Malachite (The Jewels of Texas Historical Romance Series Book 5)

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  A short time later he climbed the stairs and stepped into the warm, fragrant kitchen.

  * * *

  Denied her chance to apologize, Millie had looked for other ways to make amends. Despite the lateness of the hour, she heated a big kettle of water, then retrieved Malachite’s wet clothes and began scrubbing. When they were clean, she strung a line across one end of the kitchen and hung them to dry.

  That done, she set a pan of biscuits on the coals, then rolled out fresh bread dough and began kneading. With each slap of the heel of her hand, with each vicious punch, she berated herself.

  Malachite Jewel had kindly offered to see her children safety to school and back. And how had she thanked him? By attacking him the moment he walked in the door. By suggesting that he had somehow enjoyed being caught out on the trail, far from civilization, in freezing rain, with three helpless little girls.

  She closed her eyes a moment against the wave of shame.

  How could she have behaved in such a horrible, spiteful manner?

  She covered the dough with a linen square and set it aside to rise. Then she started a fresh pot of coffee. When Mick occasionally joined his friends at the saloon, he’d always been grateful for some strong black coffee on his return home. And biscuits, she thought, removing the pan from the coals and arranging several freshly baked cinnamon biscuits on a plate. Mick always claimed it took the edge off the whiskey.

  Weary, she pressed a hand to the small of her back. The aroma of the coffee was too tempting. She poured herself a cup and carried it to the table. She would drink this and go to bed. Her apology would have to wait. There was no point staying up for Malachite. He might not come back until dawn. And even then, there was no telling whether or not he would be receptive to what she had to say. She wouldn’t blame him if he packed up and left forever. He could always take a room above Buck’s, where he’d be guaranteed plenty of high-stakes poker games and a few fancy women thrown in for good measure.

  She took a sip of coffee and let it warm her. The heat of the kitchen lulled her. Resting her chin on her hands, she wondered what sort of drunk Malachite would be. She’d heard of men who couldn’t handle the whiskey. Men who beat their women. Somehow she couldn’t picture Malachite Jewel doing that.

  Her mother claimed her father had always just tumbled into bed and snored loud enough to wake the dead. As for Mick, he’d always come home looking for loving. The thought brought a smile to her lips. The first smile she’d permitted herself in hours.

  With her chin still resting on her hands, she closed her eyes. Just for a moment, she promised herself. Then she would finish her coffee and go up to bed.

  It was the last coherent thought she had before she drifted to sleep.

  * * *

  For a moment Malachite was puzzled. In the kitchen firelight, strange shadows twisted and danced. With gun drawn, he leaned his weight against the door, shutting out the icy wind. The shadows went still. When he drew closer, he realized they were his pants and shirt, smelling of lye soap and hanging on a line.

  Curious, he stepped beyond them, then stopped short.

  Millie was seated at the table. Her hands were resting on the tabletop, her cheek pressed to her hands. Alongside her elbow was a cup of coffee that had grown cool.

  This was a Millie he’d never seen before. Her thick red hair had been brushed long and loose and fell provocatively over one eye. Her nightgown of white muslin, with softly rounded neck and long sleeves, would have been modest except for the fact that it had slipped, revealing one pale creamy shoulder. Her shawl lay pooled at her feet on the floor.

  He holstered his gun, then dropped to his knees beside her and studied her by the light of the fire. Her breathing was slow and easy. With each rise and fall of her chest, he felt his own tightening. She was so lovely. The whiteness of her skin fascinated him. As did the freckles that paraded across her nose. Such a tiny, upturned nose. He counted more freckles on her shoulder and wondered if there might be freckles on other, more intimate places. That thought brought a rush of heat.

  Everything about her was small and delicate. And yet there was such strength in her. And dignity. She had carved a place for herself and her family here in this rough town. And though she worked hard and made her home a pleasant place to be, it was plain that it wasn’t just her good food or her spotless housekeeping that attracted people. It was Millie herself. She was fun to be around. She genuinely liked people. And they, in turn, responded to her.

  She sighed in her sleep and his gaze was drawn to her lips. They were slightly parted, perfectly sculpted. Lips made for kissing. That thought brought more heat.

  He continued to kneel beside her, debating whether to leave her asleep at the table or to carry her up the stairs to her bed. If she were to stay here, she would be only a step away from his room. From his bed. Dangerous, he thought. But carrying her to her own bedroom would be equally dangerous.

  The problem was solved when she stirred, then opened her eyes.

  “Malachite.” She lifted her head and started to rise. “I must have... How late is it?”

  “Sh.” He caught her hand, holding her still. “I’m sorry I caused you so much worry today.”

  “No. No.” She touched a finger to his lips to still his words.

  He struggled to show no emotion as he absorbed the sexual jolt. He could have stayed like this forever, with her touch so gentle upon him and her eyes all soft and heavy-lidded with sleep.

  Very slowly he stood, drawing her up with him.

  “May and June told me what happened,” she whispered. “I feel so terrible about the way I behaved. If it hadn’t been for you, I might have lost my daughters today. And what if April hadn’t been sick this morning and I was driving the team? I shudder to think what would have happened to all of us.”

  The thought had already crossed his mind. “Then I’m glad it happened to me and that I was able to keep it from becoming a disaster. But I’m still sorry to have caused you such pain. I could see how concerned you were.”

  She lowered her head, avoiding his eyes. “I was a shrew.”

  He caught her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You love your children. You had a right.”

  “But I wouldn’t let you explain.”

  “My fault.” He stared down into her lovely face and felt his heart hitch. “I didn’t try very hard to explain. I do that sometimes. Just shut down. It’s the only way I can control my temper.”

  “I don’t usually lose control of mine. I tend to get past my anger by throwing myself into my work.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I did. Out in your shed. Worked off my temper on the deer.”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “You were in the shed?”

  He nodded. “Carving up the deer I killed. I figured you could use the meat.”

  He had been out in the bitter cold, doing a kindness for her. The knowledge warmed her. And shamed her. “And here I thought...” Her mouth closed. She swallowed.

  “You thought what?”

  “Nothing.” He hadn’t gone to Buck’s to cool off. That realization brought a smile to her lips. “I happened to spy your wet clothes in your room, so I washed them.”

  “I noticed. Why were you in my room?”

  “I went looking for you. To apologize.” Still feeling shaky, she said, “I made you some coffee.”

  “Smells good.” But he didn’t turn away or lower his hand. Instead, he moved his fingers slowly from her chin to her cheek. “You smell good.”

  She blushed. “I probably smell like soap.”

  “You always smell like your baking.” His voice lowered, and his hand moved seductively along the smooth skin of her face. “I’ll never be able to smell cinnamon and spice again without thinking of you.”

  His words brought a deeper flush to her cheeks. “I’ll get you some—” she tried to back away, but he held her fast “—coffee and biscuits.”

  “It isn’t food I want.” He stared directly i
nto her eyes.

  She felt a jolt that had her trembling. His meaning was far too clear. “You’ve been out in the cold shed for hours and...”

  “I know a way to get warm.” His hand tightened at her shoulder, holding her close when she would have run.

  He could feel her nerves jumping, could see the fear in her eyes. It only added to her charm.

  “You can’t, Malachite. We mustn’t.”

  “You’re telling that to the wrong person. I’m a savage, remember?” Though he tried to soften the threat with a smile, there was a dangerous glint in his eyes, leaving her in no doubt that he meant every word. “I don’t have to abide by the rules of civilized society. I take what I want. Without asking permission.”

  “You’re just saying that—” she stiffened as he lowered his mouth to hers “—to frighten me.”

  “Is that what I’m doing?” He brushed his lips lightly over hers and heard her moan.

  It wasn’t fear she was feeling; it was pleasure. The sweetest pleasure in the world. But even as she thrilled to his kiss, an alarm bell sounded in her mind.

  “This is wrong.” Already breathless, she reached up, intending to push him away. Instead, she found herself raking her fingers through his hair, dragging his mouth more fully to hers. Every part of her strained into the kiss.

  Sweet heaven, it was even better than the first time. She thought she’d imagined it. The heat. The passion. The danger. But there it was again, building, teasing, taunting her. And she was helpless to stop it.

  “It doesn’t feel wrong to me.” He dragged his lips from hers to roam her face. “It feels so right.” He kissed the corner of her lips, the curve of her cheek, the arch of her brow. And with each press of his mouth she sighed and felt her resolve weaken.

  She could feel needs beginning to surface. Needs so long denied. For the sake of survival, she’d buried them under layers of responsibility. Now they rose, stripping her of common sense. All she could think of was this man in her arms, whose kisses brought her pleasure beyond belief.

  “This is madness.” She struggled for some semblance of sanity. “I need time to think.”

  “Don’t think.” His clever hands moved along her sides, tracing the outline of the small, slender body beneath the filmy nightgown. When his thumbs encountered the swell of her breasts, they paused to stroke until he felt her nipples harden. Her gasp stirred his blood and tightened his loins.

  “Just feel.” He saw her eyes glaze before his mouth covered hers, swallowing her protest. He took the kiss deeper, feasting on her sweetness.

  She tasted as cool, as clean as a mountain stream. And yet, beneath the sweetness, there was a deeper, darker flavor. A sultry hint of passion, of seduction. This was a complex woman, capable of so many emotions, which she kept carefully hidden. And he had the sudden urge to uncover all of them. And savor.

  When at last his lips left hers, he moved his mouth along the smoothness of her throat.

  With a little moan of pleasure she let her head fall back, giving him access.

  He shoved aside the loose neckline, almost tearing the fabric in his impatience. And as his lips closed over her breast, his hands, those strong, knowing hands, explored and aroused until her breath was coming in short, ragged bursts.

  His vision blurred with passion as he nibbled and suckled and drove them both higher, until, with uneven breaths and soft moans, he reclaimed her lips. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Wanted all. And he could have it. It was within his grasp.

  As he took the kiss deeper, he sensed that the woman in his arms was beyond stopping him. He could take her here, now. That knowledge, that power sang through his veins. He felt himself standing on a precipice. One step, one move and they would both tumble into space. And they could soar.

  Still, he held back. Dimly, as he lifted his head, he could hear her voice, strained, breathless, against his throat. Each word, each vibration brought him closer to the edge.

  “Malachite. This isn’t—I need time.”

  He stared down at her, eyes huge in a pale, lovely face, her heart stuttering wildly. He wanted her as he’d never wanted anyone. Wanted her warm and naked in his bed. But he’d never taken a woman against her will. Though this time he’d come dangerously close.

  Did she know how close they’d both come to crossing the line?

  He let out his breath on a long, slow sigh. With great care he released her and lowered his hands to his sides. “I think I’d better take that coffee now.”

  The heat that had enveloped her just moments ago slipped away, leaving her chilled. “I’ll—I’ll get it.”

  As she started to turn away he caught her by the upper arm. At once the heat flared between them, and he pulled his hand away as though burned.

  “No. I’ll get it. You go on up to bed.”

  “But I...”

  He forced himself to take a step away, needing to put some distance between them. Even then he could feel the heat pulsing, drawing him back. She wasn’t safe yet. Neither of them was. “I said go to bed, Millie. You don’t want to be here now.”

  She heard the urgency in his tone. Recognized the danger in his eyes. Eyes that seemed to see clear through to her soul. “All right.” She darted a look at him as she backed away toward the stairs. “Good night, Malachite.”

  He listened to the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. When she was gone, he bent and picked up her shawl, lying forgotten on the floor. He gathered the soft fabric to his face, inhaling the clean, spicy fragrance that still lingered in the folds.

  What in the hell had he been thinking of? The truth was, he hadn’t been thinking at all. She’d caught him in a weak moment. He’d have to be more careful in the future. If he didn’t watch it, he’d be repeating the sins of his father. And that could be disastrous.

  A woman like Millie Potter had no need of a man like him.

  Chapter Eight

  Dawn light was barely breaking over the horizon when Millie entered the shed. Her breath misted in the cold air as she hung the lantern on a hook and began gathering eggs in a basket. While she worked she thought about Malachite. He had been her last thought as she’d drifted to sleep, her first thought upon awakening.

  That scene last night had convinced her that she’d made a terrible mistake. His presence was turning her neat, orderly life upside down. He was unlike any man she’d ever known. He wasn’t disciplined like Marshal Regan, or methodical like Cal McCabe. He lacked the gentleness of Reverend Dan Simpson, or the smooth polish of Byron Conner. He had a way of looking at her that unnerved her. As though he knew more than he let on. And a way of smiling—suddenly, without warning—that could make her heart soar.

  And when he touched her... Oh, sweet heaven, when he touched her, she lost all decency. All common sense. The man was dangerous. Hadn’t he warned her he was a savage? She had no way of knowing how to deal with him.

  She looked up when the door opened, then felt the heat rush to her cheeks when she spied the object of her thoughts, looking even more dangerous in the light of morning. And twice as handsome, she thought, dressed in the clothes she’d washed for him and with his hair slicked back.

  “Good morning.” He leaned into the door, latching it against the cold wind.

  “What are you doing up so early?” To avoid looking at him she nudged the straw with her foot, uncovering another egg.

  “Last night I noticed this latch was working loose. Thought I’d repair it before I go off to work at the ranch.”

  With his back to the door he watched her. This morning she wore a gown of faded yellow, reminding him of a buttercup. He itched to touch her. Instead, he remained where he was, his hands clenched firmly at his sides, a little frown between his brows.

  “That’s very kind of you, Malachite. But it isn’t necessary. You’ve done enough.” She bent to retrieve another egg, then gathered her courage and turned to face him. “I was in the cellar earlier and saw the meat. You’ve given me enough to feed the entire
town.”

  “Some days I think you do feed the entire town.” He retrieved some tools from his saddlebags.

  When he started to work on the latch, Millie set the basket near the door. Pulling up a small stool beside the cow, she began milking. “Now that you’ve had a chance to see your father’s ranch, what do you think of it?”

  His father. The word still grated. “It’s big.”

  “But isn’t it grand? Some say it’s the grandest ranch in all of Texas.”

  “Do they? I still say it’s big.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to stop the mustangs from overrunning the rangelands?”

  “If I ever find them.”

  “According to Diamond, their wranglers have tried tracking them. But they’ve vanished without a trace.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Nothing vanishes without a trace. Sooner or later I’ll find them. And when I do, I’ll find their leader, Diablo.”

  From the icy tone of his voice, Millie had no doubt of it. She deftly changed the subject. “Where did you learn to do so many things?”

  “I had no choice. Drifting around the West at an early age, I had to make myself useful if I wanted to survive.” He glanced over and felt himself warmed by the sight of her, seated beside the cow, her cheek resting against its hide as she filled the bucket. “Where was your home before you came west?”

  “Virginia.” She knew he had smoothly turned the tables so he wouldn’t have to talk about himself. But she didn’t mind. “My parents came from Ireland and hired out to work on the farm owned by Mick’s parents. Mick and I practically grew up together.”

  “What brought you to Hanging Tree?”

  “Mick was seized with a desire to pull up stakes and try his luck in Texas. So we kissed our families goodbye and never looked back.”

  Malachite tested the latch, opening and closing the door several times until he was satisfied. “How old were you?”

  “Fifteen. Mick was almost twenty.”