by Lori Wilde
He gathered the cards and shuffled them. Because of the chain, he had to twist his body so he could use both hands, and that was both awkward and painful.
He wondered how much it would hurt if Sam was under him. Like hell, but it would be worth it. He told himself that all he felt was a carnal need, but he knew that wasn’t true. His body wanted her—he grew hard and hot whenever she entered the room—but his heart kicked in, as well. It smiled when she did. And something jabbed him in the gut when she fastened those big, earnest eyes on him. He wanted to touch her, hold her tight. He wanted to run his fingers through the short ringlets. He wanted to tease her and make her laugh, awaken the passion that simmered beneath her appealing innocence.
And he wanted to protect her against hurt. He swallowed hard at that.
He couldn’t protect her. Not against Benson’s men if they arrived, and not against himself, when he intended to destroy her world by taking away someone she loved without reservation.
He groaned inwardly. How could he compromise everything he was, everything that had meant anything these past years? The simple fact was, he couldn’t. He honored his badge and, more importantly, he honored the oath he’d made beside Emma’s body. Take those away, and he was nothing.
If only he could make Sam see what MacDonald was, or at least persuade her that he would be safer under Jared’s control than that of paid killers. He needed to convince her that if MacDonald really cared about her, he wouldn’t allow her to be placed in the line of fire.
He worried that she and the old man weren’t taking Benson and his threats seriously. But he was afraid the more he pushed it, the more she would doubt him. He judged that it would take Benson another few days to hire the men he wanted, and then to track him.
How long had it been since she’d left? He couldn’t tell with only the oil lamp for light. There was little difference between day and night except when the door was open. There was a watch in his saddlebags. Something else to ask for. His requests flustered her, and he found it fascinating to watch the changes in her face. She wanted him to think she was as tough as any man, but it was quite obvious that guilt hounded her for shooting him.
Where was she? Had he been left here while MacDonald made his escape? He hadn’t heard any noise for hours. It’s a possibility. It was also a possibility that they’d planned to leave him here to die. But that thought quickly passed. She would never do that.
But would Archie?
The key turned in the lock. He tensed. It was like a story he’d read. Was a lady or a tiger behind the door?
Archie walked in. Alone. He looked more tired than he had before. He was wet, and his breathing was raspy. He limped, but Jared remembered the strength in that wiry body when the old man had helped carry him inside.
“Thought I better check that leg,” he said. “Also thought you might need help in tending to some other needs.”
He did. Jared didn’t say anything as Archie helped him with the chamber pot, then removed the bandages from his leg. Not as gently as Sam did, but expertly. “Looks clean,” Archie said. “Probably don’t need no more of them poultices.”
“I heard a noise upstairs earlier,” Jared said casually. “Sounded like someone fell.”
Archie shrugged. “I knocked over a chair. My sight ain’t so good these days.”
It wasn’t exactly what Samantha had said. Jared visually searched Archie’s body. No gun or knife visible. The old man had left the key to the door out of reach, but what about the one to the handcuffs? Maybe he had it on him.
“The key to the handcuffs is upstairs,” Archie said as if he’d read his mind.
Jared relaxed slightly. It had been worth a try.
“You get any ideas of escape right out of your head,” Archie said. “I’m an old man and I don’t mind dying. Don’t mind killing, either.”
Jared didn’t even try to protest. Archie was no fool.
Archie looked down at the deck of cards on the bed and raised an eyebrow.
“Sam took pity on me,” he said.
The old man’s eyebrows rose even more at his casual use of Sam’s name.
Jared cursed himself. He should have been more careful. He shrugged. “I don’t know what else to call her,” he explained. “Miss…what?”
The old man glowered at him.
Jared ignored it. “There’s a watch in my saddlebags. Can I hope to get it back?”
Archie gave him an amused look. “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to a handsome piece like that. Wouldn’t like you to figure that one of them little parts might unlock them irons.”
“Wouldn’t consider it,” Jared replied. “That watch was my father’s.”
Archie smiled. “Then you won’t mind me keeping it nice and safe,” he said just before he left the room, closing the door behind him.
ON THEIR ARRIVAL back at the saloon, Sam had started to go to the marshal’s room.
Archie stopped her. “I think you’d better change those wet clothes. Your mama died of pneumonia. Don’t want the same to happen to you. I’ll check on the marshal, then Mac.”
She’d nodded reluctantly while he headed for the marshal’s room. She resisted the temptation to argue. It was only too obvious she wasn’t to be part of whatever he wanted to discuss with their prisoner.
Another kind of chill ran through her. What if he believed there was an…attraction between her and the marshal?
“I’ll meet you in Mac’s room,” she said, and went up the steps to her own bedroom. She stopped halfway and looked down to see Archie unlocking the door to the marshal’s room and disappearing inside.
She changed her clothes, hanging her wet ones on a hook to dry. She wished she had something pretty, but that was a nonsensical notion now when everyone she loved was in danger. Archie’s plan to bring down part of the mountain brought home the fact that he thought there might be truth to the marshal’s claim that gunmen were on the way.
She found herself shivering.
When she finished drying her hair, she went out into the hall and met Archie. They walked to Mac’s room together.
“That marshal has no right to be gittin’ better so fast,” he grumbled. Then he looked her in the eye. “We’re going to have to tell Mac about him. Maybe not at this moment, but soon.”
She nodded. He had to know. Maybe he would have some ideas about what to do.
“Woulda been better if you killed him,” Archie said, not for the first time.
Sam listened while Archie scolded Mac about trying to get up and checked his wounds. He changed Mac’s bandages with her help.
“You gonna have to stop doing this,” he told Mac. “I’m too old to keep lookin’ after you.”
Mac smiled at him. “You have to keep me around. No one else could tolerate you.”
“Jest remember you need to heal. No more trying to get out of that bed.”
“Maybe some food would help,” Mac said. “No more broth.”
Immense relief flooded Sam. That was the Mac she knew. “Coming up,” she said.
“I’ll stay and look at his wounds,” Archie said.
Maybe after preparing the food, she would have time with the marshal. Maybe she could find out more about the paid posse he’d mentioned. It could be a lie, something he’d made up to scare her into surrendering Mac.
Her heart pounded harder, then she thought of the pass and the possibility of riders. The rain made it unlikely for the next couple of days. Very few men would tackle the narrow ledges and sharp drop-offs at night or during a rainfall. Slides were notorious. But then would strangers know that?
After putting together the makings of a gooseberry pie, she plopped it in the fireplace oven, then cut what was left of the haunch of venison Ike had brought a week earlier. She had smoked it, then used some of it for the stew. Now she cut the remainder into small pieces. She planned to fry them in bacon grease, then add water and flour, along with some herbs for the gravy. She sliced potatoes a
nd put them in another pan with salt and pepper.
Sam glanced at the door once more. How could she want so badly to open it?
Later.
While the meat and pie were cooking, she prepared dough for baking bread the next day. Anything to keep busy, to keep her mind from the man a few feet away. This might be one of the last really good meals they would have.
Before long, supper was ready and she was taking the food upstairs. Archie was entertaining Mac with one of his adventures. She never knew whether they were true or not, and Mac had probably heard them all, but he was listening.
He brightened at the sight of the steaming plates, but as he moved to sit up she saw the pain carve even deeper lines in his face.
“You look better,” she said, giving him one of the plates along with a fork. “The pie’s gooseberry. Your favorite.”
“You sure take after your ma,” Mac said. “Best cooking in the territory.” The compliment never failed to please Sam. She’d learned from her mother, had helped her cook for the boarders and others who came to her table for breakfast, dinner or supper. From the time she was seven, she’d helped pour, stir and serve. “Need any water?”
“We have enough,” Archie said.
She hurried downstairs and fixed a plate for the marshal. She cut his meat and included only a slice of pie. Then she unlocked the door. She took a deep breath and went inside.
He was playing with the cards. She wasn’t prepared for the surprised smile. Not sardonic. Not wry. But a smile that escaped before he could take it back. It completely changed his face. And then, as if he’d caught himself, it faded.
“I brought some food,” she said.
A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead and his eyes were half-open. “I’ve been wondering when you would feed me.” He struggled to a sitting position.
She handed him the plate, and he looked at it with wry amusement. “I see the meat is already cut.”
“I wanted to be of help,” she said as sweetly as she could.
“You were gone for a long time.” It was a question more than a statement.
“We’re not your servants,” she retorted.
“No,” he agreed.
“I expect this is better than a jail cell.”
“You’re here, so yes.”
He’d done it again. Disarmed her. But despite his light words, there was a glittering intensity in his eyes, a fierce indication of a powerful will.
Instead of intimidating her, though, it made her heart ache almost unbearably. She wanted him with every fiber of her being. As their gazes met, tension arced between them, filling the air with a hungering need. She knew he felt it, as well, from the muscle that leaped along a tightened jaw.
He turned his gaze from her and took a bite. Then he looked at her with a piercing gaze. “It’s good,” he said with a slight smile.
It was as much of a compliment as she was likely to get from him. The smile warmed her straight through to the end of her toes. If only she knew how to cope with the turmoil inside her, that hot aching need.
He seemed not to notice her confusion and eagerly ate the meat, chewing each piece with a satisfaction that was a pleasure to watch. Then he got to the pie. When he finished he slowly ran his tongue along his lips to capture every crumb. She never knew watching someone eat could be so…provocative.
It was all she could do to keep from reaching out to him, from touching those lips. Then moving her fingers to the dimple that emphasized the strength of his features rather than softening them. She wanted to explore his body with her hands and she wanted him to do the same to hers.
Her skin was on fire at the mere thought. Maybe if she hated him, she wouldn’t have such feelings. But try as she might, she couldn’t, not after hearing him talk so heart-wrenchingly about his wife and child. She remembered how he had charmed Dawg, and she’d seen those glimpses of humor that flashed in his eyes. He had many sides and she liked all but one, and that one was the most important.
Almost without noticing she moved next to him, drawn like a piece of metal to a magnet. Tension sizzled between them, making a shambles of the calm she wanted to project. Her eyes searched frantically for something other than his rigid body. She took the plate from him and placed it on the floor, aware that his dark eyes were watching every movement. She reached for the deck of cards, and they went fluttering like feathers over him. She, who could handle a deck of cards like any card cheat.
His eyes were partially curtained by thick black lashes, but she saw a flame deep within. Conflicted, she reached out to gather the cards, and their hands touched. A tremor ran through his body, and her own trembled at the surge of heat between them. Her control was seeping away, lost in all those soft, needy sensations.
He pulled her to him, but unlike before there was nothing angry in the action. Instead his cheek brushed hers and stayed there for a fraction of a moment in a gesture so tender she thought her heart would crack. Then he pulled her against his chest and she heard the steady beat of his heart. It seemed to pulse through her, too. She relished the moment’s closeness, the smell and feel and touch of him. The…unexpected tenderness he exuded.
Every nerve tingled. She felt bold and shy, reckless and cautious, sure and uncertain. Her heart hurt and her body ached, and a storm was building inside, fed by his touch. He shifted, using his free hand to guide her up until her cheek rested against his rough one again. She relished the heat of his body, even through their clothes. New sensations spiraled through her, each one more powerful than the next.
She closed her eyes, the better to feel. And feel she did. For the first time, she felt truly alive. As if she’d just been drifting along until now, waiting, only she hadn’t known it.
His lips touched hers. Not like the last time, with anger and need, but lazily. Lips touching lips with gentle exploration, each brush prolonging a magical moment. She put her hands around his neck and played with the muscles there.
She opened her eyes to see the dark blue of his. Usually so curtained, so careful, they were anything but. They were scorching. Intense. And suddenly…sad.
He touched her face with a gentleness she hadn’t expected. She sensed the restraint in him…felt it in the tenseness of his body. She didn’t want restraint. She wanted to pursue all these feelings to wherever they led.
“You should go,” he said lightly, as if to disperse the weighty emotions settling around them.
She knew he was right. He was still her enemy and she was his captor, and their goals were diametrically opposed. But she couldn’t. Her skin was alive with feeling, with wanting, and the core of her was a mass of writhing nerve ends. She had to take this ride to the moon.
“No,” she protested.
With a groan, he released her and guided her body to the side of the bed. When she looked at him she saw agony in his eyes, and she knew it wasn’t altogether from his leg.
He touched her cheek. “I have no right,” he said.
“I’m giving you that right,” she murmured.
“Nothing has changed,” he said softly. “Nothing at all.”
But it had. To her, it had.
Except for Mac. The marshal was right. That was the same.
She stiffened. “You won’t change your mind about Mac?”
“Is that what you thought?” he said, his tone suddenly harsh. “A kiss would make me forget I’m a marshal?”
Tears pricked her eyes, but she wasn’t going to let him see them. For a moment she had forgotten everything but the feel and touch of him. She was angry now, but it was mostly at herself.
“Of course not,” she said. “How could I ever be so foolish as to forget that?”
Her heart pounded. Had she really misled herself into thinking he was attracted to her? That he cared about anything beyond getting free? Getting free and hanging Mac?
Her heart pounded and she felt sick to her stomach. Well, she could play the same game.
She sat up, then stood. She ran a f
inger through her curls and tried to get some part of her sanity back. The cards were all over the bed and floor. Some were bent. She decided to leave them there. Her legs were unsteady, and her body still hummed from his touch, but she didn’t want him to know that. Better he think that she’d kissed him only for Mac’s sake. Not her own.
For Mac.
The posse. Ask him about the posse. Then leave with dignity.
“You haven’t said anything more about the posse you mentioned.”
His eyes were suddenly alert. “Then you believe me?”
“I might,” she said. “But why do you think they could find this valley?”
“They could figure it out like I did. Start where the men were shot. Keep going in the direction Thornton was headed. I’d heard years ago that he was holed up in some mining town, but I never knew which one. This time I asked the right questions and came up with Gideon’s Hope. It suddenly seemed logical.”
“Maybe they’re not as…persistent.”
“With the kind of money being offered, some of those gun hands would go to the ends of the earth.”
She made the mistake of looking into his eyes. She saw worry, and something close to understanding. “He will be better off with me,” he continued. “And so would you.”
She almost lost herself in those eyes. She almost believed him, but she also knew no court would give Mac a chance. “No,” she said sharply as she tried to ignore the intense craving in her belly.
Her back stiff, she left the room and locked the door before she did or said something she would regret.
12
LETTING HER GO had been one of the hardest things Jared had ever done. Letting her believe that all he wanted was MacDonald was another.
He couldn’t remember when he’d wanted a woman so badly. The fact that she’d been not only willing but eager made his words that much more difficult.
He ached all over. The pain in his leg had exploded when her leg had touched it. But then other parts of his anatomy were on fire, as well. He hadn’t expected that, at least not to this extent. There was a connection—a sexual tension—between them that he’d never felt before. But he’d thought he could control it.