His touch, though, had done nothing for her. She felt...nothing...at the brush of his hand. Regardless, she should marry Tom. He was reliable, kind, hardworking, thoughtful…everything a woman looked for in a man. Just one glace, one look from Grant, however, sent shivers down her spine. Why did one man, who had the personality of an irritated porcupine, make her feel things she never knew possible?
She was confused and scared. Confused by the reaction of her body. Scared by the exact same thing. Why couldn't she have these feelings for a perfectly normal, quill-free man?
“We could have stayed at the ranch until the wedding,” she offered, longing for the sanctuary. “Tom didn’t mind.”
Grant shifted in his saddle to look at her, his eyes dark, his jaw clenched. “I’m sure he didn’t,” he muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear. “There’s no way you’re staying at the ranch a minute longer.”
Someone had a burr in their backside, or whatever it was Tom had said about his brother while he'd been recuperating. The metaphor was apt then, and now. “Is something bothering you?”
He sighed, but it sounded almost like a growl. “I need your help to identify the man who robbed the stage. We'll head to the place it happened on the way into town. Then we'll get you settled into the boarding house.”
His shoulders shifted with the loping gait of his horse, reminding her of his strength, how broad he was.
“I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’ll try.” Bad memories of the robbery came flooding back and she shivered, even in the warm sunshine. She had no interest in reliving the grisly events, but if she could help him catch the stage driver’s killers, and her kidnapper, it would be worth it.
***
Grant's wound was an annoying dull throb hours later when they mounted their horses to head to town from the overturned stage. He knew Maggie hadn’t been keen on leaving Tom’s ranch to return to the scene of the crime, hesitant to leave the safety it provided, but she’d been brave and determined to help find Bill’s killers.
He'd been equally uninspired to make her relive the gruesome events, but there were limited options. It was imperative he collect all details, all evidence that might be able to bring in the killer and she was his star—and only—witness. His weeklong delay in bed had done nothing to help solve the crime.
After going over what happened step by step, his fury at her attempted rape was reignited. They stood in the bright sunshine beside the broken stage, a soft breeze blowing but unable to cut the glaring heat. He lifted his hat and raked the back of his hand over his brow. She’d been so lucky to have kneed the bastard in the balls, otherwise...well, he’d rather not think of it.
When she’d finished her recount, he couldn’t help but pull her into his arms, holding her close. And she’d let him. He'd felt every plush curve of her body, the silkiness of her hair as he ran his palm from the nape of her neck and down her back. Maggie was so small, so fragile in comparison to his large frame. It made every protective instinct he had jump up and stand at attention. The fact that he couldn’t have saved her from such a horrendous event made his gut churn. Now, though, he was there to protect her, watch over her, and he’d risk his life doing so.
After their scrutiny of the crime scene, they remounted and let their horses have their heads for the gallop into town. The mountains were backlit by the brilliant sun, the heat out in the open expanse of prairie thick and inescapable. All he could think of was Maggie. His Maggie. Not Tom's. No way in hell would Tom have her.
When they slowed, he watched as she raised an arm and lifted damp curls stuck to her neck. The effect lifted her breasts to press against the confines of her white blouse, which clung to her...everywhere. With the warm sun, a slight sheen of perspiration wet her skin, making it all but glisten. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. What was this woman trying to do, kill him?
A man could only handle so much. After touching and seeing her body at Croft’s the week before, and then reliving the sight of her luscious breasts with those tight pink tips in his mind as he laid in bed day after day, his desire for her was painful. Grant moved again to relieve the ache in his groin. It didn’t work. Nothing would work until he'd buried himself in her and made her his.
The horses needed water, and he needed a distraction before he did something he so desperately wanted, but knew he’d regret. She needed a man to help her, not maul her. He turned his horse toward a creek meandering through the flat prairie. Thick, old Cottonwood trees dotted the sunken creek bed. He climbed off his horse and dropped the reins, letting his mount roam free. He helped her down as he tried to make as minimal contact with her as possible. His control was as thin as ice in spring and one touch, no matter how innocent, would shatter it.
“It’s beautiful here. I didn’t have much time to think about the scenery before now. So different,” she commented.
“Hot, too.” He wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve.
“It’s stifling.” She mimicked him and did the same thing with her own arm, which naturally lifted the fabric tight across her breasts. Again. Was she doing it on purpose? Did all women know how to seduce from birth?
He gulped as he saw the outline of her tight nipples. He knew exactly what shade of pink they were. “Come on, let’s find some shade,” he told her, his voice rough with need. He dropped the reins of her horse, letting both animals graze, then walked away, forcing her to chase after him.
“Why are you in such a rush?” she asked, winded.
“I need to cool off.” He unbuttoned the front of his shirt as he spoke. He didn’t care if she had womanly sensibilities or not. The urge to rip the buttons off of her shirt was like a spreading prairie fire. He needed to douse it, and fast. If he didn't, he'd either come in his pants or press her up against one of those tall trees, lift her skirts and plunge deep.
She stopped in her tracks at his actions and turned her back. “Um, Sheriff, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”
He grinned at her attempt at modesty. Already in the creek, he splashed cool water over his face and hair. “Like I said, cooling off. And damn it, can’t you call me Grant?” He waded out into the deeper water and dropped down, dunking under. The icy water did only little to cool his desire. It was like a fire that could only be quenched by her, and then he wasn’t sure if she’d be able to smother the flames of his desire, his need for her in just one night. Would this lustful pain ever go away?
“You don’t think you can do that with your shirt on?”
He loved seeing her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
He could hear the squeak in her voice. “Don’t worry, your innocence isn’t tarnished. I still have my pants on.” He noticed her peeking over her shoulder to verify his words. He smiled, finding her blushes refreshing. When she noticed he was looking at her, she quickly averted her gaze. But she wasn't an innocent. She'd said she'd been with a man. But her actions, her every move screamed the contrary. Either she was lying, or the man she'd been with didn't know his way around a woman.
“Want to join me?” He knew her answer, but it was fun goading her nonetheless.
“At least we’ll get a break from the sun soon,” she said as she looked up at the sky, her face shielded by a hand against her forehead.
He smirked when she changed the subject. He’d play along, for now. He wasn’t too sure how much heat he could stand, radiating either from the sun or from her.
“Those are storm clouds coming in, aren’t they?” She pointed toward the green and blue horizon. “They’re moving awfully quickly.”
He splashed his way out of the creek and looked in the direction of her hand. They were storm clouds, all right. Black ones. Blowing in quickly. The wind started to pick up as he assessed the sky further. An eerie yellow color tinted the land.
“We need to hurry.” He shoved his arms through his shirt sleeves, difficult with his wet skin, not bothering to button it. He shoved into his boots and grabbed her arm, hurrying toward the horses
, his shirt tails flapping against his back.
She stumbled in his wake and he tightened his grasp on her arm. “Ouch!”
“Sorry,” he replied, lessening his grip, but still keeping a hold of her. “If we don’t get out of this creek bed and to higher ground, we’ll be in big trouble.”
“But...but those clouds are still far away,” she replied.
He could hear the growing concern in her voice. He knew he was being blunt, but if they didn’t move, they could be stuck in a flash flood. They reached their mounts, which were a bit skittish, telling him the storm was even worse than it looked. He tossed her her reins.
“You’ll need to ride like you did when Dalton was after us, all right?” He mounted as he spoke, his bullet wound smarting on him. He turned in his saddle to look at her. He saw fear in her eyes as she nodded.
“Good girl. Let’s move.” He tapped his heels into his horse’s flanks and set off at a sprint, Maggie right beside him.
***
Margaret didn’t know what to think. One minute she'd been staring at Grant’s solid expanse of chest, watching the water droplets work their way down his skin, caught in the tangle of curls matting his chest. The next, her arm was almost ripped from its socket to escape a storm that appeared to be hours away. She couldn’t understand the dire urgency he put in the approaching clouds.
He hadn’t given her much choice but to listen and follow. From the seriousness of his tone and the grave look on his face, she believed him. There was no protection from a storm where they were, in the open grassland. She had no idea how far from town they were, so where could they seek shelter? For both their sakes, she hoped Grant knew where he was going. With additional determination, she let her horse have his head and they were off, trailing behind him by inches.
The wind blustered and she turned her head to let it blow her tangled hair from her eyes. They made progress across the prairie. In the distance, she saw some small hills dotted with trees. But the clouds were even closer. They’d moved in with amazing speed, unlike anything she'd ever seen back home. An eerie darkness descended, then all at once, the sky opened up. Sheets of rain pummeled them. She shouted at his back. “Where are we going?” She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her over the whipping wind and downpour.
He slowed his horse enough for her to catch up and ride alongside. He turned to her and yelled, “There’s a line shack up ahead where we can seek shelter.”
She could barely see where she was going with the rain in her eyes. Goose bumps covered her drenched skin, though the air was warm. Soon enough, he slowed his horse as they approached a glen. She let him take the lead and she followed close behind. She could barely make out a small cabin, dark on dark among the trees.
Grant slid from his horse and quickly undid the cinches on the saddle and headgear. He slapped its backside, setting the animal in motion. She followed suit, jumping down unassisted, and started to remove her animal's saddle as well. He rammed his shoulder against the worn wood of the shack door. It swung open and slammed against the wall. He placed his gear inside and returned to finish unsaddling her horse. When done, he gave her horse a smack on his flank as well, letting him run free.
“In here,” he shouted against the drumming of the rain. He stomped inside and placed the second saddle next to the first in the corner. Shaking water from his hair, he sent droplets aloft like a wet dog.
She gladly followed him into the shack and stomped the mud from her shoes. She shook her arms then wiped the rain from her face. He lit a brass lantern on the table. She looked around as he grabbed some wood from a bin and started a fire in the stove, water pooling at his feet.
Several shelves holding tinned food ran along one wall. A table and two chairs filled the cramped space on one side of the stove and a bed was positioned in the corner, close enough to the stove to enjoy its warmth. The room was clean and appeared well stocked. Above all, it was dry. She looked up at the beams running along the tin roof and listened to the rain beat down. She was thankful for the shelter.
Thunder boomed loudly, startling her from her inspection. “What is this place?” she wondered aloud.
“It’s a line shack. There are several along the border of Tom’s land for the men to use when they’re far from the bunk house.”
“We’re on Tom’s land now?” She was amazed as they were far from the main house. Tom owned a very substantial swath of land. Probably more than the entire city of Philadelphia.
The pounding became louder, almost overwhelming enough that she feared the roof would cave. She once again looked up at the ceiling and listened. Was that hail? She ran her hands over her arms and shivered. “I’ve never seen a storm come in so quickly before.”
“Colorado’s a lot different than back east.” Grant closed the door on the stove with a loud metallic clink, after setting fire to small kindling. He turned to her and his gaze lowered from her face. It was impossible to miss how his eyes darkened and his jaw tightened as he took in her drenched clothing. “You should get out of those wet things.”
She looked down. She gasped. She looked a fright, but she hadn’t considered what she wore. Her cotton blouse had become transparent from the rain and her thin chemise was no barrier to his eyes. Her pink nipples were tight and outlined clearly, the round shape of her breasts contoured by the clinging fabric. She quickly crossed her arms over her chest as she felt her cheeks heat, even as chilled as she was. “I...I don’t have anything else to wear.”
He began to strip off his wet clothes, his shirt making a loud smack on the floor where it dropped. She wasn’t sure what to do. He was undressing right in front of her! There was nowhere for her to go, nowhere for her eyes to look besides at his solid, progressively naked form. She tried to avert her gaze by looking at the wood floor, but it didn’t ease her discomfort. Another feeling, one far different than embarrassment, heated her from the inside out.
“Take a blanket from the bed and wrap it around yourself. We’ll lay the clothes out to dry in front of the stove once the fire gets hot,” he directed. He unbuttoned the front of his pants as he spoke.
He's taking off all of his clothes! She hurried to the bed and picked up the blanket, glad for the distraction, her fingers fumbling in the soft folds. She'd never been alone with a man like this before. Alone in a room, yes, with servants nearby. But alone in a storm, in a small, one room shack? Never.
“Hand me one of those, will you?” he asked.
She turned to hand him the blanket and got more than an eyeful. Grant stood there, arm outstretched, dressed only in his drawers. His body, for its sheer size, was lean and hard. His legs were covered in dark hair that matched his arms, tanned from the outdoors. His hair was damp, but was starting to curl from the heat of the fire. His chest was broad and rippled with muscle. And lower, outlined beneath sodden undergarments was his...his extremely large—
“Oh!” She threw the blanket at him and turned her back, but not before she heard him chuckle. She put a hand up to her forehead, her eyes closed as she tried to forget the image of a very specific part of his body burned in her mind. It was the first male form she’d seen unclothed, and she doubted there was a better specimen, something she would not soon forget. And his male part! She hadn't seen William without clothes, only felt him when he'd moved painfully inside of her. But Grant was big! Something like that could hurt a woman. Then why did her body protest otherwise? Her nipples tightened even further beneath her wet shirt and her woman's core pulsed and heated at the very idea of Grant's very full length.
“I apologize for the lack of privacy, but this is the best I can do, under the circumstances. If we don’t get out of our wet things, we’ll likely get sick.”
“I feel like I already have a fever,” she muttered, now staring at the weathered wall behind the bed.
“You can turn around now.”
She took a deep breath and slowly turned, her cheeks warm from much more than embarrassment. The blanket was settled low on his hi
ps and hung nearly to the floor. Hair on his chest formed into a line that disappeared beneath the material and lower to....
“Your turn.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Her gaze flew to his. “Sheriff, I can’t...you don’t think I’m going to undress in front of you!”
“You don’t have any choice. Besides,”—he cocked his head toward her transparent blouse—“I've seen most of it anyway.”
Margaret couldn't come up with a retort for that in her fuming state. It didn't matter that he'd already had quite a show, but she wasn't planning on extending the performance.
“I’m certainly not going out in the rain to protect your sensibilities,” he continued, his voice enunciating the last, his eyes roaming once again down her wet body.
Sensibilities? She was ready to scream in frustration. “Sheriff, I’m not overly concerned with my so called sensibilities after the unusual activities over the past week. However, a little common courtesy would be appreciated.”
He nodded his head. “As you wish, Miss Atwater, but I stay inside.”
She found herself accommodated as he turned around. His broad, tan back curved into the blanket at his waist. The temptation to run her hands over his back was mortifying and exciting, all at once. What would his skin feel like beneath her fingertips? Would it be as hot as she imagined? Would his muscles be hard and firm? Her skin heated even further. She wasn't even cold anymore. Shaking her head at her wayward thoughts, she quickly stripped off her soggy clothes and wrapped herself in a white sheet from the old bed. She tied it securely in a knot between her breasts, though unfortunately, her nipples perked up at the contact with the scratchy material.
“Thank you.”
She held out her clothes for him as he turned around. He looked her over quickly, then squatted down in front of the stove to lay her things out to dry. Her half-naked state didn't get so much as an eye twitch from him. Was she so unappealing that he felt nothing when he looked upon her? Why was she even upset that he didn't want her? She'd been fighting him off from the first. The thought warred in her head. She was attracted to him, desired him in a way she never knew possible and that bothered her the most. Why couldn't she lust after, because that's what she felt—lust, his brother Tom?
The Lady and the Lawman Page 10