Wind River Lawman

by Lindsay McKenna

  “You know I do. That’s never been a question.”

  He gazed deeply into her eyes. “Good. I didn’t think it was an issue, but I learned from my marriage to never assume a thing. Asking is always a good thing.”

  She smiled a little. “We’ve always been that way with each other.” She reached out, sliding her hand across his hard thigh, the jean material taut and rough, much like him. “Here’s want I want,” she began softly, moving her fingers slowly down his hard thigh. “I want you to sleep with me tonight, Dawson.”

  He took her hand on his thigh, wrapping it in his, holding her upturned gaze. “We want the same thing.”

  “All bets are off when I wake up,” she warned him throatily. She saw his lips quirk, deviltry dancing in his eyes, his hand tightening around her shoulder momentarily.

  “Yes, they are. Let’s finish our hot chocolate, then go to bed.”

  * * *

  Dawson lay awake for another hour, his mind not shutting down, thanks to the adrenaline still swirling in his bloodstream. Absorbing Sarah’s body heat, her long, shapely body against his, her leg thrown over one of his, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, sleeping deeply, he never wanted anything more. How close they had come to dying out there. His mind skipped over how many things could have gone wrong tonight. Sarah could have been killed. Or him. Or both of them. A shudder worked deeply through him, and he understood once more the fragility of life, how tenuous it really was. It was all brought home to him tonight.

  Inhaling deeply, he smelled her dried hair tickling his jaw, the scent of what she said was guava, a tropical fruit shampoo. Even better, he could inhale the scent of her. It was a heady aphrodisiac. He would never tire of breathing in her fragrance. Or feeling her leaning against him in sleep, that shallow breath slow, telling him she trusted him enough to let go, let him take care of her. Never able to get rid of wanting to protect her, he knew she was a woman who really knew how to take care of herself. They had a relationship of equals. Smiling tiredly, closing his eyes, he slid his arm around her back, holding her lightly, not wanting to awaken her.

  In another half hour, he was sure the dawn would begin to crawl up on the night horizon. Holding Sarah was like holding the life he had been searching for but had never found. His marriage had faltered for many reasons, and he was going to make sure he didn’t make the same mistakes twice. The differences between Lucia and Sarah were vast. Lucia had been eighteen years old when he’d married her. Neither had had the maturity needed to keep a long-term relationship going. How well he could see it now but hadn’t when so much younger. Sarah was twenty-nine years old, had been in love and lost Steve Coris. Each of them had been wounded in different ways, but it seemed to him those events had served to help them draw toward each other, not away. And right after that thought, he fell into a dreamless sleep, the woman he loved fiercely in his arms, at his side.

  * * *

  Sarah awoke slowly, barely lifting her lashes. Becoming aware that she lay sprawled across Dawson, her one arm across his narrow waist, her nose tickled by the dark hair on his chest, the slow up-and-down movement of his breathing brought her heart in sync with his. She felt the expansion of a love that was endless, that moved like silken bonds around her exploding heart, pulsing with quiet joy.

  At last . . . at last, they were together. Barely turning her cheek, which lay against his flesh, she pressed her lips to his chest. His male scent entered her nostrils, part soap and part him. Beneath her lips, she felt his muscles tighten. She continued to place soft, slow kisses on him, becoming lost in who he was to her. Pulling her arm across his waist, she could feel his growing erection and spread her fingers upward to feel the slab hardness of his abdomen, exploring the silky sprinkle of black hair. Dawson was awake, and her kiss turned into a smile as she nuzzled him.

  She felt a fine tension sheeting through him, felt him coming alive from the depths of his own healing sleep. Eyes closed, she felt his fingers tunnel slowly into the strands of her clean hair, memorizing every inch of her. Fingertips massaging her scalp, the wild little electric jolts racing down her skull to her neck, spreading into her upper body, she felt her nipples harden instantly beneath his caring exploration. She felt cherished. Loved. Needed.

  Slowly, she eased away from him, opening her lashes, seeing his gray, stormy eyes studying her with hunger. Her lips parted, and she got to her hands and knees, keeping contact with him. Leaning forward, one hand near his left shoulder, her hair tumbling forward, she leaned over him, seeking his mouth, gliding her lips across him, feeling his hands curve around her back and hip, holding her so he could return her kiss. His mouth met hers with a burning urgency, drawing her down on him, easing her across him so that she lay on top of him, her legs coming to rest between his.

  A low hum of pleasure rose in her throat as he caressed her hip, curving across her rounded cheeks, adoration in his touch. Heat bubbled within her lower body, and she could feel the dampness of need collecting rapidly between her legs. All the while, his mouth was moving across hers, tasting her, matching her eagerness to continue to kiss him, to celebrate their coming together in the most intimate and wonderful ways. She shivered from the way he built a brighter, hotter fire within her. He was in no hurry, sampling her deeply, wanting her against him, wanting her joyous response as well as wanting his. Celebrating together.

  With her eyes closed, she felt all her senses shift to him, to a man who had always treated her as an equal, never less. Dawson had never tried the tired old Neanderthal tactics that so many men still practiced. Instead, he invited her to continue to kiss him at a leisurely pace. It built the coals that had been ignited into burning new life. She had never met a man quite like him. He seemed like an easygoing type B male, but last night, she’d seen the warrior in him come out, and the confidence that came with it. He had saved her life and she knew it. She could never have made it out alive if Dawson hadn’t been there to lead her, show her the escape, have a plan B, helping her climb up into that tree to hide. There was such a celebration going on inside her heart, the love that had grown between them, with the small but oh, so meaningful things he did for her every day. All of them, she realized, sinking against him, his arms wrapping warmly about her, were acts of love.

  She felt him roll her onto her back, and she barely opened her eyes, meeting his intense gray gaze and smiling, sliding her hands down across his taut body. As he eased her thighs open, she closed her eyes, mentally welcoming him to enter her. Sarah wanted . . . needed . . . this fusion with Dawson. Nothing else would bind them as the act of fierce mutual love. Last night, before they slept, they’d talked about this possibility. Each was free of disease. And no, Sarah didn’t like condoms. And yes, she was in a clear space and wouldn’t get pregnant. She disdained birth control pills and any other device altering the natural environment and rhythm of her body. As he framed her face with his hands, looking down into her barely open eyes, she smiled once more, encouraging him to enter her, to make them one.

  As he tipped his head, his mouth crushing hers with breathtaking command, he slipped inside her, moving gently, allowing her body to acclimate to his girth. Just as hungry, Sarah lifted her hands, framing his face, kissing him as eagerly as he was kissing her. She became lost in the beauty of his mouth worshipping hers, moving into her, asking her to participate, and she did. The ancient, rocking movement, the heat and wetness of her body enclosing him, providing that slick and incredible sensation that made her moan with pleasure, was unending, echoing through her body like an ancient song once more joyously remembered.

  Lost in his strong mouth on hers, he slid one hand beneath her hips, lifting her slightly as he moved fully and completely into her. Nothing had ever felt so good, so wonderfully intimate as that one movement. A low moan tore from her lips as he broke the kiss, lifting his head. And as he sampled first one nipple and then the other, a building orgasm was triggered and she cried out, gripping his shoulders, frozen with the ripplelike circles
that enlarged throughout her lower body and engulfing her like a wild tsunami.

  It had been so long since she’d had an orgasm, she nearly fainted from the powerful intensity of it rolling through her. Was it possible to faint from too much pleasure? That one thought flitted across her blown mind as she drifted into white light, consumed and surrounded by it. And then, moments later, Dawson released within her, his low growl, his freezing upon her, his hands on either side of her head all occurring at once. She lay there feeling as if she was floating in a whole new world, but Dawson was with her. He collapsed seconds later atop her, their brows touching each other, their breathing more like animals in rutting season, harsh and explosive.

  How long they lay together, fused, each breathing raggedly in the aftermath, their arms wrapped around each other, she didn’t know. Nor did she care. The lean, tough muscling of Dawson complemented her softer, rounded form. Together, they were one in the best of ways. Slowly, she moved her opened hands, palm down, across his broad, thick back, covered with perspiration. Now she wanted to memorize him, and she did, skimming his waist, narrow hips, taut buttocks and hard, thick thighs. He was beautiful. Utterly beautiful to her.

  He eased out of her, lying beside her, gently gathering her into his arms, one roughened hand splayed across her hips, drawing her against his weakened erection. A pool of heat, of glowing coals, burst back to life within her. She rested her head on his shoulder, content to be cherished by him, his fingers moving through the silky strands of her ginger-colored hair. Soft kisses fell on her hair, her temple and cheek, his breath warm and moist. He moved strands between his thumb and index finger. Kissing her throat, and then her sensitive collarbones, and he made her melt into him in a new and wonderful way. He lavished her with his touch and his mouth, and his callused fingers elicited delightful surges of pleasure across her skin. And somewhere in that world of only feeling good, she drifted off to sleep once again. Only this time, as she felt herself falling into the darkness, she felt safe and loved.

  * * *

  Dawson watched Sarah sleeping. Propped up on one elbow, he kept his arm across her abdomen and hips, wanting to keep in contact with her. He had sensed that even one orgasm would spin her off into another few hours of the sleep she so desperately needed. Sleep was restorative; no one was more aware of that than him. He wanted her whole. And she’d lost so much the past month and a half, that true healing could begin on the deeper levels that flesh couldn’t fix. The woman he loved so much carried other wounds Dawson knew only love could correct over time. And maybe not heal her completely, but to a large extent, Lane would no longer be an anchor she carried on her capable shoulders. Rather, what Dawson hoped for her was that her baby sister would begin to be a warm, fuzzy fluttering in Sarah’s heart and the guilt she carried would dissolve, with only the wonderful memories left instead.

  Wanting to kiss her but knowing it would wake her, he was content to lie beside her and watch the summer sun climbing in the sky, the light leaking in around the drapes across the eastern window. The soft light accented Sarah’s broad forehead, her clean nose, high cheekbones and those luscious lips that fit his mouth so perfectly. Dawson gazed across the landscape of her face, watching how the light caressed her slender neck, her shoulder and collarbone. There was nothing but her beauty wrapping around his heart, in awe that she was perfect for him.

  Sleep was imperative for Sarah. With slow movements designed not to disturb her, Dawson eased out of bed and picked up his clothes, leaving the room. He quietly closed the door and tread down the hallway to the bathroom. A hot shower would revive him. He’d make a large pot of coffee, call Cade at the sheriff ’s department to check in, let him know Sarah was exhausted. Dawson knew Cade would ask him to tell her to come in tomorrow. That would be soon enough. There were a lot of details to tie up regarding the capture of Hiram Elson and his bloodthirsty gang.

  He decided to make them pancakes after he’d had a shower and gotten dressed in jeans, a light blue chambray work shirt and cowboy boots. That had been his uniform of the day since starting to work for Gertie. He’d called her, too, and let her know Sarah was fine and sleeping. Gertie would call the rest of the family, letting them know how she was doing.

  Two hours later, Sarah emerged from the bedroom in her wrinkled nightgown, her hair mussed, looking sweetly drowsy. Dawson had just gotten off the phone from an update on the Elson gang.

  “Hey,” he called, standing up, “how are you feeling?”

  Sarah halted and slowly turned to her right. “Oh . . . I woke up and I was alone.” She pushed her hair off her cheek. “I missed you.”

  Those words meant the world to him. He walked over and pulled her into his arms, and she laid her head against his chest, her arms going around his waist. “I missed you too, but I woke up two hours ago and I wanted to let you sleep.” He kissed her hair, feeling her arms tighten around him. Easing some strands of hair away, he cocked his head, seeing her eyes were closed. She was so vulnerable right now. It was a new level of trust she was establishing with him. Tucking the hair behind her ear, he leaned down and kissed her temple. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes,” she murmured, her voice hoarse with sleep. “What time is it?”

  He looked up at the clock in the kitchen. “Ten o’clock.”

  Gasping, Sarah pulled away enough to look up at him. “You’re kidding me!”

  “No,” he said. “Hey, you’ve been through a lot, sweetheart. Your body is begging you to rest, to get that deep sleep. It’s the best thing for you.”

  She pouted and held his amused gaze. “I need to get to work.”

  “Uh-uh; Cade said to take the day off. I just got off the phone with him and he gave me a detailed update on what was going on. How about you go get a shower, get dressed and I’ll make us some buttermilk pancakes for breakfast? I’ll give you his report then. How does that sound?”

  Sighing, she kissed him lightly and then stepped out of his arms and rubbed her face with her hands. “Cade’s right,” she managed. “I feel whipped even now.” Her hands fell away. “And that was the best orgasm I’ve ever had, Dawson Callahan. I want many, many more of them. Hear me?”

  Sponging in her husky tone, her green eyes lighting up, he laughed. “That’s good to know. I was thinking us making love probably tired you out.”

  She playfully hit his arm. “That would never happen, cowboy. Pancakes sound great. See you in about half an hour. Okay?”

  He patted her rear. “Sounds good to me. How many?”

  “Three. A short stack, please,” she called over her shoulder. “And you for dessert . . .”

  Chapter Twenty

  August 15

  “You takin’ Dawson away from me?” Gertie demanded of Sarah. The three of them sat around the kitchen table, having coffee and dessert after their meal.

  “Only at night, Gertie. You get him five days a week,” Sarah said, spooning in some homemade peach cobbler her grandmother had made earlier in the day. She saw a merry twinkle in the old woman’s eyes.

  “Well,” she said, aiming a dark look at Dawson, who sat to her right, “I need him. He’s really been of great help.”

  “And I like helping you, Gertie,” Dawson said, scraping the bowl clean with his spoon. “Sarah lives five miles away from here. I can always come up here if you need me. It’s a short trip.”

  “Except in winter,” she pointed out smartly, wagging her finger in his direction. “Want second helpings on that cobbler? A little more vanilla ice cream with it?”

  He grinned. “Naw, better stop now. Can I have some tomorrow for lunch?”

  She snickered. “We’ll see. I can’t say there will or won’t be any left by that time. Everyone who lives in the house loves this cobbler.”

  “How about we take a piece for him when we go?” Sarah suggested. She saw Dawson give her a wink.

  “Well . . . yes . . . that would work.”

  Sarah blotted her lips with a bright orange linen napkin and set it
beside her emptied bowl. “That was delicious. I always look forward to the organic peaches down in Salt Lake City becoming ripe.”

  “A shame we can’t have fruit trees and gardens here,” Gertie grumped. “This place only has a sixty-day growing season and nothing’ gets ripe in that time frame.”

  “Nell has a couple of huge greenhouses and she’s able to keep all of us well supplied with organic veggies,” Sarah noted.

  “Yeah, well, I asked her why she didn’t grow some trees inside there. She keeps it heated for eight months outta the year. Fruit trees would grow well in there.”

  “I think I did ask her that,” Sarah murmured, “and she said the greenhouses aren’t big enough to accommodate their size, that the leaf cover would throw shade on the veggies she had growing nearby. And veggies don’t like a lot of shade because it squelches their growth.”

  Rubbing her jaw, Gertie said, “Hmmm, maybe I should have some built that could accommodate fruit trees.” She slanted a look at Dawson. “Is it possible?”

  “Sure, but it would have to be a customized greenhouse.”

  “In your spare time? Could you go check it out online and find out what the costs will be?”

  “I’ll do it first thing tomorrow morning,” Dawson promised.

  Sarah rose and picked up the empty bowls and flatware. “Thanks for the wonderful meal, Gertie. You’re such a great cook!”

  Gertie sat there staring at Sarah, who was still in her sheriff’s uniform, her hair caught up in a ponytail. When she returned to the table, she asked, “Have you two thought about gettin’ hitched?”

  Sarah sat down and picked up her mug of coffee, taking a sip. “We haven’t really talked about it yet, Gertie. Why?”

  “’Cause,” she said, “I have a wedding gift if you can get together and agree to get married.”

  Surprised, Sarah looked across the table at Dawson. “Did you know about this?”

  “Me? No.” He glanced at Gertie. “This is all her doing,” and a grin leaked out the corners of his mouth.