Morgan's Woman

by Judith E. French

"I was terrified, and I went to my employers' home and told them what had happened. They laughed and said the cat must have killed the bird, but they let me sleep there. The next morning, I left town. That's it, that's all there was to my association with Jack Cannon."

  "You never slept with him?"

  "No! What do you think I am?"

  "Did you kiss him?"

  "No. Yes…"

  "Yes or no?"

  "That's what we argued about. He tried to kiss me. He did kiss me, but I turned away. I wasn't ready for that kind of attention from a man. And I wasn't about to be forced into… into trading that for a few suppers."

  Ash exhaled softly. "You spin a fine tale, Tamsin. You want me to believe in your complete innocence, yet you defended Cannon soundly enough when I first-"

  "I didn't want you prying into my affairs. I was ashamed that I'd been taken in by him. I had no proof that Jack broke into my room. The cat might have killed the meadowlark. And I wasn't sure that he wasn't right, that I had led him on by riding out unchaperoned." She paused. "I can understand why you can't accept my explanation… after letting you…"

  "Us, you mean?"

  She nodded. "It wasn't the same with Jack. He's attractive, but…"

  "He's a sight prettier than me, if my memory serves me well enough."

  "He's handsome, but almost too much so. It's still hard for me to believe that a murderer and wanted outlaw would come into town and walk around as though he were an honest citizen."

  "But he frightened you."

  "Yes, when he kissed me."

  "And I don't?"

  "Not now," she whispered.

  "Maybe you should be afraid of me."

  "I don't think so." She sighed. "I don't want to fight with you, Ash. Not tonight. Maybe not ever again. I don't want to think about Jack Cannon or the Cheyenne or even about California. I just want to lie here with you and listen to the rain on the roof."

  "Just listen?"

  "Talk to me. Tell me about you when you were a child. Before your father died."

  "Was murdered."

  "Was it all violence? Don't you have any good memories?"

  "Once I rode a calf and won ten cents at a barn raising."

  "That's better." She closed her eyes. "Hold me, please."

  "I can do that."

  "Tell me something else. Something warm and happy. Something good that happened to you when you lived with Aunt Jane."

  "Hmmm, not school. I didn't like that much. Or church, too much preachin'. Sam Houston."

  "Who?"

  "Not who. What. Sam Houston was my cat. Aunt Jane gave him to me for Christmas one year. He was so tiny, he could fit in the palm of my hand."

  "A kitten? I thought children who grew up to be gunslingers had wolves for pets. At least a mean dog."

  "I like cats. Always have. They're independent."

  "What color was Sam Houston?"

  "About the shade of your hair. Maybe more orange."

  She laughed and traced tiny circles on his bare chest with her fingertips. He cupped her breast with his hand and was rewarded with her sigh of pleasure.

  "Keep that up, and you'll wake the dead."

  "You mean, we could… again? So soon?"

  He chuckled and brushed the cleft between her breasts with the tip of his tongue.

  "Don't laugh at me," she said. "I didn't know. Once my husband… I didn't know a man could…" She left the rest unsaid and began to massage his shoulders and neck.

  His loins tightened. "A man can do a lot when he's with you." He rubbed his thumb over her swollen nipple and felt her growing arousal.

  "I want to make you happy," she murmured. "Tell me what to do."

  He groaned as her exploring hand slid down to caress his loins. "You're doing fine on your own," he managed.

  "Make love to me again."

  She twisted so that she was sitting upright on top of him. Blood pounded in his head. "Woman," he groaned.

  She moved slowly, sensually, teasing him, heating the part of him that was already throbbing with need.

  He wanted to tell her that he cared about her, that he believed her, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he let his hands and willing body speak for him. Touching her, feeling her body against his filled him with hot urgency.

  "Tamsin… Tamsin…"

  "I'm here," she replied. "I'm here for you." She slanted her mouth against his, scorching his flesh with a heated joining that left him breathless and aching.

  Arching her back, she traced the outline of his nipples with her tongue, laving each one, then nipping at it until small bursts of pleasure rocketed through his veins.

  "How do you want it?" he asked her. "Quick or slow?"

  She laughed softly and nibbled on his left earlobe. "Slowly," she teased. "Slow and sweet."

  "Witch."

  Sweat broke out on his forehead as he fought to control his response, giving her what she'd demanded, loving her with lazy deliberate caresses. And all the while she moved sensually against him, whispering and stroking his most sensitive spots, prolonging the exquisite pleasure until nature could no longer be denied.

  Later Ash fell asleep and Tamsin lay awake in his arms still trembling inwardly with an excitement she never dreamed existed. She knew that what she was feeling had to be far more than a physical attraction.

  Foolish, impossible thoughts tumbled in her head. She wondered what it would be like to bear Ash's child, to grow old with him. She could almost picture the two of them sitting on a porch in California in the twilight, drinking lemonade, while their grandchildren chased lightning bugs in the garden.

  Did they have fireflies on the west coast? Or was that another illusion, as far from reality as her horse farm? Ash had taken what was offered. They had not spoken of love or marriage, and she was worse than a fool if she expected more.

  Her jaw tightened. Stubbornness had gotten her this far. She'd find a way to get to California, and she'd find someone like Ash to love her. She'd take her wedding vows in a church with flowers growing around the door, and she'd have her horses and her babies. Somehow… somehow she'd make her dreams come true.

  Henry Steele stood by the window of his late brother's bedroom and stared at the flashes of lightning on the western horizon. A small storm had passed over earlier in the evening, dropping a little rain on the pastures. They needed more water. It had been a mild winter and a dry spring. If runoff from the mountains was less than usual, the Lazy S stood to lose livestock.

  That didn't sit well with Henry, especially since he'd been left Sam's entire estate in a will made years before Sam and Sarah had married. Even if he decided to sell the ranch and move to St. Louis as Sarah wanted him to, drought would bring the asking price of the land way down.

  Throwing a robe over his naked torso, Henry walked quietly out into the hallway, taking care not to wake Sarah. The next door led to another bedroom and beyond that a parlor that had also served as Sam's ranch office. He went in, struck a match, and lit the painted globe lamp on the oak desk.

  A stubbed-out cigar lay discarded in an ashtray. Henry lit that from the lamp wick and rested his reading glasses on his nose. Settling onto a high-backed chair, he picked up the copy of the Rocky Mountain News and began to reread the headline story about the robbery and murders committed by Texas Jack Cannon and his gang of cutthroats. He'd gotten to the second page when he heard the door creak and glanced up.

  Sarah stood in the doorway wearing a white linen gown with a high neck and long embroidered sleeves. "It's late, Henry," she said. "Why are you up?"

  "I couldn't sleep. I'm sorry, did I disturb you when I got up?"

  "Haven't you read enough about those awful outlaws?" She came to him and put her arms around his neck. "I can't sleep alone. I keep having nightmares about Sam… about his death."

  "You must think of your health, dear… yours and our son's. You'll catch your death of cold walking around the house in bare feet."

  "I hate this
house. I hate the ugly floors and the brown walls. When are you going to take me away, Henry? You promised."

  He patted her back. "I didn't promise, Sarah. I said I'd think about it. This ranch is a profitable business. If we do sell, and I say 'if,' it will take time to find the right buyer."

  "I know it's crazy, but when I got up, I forgot that he was dead. He used to come in here at night and work on his accounts." She shuddered. "I smelled the cigar smoke, and I thought…"

  "You thought I was Sam."

  "Yes, no…" She sighed and turned away to stare out the window. "I'm glad he left the ranch to you, Henry. He lied to me about it. He did. He told me that he'd changed his will two years ago, that he'd made me his beneficiary. But I don't care. I never wanted any of it. I hate cows. They're smelly, horrible beasts. I need to be around people and shops. My own church. Parties and socials. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've been to a dance?"

  "Sam loved this ranch. All the more reason to be cautious with its disposal. I don't know why my brother didn't leave everything to you, but that doesn't matter, my dear. It will be ours, whether we sell or keep it. Fifty-fifty, a legacy for our child."

  She lifted a lace handkerchief to her mouth. "Our child will never set foot on this land if I have anything to say about it." She twisted the bit of cloth. "Take me away, please. I can't stand it here. I won't stay here."

  "You were happy here once."

  "No." She shook her head. "Never. I was never happy here." She turned and looked at him. "I knew I'd made a mistake from the first days of our marriage. Sam changed after the wedding."

  Henry scoffed. "Sam didn't change. He was always a son of a bitch. He was good at covering it, when he wanted to."

  "If you won't come with me, I'll go to St. Louis alone. I want to have my confinement there."

  "Not yet," he said firmly, crossing the room to take her in his arms. "As soon as Morgan brings back the MacGreggor woman, as soon as she's tried and found guilty, then we'll go."

  "Can't you forget her?" Sarah demanded. "Can't you just let it go?"

  "It will follow us. We need to close this part of our lives first. Then I'll take you wherever you want to go. And we'll be married as soon as a decent interval has passed."

  "You swear it, Henry. You promise?"

  "Absolutely, Sarah. As soon as Tamsin MacGreggor hangs for my brother's murder, we'll leave Sweetwater together."

  "All right," she agreed. "I'll wait a little while longer. But if your bounty hunter doesn't find her, then I'm going. Do you understand? I will not have our baby born here in the shadow of Sam's ghost."

  "We'll go as soon as the matter is settled, Sarah. We owe that much to my brother. You know what the Bible says: 'An eye for a eye.' We can't let the guilty woman go unpunished."

  "You're right, I suppose," she murmured. But her eyes glistened in the lamplight, and a single tear rolled down her pale cheek.

  Chapter 17

  Gunfire blasted through the heavy night fog as a crowd of shouting, howling men and women stormed the Sweet-water jail. "Bring her out!" Judge Steele shouted as he edged his horse to the head of the throng. "Bring out the murdering back shooter!"

  "Hang her!" shrieked a slovenly saloon wench waving a torch.

  "Yes!" cried the black-veiled widow from the seat of a buggy. "She murdered my husband! Give her hemp justice!"

  Illuminated by the yellow glow of a kerosene lantern, Walker stepped out onto the stoop in front of the jail, a shotgun cradled in his arm. "Tamsin MacGreggor's my prisoner," he bellowed. "Do you want her?"

  "Yes!"

  "Hand her over!"

  "Hand over the murdering whore!"

  Laughing, Walker yanked off his tin star and tossed it into the dirt. "Take her!"

  As he stared in horror at the mob, unable to move, Ash heard Tamsin scream. "No! No!" he tried to say, but the words wouldn't come. His throat was dry and aching, as though a rope were tightening around it.

  Two cowboys appeared in the doorway with Tamsin between them. Her calico dress was torn down the front, exposing her breasts. Her face was bruised, her mouth bleeding.

  "Ash!" she cried. "Ash, help me!"

  Henry Steele threw a rope over her head and kicked his mount. Tamsin tried to grab the rope, but she was yanked off the edge of the wooden walkway into the street. She screamed again as Steele spurred his horse and dragged her down the street toward the gallows.

  "No!" Ash said, struggling against the bonds that held him. "No! She's innocent."

  Somehow, he reached the foot of the steps. Above him, a noose swayed in the fog.

  "Hanged by the neck until dead!" Henry Steele said.

  "Until dead," echoed the mob.

  "Ash…" Tamsin whimpered as the judge settled the noose around her neck and pulled a black hood over her face. For the barest instant, her frightened gaze met his. And then he saw nothing but blackness.

  Ash felt cold sweat running down him as the trapdoor snapped open and the crowd roared.

  He felt himself fall and jerk upright. He blinked the sweat from his eyes. His heart pounded against his chest wall. He sucked in air as though he were drowning.

  Dazed, he looked around. It was pitch-black, and it took him a few seconds to realize that he was still in Jacob's cabin with Tamsin sleeping peacefully beside him.

  "Woman, what have you done to me?" he whispered.

  Devil take him, he didn't care if she had murdered Sam Steele. All he wanted to do was take her away and protect her. He tightened his arm around her, telling himself that he'd tear up her arrest warrant, ride south to Mexico, go anywhere so that they could be together.

  But even as he formed the silent vow in his heart, he realized he couldn't keep it. He knew only one code, his daddy's. He had to live his life in the way he'd been raised, or there'd be no peace for him, ever.

  "What's wrong?" Tamsin asked sleepily.

  He looked down at her, wanting nothing more than to tell her that she'd won, but the words wouldn't come. "Nothing, hon, go back to sleep."

  "The rain's stopped, hasn't it?"

  "Yeah, the rain's stopped."

  "What now?"

  "We wait until the ground dries; then I take you back to Sweetwater for trial."

  "Just like that?" The quaver in her voice turned him to jelly. "As though we hadn't…"

  "No, darlin', not just like that." He kissed the crown of her head, inhaling the sweet, clean scent of her hair. "I'm going to get you a lawyer," he promised. "The best damn lawyer west of the Mississippi. And I'm going to stand with you, every step of the way until we get through this."

  She made a small sound of distress. "All right, Ash. Have it your way. I'm just too tired to fight you anymore."

  "I won't let you down," he promised.

  "You'd better not."

  A horse whinnied, and Ash reached for his gun.

  "Hello the cabin!" a voice called from outside.

  Tamsin rose and began to pull on her clothing as Ash motioned her to stay clear of the door.

  "Be ye friend or foe?" the stranger demanded.

  Ash lowered his weapon. "Jacob, you old grizzly, is that you?"

  "And who else would it be in the middle of the night? Who be you, pilgrim? God-fearing or one of the wicked?"

  "Not as wicked as you," Ash shouted back. "I'm opening the door. Don't shoot me." He glanced back at Tamsin to be certain she was decent. She'd given up the attempt to dress and had covered herself with a blanket.

  "Ash Morgan! You son of a polecat! What are you doin' up this way?" the buckskin-clad trader demanded as he ducked his head to enter the cabin. "And not alone, I see." He snatched off a shapeless hat decorated with a beaded hatband and an eagle feather. "Evenin' ma'am."

  She blushed. "How do you do, Mr…Mr…"

  "Jacob will do, ma'am. Proud to make your acquaintance." He leaned a Hawkin rifle against the wall and took Ash's hand. "Good to see you, son."

  "And you, Jacob," Ash replied. "Thi
s is Tamsin MacGreggor. We had a run-in with a Cheyenne war party a few days back and came by to take advantage of your hospitality."

  "Did ye, now? I heard some bunch of young bucks was liftin' hair around here. Glad it wasn't yours."

  "Or yours," Ash said. "Is your lady with you?"

  "Land 'o mercy, no. Had to haul her south to visit her people. She's in the family way, and nothin' would do but what I take her to her mother until the mite gets here. To tell the truth, son, I'm thinkin' of movin' my whole operation south. Utes gone, Cheyenne turned hateful, and white folks got no patience with an old-timer like me."

  "Hungry?" Ash asked him. "We've got some stew and biscuits left." Ash glanced back at Tamsin. "You may as well go back to sleep. If I know Jacob, he'll have me up until dawn talking."

  "I just might have a bite," Jacob agreed. "Nothin' like a bowl of hot stew, a little Taos lightning, and good company."

  "I'm sure this is your bed," Tamsin said. "I can-"

  "No." Jacob scratched his beard. "I can sleep when you folks have rid on. Me and Ash haven't swapped stories in what-nigh on to a year?"

  "At least." Ash pushed the kettle over the coals and stirred the pot with a long-handled iron spoon. "I should offer congratulations on being a father."

  Jacob grinned and settled cross-legged on the floor. He pulled off his high moccasins and warmed his feet at the fire. "Had to marry her, all legal like. Times are changin', boy. Used to be a man could do what he wanted in these mountains, long as he watched his back. No more. Civilized folk movin' in. It will be tough enough on that mite of mine, being half-Indian, without being born on the wrong side of the blanket."

  "She deserves marriage, to put up with you," Ash said.

  "Yep, yep, that she does." The mountain man took a long-stemmed pipe and tamped it full of tobacco, then lit it and took a long, slow puff. "Talked to a mule skinner, south of here. He claimed his partner was shot and two horses stolen last Wednesday. Says he saw five gunhands. Described one of the shooters as Texas Jack Cannon down to the gray horse and fancy boots."

  "How did he say he lived to tell of it?"

  "Claims he was in the woods, taking a crap, when he heard the shootin'. Crept up, seen the odds, and laid low." Jacob grimaced. "Can't vouch for the mule skinner. Never seed him afore. He might of got drunk and killed his partner hisself. But I remember you had a special dislikin' for Jack."