Soul of the Wildcat

by Devyn Quinn

  Jesse shook his head. “Medical supplies, yes. Food, no. We’re shit out of luck on that count.”

  She pressed a hand to her woozy forehead. “Guess I will have to pass out then.” Unconsciousness might be more merciful at this point.

  Jesse grinned. “Not so fast. Help might yet be on the way.”

  “What are you going to do,” she groused. “Go out and catch us something to eat?”

  “If it weren’t storming, that would be an option,” he said. “I’m a pretty good hunter on four paws. In this case, however, I think we’ll have to thank our old friend Rusty for our snacks.”

  She brightened. “Snacks?” She gave him a suspicious look. “You been holding out on me, Jesse?”

  “You had the coat while I was gone. For all I know you gobbled up everything.” Standing up, he reached for the outlaw’s overcoat.

  Dakoda perked up. She’d been too busy trying to stay warm to think about riffling through the coat for something to eat. It simply hadn’t occurred to her to look. “What are you saying?”

  Jesse flipped open the coat, showing her its inner pockets. “Turns out old Rusty is a true mountain man. He’s stuffed every pocket with items you’d need in a pinch.” He pulled out a handful of foil-wrapped packets. “Dehydrated, high-calorie food bars.”

  Dakoda had to restrain herself from making a grab for the precious items. “I don’t care what it is, as long as you can eat it.”

  He laughed and handed over a couple of the bars. “You can. It says on the side of the wrapper they’re edible for five years.”

  Dakoda tore through the plain silver wrapping. The food bar inside was dry and hard. She took an experimental nibble, breaking off a bite between her teeth. Chewing slowly, she cautiously swallowed down the mass. “Not real good,” she commented, taking another bite. “But not real bad. Tastes like one of those Danish butter cookies, except without the flavor.”

  Jesse tore off a chunk of his. “A really dry butter cookie,” he agreed, washing his bite down with a sip of tequila. He eyed the worm floating at the bottom of the bottle. “I may yet consider that dessert.”

  Shoving another bite in her mouth, Dakoda squinched up her face. “Oh, yuck. I think I’ll pass on the insect.” She chewed slowly, careful not to rush and gulp down her food. The last thing she needed was a bellyache.

  He laughed and winked. “A half hour ago you were ready to wrestle me to get it.”

  Finished with her first bar, Dakoda ripped open another packet. “That was before I got my hands on these. I’m pretending they’re biscotti and that I have a nice hot cup of coffee with extra cream and sugar to dip them in.” She devoured the second bar, which tasted vaguely like apples and cinnamon. By the time she’d swallowed the last bite, the hungries had begun to subside, leaving her with a warm, contented feeling. Her head still swam pleasantly from the alcohol she’d consumed, just enough to blunt the unpleasantness of their present dilemma.

  Tomorrow the pressing problems of escape and survival would return. But for now those things were temporarily put aside. By some grace they’d managed to stumble into a safe haven, however temporary. Thank the drug dealers for that. No telling how long had passed since the plane went down. Out in the middle of nowhere, most wreckage took years to discover, if it was found at all.

  “Missing the comforts of home?” Jesse asked, jarring her out of her thoughts.

  She blinked, startled by the question. He had an uncanny way of homing in on what she was thinking. “Honestly? I am. I’d give my eyeteeth for a hot shower. I don’t think I’ll ever be completely warm again.”

  Finished with his meal, Jesse leaned back against the stacked bales. “I wonder if this shit’s any good.”

  Dakoda’s brows rose. “You mean, smoke it?”

  He poked his pocketknife through the plastic covering. “Smells decent.” He reached for the breast pocket of his borrowed shirt, producing a roll of cigarette papers. “And our man Rusty liked to make his own.” Picking out some of the marijuana, he expertly rolled himself a thick joint.

  Dakoda frowned. “You’ve got some experience there,” she noted dryly.

  Jesse beamed and lit up with his borrowed cigarette lighter. The end flared red when he took his first puff. “College, man. The parties, the chicks, the keggers. Shit, those were the days.” He inhaled deeply, then sent out a stream of smoke.

  The cloyingly sweet odor of the marijuana singed Dakoda’s nostrils. She waved a hand in front of her face, chasing the tendrils of white smoke away. “That does bring back memories.” She frowned. Unfortunately they weren’t very good ones.

  “You toke a few?” he asked, offering her the joint.

  Dakoda shook her head, declining. “I used to have a little problem with the stuff,” she admitted honestly. “I did more than my share and then some.”

  His brows rose in surprise. “You don’t strike me as the party hearty type.”

  She allowed a dry laugh. “I was the type through most of my teenage years. You could say I was a chip off my mother’s block, following in her footsteps.”

  He considered the joint he’d rolled, letting it burn. “Did your mom do a lot of drugs?” His question delivered a hard jolt.

  Dakoda’s mouth thinned, the beginning of a snarling comeback. Somehow she held the impulse in check, swallowing back the bitterness. His question was entirely reasonable. She didn’t have to give him a detailed history. A short, sweet answer would suffice. “Let’s just say my mother wasn’t going to win any parent of the year awards. The only time she was clean was when she was in jail, and even then she managed to get things smuggled in. Saying she had a bad drug problem doesn’t even begin to describe my mother’s addictions.”

  Jesse must have sensed her tension and discomfort in the presence of a drug she’d once indulged in with little regard for the damages it would do to her mind, or her status as a juvenile delinquent. Licking his thumb and forefinger, he extinguished his smoke.

  He flicked the butt away. “You said a few things earlier, about your mom and the fact you didn’t know your father. Sounds like things were rough when you were a kid.” His voice had lost the playful tone, becoming serious.

  For just a moment Dakoda considered changing the subject. Then she shook off the impulse. Hiding her past was the same as running from it. Instead of being ashamed of where she’d come from, she should be proud she’d overcome the handicap of having an irresponsible parent.

  She drew a long breath. “Listen, I’m going to tell you the truth,” she said, going flat out and straight ahead. “My mom was nothing but a whore, a druggie, and a petty thief. I never saw much of her because she was usually in the slam, or off partying. My dad—” She shrugged. “Like I told you. She probably didn’t know him long enough to even get his name. More than likely, he picked her up as a twenty-dollar trick, and never even knew he’d made a kid.”

  Jesse held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Whoa! I think I’m detecting a little bitterness there.”

  “You could say I’m a little pissed,” Dakoda agreed, at the same time wondering why her inner anger would choose to rear its head just now. She usually tried not to let the past intrude on the present, yet somehow the bad old days had a way of creeping in when she least expected their arrival. “While other kids were going to school, and bringing cookies their moms baked, I was shacked up with whoever she could shove me off on. I can’t tell you how many men we’d lived with by the time I was fourteen.”

  A low whistle escaped him. “Damn. I’m sorry. That must have been tough.”

  She laughed shortly. “Hey, it’s the card I drew being born. I guess I’m lucky. Of all the kids she got knocked up with, I’m the only one she didn’t abort or give away.” Feeling a knot forming in the back of her throat, she lapsed into silence. In her mind the past should be dead and gone. Poking through the graveyard of memories wouldn’t do her any good.

  Jesse leaned forward, reaching out to brush her tangled hair away fr
om her face. “She must have known there was something special about you, Dakoda. You were the one she held on to.”

  Suddenly unwilling to be the recipient of his pity, she pushed his hand away. His touch held too many implications, things she wasn’t sure she was ready or able to deal with, no matter how attracted she was to him.

  Bile simmered, creeping up the back of her throat. She forced herself to meet his gaze without blinking. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” she snapped without thinking. “You think that was a good thing, being dragged around like so much garbage?” She regretted the words the instant they sped past her lips, but it was too late to take it back.

  He slowly shook his head. “I’m not saying it was a good thing. What I am saying is that what happened in your past made you the person you are today. People don’t become rangers just because they have a whim. You’ve obviously worked hard to get where you are, and you did that by not letting the past hinder you.”

  She slumped back against the bales. Her vision began to blur, her eyes pricked by the rise of tears behind her lids. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” She blinked away the offending mist of emotion. “I can’t take credit for doing all the hard work, Jesse. The last man my mom hooked up with before she crashed and burned is the one who ended my career as budding criminal. Ash. Ash Jenkins. He took care of me when no one else wanted me.”

  He nodded his understanding. “So you did have someone good in your life?”

  Dakoda nodded. “Yeah. Ash was a cop. He forced me to straighten up, get clean, and fly right. How he ended up with my mom, I’ll never know. I think it was his desire to rescue a lost soul. He always believed people could change. Too bad some people are rotten to the core.”

  She closed her eyes a moment, allowing the memories in. These were the good ones, the ones she was happy to remember. It was easy to picture her stepfather. A big, burly man, he could kick ass with the best of them, then just as easily turn around and save a tiny kitten out of a drainpipe. Just being a good human being wasn’t enough for Ash. He believed to serve and protect his fellow man was the best pursuit in life. In that belief, he was an extraordinary man.

  “You said was,” Jesse commented quietly. “Did something happen?”

  Remembering how her stepfather had died, Dakoda felt her stomach clench, then commence a backward slow roll. It was a little more than ironic the two men she’d valued as mentors had both been shot down in the line of duty.

  Forcing her eyes open, she sucked in a quick breath through her teeth. Though they’d turned off the little penlight to preserve the batteries, she could still make out Jesse’s figure between intermittent flashes of lighting. She was glad he couldn’t see her clearly, tell how close she was to crying.

  “He was killed,” she finally said, jaw tightening around the toughest three words in the world to spit out. “Some punk with a gun and an attitude. They never caught the little bastard.”

  Jesse’s dark gaze met hers. By the illumination of the flickering lightning his eyes danced with unnatural glimmerings. “I’m sorry,” he murmured simply.

  “Don’t be.” Feeling as limp and spent as a wet dishrag, Dakoda scrubbed both hands across her numb face. Her eyes were scratchy with exhaustion, and every bone in her body ached. “Let’s not talk any more.” She sighed. “All I want to do now is lie down and rest my eyes for a little while.”

  Jesse grunted his assent, then gave a yawn and a stretch. “I have to admit I could use a little nap myself.” Standing up, he started to strip out of his clothes. Rusty’s flannel shirt had turned out to be a tad too small for him, and the material was tautly stretched across his broad shoulders and chest. The cuffs rose at least two inches above his wrists.

  Catching a flash of naked skin, Dakoda felt her stomach make a quick backflip. “What are you doing?” The temporary resentment she’d felt against him faded away. Must be nice to be such a free and easy spirit, she thought, carrying no baggage through life.

  Spreading the shirt over the top of the bales, he kicked off his shoes. “Getting out of these wet clothes.” The borrowed jeans followed. A little too tight, they clung to every curve of his ass and hips. He wrestled them down his legs, then stepped out of the mass. Because the jeans had been snug, he’d had to discard the breechclout to get them on. Shirt and jeans gone, he was back to the state he seemed to be most comfortable in.

  Buck-ass naked.

  16

  Dakoda couldn’t help staring. God, Jesse Clawfoot was a beautiful man. His nudity was mesmerizing, erotic, and enticing. There was something magical about him, in the way his slightest touch sizzled over her skin. It was as if he held some inner electrical charge, and her body completed the connection that would make the power surge. If she looked close enough she fancied she could almost see the glow radiating inside him.

  She held out a hand. “I think I need a little help.” A tremor ran up her spine. His waiting body promised all kinds of carnal pleasures.

  Pleasures she was too weak to resist. More to the point, his touch was a pleasure she didn’t want to resist. He knew just how to make love to her, giving her all the delightful gratification she could handle, and more.

  Jesse’s fingers curled around hers. His grip was firm as he lifted her to her feet. “Careful there,” he breathed. “Try not to put your weight on your ankle.”

  Dakoda leaned against the hard plane of his chest. The brush of damp lace cups against her sensitized nipples tormented her. The first heat of desire trickled between her thighs. Need swamped her like the waves of a storm-tossed sea. “Thanks,” she breathed.

  “No problem,” he murmured into her hair.

  She struggled with the zipper of her jacket, barely able to make her hands work. Damn, she didn’t think she’d had that much to drink, but apparently she was mistaken. The thing confounded her.

  Jesse took over. “Let me,” he offered, one corner of his mouth turning up in a suggestive smile. Metal on metal crunched. He slipped her jacket off her shoulders, draping it over the edge of the bales. “Now your shirt.”

  Dakoda’s head tipped back. “Okay,” she breathed. Her legs quivered, close to collapsing under her weight. Fearing she would fall, she held on to him tighter. All she wanted was for him to hold her, love her…

  His fingers plucked at the front of her shirt, slowly undoing each button. A moment later Jesse slid her shirt off her shoulders. Her bra followed. Cool air caressed her bare skin, sending a spray of goose pimples across her exposed flesh.

  His breath hitched. “Damn, you’re so gorgeous.” He shifted closer, running the tips of his fingers across the curve of her collarbone. “Every time I get close to you, I get hard.”

  Feeling the heat emanating from his eager body, her mouth curled. She might have said something similar about her own physical reactions. “What are you going to do with all that surging testosterone?” she breathed in a coy voice.

  His featherlight caress swept up her neck, gently tipped back her head. “Well, I can think of a few ways to ease the tension,” he said. “That is, if you’re not too tired to submit to a little friendly molestation.”

  Dakoda leaned into him. The tips of her nipples rasped against his bare chest, sending a delicious shiver of anticipation shimmying down her spine. Somehow the outside world always seemed to fade away when they were together. When his arms were around her, embracing her, everything felt good. Right.

  “Molest away,” she breathed.

  Dakoda didn’t get a chance to say much more. His mouth settled on top of hers, the beginning of a slow and gentle kiss that rocked her senses. Arms circling his neck, she willingly opened for him as his tongue pressed against the seam of her lips. Granted entry, he eased his tongue into her mouth, conquering with a silk-warm stroke. He tasted like tequila, an enticing flavor that made her entire body quiver.

  Closing her eyes, Dakoda let him lead in the sweet, slow dance their bodies knew so well. His lips charted a new course, lower, tracing t
he soft curve of her chin, then nibbling along the pulse beating frantically beneath the surface of her skin.

  Dakoda shivered as Jesse’s big palm cupped the curve of one breast, his thumb sweeping over the pebble-hard tip. “Feel good?” he murmured, catching her bottom lip between his teeth and giving it a gentle tug.

  “Umm, yesss….” Dakoda’s pulse thrummed behind her temples, each pounding beat keeping time with the anticipation coiling deep inside her core. Her body ached, her nipple peaking as he tugged and rolled the sensitive tip.

  He brushed another soft kiss against her lips. “I want you,” he breathed into her mouth. “But only if it’s something you want, too.”

  Dakoda gasped out a strangled giggle. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about all day,” she confessed, her tongue loosened by the alcohol she’d consumed. Slipping a hand between them, she curled her fingers around his jutting erection. “Judging by the size of this, you have, too.”

  Jesse moaned softly, slipping a hand between her thighs and rubbing slow circles against the crotch of her slacks. “All I want is to slide into that warm, tight cunt of yours.”

  “Need to get these pants off,” she mumbled, trying to keep one hand on his magnificent cock while working the button of her slacks with the other.

  Jesse caught both her hands. “Slow down.” He pressed her back against the stack of marijuana bales, settling her butt on the edge. “You just relax and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Dakoda clenched her teeth. Relaxing was the last thing she had on her mind. “I’m not sure I can wait,” she gritted. “I’m already creaming my panties.” Though she rarely talked in a raunchy or racy way during sex, somehow it felt right with Jesse. He truly brought out the bad-girl side she’d kept bottled up and stifled for so long.

  For the first time in her life she was able to recognize and enjoy her sensuality. Men had taken her body before, used her, sometimes even abused her. She’d taken it, because that’s what women did. Shut up and spread their legs, praying to get the fucking over with minimal damage.