Hero For Hire

by Sheridon Smythe

  "You leave Hawk and his family alone, and we'll forget about having this little conversation."

  "He murdered my folks!” West snarled. “What are you, some kind of Indian lover?"

  "Hawk didn't murder anybody, and you know it. Leave him and his family be, or I'll take you in right now. The sheriff might be interested in knowing he's got an outlaw living right beneath his nose."

  "The sheriff minds his own business."

  "For two hundred dollars I think he might be tempted to mind your business, West."

  "You bastard."

  "Hey, I'm not the one stealing horses. I just catch the people stealing them. If that makes me a bastard, then I guess I'm a bastard.” Mac dared to smile in the face of West's raw fury. “Do you we have a deal, or not?"

  "How do you know I'll stick to the deal after you're gone?"

  It was a damned good question, and one he hadn't thought of. “Because I have a cousin that lives here in town,” Mac lied. “He knows how to get in touch with me, and if he hears that you've so much as spoken to Hawk or anyone in his family, I'll be back for you."

  "I could skip town,” West threatened.

  Mac shrugged. “Then you'd be doing me a favor.” He threw a ten-dollar gold eagle into the dust at West's feet. “That should cover the extras. You have a nice day now, you hear?” Whistling, he put his gun away and strolled in the direction of the hotel.

  But his ears were tuned to hear the slightest movement from the livid-faced man staring after him. He knew that if looks could kill, he'd be a walking dead man right now.

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  Chapter Eighteen

  Mac knew he should try to get some sleep, but between the rumbling of the train and Roy's constant snoring beside him, he found it impossible. He sighed and tipped his hat away from his eyes.

  Savannah sat across from him, poring over an assortment of sketches she'd taken from a slim leather satchel. Mac leaned closer to get a better look. They were hats, he realized, of all shapes and sizes. The sketches were good, too.

  "Did you draw these?” he asked, smiling when she jumped at the sound of his voice. Her gaze flew upward to meet his.

  "I thought you were asleep."

  With a rueful shake of his head, he pointed to Roy. “Not likely.” His gaze fell on the sketches. “Mind if I take a look?"

  "I didn't think you'd be interested. They're just hats."

  Mac pretended to be wounded. “Not be interested? Well, I'll have you know that I like hats."

  "You do?"

  She sounded so hopeful Mac wanted to snatch her onto his lap and kiss her long and hard. “Yes, I do. In fact...” he picked up one of the sketches and studied it, blessing his talent for remembering details. “Isn't this something like the hat you wore last summer at the cotton festival? The gray and black thing with the silver plums?"

  "Why, Mac! Yes, yes it is!” She became flushed and animated. “As a matter of fact, I designed that very same hat. I can't believe you remember."

  "And this one.” Mac plucked another from the pile. “Didn't you wear something similar to the party your father held at the bank this past Christmas? Red ... and green, with little ornaments dangling from the side.” A look of amazement came over Savannah. For a moment, she was speechless.

  "Mackenzy Cord! I can't believe you remember that!"

  Mac glanced quickly around, then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “It's not something a man wants everyone to know, darlin'."

  "Oh. Sorry.” She giggled, then clamped a hand over her mouth. “Are there any other secrets you'd like to share with me?"

  Taking his time as he studied each and every sketch, Mac finally put them aside. “They're all good, which doesn't surprise me. I've always known you were talented as well as beautiful.” He cleared his throat before he confessed in a low voice, “I like fresh flowers.” He suspected a lot of men appreciated a good bouquet, but he also suspected they'd die before they admitted it. Maybe they had never loved a woman as he loved Savannah.

  "Really?"

  His voice dropped an octave lower so that Savannah had to lean forward. Was it Mac's fault if her movement revealed to his hungry eyes a fair amount of cleavage? “I also like bubbles in my bath."

  "Oh, my.” Her eyes were growing rounder by the second.

  "But I draw the line at scented soap."

  Her jaw dropped open, then snapped shut. “You—you're teasing me."

  "I hope so,” Roy mumbled, then promptly began to snore again.

  Mac tried to look grave. “No, I'm not. I do like hats, and I do like flowers and bubbles in my bath. Now it's your turn. Tell me something about yourself that I don't know."

  "You mean, like a secret?” Savannah's eyes began to gleam, which should have warned Mac. She flicked a glance at Roy before she whispered, “Sometimes ... I sleep bare."

  The moisture drained from Mac's mouth as if the sun had slipped inside. “You ... you ... sometimes sleep bare,” he repeated. He didn't dare close his eyes, because he knew what he would see if he did; Savannah stretched beneath the sheets ... naked. “Any other secrets?” he managed to croak.

  She shot him a speculative look, as if trying to decide if he could be trusted. “Well ... do you remember the barn dance, oh, seven or eight years ago when someone laced the punch with corn liquor?"

  "And the preacher's daughter—Mattie Owens, wasn't it? She got sick and threw up all over her mother,” Mac recalled, grinning at the memory. Suddenly, he sobered, gaping at Savannah, who was blushing furiously now. “You? You laced the punch?"

  She nodded, trying not to smile. “I guess maybe I overdid it a little bit."

  "That's an understatement. I had a headache for three days!” Mac laughed outright, startling Roy.

  He opened one bleary eye and peered at Mac. “Can you keep it down, Mac? Christ's—Jeepers, a body's trying to sleep here."

  They both ignored the grumpy boy. Savannah pointed at Mac. “Your turn."

  "Okay. How's this; I was hot on the trail of an outlaw one night down in Georgia. It was dark and rainy, and my tooth was throbbing, so I stopped at a saloon in a mud hole of a little town—really nothing more than a couple of buildings, and maybe a church—and drank a few whiskeys, hoping to kill the pain until I could get to a dentist.” Mac rubbed his jaw and flashed her a rueful smile, bracing himself for her laughter. “I'd forgotten that I hadn't eaten much that day—because of the tooth—so the whiskey hit me pretty hard. I left the saloon ... on someone else's horse."

  Savannah began to giggle uncontrollably. Finally, she burst out laughing, trying to muffle the sound with her hand. It was no use.

  Mac sat back, grinning from ear to ear, watching her laugh. It was an amazing, memorable sight. When she quieted somewhat, he added, “I didn't realize that it wasn't my horse until I got to the next town."

  "What did you do?” she asked, still gasping for air. Tears ran down her face. She kept wiping them away, but more took their place.

  "I went back, but when I got there, my horse was gone."

  This revelation sent Savannah into fits of laughter again. “You mean—you mean while you were taking someone else's horse, someone—someone else took yours?"

  He nodded. “I figured the same thing happened to the other man, so I just kept his horse."

  "That's the funniest story I've ever heard,” Savannah declared, smiling at him.

  "Well, the story about you scaring the get-away horses with your hat was a pretty funny story."

  "Oh, you!” She blushed furiously.

  "Your turn again,” Mac said, enjoying himself more than he had in a long while. Savannah was growing more precious to him with every passing moment. He couldn't imagine ever growing restless with Savannah around.

  "Well, let me see...” Her eyes grew bright and she snapped her fingers, causing Roy to jump and frown in his sleep. “I've got it.” But instead of telling him, she fell silent again, biting her bottom lip until it was flushed
with color. “Or maybe I should think of something else."

  Amused by her indecision, Mac prompted, “You've got my curiosity aroused now, Sav. It wouldn't be polite to leave me hanging. What is it this time? Did you ride naked down the street with only your hair for cover?"

  Savannah gasped as if shocked, when Mac knew she was nothing of the sort.

  "I would never!” Her impish grin stole Mac's breath as she added, “Unless no one knew me."

  "I'm waiting."

  "So you are.” She drummed her fingers on her knees, then stuck her nail in her mouth for a quick, nervous nibble.

  Mac challenged her with a lift of his brow. It was all she needed to spur her onward.

  "All right. I'll tell you, but—” she flashed the sleeping Roy a long hard look—"you have to promise never to tell another soul."

  "All of your secrets are safe with me, Savannah,” he said on a decidedly husky note.

  "You won't think I'm brazen?"

  "I love your brazenness,” Mac stated boldly. To his delight, she blushed and lowered her eyes.

  "One night—years ago—I followed you home, intending to ask you if you would accompany me to church the following Sunday. You—you'd already gone into your house by the time I got there. I knocked, but I guess you didn't hear me, so I—I went to your bedroom window."

  Hot tendrils of fire licked a pathway down Mac's spine as her voice became hushed. Everyone around them seemed to disappear—including Roy, who was still snoring beside him.

  "You—you had already started undressing, and instead of leaving, like any decent girl would do, I just stayed there ... watching you,” she finished in a whisper.

  Mac had but one problem with her story—other than the fact that it had caused a raging erection. “Sav, my bedroom was upstairs. The only way you could have watched me was if you had climbed the tree outside my window."

  Savannah looked at him then, and she was smiling the most mischievous smile Mac had ever witnessed on a woman.

  "Now you know how I really broke my wrist that summer."

  He was so astounded by her confession that it took him a moment to breathe. “You—you fell out of the tree?"

  "Yes."

  "Watching me take off my clothes?"

  "Yes."

  "And never told a soul how it really happened—until now."

  "Right.” Her lips twitched and her eyes brimmed with mirth. She was trying not to laugh. “I told Daddy that I tripped on the way to the outhouse."

  "I can't beat that one,” Mac said, chuckling at the image of Savannah hanging on a limb outside his bedroom window—watching him undress. It was an arousing thought. Extremely arousing. Not that he needed further encouragement!

  "I didn't think you could."

  It was an undeniable challenge she issued, and Mac knew it. He thought about blurting out how long he'd loved her, how much he yearned to make her his wife, but he was afraid she'd find his confession as amusing as she'd found his stories. Instead, he took shameless advantage of the conversation to test Hawk's advice.

  He rose and joined her on the seat, sitting very, very close. Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, “Since that night in the forest, I've thought of little else, wondering what it would be like to love you fully ... to press deep inside you.” She shivered, and he smiled, a crafty smile he was confident she couldn't see. “What would have happened if Roy hadn't stumbled upon us, I wonder?” He deliberately let out a sigh of regret as he added, “On the other hand, I'm glad he did interrupt us."

  "You—you are?” she whispered, turning slightly.

  Her mouth tempted him—only inches away. Mac resisted, but it wasn't easy. Instead he trailed his lips along her jaw, pausing near her ear again as he breathed, “Yes."

  "Why?"

  "Because we're not married, Savannah. Making love is a serious matter between a man and a woman."

  "It is? I mean, yes, yes, it is. But—"

  "Oh, yes, it's most certainly a serious matter,” Mac continued, tracing the delicate shell of her ear with his tongue. She shivered again, but didn't pull away.

  "But, Mac, I don't see what harm can be done if both parties agree."

  Mac managed a convincing groan of self-disgust. “See? I've given you the wrong impression, haven't I? I should be horse-whipped. What we did—what we almost did—was wrong."

  "Wrong?” Her voice was but a faint squeak of disappointment.

  "Yes. You should save yourself for your husband."

  "And if ... I never marry? What then?"

  "Oh, I can't imagine you not marrying, Savannah. You're intelligent, beautiful, and by far the most enchanting woman I know."

  "But what if I don't marry?” she persisted. “I'm supposed to live like a nun the rest of my life, and never experience ... experience making love with a man?” She shook her head. “No, Mac. That's not fair."

  "That's life. You're a lady, and you have your reputation to worry about."

  "I'm a grown woman, and I have a mind of my own,” she informed him tartly. “If I want to sleep with you, than I will."

  Mac chuckled. “Do I have a say so in this matter?"

  "Certainly.” She turned her head until her lips brushed his in a sweet, all-too-brief kiss. “Say whatever you want, Mac,” she whispered seductively against his mouth.

  She was taunting him, Mac realized, very pleased with himself. Maybe there was some merit in Hawk's theory that if he ran, she would pursue. Or should he say, appear to run?

  Time would tell. He couldn't wait to get to the next town, because, thanks to Roy, they would be forced to continue their pretense as husband and wife.

  Which meant sharing a room—and possibly a bed—with Savannah again.

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  Chapter Nineteen

  After two days, Savannah was more than ready to get off the train as they approached Paradise, Virginia. Her eyes felt gritty from the smoke that filtered in through the open windows, and she couldn't wait to soak in a hot bath and put on fresh clothes. They'd taken turns sharing a sleep bunk—really nothing more than a hard shelf built into the wall, with a green curtain instead of a door. She was shamelessly anticipating spending another night with Mac some place more private.

  Mac, she discovered, had other ideas.

  "I want you to put on these clothes, and wear this hat."

  Savannah stared at the men's clothes and the ugly brown hat Mac held out to her. “Mac, you're not serious!” Wearing men's clothing to ride comfortably in the wilderness was one thing, but in public? She shuddered at the thought, then quickly glanced around to see if anyone had heard her outburst. Roy had muttered something about being hungry and disappeared in the direction of the dining car, and most of the other occupants were dozing.

  "I can't take a chance on Barlow spotting you before we find him."

  She eyed the stubborn jut of his chin and realized her arguments would be useless. When Mac was determined about something, he exceeded her own stubborn persistence, she had discovered. She relented ungraciously. “Just until we get checked into a hotel."

  Mac nodded. “We'll get you changed in the bunker."

  "We?” Savannah licked her suddenly dry lips. “You—you're going in there with me?” Silly, she thought, to be embarrassed about Mac helping her change when all she could think about was making love with him.

  "You'll need help hiding your hair beneath your hat.” He studied her so hard Savannah began to squirm. “Although I'm not sure this disguise is going to work. Your breasts are too big."

  "Too ... big?"

  "Well, not too big in my opinion,” Mac hastily corrected, casting her bosom an admiring glance. “But too big to hide successfully. Maybe I can bind them with something."

  The more he talked, the hotter Savannah became. She had a sneaky suspicion that Mac knew it, too. Why would Mac continue to tease her after he'd declared he regretted what they'd nearly done? Savannah's eyes narrowed speculatively on his innocent-lookin
g frown. Was he that confident he could resist her?

  It was a challenge Savannah couldn't ignore.

  * * * *

  "I have to say, you make a beautiful man,” Mac stated sincerely, stepping back to admire her. Her height lent the disguise credibility, and Roy's coat helped hide her tell-tale curves. “Keep the coat closed, and maybe nobody will notice your—er—chest."

  "You keep mentioning my—my bosom. Don't you like it?"

  What the hell kind of question was that? Mac wondered. “Of course I like it.” His voice lowered an octave. “I like it a lot." Too much, in fact. It had been sheer torture binding her with a strip torn from her petticoat without touching her, without filling his hands with the firm, full globes. Without nibbling, licking, and sucking in a frenzy of passion.

  But somehow, he'd done it. He'd passed the first temptation test. He was breathless and hot and nearly insane with desire for her, but he'd done it.

  Of course, the hardest test would come later, at the hotel. Mac swallowed hard and tried not to think about sleeping next to Savannah, but not touching her. He could do it. He had to, because Hawk's plan seemed to be working, and Mac was desperate.

  "I don't think Barlow would recognize you at first glance,” Mac said. He held out his arm. “Let's put our disguise to the test, shall we?"

  Savannah grinned, guessing his thoughts. “Roy?"

  "Yes, Roy."

  Arm in arm, they returned to their seats. Roy had returned from the dining car and was glancing idly through the sketches Savannah had left on the seat.

  Her eyes glinting with mischief, Savannah settled onto the seat beside Roy and threw her arm casually over his shoulders. Roy gave an alarmed squeak and gaped at her. The sketches fell to the floor.

  "What the hell?” he shrieked, plastering himself against the window. “Hey, mister, get your filthy hands off me!” He cast Mac a wild, disbelieving look. “Mac, ain't you gonna do somethin'?"

  But Mac was too busy laughing at Roy's expression. Savannah spoiled the game by giggling. No doubt about her gender now, Mac thought, watching them.

  "You—Mrs. Cord? Is that you? But what the he—heck are you doing wearing my coat, and that ugly hat—"