by Jill Gregory
"I like the cold, angel. Hell, I love the cold. Don't bother waiting up for me. You need your shut-eye."
"But—"
The door slammed before she could finish the sentence.
She stared at it. Long seconds ticked past as fury swept through her. How many times was he going to walk out on her, slam a door on her, and simply walk away?
As many times as you let him, a voice inside of her challenged.
Maura ran to the door and wrenched it open. "Oh no you don't, Quinn Lassiter," she called, but the wind rose at that moment and tore her words away.
She ran out into the night, heedless of the chill, heedless of the darkness that shrouded the land in a cloak of blackness.
She hurried toward the creek, tripping over rocks and ruts in the earth, but never slowing. She couldn't see Quinn, despite the crescent moon glittering overhead. But in the faint light, she could make out the pewter glimmer of the creek about twenty yards ahead, glimpsed through swaying tree branches.
"Quinn Lassiter, you wait a minute," she called again. "I've got something to say to you—"
She broke off as she crested the bank and saw him. He had already stripped off his boots and his shirt. His broad, muscular chest was bare and gleamed like bronze in the moonlight. He was just tossing his gunbelt on the ground when he heard her and spun around.
"What the hell?"
Maura ran toward him. "You'll catch your death of cold out here— Ohhhh!"
An unseen tree root tripped her and she went flying, straight toward Quinn. He caught her, but the force of her stumble sent them both skittering down the slope of the bank and straight into the creek.
They landed with a resounding splash in the frigid water.
"What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?" Quinn shouted.
Gasping and shivering, Maura clung to him as the icy water washed over her shoulders, soaking her gown, plastering it to her body. Her hair streamed in her face and her lips trembled with cold.
"If you're going to catch your death of...c-cold, Quinn Lassiter, then so will I. I will not have you w-walking out on me again, without even giving me a ch—ch—chance to s-say one... Ohhh!" she cried again as he seized her and pulled her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly.
"Oh...hhh," Maura gasped when he lifted his head and she could breathe again.
"You are the damndest woman!" Gray eyes pierced hers. Scooping her up into his arms, he held her close as water streamed from her body, dripping back into the dark, swirling creek. "Why am I always having to warm you up?"
Without waiting for an answer, he splashed out of the creek with her and onto the bank as Maura sought to quell the trembling in her heart.
"Put me down, Quinn, I can walk." She spoke through chattering teeth as he paused only long enough to grab up his gunbelt before stalking back toward the cabin, cradling her against his wet chest.
"Shut up and stop squirming," he ordered. "Any pregnant woman crazy enough to go jumping into an ice-cold creek at night hasn't got a lick of sense anyway, so why should I listen to her?"
"You were g-going to jump into the c-creek!"
"That's different!"
"It is n-not!"
"I was going to wash off the trail dust. That makes sense."
"You just w-wanted to get away from me!"
Quinn halted. They were ten yards from the cabin's front door and the moon glittered like a shard of ice in the sky.
"Now why would I want to do that?" he asked in a low, husky voice.
"You tell me," she whispered, staring up at him, shivering all over and not only from the cold.
Quinn said nothing. He carried her inside, kicked the door shut, and took her straight into the bedroom, where he dumped her on the bed.
"Take off these damn soaking-wet clothes!" He was staring down at her, at her soaked gingham gown, which clung all too revealingly to her breasts and hips.
"I'm trying." Maura's frozen fingers fumbled over the buttons of her gown. Quinn swore and reached out to help her, and the next thing she knew they were tumbling down together on the bed, sinking into the mattress, and they were clinging to one another, her mouth seeking his, seeking its warmth, its roughness, and the strange tenderness that drove the fire of his kisses.
His hands roved over her shivering body. They were warm and strong, and she gasped at the blessed heat they brought, at the sheer pleasure of his touch, and at the almost frightening need that tingled, singing, through her blood.
"This doesn't change anything between us," he panted as his hands freed her of the sodden gown and flung it to the floor.
"Not a thing." Maura tugged off her camisole and reached for him, burying her fingers in the wet thickness of his hair.
Quinn's soaked pants landed with a thud atop her camisole and then he landed on her, and they clung entwined across the bed.
"Warm yet?" he groaned against her lips, and then he was lost as she kissed him with eagerness and ardor, and everything inside of him caught fire.
"Not...yet. Can you try a little harder?" She snuggled desperately against him. The writhing of her body triggered a need so violent, it jolted through him like dynamite.
For answer, he deepened the kiss with a naked intensity that blew them both way past the edge of decorum. Their mouths met, held, locked. Quinn had never wanted any woman so much in his life.
Maura filled his thoughts, his senses. Her velvety red curls held the fragrance of roses and her skin was soft as petals, and never before had he seen a face so lovely, that tugged so strongly at his heart. His powerful body moved over hers, claiming her, even as she pulled him down and pressed her lips with sweet urgency to his. He couldn't have stopped now for all the gold in the world.
"Hang on, sweetheart," he muttered, his breath warming her skin as his muscled thighs covered hers. "We're just getting started."
"Hold me, Quinn. Hold me," Maura begged. She was drowning in joyful pleasure so intense, it bordered on pain. He had missed her while he'd been gone, he had thought of her. That kiss before he left had meant something.
She wrapped her arms around him, feeling power and passion rise within her. Her slender form twisted and writhed against his in an ancient glorious dance. Soft, needy moans slid from her throat as her arms tightened around his neck and she arched her hips against his warm, strong body.
This time as he entered her, there was no pain. There was only pleasure.
"It doesn't hurt this time," she gasped mindlessly as he plunged deeper inside her, his mouth scorching down her neck, then branding the pulse at her throat. An aching need throbbed enticingly between her thighs. "Not at all..."
"Hurt?" Quinn went still inside her, and stared down into her flushed face. "It hurt the last time?"
"Yes... my first time. But—"
"My God."
"It only hurt at first," she said quickly, her eyes glowing into his hard, impossibly handsome face. "And only a little." Breathless, yearning, she tangled her legs around him tighter and hung on for dear life. "But don't you dare stop now, Quinn Lassiter," she whispered. "Don't stop or I'll die."
"Not a chance of that, sweetheart." Quinn buried his lips against her throat, then began to thrust again, filling her, drowning himself in her. "Sweet Maura. Beautiful Maura."
The cabin and the night and the very air dissolved as he took her then, lifting her along with him into a dark, tearing storm, thrusting them both into a world lit by thunder and lightning and hot shooting stars.
It was beautiful and shattering and endless, and when at last they shuddered together and found release, they clung to each other in the darkness that remained and gasped for air and calm and sanity.
And slowly, dizzily floated back down into the world of sound and substance, back into the cabin on Sage Creek where a gunfighter and his bride lay entwined beneath starlight, bound together by vows and by passion amidst the damp, twisted sheets.
It took a while for Maura's heartbeat to slow. She nestled in Quinn's
arms, her head upon his broad chest, and felt the first true contentment she'd ever known.
This felt so right. To be here, with this man in this small, spare cabin, with the beautiful valley surrounding them, and not another soul for miles around. To be held like this, to feel his lips brush the top of her head, to feel his strong heartbeat against her ear, this was the way it should be.
This doesn't change anything between us. That's what he'd said. But he couldn't still mean that now, could he? After what they'd experienced together, the desire, the love? Surely he must be feeling something akin to what she was feeling—this awakening, this sense of possibility.
"Quinn." She whispered his name against the dark matted hair of his chest, and felt the roughness tickle her lips.
"Yeah."
"I think we've christened our new house."
"Guess you could say that."
"It was...quite a ceremony."
"Sure as hell was, angel." He chuckled and kissed the top of her head.
"I believe I like it here in Wyoming," she said dreamily. "This land, this little cabin, feels special, doesn't it? It feels like it will be a real home."
Her words fell into a dark well of silence. Beside her, Quinn seemed to have turned to stone.
Maura felt a lump of apprehension in her throat "Quinn?"
He sat up, pulling away from her. She felt him staring at her through the dimness, and a chill brushed down her spine.
"Yeah, it will be, Maura," he said in a low, cautious tone. "For you and the baby. Just like we planned."
Her heart froze. "But not...for you?" she whispered.
"I told you." His gray eyes fixed steadily upon hers through the faint silver light, and she saw in dismay that they held warmth but also firmness. He touched her hand, his fingers just grazing hers. "I can't stay here. I can't stay anywhere. The thought of settling down..." His voice hardened. "It makes me want to choke."
"I know. But I thought..." Her words trailed off. Misery settled over her. Nothing had changed. Just as he'd warned. Why had she thought he'd feel differently?
Because you're a fool. You're a fool to love him, to want more than he can ever give you, she thought helplessly, her heart breaking. He was and always will be a man who doesn't want to be loved, who doesn't seek what you do: the comfort of a home, a family, a life built together. Days and nights filled with laughter and love...
"It's all right," she managed to say without her voice quivering at all. But inside she was shattering. "Our... agreement still stands," she said quietly. "You'll come and go as you please. I wouldn't ever try to tie you down."
He took her hand in his, and stroked her fingers. She heard both the gruffness and the relief in his voice. "Glad there's no misunderstandings."
"N-none. None at all."
"If you ever need me, you or the kid, I'll come. You have my word."
His word. But not his love. Not him.
Maura turned her head away, fighting back the tears, desperate to hide her pain. Wearily, she rested her cheek upon the pillow.
"Get some sleep, angel. It's almost morning."
Beside her, Quinn frowned and drew the blanket up across her bare, beautiful shoulders. He cursed himself for having made love to her again, for having lost control and charged straight into trouble.
This had to be the last time. The very last time. She'd be out of his blood now, after tonight. He was sure of it— almost.
If only she hadn't chased him down to the creek and gotten them both soaking wet. This never would have happened.
Well, it wouldn't happen again. No way in hell. She was too sweet, too saucy, too beautiful. If he didn't want to find himself lassoed and hog-tied, he'd ride out of here fast and make himself scarce at Sage Creek for some time to come.
Well, hell. Soon as the ranch was running smooth, and soon as he was sure the Campbells wouldn't be back, that's exactly what he'd do.
Chapter 21
April blossomed over Wyoming Territory in the weeks that followed. And so did the cabin and the barn and the shed—all of which Quinn decided to call Sage Creek Ranch. The buildings, which had looked so forlorn and dilapidated at first, were repaired, painted, and enlarged, and began to take on the appearance of a working ranch. By the third week of the month, the corral was almost finished and land was cleared for a bunkhouse to be built next to the barn.
Quinn worked tirelessly from sunup to sundown. He hired two ranch hands, Slim Riley and Orville Boggs, to work full-time—as well as Lucky Johnson.
Lucky, it seemed, had grown up the son of a cattle ranch foreman in Kansas, and he knew almost as much about horses and cattle and ranching as Quinn knew about gunfighting.
Though he continued to brag and bluster and spout off hotheadedly, it became apparent to everyone that he idolized Quinn Lassiter. Quinn was the only one who appeared not to see it. When Maura pointed this out after Lucky was seen imitating the angle at which Quinn wore his hat and bought himself a silver belt buckle almost identical to the one Quinn wore, and even began narrowing his eyes the same way, Quinn shrugged it off.
"Who cares what the kid does? So long as he does his work. If he starts slacking, I'll run him off quick as a wink and a holler."
But Maura was beginning to suspect that her husband had a reluctant soft spot for the brash young cowboy. He dished out to Lucky the same curt commands he gave the other men, but he had allowed Lucky to salvage his pride by letting him ride in the posse—and he had given him a job, a paycheck, and three steady meals a day.
One afternoon about a week before the May Day dance, it was Lucky who drove her into town so she could stock up on more canned goods and flour and eggs—and also to see if she could find a pair of shoes to complement her fine silk party dress.
Nell had shown her two pairs: pale cream slippers with lacy yellow ribbons that exactly matched the dress, and simple black ones with pointed toes and jet buttons. The black shoes were by far more practical, she knew, and wouldn't show dirt—but the cream ones were so beautiful that she held them up wistfully, imagining how perfect they would look with the dress.
"Look at that," Nell Hicks said in disgust. She had gone to the window to rearrange the stock displayed there, and now peered out, frowning. "That good-for-nothing cowhand of yours is wasting his time, as usual. I'm sure you had errands for him to do, Mrs. Lassiter— surely he didn't come to town just to diddle-daddle with the likes of Orchid Cody."
Maura glanced over in surprise. Nell was usually so pleasant—efficient, direct, and no-nonsense, yes, but always agreeable. Today she sounded downright waspish. Why in the world was she so annoyed with Lucky Johnson?
Maura joined her at the window, peering over Nell's shoulder. Lucky was engaged in laughing conversation with the sleek, buxom Orchid, a titian-haired, cat-eyed saloon girl who was probably twice his age. He had snatched the pink feather boa that she'd draped around her shoulders, and was holding it behind his back, no doubt bartering for its return.
Sure enough, Orchid stretched up on tiptoe, kissed him full on the mouth, and Lucky, grinning, made a gallant show of winding the boa across her daringly bared shoulders once more.
"A few moments ago, he escorted Serena Walsh across the street and stood smoking with her on the porch of her boardinghouse!" Nell exclaimed. "Shouldn't he be loading the wagon, or buying lumber, or something?"
Maura's delicate brows lifted. "He probably finished purchasing what we needed and now he's simply waiting for me. Do you have a beef with Lucky, Nell?"
"I don't care about him one way or another." The girl shrugged and stalked back behind the counter. "I just don't like the fact that he's a lazy loafer with nothing better to do than make a fool of himself over women old enough to be his—his—his older sister!"
Maura laughed, then sobered as Nell threw her a hurt look.
"I don't see what's funny." The girl snatched away the black shoes and said, "You may as well take the cream-colored pair. They're the ones you like the best."
Nell's eyes flew to hers. She turned as pink as Orchid's boa. "I never said any such thing!" she gasped.
"Of course not," Maura soothed her, suddenly sorry she'd been so frank. The girl's feelings were raw and as transparent as glass. "I'm just guessing." She touched Nell's arm. "Am I right?" she asked gently.
Nell bit her lip. She didn't say anything for a moment, then lifted her lime-green eyes to Maura's face. "He's never once noticed me. Except to get angry when I told him to be careful going after the Campbells!"
"I see."
"He'd come in here now and then, buying this or that—before you and Mr. Lassiter moved to town. I didn't know who he was, if he was hired on to one of the ranches, new in town, or just passing through, and I wanted to make conversation with him, but I just couldn't." She drew in a deep breath. "That day, the day Lee Campbell grabbed me right here in the store and tried to run off with me, I'd been thinking about him. About Lucky. But I didn't know his name then. I'd been picturing him coming into the store, and that I'd start a conversation and he'd notice me—that he'd like me— and maybe even start coming by just so he could talk to me. But instead, the door opened and he walked in. Lee. He was drunk—they all were. And he... grabbed me...
"Don't think about it," Maura said quickly, as Nell's voice trailed off. She gave the girl a firm hug.
"I don't. Except now and then. I wish they'd find them and come back and tell us the whole gang is dead!" she burst out. Angrily, she began pacing up and down beside the counter. "But that day Lucky wanted to go with them? Much as I hate the Campbells, I didn't want him to go. I was afraid for him." She shook her head, sending her braid swinging, and tried to laugh, but all that came out was a low, gasping quaver.
"Now why should I care about a no-good loafer who never even looked at me once, much less twice, and who wastes time flirting with loose women and pretending he's as tough and handy with a gun as a real gunfighter, someone like your husband? He's going to get himself killed!"