Treasured (Lonestar Love Book 2)

by Victoria Phelps

  Ethan joined her at the water’s edge. Charlotte sat in the middle of the stream. Her hair floated behind her, and her breasts bobbed in front. Ethan stood rooted to the bank unsure which side was his favorite.

  Charlotte sat still and quiet in the middle of the stream. He ached to join her in the cool water. He pulled his shirt over his head, dragged his boots from his hot, sweaty feet and dropped his pants. He waded out to the little mermaid and lowered his body behind her, securing her between his legs. Her head fell back and rested against his chest.

  “You’ve done well. Tomorrow we’ll be close to Langtry. If I can find a safe spot for you to wait, I’ll venture in and look. See if I can spot any of your father’s men.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But they are professionals and make it their business not to be seen.” He reached around and took her breasts into his large hands and squeezed. Her moan was his reward.

  “What’s for dinner, Ethan?” Charlotte wiggled further into his embrace.

  “I’ve set the last of the beans to cook.” Ethan brushed her hair aside and nibbled at her neck. His attentions were on the rise.

  “You can have mine. I’d rather not eat.” She splashed water over her two-tone face.

  Ethan stilled. “You will eat. You need to keep up your strength.”

  “I will not.” She gave her head a vigorous shake.

  “It’s hard riding across the range under an August sun in a wind storm. Many men wouldn’t make it.” Ethan gentled his voice. “You need nourishment. I know my beans aren’t much, but it’s what we have.”

  “They are nasty, Ethan. I won’t eat them again.” Charlotte pulled away and rose to her feet. “I won’t.” She stamped her foot into the water and sent a splash into his face.

  He wiped the water from his eyes, and his mouth dropped open.

  “Charlotte,” his voice thrummed with warning.

  “What?” Her voice was half whine, half curse. She stamped her foot into the water a second time and made her way to the bank. Once on dry land she whirled to face him. “I will not eat those damn beans.” Another little stomp raised a cloud of dust.

  “I’ll tell you what you will do, little girl. You will stop throwing a tantrum. You will do as you are told.” Ethan rose from the stream. Water ran in rivulets down his muscled chest.

  “I won’t.” Tears slid down her sun-pink cheeks.

  Ethan flinched. She was gathering steam, flying perilously close to hysterics. The heat, the wind, the stress, the riding had driven her to the edge of reason. He would admit the food was monotonous, but it was nourishing. Beans held protein, and her body craved it whether she knew it or not.

  He joined her on the bank and tried to pull her into his arms. If she would cry it out against his chest, he thought she’d be set to rights. She twisted in his arms, pushed against his chest, and stomped again. She stomped on his tired, aching foot, and he knew, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had to bring her under control before she spun helplessly away.

  “That’s enough.” He took hold of her upper arm and turned her to his side. His hand came down on her wet bottom. The slap on her skin vibrated through the hot air. Ethan rained a barrage of light spanks right, and left, up and down. He applied some swats to the underside of her buttocks, lifting them as she danced this way and that in an unsuccessful effort to avoid his hand on her wet skin. Punishment was not the goal. He sought her attention, her clarity. She stood in the center of an emotional vortex, spinning closer and closer to the sucking center. He aimed to pull her free.

  He continued his light spanking until she melted in his arms like butter left out in the sun. Ethan pulled her limp body to his chest and stroked her back.

  “Shh. There, there. Everything’s all right.” He cooed words of comfort into her hair and laid little kisses on the top of her head, on her flaming face, on her shoulders. Her shuddering sobs morphed into sniffles.

  Ethan sat on his saddle and pulled Charlotte onto his lap. His words poured over her like warm honey, coating her with his care and love. Every few minutes he held the canteen to her parched lips and waited while she swallowed sweet water. He shifted her weight closer, and she grasped his hand.

  “You all right now?” he whispered the question into her unruly locks.

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. These have been a tough two days. Grown men might have cried.” He rubbed her back and patted her bottom. “I’m mighty proud of you, little girl. Mighty proud.”

  “Can we have our beans now?” Charlotte twisted her neck and looked him in the eye.

  “We surely can. Here put this on.” He dropped the nightgown over her head. Charlotte sat on her saddle while he ladled up the beans. Handing her a plate, he winked. “I hope to find better vittles tomorrow in Langtry.”

  “I’m so tired, Ethan.” She dragged her spoon through the beans and raised it to her lips.

  They ate in silence as the dark descended and stars popped one by one into the velvet night. Tomorrow or the day after, they would cross the Rio Grande. Tonight, they would take their rest under the glittering Texas sky.

  Ethan laid the blanket on the ground. “Come lay down, Charlotte. You’re plumb tuckered out.” He covered her and petted her hair until her eyes drifted shut. Ethan washed dishes and checked on the horses before sliding down beside her.

  These two days had been plenty rough, but tomorrow they reentered the world of men. He turned on his side and threw his arm over Charlotte’s body. Lord almighty, he hoped these days didn’t turn out to be the easy ones.

  Ethan buried his face in the waterfall of Charlotte’s hair, pulling her tight to him, and let the day slip away.

  Chapter 15

  Charlotte

  Ethan sat on his saddle by the fire. His elbows rested on his knees and a tin cup full of coffee dangled from his loose grip.

  “Morning, Ethan.” Charlotte rubbed sleepy eyes with her fists.

  “Morning.” His look held questions layered on concerns.

  “What is it?” she queried.

  “We have some decisions to make.” He tossed old coffee onto the hard dirt. “You were strung tighter than a drum yesterday. I worried for you. We might have bitten off more than we can chew traveling rough across open range. Maybe it’s just plain too much. We can turn around and head back to San Miguel. Once there, we plan our next move to reach your mother, but you would be safe at Mike’s ranch. A soft bed, good food…”

  “Or?” she asked.

  “Or we can move on toward Mexico. We could run into more trouble. I don’t know where your father’s men are or how many there are, but I’ll do my best to keep you safe.” He poured coffee into his empty cup and held it out.

  Charlotte sat up and took the cup into her hand. She blew across the surface of the hot brew. “I know you will.” She nodded her head. “We’ve come this far. I want to keep going. I want to reach my mother.”

  She took a small sip and watched Ethan through lowered lids. He rubbed his hand up the side of his jaw and then through his hair.

  “All right. We move on.” Reaching into his saddlebag, he removed the small packet of crackers. “Breakfast.” He held three out to her and gave a rueful laugh.

  “Thank you.” She hesitated, but then said, “I didn’t mean to be ungrateful yesterday. I know you are doing your best, but I never traveled rough before. I never traveled at all before. I’m afraid I lost my composure.”

  “Yup. You went a might loco, but don’t worry yourself none.” He moved closer and ran his hand over her head. “Today, we’ll ride into Langtry.”

  She nestled against his knee.

  “More than likely your father has men there. It’s not only a train stop, but a good place to cross the Rio Grande. Any tracker worth his salt would mark it as a spot to watch.”

  “Should we try somewhere else?” Charlotte bit off a piece of cracker and washed it down with the bitter, black coffee.

  Ethan tilted his head t
o the side. “Well, here’s the way I see it. I don’t believe you are a good enough rider to cross the river on horseback. The raft crossings are all up and down the river and most likely they are all being watched, so this place is as good as another. I’ll load my gun and my rifle, and I’ll be watching and ready for trouble. I’d rather fight off an attack then risk you drowning.”

  “Thank you, Ethan. Thank you for going forward with me.” Charlotte brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his open palm.

  “Take care of your business, and I’ll saddle the horses. It’s about three hours to Langtry. I’m hoping to get you into a hotel room without being spotted. Now, it will be the same as before. You will stay in the room, Charlotte. You do not open the door or look out the window. It will be for the best if you are not seen.” She felt his glare clear to her toes. “I’ll bring food to the room. Hot food with no beans.”

  “I’ll be good, Ethan. I promise.” She outlined a cross on her heart.

  Ethan’s laugh was deep and low. “I know you will, little girl. Now do what I said.”

  Charlotte rose from the hard ground. Her back was stiff from the lack of a mattress. She had a bruise where a rock had jabbed her side all through the night, but they were moving on. Every day she moved closer and closer to the mother she had thought dead.

  When they arrived in Langtry, Ethan secured the horses to a hitching post, helped her down and pulled her by the upper arm into lobby. Charlotte trotted along like a well-trained puppy.

  “My wife and I need a room.” A tingle worked its way down her spine. Wife. She wasn’t used to the title. It caught her by surprise and fit like a borrowed dress—too long, too tight, not hers.

  Ethan’s body behind her on the stairs was so close his breath was hot and moist on her neck. One of his hands rested on her waist and the key to their room jingled with his haste.

  “This is it.”

  The pressure of his hand signaled her to stop before the door with the number six painted in black.

  Ethan inserted the key and the door swung open revealing a small room of muted greens. The bed had an unfortunate sag in the middle, and once-white curtains waved in the window when an occasional breeze brought cool relief to the stifling room.

  Charlotte sank into the only chair. She silently vowed not to complain. Not about the room, not about the heat, not about the unsavory food she dreaded would be her dinner. Ethan dropped her bundle of clothes on the bed and took the three steps necessary for him to cross the room to the single window. He pulled the curtain aside and studied the street to the right, to the left, and to the right once more.

  “What do you see?” Charlotte stared at his muscled back, his strong arms, his lean legs. Mercy.

  “Some men leaning against the wall of the saloon. A few horses tied up and more being ridden up and down the street.” He sighed. “We’ll just have to take our luck with the raft tomorrow.” He turned to face her.

  She hoped the smile on her face didn’t look like a grimace. She was tired, hungry and sore. He couldn’t feel much better.

  “I’ll order a bath for you. While you’re getting cleaned up, I’ll see if I can find a café and get some dinner. I need to stop at the Mercantile, too, to get supplies for the days before we reach your mother.” He paused. “Will you be all right alone?”

  “Yes, I’ll lock the door and stay in the room until you knock.” She joined him at the window and peeked over his shoulder at the dusty street.

  His large hand lay heavy on her shoulder, and he gave a light squeeze. “Stay away from the window.”

  A light kiss on her cheek, a pat on her bottom, and Ethan was gone.

  Two men carted in a large tub, and a small army of young maids brought buckets of hot water. Charlotte sank beneath the surface groaning as the warmth washed away her exhaustion. She dunked her hair and lathered it into a rich foam with soap left on the side of the tub. If she died right this minute, she would go happy. Except… she wanted, no needed, on some basic, primitive level to lay eyes on her mother.

  As her nightgown floated over her head, knuckles rapped against the door.

  Still drying her hair, Charlotte tip-toed over. “Who is it?” Her voice was small and tentative.

  “Open the door, Charlotte. It’s your husband,” Ethan declared.

  Charlotte giggled as she flung the door wide. “Come in, husband.”

  “I’m going to comb out your hair before we eat.”

  Charlotte sat in the only chair and handed him the brush.

  He ran his fingers through the thick red-brown locks pulling his fingers through the knots and tangles before beginning his work with the brush. “I didn’t see anything or anyone unusual. Some men hanging about, but there are always men hanging about.” The brush slid from her crown to the bottom of her hair over and over and over. If she were a cat, she would have been purring.

  Ethan placed the brush on the bed. “Come eat.” He placed a basket on the dresser and removed chicken, corn-on-the-cob, green beans, biscuits, and oatmeal cookies. The café had sent plates and utensils.

  Charlotte clapped her hands and bounced on her toes. “Oh, Ethan. Thank you. This looks delicious.” They filled their plates and sat on the edge of the bed. The food was hot and filling. Charlotte’s sprits rose. She could face tomorrow. With this man at her side, she could meet the day.

  “I’ll return the dishes in the morning and pick up breakfast. The manager said the raft left the United States side on the hour and the Mexican side on the half hour.” Ethan winked at her as he devoured his third cookie. “I’ll get our horses saddled, and we’ll leave the hotel at ten minutes to twelve.”

  Charlotte bit into her own cookie and nodded her head. “Why twelve?”

  “Well, most people like to get an early start. It only makes sense when you travel. I’m hoping that if anyone is watching for us, they will lose interest and focus assuming we’d planned on another day. Maybe we can get away unnoticed.” His belly rumbled with a laugh. “Not likely, but it can’t hurt to try.”

  “It’s a good idea.” Charlotte pushed her hair behind her ear and looked up at him through dark lashes.

  In two steps Ethan stood in front of her. In one swoop, her nightgown swished over her head and landed on the floor.

  Charlotte watched as Ethan emerged from his clothes. She loved to see the sculpted plane of his stomach leading to his long, hard erection. Sitting in her father’s house, she had watched men stroll by. She’d imagined what they might possess beneath those carefully tailored suits. But her imagination had been woeful, limited, downright unimaginative. The truth, and the power of his male body, left her breathless.

  Naked, he stood before her, and with a gentle push she fell back to the sagging mattress. His hands pushed her thighs wide and wider. He held her open, and she felt his gaze upon her most private person, his thirsting for her female complement. He lowered his head and his tongue teased her, sent her wiggling, squirming, bucking in her pleasure. She buried her fingers into his hair and held on tight as her body followed his silent instructions to completion, and she rode the wave to the top and over.

  Next, her breasts became the object of his attention. He pulled one nipple into his mouth and pulled, pulled, pulled until she groaned, and then he let the second breast into the game. She was consumed, unthinking, lost in him. His mouth sealed over hers in a battle of tongues that left her gasping.

  She felt him settle between her thighs. His manhood probed and sought, until he found her entrance. He slid into her wet cave with slow, deliberate intention. When he reached the end of her channel, he paused before pulling back and thrusting with powerful strokes. She clung to him and absorbed him. He carried her higher until they cried out and shuddered to an end.

  He lay on top of her, and his breath rushing hot past her ear. After a minute, he slid to the side taking her with him. She flung one leg over his body and rested her head in the curve of his collarbone.

  “I love you, Charlotte
,” he whispered into her hair.

  “I love you, too.” She ran her hand through the thick hair on his chest.

  She knew he was sleeping by the slow rhythm of his breath. Charlotte lay quietly by his side, stroking his chest and letting her hand run down his abdomen.

  She memorized his body in the dark night in a broken-down bed in Langtry. He was hers. She was his.

  This should have been enough. Her need to find her mother put them in danger. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to stop the search. Inside her was a hole the exact size and shape of her mother, and she ached to fill it.

  Tomorrow they would cross the Rio Grande. Her mother waited for her. As surely as the compass points north, her journey would end in her mother’s arms.

  Turning on her side, she pulled her legs toward her chest and snuggled her back into Ethan’s warm side. Charlotte closed her eyes and drifted into oblivion.

  Chapter 16

  Ethan

  Morning light slashed through the curtain. Ethan turned away from the unwelcome glare and toward Charlotte. He kissed her neck, as she wiggled closer, and took her hand in his.

  “Morning, Ethan,” she murmured.

  “Morning.” He patted her hip before disentangling his body and moving to the window. “The same men who were leaning against the building across the street are there again.” He frowned. “I don’t know if it means anything, but I don’t like it.”

  Those men made him jumpy, and he paid attention to his intuition. Hair lifting at the back of his neck, the sensation of being watched, an itch between his shoulder blades. He listened to these hunches, and it saved his life a time or two.

  He pulled his pants on and since he hadn’t unbuttoned his shirt all the way the night before in his haste to get to Charlotte, he dropped it over his head. He buckled his gun belt and plopped his hat on his head.

  “I’m going to take the dishes back to the café and get some breakfast. I’ll be back in half an hour or so. Don’t…”