by Bobbi Smith
Lance smiled wryly. "I thought so at first, Trista, but you played well upon my heart, woman. I became the captive, not you."
A soft smile curved the corner of her mouth, and she went into his arms. "I will hold you captive forever, Lance Barrett."
"There is no need for bonds between us, Trista. It is my heart that is your captive, and it would not dare escape you," he murmured as he lowered his head to hers and claimed her lips in a gentle exchange.
What began as a tender embrace suddenly threatened to explode into fiery passion. Lance pulled away.
"Trista?"
"What, Lance?" she asked as she moved toward their bed, discarding her loose Indian clothing as she went.
"Trista . . . " He cleared his throat nervously. "Are you sure this is all right?"
They had been sleeping together every night, but he had not attempted to make love to her during this time, for he was afraid of hurting her in some way. Now, as he watched her teasingly disrobing before him, his long-denied desires surged almost painfully to life. He wanted her badly, but he would not take her unless he was certain he would not harm her.
"Lance, there is nothing that would make me feel better right now than to make love to you. Please, Lance . . . love me. . . ." She whispered the last seductively as she dropped the final article of her clothing and reclined in blatant sensual invitation on the bed.
All his logical reasons for not taking her were swept from Lance's mind at the sight of her waiting for him so eagerly on his bed. Needing her, wanting her, craving the closeness of union with her, he quickly stripped off his clothing and joined her there. Their lips met and parted as his tongue thrust boldly within the honeyed sweetness of her mouth. His hands skimmed over her satiny curves, bringing her passion to blossom.
Trista, too, felt the need to touch him, and her hands restlessly traced the muscle-ridged width of his back down to the slim, driving potency of his hips. He taunted her with knowing caresses even as he explored the silken cords of her throat with heated kisses. Ecstasy flooded through Trista at his arousing exploration, and she arched up into his male hardness, needing more from him . . . needing oneness with him.
Lance sensed the urgency of her desire, but tempered his pace. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him, yet he didn't want to rush. He sought to slow their ascent.
"Easy, darling. There's no need to hurry. . . ."
"But I've missed you, Lance. I want you inside me so much. Please, love me now. Don't make me wait any longer to have you."
Her words almost broke his will to restrain himself, and his mouth sought hers with a fierce urgency. "I want to go slowly. . . . I don't want to hurt you. . . ."
"You won't hurt me. The only thing that hurts is the emptiness I feel. . . ." She moaned as his mouth descended to her breasts to kiss that sensitive flesh. Eagerly, she began to move rhythmically against the hard press of his hips. Trista understood his hesitancy, but she wanted to assure him that it was all right, that making love to her wouldn't disturb her wound.
A quiver of excitement shook Lance as she wrapped her legs around his, and his firm resolve to love her gently was lost. Positioning himself against the portals of her womanhood, he thrust forward and buried himself deep within her. Trista boldly moved against him, urging him to take her, and take her quickly.
"Now, Lance . . . now," she commanded, and he was her willing sensual captive as he began the driving motion that would take them both to rapture and beyond.
Wanton splendor pulsed through her with each of his exciting thrusts, and she moved restlessly beneath him, searching for that fevered pinnacle that she knew awaited her. Lance continued to caress her, seeking out and finding her most erotic places. A rush of breathtaking abandon came over her quickly, and she reached the heights in throbbing glory, crying out to him of her love as she crested the peak of pleasure.
At the sound of her rapturous cries, Lance, too, achieved his release. Shuddering in excitement, his own ecstasy lifted him to rapture's delight. Their desires temporarily satisfied, they lay together, bodies still as one, limbs lazily intertwined, enjoying the peace of their love. Lance started to shift his weight from her, for he was fearful of lying too heavily upon her, but she held tightly to him.
"Stay," she murmured huskily.
Being a captive of her love, he complied.
It was three days later that Lone Elk stood tall and proud before Lance and Trista. The time had come for them to return to Barrett, and his heart was aching over the impending separation. Even so, he knew some measure of contentment because of Lance's obvious happiness.
"We will return to you often, my uncle," Lance promised, feeling the pain of their parting as deeply as Lone Elk.
"I will look forward to your visits, Lance," he replied solemnly. "May your journey be a safe one."
"We will be careful."
Lance helped Trista to mount the pony she was to ride, and then he swung up onto his own horse's back. His gaze locked with his uncle's, and a moment of silent understanding passed between the men. He put his heels to his mount's flanks and started from the village with Trista riding at his side. They paused as they reached the edge of the encampment and turned back to wave one final time before moving off out of sight in the direction of the Diamond.
It took them several days to reach Diamond land, and they paused and dismounted on the hilltop overlooking the house to savor the joy of their homecoming. Lance stood in silence, staring down at the scene before them and remembering all that had occurred since that night so long ago when he'd first seen Trista on the porch with Michael.
"I fell in love with you the first time I saw you," he told her.
"Out there on the range?"
"No, it was here. I was watching the house, and I saw you on the porch with Michael. I thought you were unbelievably beautiful then, and I still think so."
"Why were you watching the house?" She was puzzled at his confession.
"I had made camp nearby and I heard the music. I wanted to see what was happening."
"Did you miss your father and living on the ranch?"
"By then I had hardened myself not to miss it, but I have to admit that there were times when I longed to come back."
"And now you are back." Her eyes met his in tender devotion. "We'll be happy here, Lance."
"I know," he said huskily.
Trista went to him and kissed him, wrapping her arms about his waist. When the kiss ended, they remained standing there, locked in a cherishing embrace.
Trista whispered, "I love you, Lance Barrett."
She rested her head against his chest and thrilled to the powerful, steady rhythm of his heartbeat as she held him close. Lance was her love and her life.
"And I love you, Trista," he vowed. "Let's go home. . . ."
They broke apart then and mounted their horses. The sun was at its zenith above them as they started down to the ranch, eager to return to their families and begin their new life together.
Epilogue
Three Weeks Later on the Royal Diamond
"Where are we going, Lance?" Trista asked as they rode away from the ranch early one morning, two weeks after their marriage by the minister from town.
"You'll see," Lance told her teasingly, not giving away their destination. "Come on," he encouraged as he spurred his mount to a quicker pace, and Trista followed suit.
When Lance led her to the stream with its border of shady cottonwoods, she was thrilled. "I haven't been here since . . . "
"Since when?" he asked as they dismounted and led their horses to drink of the clear, sparkling water.
"Since the first day I saw you chasing Fuego," Trista explained. "It seems so long ago."
"It really does," he agreed, thinking of all that had happened since their first encounter. "Trista . . . "
"Yes?" She looked up questioningly.
"I was thinking . . . what would you say about building our own home here by the stream?" The stream was a place of
many warm and loving memories for Lance, and he wanted to make more of those here in the future.
"I think it's a wonderful idea," she exclaimed, thrilled at his suggestion.
Lance caressed her cheek with a gentle hand. "You could be happy here?"
"I could be ecstatic here." Trista remembered her first visit there and how she had seen Fuego come charging over the rocky ridge across the valley, with Lance in pursuit. "I only wish . . . "
"What?"
"I was just thinking of Fuego. I'm sorry you lost him, Lance. I know how hard you worked to capture him."
"He's a beautiful stallion, but I think he was just meant to be free," Lance responded as he let his gaze drift across the loveliness of their future home site. It was then that he saw Fuego, standing in regal magnificence on the hill behind them. "Trista . . . " he spoke her name in a hushed, anxious whisper.
"What?" She was puzzled by the strange tone in his voice.
"Look!" Lance pointed to where the rogue remained poised, watching them.
"Fuego!" Trista was excited at the sight of the golden stallion, and took several steps toward him as she called out his name again. "Fuego! Come! Come to me!"
Fuego studied Trista and Lance for a moment and then moved cautiously in their direction. He came to stand before Trista, and he whickered low in recognition as she reached out to stroke his powerful neck.
"How are you, big fella?" she asked as she continued to pet him, and he nuzzled her gently with his velvet nose.
The sound of another horse's whinny brought Fuego's head up, and he turned quickly to glance back the way he'd come. A dainty, black mare was standing on the ridge waiting for him. Fuego gave Trista and Lance one last look before turning up his heels and racing off to rejoin the female. He paused there on the rise to look back at them once more and then disappeared down the slope beyond, with the mare sedately following his lead.
Trista and Lance shared amazed looks as they watched him go.
"He's everything you ever thought he was and more," Trista murmured, sorry that he was gone from her, but understanding his need to be free.
"That he is, love, and I think this time he's found a captive of his own." Lance chuckled as he thought of the mare. He slipped his arms about his wife then and drew her to him. "He brought us together, and for that I'll always be grateful." Lance kissed her then, and it was a breathtaking kiss that promised of the untold delights the future held for them.
The End
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THE LADY AND THE TEXAN
Chapter One
Philadelphia
Jack Logan was not in the best mood as he stared out the window of his hired carriage. He'd thought things would go smoothly once he reached Philadelphia. He'd thought it would be a simple matter to go to Margaret Randall's home, give her Dan's letter of introduction and then escort Amanda Taylor back to Texas. That done, he would have fulfilled his promise to Dan, and he could get back to doing some serious drinking. But the way things were going, he wondered. It seemed he was on a wild goose chase, and the wild goose he was looking for was one Miss Amanda Taylor.
Oh, he had made it to Margaret Randall's home all right. Dan's mother-in-law had been expecting him, and, after reading Dan's letter of introduction, she'd greeted him warmly. She'd then informed him that Amanda was not there, but was spending the night at a friend's home. Mrs. Randall had given him the address, and he'd started off to find her.
It seemed, however, that the young woman had lied to her grandmother. Amanda was not at her friend Bethany Wycliffe's home. The butler at the Wycliffes' had told him that the two young women could be found at the address he now sought. He'd offered no further information, and Jack had noticed that he'd been a bit nervous about telling him what little he had. Jack had been curious about the servant's reluctance—until now, as the carriage drew to a stop and the driver called out.
"This is the address you gave me, sir."
Jack descended from the vehicle and re-checked the numbers just to make sure. He shook his head in disbelief as he realized he was at the correct address. He had no idea what sweet, young, innocent Miss Amanda Taylor was doing in this part of town, but he intended to find out. This was no place for a lady.
It was still light out, and for that Jack was thankful. When night fell, this street would be a dark and dangerous place. There was a bar on every corner and scurrilous-looking people milling about. Not that that bothered Jack; he was used to dealing with unsavory characters. Hell, he'd been one until Dan had asked him to do this job. But he could see no reason why Dan's daughter would be associating with them.
The particular address the butler had given him was for a bar called The Palace. There was a crowd gathered in front of it, and he wondered why as he reached up to pay the driver. He started to walk away, judged the look of the crowd, then had second thoughts.
"Wait for me, and I'll make it worth your while," he called back.
The driver's eyes brightened at the promise. "Yes, sir. I'll stay right here."
"I shouldn't be long."
As Jack moved off toward the bar, he could hear shouts and loud noises coming from inside and wondered what he'd gotten himself into. This was supposed to have been a simple trip, but so far nothing about it was turning out simple. He couldn't imagine what was going on, and he girded himself for the worst—whatever that was.
And it was the worst.
The sight that greeted him when he reached the bar's doors and looked inside left him stunned. Six wild-eyed, axe-wielding women were systematically smashing every table, glass and bottle of liquor in the place.
"Down with demon liquor!" Their high-pitched, condemning shouts echoed through the male sanctuary.
"Liquor is a bane on mankind!" another woman yelled as she wielded her axe with enthusiasm, sending a group of startled patrons running.
Jack mourned the loss of the liquor as that particular female destroyed the half-full bottle of fine bourbon the men had left behind when they'd abandoned their table. For the first time since he'd left Texas, he regretted giving Dan Taylor his word that he wouldn't drink. Right now, a straight bourbon would have made all this seem a lot easier to deal with.
"Damn it! What the hell is going on here?" the bartender bellowed, outraged by the hostile invasion. "What do you women think you're doing?"
"Do not use vile language in our presence, sir! We are here to save souls!" the women of the temperance movement responded as they continued their attack.
Jack pulled the tintype Dan had given him out of his pocket and glanced down at it. If one of these battleaxes was Amanda Taylor, he had to get her out of there fast before she got herself into real trouble. The bartender didn't look like the forgiving type.
As he studied Amanda Taylor's picture, he heard more glass being shattered and thought of all the whiskey being destroyed. As much as he wanted a drink, a promise was still a promise. Jack hadn't promised Dan he wouldn't cuss, though, and he muttered a curse under his breath. Forcing himself to focus on the picture of the female he sought, he tried to reconcile this dark-haired, dark-eyed, angelic beauty with the fire-breathing hellions who were wreaking chaos in the saloon.
"Quit wasting my good stuff!" the bartender shouted.
The woman standing near him raised her weapon threateningly.
"There is no good liquor!" she returned indignantly as she smashed another bottle.
"Ladies!" he shouted again, trying to be heard over the din.
When they ignored him, he stayed behind the bar to protect his most expensive stock. He snatched up the whiskey that had been on the counter and was about to store it away when a tall, raven-haired Valkyrie confronted him.
"Put that bottle down and step back! I don't want to hurt you!" she ordered as she took aim at the bar. "We're here to destroy this terrible evil! This bl
ight upon our land!"
He saw the fierce determination in her righteous expression and stumbled backward out of harm's way just as she brought her axe down with unerring accuracy. She destroyed the half-full bottle of whiskey he'd put back on the bar, leaving him staring at the remains, horrified.
"You swing that axe again and I'm sending for the law!" he snarled.
She did.
And he did.
"You men!" he called out to his patrons, who were standing around in shock. He dodged more flying glass and the spray of wasted whiskey as he continued, "Call the constable! Get some help in here! I want these women arrested and put in jail!"
Several of the men needed no further encouragement. They bolted for the door, eager to go for help.
Jack stepped farther inside the saloon to get out of their way as he took one last look at the picture. He recognized Amanda now. She was the hellcat attacking the bar. He jammed the picture back into his pocket, ready to do what had to be done. If the other men were going for the law, he had to make his move now. The last thing he wanted to do was bail Miss Amanda Taylor out of jail.
"Damn it, woman! I've had enough! Stop it! Right now!" The bartender lost his temper. He advanced on the young woman who was destroying his liquor, intent on doing her bodily harm.
Jack saw the fury in the man's face and knew Miss Amanda was in big trouble. He strode forward, ready to disarm and overpower the woman he'd crossed half a continent to find. He was going to fulfill his promise to Dan. He was going to see Amanda safely home, in spite of herself. True, she was armed and might prove dangerous if he wasn't careful, but he'd dealt with worse than her before and survived.
"She's mine," Jack stated arrogantly. "I'll handle her."
His tone was so deadly and so serious that the bartender stopped his advance. He looked between them and was more than happy to let him handle the axe-wielding maniac. "I want all of them arrested! I want them to pay for the damage they've caused! I want—"