Lover's Gold (7 page)

“Don’t you dare—” she started, but he put a finger to his lips to quiet her. When he signaled her to stop, she pulled the mare to a halt. Morgan pointed to a spot behind a stand of dogwood forty yards across the meadow where a doe stood alert, her brown ears erect.

“She’s beautiful,” Elaina whispered.

“Do you see the fawn?”

“Where?”

“Just to the left, lying in that patch of arrowhead.”

She scanned the meadow. “I still can’t see it.”

He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. Both Elaina and the fawn jumped at the same time. “There it is!” Pointing excitedly, she watched until doe and fawn were well out of sight. Then she turned and smiled at Morgan, seeing him in a little different light. “You may have lost your memory, but your eyesight is just fine.” She clucked a few times, and the mare started up.

They rode along in comfortable silence. By the time Elaina had driven half the distance to the Colsons’, Morgan had begun to banter lightly with her.

“You didn’t tell me why you’re going to see the . . . Colsons, is it?”

“Yes. Little Johnny Colson has a fever, and Doc Wil-lowford’s over in Hazleton helping Dr. Montgomery deal with a catastrophe of some sort.”

“Maybe they found somebody else to shoot,” he teased, half serious.

She felt a stab of guilt. “There’s no one else around as unpopular as you . . . unless it’s Redmond and Dawson. It wasn’t a shooting. Firedamp, I think. That’s methane gas. Just a minor explosion this time. Killed a couple of men and injured a few others. Just doesn’t seem right somehow, the way those poor miners are treated. Somebody’s always getting killed in those damned mines.” She flushed at her use of the swearword. Just talking about the problems in the mines sent her into a fury.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so wound up.” She glanced away, keeping her eyes toward the edge of the road until she felt his hand gently turn her face toward his.

“I like a woman with spirit. You care about people. That’s nice. Don’t ever apologize for caring.” His fingers felt warm and strong against her cheek. He looked at her with what might have passed for admiration, his gaze steady, and she felt the heat in her cheeks begin to move through her body.

The wagon seat was narrow. Try as she might, she was forced to sit with her leg pressed firmly against his, feeling the corded muscles of his thighs, the heat radiating from where their legs touched to her private, woman’s place. No man had ever affected her so.

Elaina swallowed hard, trying to control her turbulent emotions. “That’s an odd remark,” she said, needing desperately to put some distance between them, “coming from a man who kills people for a living.” When Morgan stiffened, she wished she could call back the words. Or had she imagined that tiny stab of pain she had seen in his eyes?

The girl was right, he thought. Why would a gunman care about what happened to anyone else? According to the newspapers, he hired himself out to the highest bidder. A gunman wouldn’t give a whit for who was right or wrong, just who paid the most. So why had the girl’s burst of feeling for the miners touched him so deeply? And why did this coal country seem so familiar? As they passed between wooded hills and crossed meandering streams, he had the strangest feeling he’d been here before.

According to Redmond and Dawson, he’d been to Blue Mountain once; maybe that was it, but somehow he didn’t think so. He could almost imagine what lay at the end of a path or what town might lie just around a bend in the hills.

“You’re right,” he said, setting his jaw. “Why would a gunman care about anyone but himself?” Reaching over, he grabbed the horse’s reins and pulled the buggy to a halt. He noticed the girl’s bewildered expression as he tipped her chin up to capture her lips.

As his arms went around her to pull her close, her slim hands pushed against his chest. She struggled for a moment, but the rise and fall of her breasts and the tautness of her nipples straining against the fabric of her dress betrayed more than mere interest. He felt the familiar tightness in his breeches, and his resolve strengthened. Why indeed? He wanted this woman, and one way or another he was going to have her.

Elaina’s surprise turned to fury. How dare he! She renewed her efforts to struggle free and heard his husky gasp of pain as she struck his shoulder, but he didn’t release her. Instead, he pinned her hands behind her back and began to gentle his assault. His lips felt warm and firm as they nibbled the comer of her mouth, then claimed her lips again. Slowly her rage ebbed to little more than a distant memory, replaced by a heated languor she didn’t quite understand.

He used his tongue deliciously, probing, searching, gently finding entrance, then touching, savoring the inside of her mouth. She could feel his body pressing against her, solid and powerful. His hands moved down her back to the curve of her hip, and he held her close. No longer warmed by fires of indignation, she felt a different warmth heating her blood, melting her resolve. Dear God, was he never going to stop kissing her?

Morgan released her wrists, and her arms slid helplessly around his neck, her fingers slipping into the dark hair curling above his collar. As he pulled her closer, the soft strands felt silky between her fingers, and she suddenly realized she didn’t want the kiss to end.

“Please,” she whispered and wondered if she meant stop—or continue. His lips moved along the line of her neck seeking the place behind her ear, nibbling the lobe and maddening her with the feel of it. Then his mouth returned to hers with practiced patience, and she felt a moment’s anger at his control. Her body was responding to his every touch, leaving her breathless and weak, shivery and warm all over.

Her only consolation came from the small womanly part of her that knew she was disturbing him as much as he was her. It’s only a kiss, she told herself and gave herself up to the delicious sensations.

Slowly Morgan released her, picked up the reins, and lightly slapped them against the horse’s rump, heading the buggy off the road toward a stand of tall hickory and elm. Elaina straightened in her seat, her trembling fingers tucking a loose strand of hair behind one ear. Then her hand flew to her throat. Taking the liberty of kissing her was one thing. What he intended now was something altogether different.

“Don’t you dare!” she raged indignantly. “I know I should have made you stop, but I . . . well, I’d never quite experienced anything so . . .” With exaggerated care, she kept her eyes averted from the bulge in Morgan’s breeches. “I mean, I only wanted to see what it felt like.” Snatching the reins from his hands, she watched as he glowered down at her, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he strained for control.

“You wanted to see what it felt like?” he repeated. He seemed incredulous.

For a moment she thought he might grab the reins again and continue with his plan. Then he took a deep, ragged breath and shook his head.

“Well, now we both know one thing for sure about me, Miss McAllister. I must be at least a little crazy for letting you stop me. Any other man would have pulled you out of this buggy and off into the weeds for acting like that.”

Elaina blushed hotly, acutely aware of the truth of his words.

His gaze turned serious, and his light eyes issued a warning. “Don’t try that on another man unless you’re ready to pay the consequences.”

Elaina worried her lower lip, still tender from his kiss. The gunman was right! What could possibly have gotten into her to make her respond like that? After all, he was only a man, no different from the rest; he was just like Chuck Dawson. The thought sobered her. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. If that was true, why didn’t she respond to Chuck’s kisses as she did to Dan Morgan’s? Unfortunately, she knew the answer. She felt nothing for her future husband, but Morgan attracted her as no man ever had. Without a sideways glance, her face still on fire, she clucked the horse into a trot, turned the buggy back toward the road, and headed for the Colsons’.

Morgan just leaned back against the seat, pulled his broad-brimmed hat over his eyes, and appeared to doze. His nonchalance infuriated her. Though she’d thoroughly enjoyed the kiss, she regretted her actions. Morgan was not the kind of man to encourage. His arrogance and self-confidence annoyed her, and he was dangerous and calculating. Heaven only knew what might have happened if he’d pressed his advantage. And in less than two weeks she’d be officially engaged to Chuck. The thought made her feel just slightly ill.

Her mind replayed the scene with Morgan. Her body still felt hot and languid from the power of his kiss. She wished she could take back her careless remark about him being a killer. She’d seen a gentleness in Morgan’s eyes that had now disappeared. She knew he could feel her presence next to him as strongly as she felt his, and she got the decided impression he was enjoying her discomfort. She sagged with relief as they rounded the final bend in the road where blue skies gave way to gray. Green forested mountains became scarred barren hills, and the mine patch came into view.

It was a dismal stretch of land dominated by a colliery—a coal processing plant and the surrounding metal buildings. Several row houses, each sheltering at least four miners’ families, lined one side of town. Sagging clotheslines, heavy with blue overalls and work shirts, cluttered the yards, and small children played tag beneath the dangling garments. Across the way, a railroad track for transporting coal divided the patch town in half.

Elaina headed straight for the Colsons’—a board structure that, compared to the ugly two-story row houses occupied by the less fortunate miners and their families, seemed almost homey. She could see men working at the entrance to the Blue Mountain Mine, their gray, dirt-smudged faces a reflection of the patch itself. Their unrest had been, as usual, short-lived, as hungry children and distraught mothers encouraged the men to return to work.

And the Morgan shooting had shaken everyone up and at least delayed further hostilities. Since Morgan was a gunman, the assailant could have been someone other than a miner, but chances were good the man was a friend or husband of someone they knew. In lieu of costing a fellow worker his freedom, the men were willing to let their grievances go—at least for a while.

Chapter 5

“Y
OU’D BETTER STAY
in the buggy. I’ll go in and let them know we’re here.” Elaina really meant she was taking no chances. Dan Morgan’s welcome might not be a pleasant one.

As she lightly stepped down from the buggy and headed toward the small clapboard home, Johnny Colson’s spotted mutt wagged its tail and panted a greeting.

Mary Colson met her at the door, brushing flour from her apron and smelling of fresh baked bread. “Thank ye fer comin’, Miss Elaina. I know how busy ye be and— Who’s that?” Mary’s eyes focused on the man in the buggy. “Man looks pale. He all right?” She wiped her rough red hands on her apron and peered hard toward the buggy.

“I might as well tell you. That’s Dan Morgan.” Elaina searched the woman’s eyes for understanding and saw the light of comprehension dawn. Everyone in Carbon County knew about Black Dan. “He’s been hurt pretty bad,” Elaina continued. “I figured he needed the fresh air so . . .” She left the sentence unfinished, waiting for Mary Colson’s reaction.

“I got no love for bushwhackers. Man who shot Black Dan is no friend of mine.” Mary glanced again toward Morgan. “Long as the man behaves himself, he’s welcome here. Ye best bring him in. He looks a little peaked.”

Elaina smiled gratefully. That was what she liked about the mine patch families. They were good, hardworking people. Mary’s family had come from Cornwall. Many of the others were German, some Irish, some from the mines in Tennessee.

“Thanks, Mary. He really doesn’t seem to be as bad as they say. I’ll go get him.” She gathered her skirts and hurried toward the waiting man.

“You decide they aren’t going to finish me off?” Morgan teased.

Elaina ignored him. “Come on. I’ll help you down. You can rest a little inside.” Gingerly she helped him out of the wagon, then handed him his crutch. He smiled down at her, and the smile lightened his already pale eyes.

“You’re a pretty handy lady to have around,” he said. This time his eyes were alight with mischief. It was clear his mind still lingered on their kiss, and Elaina fought to keep from blushing again. She reached behind him, searched beneath the seat, and grabbed her small medicine satchel, which had ridden next to the .45 caliber revolver Morgan insisted on bringing.

As they walked toward the house, Elaina noticed the carefully tended flower beds where lovely daffodils bloomed in startling contrast to their barren surroundings. Morgan propped the crutch beneath his uninjured arm and kept his weight on his one good leg.

Once inside, Mary Colson fetched Morgan a cup of hot coffee. She grinned broadly as he took his first sip, noting the grimace he tried to hide. “Most o’ ye city folk don’t much like the taste o’ chicory, but it makes a bit o’ coffee go a lot farther.”

“It’s fine, Mrs. Colson. Thank you. I think I’ve dug my share of chicory root in the forest, though I can’t remember where.”

Elaina supposed anything was possible. Shrugging her shoulders, she went to look after little Johnny. The boy’s face was blotchy, his skin hot and damp, but he recognized her and smiled broadly. It was hard to tell where his freckles left off and the blotches began.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m awful hot and kinda dizzylike.”

Elaina pulled back the covers and looked at the boy’s narrow chest. The boy’s skin looked pale and his neck a little flushed.

“Mary, has he taken any bad chills lately? This looks like a simple fever of some sort. Nothing dangerous, I don’t think, but it’s always best to take no chances.” She glanced down and began to fish through her medicine bag.

“Well, he did take a tumble into the mill pond. Slipped on a rock, or some such cock-and-bull story. Ye know how boys are.” She tried to look at her son sternly, but it was easy to see the love she felt for the redheaded boy. “Come home soaked to the skin, he did. S’pose that could be what done it?”