She hurried out. The door squeaked then closed behind her, leaving Maddy in the dim recesses of the jail where the sun never cast its bright, golden rays. Lola gave good advice, Maddy mused. The only problem was how did a women move on when her dreams were filled with a handsome, but arrogant, outlaw? If she threw him in jail, he'd only be her responsibility for a short time before the marshal took him to Jefferson City. She'd have put away a criminal for a long time. He'd drift out of sight, out of mind during her waking hours. There was one place she couldn't escape him. During the solitary nights in her restless dreams of making love to a man who eluded her.
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Chapter Two
Jeb rarely played the game of life without throwing in a few surprises, which often surprised him as much as anyone else. His sainted momma had told him he was asking for trouble the very day he was born. He never knew his father, often cursing him for leaving a caring, tender-hearted woman to fend for herself in world of human wolves. She'd managed to raise him on the meagre work she obtained as a laundress, often apologising that she couldn't give him more. One thing she hadn't been able to do was to instil in him the value of honesty and hard work. Although she had tried.
His horse danced under him in the oppressive heat. As far as the eye could see only trees, scrub brush and open plain. With him were three other silent men and horses, but soon, the stagecoach would race through, the driver unaware that a gang of four waited to ambush him. Word had leaked out from the Jefferson City bank that a transfer of fifteen thousand dollars was being made to Kansas City.
Jeb waited patiently, a blade of grass between his lips. Patience had become his watch word—waiting for stagecoaches with plenty of cash and for Maddy Haynes to show up.
When he was twelve, he'd vowed he would make his mother's life better and hooked up with a group of male riders who searched for work wherever they could. They were the spitting, uncouth, loud type who'd never hurt a soul, but they often took from Paul what belonged to Peter. Modern-day Robin Hoods, making enough to survive their nomadic lifestyle but giving to those who were without the necessities of life—children, women who'd fallen on hard times, men who'd been injured and could no longer work. Jeb hoarded his money, guarding it with a fierceness that rivalled any mountain lion roaming the territory.
When he'd gone to visit his momma, to give her the money that would make her life plentiful so she could buy anything she wanted, he'd found she'd passed on, leaving him a simple note that she'd always loved him and always would. He never cried, no matter what tragedy he'd been faced with, but that day at his mother's graveside, the cool wind blowing the tall grasses, he'd broken down in tears. He'd been too late to give his mother what she'd deserved. An hour later, he'd ridden out of Plains Junction and sworn he'd never return.
But his plans didn't always pan out the way he wanted. He'd seen the pretty sheriff, and against his better judgment, returned to town fifteen years later, just to get a better look at her. He knew he was playing with a spark that could easily surge into a full-blown fire, but she intrigued him, a woman clearly messing with the role a man could more easily handle.
Maddy, I'm coming for you soon. Maybe you'll show up here, and I'll be waiting in ambush to take you away somewhere so we can get to know each other better without your badge and our past lying between us.
His keen eye caught the telltale sign of dust thrown up in the air. The stagecoach with its unsuspecting driver and passengers was on the way. With the sun searing his back, Jeb cooked up an idea, which had nothing to do with a bag of money but everything to do with one very pretty sheriff.
* * * *
"They did what?” Maddy shouted at her deputy.
Bobby Cantrell stood his ground. “McIntyre and his gang held up the stagecoach.” He knew she'd heard him well enough the first time.
"Was anyone hurt?” She paced, unable to decide whether to place her fists on her hip or at her side. Her tanned face was pale and her eyes flashed dangerously. Cantrell was willing to bet if McIntyre had been in her presence, she'd have locked him up and thrown away the key. Forever.
She was short in stature, but she packed a mean bite out of fugitives and criminals. Cantrell didn't want to be on the wrong side of her. Ever. She held onto a grudge longer than the sun had been burning in the sky. And she didn't have a lot of enemies since folk in Plain Junction couldn't afford to have the sheriff on the wrong side of them. Too many vigilantes, too many gangs, and too many riff-raff passing through the town from Jefferson City to Kansas City and beyond.
The enemies she did have probably wouldn't mind putting a bullet in her back. Cantrell sat in the corner and watched. She always had something up her female sleeve. Some plan to catch the bad guys, but no matter what she did, she couldn't seem to catch McIntyre. Although rumour had it that he'd been in town this morning before riding out to hold up the stagecoach, that he and the sheriff had encountered each other and the sparks had flown, but Cantrell didn't dare ask if the rumour was true.
Fascinated, he watched her mumble a few expletives, strap on her holster and march outside. She didn't tamp her hat on her head as she usually did but wiped her hand across her forehead. Cantrell got up from his chair and made himself invisible. He didn't consider himself to be a coward, but he knew better than to mess an angry woman sheriff.
* * * *
With all her heart, Maddy wished Jeb was in the line of fire. Expertly, she pulled the trigger, heard the loud rapport and muttered, “What was I thinking?” In her mind's fanciful eyes, she saw Jeb's hard muscular, naked body had been joined with hers, his cock sheathed to the hilt in her pussy. His length had felt so good in that place no man had touched before.
Maddy grumbled out loud, “The bastard!"
Another loud shot rang out into the crumbling wooden building next to the jail. He'd use her, impaling her on his shaft, forcing her make little cries of pleasure when she wasn't that kind of woman. But she'd let him use her. And dammit, but she'd enjoy, not just every minute, but every single, trembling second.
She pulled the trigger again. If only Jeb were here, she'd show him a thing or two. Like never messing with the sheriff. Like never messing with a woman who had no use for tall, dark men who made her heart flutter and her mind turn to jelly. Another bullet edged into the rotted wood.
With the safety catch on, she used her gun hand to wipe the back of her hand against her damp forehead. The sun beat down on her. Her breathing came quick and raspy, and she was aware of a few of the townspeople gathering behind her, watching, quietly analyzing. A woman sheriff was nothing without the ability to shoot a target dead on. Maddy laughed silently at herself. Dead on except in bed where she'd be a willing target. And she was shameless. She wanted more of Jeb McIntyre but not the fugitive from justice. No, she wanted the hot male stud.
Her cheeks burned. Another bullet into the old wood. She heard the townspeople whispering among themselves, perhaps wondering if the sheriff thought she needed target practise. Maybe conjecturing that she wanted McIntyre and would get him one way or another. Just maybe discussing what a sexy, virile man he was.
Another bullet. Another loud shot. “I'll get him. One way or the other, I'll get him.” And make love to him.
His cock slid into her from behind as she held herself as steady as she could on her elbows. But her cries of pleasure echoed in the room. Jeb laughed, carefree and sure of his thrust. He felt so good in her, around her.
One more shot. The townspeople's muted voices rose. Maddy didn't care. She never had about what others’ opinions of her were. Living with a drunk who had sired her but hadn't owned up to his responsibility when her mother had died soon after Maddy's seventh birthday, she'd learned all of life's lessons the hard way. She'd made plenty of mistakes along the way, but she'd never bent to other people's murmurings. No, she was her own woman. Except when a stagecoach robber, a fugitive from the law, so aroused her, she couldn't think clearly.
With the g
un pointed down at the ground, she spun around to face the small crowd. Lola was there, fanning herself and looking as if she'd faint. Preston from the mercantile was there, bald and sweating in his finery. Old man Gotch from the post office was there, rubbing his fingers along his thigh nervously. Several of the ladies surveyed her, evident disapproval in their stern expressions.
"What are you looking at?” she called out, aware of her public humiliation. How many of the Plain Junctions inhabitants knew of her indiscretion with a wanted robber?
Gotch glanced at Preston who turned to examine Lola who fixed her gaze on a nearby tree. No one was willing to answer the sheriff who, Maddy saw in their eyes, was in a whole heap of trouble. All by her lonesome and there wasn't a soul who could help her.
Except for Jeb McIntyre.
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Chapter Three
Shaded by an umbrella-shaped willow tree, Jeb observed Cantrell strolling away from the jail in search of his favourite haunt, the Good Times saloon. His gait was mighty unsteady, quite possibly due to a lack of sustenance only the saloon could provide. Jeb had no use for weak-willed men like Cantrell and realised such men made Maddy's job more difficult.
Jeb had watched the whole Maddy fires-at-an-old-building episode, wondering what in the devil had possessed her to act out of control. She'd returned to the jail, brushing her hair from her eyes. If she'd only seen him, she wouldn't have hesitated to arrest him. But she'd made the mistake of letting down her guard. He was getting to enjoy taking care of her, making sure she was safe. He nodded, chewed on the blade of grass in his mouth. Too many vigilantes, robbers and criminal types all around for her to disregard the ever-lurking danger. And he couldn't even begin to count how many enemies she'd made enforcing the law. How many wanted to get even with her by shooting her dead? Jeb couldn't claim to know. His heart twisted at the thought that someone might want to hurt his Maddy.
Puzzled by the revelation, which magically conjured pictures of a very much naked Maddy in his mind's eye, he slumped against the tree trunk. A colony of ants marched up and down the rough bark. Fear crunched his groin. If anything happened to Maddy, would he be able to live with himself?
Jeb, get a grip on yourself. Maddy isn't your responsibility. Never has been. But the pensive denial didn't comfort him one bit. And he couldn't block memories of the lady sheriff riding into a whole heap of trouble. He couldn't imagine what would have happened if, six months earlier, he hadn't been waiting for a stagecoach with its bulging pouch of money. Curious as to where the lady was riding with her gold star of authority clinging to her leather vest, he'd momentarily forgotten about the booty and trailed after her, mesmerised by the golden plait of hair hanging down her back. How odd that, here in the wilderness, she didn't hide the fact she was a woman. Most other females would have, fearing the repercussions. The white men weren't much better than the Indians when it came to kidnapping, ravishing and killing women. Potential danger lay behind every boulder, every tree and every ramshackle building.
To this day, he swore he'd only ridden after her out of curiosity, nothing more. The March air had been cool with the sun hidden behind a bank of slate grey clouds. In wonder at the beauty of nature around him, he'd almost cantered into the ambush himself. If he'd been less aware, he wouldn't have been able to help her. Or himself. Even now his throat tightened with apprehension. He'd heard Maddy scream an ear piercingly loud shriek.
Jeb jumped off his horse and hurried to the barren grove, keeping under the cover of the trees encircling the place. He recognised that Maddy was in big trouble and her shiny badge wouldn't help her none. The Clapper brothers had seized her and hung a noose around her neck. She fought them like a cougar, still the slow-witted but bulky brothers had tied her wrists behind her back.
The brothers didn't have much to recommend them to decent, law-abiding people. Jeb knew them from his early years when their father had been thieving and murdering good folks for a few dollars or a loaf of bread. A man's life wasn't worth much out here in the untamed land, but when the Clapper gang came along, it was worth far less. Old man Clapper had committed one too many crimes, and Maddy had hauled him to jail then held him for the marshals, but the citizens of Plains Junction had taken the law into their own hands. They'd lynched the old man out under the very tree Jeb stood under now. Maddy hadn't been able to prevent the lynching. She'd been out dealing with cattle rustling on the Simmins’ ranch, several miles from town.
"You'z got our pop. We'z gonna get you,” the older one said.
Jeb sprinted into action. He gave her credit for playing sheriff but there were some situations a woman simply couldn't handle. Like fighting two monkeys who were much larger than her. Jeb got the older one first with hard right to the upper jaw. The guy's eyes rolled in his fleshy face, and he dropped quicker than a bullet. Young Crank came at him as his brother hit the ground. He gave one misplaced left hook to Jeb's face. In return, he received a feinting jab to the left shoulder, then a quick one to his jaw. His eyes didn't do much better than his brothers. Rolled into the back of his head, then he was down, too.
Spinning around with the intention of seeing how Maddy fared, he saw a fist coming at his face. It slammed with such force, not more than a second passed before he was in the dust and dirt with the Clapper brothers.
When he struggled awake, he remembered hearing a decidedly female voice before that fist had connected with his jaw. “I didn't need saving."
Focusing on the jail in the wavering heat, Jeb ruefully rubbed his jaw at the recollection. The lady sheriff definitely was a little fighter. She packed as hard a punch as a man three times her size. Yup, she could handle herself all right.
Funny how a punch could lead a man to need a woman. He didn't regret his choice. Somehow he didn't think Maddy was so generous with her feelings. Judging from her persnickety behaviour this morning when he'd made his presence known, she was beyond regret. She could just as soon punched him out again. And hauled him off to jail.
* * * *
Jeb lingered by the tree an hour before Maddy stepped out of the jail, leaped on her horse and galloped away. At a discreet distance, he followed with the heavy realisation that he played with fire. If she found out, she'd throw him in the hoosegow, but he had to ensure she got home safely.
Sure, she'd punched him out, but had that been a lucky strike? She was so very soft in all the right places, he'd discovered to his chagrin. Not much of a talker. When she did speak, it was with a reserved gruffness.
Out in the country where any number of trees were viable lurking places for an ambush, he thought he saw a horse, tied to a tree, grazing. He didn't have the time to investigate whether it was a suspicious occurrence or not. All he cared about was Maddy. Whatever else there was to disturb Jeb McIntyre's peace, he'd deal with it in the same way he did with everything else—without mercy.
* * * *
Maddy rode fast and hard to escape the day and the hauntingly expressive eyes of a man who was all wrong for her—she'd known that right from the start when the Clapper brothers had decided to conduct their own lynching with her as their victim. She was proud of her ability to keep the law for Plains Junction. What she wasn't proud of was that Jeb had come to her rescue. The Clapper brothers might have been strong but they weren't smart. They'd gotten away after the attempted lynching. She'd have sent her deputy after them but she'd too busy, allowing an outlaw to take liberties with her, a man who, though unknown to her at the time, was a stagecoach robber. At least, she'd shown him how she could take care of herself. She'd given him a taste of her curled up fist.
The countryside flew by as the sun lowered in a hazy bluster of bright pinks, oranges and purples, a heavenly forecaster of the weather to come the next day. She reined in her horse and stopped to admire the scenery. Tall oaks surrounded her and off in the distance, she heard the low rumble of the Missouri river. She sat forward in her saddle, struggling to find contentment in the countryside that usually gave h
er such pleasure. But today she couldn't find that peaceful spot in her soul. Jeb had invaded that place, overturned her usual equanimity and made it all too plain that he wanted her. Again.
Liquid fire raced through her body, putting a match to the lie that the idea Jeb McIntyre was purely history. The glorious sunset faded away, replaced by the day she'd knocked him down on his ass. A mighty fine ass, she added. Tight, firm and when she'd rolled him over, she'd found he had more than one weapon. One for fighting the unwanted and one for loving women.
Remembering, she sighed. He'd stirred and groaned then blinked his eyes open. She knew he'd have a hefty bruise come morning. While she had been checking on him, the Clapper brothers had managed to stumble to their horses and ride off.
"What a pretty sight for sore eyes,” he told her and smiled, a broad, white smile filled with something more than the fact that he was glad to be alive. No man had gotten her hot and bothered in a few short moments, and his languid smile ramped the heat up to almost unbearable.
Momentarily speechless, she sucked in a breath, pondering her next words although they usually came from her mouth without much forethought.
As if he hadn't just been hit hard, he easily got to his feet and stepped towards her. She found her tongue then. “Don't come one step closer."
"Or else what?” he quizzed, his eyes boring into hers. His pupils narrowed and his lips parted slightly as if he was thinking thoughts best left for the privacy of a bedroom.
"I'll shoot you.” Yet how could she shoot such a virile man who'd come to the rescue even though she hadn't needed the saving? At least, she'd thought he was innocent at the time. If only she'd known he was her exact opposite, the black to her white.
A chuckle came from low in his throat, sexy, arousing. “I'd have thought you'd be grateful I saved your life."
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