Authors: Jennifer Jakes
“That’s right.”
Rude or not, it was time to be direct. “A re you in some kind of trouble, Mr. McBride?”
He stiffened all over again. “Don’t you think you’d better concentrate on your own problem?”
“But you’re helping me with that. I only want to return the favor.”
“A s I said, I don’t need your help.”
Uh! He was the most stubborn man ever born.
Rafe pulled open the door. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
“Wait. There’s something else we have to talk about.” She stepped forward and reached for his arm.
His expression stopped her cold. “No. There’s not,” he insisted.
The door slammed before she could retort.
O o h ! She spun around the room, longing for something to throw. Preferably at his head. His habit of walking out of the room during a conversation irritated her to physical violence. They had to talk. Hadn’t he heard Private Richards? The cavalry was riding west, straight for Cecil and Little Owl.
Cecil would die before he let them take me. Little Owl’s words ripped through Maggie and collided with the image of the private pulling a trigger. Shudders rippled down her spine. If the cavalry found them, Cecil would be killed, Little Owl left with the soldiers. A lone.
Pregnant.
Maggie gulped back thick bile.
Someone had to warn the couple. But who? If she and Rafe went back…
She wilted onto the rose settee, consequences bombarding her like hail.
If they went back, they had no chance of getting through the snowy pass. She’d be trapped until spring.
Nettie would think her dead, the art show forgotten, and even though Maggie didn’t believe Michael had the gumption to search for her, he would gamble away the remaining money, or Mr. Bouse would swindle the funds.
A ll right. There had to be an answer. She drummed her fingers on the carved wooden arm. Maybe she could continue to Fort Union alone, and Rafe could go back.
You can’t ride a horse without help!
Fine. Maybe she could pay one of the soldiers to take her.
Which of those lecherous men do you trust?
She dropped her head against the back of the settee and blew a long sigh. Rafe wouldn’t agree to either suggestion. He’d demand they stay together so he could take care of her.
“Humph.” He was the one who needed taking care of. A sinister feeling niggled about the man who searched for Rafe—yet the stubborn fool refused her help. A lthough, what help could she give?
She launched from her seat and paced the small room, clenching, unclenching her fists. How had she ended up responsible for so many people’s lives?
Swiping a hot tear, she steeled her resolve and pushed the doubt to the back of her mind.
She and Rafe had to warn Cecil.
If Michael squandered the money, so be it. It didn’t mean she would never sell her art—well, it might. If she couldn’t fund the show…No! This was just a minor setback, not the end of her dreams.
She swallowed hard, then moved to the basin and stared into the dusty mirror at her determined reflection.
Her friends meant more than artistic recognition. Now if only making that decision felt better.
She unbuttoned her shirt, then froze.
I just made my own decision. Not Michael, not Father. Not even Rafe.
A smile quirked her lips. She did feel better.
Peeling the clothes from her body, she pulled clean garments from the saddlebags and tore a strip from her old petticoats to use as a washcloth. Every creak of the floorboards made her work faster. Rafe might return any minute. If he saw her naked…she froze. Would that be so bad? Maybe she should strip. Strip and wait on the bed, posed like the woman in the painting. What would Rafe think if he found her like that? Would he just watch her finger herself, or would he drop his pants and ride her?
Once the deed was done, the ache would go away.
Wouldn’t it?
Maggie groaned and dropped the rag into the basin.
So much for making a decision. A ny more of this seesaw of indecision and she’d be ready for an asylum.
A ngry voices echoed in the hallway, rattling her nerves. Rafe might be in trouble. She yanked on the long underwear, then wiggled into clean trousers. The thunder of a something—or someone—slammed against the door. Her heart clattered to stop, then pounded to a start as she grabbed a shirt and dropped it over her head.
“Sonofabitch!” A male voice rumbled from the hall.
Was that Rafe? Oh, no. He probably started a fight.
Her gaze snapped around the room, searching for a weapon. He would need help. The iron fireplace poker looked formidable. She snatched it from the crate, hurried to the door and jerked it open.
Rafe back-stepped as Maggie charged through the door. Fear for her safety hit him at the same time as the scalding soup. It slopped from the bowls as he tried to steady their supper tray while reaching his pistol. She froze mid-step, fireplace poker raised high, her eyes wide with surprise.
“It’s you.” Her gaze darted to the young soldiers scuffling like pups at the end of the hall.
“What the hell are you doing?” But he already knew the answer.
“I, um, I heard men fighting.” She tucked the weapon behind her as if she could fool him, as if she hadn’t been charging to his rescue.
“A nd you thought it was me?”
She shrugged, and backed across the room to replace the poker. “It sounded like you.”
“A nd you were coming to help?” He stepped inside and kicked the door closed. “Even after I told you I didn’t need help.”
Hurt and defiance warred on her face, until she raised her chin. “We never resolved that issue.”
“Oh, yes, we—”
“Because you keep walking out.”
Closing his eyes, he inhaled a calming breath and set the bowls onto the small table. He was glad she’d found some confidence, really he was. The strength would serve her well. But if she would just save it for her battles in St. Louis, his life would be much easier.
“A re you ignoring me?” she asked. “Because you do that a lot, too.”
He glanced to where she hovered beside the table.
Cheeks flushed and eyes sparking, she was a tempting sight, and he had the near-irresistible urge to kiss her senseless.
Instead, he pointed to her bowl.
“Eat your supper. We’ve got a long ride to Fort Union.” A nd once Maggie was safe on a stagecoach, he had to ride like hell to warn Cecil, then somehow meet the stagecoach in St. Louis. It wasn’t the perfect solution, but Rafe could think of no other. Too many people needed his protection at the same time.
“We’re not going to the fort,” she announced.
Cornbread lodged in his throat. “What?”
She pounded his back, then squatted beside his chair. “We can’t. We have to warn Little Owl and Cecil.” He gulped the lukewarm coffee, washing down the dry bread, putting off her inevitable argument. She wasn’t going like what he had to say. “We are going to the fort. I’ll warn Cecil after I see you to the stage.”
“A nd what if you’re too late?” She climbed to her feet and paced the room. “The cavalry might leave before you return.”
Damn it, he knew that. He knew the risk without her nattering.
“Maggie—”
“We were going to the fort because of me, so I have the right to change the plan.”
“What about Michael? Have you forgotten he’s after you?”
“No. I—”
“A nd what if we can’t get through the pass once we leave Cecil’s? Do you realize you’ll be trapped with me all winter?” A lone. Heat shot through him, and he swallowed hard. Images of Maggie spread out like that damned painting taunted him. Christ. He really would have to sleep in the barn with Moses. He wouldn’t make it months without fucking her. If he did, his poor dick would be jerked completely off. No. No, no, no. He’d never last. There had to be a better way.
“I know all of that. I trust we can handle Michael if he finds me. A nd as much as your overbearing person would test my patience, Mr. McBride, I couldn’t live with myself if Little Owl or Cecil was hurt.” She stopped in front of him and met his gaze. “A nd neither could you.” Rafe heaved a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why the hell was he always caught between a rock and hard place? A nd why the hell did she have to be right? If his friends died because he lacked sexual self control, he’d never forgive himself.
“Fine. We’ll both go back. But you have to agree to do as I say.”
She stiffened, but she had to give her word. It was the only way he could keep her safe. A nd he intended to save them all.
“I mean it, Maggie.”
“But—”
“Maggie.”
“Fine.” She dropped into the chair and dunked the dry cornbread into her soup.
“A ll right.” The soldier in him formed a battle plan.
“We have to slip out at dawn.”
“That means a half hour before.” She delivered the barb between delicate sips of broth.
Rafe bit his lip to hide a laugh. It wouldn’t help to encourage her sassy mouth. Especially since he was the one she’d be sassing the next few months. Christ.
Shouldn’t an unwelcome guest make him angry?
She’s not unwelcome. You want her with you. You want her naked, beneath you. Bent over, slick with her cream and your cum, offering her puckered hole for you to fuck, over and over and over.
No, he didn’t! Letting himself be distracted would get them both killed.
“It means we leave at daybreak,” he corrected, forcing his mind to business. “So when you’re finished, get some sleep. You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.” She gave an unenthusiastic glance to both. “I doubt one is any cleaner than the other.”
He nodded. “We’ll shake out the bedding soon as I eat. Then I’ll take the dishes downstairs, so you can prepare for bed.”
****
“Want me to ask for clean bedding?” He gathered the dishes and paused at the door.
“It looks clean. I’m sleeping in my clothes though.” He nodded and tried not to grit his teeth. He didn’t want to think about what she wore. It made him wonder how long it would take to strip her, made him wonder what she had on—or didn’t—underneath those britches.
She wore no corset. That was obvious in the bounce of her breasts and in the way her nipples hardened when she was cold. Or horny.
He swallowed a groan and hurried to the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Or however long it took to buy some paper for her. “Go ahead and sleep. I’ll wake you in the morning.”
“A ll right.”
She stretched out on the bed, and Rafe’s cock hardened at the sight of her. It took three tries before he could operate the doorknob.
“Night.” He stumbled into the hallway, resisting the urge to bang his head against the wall. With his luck, she’d think he had been attacked and rush to save him.
Naked—or worse. No, nothing was worse than naked.
First he’d have to kill every man who saw her. Then he’d have to spank her ass until it was as red as a whore’s lip rouge. Shit. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about spanking her. Damn, damn, damn. He really was a sick bastard.
He groaned and hurried downstairs. There was one important item he had to find before they left Lesterville.
No matter what, he intended to locate paper.
Rafe slipped back inside their room. The clerk promised to find some paper by morning. A t least this trip provided something useful.
Rafe tiptoed to the bed. Maggie’s quiet sighs mixed with soft snores, something he was sure she would deny.
Not that he would mention it. He still retained some manners.
Fireplace shadows danced on the wall as he made his way to wash. A damp rag hung from the basin, and as he ran it over his face and chest, her musky scent engulfed him. He closed his eyes, the images of her dragging the rag between her breasts, down her belly, between her legs flashed through his mind like a lightning storm, so vivid his cock swelled and stretched to his stomach.
Damn. He flung the cloth and stomped to the coverlet. He stretched onto the dusty fabric and let the flames melt his worries. The fire crackled, the monotonous sound blended with Maggie’s breathing…
Comforted…lulled…until his eyes drifted shut.
Then somehow he was with his troops again.
Shane was there, but this time Simon rode beside Rafe. The woman Shane held beneath him looked at Rafe, pleaded for help.
Suddenly she became Maggie.
“No,” Rafe cried. He jumped from his horse, pistol drawn, but Simon caught him by the arm, held him, forced him to watch while Shane tore her bodice, raised her skirts, bared her legs for all the men to see.
“You boys can have a turn once I’m finished.” Shane watched Rafe’s reaction.
Maggie’s mouth moved, and Rafe knew she called for him. She reached for his hand, her blue eyes full of desperate tears.
Shane unbuttoned his fly and parted her legs…
“No. No!” Rafe couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
“Rafe!” The hands continued to grip him, shake him.
“Rafe.”