Scarlet Sunset, Silver Nights

by Leigh Greenwood

  “I dreamed of this from the first moment I saw you,” Slade said as his hands moved restlessly across her back, unable to believe the feel of her, unable to believe that she was in his arms at all.

  Pamela chuckled. “I know. Amanda said you men all want the same thing. But she didn’t seem to understand that some women can want it just as much.”

  Slade looked deep into her eyes. There had to be no question this was right. Being given a glimpse of a paradise he might never enter was hard enough. To know he had irreparably injured one of its most precious flowers would be more than his life was worth.

  But there was no doubt in Pamela’s eyes. Her gaze held his, steady and sure. A slow smile of happiness spread over her face. “I used to envy Amanda and Frederick. I don’t any more.” Once more Pamela’s arms closed around him, pulling him close, and Slade willingly acquiesced. For many days and nights he had dreamed of the kisses he would lavish on her if he only could, of the hours he would spend cradling her in his embrace, of the utter bliss it would give his soul to be able to claim this woman as his own.

  Oh God, why couldn’t it go on forever?

  He was afraid the few days and nights they would be allowed would cause more pain than total denial. He was afraid that after a small sip of the nectar of her love, he would be unable to turn his back on her. He was afraid his past would destroy the only woman he had ever really loved.

  But now he was beyond his ability to stop. He loved Pamela body and soul, and for tonight at least he would think of nothing else.

  The bed sheet remained between them, forgotten and unnoticed, still covering and separating their straining bodies. But when Slade’s attention turned to Pamela’s breasts, when his lips and teeth teased her nipples into swollen peaks of passion, it slipped to the floor. Slade’s unrestrained manhood, stiff and impudent, its assault against Pamela’s body already difficult to ignore, made it impossible to disguise the need which raged throughout both of them. With a grunt of animal need, Slade picked her up and carried her to the bed.

  As he did her nightgown slipped from her body.

  Pamela curled up next to Slade, content for the moment to let him shower kisses over her mouth, ears, neck, and shoulders, content to feel the nearness of his body, content to luxuriate in the comfort of his presence. Ever since he had torn down the barriers that afternoon Amanda and Frederick arrived, she had thought constantly about this moment, had dreamed of the culmination of the hard, physical hunger he had planted within her.

  But now, even though his lips and hands were wanning her body to a heat which would soon make it impossible for her to keep still, she derived her greatest pleasure from just being in his embrace. It seemed perfectly normal for her to be naked in his arms. She allowed her fingers to roam across his body, from the soft blond fur on his chest to the tense, corded muscles of his abdomen, to the still-red scar on his shoulder. Something inside her sang out he’s mine and she felt a titillating thrill that it should be so. She allowed her hand to slide down over his side, across his hip, to caress his buttock and was ecstatic with the feeling. Not even the dimensions of his stiff, pulsating manhood, emerging from a tangle of hair only inches from her finger tips, or the knowledge that it must somehow enter her body, had the power to dent her euphoria.

  This man is mine, her heart sang out. For as long as we live, no matter what happens, he’s mine.

  As though he was reading her mind, Slade warned, “If you touch me, I’ll explode.”

  Her hand rested for a moment on his hip. “I want to touch all of you. I want to know everything there is to know about you.”

  “Then start by knowing that a man doesn’t react the same as a woman. What may only cause you to quiver with pleasure can send me over the edge.”

  “You mean I can touch you everywhere except…” She stopped because she didn’t know exactly what word to use.

  “You can touch me anywhere,” Slade told her. “Only not just yet.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will.” he assured her as his hand made a rapid journey over her ribs, feathered against the top of her hip, and dipped into the sensitive crescent between her thighs.

  Pamela breathed quickly, the soft, whooshing intake of air betraying her shock at his rapid descent to the most sensitive part of her being.

  “A man is more sensitive outside than a woman,” he said, as his fingers gently rubbed against her. “You have something to guard you.”

  Pamela wasn’t sure just how sensitive Slade was, but her body was suddenly unable to remain either calm or still. Every part of her felt as if it were alive and of a different mind from its neighbor.

  Then he delved into her inner core and she thought she would self-destruct.

  “Is this what you meant?” she asked, barely able to voice the words.

  “Not yet,” Slade replied, his own voice harsh and breathy. Pamela didn’t know how the sensations attacking her could be any more sharp, any more breath-taking until Slade began to tenderly massage her nub of pleasure with the rough tip of his finger. Gasping for breath, her fingers dug into his arm as her whole body tensed and bucked against the waves of strength-draining pleasure that rocketed through her. The whole length of her body shivered with strength-sapping tension. She tried to relax, but Slade continued to torture her until she groaned in agony.

  “Now?” she gasped, surprised she could still talk.

  “Now,” he replied, “but if you grip me like you’re gripping my arm, you’ll hear a scream of pain.”

  Only by concentrating very hard was Pamela able to keep her fingers from closing convulsively around the hard, hot object which throbbed under her palm. Slowly, tentatively, she allowed her hand to brush its velvet length and was rewarded with a growl of pure agony from Slade.

  “I can’t wait much longer,” she said, as a shudder of pleasure made her teeth chatter worse than an arctic blast.

  “I may hurt you a little at first,” Slade warned, barely able to articulate the syllables. Pamela’s fingers had closed about him in gentle pressure and it was all he could do to retain his self-control.

  “I don’t care,” Pamela answered as her body twisted beneath his touch. “You are driving me crazy.”

  “Relax and open yourself to me,” Slade said.

  Pamela was sure it was impossible for her to do either thing. Her body was rigid, beyond her control. But at Slade’s gentle urging, she was finally able to open her body so he could enter. But even as he moved above her, his hand continued to torture her, continued to cause her body to writhe in sweet, seductive agony.

  She felt a new pressure against her, nudging, pressing, stretching her uncomfortably, but all her concentration was on the finger which continued to inflame her senses.

  Then suddenly it was gone. Her body collapsed in disappointment.

  “I’m sorry,” Slade said, and before she could ask why, he thrust into her.

  A sharp pain caused her to cry out, but almost immediately she felt the same maddening sensation start all over again, only now it was being induced by the velvety-soft skin of Slade’s thick, probing manhood.

  “I won’t hurt you anymore,” he promised and sank his full length into her body.

  Pamela was too overcome to answer. Waves of indescribable pleasure gripped her body from head to toe as she welcomed Slade’s invasion of her body. She clung to him, hoping to drive him deeper, hoping he would reach the hunger that tortured her, hoping he could release the tension that gripped her like a vise.

  As the waves of pleasure continued to wash over her with increasing force, her thoughts became more nebulous. Instinctively she moved with Slade, adjusted her rhythm to fit his, became part of him until she felt she no longer existed separately.

  Slade’s body tensed, his rhythm became uneven, and his breath started to come in soft grunts. Pamela felt the muscles in her own body bunch and gather to welcome the last of his thrusts, to ride down the cresting wave with him. She felt herself
being lifted higher and higher until, with breathtaking suddenness, securely held the entire way in Slade’s warm, gentle arm, she catapulted down the other side into welcome oblivion.

  Chapter 18

  “Nobody’s seen any sign of him,” Gaddy said. “As far as they know, he’s not been to Santa Fe this year.”

  They were in the kitchen. Slade sat at the table, Belva stood at the stove, and Pamela moved back and forth in between. She had stopped when Gaddy entered, certain of his news before he uttered the words. Now she groped for a chair and sank down.

  It hurt Slade to see the bleak look on her face, the pain in her eyes.

  “Did you talk to the marshall?” Slade asked.

  “I talked to just about everybody in town,” Gaddy replied. “I told them I had some important news he had to get in a hurry. Of course I also told them I didn’t know for sure he had come to Santa Fe, just that somebody said they’d heard him mention going that way.”

  “He could have decided to stop somewhere this side of Santa Fe and order his wire,” Slade said, turning to Pamela. “Anybody buying that much in one place is bound to start people asking questions he might not want to answer.”

  “Something has happened to him,” Pamela said. Her face was haggard, her features forced into an expressionless mask. “He didn’t go to Santa Fe because he couldn’t.”

  “He could have gone somewhere else,” Slade suggested.

  “Where?” she asked, eager for the chance to hope once again.

  “I don’t know, but Santa Fe’s not the only town that sells barbed wire or has gunmen hanging around. There’re plenty here in Arizona. Probably more than Santa Fe.”

  “You think he went to Tucson?”

  “That or maybe Tombstone. Maybe even Casa Grande. He could even have stopped at one of those new farming communities on the Gila River. They’re bound to have lots of barbed wire.”

  “But no gunmen.”

  “Maybe not, but I bet they’ve got plenty of sons who’d rather spend their day on horseback than behind a plow.”

  “You really think Daddy’s all right?” She wanted him to say her father was fine. She didn’t know if she would believe him, but she wanted to hear it.

  “I don’t know, but your father must be a tough man to have taken this land from the Indians and held on to it for so many years. Such a man’s not easy to kill. There’s always a chance he went somewhere else. The mail isn’t half so dependable here as it is back East. He could have sent you a letter weeks ago and it not be here yet.”

  “Nobody saw him along the way either,” Gaddy told Slade later as they walked to the corral. “I stopped and asked several times. It’s just like he disappeared.”

  Or somebody killed him before he got very far from his own land Slade thought to himself. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about this whole arrangement didn’t ring true. He agreed with Pamela that Mongo wouldn’t have any reason to hurt her father. But if Mongo hadn’t done it, who had?

  “I’ve got something I want you to do,” Slade said turning to Gaddy. “It might be dangerous, so think before you agree.”

  “What is it?” Slade could tell that Gaddy was excited about being able to do something important, but he could also see the beginnings of caution, and that pleased him. He had handled the trip to Santa Fe well. He was growing up, maturing. It was time to give him something more difficult.

  “I want you to visit every man riding the range,” Slade said. “Talk to them, find out what’s going on, what they’ve noticed. Ask them what they think. You can’t tell them you’re asking for me. Dave’s foreman again, and they’ll wonder what business I have nosing about. Just get them talking and then ask a few questions to steer the conversation in the right direction.”

  That won’t be any problem,” Gaddy said with a sheepish grin. “They all think I’m pretty useless. They’ll say just about anything in front of me.”

  “Play the fool all you like, but be careful,” Slade cautioned. “If there is somebody else behind all this, he’s ruthless. He’s also very smart.”

  “You think he killed Uncle Josh?”

  “Somebody must have at least tried. A man like him doesn’t disappear without a trace.”

  “Well I don’t understand it,” Gaddy said. “Uncle Josh has ridden all over this territory for years. He knows every trick. He wouldn’t be caught by a bushwacker.”

  “I don’t think he was. The danger came from somebody he knew.”

  Gaddy stared, unbelieving.

  “Somebody he knew very well.”

  “But who could it have been? You got any ideas?”

  “No. One disadvantage to being a stranger is you don’t know the people.”

  “I woulda said there was nobody to know.”

  “That could have been your uncle’s mistake, too.”

  Slade lay contentedly, Pamela resting in the circle of his arms. He enjoyed the satin feel of her skin under his hand. They had shared a bed for only three nights, but already she had become an integral part of him. He couldn’t stand the thought of leaving.

  Odd, for the last ten years he had thought that getting someone to love him would be the hard part. After what Trish and his mother had said, he’d assumed it was impossible. Now, at the worst possible time, when he was running for his life, it had happened without him doing a thing. And now his past threatened to destroy his happiness.

  He was fooling himself to think the Briarcliffs wouldn’t follow him. If they wired a description as far away as Maravillas, they meant to come. Maybe not yet, but soon. Sheriff Andy Briarcliff would never let up. He had always disliked Slade. Slade’s having killed his three nephews insured he would hunt him as long as he lived. And he wouldn’t care whether he took Slade back in a saddle or across it. He was a man who liked his reputation with a gun, and he used his position as sheriff to enhance it.

  And what could Slade do? Kill him? That would bring the whole force of Texas law down on him in earnest. They’d probably call in the Texas rangers or the Army. There’d be no hope for him then. He’d simply have to give himself up to certain hanging or disappear into the wilds of Montana or Canada.

  He’d never see Pamela again.

  Even if she wanted to go with him, he wouldn’t let her. It was not the kind of life he would ask the woman he loved to lead. He’d let them take him back to Texas before he’d do something as lowdown as that.

  But that was assuming she would want to go with him, and Slade couldn’t be sure she did. Pamela had some very strong ideas about guns and violence, she had told him so from the beginning. If she ever learned about his past, would she still love him? He doubted it, and he didn’t think he was strong enough to stay and see her love for him die. Leaving would be better than that. At least he would have something to remember.

  But could he leave? Could he give up this chance at happiness? Despite his past failures, there had to be a way if only he could find it. He wasn’t guilty of any crimes. If he could only find a way to prove that. But how? Slade admitted he didn’t know. But there had to be a way.

  If he couldn’t… well, there was plenty of time to think about that later. But one thing was certain. He wouldn’t ask Pamela to become the bride of a hunted man. No matter what it cost him, he’d come to her with pride or not at all.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” Pamela said. She rolled up on her elbow so she could see Slade. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “I can tell it’s not about something that makes you happy.” Slade shook his head. “About the ranch or what happened to Dad?”

  “Neither.”

  “You’re thinking about leaving, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. “Ever since you said you loved me, things have been haunting me just about all the time. I lie awake for hours figuring, trying to come up with some other way, but there just isn’t one.”

  “What are you running from, Slade?”

  �
�My past, a man, a reputation, any one of which is more than enough to destroy any life we might be able to build together.”

  “Can’t you go back and face it, get it over with? I’ll go with you.”

  “If I go back. I’ll be hanged.”

  So there it was, Pamela thought, despondent, the confirmation of her worst fears. Slade was a killer, a man who would be hanged, possibly shot on sight by a respectable citizen. But if this was so—and he had practically confessed it so it must be so—why didn’t she feel sick to her stomach, filled with rage, or even coldly indifferent?

  Because you love him, her heart whispered. And no matter what he has done, you’ll always love him.

  But knowing the man she loved would soon leave her forever did threaten to make Pamela sick. Only the thought of Slade dead could make her feel worse. She didn’t think she could endure that.

  “How soon will you have to go?”

  “I won’t leave until you’re out of danger.”

  “But if they’ll hang you …”

  “Only if they can take me back.”

  But as there would only be two ways Slade could avoid that, by his own death or by leaving Pamela, she couldn’t see any advantage to either.

  “If it’s not safe, I think you ought to leave now,” Pamela said. Those were the most difficult words she had ever said, but she knew she’d never forgive herself if he got caught because he stayed to help her. “Nobody has dared to put their cows on our range since the roundup.”

  “Maybe not the other ranchers, but Mongo is only waiting until…”

  “I don’t want to talk about the ranch and Mongo,” Pamela said as she rolled off her elbow and pulled Slade over to her. “If you insist upon leaving me, I’m not going to waste time on cows. I never liked them, and I doubt I ever will. I have something more interesting to do. Can you guess what it is?”