Colorado Moonfire

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Jack Rafferty was another matter, though. She and that outlaw, a lady-killer in the literal sense, had looked pretty chummy when he’d entered the wagon. The howling dog, the fresh grave, and Lyla’s tear-streaked face were evidence that he’d just missed an upsetting event, which Connor Foxe had undoubtedly caused. Was she planning to accompany Rafferty to those parts unknown? Perhaps he should’ve asked her that flat-out—given her the choice, rather than assuming she still cared for him after all these weeks.

  She thought you were dead, damn it, he reasoned. Compared to Frazier, even a mangy outlaw with an overgrown mustache looked good. She was alone, defenseless—

  Lyla sucked in her breath when the marshal swore suddenly and urged his horse onto a traveled, vaguely familiar trail. Where was he taking her? Had he changed his mind about wanting her, after seeing her in Rafferty’s arms?

  Barry steered Buck off the main road toward a small abandoned cabin nestled in a grove of trees. She sensed he’d made a decision, or changed his mind about whatever he was stewing over, and she wasn’t sure the turnabout in his attitude was to her benefit. “Where’re we going?” she mumbled.

  “To that shack.”

  “But—” Lyla swiveled to gaze in all directions, her heart pounding. “If Foxe’s men are guarding the border—”

  “That creek we crossed was the open boundary Matt told me about. We’ve been off his property for the past couple miles, on the Gold Camp Road.”

  Her eyes widened. She’d ridden Calico along this trail when she went to the Flaming B, but the scenery and landmarks looked different, coming from this direction. They were free, and she hadn’t even known! Yet as they dismounted in front of a weathered little shed that groaned with the wind, Barry’s ominous expression warned her this stop was no celebration party.

  He gripped her shoulder as he opened the decrepit door. When Lyla’s eyes adjusted to a dimness lit by stripes of light from missing boards, she saw the scattered remains of what had been a ranchhand’s furniture. Some animal had made its nest in the potbellied stove long ago. The doors to the pie safe gaped open and the braided rug was damp and musty-smelling. Little drifts of snow lay in odd spots, and the heavy wooden table sitting in the center of the room was fuzzy with an undisturbed layer of dust.

  It was here Thompson planted her, swinging her up to sit on the table’s top before she could ask what he was doing. When Lyla saw the marshal’s taut jaw and relentless gaze, she knew better than to challenge him.

  Barry studied her for several moments, reminding himself not to let his joy at seeing her color his interrogation. With her honey hair tumbling over a jacket that looked two sizes too large, her legs dangling several inches from the floor, and her wind-pink, freckled cheeks glowing beneath huge periwinkle eyes, Lyla resembled a little girl dressed in her big brother’s clothing—which she was. A precious, tempting little girl with secrets he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  But it was now or never: he could travel no farther without hearing her story. If Frazier Foxe had convinced her to keep silent, his case against the finagling financier was lost for want of a witness. And if that’s how her loyalties lined up, well…he might as well have died in that fire.

  The marshal cleared his throat, his hands resting on her shoulders. “It’s time we talked,” he began quietly. “I’ve told you how I spent this past month and a half; now it’s your turn.”

  Lyla wasn’t afraid of him, exactly, but he towered over her, restored to his full physical strength now. His coat hung open, revealing a shirt that tugged against a muscular chest, and powerful hips and thighs poised as though to catch her, should she try to escape. Barry Thompson was truly intimidating from this angle, and his stern expression left her mute with confusion.

  He felt her shoulders trembling and realized he was guilty of overkill. While he’d spent his days regaining his strength, this little waif had dwindled away despite being surrounded by Frazier Foxe’s lavish furnishings and finery. It didn’t make sense…unless she’d been subjected to abuse that left only invisible scars; torture of the most excruciating sort.

  Barry let his hands drift down the sleeve of her jacket until he was gripping her fingers. He raised them to his lips, kissing each knuckle, watching the aquamarine and diamond stones sparkle, feeling a wistfulness beyond words. “I’m sorry.” he sighed “If it hurts too much to talk about what that miserable bastard did to you, I’ll understand. But I’m confused, honey—you’re wearing my ring, yet you’re engaged to Frazier, and a blind man could see Rafferty had designs on you. I…where do I stand, Lyla?”

  His jagged voice cut straight to her soul. She removed his hat to stroke his light brown hair and instinctively cradled his head against her shoulder. “It was my love for you—dreams of you—that kept me from going insane, even though I thought you were gone forever,” she whispered against his ear. “So stand anywhere you want to, Barry. More than anything, I’d like you to be standing beside me at the altar on St. Valentine’s Day.”

  The thought of going through with a wedding Frazier Foxe had planned repelled him, yet her intended meaning rang as clearly as her Irish accent. Barry raised up to gaze into her eyes, which were bright and unwavering now. His heart was thundering so hard he could barely hear himself as he asked, “You still want me, then?”

  “More than ever, love,” she murmured. “It was wanting you that made me feel alive among people who might as well be dead. Oh, Barry—”

  She kissed him hungrily, as though she could never get enough. Here was the sustenance she’d yearned for while sitting at Allegra Keating’s barren meals. Barry tasted as delicious as the Delmonico’s dinner she’d devoured and intoxicated her like the wine, yet he was infinitely more satisfying than either. His lips responded with deep, eager pressure as his hands slipped behind her head to hold her until he, too, had gotten his fill.

  “I never meant to doubt you, honey,” he whispered into her hair. “I just had to hear it—wanted to fill in some gaps, and—”

  “I know a gap you can fill, marshal,” Lyla said coyly. She ran the tip of her tongue along his ear, giggling when he jolted against her in surprise.

  It was a bolt of pure passion that nearly knocked him off balance. One moment he’d had her on the defensive and before he could breathe again she’d propositioned him! “You sound like some hussy—”

  “You’ve bedded a few of those and liked it, as I recall.”

  “But—” She was slipping her coat off, gazing up at him as though she were quite serious about seducing him. “That was before I met you, Lyla. You deserve to be courted, and I—I vowed to McClanahan I was going to keep my pants on until—”

  “It was too late for that a long time ago, love. And what Matt doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Lyla felt excitement rising up from deep inside her as she took in his shocked expression. She unbuttoned her shirt, still teasing, yet suddenly overtaken by the aching she’d felt every night she’d slept alone, wanting him. “Why, I can recall a time you were going to whisk me away from the Rose, despite the scandal it would cause…a certain evening I didn’t think my lavender gown would get buttoned before you ravished me in the pantry.”

  It was true—Lord, every word brought back images of the Irish imp who smelled of schnapps and felt warm and soft as he cupped her. Those same breasts were peeking at him from beneath a sheer, lacy camisole Foxe must’ve bought her…but that hardly mattered now. Thompson felt himself straining against his pants, and then damned if she didn’t reach for his fly buttons!

  “Lyla—sweetheart—”

  “You’d rather do it yourself? Fine!” she exclaimed with mock indignation. She drifted back onto her coat, reclining on the table so she could remove her pants. Where this wanton desperation came from, she didn’t know. But she had to love him again, had to feel Barry’s body caught up with the same relentless desire that was driving her to behavior she’d never dreamed herself capable of.

  There she was, a lovely young woman displ
ayed before him without the least bit of coaxing on his part. Her delicate underthings covered her with a gossamer softness he had to touch. Barry found himself tugging her boots and pants off as though he had no control over his movements, as though the sheer willfulness behind those blue eyes was manipulating him.

  To think that he’d made love to this charming nymph and couldn’t remember it! Her hair tumbled down over proud shoulders and pert breasts he longed to bury his face in. Lyla was thinner now, her body tapering to hips that remained lush and thighs that formed an exquisite frame around a triangle of dark curls that teased at him from beneath her dainty drawers.

  Thompson gasped softly. “Jesus, you’re—Lyla, honey, it’s so cold in here you can see your breath, and you’ll catch—”

  “For a man who can do it in his sleep, you’re mighty damn finicky!” She rolled sideways off the table and was stalking toward the door before he realized he should grab her. Her hair bounced over silken pantaloons that swayed provocatively with her anger. Her legs were more perfectly proportioned than many a taller woman’s he’d known, and damned if she wasn’t heading outside, straight toward Buck!

  Lyla let out a hoot when Thompson scooped her up from behind, and then she giggled uncontrollably.

  “Just where do you think you’re going, dressed only in your skivvies, Miss O’Riley?” he breathed.

  “Why, I was chasing after you, marshal,” she replied, “and it looks like you caught me after all.”

  “You scheming little—” Barry turned her in his arms as he carried her back inside, out of the wind. She was unbuttoning his shirt, teasing his neck with kisses in all his sensitive spots as though she’d learned that trick during years of experience at the Rose.

  She hadn’t, of course. It was Lyla’s spritely innocence that was breaking down his last defenses, and as he backed her against the wall of the cabin to kiss her, he wondered why he’d been resisting her anyway. Lyla wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his passion, play for play. Her legs encircled his waist, and he groaned. “At least let me pull my pants down before you—”

  “What’s taking you so long?” she demanded, her voice tight with a yearning that drove him over the edge.

  “Hang on,” he rasped.

  “I wouldn’t dream of letting you go, love.”

  “I—I hope I don’t hurt—” Lord, he’d barely gotten unbuttoned and she was wriggling her toes into his waistband to push his pants out of the way! Barry worked himself out of his underwear flap and then yanked feverishly at her drawers, his pulse pounding. She was so tiny in his arms, he’d surely tear her apart when he—

  Lyla gasped at the first touch of his hot, bare skin on hers. He was cradling her bottom in his hands while leaning her shoulders against the wall, his breathing a rapid pant that matched her own. Wrapping her ankles about him, she let herself hang loosely enough that Barry could guide her toward the joining she so urgently wanted. What were these wild feelings that set her body afire? Why couldn’t she hold still and enjoy his caresses at a more leisurely—

  His manhood found the moist groove between her thighs and he rocked against her, rubbing the outside of her, allowing Lyla’s writhing to slicken the path he was about to lead her down. This wasn’t the romantic, tender rendezvous he’d envisioned countless times these past weeks, yet—

  She arched and took him in, her mouth open in a silent cry of ecstasy. Barry crushed her hips against his, too far gone to wonder if she was ready to explode with him. She was hot and wet and wonderfully tight, so agile and light in his arms. Her whimpers drove him faster until release washed over him with a hoarse cry he wasn’t sure was his own.

  Lyla felt an untamed desire stalking her like a lynx, poised to pounce…hovering, tensing, until she leapt and felt herself flying over the edge of a climax that nearly rendered her senseless. She clung to Thompson’s heaving chest, nestling against a heart that was pounding like a stampede of wild stallions.

  When he could move again, Barry lifted her to his shoulder so he could turn and collapse with his back to the wall. Had he crushed her? Had the rough siding of the cabin cut into her back? Lyla was curled against him like a child, her eyes closed and one delectable breast peeping over the top of her camisole. So many things he’d meant to savor, so many endearments he’d lost in the frenzy. And all he could think to murmur was, “Next time, we’re lying down.”

  “Ah, but wasn’t it grand?”

  His heart sang out at the awed sweetness of her whispered reply. She was his, this flirtatious beauty he feared had been stolen away from him body and soul, and Barry vowed more fiercely than before to get Frazier Foxe convicted of his crimes and out of their lives. He kissed the downy softness beneath her ear, marveling again that he’d pleased her. “We’d better dress, honey,” he said quietly. “We’re by no means out of the woods where Foxe is concerned.”

  Lyla nodded and let herself slide to the floor, careful not to stumble over the pants puddled around his ankles. “Where will we go? If you can’t be seen—”

  “To your cabin, for now,” he replied. He tucked himself back into his union suit and had to chuckle when he caught Lyla watching him.

  “To find out what you missed last time you were there?” she asked saucily.

  “That, and to figure out how we’ll snare ole Frazier before he retaliates for this little escape of yours.” Barry hurriedly finished dressing, amazed at how drafty the shack felt now that his woman was no longer making love to him. “It’ll help if you can talk about what happened while you were at the house—what you saw, what was said.”

  “Aye,” Lyla replied with quiet determination. “It’ll make your ears burn, marshal, but by the saints, I’ll get him back for what he did to me! And I know just how to do it, too!”

  Barry smiled, his admiration swelling within him. Lyla looked a bit haggard, yet her spirit was renewed and he had no doubt she’d succeed with whatever scheme she was cooking up. Moments later they were mounting Buck, heading back to the Gold Camp Road, which would take them to Victor and the trail leading along Phantom Canyon.

  The wind whistled around them and Lyla snuggled closer. He kissed her hair, grateful for her pluck and for the fates that had brought them together again. On an impulse he turned to look back at the cabin, and then steered Buck around in a semicircle.

  Lyla gaped. The ramshackle shed was shuddering in a gust of wind coming down from the mountains, and slowly, with a groan, it sagged and then collapsed.

  Thompson cleared his throat. “I, uh, guess we brought the house down, Miss O’Riley.”

  She laughed, unable to hold her newfound joy inside her. “Well! There was never any doubt in my mind!”

  Chapter 26

  While Barry put his horse in the shed, Lyla fumbled with the lamps. The cabin was dark yet cozy in its familiarity, and as the wicks flickered and brought her belongings out of the shadows, she breathed easier.

  Nothing had been disturbed. Her herbs and plants needed water, and a mouse had left his trail in the kitchen; the simple hominess of the little house wrapped its arms around her and made her feel welcome. Frazier could have his fine art and oversized mansion! Here Lyla drew her strength from the unspoiled wilderness and the green things that grew at her slightest encouragement. Here she could be herself, and she’d find a way to be free of the Foxe brothers forever.

  But right now she had another man on her mind, a man whose subtle caresses and whisperings had made her feel alive with anticipation ever since they’d left the collapsed cabin. Recalling what he’d told her, Lyla had to struggle with the logs in the fireplace, her clumsiness a sign of her simmering arousal.

  When the door opened and closed behind her, she continued to stack the contrary pieces of wood. Barry was silent, watching her so intently she could feel his gaze along her backside. It made her so nervous the logs fell into a shapeless heap again.

  Then he was beside her, smiling as his large, competent hands arranged the pieces with the appr
opriate sizes and spaces in place. “I’m going to light you a perfect fire,” he murmured, “a blaze that’s warm and steady, that won’t need tending while I make love to you, Lyla.”

  He struck a match while she gazed at him, speechless. The tiny light lit the laugh lines around his glowing eyes and made the blond highlights sparkle in his hair. His smile set her insides to quivering and he kissed her lightly before setting fire to the dry twigs in the center of the woodpile.

  How he was going to keep himself under control until he’d pleasured every inch of her was beyond him. Crouching close by, her face lovely in the brightening firelight, Lyla looked just as nervously eager as he felt. Barry couldn’t remember a woman who’d filled him with such heightened anticipation. All who’d come before her seemed to wither and blow away like petals of faded flowers, and that pleased him.

  “We won’t be needing these coats,” he suggested quietly. He shrugged out of his own and stood to hang their jackets on pegs by the door. Glancing around the tidy little cabin, he sensed that everything in it reflected Lyla’s talents and loves. Her red geraniums were blooming profusely, in the dead of winter, and the dried herbs hanging from the kitchen rafters gave the place a fresh, pleasant smell. Green philodendron stretched across the mantel, simple curtains adorned the windows. A glance at the short, single-sized bed made him chuckle.

  “Can’t say I remember much from my first visit,” he said ruefully, “but it feels damn good to be here again, honey. Stand up. Let me take those clothes off you so I can see the woman I love.”

  Mute with awe, Lyla stood despite knees that threatened to knock. Why was she suddenly so shy, when his kisses and suggestions during the ride had made them both laugh lightheartedly? Barry caressed her cheek with fingertips so tender it made her want to cry out. With the lovelight shining in his eyes, intensified by the flickering fire, he was indeed a vision of love she’d only dreamed of before.

  He unbuttoned her shirt slowly, wondering if she’d stop shaking when she got warmer. Lyla’s eyes took up half her face; when he undid her cuffs and removed the plaid flannel, he felt like he was unveiling a priceless statue. Her filmy camisole rose and fell on the peaks of breasts that made him suck in his breath.