“Is that all?” Amanda choked, stunned by the force of his statement.
“No.” He came to stand beside her, his hand slipping through the knot of her hair, releasing it to fall around her shoulders. “I think a man should make love to a woman by starting at her toes, and ending up at her neck about three days later.”
The color drained from Amanda’s face. She stared at him in disbelief, even as he continued to play with her hair. She had been wrong about him, dead wrong. He had at least as much education as she did. Yet somehow, it was exciting and stimulating, to be challenged by this man. Taking another sip of the whiskey, she stared at him thoughtfully.
“I think you’re wrong about Dickens. His work has a lot to say about our values, but it is often overlooked because he has popular appeal. I think Carlyle is brilliant, and I agree with you about Twain. But how can you say that about the democratic system? And the frontier theory?” She flushed with passion as she leaned forward, her strange eyes glittering with emotion. “Don’t you agree that American democracy was shaped by man’s struggle with the wilderness? And that the contest eliminates class distinction and ensures equality?”
“No, I don’t agree.” Luke shrugged, fascinated by the flush of hot color that came to her face, and the sparkle of her eyes as she distractedly removed her glasses. “I think other factors are overlooked.”
“Such as?” Amanda taunted.
Luke smiled, releasing a lock of hair he had been caressing. Without her glasses, she really was pretty. And the fervor he heard in her voice made him wonder just how much passion she reserved for anything else. His hand fell to her shoulder and began to rub it, loosening the tension in her upper arms.
“I think the change in the work force will have more of an impact.” Luke noticed her color deepen as he continued to caress her, but she didn’t stop him. “I also think the frontier community is not as classless as it’s assumed. Take the railroad.”
“The railroad!” Amanda laughed shortly, barely aware that his hands had moved lower, and that he was massaging all of the tightness from her back. “But that’s the classic example of man conquering the environment. East unified with West. Man working with man, equal and the same, triumphing over nature.”
“Equal?” Luke snorted. “Who do you think actually did all the work? Those fancy investors back east, who made a mint selling railroad stocks? Or the poor, the unemployed, the immigrant Irish and Chinese, who sweated their brains out laying tracks through deserts and mountain passes for a lousy two dollars a day? Some equality.”
“They had a choice!” Amanda protested, appalled by his reasoning. She felt his hands move to her neck, stroking the tight muscles there and forcing her to relax. “They didn’t have to take those jobs!”
“Really?” Luke asked in amusement. “And where else would they work? They couldn’t find anything out east, or they wouldn’t have left. I’m sure you’re familiar with the gate theory. Three immigrants for every job. As long as they’re lined up, waiting at the gate, they’ll never get ahead. Never get a raise. Never be equal.”
“You’re advocating socialism?”
“No, I’m pushing reality. Let’s call it what it is, and not sugar coat life with dead theories and romanticism. Naivete never benefitted anyone.”
“Who are you calling naive?” Furious, Amanda stood up, finding herself in the gunslinger’s embrace. She was so angry, she hardly noticed. “I graduated with honors. I’d hardly consider myself uninformed.”
“Well-read, maybe. But you’ve got to look past the books, sweetheart, and make up your own mind. Dead philosophers and political ideologists are also not out working on the train tracks.”
“That’s totally illogical,” Amanda said, stunned that he’d attacked her precious philosophers. “How can you say such things?”
“It’s easy.” Luke slid his hands around her waist, tortured by the feel of her in his arms. She felt even better close, her body squirming against his, her skin like satin beneath his rough fingers. “You’ve got to judge for yourself. Like this.”
Somehow, he was kissing her, his fingers tangled in her hair, his other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her still. The passion of their argument was transformed into a heat between them that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with feelings. Luke eased his mouth from hers, then buried his face in her neck, tasting her, touching her, unable to get enough of the feel of her soft skin and her innocent, mindless response.
Amanda gasped, allowing him to caress her, liking the surprising contrast of his gentle manner with the sandpaper roughness of his fingers. No man had ever touched her like this before, like she’d read about, written about, and imagined. It was better than she had thought; confusing and exciting at the same time. When his hand moved from her throat down to her breast, lightly cupping the round fullness in one hand, she could feel her heart flutter against his fingers. Her face flushed hotter, and she struggled to regain control, to stop all this before things got out of hand.
“The frontier theory…” Amanda whispered breathlessly.
“Right. The frontier theory.” Leaning closer, Luke kissed her into silence, then let his mouth trail along her cheekbone and throat. He had expected a fight, and instead tasted a desire on her lips that equaled his own. Her pulse throbbed against his tongue and he heard her unmistakable gasp of passion as his mouth brushed enticingly against the intricacy of her ear. Physical pleasure, heightened by intellectual fencing, was an intoxicant that apparently neither one of them wanted to resist. Luke wondered if all college women were like this, and decided it wasn’t a bad idea to educate a woman after all.
Amanda sighed, reveling in the warm feeling of his body close to hers. For the first time in her life, her mind deserted her, and she didn’t care. The room grew hotter, the candle flickered, and Amanda could only think of the incredible sensations that raced through her, the feeling of this man’s lips against her. His hand returned to her breast, his thumb lightly grazing the sensitive nipple, arousing her, introducing her to an entirely new level of feeling. Amanda fought with the logic that told her this was ridiculous, then with the feelings that urged her young body to take what he was offering. Having denied herself all the normal experiences that most girls took for granted, she had no defense against his seduction, and absolutely no desire for any. She wanted to live, to touch, to be held, loved. She wanted him. It was as simple as that.
Yet her mind rebelled, even as she urged his mouth back to hers, answering him in an instinctive, ageless way, without words. She couldn’t do this. God, but she wanted to. His hand reached up behind her, effortlessly undoing her buttons and releasing her from the prison of her clothes, the dress, the tightly laced corset, then finally, her shift. Conflict gripped her as he pressed his mouth to her soft flesh, making her breath stop short and her knees weaken. She was standing within his arms, holding onto him for balance as his tongue teased her, drawing sensual patterns against her breast. His mouth closed upon a nipple, sucking powerfully, making her gasp in surprise and pleasure. Shock tingled through her as his mouth moved lower, his fingers artfully exploring her body, sweeping down past her slender waist and thighs, then touching her there, where she was throbbing and aching, wanting him…
“It’s all right,” he whispered soothingly, lowering her to the floor. But it wasn’t all right. The whiskey churned in her stomach, the burned food rose like bile in her throat, and her nervous reaction, fostered by indecision, made her body tense. When he tried to enter her with his fingers, she pulled away from him, her face reddening in embarrassment, her eyes wide and stricken.
“What is it?” He attempted to draw her back into his embrace once more, but she pulled away, resisting the intoxication of his kiss.
“I can’t.” She fought to explain, for once completely incapable of speech. She saw the confusion in his eyes as he raised his hand to touch her, but she flinched as if afraid, then struggled for words, mortified beyond reason. “I…I
’m going to be sick.”
Luke stared at her in disbelief as she choked, clapped a hand over her mouth, then rushed to the waiting bowl on the counter. She was definitely sick.
Chapter
3
Luke couldn’t believe it. No woman had ever done this to him, not even when he was much younger—fourteen to be exact, and learning about love from the giggling Hamilton twins who’d lived on the outskirts of Charleston. But Amanda wasn’t teasing him or playing coy. Her face lost much of its color, and even as he watched, her eyes became as glassy as glazed china. Luke stood behind her, helpless as Amanda violently retched.
“You all right?” He moistened his handkerchief and pressed the cool cotton to her face, then to the back of her neck. Amanda nodded, more embarrassed than ever. Luke helped her to a chair, and she practically pushed away from him, eager to forget the entire humiliating incident. Collapsing into the seat, she wanted to die, to forget that this night had ever transpired, to dissolve into eternal sleep which had nothing to do with the seductions of ruthless gunmen.
“Please, just go,” she whispered brokenly, resisting as he tried to make her more comfortable. Ignoring her protest, Luke covered her with a linen tablecloth that he found in a drawer.
“Look, I just want to be sure you’re okay.” He lifted her face, growing annoyed as she rejected his help once more.
“I’m fine. Really. Now will you please just leave me alone?” She picked up her glasses and replaced them on her face, glaring at him with that oddly piercing stare he’d seen too often earlier.
“Sure.” Luke nodded, growing justifiably angry. “You know, I don’t expect gratitude or anything. But you’re the damnest woman I’ve ever met. What are you mad at me for?”
“I’m sorry if I ruined your evening,” Amanda said, hiding behind her well-honed defenses. “I suppose most women just fall into your arms.”
“They don’t usually throw up,” Luke agreed, growing more furious by the moment.
“Then it’s just as well we’ll be parting come morning. As Homer says—”
“Amanda.” Luke’s voice was deadly. He reached across the table, picked up the whiskey bottle, then settled himself into a chair while she watched in horrified fascination. He cocked his gun, then placed it within reach. “Don’t you dare.”
Amanda closed her mouth, then drew the linen up more snugly around her shoulders. If there was one thing she didn’t need to learn in school, it was when to back down.
This was obviously the time.
Gunfire woke them just before dawn. Luke was awake in a second, snatching up his gun in one fluid motion, then he posed at the window in shocked disbelief.
“Jesus, what is this?” He fired in return, amazed to discover that the shots were indeed directed at the deserted restaurant. Pausing only to reload, he saw Amanda scramble for her clothes, then for the bird cage. Shaking his head in disbelief, he watched her place the owl safely beneath the table. Only then did she see to her own comfort. Struggling into her dress, she ducked as a window broke and glass danced across the floor in a thousand tiny prisms.
“Get down! This isn’t one of your damned novels, they’re shooting!”
“Who is it?” Amanda peered out from beneath the table where the owl rustled furiously.
“How do I know? I didn’t ask for a calling card. You’re not wanted or anything, are you?”
“No!” Amanda said indignantly. “I—”
The pot crashed to the floor, spinning from the force of a lead bullet. Conversation ceased as Luke struggled desperately to fight off their invisible attackers. Amanda took one stunned look at the pot, then crept across the floor to join him at the window.
“I can help you load.” She withdrew the bullets, placing them in a convenient location near his left hand. He was about to correct her when he saw that it was easier this way, that it eliminated a movement and a fraction of a second that could mean a life. Scooping up the bullets, he then shoved them into the gun, talking almost to himself.
“It’s not Indians. Thank God for that. Though who the hell would be shooting at us now…” Picking off a gunman that appeared into view, Luke’s voice deepened and he whistled. “Damn if that doesn’t look like Butch Winters. Part of the Haskwell gang.”
“Why would they come back?”
“Doesn’t make sense to me. They got the money and the jewelry. It’s damned foolishness on their part.” Squeezing the trigger, he neatly shot another outlaw, this one within twenty feet of the building.
Amanda paled, then rose to her knees and peered out the window. She could barely see the gunmen, but something about them did seem familiar. No sooner did they spot her when the gunfire erupted into a blaze of fury, and Luke flung her to the floor like a sack of oatmeal.
“You trying to get killed?” The gunfire roared, and in desperation, he fired back, wondering what it all meant. Amanda lay on the floor, breathless, more frightened than even the day before. Then there had been a train full of people to help fight the outlaws off. Now, for some ungodly reason, they were back, and she was alone with no one to help her but the southern gunman who had every reason to despise her.
Forcing down her emotions and the renewed queasiness in her stomach, she made herself think. Outlaws. The train. Rising to her knees, she took care to stay well away from the window and she spoke excitedly, her strange eyes gleaming.
“The train! The nine-fifteen should be here shortly.”
“Great.” Luke replied, still firing into the woods. “Maybe we could all take a nice trip to Denver.”
“You don’t understand,” Amanda said in frustration. “The abandoned car is still on the track. When the train collides with it, we’ll have a chance to escape.”
The escape part caught his attention. As Luke reloaded, he had to admit her plan had merit. It seemed even more plausible when the train whistle blew a few minutes later. The iron horse plunged between them and the outlaws, acting as an effective metallic screen from the gunfire. Normally, the delay would have only lasted a few moments, but the loud crash that followed gave them the perfect opportunity, and neither one of them had any desire to waste it.
“Let’s go.” Luke grabbed her hand, quelling his frustration when she stopped for the carpetbag and the owl, then scrambled out the door with him. A supply trail led directly behind the restaurant and into the woods. Luke drove her mercilessly down the path, knowing full well that the outlaws would be upon them within a few minutes. Amanda struggled breathlessly, still trying to carry the carpetbag and the cage and run at the same time. Luke saw her effort and snatched up the cage with an oath, then dragged her deeper into the woods. He didn’t stop until they came to a rusted and abandoned train track, and on it was, unbelievably, a deserted handcar.
“Great.” Luke helped Amanda up, onto the rusted cart, then placed Aesop safely in the center. Amanda put her carpetbag aside, then stared at the apparatus.
“Grab the other end.” Luke shook his head in disbelief. The woman was worse than a cloistered nun. Amanda nodded, then awkwardly snatched at the iron railing that rose in front of her face. Pushing downward with all of her one hundred and eighteen pounds behind her, she managed to lower the bar enough to allow him the leverage he needed. Luke thrust forcefully down on the opposing bar. The gears screeched in protest, but the cart creaked along the track and moved a few feet. Encouraged by their success, Amanda pushed again and Luke followed, forcing the ancient car to resume an old journey down the tracks, even as they heard gunfire in the distance.
“Looks like we did it.” He shouted to be heard above the racket of the handcar and the distant gunfire. Amanda nodded, her hands white against the iron bar, her heart pounding in terror and exertion. The car picked up speed, barreling around a curve. The cage slid across the floor of the car and Luke stopped it with his booted leg. Gradually, the din of the gunfire died as the woods and the Harvey house faded behind them. Luke glanced at Amanda. Her face was covered with sweat, her hai
r straggled, her glasses crooked. She shoved a lock of damp hair out of her eyes and glanced up at him, catching his triumphant smile. She started to return it, when she looked behind him and a scream died in her throat.
The track ended as abruptly as it began.
Butch Winters slowed his horse down to a brisk walk as the woods closed in around them. They were gone. The path from the abandoned Harvey house led straight into the forest, and except for an old supply hut, there was nothing. A pheasant whirred from the brush as another man reined up his mount, then spat at the dusty ground beneath him.
“Damn, Butch. We had her. Christ, I saw that thin-necked spinster at the window, jest as clear as that day in town when Sam shot that fool Haines. Who would have thought she’d have the guts to write about it in that book? Least she had the sense to change her name.”
“She ain’t got that much sense. We tracked her, didn’t we?”
“Yeah. All the way from Boston.” Damien spat once more and glanced at the woods. The silence made him nervous. “Good thing that fancy woman Sam kept knew how to read. Little thing—just about fifteen, I would say. Remember her? How she used to sit in that room, scared to death of Sam, and pass the time reading penny novels? It was her that tipped Sam off, and her that helped him write to that New York publishing house.” Damien chuckled at the thought. “Must’ve thought it was a fan letter. That publisher told Sam everything. Who Fess Tyson was. Where she lived—”
“Shut up, Damien. You talk too much.” Butch wiped the sweat from his face, wrinkling a thin, twisted red scar on his cheek. “She can’t have just disappeared.”
Both men stared into the woods. Trees were stacked like poles in an endless infinity before them, while lime-colored ferns warned of cover—Indian cover.
“I don’t like it,” Damien said. “It’s too damned quiet.”
“For once, you’re right,” Butch agreed, tightening the leather reins in his fist. “I ain’t gonna find her here. Somehow, she must have gotten help. Did you see that gunman with her?”
Wild Is the Night Page 3