Wild Fire (Wild State) (6 page)

The breeze shifted and grew, transforming into a steady wind that, when she lifted her head to stare at the wreckage of her life, whipped at the serpentine bit of fire creeping out the door and drove it back.

Away from her. Away from Red Creek.

A hand gripped her shoulder, heavy and strong, and she laid hers atop it. Her fingertips mapped the rough bumps of his knuckles as her head bent in silent relief. Tears, both joyous and devastated, coursed down her face. She didn’t need to turn to see him.

She simply knew he was with her. Alive, and with her. “Del.”

“Told you I’d find you, didn’t I?”

***

H
e’d made a mistake when he chose to check on the refugees in the clearing outside of town before going to Moira, but his head hadn’t been straight after learning what had held her apart from him the past few months.
 

A baby. She thought she needed to give him a baby in order for them to be happy.

Proud, idiotic, amazing woman.

She was all of those things and more, and when he had ridden up to the jailhouse and seen Marshal Hood tossing a saddle from God knows where onto the back of one of the horses he’d hitched to their wagon at the house, he’d known.
 

He rode hell-for-leather out of town, arriving just in time to see her sink to the ground. But as he had jumped from his horse to run to her, gather her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right, he had noticed her lips moving.

Praying. Moira had been
praying
.

Del knew his wife. Even with the problems of the past weeks, he understood her, inside and out, and for her to speak to a God he knew she didn’t believe in was frightening.

Turning to God meant she was on her last hope. He didn’t want to see her so desperately in need ever again. When he’d placed his hand on her shoulder, he had felt the shudder of relief that wracked her, and he had understood: She thought he had been trapped in the blaze.
 

She’d believed herself utterly alone.

After helping her to her feet, Del had boosted her up onto his own horse and settled into place behind her, grabbing the reins of her mount in one hand. They’d ridden back to Red Creek in silence, the warm press of her body curving into his soothing some of the terror that had gripped him when he realized she’d returned to their burning house.
 

Hood had taken one look at their faces and held out his hand. “I’ll take care of the horses.”

Del hadn’t questioned it.

Now he stood facing Moira inside the jail, the doors bolted, the windows shuttered for the night. The lamp on his desk lit the room with a soft glow, casting shadows through the bars of the empty cells. “You’ve got a bad habit of running into danger,” he cut into the silence, unsure of what else to say because all he wanted to do was tell her he loved her, again and again. But he knew that wasn’t the answer. Not yet.

Fatigue etched new lines in her sweet face. “I’m working to break myself of it.” Wide blue eyes, red-rimmed from either the smoke or tears or both, lifted to his. “Del?” Her husky, lilting voice broke as she whispered his name.

He reached out and took her hand, leading her to a cot in one of the cells. Together, they sat, and he laced his fingers through her delicate ones. “You got me all tangled up here, Moira. I didn’t know you wanted children so fast. I didn’t know you were worried there wouldn’t be any children.” The idea of actually
having
babies with her was so much more complicated than the idea of
making them, and it would take more than a minute in a jail cell to sort through the strands that knotted around his heart at the concept of fatherhood.

Though he’d grown up in comfort, the only child of a doting mother, his relationship with his own father had been strained at best. They hadn’t even been on speaking terms when he passed, and news of his death had hit Del hard. He cleared his throat, voice made gruff by emotion. “We don’t talk about the past much, do we?”

She leaned into him, ever so slightly, her arm warm against his. “No.” But he heard her unspoken,
Perhaps it’s better that way.
Her past had driven her to pull away from him in recent months, and his past…well, she knew him. He’d been a killer-for-hire when they had met, hunting down rogue bands of violent Cheyenne dog soldiers and struggling to ignore the rumors of Confederate treason nipping at his heels.

He’d always felt so damn grateful that she had somehow managed to see beyond the blood on his hands to the man beneath, and that man worshipped her with a vehemence that would likely shock her, should she truly know its depth.
 

What shocked him, however, was learning how unable she was to let go of her own past.
 

His thumb stroked the soft skin along the back of her hand. “But we also don’t talk much about the future.”

This time, her “no” was slower, considering.

He released his frustration on a heavy sigh. “That future’s not going anywhere. We’re living it whether we want to or not, and Moira, honey, I want to. I wanna live that future with you something fierce, no matter what it brings for us.”

Her fingers tightened around his. “I don’t want you to regret this. Regret me.”

He slid a palm around her nape, urging her closer until his lips hovered over hers. “You’re my woman, Moira Crawford. I’ll never regret that. Never.”

The kiss stole his breath, and hers, and they both moaned as her hands fisted in his hair, the delicious sting to his scalp urging him to deepen the caress of lips and tongue until the air around them turned hot with their desire.

He pulled back, just an inch, listening to her panting breaths, lustful excitement turning her gaze sultry. As he watched, a blush flared to life beneath her freckles, and he struggled to breathe as desperate wanting swept over him. “You beauty,” he croaked. “Come here.”

“Del—”

“I wanna love you, honey. Come here.”

She fell into his lap, smelling of soot, sweat, and woman. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face against her neck, breathing her into his lungs. She was better than air, and far more potent, and the arousal stirred by their kiss fanned into a flame that rivaled the wildfire climbing the mountainside this very minute.

Feeling him harden against her, she wiggled in his lap, and he nipped her throat lightly in warning. Breath warm on his cheek, her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, “Let me love you, Del.”

Not needing a second invitation, he stood, intending to strip, but she stopped him with a hand on his hip. He watched as she slid from the cot to kneel in front of him, hands hovering over the waistband of his trousers. “Put your hands on the bars.”

He sucked in a breath at her command but did as he was told. The vertical iron bars of the cell were cool beneath his palms, and he gripped them until his knuckles paled. “What are you doin’ to me, honey?”

Her nimble fingers made quick work of his buttons, and then she was reaching inside to grip him. Firmly. “Loving you, of course.”

For the second time that day, he determined that there really was no
of course
about it, but when she smiled up at him, blue eyes mischievous and fingers holding him oh, so nicely, he decided not to question his good fortune. He would never take for granted that she wanted him, that she
loved
him, but not because he doubted her. He doubted nothing when it came to the two of them.

His mind blanked when her lips covered the head of his erection, wet, hot, providing agonizing suction as her tongue swiftly found the sensitive spot beneath his crown. “Oh,
fuck
,” he breathed, wanting to close his eyes but needing to watch his wife pleasure him to madness. Kneeling before him in a dress streaked with dirt and ash, trapped between the bars and his looming body, she was a goddess.

A goddess with a mouth designed to kill him. “God, Moira, if you’re going to do it, do it. Don’t tease me.” He meant to growl the words, but they came out more like begging.

He felt more than heard her chuckle as she opened her mouth to take him in. All of him, until he nudged the back of her throat. Auburn lashes fluttered down as she moaned and swallowed, a pretty pink flush mottling her freckled cheeks as she destroyed him with the perfection of her mouth.

Shuddering, he gripped the bars tighter, fighting not to finish right then and there. “Don’t wanna come yet,” he muttered, and threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut. Maybe if he didn’t see what she was doing.
 

Nope, not helping. “Don’t make me come.” Again, he couldn’t tell if it was a warning or a plea, but either way, she heeded him, and with one last torturous lap of her tongue, she slid up his body to tear at his clothing.

He helped her with his shirt and trousers, kicking off his boots before he grabbed for her, taking her mouth in a harsh kiss that spoke of the need boiling in his veins. This was nothing like the lazy loving they’d attempted that morning. This was heady, dizzying, and it blazed through him until the hands roving over her strong, slender body shook.

“So many goddamn layers,” he bit out as he tugged and yanked at her various buttons and tapes. Their hands tangled, and their heads knocked together as they fought with her garments. Eventually, she was naked—dear God, was she ever naked—and he caught her up against him with one arm and deposited her on the cot, following her down.

Her hands were greedy as they danced over his bare shoulders, touching and stroking and stoking the heat within him to the point of pain. Reaching between their bodies, he found her, as wet as if he’d spent an hour teasing her with his mouth, and groaned. “In you.”

“Yes.”

He rubbed the head of his cock through her slickness, making her writhe beneath him as he teased them both. But even as he recognized the retribution he was offering, he didn’t want to punish her.

He just wanted to love her. “Moira.” With a single, controlled thrust of his hips, he slid deep.

“
Yes
. Delaney, yes.”

Tight, so tight. Being inside her was the closest he would ever come to heaven, and he’d never trade it for the real thing. Never in a thousand years. He rocked into her, relishing the feel of her nails scoring his upper back, delighting in the tight clamp of her thighs over his hips. “You’re so good, honey. God, it’s so damn good.”

She clenched intimately around him. “I love you,” she breathed and, without any warning, came in a rush, eyes closed and head tipped back on the cot as she screamed his name. With a tortured groan, he followed her into ecstasy.

After their breathing had calmed and he’d rolled to the side, she loosed a sad sigh. “The house…”

“It’s just a house, Moira.” He cupped her cheek, leaning in to brush his lips over hers. “It ain’t a home unless you’re in it with me.”

The quiet that fell between them as they lay curled around each other on the narrow cot was easy, comfortable as it hadn’t been in far too long. Her head on his shoulder, her hand clasped in his atop his chest, he breathed a contented sigh. A future of this, just this and only this, wouldn’t be the worst fate to befall a man with a battered past.

“Delaney?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think it’s illegal to make love in a jail cell?”

He chuckled, hearing a trace of her usual impishness in the query. “If it’ll ease your conscience, I can lock us both up for the night.” Lifting her hand to his lips, he took the tip of one finger gently between his teeth. “Though I think it might defeat the purpose.”

She laughed, a real laugh, for the first time in months, and it was the most glorious sound he’d ever heard.

Author’s Note

Del and Moira had a whirlwind courtship in
Wild Burn
, knowing one another for little more than a week before declaring their love. I always thought they needed an epilogue, and so
Wild Fire
came to be. I consider this short novella an extended epilogue peeking into their lives together a little ways down the road. As with most couples, their story doesn’t end at the Happily Ever After—the Crawfords will face trials, weather storms, and come out on the other side with their marriage stronger than ever. I hope to be able to offer you more glimpses of this pair as the series moves forward.
 

Ready for a sneak peek at the upcoming contemporary holiday novella,
Sparked
?

“I
think…I think I have to give up on him.” It hurt to admit, but Sadie Bower had failed.

Sadie wasn’t used to failing at anything. When she’d told her parents she wasn’t going to the London School of Economics like her older brother Kai, but instead the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, she had assured them that she would succeed as an actress. From the moment she’d aced her first professional audition—unfortunately for a Beckett play, but beggars couldn’t be choosers—her promise had held true.

Two years ago, Sadie had received her first Oscar nomination. Failure wasn’t even on her radar these days.

But when it came to Ryan Young, she was nothing but a seething mass of fails. And it was time to move on. “It’s silly for me to keep hoping he’ll change his mind.”

“Did something happen?” Fiona O’Brien brushed shimmering highlight powder over Sadie’s pale cheeks before stepping back to examine her handiwork. Sadie had met the makeup artist working on a film earlier this year—the premiere for which both women were attending in a couple of hours—and, since wrapping
Vendetta
in early July, had struck up a fledgling friendship with the brunette.
 

Which was why Fiona was now in Sadie’s spacious three-story home, built along one of the coveted Venice canals, helping her with her hair and makeup prior to the premiere.

Sadie sighed, utterly and embarrassingly morose over the subject of Ryan. “Nothing specific happened, no. But I can only pursue him so long before it’s just awkward for both of us, right?”

Packing away her brushes into a travel case, Fiona shook her head. “I’d be more inclined to agree with you if I hadn’t seen firsthand the way he looks at you when you’re not looking.”