by Pam Crooks
This need for her… he hadn’t known it could be this strong. This consuming. She stole his strength, filled his heart to bursting with an emotion he had no time to name. So full it hurt.
He eased her down with him to the ground, their clothes a blanket against the prickly grass. He rasped her name again and again, dragged his kisses from her mouth, to her cheek, down the satiny curve of her neck. He filled each palm with a delectable breast, flexed his fingers. And savored.
The ache built in him, fierce and intense. Demanded to be quenched. His senses filled with her musk, her heat. His mouth opened over one pert nipple, and he drew the swollen nub in with his tongue, swirled and teased and suckled until she speared her fingers into his hair with a moan. Holding him to her for more.
He repeated his pleasure on the other, gently nipped the sensitive tip with his teeth, prolonging her arousal. Prolonging his own. His hands traveled lower, past her ribs, her waist…
Carina, pure female. Pure perfection. Penn had to know all of her. Every silken inch, and his fingers slid along the smooth skin to the nest of curls at the juncture of her thighs. Her feminine folds held the sweetness of her dew, invited him to taste her sensuality, her blatant need for him.
And his own raged higher still.
Her hips began to move. Her thighs loosened, parted beneath his touch. Her breathing quickened into little rasps.
“Come into me,” she whispered, the sound aching. Her dark hair haloed her head, a pillow of brunette satin. “Now, Penn. Come.”
She reached for him, and he obliged, rising above her with muscles trembling. He entered her silken depths with a single, slick thrust, found her tight, gloriously tight. He reveled at the feel of her heat sheathing him like this.
“Carina,” he groaned, on the brink of falling into heaven. “Carina, Carina.”
Her back arched, her hips moved, her urgency built. High, as high as his. Taking him with her to create a fierce rhythm, a rocking dance that sent them soaring, catapulting, up to the stars in a blindingly sweet explosion of release.
There was something primitive and carnal in their union, Carina mused, pleasant aftershocks still lingering in her body. Natural and untamed. Symbolic, too, maybe, lying here in McClure’s arms with her cattle not far in the distance.
Two of the things that had become most important in her life.
Tomorrow, she would lose them both.
She could hardly bear to think of it. She chose to think instead of how he made her feel complete by filling the emptiness inside her. Woman and man, together as one.
If only for a little while.
“Cold?” His low voice sounded muffled against her hair.
“No.” Far from it, not with the way she lay next to him, their arms and legs tangled.
He burrowed her closer anyway. Her fingers splayed against the taut muscles of his back; her palm flattened and glided over his heated skin with slow, lazy strokes.
When before would she have taken the liberty to touch him so freely?
When would she again?
“You’re going back to the Secret Service, aren’t you, McClure? When this is all over.” Carina had to hear it. Maybe, then, it would be easier to accept.
“You called me ‘Penn’ when you were lovin’ me up a few minutes ago.”
Her mouth softened. “Did I?”
“I prefer it.” He kissed the top of her head.
“You’re avoiding my question.”
A moment passed. “I find the job satisfying, Carina.”
Her heart squeezed with sadness. “Because of Rogan’s counterfeiting ring, I suppose.”
She sounded petulant, and she chastised herself for it. She had no right to interfere in his life and want more than he was ready to give. Something hopeless like being with her on the C Bar C to live a life herding cattle. Far different than one the government would require.
“Bringing Rogan to justice is at the top of my list at the moment,” he said. “I figure the agency will appreciate it well enough and won’t much care how I got the job done.”
“But—”
She felt a sudden flare of impatience in him.
“Enough, Carina.”
He shifted his body over her, and she welcomed his weight, the delicious distraction of his warmth and strength. His blade stirred against the inside of her thigh. Pulsed with his growing desire.
“Rogan’s not worth wasting what little time we have left together,” he murmured.
His head lowered, his lips hovering a feather’s breadth above hers. He filled her with the sweet anticipation of what he wanted. Of what she would soon have again. His mouth curved with a decidedly wicked, devastatingly male, grin.
“I, on the other hand, am.”
Chapter 17
The Next Morning
George Satterfield sat behind the desk in the tiny stockyard office and signed his name with a flourish. The bank draft bore the amount of payment in full for Carina’s herd. At top market price. Nearly the entire worth of the C Bar C Ranch.
Callie Mae’s legacy. Right there on that piece of paper.
Carina tore her gaze away. She should’ve been prepared—she’d had three long weeks on the trail to brace herself for today, this moment, the ugly knowledge that she would have to give it all away.
But she wasn’t. Not even close. The numbers scrawled in black ink were too real. They only made the nightmare worse. The fortune she would lose.
Reaching over from the chair beside her, McClure, looking grim, took her hand into his. Despising her weakness, that she needed him to be here with her, she grasped his fingers tight.
Only one more line remained to be filled in. Satterfield’s pen hovered above it.
He appeared as grim as McClure. “You sure about this, Carina? You want me to put Rogan Webb’s name on this check?”
“It’s nothing I want, George, believe me. It has to be done, that’s all.”
Beneath his gray moustache, his lips thinned but he said nothing more. The sound of the pen scratching the paper, laying down the ink, would be forever imprinted into her memory.
Finally, he set the writing instrument down and handed her the check. “I’m sorry, Carina. I wish it were easier for you.”
“Easier?” Her brow arched at the odd comment. “To be blackmailed? Or pay ransom for one’s child?”
He exchanged a glance with McClure. “Take your pick, I suppose.”
“I’d rather not, I assure you.” Carina released McClure’s hand, folded the check and put it in her pocket. She stood up.
“I’d be happy to buy you a drink, if it’d help,” Satterfield said, rising with her.
She managed a wan smile. “I might not know when to stop.”
“If there’s anything more I can do, just ask.”
“There isn’t, but thank you.”
They made their goodbyes, and with his hand at her waist, McClure guided her out of the office. They paused on the boardwalk, and Carina contemplated the stockyards beyond. Huge pens filled with cattle, for as far as she could see. Great masses of beef on the hoof that would be loaded onto railcars for hungry markets back East. Soon, the C Bar C herd would join them.
The sharp feeling of loss, the terror of not being able to survive, of starting over again from nothing nearly crumpled her to her knees. What if she failed? What if she was never able to regain the Lockett legacy?
“You don’t have to go to the Wright House alone,” McClure said.
She strove for strength. For the need to go on. She forced herself to look up into eyes a troubled shade of brown. McClure had argued about her decision this morning. He’d argue again now if she allowed him.
“It’s broad daylight. Rogan will recognize you if he’s anywhere around,” she said.
“I’m not going to hide under a rock just because the sun’s shining.”
“I can’t risk it.”
She strode toward her Appaloosa, hitched at the post next to his gelding. Not
hing could go wrong. Nothing.
Untying the reins, she climbed into the saddle. He set his hands on his hips, watching her. His silence unnerved her.
“Don’t do anything, McClure. Promise me.”
He scowled. “He deserves to be behind bars.”
“Yes.” Or rot in hell, she didn’t care which. “You can arrest him after I bring Callie Mae home. I have no doubt you will, besides.” She deplored another argument where anyone could overhear. And Rogan would be waiting for her. She thought of the long hours stretching ahead before they heard from him again. “Why don’t you go somewhere and have a drink or two? Think of me while you do.”
“I don’t need a saloon to think of you, Carina.”
The growl set her nerve endings alive with the memory of their heated lovemaking only hours ago. The feel of his hands hungry over her body.
The smolder in his dark gaze revealed he thought of it, too. She gripped the reins to keep from vaulting out of the saddle and into his arms, to have him hold her one last time before she had to give away her precious world.
But she didn’t, of course. She wouldn’t get back on her horse.
“I’ll see you back at camp,” she said.
Carina turned the Appaloosa toward town, changed her focus to what she had to do, banking her trust on Rogan that he’ll keep his end of their deal and Callie Mae would be hers again.
Penn swore at her stubbornness. That damnable pride. Wasn’t right she had to be alone when she walked into the Wright House, gave away her money and walked out again, empty-handed.
He sighed. But the she-boss was tough. She’d manage it with that stubbornness and pride. And her leaving gave him the time alone he needed to fine-tune a few details.
The plan she didn’t know about. And wouldn’t, until he saw it through.
He mounted up. Out of habit, he skimmed his surroundings with a slow perusal of who might be around, watching. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. This time of year, every season, cowmen from surrounding states filled the stockyards and mingled throughout the pens doing business one way or another.
He shifted his study toward the rail yards, too. Long ribbons of track laced the prairie. Hundreds of railcars waited to be loaded with livestock. Some already were, needing only the steam engine at the front of the line to stoke up its boilers and pull out.
And yet… his gaze snagged on something red. Plaid. A child walking beside one of the cattle cars. A little girl alone.
Penn shook his head in disapproval. Some cattleman’s daughter, left to entertain herself while he conducted his financial affairs, most likely. She had no place being out there by herself. Too bad she was. He hoped her father found her soon enough and gave her a good scolding for wandering off. She had it coming, for sure.
Penn dismissed her from his mind. He turned the gelding, rode the short trip into town and headed toward the Long Branch Saloon. Horses lined the hitching posts along the front, but he found room for his on the end. Dodge City was booming, no doubt about it. A steady deluge of cowboys came at the end of their drives with their payroll in their pockets. Establishments like this one helped them spend it.
He walked in. Past the faro table, past the mahogany bar, past the curious glances from poker-playing wranglers, none of whom he recognized. He strode straight into the back room and closed the door.
Woollie glanced up from his beer. Penn grinned. Damned good to see his friend again.
“You got my message,” he said.
“And you got mine.” Woollie stood up, shook Penn’s hand, his smile broad through his curly beard. “How’s she doing?”
“As well as can be expected, I guess. She’s determined to give him the money.”
“The hell of it is, you can’t blame her, but we can’t let her do it.”
When he’d arrived in Ashland with Durant’s body, Penn was pleased to find the telegram from Woollie waiting for him. Carina’s foreman had had his fill of convalescing back on the trail and made up his mind to go to Dodge City on his own to meet up with the outfit there. Penn set up the rendezvous and left instructions for him to come here, to the Long Branch.
“Looks like you healed up all right.” He noted the absence of a sling, necessary for the injuries Woollie incurred after the stampede. Now, he appeared strong, relaxed, in good health all around.
“Well enough to ride and shoot, I reckon,” Woollie said.
“Glad you’re here.” Penn meant it.
His scrutiny shifted to the other men in the room—Jesse and Stinky Dale, Ronnie and Billy, Orlin Fahey. Carina’s men, gathered under a veil of secrecy to fight for her.
“She have any idea you’re here?” he demanded.
Jesse shook his head. “After she paid our wages this mornin’, she told us to quit lookin’ as sad as bloodhounds and get out of camp to celebrate the end of the drive.” He shrugged. “We left. We just didn’t mention we was meetin’ you here.”
Penn nodded his approval. “Good.”
Finally, his glance settled on the last man. Harvey Whalen, all the way from Washington. The Treasury Department, and one of the best Secret Service agents Penn had the pleasure to meet.
“Mornin’, Harv,” he said.
“Penn.”
Dressed in a gray suit and tie, he appeared out of place amongst the C Bar C cowboys, but Penn couldn’t have had a better man on his side. He was meticulous with details, shrewd in his thinking, and his help so far had been invaluable.
“I trust all went well with the cattle buyer,” Harv said.
“Smooth as silk. She didn’t suspect a thing.”
“Of course not.” He smiled.
Penn smiled back, his relief that the first step of their plan had been executed without a hitch.
His smile faded. But from here on out, things would get more complicated. One miscalculated move on Rogan’s part would tear their scheme apart. They had to be prepared for anything.
“She’s at the Wright House now.” He swept a glance over them. “So listen up, boys. This is what we’re going to do
During cattle season, the Wright House had more business than they could handle. In addition to providing sleeping rooms for the drovers and cowboys coming off the Western Trail, the hotel also offered a restaurant and general store.
People crowded the place. Male voices filled the air. Boot soles scuffed the wooden floor; spurs clinked. The smell of tobacco warred with the aroma of brewing coffee and the day’s dinner menu being prepared in the hotel’s kitchen.
The female part of Dodge City’s citizenry came, as well, to buy their necessities in the mercantile, and Carina found a discreet place among them. She’d be far less conspicuous with her own gender than she would in the hotel with all those men.
And here, she could watch for Rogan. Bolts of fabric and piles of blankets, stacks of hats and tall pairs of leather boots, kept her all but hidden while she maintained a clear view of the hotel clerk’s counter.
She didn’t have long to wait for Rogan to appear. With his coat swept back to one side to reveal the gleam of his revolver, he slid a prudent glance around him, but didn’t see her, of course. Not with the brim of her hat low on her forehead and business booming as it was. He said something to the slick-haired clerk, who turned to the rows of mail slots behind him and retrieved the envelope Carina had left only a short time ago. After checking its contents, Rogan smiled, tucked the envelope into his white shirt pocket and left.
As easy as that.
Her stomach tightened. Damn, she hated him.
She did her part by giving him the money. Now, he had to do his by telling her where Mavis had taken Callie Mae.
Except Carina intended to change the rules a bit. To hell with tomorrow, the twenty-four hours he’d instructed her to wait. He would tell her today.
Now.
Her feet moved. Out of the mercantile. Out of the Wright House. She raked her gaze through the throng of men, women and horses to find him and refused to give in t
o the fear that he’d head straight out of town with her money, without giving her the itinerary like he’d promised.
He had little to gain by keeping his end of the scheme, she knew. She’d be foolish to think he would.
Nor would he trust her to sit back and do nothing to retaliate. He’d want to escape her. In a hurry.
She had to stop him before he did. If he didn’t tell her where her daughter was, she’d grab him by the throat and choke the information out of him.
Carina spied him mounted and trotting away from the hitching posts at the far end of the hotel. She rushed off the boardwalk and vaulted onto the Appaloosa to follow.
The narrow corridor of space separating Hoover’s Cigar Store and Zimmermann’s Dry Goods kept Penn hidden in their shadows. He stood far enough back from the boardwalk to prevent folks from noticing he was there, keeping a close eye on the Dodge City Bank right across the street.
Rogan could show any minute. He would’ve snatched Carina’s check by now, but Penn was convinced he wouldn’t keep the draft with him. The evidence of his blackmail. He’d want to get her money deposited in an account fast, keep it locked away safe and ready to withdraw after he escaped.
He wouldn’t get far, Penn vowed. And then sweet revenge would be his.
Plenty of horses and rigs lumbered noisily up and down Front Street. Penn studied them all, just in case one of them held Rogan. Folks went about their business back and forth on the boardwalk—men, women, children—and he studied them, too.
Made the time pass in a hurry. Kept him from thinking of Carina. How she’d be feeling pretty low about now. Sick at heart from what she had to do, with no guarantees giving up her herd would free her daughter from Mavis Webb’s clutches. Penn wished—
A young girl wearing a plaid dress passed by the narrow opening, and his thoughts stumbled to a halt. Red plaid. All by herself, like she’d been in the rail yards.
His lips thinned. Where the hell were her parents? She should be with someone. Anyone. Why wasn’t she?