Midnight Lover (17 page)

"You got five seconds to make up your mind, Miss Bennett. Either you're going to the mine or you ain't. Ain't no big thing to me one way or the other since the mine belongs to me."

His words had the effect he'd intended them to for her temper flared instantly to life once again.

"I have every intention of going to my mine, but I'm going in a trap."

Instead of being diminished by the massive stallion pawing the ground next to him, Reardon still managed to dominate the scene. "You either ride Old Jimmy or you ride with me."

She peeked back inside the barn and looked at Old Jimmy who seemed as if he had enough life left in him to crush her beneath his thundering hooves as if she were no more than a spider.

"I'll ride with you," she said, opting for a slow death.

"Coward?"

"Cautious."

He leaped into the saddle and extended a hand down to her. "Time's wastin'."

She hesitated. His feet were securely in the stirrups and for the life of her she couldn't figure out how she would get up into the saddle or where she would sit once she did.

"Damnation, Car-o-line, give me your hand."

The moment her hand disappeared into hers, she found herself lifted up into the air and deposited quite unceremoniously on the saddle in front of him.

"Ain't exactly side saddle," he said, reaching around her for the reins, "but it's damned close."

"Yes," Caroline managed as his hand brushed against hers causing her breath to catch in her throat. "Quite close."

#

A half hour later, Caroline was still balanced precariously on the saddle in front of Jesse Reardon, burning with a wild desire the likes of which she had never known. The terrain was rock-strewn and hilly and, despite those obstacles, Reardon gave Diablo his head and the combination of the horse's speed and the man's strength was almost her undoing. There was never any doubt that he was in total command of the mammoth beast upon which they rode and she found that thought oddly exciting.

The kisses she'd shared with Thomas Wentworth Addison were absolutely nothing compared to the fierce heat she was experiencing just by being close to Jesse Reardon. His muscular chest rippled with each movement he made and one time she feared she'd swoon from the sheer exotic thrill of being near such naked power.

Was there nothing about life that was fair or just? Thomas was a man of kindness and gentility who would bring to marriage the honor and respect the institution deserved. A woman could give her life to a man like Thomas and trust that she would not be ill-used, that her life would be one of comfort and harmony.

Jesse Reardon, on the other hand, was a man of violence and deceit, a man who would hold marriage in the same disdain he seemed to hold everything else of value. The woman who gave her heart to Jesse was certain to find it broken before the wedding flowers wilted.

But, dear God, Caroline thought as he urged Diablo across a narrow stream, what would it be like to love a man like Reardon? To awaken each morning and find him next to you. To go to bed each night and find heaven in his arms...

Stop this!
she warned herself. What manner of nonsense was she allowing herself to fall prey to? Surely she was going mad for less than twenty-four hours ago she'd lain awake wondering if Reardon were trying to kill her and now here she was foolishly daydreaming of rose bowers in springtime as if she were one of the husband-hunting McGuigan girls. Just because a man had eyes the color of a midnight sky was no reason to lose sight of all that was truly important.

Her future was what she needed to think about—not Jesse Reardon's magnificent profile. She grew older with each day that passed and before she blinked her eyes, she would be a pathetic spinster with nothing to call her own. No husband, no children, not even a home to shelter her in her old age.

But she would rather die than admit that to a man like Reardon.

What she needed to do was channel her fears and energies into making the Crazy Arrow the success she knew in her heart it could be. Whether or not Jesse Reardon and his friends cared to admit it, Silver Spur was ripe for change. One had only to take notice of the number of married ladies who came to town each day to purchase ribbons and calico from the dry goods store to know that it wouldn't be long before Jade's Golden Dragon gave way to schoolhouses and sewing circles.

And if the way to attain that success was through the old Rayburn mine that Reardon so clearly coveted, then so be it. Jesse Reardon might be accustomed to riding roughshod over the men of Silver Spur but she'd wager that he'd never before come up against a daughter of Boston. He'd soon regret ever believing he could take what was rightfully hers without any thought to conscience or morality.

"Is it a great deal farther to the mine?" she inquired in her best right-side-of-the-Charles-River voice.

Reardon glanced down at her, a lopsided grin tilting his strong mouth. "Ride gettin' too much for you, darlin'?"

"Not in the slightest," she replied, although her bottom was indeed growing sore from bouncing up and down on the rock-hard saddle. "I am merely curious."

"'Round the next bend then up a piece. Can't miss it. Entry's right near the prettiest patch of blue lupine you ever did see."

She started in surprise and nearly tumbled from her perch but quickly regained her balance. "Somehow I cannot imagine you a fancier of flowers, Mr. Reardon. The notion is rather comical."

"I reckon you don't know a hell of a lot about me, Car-o-line," he drawled in that annoying way he had. "I got me a soft spot for most pretty things."

Was it her imagination or did he deliberately pull back on the reins until his big, rough hands brushed against the curve of her breasts?

"Miss Jade is quite pretty," she said blandly. "It has been quite obvious you have a soft spot for her and the other...ladies at the Golden Dragon."

That wicked grin of his widened. "Feelin' jealous, Car-o-line?"

She tossed her head. "What nonsense! What you do—and with whom you do it—is none of my concern."

"Bet you been peekin' between your lace curtains, watchin' the goings on at the Dragon."

"How insufferably vain you are, Mr. Reardon. Your activities are of no interest whatsoever."

"Saw you lookin' out last night when I was on the porch."

"You must be mistaken," she said, conscious of the heat rising to her cheeks.

"Don't make mistakes like that, Caroline. You were wearin' that pink lacy nightdress of yours."

She had believed herself shielded by the heavy lace curtains and the cloak of darkness. What utter humiliation.

"Your eyes were playing tricks upon you, Mr. Reardon. It may have been Margaret or Sarah you saw."

"I can shoot a snake before you even hear it rattle. An eagle ain't got nothin' on me when it comes to eyesight."

"How wonderful for you," she murmured, "but the fact remains you are mistaken. I am most certain it was Sarah."

He slowed Diablo down to a syncopated walk that rattled her teeth. "Gal I saw wasn't exactly built like Miss Sarah."

"We are the same height exactly. She borrowed my blue polished cotton frock just yesterday and it needed no pinning at all except—" She stopped short. "Except in the front," Reardon offered, laughing. "I could fit both of hers in the palm of my—"

"You are the most vile creature it has been my misfortune to meet!" If it weren't for the fact she was clinging to the pommel for dear life, she would gladly slap his arrogant face.

"Gotta admit it's true," Reardon continued blithely. "Nature shortchanged the gal in that department and ain't nothin' gonna change the fact that you're built kind of ripe-like, all round and full and—"

"One more word, Mr. Reardon, and I warn you I'll scratch your eyes out."

"Try it, Car-o-line, and you'll be walkin' back to town with only the lizards to keep you company."

"You have no heart, Mr. Reardon."

"And you ain't got the brains you were born with. Don't you Eastern gals know a compliment when you hear one?"

"Eastern men do not usually comment upon the size of a woman's..." She let her words trail delicately away.

"Maybe that's why so many of you fillies are comin' west."

"Maybe the poor benighted women believed the falsehood about the gallantry and courage of western men."

"You got yourself a sharp tongue, Car-o-line. One day you're gonna find yourself cut up real bad by it."

"I tremble at the thought."

They fell silent as a carpet of blue lupine spread out before them, turning the landscape into a haven of wildflowers that took Caroline's breath away.

"Kind of takes you by surprise, don't it?" Reardon asked as he skirted the carpet of color and fragrance. "Growin' all free and pretty in the middle of nowhere."

She nodded, a lump forming in her throat. A sudden memory of her mother, as beautiful as this touch of grace amidst barrenness, rose up from some hidden part of her heart and threatened to disgrace her before Reardon. "What about you, Mr. Reardon?" she managed after a moment. "Did you grow up all free and wild out here as well?"

She felt rather than saw his start of surprise.

"You don't have to answer if you do not want to. I am not one to pry into a man's secrets."

"Ain't much of a secret."

"You are from here then?"

"Pennsylvania."

She twisted around until she could meet his eyes. "I am, as well."

"Thought you came from Boston-way."

Caroline shook her head. "My mother was from a fine Philadelphia family. They were horrified when she married Aaron." She told him a little about her gypsy-ish life as her father took her from city to city in search of the mythical pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

If only she could read the expression in his midnight blue eyes as he watched her. "My folks had a farm near the Maryland border. Didn't make much of a success at nothin' except fightin', far as I can remember."

"What made you come so far west then, Mr. Reardon? Did your whole family come with you and—"

He jerked up on the reins, slowing Diablo to an easy walk. "I came here on my own, darlin', same as I've done everything my whole life. Ain't nobody you can trust but yourself."

"I know." Caroline's voice was but a whisper against the spring breeze. "I've always known that."

The moment between them resonated with feelings neither was willing to acknowledge and Caroline sought a way to stop the swelling of emotion inside her chest. She pointed to a cluster of rocks piled up against a weed-ridden hill. "Is that the mine's discovery monument?"

"Smart gal," said Reardon. "Didn't figure you to know a mine when you saw one."

"I have a brain, Mr. Reardon, unlike most women of your acquaintance."

"Might be one of the reasons you're still an old maid, Car-o-line." They were back on familiar territory. A biting retort sprang to her lips but quickly died when she saw that the smile on his face was open and almost friendly, not the sardonic grin she'd grown accustomed to.

"Perhaps it is," she admitted as he brought Diablo to a halt at the edge of the carpet of blue lupine. "I have discovered that few men hold a woman of intellect in high esteem. They seem to place a greater value upon a pretty face than a fine character."

"Don't seem like you got much to worry about. Your face is about as pretty as any I've seen."

Warmth flooded her body at his words, turning her face and throat as red as the snowdrops he'd pointed out on the ridge just beyond town. "Thank you," she murmured, inordinately pleased, "but a pretty face won't help a woman make her way alone in the world."

"You been livin' under a rock?" he asked, leaping from the horse with one easy movement. "A gal's brains don't keep a man warm at night." He reached up and grasped her by the waist, swinging her to the ground as if she were no more than a feather pillow. "Maybe you eastern fillies should forget all that book learnin' and start usin' what you were born with."

"I am in complete agreement with you, Mr. Reardon," she said, smoothing down her hair and straightening the collar of her basque. "And since a good brain was one of the assets I was fortunate to be born with, I intend to use it to help me attain my goal."

That sardonic grin reappeared. "Seems to me a brain's wasted on a pretty gal."

She glared at him. "Seems to me a brain is sorely lacking in you."

"I wouldn't go makin' any snap judgments, Car-o-line," he said, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder. "You may find yourself outwitted after all."

"I'll take my chances, Mr. Reardon."

"Your daddy's gambling blood runnin' through your veins again?"

"I may be my father's daughter," she retorted, "but I am nobody's fool. You may believe you bested him, Mr. Reardon, but you'll never get the better of me."

"Don't be so sure of it."

"I have never been more sure of anything in my life."