Morgan's Woman

by Judith E. French

  "This is a hell of a time to discover you like it."

  "Are you complaining?"

  "Hell, no." He sighed and lifted her hand to his lips. Gently, he kissed her palm and the place at her wrists where her veins showed blue. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?"

  She averted her eyes. "Don't," she begged him. "Don't say what you don't mean. I know what I am. I'm too big and too tall to-"

  "Hush…" He covered her mouth with a forefinger. "You've skin like milk where the sun hasn't dusted you with freckles. You've breasts to drive a man to drink, and hips meant to give pleasure."

  "My chin is too firm," she replied. "And my mouth-"

  "Your mouth is perfect for kissing." To prove his point, he kissed her love-swollen lips. "If you were a lady of fortune, you'd be rich in-"

  "But I'm not, Ash," she said, suddenly sounding serious. "I'm a backsliding Methodist, and what we've done will have me on my knees praying for forgiveness, if I live long enough."

  He pushed back and studied her rosy cheeks and troubled eyes. "You think what we've done is a sin?"

  "Isn't it?"

  "Who are we hurting? My wife is dead, and so is your husband. Considering the circumstances, I'd say we've not strayed so far from the path of righteousness."

  "Don't make a joke of this," she said. "What we did- what I did, I chose to do. All my life I've tried to follow the teachings of the church. I've fed the poor, and I've tended the sick. Until I came to Colorado, I never stole so much as an apple from someone else's orchard. Now I'm a horse thief and a murderer."

  He tensed. "You admit killing Sam Steele?"

  "No! Not him," she insisted. "But I did kill an Indian, maybe two. Three if you count the one Dancer stomped on. And now I've just slept with a man not my husband."

  He chuckled. "Since the Cheyenne were trying to murder you, I hardly think that counts against you with the Man above."

  "But I did sleep with…"

  "Honey, we weren't doing much sleeping. Are you sorry?"

  She shook her head. "No, I'm not. If I burn in hell for what-"

  He silenced her with a kiss. "If taking comfort from each other is a sin, it must be a small one."

  "Comfort?" she asked in a small voice. "Was that what it was for you?"

  He stroked her hair and raised a lock of it to brush his lips. "Red as a mountain sunset," he murmured. "You're a hard one, Tamsin. You back a man against a rock and give him no place to run."

  "It was more than comfort to me."

  "And me," he grated. "I still don't trust you as far as I could throw you, but…"

  "But?"

  He chuckled. "But you've made me break my rule about keeping business and personal feeling separate."

  "You don't think I'm a soiled dove?"

  "Far from it, woman. You couldn't have given me a more precious gift. Under the circumstances, I think even your God would understand."

  "He's yours, too," she replied.

  "There's small sin and then there's real sin, Tamsin. I think I've seen enough of the bad kind to know the difference."

  She exhaled softly. "I hope so."

  He pulled her closer, cradling her in his arms.

  "Be careful of your wound," she reminded him.

  He laughed softly. "Now you think of it?"

  She pushed her tangled skirts down over her legs and sat up. "Will we get out of these mountains alive?"

  He ran a hand through his damp hair. "I expect to give it my best effort."

  "And you're dead set on turning me in to the sheriff at Sweetwater?"

  "Afraid so, darlin'."

  His feelings for Tamsin were hard to sort out, as complicated as she was. On the one hand, he felt a duty to do what he was being paid for, to take her in. On the other, he felt responsible for her.

  He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the pillow. Part of him wanted to believe in her innocence. And another part wanted only to repeat what they'd just done.

  "Ash."

  "What?"

  "Could you just hold me?"

  "Sure, darlin'."

  "I like the way it feels."

  "Me, too."

  "I feel safer with your arms around me."

  "Good."

  "And one more thing," she whispered.

  "Yes?"

  "Will you try to believe me when I tell you that I haven't done anything wrong… that I didn't kill Sam Steele?"

  "I'll try," he answered, hoping he hadn't promised more than a reasonable man could give.

  Ash lay awake listening to the rain as Tamsin dozed in his arms. The fire had burned down to coals on the hearth and it was dark in the cabin, but he could see lightning flashes through the cracks in the shutter and hear the rumble of thunder moving in from the west.

  His side ached where the bullet had plowed along it, but making love to Tamsin had soothed the deep hurt that throbbed in his soul.

  He'd never thought to become involved with a woman like Tamsin. Sleeping with one of his suspects hadn't been in his plan.

  Not that he had a real plan. His dreams had died with the cooling ashes of the cabin he'd built for Becky. He'd done what he thought he did best-hunt down outlaws and turn them over to the law. That didn't require a long-range course of action. He'd lived day by day, kept sharp by the knowledge that stupidity or a slow gun hand would see him dead before he caught up with Jack Cannon and his remaining brother, Boone.

  Once he'd seen justice done, he meant to give up bounty hunting and look for some decent woman and a life that didn't mean looking over his shoulder or listening for the click of a gun hammer in the night.

  But he hadn't kept his promise to Becky yet. He still had unfinished business with the Cannons. This was the wrong time and the wrong woman. There were too many complications. It was better if he didn't ponder on it too much… if he took what Tamsin offered and was satisfied with tonight.

  She whimpered in her sleep and stirred restlessly as a loud growl of thunder rolled down from the mountain peak. Instantly, Ash felt a warm rush of emotion. Wrong time, wrong place, he thought wryly, but she did feel good next to him.

  He tightened his embrace and gently kissed the crown of her head. Her hair bore a faint scent of flowers. He wondered how that was possible.

  Old memories crowded around him in the darkness as the rain locked them in a private world. He found himself thinking about Becky, but oddly, he had trouble picturing her face. He'd been little more than a boy, years ago, when he'd first laid eyes on her and had fallen hard. Life had changed him since then.

  Funny how a man could be attracted to two such different women. They were as different as a rose and a wildflower. Delicate, sweet Becky had been his yellow rose, blooming so long as she was carefully tended and kept safe inside a garden fence. Tamsin was the fireweed, strong and self-sufficient, as beautiful as any cultivated flower and too tough for even a forest fire to destroy.

  He'd never forget Becky. She'd always have a special place in his heart, but that part of his life was over. Common sense told him that little Becky wouldn't have been happy with the man he was now.

  "Fireweed," he whispered under his breath. Somehow, he had the strangest notion to find a cluster of fireweed and fill Tamsin's arms with it.

  Chapter 16

  Ash eased out of the low bed, picked up his rifle, wrapped himself in a length of oilcloth, and ventured into the night to relieve himself. Once in the downpour, he circled the cabin looking for any sign of visitors. He didn't see a living thing, hadn't expected to, but old habits died hard.

  He was sure that they'd left the Cheyenne behind, but not so certain about Cannon. He had an uneasy gnawing in his gut that the outlaw wasn't too far off. He'd chased Jack for so many years that it seemed as though he'd developed a sixth sense regarding his whereabouts.

  He hoped Tamsin would be the key to catching Cannon, but he was torn between his feelings for her and his doubts about her innocence.

  Devi
l take him, he didn't believe Tamsin had murdered Sam Steele in cold blood, but if she killed that Cheyenne, she might have shot the rancher. And regardless of his doubts, he still had to take her in.

  He'd chased down enough suspects to know that a man's past, or a woman's, had a way of catching up with them. Tamsin would never find happiness if she couldn't clear her name. California wasn't far enough to run. Sooner or later, a lawman or another bounty hunter would see her face and remember an old wanted poster.

  Rather than try to arrest her, he might shoot her down like a rabid dog.

  Trouble was, Tamsin wouldn't understand why his way was the only way. His daddy wasn't an educated man, but he was smart. He'd always said that a person couldn't twist and turn the law to suit themselves. Once a man started down that road, he was apt to lose sight of right and wrong.

  It would be a hell of a lot easier if he hadn't been born Big Jim Morgan's boy, but it was too late to change that now. His father's sense of right was part of him, and he had to follow that trail whether it was easy or not.

  Drenched by the icy rain, Ash dashed back to the cabin. He opened the heavy door to see Tamsin sitting up in bed with a worried expression on her face. "It's the middle of the night," he said, throwing off the oilcloth and shaking himself like a wet dog. "Go back to sleep."

  Her eyes were large and frightened. "I woke up and you were gone."

  "Just outside."

  Damned if she wasn't a fine sight, wearing nothing but a blanket. Her soft Tennessee accent poured over him like warm honey, making him forget the damp chill. If she kept staring at him like that, she'd have him on top of her, making promises he couldn't keep.

  "Nature called," he said gruffly, trying to force down the rising ache that rose to tempt him from reason.

  What had happened between them was physical, good sex between two lonely people, nothing more.

  The argument didn't sit right, and he tried to justify the notion as he threw his makeshift cloak over a chair and went to the hearth to dry off. By the time he'd built up the fire so that the bigger sections of log caught, she was standing beside him, her naked body wrapped in a blanket.

  "I was afraid you'd left me," she said, draping another blanket over his shoulders.

  "Afraid I'd left you?" He grinned and let his gaze linger on the swell of her breasts beneath the worn patchwork squares. "After chasing you over half the Rockies?"

  Her cheeks flushed pink in the firelight, and she stared at the floor. "I thought maybe the Cheyenne war party…" She shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around her. "I've never felt such hate before."

  "They have reason."

  "How can you say that? You killed-"

  "I killed them. Yes." He nodded. "I cut a man's throat and shot another to keep them from murdering us. But I've seen more savagery out of whites than Indians. At Sand Creek, the Colorado militiamen crushed children under their horses' hooves. They shot them like rabbits, and-"

  "Stop." She raised the blanket to cover her ears. "It's too horrible. I don't want to hear it."

  " 'Vermin,' John Chivington called them. The good colonel led seven hundred men with howitzers down on Black Kettle's sleeping village. 'Kill and scalp them all,' John said. 'Little and big. Nits make lice.' Can you imagine how grapeshot cuts through a buffalo hide tepee?"

  Tamsin's pale face grew white, but Ash continued, as much for himself as for her.

  "The militia destroyed every living thing, dogs, ponies, and infants. The warriors fought all day, soaking the earth with their blood, selling their lives dearly to protect their women and children. And when the last Cheyenne brave fell, Chivington's troops slaughtered the wounded and mutilated the dead."

  "No more," she pleaded. "For God's sake, no more."

  "I don't imagine the Lord had anything to do with it. Chivington was a Methodist minister, a hero at Glorieta Pass, during the war. I didn't like John much, but I respected him… then. No more. I've always wondered what could make a decent man forget religion when it comes to someone with a different skin color."

  "Come back to bed," she urged.

  "Yes, ma'am." He went to the door and dropped the heavy wooden bar. "A little damp outside for travelin', but that should discourage unwanted guests."

  She lifted the covers for him and slid over so that he could settle into the warm hollow in the mattress. He stretched out his legs and put his arm around her, pulling her against him. She came willingly and laid her face against his chest.

  "I guess I sound foolish," she murmured. "When I woke up and you were gone, I thought…"

  "It's all right, Tamsin. I'm here, and I'm not going to leave you." Not unless I have a chance to go after Cannon, he thought.

  Why the hell was this so difficult? How was it that being near her, hearing her voice, touching her soft skin, drove him to distraction? She was tough as rawhide. He'd seen her courage in situations that would have had gritty cowboys soiling their chaps. But right now, she seemed as fragile as the pink-and-white-flowered porcelain Aunt Jane used to set the Sunday supper table.

  He'd always been afraid to handle those fancy dishes. He hadn't wanted to break one. That's the way he felt about Tamsin at this minute. He wanted to wrap her in goose down and keep her safe…

  … from him as well as from what waited for her in Sweetwater.

  She inhaled deeply. "This is such a magnificent country, but it's so hard. The violence…"

  "There was bloodshed aplenty back in your Tennessee during the war, wasn't there?" He stroked her hair and massaged the back of her neck and her shoulders until he felt her tension ease. "Even in your little town, you must have heard of neighbors-even family-turning against one another."

  "Yes, of course." She shivered and crept closer to him, laying a hand on his chest. "I wanted to get away from all that. I wanted to start over in California. It's a new place, new and clean."

  "So is Colorado Territory. You've seen a lot of the bad, but there's good as well. There's nothing so pretty as the sun coming up over the mountains or the smell of the air after a rain."

  She caught his hand and brought it to her lips. Tenderly, she kissed each knuckle in turn. "There are golden sunrises in California, I hear. The sun goes down over the ocean. It's never cold there. There are giant trees and valleys knee-deep in grass. My horses-"

  "You set a passel of store on those animals."

  "I have to. They're all I have left of what was good in my childhood. My home… Granddad. Dancer and Fancy are all I have to build a future." Her eyes glistened with emotion. "I raised them from foals, both of them, halter broke them, trained them to saddle."

  "You should have taken ship for California or joined a wagon train. Those horses might have cost you your life."

  She raised her head and looked into his face. "There are some things worth risking everything for."

  Her warm body took the chill from his bones, and he molded his hand to the hollow of her back. Outside the cabin, the rain showed no sign of letting up, and the steady cadence against the shake roof was strangely erotic.

  "You're right. There are things worth dying for," he murmured just before he bent and kissed her. Then he asked her the question that weighed heaviest on his mind. "Tell me about Jack Cannon."

  She stiffened. "There's nothing to tell."

  "Leave that for me to decide. I want to hear it, all of it. No lies, Tamsin. I want the truth, if you can tell it."

  "I told you, it was nothing. I was working my way west, staying in this little town in Nebraska, Wheaton. I was a clerk in a general store, very little pay, but there was a clean room in the back of the building where I could sleep. And Mr. Harvey let us eat at noon and six. We could take cheese, crackers, dried fruit, even bread and pies that hadn't sold and were starting to go stale. He didn't charge me, so long as I ate in my quarters and didn't tell his wife."

  "What does this have to do with Cannon?"

  "He came into the store, and I sold him ammunition and a pair of expens
ive boots that Mr. Harvey had been trying to get rid of for a year. Jack told me that he was a rancher in town to purchase livestock. He seemed pleasant enough, but I'm no fool. He asked me to have dinner with him, and I refused."

  "You refused?"

  "Yes. I was a woman alone without friends or connections in the town. I felt that I had to guard my reputation."

  "So you didn't let him take you to eat?"

  "Not then, not until he'd asked every day for nearly a week. Then he asked me if I was a churchgoing lady. I said that I was, and he suggested we attend services together."

  Ash felt a wave of disbelief sweep over him. "You're telling me that Texas Jack Cannon, train robber, thief, and murderer, took you to church?"

  "No, he didn't. He stopped at the store on Saturday evening and told me that he couldn't make church. Would I accept his apology and have Sunday night supper with him? We did. He was charming and funny, even a little old-fashioned. He bought my dinner a few more times, and then we went to a church social, and we rode together. My animals needed exercise."

  "After-church suppers and apple pie. This sounds better and better."

  "You wanted the truth," Tamsin said. "I'm telling you."

  "Goon."

  "While we were riding, we stopped to water the horses, and he became… ungentlemanly. He implied that I had given him reason to expect more than friendship. We argued, and he tore my blouse. I slapped his face. He frightened me, and I drew Granddad's pistol and told him I'd shoot him if he didn't back oft He did, I mounted Dancer, and rode back to town. The next day, when he came to the store to tell me that he was sorry, I wouldn't accept his apology."

  "Don't imagine that went down well with Cannon."

  "It didn't. He got very quiet, but I knew he was angry. He said that he wasn't used to being refused, and that I'd regret it. That night, I delivered an order to a lady on the far side of town. We talked, and I didn't get back to the store until after dark. Someone had forced their way into my room. Nothing was disturbed, but the latch was broken, and a meadowlark lay on my bed. Its neck was broken."