Twelfth Moon (11 page)

It made him uneasy, distrustful of his own judgment.

It had happened once before, when he’d returned home from the war to find out his ‘loving’ fiancé had married his best friend. That experience had proven just how flawed his judgment was when it came to women.

Just a few minutes ago, Cade had seemed completely unaffected by what had to have been a traumatic experience, courtesy of his brother, Robert. Had she told the truth? He’d seen the brand on the inside of her luscious thigh with his own eyes. She’d been hot, wet, eager and ready to take him within her, and he’d been close – so close to entering what he knew would be paradise.

Then thoughts of Robert had stopped him.

In all good conscience, Jonah couldn’t allow himself to make love with his brother’s murderer – and he couldn’t expect her to have a wish to make love with the blood kin of the man who had raped her.

Jonah looked down at his feet.
Shit
. He hadn’t even taken his boots off. He’d been in such a god-awful hurry to thrust into her heat, there’d been no time for anything other than dropping his drawers. All reason had left him, replaced by primal instinct. All he’d been able to think about was to be inside her, to pound into her like some kind of beast – like an animal in rut.

Was there some truth to what she’d told him?

Was there really some sort of spell at work here, some inexplicable force that had both of them so twisted up with lust that everything else ceased to matter?

It had grown quiet in the room. He didn’t even know her real name – hadn’t even thought to ask. He hesitated a moment, thinking maybe he ought to go in and check on her, but decided against it. With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the door and made his way down to the saloon.

The place was about half full, the air already filling with a haze of smoke, the scent of unwashed bodies, and the sounds of many conversations. He walked through, his sharp gaze surveying his surroundings, taking note of every man, their position, determining whether they might pose a threat. He chose a table in the corner and sat with his back to the wall as he always did.

Jonah was impressed with the bartender’s astuteness, but irritated by his nosiness. “I’m a U.S. Marshal,” he said low. He didn’t care for anyone to overhear this conversation. There were too many fools out there who thought to seek glory by facing down a lawman.

“That boy you brung in with ya…he yer prisoner?”

“No.”

In the silence that followed, Cyrus shifted to his other foot. “Well, ifin there’s anythin’ ya need, jist holler,” he said and left Jonah in peace.

But peace was nowhere near what Jonah was feeling right now. He poured a shot and downed it in one long swallow, quickly refilling his glass. What the hell was he going to do with Cade – or whatever her name was? Obviously she’d killed Robert in self-defense. But how had she delivered such a vicious attack? She’d yet to explain that. Before this journey was over, he’d sure as hell get the truth out of her.

If she were a man – if it had been a man who’d done the killing, Jonah would have had no qualms in seeing to his hanging. But now, knowing what Robert had done to her, seeing the pain caused by what she’d experienced written in her eyes, Jonah was no longer sure she deserved to die.

She’d already been hung once. Technically it was for a different crime, but hadn’t she been punished enough? For some reason he believed her about that other murder. He remembered the poisonous glare of that fellow, Ned Furley, and Jonah’s gut told him she spoke the truth about that one.

There was nothing to do but get her back to New Orleans and her family. He drank the shot, knowing it was his last. Better to quit while he was ahead. It never did a man much good to have his wits dulled by too much liquor.

What was he going to do when he got back to the room? He’d stay as far away from her as possible, that’s what. He’d sleep on the floor, and then first thing in the morning, they’d be on their way to New Orleans. If there was a spell, he’d just have to make sure he didn’t succumb to her charms, as plentiful as they were. Once they were in New Orleans, he’d slake his lust on some saloon whore – any whore. Maybe even more than one. He had the feeling he was going to be busting the buttons on his denims by the time they got there.

As though his thoughts of whores and sex conjured her up, a young woman sashayed over to his table. There were a few other women in the saloon serving drinks and entertaining the customers. Their high-pitched laughter could be heard among the raucous male voices.

She placed a hand on her ample hip. “Hello, stranger. Name’s Rosie. Want some company?”

Jonah studied her painted face, deciding she was older and plumper than she’d looked at first glance. Her heavy tits strained against the top of her low-cut dress, a sight that might have held some interest for him at some other time. But the image of Cade’s slim, naked body, her full breasts with their coral-pink nipples, erect and begging to be suckled, wedged its way into his mind instead.

He instantly grew hard and damned himself for allowing his thoughts to stray. “Sorry, darlin’,” he drawled. “Not tonight.”

She glanced down at his crotch and smiled. “You sure, honey? You look plenty equipped to handle a little game of ‘ring around the Rosie.’” At that, she giggled.

Jonah gave her a tight smile. “Like I said, not tonight.”

“Okay, sweetie, but ifin you change yer mind,” she said and sauntered away. As she passed a table, one of the men grabbed her by the waist, pulling her into his lap. She laughed robustly, placing her arms around his neck, allowing him to fondle her breasts.

In another time and place, that would have been Jonah’s reaction. He’d have taken the girl up on her offer and headed upstairs with her. But there already was a woman upstairs – a woman who happened to be off limits.

He cursed and stood up, grabbing the bottle, sloshing its remaining contents. He’d keep the rest for the trail. It might come in handy. Before he could take a step, however, a man blocked his way. Jonah had seen the fellow approaching, had hoped to make an exit before the man had a chance to confront him. He wasn’t in the mood for trouble. Apparently it wasn’t in the cards tonight.

Prairie Dog looked like a child who’d just had his candy taken away. “I’m famoush round these parts,” he bragged. “Got my name by killin’ a prairie dog, shootin’ at full gallop from the saddle, at two hundred yards.” He grinned, glancing back at a group of three men sitting at a nearby table.

Nobody seemed to want to join in on this confrontation. Jonah figured this guy, Prairie Dog Dave, must be the town joke. “Congratulations,” he said.

“You a quick shot?” Prairie Dog spit in challenge.

“Quick enough. You want to get out of my way,
Prairie Dog Dave
?” Prairie Dog didn’t seem to notice the menacing tone in Jonah’s voice, or the glint in his eyes.

Prairie Dog swayed, and then stumbled forward a step before catching himself. “Not until you give ush a dem’stration, friend.”

Now everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing, all eyes on Jonah and Prairie Dog. “First of all, I’m not your friend,” Jonah said in a deceptively mild tone, his expression hard. “And second, if you don’t move your carcass, I’m gonna wipe the floor with it.”

Prairie Dog laughed nervously, jerking his gaze back toward the group of men sitting at the table behind him. “’S that a challenge?”

Those men must be his buddies, Jonah thought, but none of them appeared eager to intervene. “It’s a threat.” He was growing weary of the conversation.

Prairie Dog’s grin faded, his eyes narrowing. “Well, thash not very neighborly of ya,
friend
,” he slurred.

Deciding he’d given the man a fair number of chances to move out of the way, Jonah swung his fist, still holding the whiskey bottle in his other hand. His knuckles connected with Prairie Dog’s jaw at just the right angle, dropping him to the floor, where he lay unmoving and unconscious. Jonah looked down at him, flexing his fingers.

Nobody stirred to help. Instead, they turned back to their card games and chatter. Jonah grunted, slowly shaking his head, and then made his way up the stairs.

Feeling a sudden prickling on the back of his neck, he glanced back down into the saloon. Usually, that familiar sensation accompanied imminent danger, but when his gaze swept the area, he saw men at the tables playing poker and smoking their cigars, mugs of beer, or whiskey shots at their elbows. There were a few solitary drinkers hugging the bar, minding their own business. A gentleman in a striped shirt with fancy arm bands on both sleeves sat down at the upright and began plinking out a tune. Nothing was out of place that he could see. Even so, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to stay cautious and continued on up the stairs.

When Jonah reached the door to their room, his hand hesitated on the handle. It hadn’t occurred to him to lock her in. He’d been too angry. What if she’d taken the opportunity to escape?

He’d find her again.

She belongs to you now
, an inner voice echoed.

Jonah was suddenly filled with a fierce, gut-wrenching possessiveness that made him take a step back as though a solid force had pushed him.

Where the hell had that come from?

Maybe it would be better for all involved if he were to open the door and find that she
had
escaped. He did just that – opened the door, that is – to find her sleeping soundly.

He released a sigh. Whether it was out of disappointment, or relief that she was still there, he didn’t want to contemplate. He set the bottle in its previous resting spot on the dresser and crossed the room to stand at the foot of the bed. He looked down at her, turned on her side, one hand resting under her cheek. She seemed peaceful…and vulnerable, her cropped curls an inky cloud against the white pillow.

He snorted. She was about as vulnerable as a coiled rattler. She’d survived for weeks on her own, leading him on a chase that had taken all his skill as a tracker to finally catch up with her.

How had she done that?

Her ability to persevere after what his brother had done to her and her cunning in eluding him for so long was impressive enough. What really had him admiring her, though, was how she’d proven herself to be strong and resilient in the face of both physical and mental hardships. There was even the hint of a sharp wit from time to time.

And she was beautiful.

She sighed softly, rolling onto her back. The quilt dropped just enough to expose a partial view of her chest. It wasn’t very much. He’d already seen – and touched – far more than that. Even so, his groin tightened, a rush of lust filling his cock. The primitive craving to be inside her almost overpowered him, but he fought against it, ruthlessly tamping it down.

He wasn’t going to let himself succumb to his baser carnal desires. Not when the subject of this inexplicable fixation of his seemed to be directed toward the one woman he should avoid at all costs.

His gaze shifted to the extra quilt lying folded on the end of the mattress. He took one last look at her, snatched the blanket, and then moved to turn down the lamp.

He made his way in the dark, around to the other side of the bed and opened the window. It let in a flow of cool, night air that billowed the thin curtains. He spread the quilt over a square of pale-blue moonlight on the floor beneath the window and sat down to remove his boots. He unbuckled his gun belt, placing it near enough to be reached in a hurry. He then took off his flannel shirt, rolled it into a makeshift pillow and lying back, shoved it under his head.

He gazed up and out through the open window at the star-filled sky. It was a sight he was used to seeing, but now, the bright glow of a more-than-three-quarter-moon reminded him of Cade’s words:
“The twelfth full moon at the end of a year’s cycle, during which we experience the irresistible urge to mate.”

God
. A slow burn slithered down Jonah’s spine. Should he believe her story of a spell cast hundreds of years ago, or were they just two people experiencing a strange and inexplicable attraction to each other?

Jonah knew the Indians believed in such things. They believed in spells and magic, destiny and prophecies. Not that he’d spent much time with them. He’d had encounters with a few of the Apache tribes scattered around the area of New Mexico and Texas, but usually he tried to avoid them.

There was a lot of distrust on both sides, what with the government trying to regulate where and how the Indians should live. More often than not, the government’s interference usually led to bloodshed, the Indians being the ones to suffer the most casualties.

Jonah had experienced enough of that during the war. That had been much worse, pitting brother against brother, especially in his case. Robert had been a southern sympathizer, whereas Jonah had fought for the Union. He never could stomach the idea of slavery, so when the chance came to do his part to fight against it, he took it.

His choice had always been a point of contention between Jonah and his father. It had been assumed Jonah would manage the family business, but he’d had other plans. Robert had felt the same way and had blazed his own path. Unfortunately, it was to fight for the opposing side.