Lady of the Gun

by Faye Adams

  Chapter Three

  Cass had no experience on this battlefield. As Brett's lips opened over hers she found herself responding in ways she never had before. Blood pounded in her ears and behind her eyes, heat pulsed through her to her most secret places, and her flesh burned where it met the hard firmness of his body. She felt as though she were about to faint, and as she attempted to take a breath, she moaned in surprise as his tongue entered her mouth and began a mating ritual against the soft tissue of her own tongue. Again she responded blindly, following his lead, learning as she went.

  Brett was stunned by Cassidy's immediate surrender to his desires. He marveled at the way she molded herself to him and moaned against his kiss, meeting his exploring tongue with her own. He allowed this tender touching to go on as he slid his hands behind her, lowering them to cup the bottom that had intrigued him earlier in the day. The firmness of her flesh under his fingers excited him further, causing him to pull her closer to him, pressing his engorged manhood against her abdomen, wanting her to feel how badly he needed her.

  Cass felt the desire that blazed between them. She felt the pressure of Brett's body, rhythmically pulsing against her, and she felt her own body changing inside to accommodate him. But she'd never been with a man before. She'd never met one she'd wanted like this. A fog seemed to cloud her thinking as she matched his motion with her own and opened her mouth more, allowing a deepening of their kiss.

  Brett tasted Cassidy's sweet kiss. He let his tongue tease hers, then retreated to nibble on her beautiful, full lips. He licked gently across her lower lip and pulled it into his mouth for a moment, then kissed her fully again, savoring every second of their union. Bringing one hand up between them, he found her breast, the nipple hardened with desire. He brushed his palm across it and felt her shudder as sensation shot through her.

  Cass nearly groaned out loud as she felt white-hot ripples flowing from where Brett massaged her breast. She pushed herself deeper into his hand and knew that he could give her even more pleasure. The pressure of his arousal was increasing with each moment, and the feel of his strong body against hers was drugging her. Her knees felt week and she wasn't sure she could remain standing without the support of his well-muscled arm around her. So this is sex, she thought. But deep inside her she knew she’d only just begun the journey toward true passion.

  "Oh! Excuse me…. I mean…. I’ll come back later,” Bill Conroy stammered as he entered the office. I’ll just go… I…”

  Cass jerked away from Brett at the sound of Bill's voice, horror and embarrassment turning her face blood red.

  Brett glanced up at the flustered man and tried to stand straighter, but his still evident arousal made moving nearly impossible. He looked at Cassidy, blushing, embarrassed, her beautiful lips swollen from his kisses, and felt a new surge of passion's blood rushing to his loins. The quick slamming of the door as the barber made a hurried retreat brought his attention back to the interruption. “Who was that?" he asked, his voice coming out in a raspy groan.

  Cass heard Brett's question, but she couldn't force herself to make eye contact with him. She was more embarrassed than she'd ever been in her life, and she couldn't understand her own actions. She'd never responded to a man in this fashion before, never lost control, or felt that reality had ceased to exist. What power did Brett Ryder have that other men didn't?

  "Cass?" he prodded.

  Cass tentatively raised her eyes to meet his. When she did, she felt herself being pulled into their gray depths, the whirling fires of desire rising up to claim her once more.

  Brett felt Cass's gaze as though she touched him still. The inferno of passion that burned between them stunned him, causing him to open his lips and take a deep breath. This woman was under investigation, he'd just seen her gun down a man in the street, and yet all he wanted to do was pull her down across the sheriff's desk and bury himself in her, to plunder her body until she cried out his name in ecstasy. The picture in his mind's eye sent a shocking jolt of blood to pulse deep within his loins. Leaning slightly forward, he began to reach out for her once more, slowly.

  Cass saw Brett's gesture and realized what it meant. She wouldn't be able to resist him if he touched her again, and she didn't want to be found in an even more embarrassing position should someone else come along. The thought that Bill Conroy had walked in on them, was probably spreading the gossip over at the saloon right now, gave her the strength to pull back. "No," she whispered.

  Brett lowered his hand, but continued to watch the emotions that played over her beautiful face. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her. "Why not?" he asked.

  "It isn't right. I won't . . . I can't . . ." she stammered, not sure how to turn him down. "I won't be the subject of gossip." She paused a moment, realizing how ridiculous that sounded, when she'd just killed a man in a gunfight in the middle of the main street. "I won't have people talking about who I . . . or when . . . like that," she lowered her eyes, blushing at the reference to their sexual behavior.

  Brett saw her redden as she spoke and was surprised she could act so demure when the way she'd responded to him proved she was no innocent. And the fact the lady was a gunfighter made her pretense of modesty nearly laughable. One didn't search out and kill four murderers without learning a few facts of life along the way. Brett's mouth turned up into a slow smile of, amusement. "Then when and where can we continue this? You've started a fire in me that needs to be put out, and soon. I'm pretty uncomfortable right now," he said, allowing his glance to fall briefly to the bulge in his trousers before fixing her with a purposeful stare.

  Cass's eyes opened wide. Responding to a man's unexpected kiss was one thing; arranging a time and place to have sex was quite another. "Never!" she burst out. "How dare you!"

  "How dare I?" Brett asked incredulously.

  "Yes. How dare you assume I'd be willing to plan . . . it," she finished.

  “lt'?" Brett almost laughed out loud at her. "Who do you think you're going to fool with this shocked-virgin routine?"

  Cass's mouth opened, but no sound came out. She was shocked. She was mortified. "I'm not trying to fool anyone," she finally managed.

  "Good." Brett's voice became seductive. "Because you took to me like cream on fresh milk. I'd hate to think all that passion was going to go to waste."

  "You pompous ass," Cass hissed, backing away from him. "You think just because you kissed me that I'm ready to fall into bed with you?"

  Brett shook his head. "You're one confusing lady, Cass. I wasn't the only one doing the kissing. It takes two, you know. And since you seem to have forgotten, you responded to me with more heat than an August brushfire."

  Had she? Cass didn't know what a man expected from a woman.

  Brett continued. "If that character hadn't blundered in here we'd be on the floor right now, and I promise you, you'd be forgetting all the men who came before me.”

  Cass just stood in stunned silence, blood staining her face with embarrassed shock. All the men who came before him, he'd said? Did he think she was a slut? Obviously. Clenching her jaw tightly, she breathed through her nose in deep, self-righteous puffs.

  "Come on, honey,” Brett urged, ignoring her indignant stare. Maybe he shouldn't have been so blunt. He knew most women couldn't handle the truth unless it was sugar coated, but damn it, she'd participated in their kiss like a cat in heat, and for her to pretend such innocence now just rubbed him the wrong way. "You know I’m telling the truth. Next time I'll plan things better so we won't be interrupted."

  "Marshal Ryder, ponies will fly before you touch me again," she spat between clenched teeth as she turned abruptly and headed for the door. As she jerked it open, she turned back toward him briefly, ready to sling a foul insult in his direction, only to be caught short by the steel gray of his eyes as he returned her glare. "I . . never mind," she finished. Turning her back on him, she stepped outside and slammed the door behind her. "What a conceited jerk," she breathed as she stood in the brill
iant sunlight that beat unmercifully on the wooden sidewalk. Pausing there a moment while she decided which way to go, she welcomed the sun's heat as a much-needed poultice to her wounded pride.

  Brett watched Cass leave in a huff and couldn't figure out why she'd gotten so damned mad. Okay, he'd already admitted to himself he'd been too abrupt and straightforward, but that didn't really warrant her behaving like an insulted schoolmarm. She was, after all, a gunfighter, and she had responded to him in a way that even now sent his blood racing at the memory. "Damn it," he cursed as he took a deep breath to clear his head.

  Straightening, he walked around the sheriff’s desk and sat down. Leaning forward on his elbows, he rested his head in his hands. What the hell am I doing getting involved with the Lady of the Gun, anyway? I'm supposed to be investigating her, not making love to her, he thought disgustedly. But even as he admonished himself he remembered the softness of her full lips beneath his, the way she'd leaned into his touch and pressed her firm curves against his feverish body. "Holy shit," he grumbled.

  Cass glanced quickly to the place where she'd gunned down Henry Fleet. She was relieved to see that his body had been removed and the crowd had dispersed, though the dark red stain marking the dusty ground like an old puddle still showed where he'd fallen. Somewhere deep inside her she felt a pang of remorse. She hadn't wanted to fight him. She'd tried to talk her way out of it, just as she'd done twice before when young gunfighters had challenged her, but he wouldn't listen to her.

  Looking at his blood, drying quickly in the hot sun, she pushed the remorse from her heart. That could have been her blood. Henry Fleet was no better than the men who had killed her family, and his big brother Bobby was said to be even worse.

  Sighing heavily, she let her eyes scan the street and noticed that it was unusually quiet. Everyone had apparently taken the marshal's advice and gone home. Shaking her head with disgust, she knew that, what with the gunfight and the scene with Brett that Bill Conroy had walked in on, she'd given the townsfolk ample fodder for at least a month’s worth of gossip. "Wait until Uncle Darby hears about all this," she groaned.

  Stepping off the sidewalk, she headed in the direction of the livery, hoping her saddle was now finished. As she walked along the deserted street, she couldn't stop the wash of emotions that flooded her senses at the memory of what Brett's mouth and hands had done to her. Was what she’d felt normal? she wondered. Did all women feel this way? She'd never felt like this with any other man, and God knew there were men who'd tried to have their way with her. Up until now she'd felt only mild interest at best, and powerful disgust and revulsion at worst. And why Brett Ryder? She didn't even know him, or like him. She pictured his tall form, his dark hair, and haunting gray eyes, and swallowed hard. No, she didn't like him at all, she decided. And she sure as hell wouldn't give him the opportunity to touch her again.

  A cloud of dust, the loud creak of wood and leather, the jingle of harness chains, and a stream of colorful expletives from Jed Higgens, the driver, announced the arrival of the noon stage. Cass glanced upward to confirm the time, surprised so much of the day had already passed. "I guess when you're having fun . . ." she murmured sarcastically.

  Slowing her walk to the livery, she saw the coach pull up in front of the stage office next to the jail, wondering who, if anyone, had found reason to visit the small town of Twisted Creek. It wasn't exactly a social metropolis. She watched Jed's movements as he climbed to the top of the coach and tossed the mailbag down to the waiting stage agent. She knew there would be nothing in the bag for her or Darby. They had no family left other than each other.

  The stage door opened slowly then, catching her eye, and she saw the long fingers and manicured nails of a man's hand as he grasped the door to steady his descent from the coach. Once he was outside the stage, she could see he was young and tall, with blond hair and a golden mustache. She let her eyes search his frame from boots to hair, and though his suit was obviously expensive and tailored to perfection, it couldn't hide his too thin physique. She thought about how perfect Brett's body was in comparison, then frowned angrily at her own observation. Why on earth would she compare anyone to the marshal? Just then the man turned in her direction and let his gaze fall directly on her, a smile creasing his face. He looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place him. A few puzzled seconds later it hit her: the man was Ramsey Tylo, Hunt Tylo's son.

  Ramsey was only three years her senior, but she barely knew him. He'd traveled in a different circle than she had. Being the son of the richest man in town had gone to his head, and though they'd been neighbors, he'd never noticed the tall, skinny, gawky kid she'd been. She remembered he'd left for college shortly before her family was murdered. So the big-city boy has come home, she mused, wondering why he was grinning at her now.

  Brett heard the stage outside and decided to see who might be arriving. He was still concerned that Bobby Fleet could be in the area. The chance that the gunfighter would enter town on the stage was slim, but Brett couldn't gamble with Cass's life, no matter how sure she was that she could take care of herself. Leaving the office, he went to watch the unloading of mail, luggage, and passengers.

  Cass narrowed her eyes when she saw Brett leave the sheriff’s office to stand and watch the stage unloading. Seeing him again, even at this distance, did strange things to her heart. Grimacing, she was about to turn away when she heard her name being called from the stage.

  "Cass? Cassidy Wayne, is that you?”

  Cass did a double take, not sure that she’d heard right. She would have bet good money that Ramsey didn’t even know her name, yet here he was calling to her as though they were old friends. tilting her head slightly in curiosity, she began a slow walk in his direction. “Ramsey?" she said when she was close enough to speak.

  "Yes, Cass, it's me. And look at you, all grown up,” he said smiling down at her, reaching out to take her hands in his.

  Cass nearly pulled away. She didn’t know this Ramsey. His golden hair and light blue eyes shone as though he’d been touched by the sun, and he was smiling down at her as if he'd been waiting all these years just to see her. “Ramsey?" she repeated a little incredulously.

  "Yes, Cass." He nearly laughed. “I didn't know I’d changed that much,” he commented.

  Cass blinked several times. He did seem to have changed. As a child there'd been a hardness to him that had made him seem a little cold and cruel. She remembered him teasing Rosie, the waitress, when they were kids. His teasing had gone beyond the normal childish taunts, sending her running home in tears. To this day Rosie paled whenever Ramsey's name was mentioned.

  But the Ramsey standing before Cass now, beaming down at her with an angelic smile, seemed softer, kinder, somehow. Cass looked up into his eyes. Maybe he's just grown up, she thought. Finally returning his smile, she allowed him to hold her hands familiarly. "Hello, Ramsey," she offered. "I hadn't heard you were coming back."

  Brett watched Cass and the stranger standing close, talking. He looked at them curiously. Was this man a special friend of Cass's? He squinted speculatively as he sized up the fancy man in the expensive suit. Tightening his jaw, he waited and watched.

  "Dad knew I was coming for a visit, but I didn't tell him when. I wanted to surprise him," Ramsey explained, letting his eyes roan over the curves that had appeared on Cass's figure in the last few years. The Cass he remembered had been thin and awkward. What a pleasant surprise to see that the weed had blossomed into a rose. "Have you seen my father lately? How does he look?"

  Cass lowered her eyes. "No, I haven't seen him in a while," she explained. "I've been very busy." She couldn't add that she'd sent the sheriff out to the Lazy T to ask questions about his father's possible part in her family's murders. Now, with Ramsey looking down on her, all golden hair and friendly smiles, she felt a little guilty.

  Ramsey watched the color rising in her cheeks. He'd heard the stories about Cassidy's revenge. His father had written him about it. But even the twin C
olts strapped to her thighs couldn't convince him she was as dangerous as Hunt had claimed. Stepping even closer to her, he leaned over slightly, creating a feeling of privacy. "You've become a very beautiful woman, Cass," he breathed intimately.

  Cass glanced up into his eyes, startled by such a revelation from a man she hardly knew. "I don't know what to..to say," she stammered.

  "Don't say anything. Just accept the truth when it's told to you." He squeezed her hands.

  Warning bells went off in Cass's head as he tightened his grip on her. Why would Ramsey Tylo get down off a stage after not having seen her for five years, and not even knowing her that well to begin with, and act as if they'd been close friends before he left town? This was too much, too quick. And it was making her uncomfortable. "I . . . ah . . ." she started to pull her hands from his grasp.

  "Excuse me, Cass." Brett spoke coldly as he stepped closer to the couple. "I don't mean to interrupt your reunion, but I'd like to meet your friend."

  Ramsey looked up from Cass's face to see a tall, dark man with steel-gray eyes sizing him up. He instantly stiffened, "Yes?" he said coolly.

  Cass looked from Ramsey's golden countenance to the dark, attractive features of the marshal and could feel the tension between them. Opposites, she thought. Taking her hands from Ramsey's, she stepped back, "Marshal Brett Ryder, meet Ramsey Tylo," she stated simply.

  "Tylo?"

  "Yes," Ramsey affirmed. "Of the Lazy T, You probably know my father."

  "No. I only just arrived in Twisted Creek this morning."

  "Then that would explain why my father never mentioned you in his letters."

  Cass watched this seemingly innocent exchange and felt the animosity between the two men grow with every word. She looked from one to the other and could see no reason they'd be at odds when they'd just met. Then Ramsey took a small step in her direction and placed his hand softly at the base of her spine. Raising her brow in surprise, she glanced up at him, then at Brett.