Calico

by Raine Cantrell

  “You know what gave your hiding place away, don’t you? It was your stink,” he said without waiting for her to answer. “The goose you tried to cook up there turned out to be your own.” McCready ignored the stitch in his side. “I’ll admit I expected better sport of you, Irish.”

  Maggie, swaying to and fro, heard his disappointment. She damned it and him. Better sport? She’d give McCready more sport than he had ever had!

  “I hope you’ll be gracious in your defeat, O’Roarke, and concede this first hand to me. I’ll even admit that for a minute or two you had me worried.” Liar, whispered a little voice that McCready chased quickly. Maggie had drawn the battle plan and picked the site, feeble as it was. But he had won the skirmish.

  He made an effort not to pant to save his pride. He knew it wasn’t his strength but Maggie’s weight that was slowing him down. The thought of setting her free to walk back was rejected as fast as it came. He couldn’t chase her again, and he had a feeling that she knew it.

  “Won’t … be … long … now, Maggie.”

  His labored breathing only had Maggie worrying that he would fall. She had no room for pity. He had decided to haul her back like she was a side of beef, so McCready could suffer for it. But her satisfaction was short-lived.

  “I need … to think … of a fitting … punishment … for your escape.”

  The words she dismissed, but the shift of his hands on her thighs made her tense.

  “Easy, girl,” he soothed, grinning for all he was worth. “I won’t be … too hard … on you.”

  Hard? On her? Maggie couldn’t summon another thought.

  She refused to grab hold of any part of McCready’s body. The constant swaying motion and blood rushing to her head, arms, and hands were making lights dance in front of her eyes. If he slowed down any more, she would likely pass out before he reached the cabin.

  Maggie smelled their destination long before she saw the light. McCready didn’t hesitate at the door; he walked right in and dumped her in the middle of the soggy mess on the bed.

  She sprawled where he dropped her, groaning. McCready hunched over, gripped his knees, and drew in heaving lungfuls of air.

  “If … you move … I’ll…” Breathe in and out, and damn her. “Yeah … I’ll use … the belt on you.”

  Maggie believed him.

  It was hard not to, when he straightened and, with his gaze never leaving hers, opened the belt buckle.

  “Found sense in your … flight, O’Roarke? Good. Don’t trifle with me.” McCready slid the belt free and let it dangle above her.

  “Now, McCready…” Maggie found that she could move. Right into the far corner, where she scrunched up like a mouse.

  “Looks like you’re wearin’ war paint, McCready, with those smoke streaks on your face.”

  “You’re none too pretty yourself.” He had to swallow his chuckle. He couldn’t believe Maggie was cowering away from him as if she believed he would use his belt on her. Chuckles became laughter that couldn’t be contained. He looked at Maggie’s blazing eyes and knew she was about as cowered as he was.

  “Checkmate, Maggie mine.”

  Her hands curled into fists. “What’s that?”

  “I’ve got you and you’ve got nowhere left to run.” McCready turned his back on her and shrugged out of his shirt.

  Maggie stared at the wall. Her own shirt smelled of smoke, and the back was damp from lying on the bed. She was still cold. Maggie didn’t bother to look when she heard the bar slide across the door, nor did she move when McCready returned to the bedside.

  “Get up.” He didn’t expect her to obey him, but she did, watching him with wary eyes. “Take off your shirt, Maggie.”

  “Why?”

  “It should be obvious, even to you.”

  “You’d be thinkin’ I’m hidin’ a weapon?” Maggie refused to let her gaze drop below his nose. “If I had—”

  “Maybe you are,” McCready snapped, giving her a light push with the heel of his hand so her back was against the wall.

  Maggie was too shocked to fight him. He ran his hands from her shoulders to her wrists. He slid his hands under her arms and stroked down her sides to her hips. His gaze pinned her in place as surely as disbelief when he shaped her breasts and spanned her rib cage. She uttered a choked sound as he spun her around, sliding his hands into her pants pockets quickly and just as quickly running them down her legs. One finger traced the length of her spine. She felt his full hand span her hip then palm her bottom.

  “Nothing’s where it shouldn’t be.”

  Maggie wasn’t cold anymore. McCready left behind a flush that stole inside her. She turned slowly and found that she couldn’t understand the expression in his eyes. But she had no trouble understanding his warning.

  “Don’t goad me, Maggie. Don’t dare me, either. I’ll call your bluff every damn time.”

  She knew she was at the end of her rope; it was the reason that she nodded meekly. The reason why she couldn’t figure McCready at all.

  “Truce?” he offered, reaching for the buttons on her shirt.

  Maggie slapped his hand away.

  “You need dry clothes, O’Roarke. Stop being stubborn. Try being grateful that I didn’t take a belt to your backside.”

  “I’ll tend to meself.”

  “Fine.” McCready knelt beside the bed and reached beneath it for the small trunk holding his clothes. “When you’ve changed, you can help me clean up this mess.” He flipped open the top and withdrew two clean shirts along with pants for himself.

  Maggie eyed the shirt he handed her. “Where’s the rest?”

  “That’s all you’re getting until your clothes get washed and dried.”

  “You’ll be freezin’ me—”

  “There are plenty of blankets.” McCready took his clean clothes to the fire. He added a few logs, for Maggie’s sake, not his. Cold and exhaustion had fled his body the moment he put his hands on Maggie. Wearing an angry scowl he kicked off his boots and stripped his pants. It took every bit of willpower not to turn and look at Maggie when she made a choked sound. He didn’t trust himself to see her watching him, but he could almost feel her gaze on him.

  McCready admitted it weakened his resolve when he heard the rustle of her clothing falling to the floor. He refused to let the image of Maggie’s body and how it felt to him enter his mind. The woman would have him on his knees if she knew how much he wanted her.

  He needed something to appease the hunger prowling his gut. And he expected that Maggie was hungry, too. Too bad they didn’t hunger for the same things.

  After fastening the buttons of his fly, McCready lifted the bucket of water, swearing when he found it smelled as bad as himself.

  “You finished, O’Roarke?” he asked, gathering his clothes into a small bundle. She didn’t answer. He turned and found Maggie perched on the edge of the bed, leaning against the wall. “O’Roarke?” Her name came out with a stifled groan. His shirt barely draped Maggie’s thighs, and she, uncaring of him, had those long legs stretched out in front of her. “O’Roarke!”

  His shouted command made Maggie shake off her exhaustion and face him. Face him, but not look at him. She directed her gaze to the stone of the fireplace behind him.

  “Gather up your clothes. I won’t sleep with this stink in here.”

  Maggie lifted her shirt and rolled it tight. “Here, McCready.” She threw it at him. The shirt fluttered open and fell to the floor between them. Her pants and socks followed.

  Hands on hips, McCready waited for the last, and when it wasn’t forthcoming, he went after it. Towering over her, he extended his hand. “There’s one more.”

  Maggie didn’t argue. She took the crumpled chemise from between her and the wall and handed it over.

  “I’ll be needin’ one of those blankets, McCready.”

  “When we’re finished,” he snapped, his gaze sliding down her bare legs, long enough
and shaped to make a man sweat. “Get up, O’Roarke. I’ll need your help to roll the tick.” “An’ what happens if I don’t want to help?”

  “Defiant to the last, Maggie? Try it and see.”

  Maggie thought for a moment, tempted to call him, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes, and she couldn’t deny her need to sleep.

  Before she moved, McCready had opened the door. Barefoot and dressed in his shirt, Maggie wasn’t going to run. At least not tonight, he amended. He threw their clothes outside, then helped her roll up the feather mattress. He didn’t bother to tell Maggie that tomorrow he intended to see that she repaired the damage she had done. He didn’t say anything while they grunted and tugged the large soggy bulk out the door.

  Maggie was shaking when she came inside. She took a blanket from McCready and wrapped it around herself, looking for a place to lie down.

  McCready poured himself a drink. “Want one?” he offered, understanding her searching gaze. “Take the bed, Maggie.”

  “Ain’t a proper bed without rope springs. Never saw one with full boards in their place. Don’t look comfortable for a body.”

  “Oh, but it is. For me. I like a hard bed and a soft body beneath me, Mary Margaret.”

  “Well, don’t be thinkin’ to have me there, boyo.” But Maggie said this without heat. She had heard the coaxing temptation in his tone. She hated the image he created with those few words. Hated them, for it was far too easy to see herself there. Maggie pulled the blanket tighter and squeezed her thighs together. She had to get away before McCready had his way with her.

  McCready suffered for his teasing remark. He sipped his drink, but warm whiskey wasn’t the taste he craved. It occurred to him that he didn’t want Maggie going to sleep. He wanted her awake and as aware of him as he was of her.

  “Would you like something to eat first, Maggie?”

  “No!” She hadn’t meant to yell but the thick-headed man didn’t understand that she had to shut him out of her sight.

  “Don’t be testy. I’m a passable cook.”

  “Sleep is all I want.”

  “Since my bed doesn’t appeal to you, you’re welcome to stretch out in front of the fire.” McCready set his glass down and tossed her the quilt that had been on the bed. “That should cushion your soft bottom.”

  “I’m not soft, McCready, an’ don’t you be thinkin’ it.” She knelt with her back toward him to fix the quilt in place. Biting her lower lip, she said without turning, “Will you have a blanket?”

  “Ah, Maggie mine, are you offering to share yours with me? Before you answer, you should know the thought holds a great deal of appeal to me.”

  “Why?”

  Her voice was so soft that McCready wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. Raking his hair with one hand, he finished his drink.

  “Can’t you tell me why, McCready?” Maggie didn’t know why she had asked him. She already knew the answer. He wanted the mines and would use himself just like one of those snake-oil drummers to sell shoddy goods.

  The temptation was there for McCready to show her with action, not tell her with words, why he wanted to share her blankets. He gave thought to it. Just long enough to become fully aroused, which was mere seconds. But he knew he would be on Maggie quicker than a greenhorn raking in his first winnings, just as greedy and proud as the devil she called him.

  And it was pride that had him say, “You’ll find out, Maggie mine. Before we leave here, I promise you’ll find out why.” Turning down the lamp, he fetched the last blanket from the chest and settled himself in front of the door.

  Maggie slowly settled herself before the fire. She didn’t like the strength in McCready’s promise. He’d left no room for doubt that he would indeed show her why the sharing of her blankets held any appeal for him. But she wore a smug smile that he didn’t know the idea held more than appeal for her.

  She wasn’t finished with McCready.

  Chapter 8

  “I can’t fix it!” Maggie declared, hands on hips. The morning sun added glints of gold to the copper color of her hair, but the blaze of her eyes rivaled the sun’s heat. She kicked aside the makeshift blanket skirt and tried to move past McCready.

  He grabbed hold of her upper arm. “I can’t believe this. You’re a woman. You’re supposed to be able to sew.”

  “Who wrote that into law, McCready? You? I get by for what needs doin’ for meself.”

  “Yeah. I already know how selfish you are.” The uncomfortable night spent tossing and turning added a sharpness to his voice. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Maggie. You are going to repair my feather tick. I don’t care how you do it. I do not care how long it takes you. But you will fix my mattress.”

  If she didn’t get the point from his insistent voice, she certainly knew it from the cunning gleam in his eyes. Maggie grated her teeth together and stared pointedly at his hand still gripping her arm. The back of his hand was pressed against her breast.

  McCready suddenly released her as if he had become aware of the same thing, only to capture the ends of her shirt collar. Maggie tried to pull away. McCready gathered more of the collar into his hands. Her heart was beginning to thud uncomfortably. The wee flutters were once again dancing inside her, had been, she admitted to herself, ever since she awoke to find McCready at her side this morning. It hadn’t sweetened her disposition any to find that he made good on his boast of the night before and had made breakfast. Maggie made him taste everything, not trusting him. It surprised her that he did it willingly.

  She let out a hiss of breath. The man didn’t understand what his being this close did to her. His head was as thick as the stout cabin walls.

  “Say you’ll do it, Maggie.”

  She squinted up at the sun.

  McCready closed his eyes briefly, offering a prayer for patience. “Are you trying to make me angry?”

  “Try, McCready? Don’t need to. Seems to me that around you it comes right natural.”

  He twisted the ends of the collar and jerked her flat up against him. McCready grinned as her chin shot up. “I warned you last night, didn’t I, Maggie?”

  “Stuff that warning in the hole in the mattress.” Her pulse was dancing to the tune the little ones played. Little ones that seemed to make themselves at home when McCready’s body touched hers. She didn’t like feeling a tight, grabbing sensation deep in her middle.

  “Well, what’s it going to be?” he prodded, angling his head so that his mouth hovered over hers. He craved a kiss and would have taken it, but pride once more dictated that Maggie had to give willingly.

  The teasing glint was gone from his eyes from one heartbeat to another. What Maggie saw replace it was dark and dangerous. She felt the same excitement as when she scraped her knife blade against bedrock and found alluvial gold. His breath teased over her mouth like a breeze tickles the leaves in summer. It was a sinful mouth, and she had to get away from it and him before he clouded her mind.

  “McCready,” she murmured, “I’ll make a deal with you.”

  “I’m listening, but make it a good one. I’m not in a mood to be generous.”

  “You wash and I’ll try to fix your mattress.”

  “Not good enough. Offer me more to sweeten the deal.”

  “More?”

  “You’ve been allowed to go along without paying for your actions, Maggie.” He couldn’t resist brushing his lips over hers. It was a little sip to ease his need. He felt her tremor, but as he kept his eyes on hers, he could see it wasn’t from fear. He nipped her bottom lip. “You keep on forgetting that you’re my wife, Maggie. A wife should take care of her husband’s belongings.”

  He waited to see if she would reject him again. No matter the need churning inside him, he would not force her.

  Maggie had her hands flat on his chest. He was hard and warm. She leaned away to escape his tantalizing mouth, but the effort cost her. Her lower body nestled the blatant sh
ape of his manhood. She had found something else that was as arrogant as everything else about him. Be kissed or burned, but make up your mind, her body demanded.

  “I’ll do it.” Maggie found herself free. She wished she could take enjoyment from his stunned expression. But she couldn’t. Submitting to his demand to repair his mattress and wash their clothes was hard to swallow. Maggie was more afraid that McCready would know why she had done it.

  “I’ll be gracious and heat the water for you, Maggie.” He started for the cabin, then turned back. “You won’t try to run?”

  She glanced at her bare feet and the bulky blanket that she wore. “Not likely.”

  McCready accepted the silent vow in her eyes. Maggie would run as soon as she was given another opportunity.

  “Why don’t you know when McCready’s coming back, Dutch?”

  “I told you, Cora Ann, the man has business away from here. I’m not his keeper. He didn’t tell me how long he’d be gone.” Dutch set out a glass in front of her and, without waiting, poured out a drink. Cora Ann belted it down, and he refilled the glass. He cursed McCready for leaving him to deal with a vicious dog and two irate women.

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I could help?”

  They both looked over when the Rose began another mournful tune. Dutch knew she was missing McCready, for her singing left a lot to be desired tonight. But there was nothing he could do about it. When Cora Ann asked again where McCready was, Dutch knew he had had enough.

  He slapped down the bar towel. “You married to the man, Cora Ann?”

  “No. But I’d like to be.”

  “Then don’t ask me again. McCready will be back when he’s back. Not a day before. If you can’t keep your nose from poking into this, I’ll try seeing how business improves without a whining woman around.”

  “You can’t fire me! McCready said you had to keep me on last night.”

  Dutch leaned over the bar. “McCready ain’t here. I am. You’re trying my patience till there’s little left. Go deal cards, Cora Ann; it’s what you’re best at.”