Wilda's Outlaw

by Velda Brotherton

  Bad enough she had indulged in his kisses, became a wanton woman who allowed herself to enjoy such sinful pleasures as his touch. Only in her fantasies could she behave exactly as she wished without consequences. And in that place she had invented, she wished to have him.

  His green eyes darkened, smoldered. Then without shifting his gaze from her, he unfastened the top button of his shirt.

  Mesmerized, she watched as he took off the shirt, then worked the front of his pants open, revealing coils of dark hair. When he dropped them, she gasped in wonder. He wore no underdrawers, and his masculinity revealed a definite urgency that took her breath away. Pants around the tops of his boots, he stood there with a goofy look on his face until she couldn’t help herself, she burst out laughing.

  He glanced down, then back at her. The battle he fought within himself painted his features with an expression of desire.

  Her laughter trailed away, and she slowly lowered her arms to reveal rosy nipples puckered by the cold. Fascinated by her own desire, she reached toward him. This was not real, it couldn’t be. She watched two fantasy figures as if from a distance, commanded their movements like she would in a daydream.

  “Why don’t you come in and join me? You look as if you could use a bath.” The unbidden words fell from her mouth and her heart kicked at her ribs painfully. But she didn’t take them back, instead, caught his gaze and held it, for a very long space of time. Then she smiled. “Are you coming in with your boots on?”

  He sat down on his bare behind and removed his boots and pants, then lowered himself into the pool, not once taking his smoldering gaze off her.

  What was she doing? Standing naked in front of an equally naked man like some slattern, a hussy, practically inviting him to take her? Surely he would, and gladly. Then what would become of her? No man wanted a woman who would give herself so willingly. She would be doomed. Even this man certainly would not look back, and he’d already made it clear he would not take her with him. Trailing a finger over one tingling breast, she sighed with desire. She did not care. All that mattered was this man who wanted her and satisfying the burning desire in her loins.

  With amazement, as if removed from the scene entirely, she watched him reach out, saw her own hand close around his trembling fingers and guide them to her breast. Leaned into his touch with a moan. And then her eyes closed and she saw no more, could only experience the ecstasy of his caress, his mouth moving over her body, inflaming her flesh. His sex pressed against her. A hungry, fevered touch, gentle embrace, exquisite agony of desire, oh, so near fulfillment. Like flames licking in exquisite pain.

  All so strange, so strange and wonderful.

  “Dear God,” he whispered as if he worshiped her.

  Her curves, the soft skin and firm breasts, her breath in his ear, against his throat. Teeth, lips, tongue, his, hers, coming together. He lapped beads of moisture from her satiny flesh, tasted the depths of her, groaned when his tumescence nudged urgently at the sweet, smooth skin of her belly.

  How long, how long, since he’d had a woman? Or even wanted one, for that matter. Foolish, stupid question. He’d never had a woman like this one. Nor a feeling like this, ever. She wanted him, then she didn’t, pulling back, inching forward, as if she couldn’t make up her mind. All the more tantalizing to the heat of his passion. The cold of the water had no effect on his iron hardness, for she was searing heat and flaming color, the high scream of wanton lust, the silent blue of tranquility, the red of her hair a raging fire that consumed them.

  He had no idea, none at all, that such a craving as this existed. Had known only lust, and it did not compare to this yearning, this blissful longing, this damned itch that would not be scratched into submission.

  “Wilda, please,” he begged, all pride gone. “Please.”

  She touched him down there, reluctant fingertips barely brushing, kindling the urge into an explosion of life.

  “Calder? Calder?” A wide-eyed, deep throated plea of wonder, desire.

  “Sit, there.” He could hardly speak, moved her with gentle persuasion toward the grassy bank, where she sat in the sweet, green grass, long shapely legs dangling in the pool. He slipped between them, sank into the heat of her throbbing flesh. Eased forward until they molded one to the other.

  Arms coiled about his neck, head arched back, she wiggled her hips forward until he pounded at the barred gates.

  Oh, God how good this felt, and how desperately he wanted her. Out of the depths of his soul, the resentful black anger grew like a thundercloud. An unleashed, roaring passion fought back, but he could not stop it. It festered, fed on memories of death and destruction. He could not take something so good, so beautiful and ruin it. If he loved her, if they loved each other, that left only betrayal. Hers probably, his for certain. He would not do it to her. Not this lovely Wilda. He could not.

  He sucked in a deep breath, opened his eyes. She waited, trusting and innocent, and him about to take advantage of that trust. That sweet innocence. A virgin waiting to be torn and battered and bruised. He must be crazy to resist.

  He could have her now. This minute.

  Pain grew in his groin, the urgency to do it and be done. Take her. What did it matter? She was just another woman, meant for this act men performed with no regret. Go ahead, relieve the pressure, the throbbing, the ache that hammered at his heart and soul with each heartbeat.

  With a mighty groan he pulled away, an inch, two, out of the warm sweet clasp of her womanhood. Cried out with anguish, with unfulfilled need. Her eyes flew open, she eased toward him. Coaxed him with tongue and fingers. But he could not, would not ruin her life and move on as if he didn’t care. Never.

  Backpedaling, he lurched away, out of the reach of her seductive flesh, stumbled and went down. When he came up, swiping wet hair from his eyes, she stood waist deep in the pool, gazing at him with tear-drenched eyes.

  “What is it? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, no. Never. It was me. I almost did.”

  “But, I thought we were…I mean, I wanted you too.”

  A welcome anger drove out the passion, shriveled his heart and his masculinity. Rightly so. He had no need for this, and neither did she. This proper English lady no man had ever touched. Give her back to the Lord of the manor, let him break through that maidenhood, make her his wife. Calder Raines would never take a wife, he had other more important things to do.

  Like getting shot down in a gunfight somewhere. Damn fool. But it was too late to change, to look back.

  How to tell her that? Hurt her easy or hurt her hard.

  “Sorry I got carried away,” he said in as offhanded a way as he could manage. “You know how men are? I’ve no intention of taking a woman like you. Too soft, too regal.” He hardened the words, spat them at her.

  Anger flared in her eyes, but she appeared at a loss for words. A gesture, open hand turned upward and moving toward him, was all she could manage.

  He shook his head, wet hair swinging. “You tempted me, that’s all. Men don’t take to that, can’t always control ourselves when we see a naked woman. I reckon you just didn’t know that. You’d best be more careful. Maybe that’s why you got that.” He gestured toward the injured hip. “Now, you ought to put on your clothes before Baron comes back. He might not be so kind.”

  “Kind? I did not realize you were being kind.” A sob caught in her throat, but when she lifted her face her blue eyes had iced over, like she’d managed to control whatever was about to erupt. “I apologize for my behavior. It will not happen again.”

  He turned his back on her fury, climbed out and dragged on his pants, tucking himself inside so he could button them up. Gathering his shirt and boots, he strode away before anything worse could happen. If he had his way, he’d leave her here, him and Baron ride off and never come back. But Baron was set on dragging her along to that bank, and he saw no way short of shooting the man to make him change his mind. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to rob that damned b
ank. That’s what he did, after all, wasn’t it? Take what wasn’t his? And so, now was he thinking of the money in the bank, or this luscious woman? It was simply that he didn’t want her there with them. There must be another solution, there had to be.

  And then he realized there was. Surprised that he hadn’t seen it before, he strode back to the shack. He’d take care of everything tonight while Baron slept, and he’d never know until it was too late.

  All he had to do was truss her up and take her back to the Englishman’s castle, dump her at the front door and ride away. If there were flaws in his thinking, he couldn’t see any, but then he could be blinded.

  ****

  Muttering under her breath, Wilda wiggled her way into the dress Rachel had given her, all but dried by the fierce hot wind. She took the time to sit beside the pool of water and put her shoes on, but discarded what was left of the tattered stockings. Calder had reduced her to this half-naked state, then accused her of tempting him. Then teased her into thinking he would actually accept what she offered. How could he just walk away like that? Weren’t men supposed to be animals when aroused? And the good Lord knew he was aroused. She’d never seen such a thing. The idea of where he would have put that weapon of his set her to trembling. But he’d controlled himself quite well. So much for the dire warnings of the sisters at St. Ann’s.

  She sat on the ground musing, one shoe on and the other in her hand. Remembered coming upon her parents at play, her lovely mother, shoes and stockings off, skirt lifted to expose shapely legs, as she ran through the green grass of early spring. Wilda’s father chased behind her, their shouts of joy ringing across the meadow.

  Her Irish mother, steeped in Catholicism from the day of her birth, had summoned the courage to put aside the stern warnings of her parents and marry her Anglican lover. Ran off with him to a foreign land never to see her beloved Ireland again. How difficult it must have been, only made a bit easier by her sister going along, doing the same with the man she loved. Wilda’s father’s brother.

  Rebellion ran in her blood, and that would explain what she had done today with Calder Raines. The knowledge gave her little satisfaction, for he had not reciprocated. If he had, she would no longer be a virgin. He had, instead, grown very angry, at both himself and her. What dark secrets ran deep in his soul, she could not guess, but he was a man bound for perdition. By his actions he had probably saved her, but she couldn’t help being very angry with him, and terribly disappointed that her fantasy had not reached fruition. She’d probably never have another chance like that.

  By the time she arrived at the shack, her mind was made up. After dark, when both men were asleep, she would take Gabe and ride away. She had no idea where she would go, or what Calder would do when he found she’d stolen his horse, but it could not be helped. She could not remain here any longer. Surely he would never let any harm come to Rachel from that evil Baron. This she knew.

  She had watched the men saddle their animals and thought she could do it. Had to do it, for there was no other way.

  All evening she remained out of the way of the two men, who spent their time arguing over the bank robbery. They would go in the morning, and she would ride with them, that much she understood. Except that she would not be there come morning.

  Once they all settled down for the night, she felt a certain relief. That didn’t stop her heart from pounding when she rose silently and crept out the door. She had kept her shoes on, turning the bottom of the bedding up over her legs so they wouldn’t notice. Taking the steps cautiously, she moved through the dark yard, night vision revealing the two animals in the makeshift corral against the bluff. Both saddles hung over the fence. She identified Calder’s and dragged it off. Staggered under the weight, got her footing and saw too late she should have brought the horse out of the corral first. Now she had her hands full and couldn’t do so. She set the saddle on the ground and crawled through the fence to retrieve Gabe.

  ****

  After following Wilda when she crept from the darkened shack, Calder hung back to see what she was up to.

  What the hell was she up to? His saddle…his horse. The little thief, she was stealing his horse. But why and where was she going? All he could conclude was that she intended to ride to the manor and spill everything, including his plans to rob the bank.

  He clenched both fists. Baron had been right all along. Damn her.

  After one moment when he almost revealed himself to challenge her, he thought better of it. Might be best to watch what she did next. He could always stop her. Gabe was having none of the woman, and snorted and pranced about out of her reach. He loved to tease, and was having himself a good old time with this greenhorn. He’d watch her, ears flicking, tail twitching until she almost got a hand on him, then he’d move away, study her some more.

  “Horse, stand still.” She leaped forward, both hands reaching for his mane. She missed, went to her knees with a cry, then covered her mouth and looked all around. Gabe blew through his lips and did a little dance.

  Calder let the game go on a while longer, until Baron’s horse got in on it and he was afraid the noise would awaken his sleeping friend. He moved silently across the yard and leaned on the top rail of the fence. Intent on limping about after Gabe, she failed to see him.

  “Might help if you had his bridle, or maybe you could try roping him.”

  She let out a squawk and immediately silenced it with one hand.

  He climbed into the corral, took her arm and guided her away from the two rambunctious horses. “Keep this up you’re liable to get stomped on. Ole Gabe there’ll only take so much tomfoolery, and that stallion of Baron’s ain’t up for any at all. Why don’t you tell me just what you were doing?”

  “Leaving,” she said, glanced down. “Ewww, I stepped in some manure.”

  “You mean horseshit?”

  “I guess I do mean horseshit,” she retorted, sticking that stubborn chin out at him.

  The word did not sit easily on her tongue and she spat it out as if it tasted as bad as the thing itself. Obviously, she was determined to stand up to him.

  Being near her killed the earlier anger. It was all he could do to keep from laughing. “Leaving for where? And how? Don’t tell me you were going to steal my horse. And go where?” He took her arm firmly, then turned loose when she winced.

  “Not steal…exactly. I would’ve sent him back to you.”

  “Sent him back? Packaged him up like a letter and put him on a stage?”

  “Well, not exactly.”

  “They hang horse thieves in Kansas.”

  She gulped audibly. “Hang? You mean like they hang people who rob banks? That sort of hang?”

  She had him there, he supposed, but he was disappointed that Baron had been right about her intentions. “So you were going to turn me in, me and Baron?” Even saying the words of betrayal hurt and he cleared his throat. Damn it all, anyway. How did things get to such a pass? He should’ve run from her as fast as he could right at the beginning.

  “No, never. I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was waiting for you to go to sleep.”

  “Why? So you could take off more of my clothes? I don’t have much left.”

  “No, not so I could take off more of your clothes. This whole thing has gone too far, way too far. It’s time you went back home where you belong.”

  Silence greeted his statement, and he wished he could make out her features better. Shadows masked them, but he could see a gleam in her eyes.

  “I don’t have a home, and you blamed well know it. Damn you, how can you be so nice and then so mean? I don’t understand you.”

  “Well, there you are. You’ve finally become a woman of the west. Cussing, and all.”

  “What do you expect? I can’t get my message across any other way. I will not go back to Fairhaven. That’s not where I was going. I’d never turn you in. Never. You’ll have to tie me up and drag me.”

  “That’s precisely what
I’m fixing to do, because I ain’t letting you help rob that bank and I ain’t letting that half-crazed partner of mine hurt you. You can turn me in if you want, it’s all I can see to do. Why did I ever come when you beckoned me? My life’s been nothing but trouble ever since.”

  “How’s this for trouble?” Without further warning, she came up off the ground, literally crawled his frame and punched him right in the nose.

  An awkward punch, it was, but it hurt like hell and brought tears to his eyes. He staggered backward a step or two.

  She howled, cradled her fist and took off in a crazy stiff-legged run, him right on her heels, throbbing nose cupped in one hand. If Baron didn’t wake up now, it would be a danged miracle.

  He chased her half a mile or more before bringing her down, right in the middle of the tall red prairie grasses. Out there in the dark, stars winking in a black sky, nothing between them and the horizon but more grass, and he had a wildcat in his arms. A wildcat who hissed, bit and scratched, then went all soft and clingy.

  Against his chest her heart pounded, her breath came hot and fast at his throat, her magnificent hair like a flaming silken curtain over them both. His arms enclosed her and she fit against him like they’d been cut from the same cloth in some distant past and only now found their way back to each other. Where they each belonged.

  “Dear God in Heaven,” he whispered, breathing the words into the heat of her.

  “I am thinking the very same thing,” she said, and found his mouth with hers.

  Tears trickled from under his lids, left slow warm trails to where their lips met. He hadn’t cried since learning his mother had died ten years ago. That was from a heart wrenching grief. This was gratitude, awe, delight. Happiness.

  He tested the word, kissed her some more. Her arms tightened about his neck and she slipped one knee between his legs. Lying there in the grass that swished in the wind, they held on to each other. Hard to tell which one clung the tightest. He figured he did, but she had one hell of a hold on him.