Maverick Heart (12 page)

Tom slowed and raised a hand to halt the others. “Their camp is over that next rise,” he said quietly. “The wind is coming this way, so their horses
can’t smell us. It also carries the sound away. Otherwise, I’d never have gotten close to them the first time.” Tom pointed ahead. “I left Shorty concealed behind that ridge up ahead.”

Miles dismounted and pulled Verity off her horse right where they were. “Wait here for us,” he told her. “Don’t stick your head up, or you’re liable to get it shot off. Do you understand?”

“I want to see what’s going on,” she protested.

“It’s too dangerous. I want you to promise me you’ll stay here.”

“No.”

“Damn it, Verity—”

“Miles,” Tom said, “we need to get moving.”

“Stay here,” Miles repeated. Then, because there was always the chance he wouldn’t be coming back, he kissed her. His lips were hard on hers, angry because he might be deprived forever of more than this bare taste of her. It was hard to tear himself away. He turned his back on her and mounted his horse.

And heard her whisper, “Come back safe to me.”

He put her from his mind as he rode away with Tom, focusing his entire being on the fight ahead of them. They met up with Shorty and crawled to the top of the rise on their bellies to reconnoiter. Despite the late hour, the Indians were still awake, talking around the campfire. The three cowboys retreated a little way to plan how best to attack the band of savages.

“I vote we wait till they’re asleep,” Shorty said, “and bushwhack ’em.”

“It makes sense to wait until they settle down for the night before we make our move,” Miles agreed. “But they’ll leave a lookout for sure. I wouldn’t count on our chances of sneaking up on them.”

“If we wait long enough, whatever guard they set may get tired of watching for trouble, maybe even fall asleep,” Tom suggested.

“We’ve got to make sure they can’t get to their horses when we start shooting,” Miles said. “Otherwise, they’ll get away, and we’ll play hell finding them again.”

Their plan was simple. They would wait until nearly dawn. Shorty would stampede the ponies while Miles and Tom charged on horseback, firing into the Indian camp.

“Leave Hawk to me,” Miles told Tom. “I want him alive so he can answer questions about his captives.”

“What about your wife?” Tom asked. “Somebody has to tell her what’s going on. She’s expecting us to attack any minute.”

“I’ll go wait with her. If Hawk makes a move we don’t expect, come get me. Otherwise, I’ll join you just before dawn. And Tom … Make sure you give some warning if you come looking for me, or you’re liable to get a bullet between the eyes.”

Tom’s grin flashed in the moonlight. “Sure, boss. Man’s got a right to some privacy on his wedding night.”

“I’m not—”

“No need to explain, boss,” Tom said.

“Don’t worry about us, boss,” Shorty said.

“But—” Miles realized he was wasting his time. He had no intention of making love to his wife, despite what they thought. Or, he hadn’t, until Tom had put the idea in his head. As he rode back toward Verity he thought,
Why not?
It was probably the only time they would be alone for days to come. Now that he knew where the Indians were, he didn’t have to worry about them sneaking up on him when he wasn’t paying attention.

While Miles had no intention of getting himself killed in the morning, he had learned things didn’t always turn out the way one planned. This might be the last chance he would ever have to make love to his wife.

Verity was jumpy, frightened by every sound. She heard the hoofbeats before she saw anything and held the gun out in front of her with two shaking hands, ready to fire it.

“It’s me,” Miles called quietly into the darkness.

“Oh, thank God,” she said, letting the heavy weapon drop in front of her. She hurried toward him as he dismounted. “What’s going on? I thought you were going to attack them. I didn’t hear any shots.”

“We decided to wait until dawn.”

“Why wait? Every minute counts. Rand and Freddy—”

Miles took the gun from her and slipped it back
into his holster. “A couple of hours isn’t going to make any difference.”

“How do you know that?” Verity demanded in a desperate, but necessarily hushed, voice. “It could make all the difference! There’s no telling what might be happening to them this very minute. Why—”

He covered her mouth with his hand. “Enough. There’s nothing we can do until dawn. The time until then is ours, yours and mine.”

She made a muffled protest behind his hand.

“I’ve waited a long time for you, Verity. Too long. I don’t intend to wait any longer.”

She shook her head vehemently no.

“I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth. Keep your voice low,” he warned, “or you’ll bring those Sioux down on us.”

“You’re insane!” she hissed. “How can you think about coupling at a time like this?”

“What better time, when there may be no tomorrow.”

She gasped. “You said there was no danger.”

“I said I didn’t intend to get myself killed. That doesn’t mean something can’t go wrong.”

She stuck out a flattened palm to keep him at a distance. “Miles, let’s talk about this.”

“The time for talking is over, Verity. You’re my wife. I’m your husband. It’s our wedding night.”

Verity was furious—because Miles was taking unfair advantage of the fact she didn’t dare rage at him for fear of alerting the savages to their presence.
And terrified—because he seemed a stranger, and the circumstances were so foreign to anything she had imagined. It was irrational to fight against something she wanted to happen, but reason had very little sway right now.

She tried to run, but Miles caught her before she had taken two steps. He thrust a hand into her hair, scattering pins and twisting a handful of silky curls around his fist, pulling her head back to expose her throat. The feel of his mouth against her flesh sent a chaotic wave of sensation rolling through her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, remembering at the last instant the danger of making any sound. Instead, she grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking hard enough in her fear and anger to draw a grunt of pain from him.

“Don’t fight me,” he warned harshly. His hand circled her waist to hold her struggling body captive while his mouth strangled her cry of furious despair.

Not this way, Miles. Not in anger. Not with force
.

He released her mouth abruptly and stood panting, his eyes glittering with desire in the moonlight. “Don’t fight me. Don’t. Because I intend to have you whether you will it or not. But …”

She knew what he couldn’t say. They had been cheated of a lifetime together. They might have only one night. And he wanted it to be a night of joy, a night of unspoken love.

“All right, Miles.”

His brows arrowed down, as though he didn’t
believe she had surrendered so easily. He watched her with inscrutable eyes as he slid his hands down to her buttocks and held her pressed against his aroused body. There was too much cloth between them, and he seemed to realize it the same instant as she did.

Boldly, daring her to fight him, he shoved her velvet jacket off her shoulders, then unbuttoned the basque-waist enough to pull it up over her head. He released the buttons on her riding skirt and let it slide off over her hips to the ground, leaving her clothed only in her corset and thin muslin undergarments. She saw the tension in his shoulders, the tautness of his features, as he reached between her thighs. Her knees nearly buckled, and she grabbed his forearm to keep herself steady as his hand closed over her.

His eyes linked with hers as he staked his claim. “Mine, Verity. You’re mine.”

“I’ve always been yours, Miles.”

He made a hoarse sound of denial in his throat, but he wasted no time in capturing her mouth with his.

There was a desperation in what they did that made Verity’s throat swell with feeling. He finished undressing her and himself in a frenzied hurry. There was no time to feel ashamed of her nakedness, no time to express her admiration of his, before their bodies were aligned from chest to hip.

She was aware of the greater breadth of his shoulders as her arms closed around him. She
gasped as her fingers met the ridged skin along his back where he had been whipped. Tears of pity and remorse stung her eyes and nose. But there was no time to indulge emotion. He lowered her to the cool grass and mounted her, smothering her cry of pain at his intrusion where no man had been since the birth of their son.

She had thought it would be over quickly. That had been her experience with Chester, and with Miles the one time they had been together. But once he was inside her, Miles paused and began a thorough exploration of her body with his mouth and hands that soon had her writhing beneath him.

She felt overwhelmed by her own needs, incapable of fulfilling his. “Miles, I can’t—”

“You can,” he countered. “You will.”

He took what she would have given freely, if it had been asked of her, his hands and mouth urgent, impatient to have what they had both been denied for too many years.

He had done this with more than a few other women, she realized with a pang, because he knew exactly where to touch her, how to make her moan with pleasure. She worried that she wouldn’t please him but was incapable of voicing that fear, incapable of thinking much, really, at all.

Her body, which had lain untouched night after night for years, was overpowered by sensations. She had thought she couldn’t feel again, only to discover that she felt everything with a heightened
awareness that made it all seem unreal. To finally be held in Miles’s strong arms, to feel the play of muscle beneath warm flesh, to feel his moist breath against her throat, to taste him, to have his callused hands caress her skin, brought forth tides of regret for the years that had been stolen from them.

As best she could, she forced the regrets back, refusing to let them spoil what was happening between them now. She let herself glory in the animal sounds of satisfaction issuing from his throat. Her body arced beneath his, flesh mating with flesh. Her insides tightened in a way that frightened her, and she retreated from him.

He would not allow it. “Come with me, Verity,” he urged. “Don’t leave me now.”

She didn’t understand what he wanted from her, but her body no longer seemed under her control. Her insides clenched around him, and her thigh muscles locked in an agony of tension. She wanted to cry out, to beg for surcease, but she bit back the sound. She could do nothing to stop the waves of feeling that shuddered over her, through her, an ecstasy so powerful it was almost pain.

She had a fleeting glimpse of Miles before her eyes closed, his features rigid, his head and body arched back, the sinew and muscle defined in his shoulders and chest.

His pelvis pressed hard against hers, spreading her legs wider as he pushed himself deeper. She felt the flood of warm seed as his body pulsed inside
her and heard a muffled cry of exultation. Then she felt his welcome weight as he lowered himself to mantle her nakedness. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him close, not caring that he was too heavy, that it was hard to breathe, only grateful for what they had shared at long last.

He said nothing and the silence grew long and poignant between them.

She felt his body tense as her forefinger traced the scar on his face from temple … to eye … to mouth …

He grabbed her hand. “Don’t,” he said in a tight voice.

She felt a chill of fear that he would always and forever shut her out, that in the years to come they would have only the release of passion, but never the love that should go with it.

He misinterpreted her tremors of emotion and said, “You’re cold.” He rose and drew her to her feet. “We’d better get dressed.”

He turned his back on her, leaving her to manage on her own while he dressed himself. She was surprised to realize how much time had passed. There was a faint ridge of gold and orange along the horizon.

Dawn had arrived.

She turned to him when she was completely dressed and discovered him watching her with hooded eyes.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered you.”

She felt a rush of pleasure at the compliment, which denied the dirt on her face and hands and the untidy golden curls falling on her shoulders. “I …” She looked into his eyes, searching for more than admiration of her physical form, searching for any hint of caring.

She didn’t find it. If anything, his eyes were even more remote than they had been before they made love.

“I’ve got to go now,” he said, handing her his .45 again. “Be careful. Be quiet. I’ll get back here as quickly as I can.”

He got on his horse and rode away.

For about two minutes, she stood there watching him. Then she had the most awful premonition that if she didn’t follow him, she would never see him again.

She hurried to her horse, tightened the girth on the saddle, and made an awkward attempt at mounting. It wasn’t pretty, but moments later she was in the saddle and headed after Miles at a walk, keeping her distance in the rolling terrain, praying he wouldn’t look back and see her. She dismounted before she topped each rise and led her horse to the edge to be certain she didn’t run into him. At last, she found what she sought.

Miles and his two cowhands were crouched down behind a ridge looking over the edge. She presumed the Indians were on the other side. The three men scooted back out of sight, mounted their horses and, at a signal from Miles, charged over the hill.

As she tried to mount, the sound of gunshots caused her horse to sidestep nervously, so her foot fell free of the stirrup. That made the gelding leap sideways, jerking the reins from her hands. She tried talking calmly to the frightened animal as she moved slowly toward him, but several more gunshots finished what they had started. The animal loped away, head high and reins dragging.

She could have screamed in vexation. She ran toward the fight she could hear in progress, stumbled at the top of the hill when she realized there was no one in the depression below her, then nearly fell in her haste to get down the slope. She gathered her feet under her and kept on running. It was hard going up the other side, and she was exhausted when she sank down to peer over the ridge at the battle going on below.