Cold Night, Warm Stranger

by Jill Gregory

  "That's just what I intend to do."

  "Yes, you've made that clear enough." She picked up a damp rag and began to scrub at a coffee spill she'd missed on the table. Her hands were trembling. "But you'll hate it, won't you? Every moment you're stuck here with me, in this house, on this land, you'll hate it. You'll hate me."

  He reached her in one stride and took the rag from her fingers, tossing it on the table. He grasped her by the shoulders and shook. "I could never hate you," he told her roughly. "Or blame you. I blame myself." His mouth twisted. "I couldn't live with myself if I didn't take responsibility and marry you. But I can't stay, Maura. I'm just not the type to stick around in one place for long. I wasn't cut out to be anybody's husband—"

  She nodded blindly and yanked free.

  But he wasn't ready to let her go and grasped her arm, gently pulling her back so that she had no choice but to face him. Her mouth trembled, but she lifted her chin to meet his gaze, searching his eyes with quiet intensity.

  Quinn fought the urge to brush his fingers across those trembling lips. God help him, he wanted to taste them, to feel their texture, their sweetness beneath his. But he forced himself to concentrate on what he had to say. This was no time to get distracted. What she'd said to him about her brothers was important and made him see things in a way he hadn't before. He needed to set things right.

  "In the meantime... what you said... about belonging."

  "Yes?"

  "You go ahead. Make friends. I don't mean with that worthless Johnson pup, but with whoever in town you take a liking to. And I won't get in your way."

  "What about you?"

  "I can't change who I am, Maura. I'm a loner. I don't trust people. I don't want much to do with 'em. Never have. But you go right ahead."

  "I will."

  He nodded. There was a silence. "Now will you go to bed? You look like you're about ready to fall down in a heap and that can't be good for the baby."

  She knew he was right.

  Silently she turned toward the bedroom off the parlor, aware of his gaze following her, but she didn't glance back.

  The bedroom was fairly large with a sloping ceiling, but it was dark and sparsely furnished. Quinn's gear had been tossed down in one corner near an old scarred pine bureau. Her satchel sat atop the lumpy straw-filled mattress against the opposite wall. The bedroom furnishings consisted of nothing more than the bureau, with a kerosene lamp, washstand, and chipped crockery pitcher atop it, a dented metal chest on the floor near the door that contained some old moth-eaten blankets, linens, and a wicker sewing basket. And one ladder-back chair pushed against the bare wooden wall.

  There was a cracked mirror but no rug, and no curtains at the one shuttered window, where part of the shutter had broken off and starlight drifted in. There wasn't even a quilt on the bed.

  Nevertheless, it beckoned irresistibly. Maura was so weary she barely had the strength to draw the bed linens from the chest, tuck them around the bed, smooth and straighten the dark gray blanket. Her knees shook weakly as she performed her toilette and dragged on an old white nightgown that had been washed so many times, it was paper-thin and frayed at the hemline.

  How she wished she could look beautiful for Quinn. That she had a lovely lavender lace nightgown with silken ribbons, that her hair would fall in neat shining curls, that he would see her and...and what?

  Come to her, take her in his arms, kiss her?

  Maura's heart skipped a beat. Was she really wishing—hoping—that somehow there could be more between them than this "business arrangement" they had both agreed to?

  Idiot, she whispered to herself. He's a stranger who walked into your life, and will walk out just as abruptly. To want more from him—anything more than he had agreed to in their arrangement—would be foolhardy.

  Yet for some reason tears slipped down her cheeks as she at last sank into bed and turned her face on the pillow.

  What's wrong with me? Maura wondered as she tugged the blanket across her shoulders. Why do I keep thinking about Quinn, wondering what it would be like to kiss him again, to be held in his arms, to share his bed?

  He's no good for you. Heat coiled through her as she pictured his lean, dangerous face. He's trouble, she thought desperately. She fought against the memory of broad shoulders, lean hips, and muscles rippling across a dark-furred chest.

  Maura pressed her eyes shut. But Quinn's powerful body and darkly handsome face were engraved upon her mind.

  The sooner he gets the ranch started and clears out, the better.

  Perhaps if she listed his faults, it would help her to fall asleep. After all, he had so many, she could go on forever.

  He was infuriating, dominating, exasperating, and stubborn, not to mention rude, insufferable, set in his ways...

  That was as far as she got before she drifted off to sleep, but not before wondering when in the world he was going to come to bed.

  She never heard Quinn enter the bedroom.

  He crossed to the bed and stared down at the girl who lay there fast asleep. She was still slender as a flower despite her pregnancy. The high, modest neckline of a frayed nightgown peeked out above the ugly blanket she'd drawn across her shoulders. She'd left the lamp aglow, and in its weak yellow light her hair gleamed rich as amber, a mass of wild, riotous curls that spilled about her cheekbones and shoulders.

  Something twisted painfully inside him. She looked so vulnerable, and beautiful, and wildly sexy. Without quite being aware of what he was doing, he reached out and stroked one of those long, luscious red curls.

  He fought the urge to slide his hands through her hair, to lie down beside her and pull her against him. As if sensing his thoughts, his presence, she stirred in her sleep, murmuring, and he reluctantly drew his hand away.

  But not before she turned over, and the blanket slipped down. He found himself staring down at her beautiful breasts, clearly outlined beneath the flimsy gown. He couldn't forget the luscious softness of them beneath his hands, or the musky rose-petal taste of her skin. He wanted to toss off the ugly gray blanket and tear that nightgown from her body, to explore once again each tantalizing curve and hollow of her.

  But he couldn't. He wouldn't. He had to stay away from her.

  Strange, she was the gentlest creature he'd ever encountered, yet her temper could flare red-hot, and her courage seemed limitless. She could look so damned sweet—and at the same time wildly sexy, with that full, kissable mouth and all that tumbling red hair. She was a bundle of contradictions. Quinn didn't understand any woman, but especially not her.

  A hot tension rippled through him and he fought the ever-growing urge to climb into that bed, yank her up against him, and take her right here, here in this rough old cabin, on their first night on the land he would give her for her own.

  He couldn't do that. He couldn't so much as kiss her again, not if he knew what was good for him. He wanted her too much.

  That was a sure sign that he had to stay away.

  As if he'd spoken the words aloud, she stirred again and her eyelashes fluttered. Slowly, her eyes opened.

  She peered through the darkness at him a moment, looking adorably sleep-tousled and slightly dazed, then suddenly she pushed herself up on one elbow, her eyes going wide.

  "Quinn—what is it? What...what do you want?"

  Chapter 15

  "What do I want?" Quinn repeated the words in a low, deep voice. "You tell me, Maura. What do you think I want?"

  Maura drew in her breath as she saw the silver fire flickering deep within his eyes. He looked tough and dangerous, with his dark hair falling over his brow, his thumbs hooked into his gunbelt. Why did he have to be so damned handsome?

  "I—I think you want to c-claim your husbandly rights," she whispered, and heaven help her, the reckless traitorous part of her wanted it to be true.

  A cold tremor shot through Quinn at her words. She was right. He did want that, damn it—which was exactly why he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't so muc
h as touch her, even if it killed him.

  "Try again, sweetheart." Every muscle in his body tightened with self-control.

  "Why don't you just tell me?" There was both confusion and wariness in her huge honey-brown eyes.

  Quinn knew he had to get out of there. And fast. Frustration knotted inside him, and his voice came out rougher than he'd planned. "I want to get a good night's sleep, angel. That's all. Thought there might be extra blankets and a pillow in here. If that's all right with you?"

  "You're not going to share...this bed?"

  "Is that an invitation?"

  "No! No, of course not." In the lamplight, her cheeks burned like rubies. "Take what you want then and... and go. There's bedding in that chest by the wall." She snatched up the pillow beside hers and threw it at him. He caught it easily.

  "Much obliged."

  "You're welcome. But in the future, I'd thank you not to sneak up on me like that. You nearly scared me half to death!"

  "You look mighty alive to me," he said softly, and Maura's fingers clenched around the blanket, drawing it slowly up to her shoulders, covering her breasts as she met his warm, glinting gaze.

  "We should get a few things straight," she said in a voice that shook a little. "What exactly are we going to do about...sleeping arrangements? If you want the bed while you're here, I'd be happy to sleep on the sofa. Or if you want to take turns..."

  "You can keep the damned bed." Quinn couldn't look one more minute at that luscious mouth, or those big brown eyes, or he'd find himself grabbing that blanket from her and tearing off that nightgown and—

  He stopped this train of thought, turned on his heel, and stalked to the chest on the floor. He grabbed a blanket and headed for the door. "You're sleeping for two," he said over his shoulder. "Make yourself comfortable."

  "I intend to. But please don't come in here again without knocking first."

  He wheeled back. "Afraid you might talk in your sleep?"

  "I'm not afraid of anything."

  "Nothing?"

  "Nothing at all," she flung at him, and jumped out of the bed. She rushed barefoot to the light and extinguished it. "I'm not afraid of the dark, I'm not afraid of thunder, and I'm not afraid of you."

  She faced him, hands on her hips, completely oblivious of the sight she made with the starlight gliding over her lovely face and streaming hair, and softly illuminating every curve beneath that flimsy nightgown.

  "Then I reckon you won't mind living here all alone once I clear out?" Quinn asked slowly.

  "Mind? I told you—the more peace and quiet the better."

  "Good. Because I'll be leaving soon for that gun-fighting job and I'm not sure when I'll be back."

  "Just don't leave before you've hired some men to work this ranch. Which reminds me, do we have any cattle?"

  His brows lifted. "Not yet."

  "What kind of a cattle ranch doesn't have cattle?"

  "The kind that's just getting started. Since when did you get so bossy?"

  "Since I got startled awake in the middle of the night by a stranger standing over my bed."

  "I'm not exactly a stranger, Maura. Not anymore."

  "Don't remind me." Suddenly Maura shivered, and she glanced down, realizing for the first time that she was standing before him in a patch of starlight in her thin nightgown—and nothing else.

  She dove back into the bed, and yanked up both the sheets and the blanket.

  "Kindly close the door as you leave."

  He took one ominous step forward. "Are you kicking me out?"

  "You said you weren't planning to stay."

  He dropped the bedding at his feet, stepped over it, and reached the bed before she could do more than gasp.

  "And what if I am?" he asked, crouching down beside her. With one smooth movement he tore the blanket from her clutching fingers, and yanked her forward toward his chest with an easy strength that made her dizzy.

  "I—I thought we agreed—"

  "We did."

  "Then why are you in this bed...with me?"

  "I'm not in the bed. Yet. I'm on the bed." His hands were tight around her wrists, his face only inches from hers. Maura felt the heat and strength of him filling the room, the air. Sending every delicate nerve ending in her body into crazy spasms.

  "This isn't a good idea," she managed to say, but her lips were trembling.

  He was staring at her mouth. If he kissed her again, stroked her hair or skin again, she'd be lost....

  For one moment she thought he was going to. She saw the hunger in his eyes, sensed the desire hotter than the setting sun, felt the violent need burning clear through that sleek, powerful body. She felt a surge of triumph. And wonder. And trepidation...

  But then he drew back as quickly as he had sprung forward. He released her, eased off the bed, stared down at her while taking quick, rapid breaths.

  "You're right. It's not a good idea. If you think you can seduce me into sticking around—"

  "Seduce you! When did I ever try to seduce you? You were the one who sweet-talked me into staying in your room that night and going to bed with you—"

  "Yeah, well, I won't make that mistake again," he interrupted her ruthlessly.

  "That makes two of us!"

  He turned and scooped up the bedding he'd flung down. His boots thumped across the floor. "Fine. Good night."

  "Good night!"

  The instant the door slammed closed behind him, Maura flung her own pillow at it. Damn you, Quinn Lassiter.

  The bed felt cold and lonely and empty. So did her heart.

  She felt like weeping, but resolutely fought back the tears, every single one of them.

  Quinn had wanted her. In that heart-stopping moment when they were so close they could have kissed, when his eyes had burned into hers, she had known to the bottom of her soul that if only for that night, he wanted her. But he didn't want to get trapped. He didn't want to have to stay here. He wanted to keep her at arm's length. So he could remain free.

  Don't you dare even think about falling in love with him, she admonished herself as she retrieved her pillow and sank back into the bed. Or about letting him into your heart. Even a tiny bit. That's the worst thing you could do. He doesn't love you, he never will.

  So don't start getting ideas. Don't start counting on him, wishing things could be different...hoping for the impossible...

  She tried to stay awake, steeling herself against him, but exhaustion pulled at her and the weariness that dragged at every bone in her body would not be denied. She slept, deeply and heavily.

  In the morning when she awoke to pale, gauzy sunlight, Quinn was not in the cabin. Her gunfighter husband was nowhere to be found.

  Chapter 16

  Maura braved the March chill to trek to the creek to wash, then dashed back to the cabin and pulled on her oldest calico dress. Today would be a day of work—hard, ceaseless work. There was so much to do in the cabin and all around it, not to mention the drive to town to purchase food and supplies. From what she had seen last night, plates, pots and pans, utensils—even furnishings—were few, and she would need to buy a great many items to make the cabin a comfortable dwelling. Not to mention the sadly lacking provisions—she must buy flour, sugar, potatoes, onions, beef, cheese...

  The list seemed endless.

  So did the minutes as they ticked past and there was still no sign of Quinn.

  She added this to the long list of things she didn't know about her husband. Now that included his whereabouts.

  You've only been married a scant number of days and already you've driven him off, she thought wryly. But in her heart she knew that however much Quinn might detest the thought of being tied down in a marriage, he would be back to set up the ranch for her and their baby.

  She searched the meager stores in the kitchen, found coffee, hardtack, a can of peaches, four eggs. She broke the eggs into a bowl and began to heat the frying pan, in between going to the door and scanning the horizon for some sign of h
er husband. She was starved, but she was loath to prepare what little there would be for breakfast until he came home. It wouldn't do to serve him cold eggs the first morning in their new home.

  After all, the poor man was having a hard enough time accepting his new status as a married man—cold eggs might push him right over the edge. She giggled suddenly at her own absurdity.

  The very idea of trying to tame a hard roving man into a state of docile wedded bliss by serving him warm, fresh scrambled eggs struck her as so funny she began to laugh helplessly.

  "I hope you appreciate this because I'm doing all this for you, baby," she told the new life inside her.

  "Doing what for who?" Quinn's deep voice behind her made her spin around, her hip nearly knocking the fry pan off the stove. She grabbed the handle and straightened it, gasping as the heat burned her hand.

  "What the hell?" Quinn was at her side in an instant, holding up her wrist, his eyes narrowed on the reddened skin of her palm.

  "It was only a little hot," Maura protested. "I didn't actually burn it."

  "Pure luck," he muttered, his fingers closing possessively around her wrist.

  "You startled me." She tried not to be distracted by the warmth of his fingers, but it was suddenly difficult to breathe. A meadowlark warbled from the tree outside the cabin window, but she heard it as if from a long way off. She was caught in the pull of Quinn's intent gray eyes.

  She hoped he wouldn't notice how her pulse was racing at his touch. She took a deep breath and fixed him with a steely gaze. "Don't you get any ideas about making a habit of sneaking up on me," she warned, and slipped free of his grip.

  "Wouldn't think of it." He shook his head. "You, lady, are way too jumpy for these parts. What am I going to do with you?"

  Maura could think of a few things he'd already done with her, all of which she'd very much like him to do again, but she was too embarrassed to bring them up here in the kitchen in the clear light of day. He was the one who was jumpy, who'd disappeared without a trace this morning, she reminded herself, and resolved not to do anything to frighten him off again—at least not until they'd eaten breakfast.