Calico

by Raine Cantrell

  “What happened?” she croaked.

  He didn’t bother to answer but went to fetch her a cup of water. He had his wish; Maggie was finally awake.

  Maggie managed to push herself into sitting with her back braced against the wall. She couldn’t seem to fight her eyes wanting to close, but when McCready returned and cupped the back of her head with his hand, holding the cup to her lips, she managed to keep them open.

  “Don’t gulp the water, Maggie mine. I’ll get you more.”

  “Do it, McCready. A lot more.” She glanced around and knew without asking that this was his cabin, the one everyone knew he had, but not where. Like a greedy child she finished the second cup of water, impatient to shake off the feeling that wanted to drag her under again.

  “More?” McCready asked.

  Maggie shook her head.

  “With your mouth all puckered up like that you look unspeakably sanctimonious, Maggie mine. Reminds me of a schoolmarm I had.”

  Having no idea what he meant, Maggie ignored this. “Tell me why, McCready. You tricked me like the low-down thievin’—”

  “Spare me the litany of your pet names.” Walking away, McCready set the cup on the table and lifted up the lamp. He was worried about Maggie. She had not attacked him. There wasn’t even much heat in her voice. After setting the lamp on the small bedside table, he leaned over and peered into her eyes.

  Disconcerted, she frowned up at him. “What are you lookin’ for?”

  “I want to make sure you’ll live. Since I went to a bit of trouble to get you here to keep you alive, don’t you agree that it would be a pity if I had accidently killed you?”

  McCready saw the fear before Maggie shoved him away. “Maggie, you know I wouldn’t—”

  “I know nothin’, but you bein’ a snake. It was the food, right? Smilin’ an’ fakin’ your carin’. ‘I was worried ’bout you,’ ” she mimicked his words of the morning when she opened the door to him. “ ‘Can’t be sharin’ your breakfast, Maggie, it’s all for you. I was worried an’ wantin’ to prove we can get along.’ You’ll pay, McCready. You’ll pay for every lie.”

  Maggie searched for a weapon, but she couldn’t reach the lamp on the table unless she went through McCready. Grabbing one of the pillows from behind her, she threw it at him. “Rotten gully-raker!” She was incensed that he merely smiled and caught the pillow, which he tossed to the floor. She managed to scramble to her knees, landing a few feeble punches on him.

  “Faith and begorra! I’ll have your hide for a saddle blanket. You’d rob bees of honey an’ sell it back to them, you gin-shepard!” Maggie landed a solid blow to his stomach. McCready winced but didn’t move or try to stop her. She could feel her strength returning; the fury she felt for his fooling her so easily boiled her blood. She wanted McCready’s hide and anything else of his she could get her hands on.

  “Tinhorn,” she grated from between clenched teeth, aiming a blow to his groin. But McCready’s hand blocked her. “You loose-in-the-rump parish stallion!” Maggie went for his chin. McCready jerked his head back, and her fist slid harmlessly past his shoulder, but her strength ebbed and she fell forward.

  McCready was there to catch her. “You run down yet?” he asked, grateful that his fear of having given her too much laudanum was groundless. He would rather have a spitting, snarling Maggie than the helpless companion of the day. Maggie struggled. “Stop it, now. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

  “Let me go, McCready,” she demanded hotly. The soft feather tick offered little support to her knees. Maggie felt the grogginess she was trying to fight return. Having McCready’s hands on her didn’t help. “You whiskey-swillin’ hog,” she muttered, running out of names to call him.

  “Now, Maggie, I’ll be the first to admit that I like my whiskey, but a hog? No fair. I’m taking exception to being called a hog. I’m a generous man, Maggie mine. I’ll share my whiskey and anything else you’d be wanting.”

  “Fair? You think I’ll be fair after what you did? It’s war, McCready. Open huntin’ season on you.”

  With a wave of his hand he indicated the cabin. “This, then, is your battleground for as long as it takes.”

  Maggie gulped. “Long as it takes?” she repeated. The words lit another fire inside her. “You can’t keep me here!” No matter how she pushed and twisted, he refused to let her go.

  “Remember that we’re married, Maggie. I can keep you here as long as I like with none to stop me.”

  “You’ll have to tie me down,” she declared but with a panicked note. She had forgotten his devil’s claim of their being married. Maggie angled her head back to look up at him.

  McCready smiled. “Tying you up offers several pleasing possibilities.”

  “What? Spoutin’ more of your devil’s tongue?”

  “No. I was just thinking that if I were half of what you called me, Maggie, I would have certainly taken advantage of your charmingly vulnerable state.” The aching fullness that strained to be closer to Maggie’s body had him adding, “I would have thought that your first concern upon waking up in my bed would have—”

  Maggie wiggled her hand free and clamped it against his mouth. Her eyes were wide with understanding what she had stopped him from saying. But she was fully dressed. Except for her boots. Even for the whispered prowess of McCready, sex was impossible if she was fully clothed. But his cocky know-it-all grin was back. The sass and fight seeped out of her. Her hand slowly slid down from his mouth to his chin coming to rest on his chest.

  “Tell … me.” She had to swallow. She even had to find the courage and drag it up to ask, “Did you … I mean, was I … could you really … No, you wouldn’t.” With a shudder she closed her eyes, giving up a pitiful groan.

  McCready let her suffer. After all, he reasoned, he’d been through the torture of the damned all day. Stroking her tangled curls, he rested his chin on top of her head, drawing her closer to his body. “Maggie,” he murmured, “would it have been so bad if I had?” Another shudder rippled over her in answer. His lips pressed a light kiss to her hair, sure that she couldn’t feel it. She felt good in his arms, just as she had when she was curled up trustingly against him and sleeping. But it played hell with him to know that she didn’t want to be there.

  “You have no morals,” she whispered, unable to keep herself from sagging against him. Her legs felt like loose gravel. Her stomach turned into a stage for the fluttery sensations to dance on.

  “Not a one, Maggie mine.”

  “I wouldn’t be proud as Lucifer to admit it.”

  “But you see, O’Roarke, I’m trying to prove I’m not all the liar you call me.”

  “You belong locked up with the key thrown away.”

  “Not me, Maggie. You.”

  Her green eyes flickered up in groggy confusion. She wasn’t sure she heard him right. He had both his arms around her, his forehead touching hers. Maggie noticed the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. His shoulder-length hair brushed her cheeks. Maggie licked her dry lips. She didn’t like the way his eyes followed the tip of her tongue. McCready was dangerous. Her body was telling her so.

  “McCready? Why do I belong locked up?”

  He was lost in visions of her tongue gliding against his own lips. Maggie’s fingering the bruise on his cheek ended his distraction as she repeated her question.

  “To keep you alive, that’s why. It’s the only way, Maggie mine. You stay locked up, and I’m the man with the only key.”

  Maggie didn’t like the way McCready was staring at her. His eyes were too dark, too intense, and her flesh seemed suddenly hot, then cold. Her heart was beating too fast, and the tiny flutters spread to other parts of her body.

  McCready stroked her spine, lingering to rub the small of her back. “Maggie, there’s a time to stop running and a time to stop being alone. Understand?”

  Only a bit, she thought. She was aware now of the shape of his lips. He tilted his head
to the side, but managed to bring his mouth closer. His lips were slightly parted, hovering near her own. Maggie turned aside. She had to get free or McCready would have her locked up in more than his cabin.

  Maggie’s breath caught at the shock of his warm mouth skimming the shape of her ear. She couldn’t breathe without his scents filling her. The shimmery sensation spread with the slow slide of his lips down the side of her neck. He nuzzled the hollow of her collarbone. Maggie knew she was still groggy, and tired. That she couldn’t summon the will to fight him made her miserable. That was the only reason why the small murmur escaped her when he pressed her closer to him.

  Rock-hard. Sun-hot. Maggie felt him over every inch of her body. He pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead, across her fluttering eyelashes, down to her cheek. She was surrounded by McCready. He just seemed to be everywhere.

  His mouth found the corner of hers. One hand cupped the back of her head, bringing her around to face him.

  “Maggie, I won’t hurt you.”

  She heard the rich promise in his voice. The underlying heat of pleasure. She wasn’t reassured. This was her enemy. She couldn’t forget his trickery. McCready would use every bit of his snake charm to get what he wanted. Maggie felt her head clear.

  “I’ll be—”

  His lips touched hers, shaping them to fit his larger mouth. His tongue, as arrogant as the rest of him, stole the moisture from her mouth. Maggie had had enough. She opened her eyes and pulled back.

  “McCready,” she whispered, “I’ll be needin’ to use your bucket.”

  “What?” he murmured, dragging his lips over the sweet generous shape of hers.

  “The honey bucket, McCready. You’ve got to have one. And I need it.”

  McCready’s head snapped up. “Now?” Maggie’s guileless gaze lay in wait for him. She nodded, then bowed her head. “Of course I’ve got one. I’ll just—”

  “Leave, boyo. That’s all you have to do.” Maggie still wasn’t sure that he hadn’t taken advantage of her. She didn’t know what she would feel if he had. The only thing she counted on was that McCready was not going to stay in the cabin.

  He had already decided that for himself. He released her and pointed to the rounded wooden tub leaning against the opposite corner from the bed. “Under there.”

  Maggie hid her smile when he helped her to stand.

  “You’re sure you’ll be all right alone?”

  “Go on, McCready.”

  The door barely closed behind him and Maggie moved. She thought about shoving the table in front of the door, but she didn’t want to lock herself in; she wanted to get out. The bar was missing to bolt the door from the inside. The latch was in place but there was no tie to fasten it. McCready thought he had her. She’d show him.

  “Damn him!” There wasn’t a gun in sight. She eyed the wood box, but using a log to knock him out was too chancy. McCready wouldn’t go down easy. She knew he wasn’t going to give her much time. Maggie headed for the drawer in the cupboard. Forks and spoons rattled as she searched for a knife. Not a one.

  If she was desperate enough, she could stab him with a fork, but his hide was likely so tough the darn thing would bend before doing any damage. There had to be something…

  Turning, Maggie stared at the whiskey bottle and cards on the table. McCready was a gambler down to the bone. He had taken his biggest gamble in believing that she would meek as a mouse accept his imprisonment.

  She glanced over at the bed. It didn’t matter if he had taken advantage of her or not. He would. And her betraying body would help him every step of the way.

  McCready liked his bed kept warm. Maggie’s eyes glittered as she turned to the fire. She’d make sure he had no complaints.

  Chapter 7

  The cold snap of the mountain air cleared McCready’s head. He stood a ways from the cabin, hands in pockets, gazing up at the brilliant stars spread against the velvet night.

  From his memory came the fancy and fable that had given names to the constellations. The heat of July was ascribed to the rising of Canis the Dog with its bright star, Sirius. And Bootes, with its bright star, Arcturus, whose risings and fallings near the equinoxes were believed to portend great tempests. A fitting star for his Maggie.

  His Maggie? With the taste of her lingering on his lips he had no trouble accepting this. Dutch’s accusation was true. He did want to seduce her until her senses were pleasure-drenched with himself.

  Look at the stars, he reminded himself. It’s a safe distraction that won’t tie your gut in knots and keep you randy like the parish stallion that Maggie called you.

  But the scattering of stars had him remembering Maggie’s freckles and his intent to discover every one of them. With a snort of disgust, McCready raked his hair back. He had to stop thinking about her.

  There above him were the twins, Castor and Pollux … McCready inhaled smoke.

  He glanced behind to the cabin. Faint light rimmed the two shuttered windows. The smell of smoke was stronger. He wondered if Maggie had overfed the fire. If she had, she … His thought died. That wasn’t smoke from the chimney that he smelled!

  McCready ran. Fear wrapped itself around his chest like a thick leather belt, tightening belt hole by belt hole until he saw black spots dance in front of his eyes.

  He shouldn’t have left her alone. She had passed out and knocked over the lamp. He cursed, threw off the bar to the door, and plunged inside.

  “Maggie!” The thick smoke haze stung his eyes into tearing. He gagged on the stench of burnt goosefeathers. He swiped at his eyes with one hand, extending the other in a blind search for Maggie. He felt the shape of a chair and spun around, overcome by coughing. Dropping to the floor, he crawled his way to the bed, sure he would find Maggie there. He offered prayers to a deity that he was sure had forgotten him. He promised to mend his ways, if only she wasn’t hurt. He’d give up whiskey. Never lie. Close the Rawhider on Sundays. Anything, so that Maggie was all right.

  His shoulder hit the side of the bed. His throat was so tight with fear he couldn’t utter her name. He felt the top of the bed for her body. His fist came away with a mass of soggy feathers.

  It took him moments to realize that the haze was lifting. It took him seconds more to understand what he held. Burnt, wet feathers. He reached out with his other hand smoothing over the bed and knew the pile was small enough to be no more than the pillows. The fear holding him in its grip slipped a notch.

  There were no flames. No fire. Maggie hadn’t passed out and knocked over the lamp. McCready threw the mess he held against the wall. He came up in a crouch. Swallowed repeatedly until he felt moisture in his mouth.

  “You Irish bitch! Where the hell are you?”

  Maggie heard his bellow. She winced as another unseen rock jabbed her stockinged foot. She wanted to run. She looked behind at the light spilling from the open cabin door and knew McCready would come after her. But Maggie didn’t know what lay before her. She could break her neck. The thought crossed her mind that if McCready caught her, that would be his first choice. No, he’d keep her alive to get the mines.

  Maggie knew time was past for her to move. She had not planned her escape well. A bone-chilling cold made her wish for a blanket. But how could she think about food, warmth, and water while McCready’s kisses were still hot on her mouth? Face it, Maggie, she told herself, steering clear of a clump of brush, you’re running from yourself as well as McCready.

  Small rocks tumbled down. Maggie spun around to see how close McCready was and lost her footing. She went down hard on her knees. Panting, ignoring the scrape on her hand, Maggie scrambled down a rock face, frantic to find a place to hide. McCready surprised her. He had discovered her ploy faster than she would have believed, and was gaining on her.

  But why run? she asked herself, crouching down at the base of the rock. McCready would go right by, and when he was far enough away, she would head in the other direction. Mag
gie gritted her teeth and huddled to keep her body heat. McCready mustn’t take long. She had to be up and moving before she was too cold.

  She could hear him, hear his breathing somewhere above her, the grate of his boots against the rocks. The good Lord would not have blessed that man with eyes to see in the dark. Not if there was any justice! She closed her eyes, imagining him standing there, searching for her.

  Maggie would kill for a sip of his whiskey. Rubbing her arms wasn’t helping. And she didn’t need memory dragging up the sound of McCready’s voice when he burst into the cabin calling her name. He sounded afraid, afraid for her. Fool, she chided herself, that’s just what he’d like you to believe. But the thought wouldn’t leave her.

  She glanced up, only to find the dark massive rock blocked her vision. What was McCready doing? Why wasn’t he moving? Her stomach rumbled and she pressed her hands against it.

  Maybe he had given up searching for her? And maybe those stars would drop like stones and hit him, she amended in the next breath.

  Damn him! Where was he? She couldn’t remain where she was. The stone held the cold of night just as it held the heat of the sun in the day. She had to believe she had made good her escape. Bracing her hands behind her, Maggie pushed herself upright. She still couldn’t see above her, but she listened and heard no sound that would warn her if McCready was close.

  Now or never. Maggie pushed off the rock to run.

  McCready’s strong arm snaked around her waist and hauled her up against him.

  There was an instant when Maggie thought to fight him. The instant before he spun her around, holding her arm to the side and wedged his shoulder on her belly. It astounded her that McCready could lift her, but he did, hefting her over his shoulder so she hung head down.

  “Ah, Mary Margaret,” he muttered with a light pat to her bottom, “you’ll lead me a merry chase. You’re like the Queen of Diamonds, never to be trusted. But I like spirit in a woman,” he observed with a cheerful voice. Taking a firm grip on her legs, he bounced his burden. “All secure?” Her grunt pleased him as he began the climb to the cabin.