by Lisa Plumley
She spoke, crooning something about softness and release. He was too engrossed in watching her lips form the words to notice exactly what they were, probably something about dresses or babies or cooking, all those things women cared about to the exclusion of everything else. In his experience, there was nothing a woman wouldn’t sacrifice for the sake of home, hearth, and family.
Family, family…. The notion sparked something in him, some sense of warning, but it came too late to be heeded. Her hands worked magic on his palms, his fingers, the scars lacing the backs of his hands. God, how long had it been since a woman had touched him like that?
He couldn’t remember. But he wanted more.
“However,” she said, suddenly and quite clearly, “I still won’t let you search my father’s things. So you might as well leave.” With a triumphant look, she tightened both hands on the trunk lid, making it plain that lifting her would mean lifting the trunk, too, because she wasn’t letting go.
Wasn’t letting go with her free hands.
How the hell? Somehow, she’d gotten loose. She’d also gotten a firmer grip on the trunk beneath her, one designed, by the looks of it, to be damned well immovable.
Gabriel shook his head. Her face came into focus, faintly freckled, slightly square-jawed, and pretty as a picture—even with the smirk she had on it.
“Next time,” she advised, “try not to get yourself all worked up over a lady’s…” She paused delicately, lingering over the next word to choose, then gave him a smug little smile. “… feminine charms, if you’re planning on detaining her. I do believe you’re your own worst enemy in that regard, Mr. Winter.”
He’d be damned. He’d half-expected all his glib talk about her hair and her eyes and her fine woman’s figure to turn her wrathy, like it had outside in the station yard. Instead, she’d stood there, listening calmly, and used it to ambush him with later! Little Miss Megan had finagled a way to freedom with his own loose talk for a cover.
Aside from himself, he’d never met anyone who’d have tried such a thing.
Obviously, he’d underestimated her.
It wasn’t a mistake he meant to make twice.
So Gabriel tried another tactic instead. Getting to his feet, he hooked both thumbs in his gun belt and looked down at her. “I’m authorized to take you into custody, if necessary.”
She flinched—realizing how far in over her head she was, he’d wager. Protecting a potential road agent couldn’t be easy. To his admiration, she recovered quickly.
“Now, why would you want to do something like that?” she asked, clasping her hands in her lap and gazing up at him sweetly. “I swan, agent Winter—you must have more important things to do than be concerned with a harmless female like me.”
She fluttered her eyelashes, then added, “Isn’t that right?”
The overall effect was like being walloped to death with a feather pillow. It didn’t hurt much while it was happening, but in the end, you still wound up six feet under. Not many people successfully misled him, and he didn’t intend for a woman like Megan Kearney to be the first—no matter how much she batted her eyelashes and petted his hands. He’d handled rock-hard criminals in the past. He could handle her, too.
“No, it’s not right,” he said, leaning over her. “I’ll drag your pretty little conniving self all the way back to the Pinkerton office in Chicago, if that’s what it takes.”
“Conniving! I’ll have you know—”
“Yes, conniving. You probably can’t help it, though.” He slipped his hands to her shoulders, feeling her tremble beneath his palms—with fury, probably. “Like father, like daughter.”
“My father’s no crook!” she yelled, trying to wriggle her shoulders out of his grasp. “Let go of me.”
“Gladly.” He held her tighter, then hauled her off the chest and deposited her in the middle of the rug. She lunged to reclaim her place on the chest, but Gabriel got there first.
“Next time you try to stop a man from doing something, Miss Kearney,” he advised as he undid the latch, “you might consider doing a little less posing.”
Pausing to gaze pointedly at the hands she’d folded so demurely across her lap, he leaned his elbow on the chest lid and smirked up at her. “I do believe you’re your own worst enemy in that regard.”
With an unintelligible sound of frustration, she rushed toward him. “You can’t search that. It’s a violation of privacy. I’ll—I’ll—” Her chin jerked upward, a pious attitude in search of a target. “—I’ll report you to Mr. Pinkerton.”
“He already knows.” Gabriel lifted the lid.
She shot it a despairing glance. “You’ve got the wrong man!”
“That remains to be seen.”
He scanned the chest’s contents, taking in a jumble of fabric, bottles, and folded papers. Strange items for a station master to keep stored. He picked up a leather-bound ledger and stood facing her, absently running his thumb along the book’s cracked binding.
“Criminals behave in predictable ways, Miss Kearney. That’s how we track them. How we catch them.”
“I don’t believe you. My father never acted criminally in his life. He’s not that kind of man.”
He looked up. She stood silhouetted in brightness and shadow, smack in a shaft of light from the window behind her. Silently she hugged her arms over her chest and stared at the floor, motionless but for the steady stroke of her thumbs on her brown-clad elbows. For a woman—hell, for anybody—she seemed remarkably self-contained. Controlled.
But that small restless movement of her thumbs spoke volumes, and Gabriel was a listening kind of man. That irrepressible gesture told him all he needed to know.
Megan Kearney was worried. Even if it didn’t show on her face, even if she argued her father’s innocence from now till next Sunday, she had doubts. And she was thinking them over. He wanted to be there for the conclusions she reached.
He moved closer, then tipped her chin up with his hand. “You don’t have to believe me. You only have to believe the evidence.”
She jerked away. “You won’t find any. Not as long as I’m around.”
“You’ve hidden it that well? I’m impressed.”
“You mustn’t have very high standards, then. There was nothing to hide.”
“I’d rather ask your father about that. When will he be back?”
Her mouth turned down at the corners. “With luck, not until you’ve pulled foot back to wherever you came from. An accusation like this would kill him.”
She looked like she believed it. Gabriel couldn’t afford to. “Thieving’s a dangerous occupation.”
Megan bit her lower lip, giving him a speculative look. “Will you at least agree not to search the station until you’ve spoken with my father? I’m sure he can straighten this out, if you’ll only—”
“No.” Gabriel flipped open the musty ledger in his hand, scanning the rows of neatly penciled entries.
Her hands flattened over them, obscuring the yellowing pages. “If you search this place now, the station hands will see you!” she pleaded. “It’s only a skip and a jump from there to them figuring out what my father’s accused of.”
“Crime doesn’t pay.” Blithely, Gabriel spread his fingers over hers and moved them aside.
“Neither does a stage station, if the hands up and leave. How long do you think they’d work for a crook?”
“Depends on what kind of men they are. I’ve seen plenty who’d light fires for the devil himself, if the pay was good enough.”
“Present company included, I expect?”
He grinned up at her. Megan Kearney didn’t quit, he’d give her that. “I don’t know yet. Been playing with matches lately?”
“I meant you.”
“I know.” He closed the ledger, cradling it in the crook of his arm while he scrutinized the other items in the chest. What was in those packets of folded papers? Gabriel reached for one.
Megan stuck her body in the way. About s
ix inches from his nose, her breasts swayed with the movement. It was either grab them and find out exactly how devilish she could be, or lower his hands and look at the folded papers later, after she’d moved aside. Regretfully, he clasped both hands on the ledger and held it against his thighs.
“Every man cares what folks say about him,” she said, straightening. “So must you. Do you want to be known as the agent who brought in the wrong man?”
“I won’t be.” Winter brings in the right man at the right time. “I never have been.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” she pointed out, nudging the chest lid closed with her hip.
“I’m searching that.”
“Of course you are.”
Briskly, she took his elbow and led him toward the door, her manner at once cheerful and determined. She’d hatched a new plan, Gabriel figured, and realized he looked forward to discovering what her quick mind had come up with almost as much as he savored the tantalizing brush of her body against his.
There were worse ways for a man to investigate a case than tailing a woman like Megan.
“But,” she continued, “I’d like it very much if you’d stop searching. In fact—”
They squeezed together, chest-to-chest, through the narrow hallway and emerged in the chill of the station office, a route as deliberate as any trap he’d laid for Pinkerton’s most-wanted.
“—what do you suppose it would take to persuade you to postpone your search?”
That brought him up short. A deal? Or a bribe?
Gabriel stared down at her, taking in the way her face tilted expectantly toward his, the way her lips pouted slightly while she waited for his answer, and drew the only conclusion that seemed reasonable.
“If you’re offering yourself in trade, sugar,” he said, feeling his pulse quicken at the notion, “I couldn’t rightly decide without tasting a sample.”
Chapter Four
Gabriel heard Megan’s quick, indrawn breath, felt her take a jerky step backward. He pressed closer and cupped her jaw in his hand, waiting to see if she’d struggle or back down. Instead, she held herself still at his touch, watching him warily.
He nodded his approval, stroking his thumb over her earlobe and down the side of her neck. “But if you taste as good on the inside as you look on the outside…well, sugar. A little compromise does have its way of keeping things rolling along.”
“It certainly does,” she agreed, keeping her gaze on his face. She looked like a kitten considering its first lick of cream, like a half-wild creature tamed with a touch. “Provided it’s done the right way, of course.”
Chuckling, Gabriel let her lead him a little further across the room, closer to the wall behind her. The unabashed curiosity in her gaze lured him as surely as did the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers—maybe even more.
“I’ll do it right,” he promised. Gently, he flexed his fingers at the nape of her neck, tilting her head in preparation for a kiss. “I’m a thorough kind of man.”
“Mmmm.” She reached the rough-dabbed stucco wall at her back, carried there by the teasing, backward dance she’d been doing ever since they’d stepped together into the station office, and a smile flickered over her face. Retreat now was impossible—for both of them—and that smile of hers said Megan knew it.
“So I gather,” she said. “You’ve already got both arms thoroughly on the job.”
He did. He’d wrapped his free arm around her waist halfway across the roughhewn room. Now, Gabriel used it to drag her a little closer, so her back arched away from the wall.
“Although a lesser man might’ve been content with using only one arm,” she teased, laughter lighting her eyes. “Do women often wriggle away from you in situations like…this one?”
He stared at her. What had become of the starch and spice miss who’d met him in the station yard with Mose? Of the fiery woman who’d protested her father’s innocence? This lighthearted side of Megan was one he hadn’t seen before, and it intrigued him all the more—even knowing she was likely laying a trap for him again. To be on the safe side he widened his stance, keeping his shins safe from surprise attacks.
“I don’t know,” Gabriel said, smiling. “I haven’t had all that many offers like…this one.”
Anticipation roughened his voice, lent an edge to the words he’d never meant to reveal. Needing to regain control, he lowered his face close enough that her minty breath mingled with his, and added, “I don’t like leaving things to chance.”
Slowly, gently, he brushed his lips over hers. Her mouth was the most tender heat imaginable. It tasted of softness, hinted at innumerable textures meant to be touched and explored and savored. With a murmured sound of wanting, Gabriel kissed her again, so lightly that he ended the contact even as she leaned forward for more.
Sighing, she swayed into his chest, making her breasts rub against his vest front. She felt like a piece of heaven wrapped in wool and black beads, and he couldn’t help wondering about the womanly body beneath all those fuss-fancy clothes. What would it be like to cup her breasts in his hands, weigh their silken heaviness in his palms, watch her nipples pucker into tight peaks against his fingertips?
“There’s no chance in a kiss like that one,” Megan whispered, keeping her eyes closed as she pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “Luckily for you, I’m an appreciating kind of woman.”
Touching her that way would be like holding sunshine in his grasp, Gabriel decided. Hot enough to burn his hands, too brilliant to capture for long…impossible to keep.
And impossible to trust. Much as he wanted to believe appreciation was all that lay behind Megan’s sweet-sounding words, he hadn’t forgotten her earlier proposition.
Neither, he figured, had she.
Question was, how far would she go to get what she wanted?
“Sugar,” he said, stroking her hair, “that’s just the beginning.”
Grinning, he couldn’t keep from tracing his fingertips over her pink-tinted cheeks. He’d put the blush on that smooth skin of hers. Lord, if only such softness didn’t house a scheming mind. “But it’s not enough to take me off the case.”
Her eyes opened. She seemed startled. “What did you say?”
“Or make a deal with you,” Gabriel went on, letting his hands fall aside as she shoved herself away from his chest. Her retreat told him she’d heard him loud and clear. “No matter how nicely you kiss.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You beast! You—”
“Truth be told,” he interrupted, “your instincts were right.” Almost against his will, he admired that quality in her. “Most operatives use self-interest like yours to help build their cases.”
She cast him a measuring glance. “But not you?”
“Depends on the potential gain.”
“I offered you plenty of gain.”
“Interesting way of putting it.”
Her blush deepened. So did the urge he felt to drag her back into his arms and finish what she’d started. Was the woman wilier than he’d thought, or just plain too innocent to know when she was setting up bonfires?
“You don’t even know where my father is,” Megan said, ducking away from the wall. “You told me so yourself.”
He hadn’t, but her assumption was understandable enough. He’d asked when Joseph Kearney would return to the station, not where he’d gone. Experience had taught him, though, that most people heard what they thought would be said, not the actual words. Usually, it worked in Gabriel’s favor. It might this time, too.
“Do you know where he is?”
“I wouldn’t betray him by telling you if I did.” A few agitated steps took her to the window, where she stood, looking out over the station yard just long enough for Gabriel to realize she was about to play her last card—and didn’t want to.
“There are other agents on this case, other men looking for your father,” he said. “They’re not all like me—”
“You mean some of them have compassi
on?” She whirled from the window to face him. “This station is my family’s lifeblood. It’s the food in our mouths, my father’s dream, and the livelihood of the men in that yard. You can’t rip that apart with your wrongheaded threats and accusations. I won’t let you.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“You’re wrong,” she said stubbornly.
“Sugar, I’ve tailed men over more miles than you’ll see in two lifetimes. Arrested them and brought them to justice from fourteen states and half as many territories.”
He paused, moved closer, and tucked back that same wayward hair of hers, letting the back of his knuckles linger on Megan’s cheek. “Your father can’t run far enough to escape me, and you can’t beat me.”
She raised her head. “Show me the evidence you have.”
“No.”
“Tell me what proves my father’s implicated in the robbery.”
“No.” He pulled his watch from his vest pocket and flipped the timepiece open. “I take it your station has accommodations for travelers?”
Her mouth dropped open. “You intend to stay?”
“For as long as it takes to search the place. Or until your father returns, whichever comes first.”
“But that might—”
“Take days? That’s fine with me. I’m a patient man.”
“You can’t stay here!”
“You don’t have accommodations, then? All I need is a place to sleep and a—”
“I can think of a suitable place for you.”
He grinned. “I’ll just bet you can.”
“Go to blazes, Mr. Winter!”
“I’ve been there and back,” he said, retrieving his hat from the desktop and shoving it onto his head again. “But I’m obliged for the invitation, all the same.”
He turned toward the open doorway.
“Wait!” she cried, rushing to the door right behind him.
She reached past his arm and slammed the door, shutting out the sounds in the station yard. The metallic clank of horses’ harnesses faded, muted along with the voices of the stage handlers and drivers.