Hero For Hire

by Sheridon Smythe

  When she pulled the pins from her hair and let the heavy tresses flow around her shoulders, Mac caught his breath. Blood pumped heavily through his veins. Hawk's advice seemed like a distant dream. The wise Indian, Mac decided right then and there, had never been confronted with such an impossible temptation.

  Her long skirt fell, pooling around her ankles. She drew one long, slim leg out at a time. Mac's mouth watered at the bewitching sight. In two giant strides, he reached her, his trousers nearly bursting. He knelt before her as if to worship her, looking up into her angelic face without bothering to hide the love that welled within his heart. She had only to look to see it.

  "You are without a doubt the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said, and meant it. Her smile was soft and grateful.

  "And you, Mac, are without a doubt the biggest liar I know,” she countered softly. She rested a hand on his head, then let out a startled gasp as Mac grabbed her around the hips and lifted her high in the air.

  He turned and carried her to the bed.

  At the last moment he broke their fall by bracing his hands on either side of her. He eased gently onto her, fitting his body to hers from ankle to hip. Her hair formed a glorious golden fan around her face; her lips parted and gleamed in the lamplight. Time seemed suspended as they gazed into each other's eyes.

  Words of love rose from Mac's heart and locked in his throat even as lust—primitive and relentless—threatened to obliterate his good intentions. Savannah reached for him, sliding her finger along his bottom lip, then tugging gently.

  The provocative, spontaneous gesture melted Mac's bones.

  He sucked her finger inside his mouth, watching as she closed her eyes and arched upward and into him. Suddenly her eyes flared open and burned into his with an erotic intensity that set flame to his groin.

  "Don't shelter me, Mac,” she scolded in a husky whisper, as if she sensed his inner struggle and disagreed with the victor. “Tonight I want you to forget I'm a lady."

  Forget she was a lady? Mac groaned and shook his head. Just when he thought he'd mastered the beast, Savannah had to go and roust it again with her titillating request! Of course, with her limited experience, she had no idea—

  "Shock me, Mac,” she pleaded, proving him wrong. She raked her nails along his chest and whimpered, twisting beneath him. Her breasts quivered and heaved. Surging forward, she lapped at his throat with her hot little tongue.

  A shudder nearly ripped him apart. She was pushing him beyond control with her husky pleas.

  "Show me Mac the Man."

  This time she commanded him. Mac realized then how foolish he was to think he could deny Savannah anything. Not that he wanted to. To love Savannah without inhibitions was beyond his wildest dreams. With a deep growl of warning, he hooked his fingers in the neckline of her chemise and ripped the flimsy material from her squirming body.

  Her eyes gazed at him, daring—challenging—him to continue.

  Savannah wanted Mac the Man....

  Savannah would get Mac the Man.

  Rising onto his knees, Mac slowly pushed his trousers over his hips as Savannah watched him expectantly from beneath long, lustrous lashes. His manhood sprang free, erect and proud, eager to plunge into her fiery heat.

  When she reached for him, Mac stilled her hands and shook his head, his expression full of lustful intent. His chest felt constricted; the air in his lungs hot and searing. Deliberately taking his time, he pushed her knees apart until she lay open before him. Slowly, he stroked her silken thighs with hands that trembled, moving ever closer to the golden thatch of curls between her legs.

  He watched her boldly watching him, her quick, excited breaths coming faster with each stroke that brought him closer to finding the treasure he knew lay nestled among the curls.

  The moment his finger found her throbbing center, she gasped and surged into his hand. She cried out his name, and it was pure, sweet music to Mac's ears. He stroked her lightly, teasingly, driving her wild with need, ignoring his own need in his quest to show her Mac the Man.

  When he sensed an urgency to her movements, Mac halted his torture. She whimpered a protest, reaching for him as if to pull him into her embrace. Mac brushed her hands away once again. Gently coaxing, he urged Savannah onto her belly and lifted her hips until she was flush against his throbbing erection. He reached around her and found her moist center again, establishing a rhythm that soon had her thrashing against him.

  Mac entered her with one swift plunge, rejoicing in her strangled cry of pleasure and surprise. She was hot and tight, her inner muscles closing around him as if to hold him inside her as he rocked against her. His free hand roamed over her bottom, trailed a teasing path along her spine and then back again, clutching her hip as his strokes grew deeper, harder, more urgent.

  "Oh ... God ... Mac!"

  At her hoarse cry, Mac turned her over with their bodies still merged as one. He wanted to see her face, to devour her mouth as they reached their peak of pleasure together.

  The lamp threw just enough light to reveal her flushed cheeks, ripe lips, and glazed eyes. Gently now, Mac continued to meet her thrusts. He lowered himself onto her and captured her parted lips, his kiss both rough and tender.

  As the first wave of pleasure hit her, Mac commanded, “Look at me!"

  Her eye lashes swept upward, revealing the deep blue of her smoldering eyes and the impending wonder of her release. Their gazes locked; they both tumbled over the edge together, their cries mingling, their breathing harsh in the aftermath of their joining.

  To Mac, it was not only a glorious joining of their bodies, but of their hearts as well. He'd never loved any woman so deeply and thoroughly—and he never would again.

  * * * *

  Life without Mac would be colorless, dull, and undoubtedly lonely. She would never feel whole again, always have an empty ache in her heart for this wonderful, perfect man.

  Savannah let out a ragged sigh and pressed her face against Mac's damp chest, inhaling deeply, imprinting his masculine scent onto her brain for future reference. His deep, even breathing told her he was asleep.

  She couldn't begin to follow his path, not when each moment in his arms could be the last. Tears dampened her cheeks as she fought to control her sobs. She didn't want Mac to wake up and find her crying, for he would surely demand to know why.

  And she couldn't tell him. Couldn't explain how she'd fallen in love with her best friend, couldn't expose her shame and fears to the one man that she longed to tell. Mac would never let her go if he knew. He would feel duty-bound to stay with her, to pretend he loved her. Then, after their passion for each other waned—and without love, Savannah suspected that it would, at least on Mac's part—he would be trapped in a loveless marriage. She couldn't bear the thought, not when it came to Mac's well-being, his future.

  Convincing him that independence was the key to her happiness was all important. If Mac believed she wanted nothing more than to open her own business and live her own life—without him—then he could continue his own life with a clear conscience. Perhaps she'd at least have his continuing friendship to look forward to in the long lonely years ahead.

  Savannah snuggled deeper against him, her mind refusing to give in to sleep. What if, in later years, Mac fell in love with someone? If that happened, then she would give him a divorce, she vowed. It was the least she could do to make up for the sacrifice he was making in marrying her.

  In the meantime ... in the meantime she had two weeks to find joy where she could while convincing Mac she was looking forward to opening her own business in Jamestown. Two weeks to love Mac, and stock-pile memories for the lonely future ahead. After the wedding she would begin the weaning process—for Mac's sake as well as her own.

  And if a child resulted from their passionate unions she would treasure it. Having a part of Mac would surely ease the loneliness. Perhaps if there was a child, she would see more of Mac, for despite what she'd told him about declaring herself a wid
ow to hush the gossip, she could never deny Mac the pleasure of knowing his own child.

  Sliding her hand between them, Savannah placed it on her belly and silently prayed. Please God, give me this miracle, this precious extension of Mac so that I can always have a part of him with me.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Over the next three days, Mac rarely saw Savannah during the daylight hours. Her days were filled with fittings and flowers as she was literally hauled into the limelight by friends to plan her wedding. She seemed resigned now to the inevitable, which both gladdened and saddened Mac.

  Roy, after Mac's repeated assurances that they wouldn't begin training until after the wedding, spent the majority of his time with George Carrington at the bank. George seemed equally taken with Roy, reminding Mac of his promise to Savannah that he would talk to her father about adopting Roy.

  The nights were another matter entirely. Steamy, hot, and thoroughly satisfying as he and Savannah explored one another until there wasn't a patch of skin left on her luscious body that Mac hadn't tasted or touched. Savannah continued to surprise him with her sensual nature, eager and forever curious to learn everything there was to know about making love.

  Sometimes she even shocked him.

  Mac grinned in remembrance as he made his way to jailhouse located next to Angel Creek's esteemed barber shop on the corner of Maine and Calhoon Street. Across the street was Johnson's Mercantile, operated by Helen and Raedean Johnson and their bevy of children ranging from five to seventeen years old. Along the same boardwalk was a range of other businesses; a feed store, saddle shop, and a boot maker to name a few. Angel Creek also boasted a cotton gin and a lumber mill.

  It was a small community, but its population continued to grow at a steady rate, increasing dramatically since the railroad put down tracks near the outskirts of town.

  Sheriff Herbert Cannon was at his desk, his feet propped upon it, his chair titled at a questionable angle. His eyes were closed, his hat pulled low over his tanned, weathered face.

  Beyond the small office was a half dozen jail cells—all currently empty, Mac noted after a quick, amused glance.

  "'bout time you tore yourself away from that pretty wife of yours,” Sheriff Cannon drawled lazily. He shoved his hat back and let the chair down with a snap, eyeing Mac with one bushy gray eyebrow lifted in challenge. “Kinda unexpected, wasn't it?"

  Mac chuckled. Sheriff Cannon had never been known for his subtlety. “Just because I don't brag about my conquests doesn't mean they don't exist,” Mac joked. Sheriff Cannon had never married, much to the disappointment of every widow within fifty miles of Angel Creek. Rugged, handsome, and still fit despite his fifty years, he wasn't adverse, however, to easing their loneliness by warming their beds on occasion.

  The sheriff's eyes twinkled. He scratched at the stubble on his chin, smiling. “Don't let them fool you—women love it when you talk about them. So, you sly son of a gun! You've got the bachelors frothing at the bit by snagging the richest, prettiest girl in town."

  Mac didn't much feel like smiling as he said, “In the first place—I didn't snag her. Secondly, I didn't marry her for her money or her looks."

  Sheriff Cannon's brow disappeared beneath a lock of iron gray hair as his amusement deepened. “You don't have to convince me, son. But you know other folks are gonna think differently."

  "Let them think whatever they want—as long as I know the truth it doesn't matter.” Mac expelled an exasperated breath, furious with himself for letting the sheriff's comments get to him. Sheriff Cannon was a good friend, and had merely been baiting him as usual. He settled his butt on the edge of the desk and summoned a rueful smile. “You were so busy trying to piss me off you forgot to congratulate me."

  "Congratulations,” Sheriff Cannon said amicably. “I guess this means you want me to retire earlier than we discussed?"

  Mac shook his head. “No. I've got one last job to do before I settle down."

  This perked the sheriff's interest. “Anybody I know?"

  Giving him a quick run down of Savannah's run-in with Barlow and their subsequent pursuit, Mac ended with, “I came by to look through your most recent wanted posters, and to ask you if you'd noticed any strangers around town lately. I figure the deputy from Jamestown will make an appearance, if he hasn't already."

  "And you got no clue why he might be following you?"

  With a shrug, Mac said, “I figure it's one of three things; he could be acting on Sheriff Porter's orders, he could want the bounty for himself, or he's in cahoots with Barlow.” He waited patiently while Sheriff Cannon mulled this information over. It didn't take long.

  "Seems mighty strange for a sheriff to send one of his own men out of his jurisdiction on a wild goose chase,” he mused. “Unless he's got more than just a couple of suspicions.” He hesitated. “You certain Savannah told you everything?"

  "I'm certain.” Mac hadn't told the sheriff about his own shameful suspicions, and didn't intend to.

  "I don't know...” Sheriff Cannon rubbed his bristling jaw again, shaking his head as if bewildered. “Barlow leaving Savannah's locket to taunt you just don't sound right. A wanted man usually goes out of his way not to draw attention. You ever considered that it was a signal?"

  "A signal?"

  Again the sheriff hesitated—with good reason—before he said, “For Savannah."

  Mac's eyes narrowed. He fought to remember this man was a good friend as he explained tightly, “I told you, Savannah was innocently duped by this bastard. She would never willingly help someone rob a bank. Besides, he took her money as well, remember?"

  "Don't go gettin’ your dander up, son. I'm just trying to put the facts together and make some sense out of it."

  "Well, leave Savannah out of it,” Mac growled. “She wants to catch Barlow as badly as I do."

  "She know you're planning on going after him again?"

  "No. I don't plan to tell her until after the wedding."

  "Wedding? Thought you two had already gotten hitched!"

  "We did, but George won't be satisfied until he walks his little girl down the aisle."

  "Sounds like George, all right. He handle the news okay?"

  Mac shrugged. “I'm sure he would rather she have married DeMent, but it's over and done with now."

  The sheriff sat forward suddenly. “Speaking of DeMent, I don't know what Savannah ever saw in him. That boy's about as deep as that creek out behind my house."

  "Sheriff, that creek dried up years ago,” Mac reminded him.

  "Just my point, just my point.” He opened a deep drawer to his right and pulled out a stack of posters. “Now, lets see if we can find your man."

  They didn't find Barlow—or at least they didn't find anyone one with Barlow's name—but searching through the pile of crudely drawn sketches and faded pictures gave Mac an idea. Savannah had shown remarkable talent with her hat sketches. Perhaps she could draw a likeness of Barlow, something Mac could carry with him when he went after the outlaw.

  Without a likeness, he could pass Barlow on the street without realizing it. The possibility made Mac want to howl with frustration.

  * * * *

  Later that evening, Mac walked into a scene he'd never forget.

  Savannah and Roy were in the kitchen, cooking—or attempting to, Mac amended with a grin—fried chicken. Both were covered in flour. More of the powdered grain covered the floor, the chairs, and the wood-burning stove. Savannah wore an apron, but the material only covered the front part of her. Somehow, she'd managed to get flour on the back of her dress, right over the curve of her bottom.

  Mac's first instinct was to cross the room and brush it away, mold his hands over her bottom and caress her until she moaned and leaned into him. He forced himself to remain where he was, watching the domestic scene with a fierce ache in his heart.

  "Something smells good,” he said, his voice noticeably husky.

  They both
jumped. Savannah whirled around, looking flustered and adorably mussed. “Mac! We wanted to surprise

  You..."

  "I'm surprised.” He gave in to the urge to get close to her. After all, Roy believed they were married. In his heart, Mac believed it too. Drawing her against his hardening body, he nuzzled her floured nose with his own, then placed a tender, lingering kiss on her surprised mouth.

  Roy groaned in disgust. “If you two are going to start that again, I'm leaving."

  Mac laughed and reluctantly stepped away from Savannah. He peered into the iron skillet on the stove, lifting a mocking brow at Roy. “I take it the menu choice was your idea, brat?"

  "Don't you like fried chicken? I thought everybody liked fried chicken.” Roy scratched his head as if he couldn't comprehend any other possibility, unending a tuft of hair so that it stood out at a comical angle from his head.

  "I love fried chicken,” Mac agreed. If they had been frying coon—which he detested—he would have lied and said he loved it. The idea of just the three of them sitting down at the table for a meal appealed to him more than either of them would ever know.

  Working as a team, they set the table with china that had belonged to Savannah's mother. George had given it to them as a wedding present, along with a beautiful, cherry-wood desk so that Savannah would have a place to work on her sketches.

  It was during the delicious dinner of fried chicken, tender corn on the cob dripping with fresh melted butter, cornbread, and fresh green beans that Roy made his startling announcement.

  "Mr. Carrington has asked me to come live with him after the wedding."

  Mac and Savannah exchanged a satisfied glance. Curbing his amusement at Roy's anxious expression, Mac said, “I thought you wanted to be a bounty hunter."

  Roy looked decidedly torn. “I do, Mac, but Mr. Carrington thinks I'd make a good banker.” He leaned in close to whisper, his dark eyes round with excitement. “He even trusted me with the combination to the vault."

  Savannah pretended to pout. “He never trusted me with the combination,” she said, sniffing her outrage. “And he's known me all my life!"