Never Let You Down: The Connaghers, Book 4

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  “You were always taking care of me,” she whispered. “But not in this. I can’t do that to you.”

  “If you don’t, then I’ll never really know what it means for me to be able to fully submit to a woman. My Mistress, my Domme, whatever title it is you want to hear. I need to take care of you and only you, Ginny.”

  Chapter Ten

  The Lady Always Gets Her Man by Chris Waters

  The stable was silent. Even the few horses boarded for the night were sleeping. He crept down the aisle to examine each horse, looking for the fastest, the strongest, his only shot at getting out of town alive. One didn’t steal every last coin out of the mayor’s personal safe and expect to ride off into the sunset without pursuit. Especially when said mayor was working for one of the deadliest crime lords this country had ever known.

  A pistol poked between his shoulder blades and he froze, slowly lifting his right hand. His left arm hung useless at his side. “I can’t lift my other hand.”

  The person who’d found him didn’t speak, but prodded harder, pushing him down the aisle toward the back room. With a sigh, he went. There’d be a feed or tack room back here, sturdy enough to keep outlaws like him from stealing the valuables. It’d hold him until the sheriff could arrive. If I don’t bleed out first.

  He shuffled along, boots scraping through the straw, letting his captor believe he was in rough shape. He was, honestly, but he’d been in grimmer situations before and figured out a way to escape. Although right now, I’m too tired to think of a way out of this one.

  The small room was dark but he smelled leather and old horse sweat. Tack room, then. A small high window let in just enough moonlight for him to see a cot tucked into the corner. The gun prodded him in that direction. It was all he could do not to fall down face-first on that bedding and sink into oblivion.

  I can’t. I can’t close my eyes for one moment. Not until I’m away. It’s not safe. It’ll never be safe.

  His captor shoved him hard enough he did tumble down onto that cot. Luckily he managed to twist enough to fall on his right side to spare his wounded shoulder. He tried to rise up and at least see who had caught him, but a hard knee ground into his back so he stayed put. It felt good to lie down, even in a narrow, hard cot. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he could fight his way out of here right now anyway.

  “Ransom Savage, you old dog.”

  That rich, husky voice seared his brain to ash. It took him several moments to get his mouth to work. “Miss Raynes.”

  She laughed softly, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Formality from the most wanted outlaw in the West? I like it.”

  “Victorious…”

  She slapped a handcuff on his right hand and bound him to the bed. “Because I know you so very well, I don’t exactly trust you. You stay put while I check outside and see who’s trailing you, and then maybe I’ll see to your wound.”

  Her tone suggested that she might change her mind and give him other wounds instead. Despite the blaster shot to the shoulder that burned like hell, his cock thudded and turned to stone. To say that he’d had a fiery tempestuous past with the lovely Miss Raynes was like saying it got a tad warm during a Texas summer.

  The cot creaked beneath their dual weight, but he wouldn’t care if the flimsy bed exploded. Not with Victorious Raynes here. She might turn him in. Hell, she might even shoot him herself. But he didn’t think so. Not when her breath came faster against his ear and her hands roamed his back and arms, mindful of the wound. “Did you miss me?”

  A year ago, they’d run into each other in Denver. She’d been making a killing at the poker table because every man there couldn’t keep his eyes off the glorious cleavage barely covered by her low-cut gown. He’d been shocked enough to plop down coin and join the game, because he’d never seen her in a dress before. Growing up in the hills of Missouri, she’d always been more comfortable in boy’s garb. They’d ended up sharing a hotel room for a few blissful days and long sweaty nights.

  There wasn’t a woman as alive and wild and fearless as her. He’d allowed her to do things to him… Hell, he’d begged her.

  Then he’d started having idiotic ideas. Like maybe he could settle down on a farm somewhere. Give up the dashing yet dangerous persona of Ransom Savage, the most cunning outlaw and quickest draw in the West. He could almost see Tori standing in the doorway of a humble log cabin with a baby on her hip. A sweet-cheeked little girl with the same auburn hair and big cat eyes, green and gold and brown, shimmering with love.

  Then one morning, he woke up and she was gone. Without a single word goodbye. Certainly no word on how he could find her again. He’d looked for over a year, chasing every rumor and gossiped whisper about her, but she’d always managed to disappear like fog in the morning.

  Ego stinging, he scoffed. “Honey, I didn’t even realize you were gone.”

  “That’s what I thought.” She nipped his ear hard enough he jumped, groaning at the pain in his shoulder. “You’re losing your touch if you’re slow enough to catch heat. Bullet?”

  “Blaster.”

  She made a low sound of sympathy and rose. He almost begged her to lie down with him, just for a while.

  “I’ve got some salve in my bag. I’ve got to make an appearance tonight or people will wonder where I disappeared to, but I’ll be back in a few hours. Try to rest.” She opened the door, letting moonlight cut across the floor just enough to give him a glimpse of her face and attire.

  She was dressed in a buttoned-up prim and proper lady’s gown more suited for the schoolroom than a saloon or poker table. Her glorious wild tumble of hair was tamed into a staid bun with only one long curl dangling against her throat. She looked…scrubbed and tight and prim. Good God, was that a fucking parasol? Pink and frilly and girlie, hanging from a strap around her wrist.

  The Victorious Raynes he knew would have cut off his nuts with a rusty blade if he’d ever suggested she wear such a thing.

  In short, she looked miserable. Different. And wholly alien to someone who’d given his heart to her while tied up in her bed.

  She smiled, though, so maybe that was just him feeling a rush of panic and confusion at her transformation. “It’s good to see you, Ranse.”

  As soon as she was gone, he carefully worked his injured arm just enough to pull the hairpin out of his mess of hair. He’d inherited the thick, black mane from his Choctaw mama, with a bit of wave thrown in from his father. He deliberately kept his hair long and wild enough that he could hide all sorts of interesting things at his nape or against his scalp. Blinking back sweat from the effort of moving his injured shoulder, he concentrated on the handcuff and freed his hand.

  Victorious shouldn’t have underestimated me. Even injured, I always have a few tricks up my sleeves.

  But that only made him more worried and curious about what she was up to. She had to be pulling a scam herself to be dressed up so neat and tidy. The woman he knew could shoot nigh as good as him, ride a rangy green-broke horse better than any ranch hand, and outdrink every man at the saloon, and then haul off her chosen man for a night of sweat and passion he wouldn’t soon forget.

  I’ll certainly never forget.

  He pocketed the handcuff—you never knew when restraints might come in handy—and gave a cursory search of the small room. She must have known whoever owned the stable to be so quick to stash him here. If he were lucky…

  Grinning, he pulled out the bottle of whiskey and dried meat someone had stashed in a rickety cupboard. No salve, but the whiskey would do just fine. He made short work of the locked door and then returned to examining the horses. The closest stalls held a perky little strawberry roan mare on one side and a lean, rangy gelding with a mean eye. Both were fine horseflesh. He didn’t have to see a bill of ownership or brand to know they must be hers. Both, even the mean-looking gelding. He was probably her primary mount when she wasn’t
playing prim and proper lady.

  If she’s playing a game, then I’ll take the gelding and leave her with the sweet little mare. It’ll serve her right for locking me up.

  He didn’t bother stealing a saddle, just a bridle and a blanket. No time to bother with full tack. The gelding came along readily enough despite his temper, though he did try to nip Ransom’s shoulder. He had to stifle a laugh. Just like his mistress.

  Cracking the rear door, he scanned the dark alleyway, watching for any movement. He led the gelding out and quietly shut the door behind him. The mare whickered farewell, but not a strident whinny that might call her mistress back to investigate.

  He crept closer to the main street, hugging the side of the building. The Halltown Saloon was hopping, no surprise even though it was after midnight. Nor was it surprising to see the sheriff riding down the muddy street, pausing to look down each alley. Other men were checking the buildings.

  Ransom hesitated. He ought to slip away now, before they got to this alley. Men were obviously looking for him. Yet he couldn’t leave, not until he knew what game Victorious played.

  She swept out into the muddy street as grandly as a queen. “Sheriff, might I have a word?”

  Ransom didn’t know the sheriff personally but he had a hell of a reputation. As bold as his name, John Brazen had ridden into the badlands straight into Apache territory to single-handedly retrieve a little girl carried off by the savages. Of course he’d been armed with a blaster powerful enough to cut a new Grand Canyon against a handful of warriors armed with bows and arrows, but people didn’t much care to think about that. Nor the fact that the girl hadn’t been carried off at all—but had wandered away and been taken in by the tribe when they found her starving and half dead from exposure. At least Brazen wasn’t the kind of man to blindly kill everyone in camp for even thinking about laying a finger on the girl, but he sure hadn’t tried too hard to correct the legend that sprung up about how he’d faced down hundreds of vicious Apache warriors to retrieve her.

  Sheriff Brazen drew rein and tipped his beat-up hat back on his head, revealing a smile that Ransom didn’t like much. It was far too appreciative and intimate, as though the man knew as many of the lady’s secrets as Ransom did. “How may I be of service, Miss Raynes?”

  Ransom almost choked. She was using her real name? He knew for a fact that there were warrants out for her arrest in at least two states.

  “What’s all the excitement about?”

  “Just a little break in, darlin’. Nothing to worry about.”

  Darlin’. The word blazed through Ransom’s mind. His hands ached, but it took him a minute to understand that it was because he’d fisted them until his nails dug into his palms. He took a step forward, dropping both hands toward the pistols on his hips.

  Pain arced through his shoulder, drawing a groan from his lips. Damnation. Now wasn’t the time, not when he couldn’t lift his left arm, the wound a dead giveaway that he was the low-down dirty thief the mayor’s guard had managed to knick in the wing. I can’t figure out what Victorious is up to—let alone fight for her heart—if I’m behind bars.

  Yet that thought wavered, melting into a river of molten fury, as he watched the sheriff lean down and kiss the smiling lady. Her gloved hand reached up to cup the back of the man’s head and she rose up on her tiptoes to get closer. Never mind that she’d straddled Ransom just a few moments ago in a dingy cot and bitten his ear.

  A scam? The lady lures the sheriff into her net and then makes her escape with the dashing outlaw?

  Or did Victorious really love this man?

  There’s only one way to find out.

  Ransom slid back into the shadows and headed in the opposite direction. Escape first. Healing second. And then he’d ride into Halltown and find out where the lady’s heart lay once and for all.

  Chapter Eleven

  Despite their urgency to leave the restaurant, they both sat silently a moment in the car after Jeb turned the engine off. He’d been so open and honest with her that the least she could do was be the same.

  But it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

  “You asked what I’ve been doing for pain.” She opened her right hand, not surprised to see drops of blood welling from where she’d dug her fingernails into her palm. “I’ve been hurting myself.”

  He saw her hand and jerked off his seat belt so he could dig in the console for a napkin. “Oh, Ginny, no, no.”

  “Yes,” she replied grimly. “It’s the only way I’ve been able to get by. Well, that and working until I’m so exhausted that it’s all I can do to stumble to bed. Or I drink too much. But it’s just me, I clean up after myself and I never go anywhere, so I guess that didn’t matter much either.”

  “It does matter. It matters to me.”

  “Everyone told me to get on with my life. That it’d get easier with time. They didn’t know how much it hurt. Not just his absence. Not just losing his words, his touch, his presence, but I hurt. That need gnawed at me, just like the cancer ate his lungs away, and I begged God to take me so I could be with him again. I begged to be put out of this misery.”

  He cradled her hand in his big palm and gently dabbed at the small cuts. “What else did you do to yourself?”

  Despite his gentleness, his words were hard. It made her smile. Nothing riled Jeb up more than when he thought someone had hurt her, and just like on the playground when she’d been knocked down by a bully, he came running to her rescue. Even though she’d beaten up the bully all by herself. This time, I’ve been bullying myself. “I kept my strength up by practicing with my crop and whip. The crop was easy enough to turn on myself when I was desperate. This is nothing, Jeb. Please don’t—”

  “Nothing?” His volume didn’t increase, but in intensity, he roared. “You hurt yourself. You… Damn it all to hell, you should have been using me. Me. Not you. You will use me. I’ve dreamed of nothing else my entire life. Use me to ease this hurt in you or so help me God, I’ll have Miss Belle conjure Ty back from the grave and we’ll both beat some sense into that thick skull of yours. Of all the stupid, stiff-necked…”

  She pulled her hand free and pressed her fingers to his lips. “You didn’t let me finish.”

  “Finish, then, but make it snappy,” he growled against her fingertips. “My bed is waiting.”

  She curled her fingers around his jaw and rubbed her thumb on his full bottom lip. Such a sweetly fierce protective alpha hiding his inner submissive. And here he was worried she might think him less of him as a man because of what he needed the most. “I’m glad God didn’t answer my prayer. I’m glad that I’m still here so I can be with you at last. I’ll protect you as much as I can. I’ll keep you safe. I won’t—”

  “Shut up, Ginny.” He threw open his door, slammed it, and before she could open her mouth he was at her door, unhooking her belt and hauling her up in his arms.

  “What did you say to me?”

  He juggled her to find his key. “I said to shut up. I don’t need your protection. I don’t need you to keep me safe. My job is to keep you safe. To give you what you need, whatever that is.”

  He kicked the door shut behind him and carried her through the darkened living room without turning on the lights.

  It felt mighty fine to be carried by a big strapping man. Even if he pissed her the hell off. Nobody told her to shut up and remained unscathed. If Ty had said such a thing to her, he would have been deliberately goading her to get the hardest whipping she could manage. He would have wanted to bleed. But Jeb couldn’t know that, not yet. He wouldn’t know how hard and mean she could really be.

  She wanted to jerk open his shirt and work on his tie so she could find some bare skin for her teeth, but with her bum arm she could only simmer and wait until he set her on his bed. Then he stepped back, made sure he had her full attention, and went to his knees in that fancy suit. “Use
me any way you want, Ginny. I can take it. I want to take it. For you.”

  All that hot anger surged into a blast of sheer lust that left her sweating and so damned wet she was worried about ruining the dress her daughter had made for her. “Get that suit off. Let me see what I’ve been missing out on all these years.”

  Without rising, he stripped off his coat, tie and shirt in quick succession. He unzipped his pants but looked up at her, as if checking to see if he could stand or not.

  “Let me do it, now that you’ve done the heavy lifting.”

  He pushed up to his feet and kicked his shoes off, letting his trousers fall to the floor. The man might have been pushing sixty, but he’d taken damned good care of himself. His chest and shoulders were powerful, wide, and he’d already proven that he was more than strong enough to pick her up on occasion. A thick mat of hair spread across his chest. When he got close enough, she pressed her face into those dark hairs and simply breathed.

  He didn’t smell like leather. Or Stetson. But smoky woods with just a hint of oranges, subtle and spicy.

  Once upon a time, Miss Belle had been invited to the Paris premiere of one of her movies, and they’d spent the weekend shopping in all those incredible stores. Virginia had found a cologne that caught her fancy and she’d bought a small bottle for her best friend as a Christmas gift.

  “Terre d’Hermes,” she whispered. “You still wear it.”

  “Like I’d ever wear anything else.” He slipped off her heels, his hands trembling on her ankles, her calves, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was here. “Sharon hated it by the way.”

  She opened her thighs, encouraging him to go as far as he wanted. “Good.”