by Stacey Kayne
“Seems to me that those who have the most tend to want it all.”
Garret couldn’t argue. He was somewhat amazed and a whole lot impressed by her knowledge and observations. He rested an elbow on the table and noted the ache in his ribs had dimmed considerably, while the weight of his eyelids seemed to increase by the second. “So, your deal with Strafford—”
“I don’t have a deal with Strafford,” she protested, her biting tone telling him she harbored some serious animosity toward the man.
“That day in town was your only run-in with him?”
Her slender eyebrows pinched inward. “Why do you ask?”
Hell. She didn’t evade questions unless she had something to hide, and he didn’t doubt that learning Strafford had sent his hired guns to his ranch to find her would set off the temper he saw brewing behind her angry blue eyes.
“Honey, those wanted posters are a real threat. The men who jumped me mentioned ’em.”
Her blue eyes flared.
“They said they’d spotted you with Boots.”
Worry replaced the anger in her expression. “Garret, did they—”
“They also told me to stay out of the stockyard next month. They’d have to beat me a damn sight harder to make that happen.” He blinked against a sudden increase of weight in his eyelids. He felt awfully damn relaxed—too relaxed given their topic of conversation. His gaze fell to the empty mug in his hands.
She wouldn’t.
He looked up. Maggie held his gaze from across the table.
“Maggie? What’d you put in that tea?”
Her sly grin confirmed his suspicion. “A few herbs to help you feel better and a bit of honey.”
“You drugged me.”
“I did.” Smiling, she plucked the empty mug from his hand. “You’re hurting and you’re stubborn. The madweed will help you rest easily. And unlike the whiskey, you won’t wake with a headache.”
He blinked several times, but the weight of his eyelids only increased. “You planning to sneak off while I’m passed out?”
“I’ll stay until tomorrow.”
Garret breathed a silent sigh of relief.
She walked around the table. “Let’s get you up to your room before you fall on your busted face.”
“Don’t try to cushion my pride, now,” he said, rising from the chair, sleep descending on him like a coastal fog.
Maggie pressed against his side. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You can be a harsh woman, Magpie.”
“They don’t call me Mad Mag because of my needlework.”
Garret laughed, and hugged her close, not caring what name she went by, so long as she wasn’t rushing off before he was able to look out for her. He’d find a way to keep her safe until he took care of Strafford.
A serenade of crickets echoed into the house as Garret poured himself a cup of strong coffee. He took a deep drink, the thick brew coating his tongue like tree bark and settling in his gut like warm mud.
“Perfect.” He downed the cup, warding off any lasting effects of Maggie’s medicinal tea. He was well rested after his herb-induced nap. He’d made sure Maggie napped right along beside him and he hadn’t minded her serving his supper in bed, so long as she settled in with him.
He refilled the mug and started for the back door, knowing his nursemaid would be preoccupied for a good long while. He smiled at the thought of her slackened expression as he led her into the bathroom where a water-filled porcelain tub waited for her. He’d taken care to lay out one of the embroidered nightdresses he’d found in a bundle by the back door. His offer to stay and scrub her back answered with a glare, he’d left her alone. He’d bathed while she slept and felt like a new man after the long, hot soak.
He stepped into the cool evening air and shuffled down the back stoop. Following the racket of voices and guitar strumming, he headed for the bunkhouse. A full moon overhead dimmed the twinkling stars in the black sky. Movement near the corrals caught his attention.
Everett’s brown hair stood out in the soft light, his bony shoulders silhouetted against a night sky. He sat on the fence, staring into the corral holding Maggie’s horse.
“Everett?”
He turned. “You’re up!” He jumped down and rushed over. “How are you feelin’?”
“Little worse for wear, but otherwise fine.” Now that he could hold his eyes open for more than five minutes. “What are you doin’ out here?”
“Nothin’,” he said, his expression glum. “I counted the branding irons like you told me to and we’re short one. Do you think the raiders took it?”
“Yeah,” he said, taking a drink of coffee to wash down the sense of dread welling in his stomach. “I do.”
“Clint wanted to talk to you about it this mornin’ but Miss Maggie wouldn’t let ’im.”
“She wouldn’t let him?”
“She said we’d have to wait ’cause she wouldn’t wake you. She also said anyone who didn’t knock on the back door before comin’ in might not be walkin’ back out.”
Garret grinned, not doubting she’d told them just that. He hadn’t thought about his crew clamoring in the back door as they usually did, and likely causing her a bit of fright. She’d never admit to it, but he knew it was fear that kept her wary. She’d likely instilled some in his crew of cowpunchers.
“She sure don’t like me none,” Everett said. “I only did what you told me to. If I knew they was—”
“You did the right thing, Everett. You brought help, just like I told you to.”
“I’d have stayed and fought ’em with you,” he insisted, his hands fisting at his sides.
“I know you would have, but it’s just as well you didn’t. Have the fellas been giving you a hard time?”
“No.”
“You can bet they would if they thought you’d neglected your duty.”
The kid shoved his hands into his pockets, seeming to ponder that thought.
“Come on,” Garret said, nudging him toward the longhouse. “Anyone ride out today?”
“Nope. Clint thought it best to stay close. We all found work on the ranch. Mitch and I finished the roof.”
“Mitch is here?”
“Yeah. Two others from the Morgan ranch stayed on to help out.”
Garret shuffled up the steps and was reminded of the sorry state of his ribs with each stride. He opened the door to a smoky room and a hum of guitar strumming and conversation. Jesse sat in his bunk on the far wall, strumming the chords to one of his cowboy ballads while Kuhana played poker at one of the long tables with Chavez and the two men from Morgan’s ranch. Clint and a few others sat in the cushioned chairs spaced around the fireplace in the corner. He was talking to Mitch who lay on the floor before the fire. Boots was beside him on the rug, busily chewing on a bone.
“Evenin’,” he said as he ventured farther into the lantern light.
Heads turned, eyes flinching as they looked in his direction.
“Damn,” Kuhana said, tossing his hand of cards onto the table as he stood. The others followed suit with a combination of swearing and greetings.
Boots abandoned his bone and ambled toward him, favoring his front paw.
“’Bout time you showed your ugly mug,” Clint said, his long frame unfolding from the chair.
“Looks worse than it is,” he said, stopping to greet Boots. “My nephew Josh could have put up a better fight.” He knelt down to inspect the patch of matted hair on his dog. “Boots and I were holding our own until one of those sorry cowards shot him.”
“Get over here and take a load off,” said Clint.
Pleased to find his dog on the mend, he continued toward the fire and eased into the chair Clint offered. “Thanks.”
“Smoke?”
He glanced at the roll of white in Clint’s fingers and recalled Maggie’s reaction to the scent of tobacco when she’d entered the bunkhouse the day before.
“Nah.”
“Figured y
our mountain woman still had you tied to the bed.” Mitch grinned as low laughter rumbled from the men gathering around them.
Garret tensed, his hands curling into fists.
“For doctoring,” he clarified. “I’ve got more sense than to make rude remarks about a woman with enough starch to stand the sight of you.”
“She really Mad Mag?” Chavez asked, pulling up a chair.
His gaze moved from the cowhand’s coffee-shade eyes to the dozen curious expressions fixed on him. Their curiosity reminded him of what it was costing Maggie to be here, the kind of exposure she’d avoided for years.
“Yeah. Her name’s Maggie. Everett said she kept you out of the house this morning.”
“Hell, we thought to come check on you,” said Clint. “Yer little woman wouldn’t have it and looked ready to skin anyone who thought to oppose her demands.”
“You all appear to be unharmed,” he mused.
“We not stupid,” said Kuhana. “Do you know who jumped you?”
“We been trying to figure out why they would beat the hell out of you and not bother the herds,” said Clint.
“I think they’re more interested in controlling the stockyard than stealing my cattle.”
“If they got your brand,” said Mitch, “they’re likely interested in hangin’ you.”
“Even if they managed to get me in a noose, my ranch goes to my sister, so what would they gain? This is about more than cattle. Mitch, can you ride back to the ranch in the morning and see if Tucker’s been able to reach my attorney?”
Kuhana grunted. “You tell us which rancher, we go take care of it.”
Flushing out the mayor of Bitterroot Springs wasn’t going to be so simple.
“We’re going to take care of him,” Garret assured him. “But first I want to know exactly who I’m dealing with.”
The familiar sweet scent of wildflowers was a welcomed and arousing distraction as Garret stepped in through the back door. Maggie stood before the warm stove towel-drying her hair. Instead of wearing the embroidered nightdress he’d set out, she wore a plain ivory shirt tucked into light buckskin britches with fringe running down the legs where it disappeared into the tall shaft of her moccasins.
Stubborn and beautiful as ever.
“How’s Boots?” she asked.
“As spoiled as his master by the looks of it.”
She smiled and he moved closer, drawn by the ease in her stance, the sparkling in her deep blue eyes.
“Did you enjoy your bath?”
“Yes. I must have been in that big tub for near an hour.”
Breathing deeply, he closed the last bit of distance between them. “I love the scent of your soap.” He lifted a sleek ebony lock from her shoulder and touched the damp hair to his lips. “It haunts me.”
She eased back, her expression startled.
“I can’t see a wildflower without thinking of you, and these hills are full of spring flowers.”
Her answering smile broke the last of his restraint. He leaned in and she rose up as though meeting his kiss was a natural response. Desire flared as she clung to him, kissing him with equal passion. He slid his hands down her back, pressing her against the solid proof of the fire building inside him. He rocked his hips and her breath caught.
“Another effect you have on me.”
“Nice to know all of you isn’t broken.” She kissed his neck.
He groaned against the pounding surge in his blood. He was sure he’d never been so familiar with any woman, and yet she surprised him at every turn. He’d sworn he wouldn’t chase another woman—and he wouldn’t. But he damn sure didn’t plan to make it easy for her to walk away from him. He lifted her into his arms and started for the stairs.
“Garret! Your shoulder!”
“You bes’ hold still until I get you up to bed.”
Maggie tightened her hold as he started up the stairs, afraid she’d jostle his injury. “Who says I’m ready for bed?”
“I do. I have a mind to love you, Magpie.”
Maggie’s heart skittered as he carried her into the darkened bedroom. He sat her on the soft mattress. Moonlight poured in the through the second-story window, painting a milky glow across the bed, illuminating the lace canopy. Instead of reaching for the lamp, he reached for her shirt, undoing the button beneath her collar. His longs fingers pulled the bottom from her waistband while his eyes looked deep into hers. His eyes were a shine of colorless glimmer, his hair a glow of white while his body was cast in shadow outlined by silvery moonlight.
“Any objections?” he asked.
Objections? Anticipation sizzled beneath her skin, evaporating her breath. How she’d longed to be loved by him again. Realizing he waited for her response, she shook her head.
The warmth of his hands slid beneath her shirt and moved caressingly up her waist, stealing her thoughts as his gentle fingers found her breasts. He laid her back, every slow reveal of skin followed by the caress of his lips, his tongue, his teeth.
There was nothing hesitant in his lovemaking. He brought her shattering release again and again only to rebuild her passion until she was trembling, wild, frantic for their joining.
Chapter Fourteen
M aggie sat up in a tangle of bed linens. Disoriented and blinded by sunlight, she blinked up at an ivory canopy and instantly knew where she was.
Garret’s bed.
“It’s just the men.” His sleepy voice came from the ripple of blankets beside her. It was voices in the yard that had woken her. Garret’s arm snaked out from the covers and hauled her back down into the warm softness.
His lips found her neck and she snuggled against him, wishing she could stay here beneath this canopy forever.
“Good morning,” he murmured against her skin.
“Mmm.” She stretched, loving the feel of his body pressed to hers.
Garret eased back and smiled down at her. “I told you passion was the best medicine.”
There’d been a few times last night when she knew his movement caused him a combination of pleasure and pain. She reached up, touching the cut near his eyebrow. The swelling was gone but his handsome face still bore a number of bruises.
“Am I healed?”
“A little more yellow today.” She brushed her lips over a bruise on his chest. “How do you feel?”
“You tell me.” He settled more firmly over her, hot and hard against her hip, the coarse hair of his chest tantalizing her sensitive breasts. “How do I feel?”
Maggie slid her arms around his strong back. “Wonderful.”
“That’s a good start.” It felt more than wonderful to wake with her at his side, her skin pressed to his—it felt right. He kissed her neck and Maggie trembled beneath him. She tilted her head, giving him better access as he followed the curve to her shoulder. He eased farther down, one destination in mind.
A door slammed downstairs and Maggie shot up.
“Garret?” his sister’s voice called out.
Maggie’s wide gaze locked with his.
“My sister,” he whispered.
A blanket slapped him in the face as Maggie pushed him away and flew out of bed.
“Garret?” Skylar called again, this time from the base of the stairs.
Maggie clutched a pile of clothes to her bare chest, her eyes frantic. “Do something!” she whispered.
“I’ll be right down, sis,” he called out as he strode to the door. “Can you start some coffee?”
“Okay. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
He shut the door and turned to find Maggie hastily buttoning herself into his shirt. Her expression thunderous, she struggled to stuff the long shirttails into her buckskin britches.
“Stop smiling,” she snapped. “And put your clothes on.”
“I would, sweetheart,” he said, walking toward her, “but you’re wearing my shirt.”
She glanced down and her cheeks turned scarlet.
Garret grabbed her shirt up from the foot
of the bed, tossed it over his shoulder and reached for the bottom of his. “Calm down,” he said, kissing her forehead before lifting the ivory cotton away from her soft skin. Her arms covered her breasts as he pulled her shirt into place. She turned away from him to shove her arms into the sleeves and tuck in the bottom.
“I shouldn’t be in your bed.” She snatched up her boots. “I shouldn’t be in this house.”
Garret fastened his Levi’s. “I wouldn’t want any other woman in my bed or my house.”
She looked up from lacing her boot, her eyes a shimmer of moisture before she turned back to her task.
When he was dressed but for the boots he’d left at the back door, Maggie stood near the window. Fully clothed, her arms crossed over her chest, her turbulent gaze was on the rise of mountains in the distance. If she truly had wings, he knew she’d be shoving up the windowpane and taking flight. He moved in behind her and encircled her in his arms.
“Ready to meet my sister?”
A blush stained her cheeks as she looked up at him. “I’ll just wait here until she leaves.”
“There’s nothing inappropriate about you being here. I’m sure Tucker told her you stayed to look after me.”
“I’m not so far removed from proper society to know that spending the night in your bed goes way beyond inappropriate.”
“She doesn’t know that you’ve been in my bed.”
“But I do!” She pulled away from him. “I’ll wait here.”
He wouldn’t have her hide up here, embarrassed and ashamed. “It would be rude to not come and say hello.”
“I am rude.”
“You can be, sweetheart, but we both know you’re twice as kind. I wouldn’t have you in my bed if you were some temporary fancy. I’d like to introduce you to Skylar.”
He took her hands in his and drew them to his lips. Maggie nearly winced. When he looked at her that way, her resolve turned to mush and she doubted she could refuse him anything.
“Come meet my sister. You’ll like her. I know you will.”
“Won’t matter if I like her or not,” she said, grasping at the remaining shreds of her temper.