The Lady Takes A Gunslinger (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 1) (33 page)

Grace, where are you?

Then his hand connected with something solid—her arm. His fist closed around the unresisting limb and he yanked her to him, dragging her upward toward the dying light.

With a final kick, they broke the surface. Clutched against his chest, Grace gasped for air, choking and coughing the water from her lungs. With her hair in tangles across her face, she let her head fall backward on his shoulder.

"Thank God," he murmured against her hair. "Thank God."

With his open hand, he swept the hair away from her face. Grace moaned and rolled her head sideways, taking in great gulps of air. He pressed his face against her cheek, holding her close as he held them aloft in the water. The slow burn of relief crawled over him, and he closed his eyes against the cool skin of her cheek.

"You're all right now, princess. I've got you."

"R-Reeeese," she wailed, turning in his arms and holding him tightly as he treaded water for them both.

"I'm here. I thought I'd lost you. Easy, now."

Coughing up river water, she struggled to get her breath. He could only hold her close, absorbing the sweetness of her breasts rising and falling against his chest, allowing himself a moment to convince himself she was really alive.

"My d-dress," she sputtered. "I c-can swim, but it pulled me d-down. I was so scared."

"You scared me," he told her breathlessly, looping her arms around his neck so she was on his back. "Don't let go."

She laughed shakily at the unnecessity of that warning.

The shoreline was only thirty feet away, and when they reached it, they tumbled onto the bank, falling on their knees to the grassy edge.

Grace flopped onto her back, her trembling arms outspread, staring up at the darkening sky. If she didn't feel so close to tears, she'd laugh at the sight of the faint stars appearing above them. How close she'd come to never seeing them again, or inhaling the sweet, wonderful scent of the air, or feeling the earth beneath her fingernails; but most of all, she would have missed the tender, almost desperate look in Reese Donovan's eyes right now as he watched her as if he couldn't get enough of her.

Droplets of water splashed down on her from the ends of his soaked hair as he leaned over her. He reached down, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "In all my livelong life..." he said, still breathing heavily."Don't you ever do that to me again."

Unable to look at him, Grace said, "I didn't do it on purpose. Really, I didn't."

"I know." Bending his head low, he covered her mouth with his in a heated, smoldering kiss. His tongue slid over the seam of her lips. No thought was required to welcome his intrusion with an artless dart of her tongue against the arched curve of his upper lip. His breathing quickened. He pressed her backward against the grassy bank, covering her trembling limbs with his own. His hand dragged downward, settling at the curve of her waist. Reese's long fingers splayed against her ribs, drawing her more firmly against him. His lips were hot and cold at once, she thought, and he tasted of the river and vaguely of tobacco as they slanted against hers.

But more, it was the taste of Reese himself that settled low in her belly, warming the chill of fear that had struck her to the core. She clung to his shoulders as if they were the only tether still holding her to earth.

Then, on a groan, he ended it. Cursing under his breath, Reese pushed up and away from her, his gaze darting downriver. Their boat was drifting slowly backward with the current. Already it was disappearing around a bend in the waterway.

"Oh!" Grace gasped as she caught sight of it.

"Stay put," Reese told her. "And don't get near the water, understand?"

"But wait!"

"Don't move, y' hear?" Reese took off running down the bank. The current, though not wild, was swift, and had taken the boat nearly a quarter mile by the time he caught it. When he was two rods ahead of the blasted thing, he dove in, parting the streak of moonlight spilling across the water. It took only minutes to reach the boat and capture the towline that hung over the side. It took longer to struggle against the current toward the bank, tugging the boat behind him.

Once there, he tied the boat to a rock and dropped, exhausted, onto his hands and knees. He was winded as a blown-out horse. Was nothing going to go right on this bloody trip? he wondered, hanging his head between his splayed hands. Nearly losing the boat was bad enough, but it paled beside almost losing Grace. He'd come a heartbeat away from doing just that.

Grace.

He'd left her a quarter of a mile back—alone. A panicky feeling prickled him. Where that woman was concerned, anything could happen.

With an urgency that sprang from some perverse need to protect her, he started back upriver, stumbling over hidden roots obscured by the falling dusk. He wasn't sure why he was hurrying. If he knew Grace, she'd do exactly what he'd told her not to do and meet him halfway.

Or worse, he thought as he got farther with no sign of her, she'd wandered off course and gotten herself lost. He peered into the gloom, searching for a glimpse of her stumbling toward him.

"Grace?" he called out.

Only the steady racket of the crickets answered him. His heart lurched. He should have started a fire, brought a torch. Despite the half-moon rising in the black velvet dome above him, he could hardly see a blasted thing.

Cupping his hands around his mouth as he walked, he shouted, "Grace!"

The bank looked the same here as it did fifty feet behind him. Dark. The Moctezuma was marked by shrub-sheltered coves and odd little bends that seemed to make little geographic sense. Where had he left her, and why didn't she answer him?

Finally, he stopped and listened. The river lapped at the muddy shore with a steady rhythm; an owl hooted a mournful chord in the distance with the crickets keeping time; and the faint but distinct rustling of dried cane came from somewhere to his left. He stumbled toward the sound.

"Grace?" he called out. Pray to God it was her. He was unarmed.

He found her huddled, knees to chest, with her arms wrapped around them tightly. Her face came up as he crashed through the cattails toward her. The scant moonlight glistened off her cheeks, wet with tears. She swiped at them with her fist, trying to hide them. Reese stopped short.

In the brief time they'd known each other, he'd come to know her strengths and her weaknesses; he'd seen the determination in her blue eyes, the sparkle of amusement when she laughed, the quiet, pensive way she got when she wrote in that little book of hers. She'd been through hell and never once had she broken down and cried. God knew, she had the right now, but he was at a loss. What was he supposed to do with tears? He was no good at it.

He knelt beside her. "Grace, darlin', why didn't you answer me?"

She didn't answer, but flung her arms around his neck. His heart lurched and he drew her to him. She was quaking like an aspen leaf.

"There, there," he said, awkwardly patting her wet back. "Everything's all right, now, don't cry."

She was in shock, he decided. He had to get her warm, get a fire built. Silently, he lifted her in his arms, and started back toward the boat. Like a child she cuddled against him, clinging to his neck as if she feared he might fling her aside.

"You don't have to carry me," she told him.

"Aye, I do, lass."

Burying her damp face gratefully against his neck, she drew a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

"You're no trouble." With the soothing stroke of one finger, he caressed her back.

"I don't know what's wrong with me."

His legs absorbed the uneven ground. "Any woman would have cried her eyes out long before this after all you've been through. Everyone has an end to their rope, Grace. This just happened to be yours."

"I'm sorry for being so clumsy."

"No, it's me who's sorry," he whispered against her hair. '"Twas my fault, not yours. I knew the engine was given to fits. I should have gotten you clear of that edge."

"When you were gone, I don't know what came over me. I was so scared. I was afraid you wouldn't come back for me. I was afraid something had happened to you."

His hands tightened around her. How close she'd come to the truth. But the peril for him lay not with the river, but with the woman in his arms. Indeed, something had happened to him when he'd seen her disappear beneath the surface of the water, when he'd thought for an agonizing eternity of a moment that he might lose her forever. Something that shredded every piece of common sense he owned.

They reached the clearing where he'd tied the boat and Reese set her down, forcing her to wrap herself in a blanket he'd retrieved from the boat. He set to work, building a fire, using the still-warm coals from the firebox of the boat. It took no time at all to get a roaring blaze going, and Reese turned his attention back to Grace, who sat, shivering and silent, watching his every move.

Gently, he pulled the blanket aside. "Here, now," he said, working the buttons on the front of her dress. "Let's get you out of these wet things."

She made no effort to stop him. She stared at his hands as he undressed her, allowing him to help her out of her gown until he'd stripped her out of sodden petticoats and spread them on low tumbleweed bushes and cattail canes to dry. She lifted her arms as he tugged her soaked wool corset cover over her head. It joined her other things on the dried cattail canes.

Reese swallowed heavily, uncertain what to do next. He nearly groaned at the way the tight buds of her nipples showed through the thin cotton of her chemise. Her breasts were small and firm, yet he imagined they would fill his hand and more. They rose and fell in shaky starts as her breathing quickened in time with his own.

Heat shot through him, but it had nothing to do with the fire at his back. He was getting hard just standing near her, damn his lecherous hide. He dropped his gaze to the hooks on her boned corset, and there, he hesitated.

Swallowing thickly, Reese said, "Grace, I shouldn't... I mean, I don't think—" He drove a hand through his still-damp hair. "Can you manage the rest yourself?"

Slowly, her eyes lifted to meet his. Smokiness had stolen the blue from her irises; moisture still brimmed, making them shine in the glow of the fire. Her hands came up and took over the task of the hooks.

Flick. Flick. Flick.
The corset fell open, releasing her breasts with only the thin, wet camisole for cover. She made no effort at modesty. She simply looked at him oddly as she tossed the corset onto the canes.

Blood drummed in his ears and his mouth went dry. Self-preservation made him turn away toward the fire. In another minute, he'd have to dive back into that river to cool himself down, because if he stayed near her he'd—

"Am I so very ugly?" she asked in a small voice.

"What?" He turned, certain he'd misheard her.

She shook her head and her knees seemed to buckle beneath her. She dropped to the ground in a little puddle of misery, her face in her hands. "Never mind. Don't answer that."

"Grace, you're not serious, are you?"

"Don't pretend," she accused. "I know it's true."

Had she been any other woman, there would have been no doubt in his mind that she was casting about for flattery. But the shattered expression in Grace Turner's eyes told him that couldn't be further from the truth. Somehow, he'd struck her at the very deepest core of her insecurity.

He sat on the ground beside her, a protective anger welling inside him. "Who told you that?"

She gave a miserable laugh, cradling her face in the crook of her arm to hide the tears he heard in her voice again. "Nobody had to tell me. It's obvious. Nobody wants me. When they think I can't hear, they laugh and say things like 'That Grace Turner, she's long on opinions and short on everything else.'"

"You tell me who said it and I'll go and knock his bloody head off."

"It doesn't matter. Even Edgar—he has to pretend he can bear me." Her bleak, damp eyes slid up to his. "You know what I think? I think all he really wants is the land our parents left us."

Bracketing her shoulders between his hands, he forced her to look at him. "Forget Edgar. He's a pox on the backside of humanity. Don't give the man another thought." He gritted his teeth.
But if I ever see him, by God, I'll make him eat his bloated banker's opinion of himself.

"What is it about me? You can tell me. I don't think I'm a bad person," she said, shaking her head and worrying the frayed edge of the blanket. "But men don't seem to like me. I annoy them. I step on their feet when I dance, or I'm too outspoken, or too ugly. You can't even bring yourself to look at me."

"My God, Grace, the first time I saw you I—" He stopped himself as she looked up to search his face.

"You couldn't wait to get rid of me," she finished.

"As I recall, I wanted the whole world to go away that night. But you, no, even through the haze of alcohol," he whispered, dragging a knuckle down her cheek, "you were the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. With eyes the color of bluebonnets on a Texas morning," he went on. "And when you're angry, they remind me of the heaths I used to run in as a boy, all tumbled and violet." He chucked a finger under her chin and grinned. "And then there's this perfect wee chin that has a habit of goin' straight up when you get willful."