the waters.

  "Well, the doctor's too thin, the ranger's too dirty, and the sheriff's too old. I guess that only leaves my husband. You."

  He moved his hand over her skin like a blind man memorizing details. When his fingers brushed the thin scar just below her belly button, he stopped. "What's this?"

  "It's nothing." She tied the clean bandage in place on his arm.

  His hand crossed back over the tiny scar. "How'd you get it?"

  Lacy didn't answer.

  He waited, crossing back and forth over her flesh.

  She tried to step away, but he held her with a hand at her back.

  'Tell me, Lacy." Worry crossed his face, but the words sounded more like an order than a request.

  She squared her shoulders. "Your belt buckle cut into me that day in Cottonwood."

  She couldn't have shocked him more if she'd slapped him.

  CHAPTER 26

  Walker watched Lacy pick up her petticoats and fold them into a box. She moved about the room that had suddenly become small and confining to Walker's way of thinking. The whole fort wouldn't provide enough space between them right now with the way he felt about her.

  He studied his wife as she brushed her hair out, trying her best to act as if nothing had happened between them. They hadn't said a word to each other since she'd told him about her scar. He didn't know what to say, and she seemed to think she'd said too much. Silence stretched between, endless and void.

  He tried to remember the details of those few minutes they'd been together in Cottonwood. She'd looked wrinkled and dusty when she entered his office, like she'd spent days traveling. And then, once she informed him who she was, she had insisted she would not leave until they were man and wife.

  He thought that she kidded, played a game with him. Walker called her bluff. Only when she removed her clothes, he didn't stop. He wasn't proud of what he'd done. The fact that she'd wanted it, even demanded it, didn't make his actions he any easier on his conscience.

  He hadn't raped her. They hadn't made love. He didn't know what to call the mating, but one thing for sure, what they'd done was nothing like what he wanted to do now. He wanted to make love to her, not just to satisfy a raging hunger within him, but to satisfy her. He wanted a mating of more than just bodies. He ached to be so close to her that he no longer knew where he ended and she began.

  Leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his legs, he lowered his head into his hands. Part of him wished he'd never seen her before. If she had never come to Cottonwood that day ... if he hadn't been forced to return to protect her... would he know any peace now? Or would he be even more lost than he felt?

  Part of him knew he'd see her every day and night he had left of this earth whether they were together or not. And it was a sure bet they wouldn't be within a hundred miles of one another in two weeks. He'd made her a promise to leave, and judging from the count on her notebook, she planned to make sure he kept his word. Not that he would ever break it, but she didn't know. She didn't trust him enough not to fear him.

  He knew forever could never work between them. She hated the fort, and he knew no other home. She was crazy about that little nothing town, and he could hardly breathe there. They spent more time yelling than they did talking since he'd been forced to come back to her. Nothing matched about them; even their sleeping patterns were different. He rose early, she slept in. If they were ever together for a time, they'd miss half the days watching each other sleep. They didn't fit together dancing, she loved animals while he didn't want to even be on a first-name basis with cats.

  Walker stood, realized he had nowhere to go, and sat back down. This was insane listing all the ways they didn't

  go together. It only reminded him of how they did match.

  He closed his eyes trying to forget how good she felt in his arms, how her lips tasted, how much he wanted her.

  Nothing changed the fact that they were married, or that they'd started off all wrong. He thought they were mending, getting used to one another. He knew she was attracted to him, or at least she had been before he frightened her. He'd messed everything up tonight, and he wasn't sure how to make it right between them again.

  If he wanted to start over, he had to be honest. He had to tell her who he was. Who he really was. Walker figured it was the only way. If she were going to pull away from him, she might as well do it for real reasons and not something she feared might be true.

  "Lacy, we need to talk. There's something you've a right to know." He didn't lift his head. He didn't want to see her face when she found out what her husband did for a living. He took a breath and started at the beginning, "I left Cedar Point when I was seventeen because I thought I was in love with Samantha and found out she'd only been playing with me while she planned to run away with my brother. After they'd gone and I swore I'd never tell another woman I loved her, I discovered Emory had taken all our father's savings he kept locked away in the bottom drawer of his desk."

  He expected Lacy to ask a question, but she sat silent as he continued, "I was putting money of my own back when my father caught me in his office. He thought I was taking it. We had a fight, and I left. Later, he figured out the truth and promised he'd make it up to me, but by then I was in the army.<
br />
  "I'd always been the younger son, the one who was never good enough. I don't really blame the old man. Emory was the child born in love. I was the son of a marriage of convenience, nothing more."

  He watched her eyes, seeing emotions floating liquid and raw in their depths. "So when I enlisted, I taught myself how to be the perfect soldier after the army taught me how to kill a man without a weapon. I thought if I could make everything perfect when I wasn't on a mission, no one would see the ugliness in what I did in the name of duty."

  He forced himself to face her. She sat in front of the fire with her brush in her hand, but she'd paused, listening.

  "When I joined the army, I really didn't care much if I lived or died. They asked if I wanted to go through a training they gave very few men. Within a year I could scout with the best Comanche and had learned to move so silently I could walk up behind a man without him knowing it until he felt the blood drip from the slash I'd made across his throat."

  Lacy's eyes widened, and he knew he'd go into no more detail about his talent.

  "Most of the time I go about the duties of a soldier, but I have a very valuable skill that the army needs to make use of once in a while. When I return to the forts, I always make sure everything I do, everything I wear, everything I say, is perfect. I even had another captain's wife teach me to dance once. All so none of what I did would show." He prayed she'd understand. "Even though what I do is necessary, I don't want any part of it lingering on me."

  "So," Lacy whispered, "that's why you stomp around me. You're making sure I know where you are."

  "I never want someone whispering about me as if I'm not like a regular soldier, as though they're afraid of me or afraid of what I might do."

  "They respect- you," she said. "I can hear it when they say your name."

  He tried to smile, but he knew she'd see through him. "Somewhere in all the training, I've forgotten how to be gentle. I don't know how to touch you like you want to be touched. Like you deserve to be touched."

  Looking away from her, he couldn't bear to see the pain he knew would be in her face. She deserved a man who could love her like he'd never be able to. "This time, I can't fight for what I want... because what I want is you."

  He thought he'd keep her safe this month, then give her the print shop and a divorce if she wanted. Somehow in his mind he'd decided that seemed fair. But now he knew her and she deserved so much more than he had to give. Living in such close quarters, being together all the time, she'd seen through his armor, and she'd been afraid. He'd never meant that to happen. He'd made her feel inadequate when all along it had been him, not her, who didn't know how to love.

  He felt her fingers touch his hair, and he turned. She'd moved to his side silently, leaning so close he could feel the warmth of her even though they weren't touching. "I can't hurt you again," he whispered.

  "You didn't hurt me, the buckle on your trousers did. I'm the one who refused to leave that day in Cottonwood. You had no choice. We were racing the clock."

  "But tonight, you pulled away."

  "I know. I was afraid you'd go too fast." A tear bubbled from her eye and slid down her cheek. "Even though it's been five years since that night Zeb Whitaker grabbed me, I still have nightmares about it sometimes. I knew it was you holding me earlier, but for a second that fear returned. That sickening feeling of being trapped. It wasn't your fault; there's something wrong inside of me."

  He grinned. It seemed they were both laying fears and nightmares on the table, leaving them both unarmed and vulnerable.

  "Nightmares aren't anyone's fault. We could fight them together, if you're willing. The question is, do you want me, or are you afraid of me?"

  Her fingers moved into his hair, brushing it back in long, lazy strokes. "You're my husband. You're the only man I've ever wanted. I'm more afraid of waking without you than sleeping with you."

  If he lived to be a million, he'd never understand this woman. She smiled at him, and there was nothing innocent in the look she gave him.

  "It's cold outside." She moved closer. "Would you mind terribly if I got my experience with men in this quarters? In less than two weeks when you leave, I'd like to have enough memories to last me the rest of my life."

  She lowered her mouth to his and kissed him gently. "I want to be your wife tonight. Your real wife."

  "My only wife," he said against her mouth as the kiss deepened.

  When she stepped back, he let her go, knowing she was testing him. He leaned and kissed the scar, wishing that he could remove it.

  She cupped her hands around his face and raised his mouth to hers once more. This time her body swayed against him as they kissed.

  For a long while he gripped the chair, afraid to hold her as she continued to torture him with her nearness. When he could stand it no longer, he swung his arm behind her knees and lifted her up against him as he stood.

  She pulled from his kiss and laughed. "I'll have your clothes off this time, Captain."

  He placed her atop the covers and pulled off his socks and trousers.

  "All of them," she demanded.

  He tried not to let her see how embarrassing it was stripping completely in front of her. When he faced her, she surprised him by studying him boldly. There was no doubt she liked what she saw.

  "And yours?" he asked.

  "No." She shook her head. "I'll not take them off. If you want my underthings removed, you'll have to take them off yourself."

  When he leaned toward her, she whispered, "Only slowly, Captain, gently. One kiss at a time."

  He folded down beside her and began at her shoulder, moving the material an inch at a time as he removed her camisole. He was careful not to touch her skin except with his lips as his fingers worked the material away.

  When her top slipped away, he brushed his hands over her, loving how she moved, following his light touch. She closed her eyes and stretched as if she'd been waiting for him forever.

  With each stroke along her body, he swept her silk garment down from her waist. The fabric finally slipped beneath her hips, and he pulled away the last material separating them.

  Then he slid beside her, touching flesh to flesh all along their bodies. He lay still for a while, waiting to see if she'd yet bolt, but her skin warmed against his. Even the slight movement as she breathed drove him mad.

  His control slipped, and he fought to concentrate on her. A step at a time, he awakened each part of her, kissing, touching, worshiping. The need to pull her against him made his muscles ache, but he knew if he planned to love her this night, she'd have to be the one who came to him. And she'd come with nothing between them, not even an old nightmare.

  At times she seemed shy, but never reluctant She wanted his touch. Even demanded it. Her hunger pleased him greatly.

  When he finally moved above her, she was ready for more and accepted him willingly.

  He paused, pushing the hair away from her face and staring into her eyes. He saw fire and passion mirrored there. A thousand thoughts came to mind, words he could say, words he needed to hear, but somehow in the depth of her brown eyes he knew all he needed to know. She wanted him, needed him.

  Slowly, he began to move within her, taking her with him into desire's fire. He'd thought he'd known passion before, but now he knew he was as naive as she was. Nothing compared to the fire burning inside him. A sweet, all-consuming hunger without loneliness, as they moved into this mating, this loving, together.

  She moaned and lifted to meet him, but he didn't hurry their journey. If they were to have a few short da

  ys together, he'd give her what she asked for, enough memories to last a lifetime.

  Again and again, he pulled away, driving her mad with need. He took his time tasting her body, running his hands over every curve, feeling the warmth of her waiting for him.

  Finally, when she cried his name, he pushed deep inside her and heard her cry out in pleasure. They were lost in passion's fire for a while, then float
ed gently down, wrapped in one another's arms.

  CHAPTER 27

  Deep in the night, Lacy felt Walker moving his hands through her hair. He brushed it over her shoulder and kissed the back of her neck. His fingers circled around, becoming entrapped in her curls.

  "What are you doing?" she mumbled, half asleep as she stretched beside him. Their bodies had warmed against one another, and she couldn't believe how quickly she'd become accustomed to the feel of him beside her. She loved pushing sofdy into the wall of muscle and hearing him groan as if her light touch tortured him all the way to his soul.

  "I found a spot on you I must have missed." He ran his tongue over her shoulder, nibbled along the side of her throat. "And you know I can't be less than complete in my duty."

  Lacy rolled over, bumping her breast against his arm as she moved. "No, I remember; you've already kissed that spot." She giggled as his mouth moved up her throat and worked its way slowly across her cheek.

  "Oh, sorry," he answered as he continued tasting. "Now

  I'll have to give all the other parts equal attention, since I've accidentally done this area twice." His chin slid between her breasts, tickling her skin with his unshaven jaw as he dove beneath the covers.

  "Captain?"

  He made a sound that told her he listened, even though his mouth was now fully occupied.

  "I'd like to touch you."

  Walker lifted his head. "What?"

  "I'd like to touch you, if you don't mind."

  "Where?"

  Lacy laughed. "Everywhere."

  He moved back to study her face.

  The fire was too low to see him well, but she knew he raised one eyebrow and decided to act before he had time to think of a reason to refuse her request. "Lie back on your back." She pushed him in encouragement. "Just relax." She laughed. "And let me have my way with you."

  He reluctantly followed her request. '1 don't know about this. My body's not soft like yours. I wouldn't think you'll get much pleasure from touching me. I've been stitched up so many times I look a little like one of your quilts."

  She rose above him and paid no mind to his protests. "Now, put your hands down at your sides and keep them there." She shoved his shoulders down as if she believed she had enough strength to keep them in place. "There will be no touching of me until I'm finished."