by Heidi Betts
"I've come to buy a few peppermint sticks for my students,” she answered. “And I've brought a friend with me. You know David Walker, don't you?"
Walker tensed, not knowing what to expect and not yet used to this new demeanor the people of Purgatory seemed to have toward him. Even if it wasn't really a new attitude at all. Besides, Mrs. Forrester was only one person; what if others didn't agree with her seemingly high opinion of him?
But Fergus McGee merely rolled his head back on his shoulders, looked through the glinting glass of his spectacles, and nodded. “Sure, sure. The sheriff's son. Good to see you again. Whatcha been up to?"
"I've been away,” Walker replied, following Hannah's example and raising his voice to a near bellow that echoed off the walls of the high-ceilinged mercantile. “Visiting family in my mother's village."
He wasn't sure why he felt the need to make that announcement. Possibly to test this man, this community. To see if they were willing to accept him even when he flaunted his heritage under their noses.
But instead of condemning him, the man nodded his bald head with its ring of thin gray hair just above the ears. “Good boy. Family's important.” And then he turned to Hannah, the topic all but forgotten. “Did you say you wanted cinnamon or peppermint sticks for the kiddies over at the school-house?"
"Peppermint,” she answered, flashing David an I-told-you-so grin before flouncing off to make sure Mr. McGee got her order right.
Over the next half hour, David chatted with at least a dozen other people. All of them tipped their hats or smiled politely. None shot him foul glances or spat at his feet.
"What do you think?” Hannah asked as they made their way along the boardwalk, the small brown bag of candy for her students clutched in her hand.
"I'm not sure,” he answered honestly. “Everyone was downright nice to me, but I can't believe they've always been like that. They weren't like this the last time I came to town . . . were they?"
Hannah studied his strong, sculpted jaw carefully. Poor David; he was truly perplexed. He'd genuinely expected people to curse him or throw stones, and had no idea how to handle the fact that they'd done nothing of the sort.
"You've been away for a while, David,” she told him softly. “Even when you did come back to Purgatory, you spent most of your time at your parents’ house, avoiding town. You didn't give anyone outside your own family a chance to show you how welcome you are here.” She cast him a sidelong glance. “I'm not sure you even wanted to know."
"In other words, I've been walking around for the past ten years with a giant chip on my shoulder. Is that what you're saying?"
Instead of being angry, he sounded almost amused. Self-castigating, but amused all the same.
"I'm glad you finally figured that out,” she said, giving him a pert half-grin.
"So it seems the people of Purgatory don't hate me as much as I first thought."
"They never hated you,” she put in adamantly. “They just didn't know you at first. And they didn't understand that you're the same as anyone else, regardless of the color of your skin or your part-Comanche blood. It took your parents to show them that."
She turned to him, clutching at his sleeve, her heart pounding with excitement. “Think what it would mean if only one person became more accepting of another and then convinced others to be more accepting, too. Imagine how wonderful that would be."
He smiled down at her indulgently. “You're a good woman, Hannah, with a big heart."
"It could happen, David,” she insisted. “You're proof of that."
"I hope you're right. I only have one question."
When she lifted her face, she noticed the wicked glitter in his dark, coffee brown eyes. She grew immediately wary. “What's that?” she asked.
"How tolerant do you think these folks would be of me if I wrapped my arms around you right here and now and kissed the breath out of you?"
The air froze in her lungs at his low, sensual proposition. She knew it was disgraceful, but at that moment, she wanted nothing more than for him to do just that. It would be like branding her as his. Publicly declaring that she was his woman.
A shudder rippled through her and she squeezed her legs together in an attempt to calm the sudden erotic pulse pounding there.
"I think they would understand,” she said carefully, her voice squeaking like a rusty gate. “But they would probably expect a wedding invitation to follow within the next couple of days."
His eyes narrowed as he considered her response. Then he rubbed his jaw and gave a cursory nod. “I'll keep that in mind."
Hannah inhaled deeply, disappointment seizing her belly. It seemed he wouldn't be kissing her on the main street of Purgatory after all. What a shame.
As they continued on their way, a lovely young woman crossed their path. Her violet eyes sparkled and the peach of her expensive gabardine gown made her skin glow like clotted cream. She smiled coyly at David, and the image of a hungry wolf, with long, sharp claws, flashed through Hannah's mind.
"Why, David Walker,” she all but purred, “when did you get back to town?"
The girl ran a hand down the length of his arm, and Hannah suffered an unexpected wave of jealousy, wanting to reach out and snatch the shiny brunette tresses straight out of the strumpet's scalp.
Lord, what a harridan she was becoming. She'd never known she possessed so much as an ounce of envy before.
Of course, she'd never been in love with a sinfully handsome man before, either.
She would have to get used to the stares and coquettish glances of other women toward David, she supposed. It was, after all, impossible for them not to be attracted to him. But if he so much as thought about returning one of their moon-eyed stares, she would do more than pluck him bald. She would aim much, much lower, and likely use a very sharp instrument to aid her act of revenge.
The girl didn't even give David a chance to answer her question before she was snuggling up against him, thrusting her udder-sized breast as close to his face as standing on tippy-toe could get her.
"It's been ages since we've seen you. Mama and Papa would just love it if you'd come to supper one day this week. I'll make my famous fried pork chops,” she added, batting her lashes.
"I appreciate that, Miss, um. . ."
Hannah watched the girl's lips level off with displeasure. “Louisa. Louisa Prescott."
"That's right, Miss Prescott. I appreciate the offer, Miss Prescott, but I'm afraid my mother expects me at her table every evening for dinner. I haven't been home in so long, she wouldn't hear of letting me miss one of her meals."
"In that case,” the girl tried again, “perhaps. . ."
Hannah cleared her throat, having swallowed about as much of Miss Louisa Prescott's overexposed bosom as she could take. “Shouldn't we be going, David?” she interrupted, purposely using his first name to demonstrate their familiarity. If David wasn't going to lay claim to her by kissing her breathless in the middle of the street, then she could at least mark him as her own in front of this top-heavy little twit.
"Yeah. It was nice seeing you again, Miss Prescott,” he said, inclining his head. And then he stepped past her without a second glance, tucking Hannah's hand around his elbow.
Her heart swelled at his touch, at the natural way he took her arm. But as much as that gesture warmed her, Louisa Prescott's antics still roiled in her gut.
"That trollop. Did you see the way she was rubbing her bodice up against you? I'm surprised she didn't pop out over the top of her dress; it had to be two sizes too small."
"What are you talking about?” he asked, his brows drawing together.
Her mouth fell open. “You can't be serious. Didn't you notice she was all but throwing herself at you? The hussy."
"Who, Louisa Prescott?"
"Of course, Louisa Prescott!” she snapped. “She was fluttering her eyes like a butterfly in a sandstorm. I'm surprised she didn't take flight,” she added on a growl.
"Are y
ou saying she was flirting with me?"
"I wouldn't call it flirting,” Hannah muttered. “More like inviting you into her bed."
"I thought she invited me to dinner. Pork chops."
"Hmph.” Her nails curled into his forearm, and she could feel her brows coming together, almost reaching her nose, she was scowling so hard.
"So she was flirting with me, hmm? I don't think that's ever happened before."
Her frown slowly disappeared, replaced by a look of utter astonishment. When she turned wide eyes on David, he was grinning, his chest thrust forward like a strutting peacock. Did he honestly not realize the blatant sexuality he exuded? Or how many women came close to swooning over his rugged, swarthy good looks?
She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Maybe we should go home now."
"Why?” A look of concern washed over his face and his body tensed. “Do you feel all right?"
Before he could reach out to check her for a fever, she said, “I feel fine. I just think we should get back before . . . before. . ."
"Before what?"
"Before you get a craving for fried pork chops,” she blurted.
Chapter Twenty-three
Walker couldn't get Hannah back to her cabin fast enough. From the moment she'd invited him home—and into her bed, he presumed—his body had been humming with unleashed desire. His muscles were taut, his brain racing, his loins throbbing in anticipation.
It was a good mile and a half from town to her cabin. If one kept to a brisk pace, the walk probably took about a half hour. Walker rushed Hannah so much, they made it in just over twenty minutes, which included stopping upon occasion to devour her mouth and stroke the soft contours of her face, and then picking her up and carrying her a short distance to make up for lost time.
For once in his life, he couldn't care less who might see them. The citizens of Purgatory didn't seem to hate him as much as he'd once thought, but even if they had, he wouldn't have been able to resist kissing her out in the open. Let them condemn him, hang him. It would be well worth any punishment they could devise.
When they finally reached her doorway, he whirled her around, pressed her flat against the solid wooden panel, and plundered her mouth until their teeth scraped together. He rubbed his chest up and down hers, feeling the abrasion of her peaked nipples through the layers of their clothing. His hands clutched at her back, her waist, her buttocks. He settled his hard length into the crux of her legs and slowly rotated his pelvis until she moaned.
She clawed at his shoulders and he groped behind her for the door latch. His fingers fumbled for a minute before the door swung open, spilling them into the room.
Walker stumbled and nearly fell. Hannah would have if he hadn't caught her around the waist and kept her from landing on her rear end. She looked up at him—hanging backward over his arm, her hat lost somewhere on the floor and her hair spilling out of its artfully arranged bun—and laughed.
He joined her, kicking the door closed behind them, then lifting her fully into his arms and carrying her toward the narrow bed in the corner. His lips remained on hers the whole way and her hands feathered through his hair as he tried not to trip over a spare piece of furniture and kill them both.
At last, he reached the bed and laid her down. The mattress creaked as he lowered himself over her. His elbow cracked into the wall as he straddled her thighs and he gave a short grunt of pain.
"You've got to get a bigger bed, notsa?ka?. This one is barely wide enough for the both of us.” His voice grew hushed as he propped himself on the heels of his hands and trailed his bottom lip across the corner of her mouth. “And definitely not large enough for everything I want to do to you."
"If you plan to stick around,” she informed him bluntly, “I'll consider it."
Walker decided to ignore that particular lure in favor of licking the long column of her neck which exuded a natural, lemony scent. Whether or not he'd stay in Purgatory and in contact with Hannah remained to be seen. And if he did, there was a chance she would be discharged from her position as school-marm simply for consorting with him. Half-breed or not, parents would be none too happy to find out the woman teaching their little darlings to read and write had spent the better part of two weeks alone with a man in a tiny shack in the infamous outlaw town of Hell. Once she was kicked out of the cabin and possibly run out of town altogether for consorting with a gentleman, the size of her berth would be a rather moot point.
"You know what I'd like?” he murmured, nibbling at the erratic throb of her pulse. “I'd like to take you to the Comanche village and introduce you to my family and friends there. Spend the night with you in one of the lodges. Make love to you on a thick layer of soft animal pelts, with a fire blazing only feet away."
"Mmmm.” She moaned deep in her throat and threw back her head, arching her small breasts into his chest.
"Would you like that? Would you let me make love to you on a bed of furs?"
"Anywhere,” she said, her breathing growing labored.
Her eyes were closed as she absorbed every sensation he created with his ever-moving hands and lips. She didn't even seem to notice when he released the catch of her brooch and set it aside.
He pictured her there, in his people's village, on that bed of furs, and experienced an almost crippling wave of deep-rooted contentment. He'd never wanted her to be his wife as much as he did at that moment.
There had been times in his life when he'd imagined marrying her, but never had his longing run so deep. He wanted her forever, in both the white man's and the red man's worlds. He never wanted to let her go, no matter what anyone else thought or said.
That terrified him most of all. It was one thing for him to be willing to tolerate the bad things that might come of taking up with a white woman. But they would be nothing compared to what Hannah would be put through. She'd shown him today that not everyone hated him because of his Indian blood, but that didn't mean everyone accepted him, either. And there was no guarantee they would continue to be accepting of Hannah if she married him.
He didn't want to think about any of that now, though. He was too happy, too at ease, and too eager to make Hannah's eyes roll back in her head.
While his mouth was busy sipping at the tiny dip of satiny skin above her collarbone, his fingers worked to loosen the buttons at the front of her blouse. One by one, they slipped through their holes, the white cotton fabric falling open to reveal the porcelain perfection of her chest and breasts.
He pulled the tail ends of the shirtwaist free, then reached around to unfasten the waistband of her skirt. It took all of three seconds to relieve her of her outer clothing, leaving her in a sleeveless camisole with pink edging, matching drawers, and thin linen stockings held in place by garters the same pale pink as the ribbon on the camisole bodice and around the legs of her drawers.
"Very nice,” he whispered, the air catching in his lungs as he admired the vision of delightful femininity she made, lying before him with her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted.
Crossing his arms over his abdomen, he shucked his shirt in one quick upward motion, pulling the buckskin garment over his head and tossing it somewhere on the cabin floor.
His fingers explored the silky smoothness of her leg, running around her slim ankle, up the back of her muscled calf to the bend of her knee. Lifting her booted foot to his chest, he began to undo the laces and tossed the scuffed piece of footwear over his shoulder. It hit the wall with a thump and plopped to the floor, soon followed by its mate.
With her shoes removed, he hooked her stockinged legs over his shoulders and slid down until the bulk of his body rested in the cradle of her thighs. She opened her eyes and flexed her feet until her toes pointed straight at the ceiling, and smiled.
When his face came within reach, Hannah grabbed him playfully by the ears and pulled him down for a kiss. While their lips melded and their tongues dueled, Walker slipped his hands under the hem of her camisole and slowly worked i
t up her midriff. Beneath the confining material, he stroked her breasts, teasing the sensitive centers into tightened peaks.
Stretching her arms high above her head, he slid off the flimsy top and let it fall to the floor. He took a moment to admire the modest upthrust of her breasts before curling his fingers into the waist of her drawers, sliding them over the curve of her bottom and down the length of her legs.
While he was busy and half turned, divesting her of that piece of frippery, she wiggled onto her knees so that her face was level with his. She kissed his forehead and brows, the bridge of his nose, his eyelids, his high cheekbones, the tiny indentations on either side of his mouth . . . Feather-light touches to show him how much she loved him.
She ran her hands over his broad shoulders, the firm sinews of his upper arms and chest. Her thumbs dusted the darker, coin-size circles of his nipples with their sharp centers before running down the wash-board ripples of his ribs and abdomen. From there, her fingers found the bulge at the front of his trousers and gently cupped his throbbing erection.
Letting his head fall back, David's eyes closed. A clutch of excitement quavered through her belly at his low groan of pleasure, spurring her to increase the pressure of her hold and begin a slow, back and forth caress.
"Stop. You're killing me,” he hissed, his hand closing in a vise like grip about her wrist.
"What's the matter?” she purred in return. “Don't you like it when I touch you this way?” Despite his attempt to halt her movements, she was able to stroke the hard ridge of trapped flesh.
"I do like it. Too much. But if you expect this to continue more than another three seconds, you need to stop driving me mad."
"I want to drive you mad,” she retorted, sounding almost petulant, even to her own ears. “You've driven me crazy enough in the past. Now it's my turn."
He studied her closely as several silent heartbeats passed, his deep brown eyes drilling into her like twin flames. “I'm not promising anything,” he said finally, releasing her hand. “But I'll let you play your games and we'll see how long I last."