To spite him she ignored the token chair and chose to sit in the armchair at the head of the table. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. After the first good night’s sleep in eight months, she felt a renewed confidence this morning. She considered herself strong enough to resist the sexual magnetism of such a horrendous brute. As long as those silvery eyes didn’t gaze upon her dreamily, and he remained callous, didn’t bathe, and left before nightfall, it would be easier than tying a bobcat with a piece of string.
Satisfied and content with her fortitude, she smiled.
“Don’t go tryin’ to apple pie me.”
She blinked, and her polite smile faltered. Well, callousness was one less risk factor she need worry about.
“Have you read it?” He tossed the crumpled letter on the table.
Megan took a deep breath. From the dark look he was giving her and the seriousness of his tone, there would be no chance for dreamy eyes or whispered endearments, she surmised a bit wistfully.
In silence, she eyed the letter sitting in the middle of the table. She lifted her chin and replied in the most haughty tone she could muster, “No, but I have an idea.” And a thought: how about a bath?
The law favored men. Women were deemed mere possessions. Reed often mentioned he wanted his son to inherit the ranch, as was customary. If it were true, Devin Spawn could put her out in the street, with or without the girls. That was the reason she told Shelby and Emma he was their half-brother. Though only six and eight, respectively, and they had a right to know their future was in his hands. As was hers, to a certain degree.
Megan could walk away, but not without Shelby and Emma.
“Reed was under the impression you need protecting.”
Her eyes narrowed, certain she heard him incorrectly.
“Surely you meant Emma and Shelby.”
“No, Mrs. Spawn. You.”
“Me?” she snapped, aghast by the absurdity.
“Yes. And he wants me to do the protecting.”
Clearly, this was even more absurd than the last statement. Was this the cause of his foul mood? She took a steadying breath as her fingers covered her gaped mouth. Befuddled, she didn’t know what to think or say.
“Don’t fret. I have no intent on following his request. Not now, not ever.”
Most unladylike, she slumped back in her chair—from relief, outrage, shock, she didn’t know.
“I’m neither savior nor babysitter.”
Insulted, that’s what she was. Her blood boiled at the iciness of his tone. How dare he demean her with flagrant, contemptuous rudeness? She didn’t ask him to come. Now that he was here, she didn’t want him to stay. Moreover, she did not need him to babysit her.
Her back straightened and her hands gripped the chair arms firmly. The challenging move rearranged her loose-fitting blouse. “Perfect, since there is no need for either one here. I’m a woman, Mr. Spawn, not an imbecile. I’m perfectly capable of caring for myself.”
Scowling, Devin drew in a deep breath.
She became aware his gaze focused on the neckline draped over one shoulder, baring an immodest portion of her skin and the embroidered edge of her chemise. Disheveled ringlets hung over her shoulders and down her back. A slight flush heated her cheeks, yet she refused to cower. She fought the urge to tuck her hair in place or adjust her clothes.
Megan seethed, but her stomach tightened with an odd sensation.
Was he just going to sit there and stare at her? Come to think of it. The way he looked at her was below suspicious. As if, he remembered the feel of her body beneath his. Her insides began to melt at the memory of his touch. His gaze drifted lower. She felt her breasts swell, press uncomfortably against the green blouse. Her nipples hardened underneath the thin layers. He seemed to undress her layer by layer with his lascivious gaze. An arousing torrent of desire ran up and down her body and settled near her lap.
For land’s sakes, if she didn’t say something soon, from the look in his face, he’d have her stripped naked soon.
“Now that’s settled. What of Shelby and Emma?” she muttered, unable to finish the rest of her thoughts regarding their future.
He settled back in his seat, bumping his hat off his forehead.
She blinked. There were those glorious, silvery spheres of temptation, staring back at her intensely. A maelstrom of thoughts clouded her mind and enticed her senses. The full force of his gaze could not be ignored, nor the surge of heat touching parts of her that ached with need. Why did her traitorous body respond so readily, as if she had no control? All he had to do was give her that look, and her legs would fall open. Damn him! Why was he still here?
“Yours to do as you see fit.”
Finally, he spoke. She breathed a sigh of relief. In the event of Reed’s untimely death, she’d keep the children. More importantly, Devin would move on. A faint smile tugged at her lips. If he got up and left now, it wouldn’t be soon enough. She didn’t know how much more of him she could handle.
“Nothing would please me more than to raise the girls as my own. When the time comes, rest assured, I’ll do right by them. They’ll be loved and sheltered as best as possible.” Megan noted his demeanor was aloof, despite her reassurance. Had she imagined his interest in her? Wishful thinking on her part? Outlandish! Of course not. “All that I ask, Mr. Spawn, is to refrain from using a colorful vocabulary and leave your firearms at the door while you are under this roof.”
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “You can cut out the bullshit formality, Mrs. Spawn. You and I are ‘bout as intimate as two can get. And as for my gunbelt, again, you should know I seldom take it off, no matter where I am or what the fuck I’m doing.”
Deliberately using foul language, referencing last night—not once but twice, and out and out refusing her polite request to leave his weapons at the door was downright insulting and disrespectful. The man was a scoundrel. Worse than a scoundrel, he was, he was...Oh hell, she couldn’t think of what was worse than a scoundrel, but whatever it was, Devin Spawn was ten-fold. It just made her that much more determined not to give him the benefit of a reaction.
“Well, Mr. Spawn,” she replied politely, “I seem to recall your word as a gentleman. If the rules of this household are too stringent for you to follow, then I suggest you continue your journey as promised.”
Dear Lord, the man was a murderous outlaw. The rules of polite society didn’t apply. No one could handle him, let alone govern control. As long as they were to exist under the same roof, she couldn’t ignore him. She couldn’t pretend he wasn’t the most seductive, handsome, dangerous man to ever set foot of God’s green earth or deny how she envisioned what he looked like without buckskins, or how the heat of his touch melted her resistance, scorched her skin. How his lush lips took her breath. His kisses sent a surge of steamy liquid down her thighs.
Nor could she forget her foolishness in thinking his finger was his penis, or the pain when the actual thick, huge thing almost ripped her sensitive flesh in two.
Devin Spawn had to go. There wasn’t any question about it.
His steely gaze locked with hers in a match of wills. He appeared in perfect control of his emotions. Made her feel the sexual attraction was purely one-sided, which only irritated her further.
After a tense moment of silence, she felt triumphant when he looked away first.
Rather impolite, she thought when he reached out and crumpled the letter. He stuffed it inside the pocket of his jacket and drawled in his usual deep resonate tone, without the least bit of inflection, “My word is ‘bout good as the ink on this here paper in an August downpour. I’ll leave when I damn well please.”
His eyes seemed to light up, amused, when she shot him a go-to-hell look. If her nails were longer, she would claw his eyes out.
“You must be a simple-minded fool to take the word of a stranger while you stand in front of him naked.”
Megan felt her face turn beet red first, and the rest of her body soon follow
ed. A knot of anger twisted her stomach. She clamped her hands in her lap to squelch the desire to throw something at him, seeing how there wasn’t anything within reach except a chair.
“If a fool is willing to do anything out of desperation to save the lives of two innocent, young children, then yes, I am a fool. I would have done almost anything you or any other blood-thirsty savage asked of me if it meant they wouldn’t be harmed.”
The overwhelming temperature of her emotions brought her close to tears. She needed to get away.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish Reed’s bath,” she said contemptuously as she pushed her chair under the table.
“Don’t bother. He’s dead.”
“Reed,” she barely whispered, glancing toward his bedroom door before her legs gave out.
* * * *
Devin saw it coming. He’d be damned if he caught her. There was no way he’d fulfill his father’s dying wish. He plain refused to do it. No matter how quick on his feet he was or how many other females he saved from a fate much worse during his lifetime.
Not her.
Not Megan Spawn.
Not Reed’s young, impetuous widow.
No matter how tantalizing a distraction, he wouldn’t touch her with his bow and lance at a distance of five hundred yards.
Slowly rising from his seat, he looked down at her limp body.
All he asked for was a kiss. What she offered went well beyond her impassioned claim out of necessity to save the children. Lust, pure and undeniable, drove her.
If she wanted nothing to do with him, going so far as tell him to leave, he’d be damned if he picked her up off the floor. As far as he figured, that fell under the protection category.
The hard, throbbing bulge in his buckskins was just going to have to find another itch to scratch. He stepped over her on his way outside.
He’d seen plenty “go-to-hell” looks in his days, but none that quite matched her intensity. He found it laughable and surprisingly refreshing.
Hell, he had a mind to stay put just to spite her. To break that façade of composure until she was begging him to fuck her again, screaming as he shoved every last inch of his cock into her tight little pussy. The harder, the better. Treat her like every other whore he’d ever fucked. He’d make no allowances for his dainty stepmother, so tiny she most likely fit in the palm of his hand.
As he rode into town, he decided to stay long enough to give Reed a proper burial: a preacher man, a pine box, and perhaps a flower or two. Lay him to rest next to Devin’s mother on the hill behind the house. He figured another day at the most. That should rattle the young widow’s bones once she picked herself off the floor.
Chapter 6
With detailed instructions on how to care for his prized possession, Devin left Deuce at the livery. He sought the undertaker and arranged for Reed’s funeral. Immediately, Devin sent the thin, balding man out to the ranch to retrieve the body before his sisters returned from school.
When informed the customary waiting period for burial was three days, he was not too chipper about the delay. He offered to pay extra to speed things up, which the stubborn old man refused. He had only two choices, to shoot the bastard and bury Reed himself, or to stick around and ensure his father received a proper sendoff. Unfortunately, his choice meant sticking around longer than expected. Damn.
Given directions from the man at the livery, he crossed the dusty roads and made his way to the bathhouse for a hot bath, close shave, and clean clothes. With only a few hours sleep last night and wearing the same filthy garments the past two weeks in the saddle, he was not only hungry and tuckered out, but disgusted with his own reeking filth.
An hour later, he stood in the bathhouse corridor, feeling like a new man. He tossed his saddlebags over his shoulder, rifle in hand. Disregarding the bath attendees’ hospitable suggestions where to go for a hearty meal, he headed straight for the saloon to find some grub.
Not in the mood for mingling with civilized folks, he seldom interacted with decent, law-abiding citizens, unless one considered crossing them in his line of work “interaction.”
Dressed in black britches, charcoal gray shirt, gray cowboy hat, and black snake-skinned boots, he turned the heads of the females, young and old along the boardwalk. Mexican, Indian, and white, it did not matter. He was accustomed to eliciting interest from both men and women—for completely different reasons, of course.
Something about the way he walked, his bearing, cleared the boardwalk. It stirred a frenzied buzz among the men. Though no one would guess his identity, he had the mark plain as day as to what he was.
Devin tried to be inconspicuous. He’d left his bow and lance back at the ranch. He was the only gunslinger in the west known to be equally skilled in Indian weaponry, double six-shooters, and Bowie knifes.
By nature, he ignored women who didn’t look like they’d ruffle their skirts, even if the price was right. From the corner of his eye, he sized up the men. Most looked like they didn’t know which way a bullet exited a gun, and therefore, he deemed them tenderfoot. If anyone had the misfortune to recognize him then it was time for target practice.
What was wrong with this town? There wasn’t a formidable foe in the whole damn place. With only one main street, several blocks long, it was too small for someone like him to get lost. He could get into a whole heck of a lot of trouble if not careful.
Devin wandered over to the Silver Nugget saloon and pushed open the batwings. He stepped to one side, and put his back to the wall. An unconscious move out of years of ingrained behavior since one never knew where enemies lurked.
At this time of day, there were a dozen locals spread at the tables and a few lined up at the bar. Most turned and looked over the new arrival to see if they recognized him. Once they made up their mind, the majority returned to their drinks, card game, or bar girls. He shot a warning glance at the few remaining gawkers. They quickly followed suit, going about their business.
Noise blared in the smoke-filled saloon as the piano player battered the timeworn keys on a rickety piano in the corner of a small stage, making what only the player could deem music. Devin cringed as the sound pierced his eardrums. He made up his mind right then-and-there to find the farthest table, or else, put everyone out of their misery and shoot the hell-raiser. The piano player was sure to raise the dead. With Reed freshly departed, Devin wanted no chances at seeing his father walk any time soon.
He ambled up to the end of the bar and rested one foot on the leg rail. With an elbow on freshly polished mahogany, he motioned to the barkeep with a single nod.
“What’s your interest?” the barkeep asked, making his way down the long bar.
“That’s after I eat.”
The bartender grinned. “Until then, what you drinking?”
“Whiskey, and no watered-down shit.”
The barkeep’s face crinkled as though insulted. Without a word, he placed the frothy glass in front of Devin.
Devin slipped him a coin, which he picked up as soon as it hit wood.
“How much?”
“For what?” the barkeep asked curiously.
Devin tilted his head in the direction of the piano player. “For him to shut the fuck up.”
“Mister, if you don’t like the music, just say so.”
“Just did.” He took a long swig.
The barkeep called out to the musician, told him to take a break.
The piano man closed shop so fast, Devin figured he didn’t like listening to himself, either. The barkeep’s brow knit in a tight row as he studied Devin’s clean-shaven face.
“Ya look familiar. Do I know you?”
Devin restrained the urge to laugh as the man struggled to place him. On his way to the bathhouse, he’d taken note of the post office, bank, and jail. Habit. Eyes like a hawk, he spotted his missive hanging outside the post office from across the street. He already knew what it said. The same wanted poster was in his pocket neatly folded.
&
nbsp; Ten thousand dollars in gold for Devin Spawn–alive.
He hated the drawing. It didn’t do him justice. The ears were too big and eyes were wrong. Too close together. He looked dirty and unshaven. At least they accurately listed his wrongdoings.
“No.”
“Been in town ‘fore?”
“No.”
“Ya look awfully familiar. Like I’ve seen ya somewheres ‘fore.” The barkeep grimaced, slowly shaking his head in deep contemplation.
As usual, his hat sat low on his forehead, shading the silver eyes known to make lesser men wince. There was little chance of Devin being recognized. Unless he took off his hat, and he only did that while in the intimate company of women.
“Take a seat yonder.” The barkeep gestured to a few empty tables in the far-off corner, where a lone diner was finishing his meal. Devin offered few words, making it difficult to place him. With a steely gaze, he watched as the burly man scratched his head, scowling as he wracked his brain. “I’ll send someone to take yer order.”
“Keep ‘em coming.” Devin raised his glass, indicating he didn’t want an empty glass, and started to walk away.
“Mister,” the barkeep called, and Devin cautiously turned with one thought on his mind. The grip on his rifle changed slightly. Bartenders usually kept a shotgun behind the bar. If the man finally recognized him, he wouldn’t have to worry about serving drinks where he was going.
“After, go through that door ov’r yonder.” He pointed to an unmarked door in the center of the back wall and grinned. “The ladies will tend to whatever interests you got.”
Devin offered a slight nod of thanks.
No sooner had Devin settled into a small round table a few down from the other diner, his back to the wall, when he was greeted by an old woman. She had brown, leathery skin, dried from the sun and wrinkled to a crisp. Her silver hair was tied in a severe bun on top of her head, yet her yellow smile, or what was left of it, was genuinely friendly.
“Howdy mister. What can I get for you this fine afternoon?”
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