Calico

by Raine Cantrell

  “Maggie?”

  It wasn’t his whisper that made her think about moving now. It was the fine tremor she felt from his hand. His thumb was no longer drawing circles on her chin but rubbing back and forth beneath her lower lip. Get a grip, Maggie, she demanded of herself. Don’t let him come any closer. You can’t be tempted by this man. For the sake of all you own, it’s McCready that’s touching you!

  “Ah, Maggie mine,” he breathed over her slightly parted lips. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.”

  His slow, soft drawl ruffled her nerve ends. McCready’s thumb was coaxing her lower lip open with tiny strokes while his fingers rubbed the sensitive skin behind her ear. Maggie couldn’t help the little shiver he called forth. She opened her eyes, scowling. And nearly groaned aloud. McCready wore that cocky grin that made her stomach roll over. Anger was her only weapon.

  “I should’ve figured you’d be one to take advantage when me guard was down.”

  “Is your guard down, Maggie mine?” His eyes brightened as the thought and his grin became a satisfied smile.

  “You’d be knowin’ it, McCready.”

  “That and a bit more about you. But I’m not taking advantage, Maggie,” he said, his voice whisper soft, unwilling to give up his prize. “I’ve not taken a blessed thing from you. Yet.”

  “An’ you won’t,” she promised, shaking her head to rid herself of his hold.

  Gambler’s instinct came into play, and McCready wisely folded. He released her and stepped back.

  “You never said why you came here.” Maggie dragged in a deep breath she hadn’t known she needed. Turning away from him, she stared at the flickering lamp flame.

  “I was worried about you.”

  “Why? You never were before. An’ you’d be knowin’ I can take care of meself.”

  “It’s the truth, Maggie.”

  “Ha! The truth? You wouldn’t know the truth it if was sittin’ in the bottom of a whiskey glass starin’ right up at you.”

  “Is that what you think of me?”

  Maggie sensed she had hurt him the moment he spoke. She looked up at him only to find herself puzzled by his expression. Watchful and waiting. What would he be waiting and watching for? She shook her head and rid herself of the question. McCready couldn’t be hurt by anything she said.

  “Well, boyo, you’ve seen for yourself I’m fine, so be off with you.”

  “Not so fast. You can’t stay here, Maggie. Not alone.”

  Eyes narrowed, Maggie studied him from the tip of his boots up to his long, disordered hair. Her mouth thinned when he hooked his thumbs into his pants pockets and met her glare with his own.

  “You’re gettin’ to be as pesky as a horse fly an’ ’bout as wanted, McCready.”

  “An’ you’re a fine-looking filly for me to be pestering.”

  “No.”

  “No?” he repeated with a silky warning. “You’re forgetting you’re my wife, Maggie.”

  She rubbed one finger over the gun grip, shaking her head. “I won’t be listenin’ to your passel of lies again. It’s best you go while you can still walk.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Maggie.”

  “I’m not. I’m warnin’ you. This is me cabin. A body can’t be blamed for protectin’ its own. Someone tried to kill me. For all I know—”

  “Stop right there!” McCready made a visible effort to control the flush of anger rising to a dangerous degree. “If you thought I had anything to do with that, you’d never have opened the door to me, Maggie. I know it and you’ll admit it. You can’t stay here now. If anything happened—”

  “Right. You and your claim would be floatin’ down the river without a landin’ in sight. Selfish to the core, ain’t you, boyo? Well, Satin’s here an’ you ain’t wanted.”

  McCready’s hands slid deep into his pockets to prevent him from grabbing hold of her and shaking sense into her.

  “I promised Pete I’d look out for you. I can’t keep that promise, Maggie, unless you help me. Just come down to the Rawhider for a few days.”

  “No.”

  “For tonight?”

  “Not an hour, McCready.”

  “You’re my wife. You’re supposed to obey me.”

  “What I am is tired, McCready. Tired of listenin’ to you. Go home.” Maggie flipped the gun over and, in doing so, fixed the barrel so that it pointed at him. She motioned Satin to her side, splaying one hand over the dog’s neck.

  “If I could find out what happened to me bullwhip, I’d be addin’ it to what’s here. This is all the protectin’ I need from the likes of you.”

  “And if someone took your dog and weapons away, Maggie, what would you be using then?” His pockets had grown too tight to contain his hands so he threaded his fingers through his hair. “You don’t make sense. You were scared when I first came. Don’t think about denying it. I saw the fear.”

  Her shrug infuriated him even as he noticed that she slid her gaze from his and pinned it on the wall behind him.

  “There’s no shame in admitting that you’re not as strong as you think, Maggie. I can’t leave you here alone. So you leave me no choice once more. I’ll stay here.”

  The shelf above the bunk in the corner held one spare blanket. McCready started for it, ignoring the click of the gun hammer being pulled back. He ignored her hissed warning, ignored Satin’s growl, and reached for the blanket, figuring Maggie was too good a shot to hit him.

  But she didn’t shoot. From the clutter on the table she lifted a box of cartridges and then rose and took up her rifle.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “If you’d be plannin’ to stay, I’ll be leavin’, McCready.”

  “It’s your cabin.”

  “Nice of you to be sayin’ so.”

  With a sound of disgust he threw the blanket down on the bunk, eyeing her and cursing himself. Exhaustion had her standing with slumped shoulders, her head bowed, her grip on the rifle so tight that he could see her knuckles whiten.

  “The stove isn’t lit, and you haven’t washed those scrapes, Maggie.” He waited, but she didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him. “Can’t you give in with a woman’s grace and admit that you need someone?”

  Her head snapped up, and she pinned her gaze on him. “I don’t need anyone.” He had to be the devil’s spawn to be knowing her shameful admission. Maggie backed up and leaned against the wall, the rifle slipping in her grip. She felt her strength drain and didn’t think she could stand up much longer. What did it take to get rid of this thick-headed mule of a man?

  “I’ll leave as soon as I get the stove going and heat some water for you.”

  “Go away, McCready.”

  “When I’m finished.” He eyed the mangled bustle on the floor and mentally bit his tongue not to tease her. The easily given concession to Maggie’s feelings surprised him.

  The barrel-shaped wood stove yielded cold ash, and McCready scraped a place for the kindling he took out of the wood box. Dried chips of bark caught as quickly as he lit them. He knelt there, feeding the tiny fire, and asked himself what had possessed him to come up here and stay to take care of Maggie. Especially when she didn’t want or need him. There were no answers for himself, no clear-cut ones, that is, and with a slight shake of his head, he rose and went to the washstand.

  Still woven into a garland that could only have been for Maggie’s head, crushed wildflowers lay at the bottom of the cracked washbowl. McCready gripped the edges of the washstand, staring down at the flowers, seeing Maggie—a fragile, womanly Maggie—and her dreams in their place. And he knew that he was responsible for tearing apart those dreams as easily as she had torn those flowers from her hair. Flowers for her wedding … the thought swamped him with guilt.

  What was Maggie doing to him to make him feel guilty? He had acted to save her life, but telling himself this once more didn’t make the guilt disappear. Telling Maggie when
he knew she wouldn’t believe him was not an answer, either.

  “Did you love Quincy?”

  Maggie was no more startled than McCready as he faced her. “What?” she asked.

  “Did you love Quincy?” he repeated in a flat voice.

  “Them knocks that Dutch gave you made you daft. You know why I wanted to marry Quincy. I’ve not the spit left to be fightin’ more, McCready. Leave it be or tell me where you hid him so I can get him in the mornin’.”

  “You can’t marry him. You’re married to me. And I’ll be leaving now, seeing as how you’re too tired to be fighting with me.”

  Maggie used the last of her strength to open the door for him, but McCready paused.

  “I’ll be back, Maggie. This isn’t over.”

  Chapter 5

  “Kidnap Maggie? You’ve lost your wits.”

  “It’s the only way, Dutch. You’ve got to agree to help me. How else can I keep Maggie safe if she isn’t where I can keep an eye on her?”

  “Can’t this wait till morning, boss?”

  “Three-thirty is morning,” McCready responded as Dutch sat up, blinking and yawning.

  Keeping his eyes averted from the brightly turned-up lamp, Dutch shoved aside his blanket and, with his hands rubbing his face and threading his hair, mumbled, “Let me talk to her. She’ll listen to reason.”

  “Only if you kicked her charmingly rounded posterior first.”

  “Seems to me that you’re mighty taken with Maggie’s body since yesterday. Can’t say that I like it.”

  The warning didn’t make McCready stop his pacing. “Can’t say that I much care. Will you help me?”

  Dutch felt his sleepiness disappear. He yawned, stretched, and rubbed his rumbling belly through the gap of a missing button on his union suit. “Let me see if I got this plan of yours straight. All I do is get Satin away so you can get Maggie ’cause you know and I know that she won’t go willingly with you anywhere. Then I tell everyone that Maggie left the dog with me since she changed her mind about marrying Quincy and lit out for one of the claims. You figure that Quincy’ll get tired of waiting and leave. Right so far?”

  “That’s about it.”

  “Not so fast, boss. You’re figuring to stash Maggie up at your cabin. That’s near a day’s ride from here. So tell me where will you be while I’m lying through my teeth?”

  Pausing, McCready rubbed the back of his neck, but he refused to look at Dutch. “Around,” he murmured.

  “What’s that?” Dutch leaned forward on the edge of the bed, cupping his hand over one ear. “Say again. I didn’t catch that.”

  “I said around.”

  “Around here? Around Maggie? Around where?”

  “Right, Dutch. That’s all of it.”

  Gripping his knees, Dutch eyed McCready. “You’re fixing to seduce that girl, and don’t be trying to flimflam me otherwise.”

  “I’m fixing to save her life.” McCready bit the words off, his body aching from both the physical pounding he had taken from Dutch’s hands and the one his senses had taken from being near Maggie. He rounded on Dutch, this time meeting his direct gaze. “You had to see her, Dutch. Maggie looked, well, beaten. Even when Pete died, she didn’t look as if she didn’t have a friend in the world to turn to.”

  “Murdered.”

  “Right,” McCready agreed quickly. “Pete was murdered, and I don’t intend to see Maggie end up the same.”

  “It’s not just the gold anymore, is it?”

  “Nothing else but the gold.” McCready knew his voice lacked conviction.

  Dutch chose to ignore it, forming his own conclusions. “Well, it seems to me that saving her life is a point we agree on. It’s from there we take different roads on how. You know,” he suggested, stifling another yawn, “Maggie could stay here.”

  “No. Wouldn’t work. She’d be vocal in protesting her confinement.” McCready draped his lithe body into the corner chair, booted feet crossed at the ankles, his head resting in the hands clenched behind his neck. With his eyes closed he added, “Too many people would know that she’s here. Between the two of us, we couldn’t check out every stranger that comes into the Rawhider.”

  “But along with us she would have Cora Ann and the Rose. Not only for company, not to mention me, but they’d help sniff out—”

  “Maggie has no desire to further her acquaintance with them. And you’ve heard what Cora Ann and the Rose had to say about Maggie. Remember, this is Maggie’s life we’re talking about. I don’t trust anyone, Dutch.”

  Dutch stared at the floorboards, his chin sinking onto his chest. “Boss, you’re not going to like what I’m thinking.” McCready’s groan was his only response. “Just hear me out. I think you’re missing something. Something important.”

  “Sleep, for a start.”

  “You stole mine. It’s only fair that you shouldn’t get any. Now, just listen. You said that with Maggie gone, Quincy will give up and leave.”

  “A reasonable conclusion you will agree.”

  “Maybe. But Quincy was up at my place with those men when someone was shooting at Maggie. So how could Quincy be involved with it? The man couldn’t be in two places at the same time.”

  McCready opened his eyes and sat up. “Why the hell do you think I want to kidnap her? I told you it was to save her life. I know someone was shooting at her while we held Quincy.”

  “You’re worked up. I might even say you’re angry.”

  “Damn right there.”

  “Well, I had to be sure that I heard you right. The mines are a prize for any man that’s greedy and don’t mind how he gets his hands on them.”

  “You don’t,” McCready grated from between clenched teeth, “for one minute think that I shot at Maggie?” The pressure he put on his swollen jaw sent tentacles of pain shooting up the side of his face, but seeing Dutch’s clear steady gaze pinned on him, McCready found that he didn’t dare relax.

  “I didn’t say anything about you. If I thought it was you, McCready, I’d have stopped you myself.”

  “Nice to know whose corner you’re in.”

  “I’ve always been in yours,” Dutch claimed with a serious note. “But right now, Maggie needs me more.”

  “Then you’ll agree to help me?”

  A soft knock at the door stopped Dutch from answering him. Grabbing hold of his pants from the floor, Dutch knew, with the lamp turned up bright, there was no way to ignore whoever it was. Snapping his suspenders in place over his union suit, he called out he was coming. A burst of merry laughter answered him, and he shot McCready a look of sheer exasperation. “Cora Ann,” he murmured, opening the door.

  McCready eyed the dynamite package of feminine charms in a sprite’s body that was Cora Ann Avernel. Her disposition, drunk or sober, was that of the merriest of widows, which she claimed to be, and with McCready’s live-and-let-live attitude, he never bothered to dispute this with her. She showed up one day four months ago, riding a spirited sorrel, asking for work. McCready played five hands of poker with her and hired her on.

  Cora Ann didn’t walk into the room—she glided. And with the smile of a naughty child who knows her every transgression will always be forgiven, Cora smoothed the folds of a soft blue cashmere robe over her hips, eyeing McCready from beneath her thickly curled brown lashes.

  “You’ve kept me waiting.”

  There was husky promise, pouty reprimand, and a decided female possessiveness enriching this accusation. McCready studied the perfectly shaped petite body that had given and taken pleasure from every hour they had shared. Unfortunately for Cora Ann and perhaps himself, he noted whimsically, Maggie O’Roarke had suddenly consumed all his thoughts.

  “You’re mistaken,” he finally answered

  Cora Ann chose to ignore this. She glided to his chair, leaning over to tap one finger lightly against his chin. She leaned over to give him a view of bare breasts through the gaping rob
e along with a whiff of delicate lavender that she favored. She made no comment about his bruises, having already rendered her opinion to Dutch about his heavy-handedness rearranging McCready’s handsome face, and received in turn both men’s warning to stay out of what she didn’t understand.

  With her luscious pink mouth glistening from a slow swirl of her tongue, and very sure of her welcome, Cora Ann settled herself on McCready’s lap.

  Dutch motioned to McCready to leave.

  “That won’t be necessary. Cora Ann is going.”

  “Why?” she demanded. “I told you I missed you. Come back to my room with me,” she whispered, caressing the soft skin behind McCready’s ear, then bit the lobe. “I’ve something delightfully special just for you.”

  There was that sound of her possessiveness again. On McCready’s list of the unforgivable, which Maggie’s sins headed, there rested the one of any woman’s possessiveness. With a charmingly lazy smile he removed Cora Ann’s fingers from his neck, kissed their tips, then set his hands on her hips to lift her up and off him.

  “Darlin’, you’re mistaken, on all counts.” Patting her bottom, he added, “Be good and leave. Now.”

  For a moment a militant gleam entered her doe-brown eyes. “It’s the Rose, isn’t it? I know she’s taken all your time lately. Well, just so we understand each other, McCready, I won’t stand for it.”

  “Dictating to me, love?” he queried in a soft voice.

  “And why shouldn’t I? I’m entitled after what we’ve—” “No. You’ll leave. Tonight.”

  Cora Ann’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth only to close it. There was no mockery in his voice, none of the seductively sympathetic amusement that so often coated his speech and made her feel stroked to hear it.

  “You can’t mean that.”

  “Oh, but I do.”

  “McCready, the Rose isn’t for you,” she insisted. “You should know that her interest lies elsewhere. Lee Warren for one and Andrew Burton for another.”

  “A woman of extremes,” McCready admitted in a distracted voice, ushering Cora Ann out of the room. “I’ve never asked nor expected to be kept apprised of your or Rose’s choice of bed partners.”