Wyoming Wildfire (Harlequin Historical) (13 page)

For a long moment he simply held her in the twilight, feeling her warmth against his pounding heart. She had risked death to save him. That in itself was a small miracle. That they had both survived was almost too much to ask of heaven.

Jessie had begun to tremble. Matt tightened his arms around her, his throat aching. This contrary, argumentative bundle of courage held his heart in her hands. He never wanted to let her go.

His lips brushed her short curls, tasting the damp soil that had fallen on her head. Hellfire, she’d nearly died on that ledge. He wanted to shake her, to scold her, to bully some sense into her. But that would only drive her away, and right now he couldn’t stand the thought of having her out of his reach.

The nicker of his horse, waiting behind them in the trees, wrenched him back to reality. “We need to get you home, wherever that is. I don’t see your mare.”

Jessie stirred, glancing around as she pulled away from him. “Gypsy didn’t fall, I’m sure of that. But she likely spooked and bolted when the ledge caved in. She’s probably halfway home by now.”

“And where’s home these days?” Matt would have given anything not to break their fragile truce with words, but he had little choice. “I need to know so I can take you there.”

He was braced for an argument, but she only pointed west, toward the peaks. “It’s only a few miles. There’s a meadow just beyond that first ridge. Years ago an old trapper built a cabin there. We—my family—used to camp there when we went after wild horses.”

Matt nodded his understanding and went to get his horse. There were scores of questions in his mind, all shouting to be asked and answered. Why had she run away from him? What had she been doing for the past two weeks? And what kind of craziness had driven her to spy on Virgil and Lillian?

He also needed to tell her about Morgan Tolliver’s invitation and persuade her to accept it. But even that could wait until morning. When he tried to talk to Jessie, the words tended to get between them in an irritating way, like a burr under a saddle. Tonight
both of them were emotional and exhausted. Trying to talk things out would be a mistake.

And right now the last thing Matt cared about was clearing the air. All he wanted was to be with her.

Riding double, they wound their way up to the ridge. The rising moon, nearly full, flooded the land with pools of light and shadow. Stars glittered like spilled diamonds across the dark expanse of the sky. The night was warm, the breeze a soft caress.

Jessie sat behind Matt on the tall gelding. Her arms clasped his ribs. Her head lay drowsily against his back. He had said no more than a few words to her, and she was glad of it. If he talked, he would lecture her, and if he lectured, she would argue. She was far too exhausted for a fight and so, she sensed, was Matt.

Where her ear lay against his ribs, she could hear the low sound of his breathing and the steady drumming of his heart. His leather vest was smooth and warm against her cheek. When she inhaled, the subtle aromas of wood smoke, fresh hay and clean male sweat drifted into her senses.

Under different conditions, it would have been bliss to simply close her eyes and drift. But there was a war going on inside her—a war between her head and her heart.

The plea of her heart was simple. Matt had nearly
given his life to save her. Surely that meant he cared for her, maybe even loved her. So why shouldn’t she feel free to love him in return?

The voice in her mind was more insistent, its argument more complex and compelling. Matt’s selfless gesture had nothing to do with love. Frank’s loss weighed on his conscience and on his reputation. Another Hammond death would have ruined him, especially when half the county had seen him ride after her. But if, on the other hand, he’d given his life to save her, he would have died a hero. It was honor, not love, that had nearly driven him to cut the rope.

An ambitious man like Matt would want a woman he could be proud of, not the scruffy tomboy sister of an accused murderer—especially when, in his eyes, she could still be a murder suspect herself.

Finding Allister’s killer would prove her own innocence, as well as Frank’s. But as long as Frank could be blamed, Matt had no reason to help her. If she asked him, he would only tell her to put the tragedy behind her and move on.

Jessie loosened her grip on Matt and forced herself to sit up straight behind him. It was time she put her girlish fantasies aside. Much as she might wish it, Matt Langtry was not going to slay her dragons and fall at her feet. Whatever needed doing, she would have to do on her own.

But right now, all she wanted was to feel his arms around her again.

From the ridge, Matt gazed down at the moonlit meadow where the cabin stood. It was a perfect hideout, sheltered on all sides by rocky peaks. In his search for Jessie, he’d probably passed within a quarter mile of it without realizing it was there.

As the horse shifted to a downhill gait, he felt Jessie stir behind him. She’d fought sleep for most of the past hour but had finally sagged against his back, her fingers locked through his belt loops. Matt had let her doze, savoring the heat of her body through his vest. In the bright moonlight, he hadn’t needed her help to find the trail. Unfortunately, in the silence, all his black thoughts had come home to roost.

At least his suspicions about Jessie being the shooter were dwindling. If she’d killed Allister herself, it would have been easy enough to let Frank take the blame. Instead she was risking arrest, or worse, to prove her brother’s innocence. Tomorrow he would confront her about her nighttime forays. Tonight he didn’t trust himself to speak. He was too vulnerable and so, he sensed, was Jessie.

Behind him, she sat up and stretched, uttering sleepy sounds that made him want to turn around, clasp her in his arms and bury his face between her breasts. For the length of the ride, her nearness had
tormented him. Her warmth had seeped into his blood, sending ripples of heat to his loins. He remembered that night in the storm, the feel of her, like slick, wet satin to the touch. He remembered her quivering release against his fingertips and how he had ached for more of her, all of her.

Matt swore under his breath as they neared the cabin. He was tired, sore and so damned horny he could almost taste it. Part of him wanted to stop the horse right here, fling Jessie down in the grass and make love to her. Another part of him wanted to shake her silly for all the grief she’d put him through. In short, he was in a very dangerous mood.

Once again, he would be spending a night alone with her—and this time his self-control was as frayed and fragile as the rope that had held them to the crumbling ledge.

T
hey found the mare grazing outside the cabin, reins dragging on the ground. Jessie slid off the back of Matt’s horse and ran to Gypsy. “You naughty girl!” she scolded, stroking the satiny neck. “I knew you’d be right here, waiting! Shame on you for running off like that!”

The pinto nickered from the makeshift corral off the back of the cabin. Jessie walked over to the aspen log fence and took down the rails that formed the gate. “I should have taken you today,” she said, planting a finger-kiss on the old horse’s forehead. “At least you wouldn’t have run off and left me hanging in midair.”

Matt watched her flit from one animal to the other. He knew what she was up to. As long as she was fussing over her horses, she could put off dealing with him. But she had to know she couldn’t fuss all night.
There were things that needed settling, and not all of them could wait until morning.

Swinging out of the saddle, he dropped wearily to the ground. “I’ll take care of your mare,” he said. “Maybe you’d like to go inside and get a fire started.”

She hesitated, then spun away and hurried into the cabin. Moments later he saw the faint glow of a candle through the partly open doorway.

As he led the two horses into the corral, Matt surveyed the tiny, windowless shack. The whole structure was no bigger than his room at the boardinghouse. Light flickered through chinks between the rough-hewn logs, and the roof was nothing but moldering sod that looked as if it could collapse under heavy snow. Beyond the corral, he could see a patch of raw earth where Jessie had dug more sod to patch the holes. She had likely taken pains to scrub and repair the inside as well, but at best, her new home was no more than a hovel.

How could she survive in a remote place like this, with no one to help and protect her? Jessie was an accomplished hunter, he knew, but there were wolves, cougars and grizzly bears in these mountains, to say nothing of beasts in human form who lived outside the law. If such men were to come by and find her, he didn’t even want to think about what could happen. Even some minor event, such as an illness or an injury, could turn deadly if she were up here alone.

Matt unsaddled the horses and removed their bridles, taking notice of the stream that ran through a corner of the corral. Tomorrow the first order of the day would be to get Jessie out of here. They could talk about what to do next on the ride back to Sheridan.

His nostrils caught the homey fragrance of burning wood. He glanced up to see smoke curling from the blackened tin chimney. The night was getting chilly. He looked forward to the warm cabin and to feasting his eyes on Jessie.

As for the rest—if things got off on the wrong foot, they could both be in for an awkward, miserable night.

As he replaced the aspen rails and walked toward the front door, Matt struggled with what to say to her.

He took a deep breath as he opened the door. What he said and did next, he realized, would have to depend on Jessie.

She glanced up from tending the potbellied stove as he came inside. The single candle, thrust into an old brown bottle on the table, cast a glow that shimmered on her skin, reflecting amber flames in her eyes. Her shorn hair framed her face in childlike tendrils. Even in her ragged flannel shirt and muddy overalls, she was alluringly feminine. His brave, beautiful Jessie. The sight of her made his throat ache.

How could he have wondered what to do, when there was only one answer?

Crossing the distance between them, he laid his
hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. The eyes that gazed up at him glimmered with unshed tears.

“Don’t touch me,” she said huskily. “Not unless it means something.”

He gathered her close. For a long breath of time, he simply held her, feeling the frantic pulse of her heart through her rib cage. She trembled against him like a captured bird; fierce little Jessie who was so afraid to trust herself to love.

Lifting her chin with his fingertips, he found her sweet mouth. His kiss was slow and tender. She responded with a low sob that rose from the depths of her body. Her arms slid around his neck, pulling his head down to deepen the contact between them.

Matt felt the heat rise in his body as she pressed against him. He wanted this woman in ways he had no right to want her. But suddenly that right made no difference. She needed him. Filling that need blurred the line between black and white. It made all his long-standing rules seem pompous and silly.

But then, Jessie had never fit the rules. If he made love to her, it couldn’t be for a night or even for a few heady weeks. Jessie Hammond was a forever kind of woman, a woman to have and hold and cherish for the rest of his life. If he wasn’t ready to offer his heart and hand, it would be better for them both if he walked away right now.

He kissed her again and felt her press against his swollen shaft. Her hips moved, rubbing him through the layers of cloth that kept them chastely apart. Dizzy with the feel of her, he pulled her closer. She gasped, then moaned. He fought for self-control as the spasms rippled through her body. His kisses devoured her eyes, her cheeks her throat as her breathing slowed and she sank against him.

The candle guttered, deepening the shadows around them as they stood wrapped in each other’s arms. This was as close as he’d ever come to heaven, Matt thought. He could die a happy man, just holding her.

He would wait for the wedding if that was what she wanted. But Lord, it wasn’t going to be easy when Jessie was so responsive and he was so hungry for her. His loins flamed as he imagined taking her here and now, thrusting into her wet, silky darkness, the mounting ecstasy, the rocking explosion as his hot seed filled her.

But he would never hurt Jessie by demanding more than she was ready to give. Whatever he took now would be only what she offered him.

Jessie quivered against him, shaken by the waves of liquid heat that had surged through her body. She had barely tasted what he had to give her, and she wanted the whole, delicious sensual banquet. She
wanted to feel his hands stroking her, exploring the places that burned for his touch. She wanted to mold herself to his beautiful, iron-muscled body, to feel his skin gliding over hers as he pushed inside her, deeper, harder, again and again.

She had seen horses breed and felt a contraction in her loins at every powerful thrust of the stallion’s massive haunches. As she’d observed the details of the joining, she could not help imagining how it would feel to have that vital part of a man inside her, huge and swollen and eager. She’d found the thought vaguely disturbing, even frightening—until the man had become Matt.

Now, with that hard ridge jutting against her belly, all she could think of was how much she needed him.

Freeing her hand from around his neck, she moved far enough away from him to unhook the straps of her overalls. The baggy garment slid down her body and crumpled around her ankles.

Matt’s breath sucked in as he caught her close. One hand slid hungrily upward beneath her shirt and camisole to find her breasts. His palm was rough and raw from gripping the rope. Her nipples puckered as that roughness brushed her tender flesh. Shimmering currents of heat pulsed downward into her legs. She felt a surge of thigh-slicking moisture. She whimpered, ravenous for more. Her eyes closed. Her head fell back.

Tugging her shirt open, he buried his face between her breasts. Her fingers clawed at his hair. Her chest arched upward as she pulled his head closer.

“I want you, Jessie,” he muttered, his chapped lips moving against her skin. “Stop me now, if you need to. You might not be able to stop me later.”

Jessie’s head was swimming. She groped for words. “The…bed…” was all she could manage to say.

The sound he made could have been a chuckle. “Wait, you little wanton…” he muttered.

His hands pulled her shirt and camisole down off her shoulders, leaving her bare above the waist. The feel of him against her bare skin was intoxicating. Frantic for more, she pulled at his shirt, popping a button in her haste. He helped her with the rest, then pulled her against him once more. Jessie’s eyes closed as his hands moved over her back. The warm, musky aroma of his body sang in her senses. She inhaled him, tasted the salt on his skin. He groaned as her tongue found one of his nipples, licking and sucking until it hardened. Sweet heaven, how she craved him. She couldn’t get enough.

His chest was dusted with a triangle of crisp brown curls. Her exploring fingers traced the narrowing line to where it vanished beneath the belted waist of his trousers. Her pulse lurched to a gallop as she found his belt buckle, unfastened it and began to fumble with the stubborn buttons.

Sensing her frustration, he caught her hand. His eyes twinkled as he pressed his lips into her rope-burned palm. “Allow me,” he whispered.

His practiced fingers dispatched the buttons in seconds. “Now, where were we?” he asked, capturing her hand once more. “Tell me what you want to do, Jessie.”

“Touch you…love you…” she whispered in a frenzy of need.

He kissed her, his mouth slow and gentle, his tongue coaxing whimpers of pleasure from her throat. Unbidden, her hand slid downward to his waist, then lower to find him. Her fingers clasped the velvet-cloaked hardness of his shaft. A stallion, she thought. Huge and strong and beautiful.

A quiver went through his body as she stroked him. “Yes, the bed…” he whispered, his voice thick and urgent.

She guided him toward the wooden platform that she had cushioned with fresh pine boughs and covered with her quilt. Hastily they shed their boots and what remained of their clothes. The sweet scent of pine rose around them as they tumbled onto the narrow, makeshift bed.

Stretching out, they lay in each other’s arms, touching and kissing. His roughened hands caressed her bare skin, awakening every sensitive nerve until her whole body tingled with spasms of desire. Shift
ing above her, he moved downward to her breasts, kissing her nipples, licking and sucking them until she writhed beneath him. All she could think of was wanting him inside her, thrusting deep into the aching core of her need. “Please, Matt…” she whispered, her hips undulating. “Please…”

Even then he was merciless. Feathering a trail of kisses along her belly, he moved between her parted legs and lowered his head. She gasped at the first brush of his tongue. Then, as waves of exquisite flowering swept through her, she groaned. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she pressed upward against him, almost sobbing in ecstasy.

She was still shuddering when he lunged forward and pushed into her. The long glide carried him deep, causing a prick of pain that vanished in the rush of new sensations, new emotions. She had yearned to be possessed by him; now she was his to the depths of her soul. Instinctively she began to move, meeting his urgent thrusts with her own. Her legs captured him, pulling him deeper, binding his body to hers. Then it was as if she was flying with him, through a shimmering golden fire that flooded every part of her body. The harsh cadence of his breathing matched her own as he shuddered, burst inside her and collapsed in her arms.

For a long moment she held him, overcome by the sweetest love she had ever known. Then, coming
back to himself, he stirred, rose up on one elbow and brushed the damp curls back from her face. “Jessie,” he whispered. “My dearest Jessie.”

Matt awoke to the songs of morning birds and the smell of fresh coffee. His arm fumbled for Jessie. Beside him, the spot on the quilt where she’d slept was empty and cool. Gone. He must have been sleeping like a drunkard not to feel her get up and leave his side.

Jerking himself fully awake, he sat up. His gaze darted around the cabin. The only signs of life were the fire that had burned down to coals in the small iron stove and the coffeepot that simmered on the single burner.

Cursing, he swung his feet to the floor and reached for his trousers. Last night’s loving had been heaven on earth. But so help him, if Jessie Hammond had run off again, she was going to be one sorry woman.

Muttering under his breath, he pulled on his clothes and boots and raked a hand through his hair. He could put up with the fact that his mouth felt cottony and his shoulder muscles screamed from hanging on the rope. But the last thing he wanted to deal with was tracking Jessie down again.

The rough plank door was ajar, letting in the first pearlescent rays of sunlight. Striding across the cabin, he yanked it open the rest of the way—and
nearly stumbled over Jessie, who was sitting on the stoop drinking coffee from a tin mug.

He stared down at her, feeling foolish for his doubts. She looked fresh and rested, her skin glowing, her curls tousled by the morning breeze. She’d abandoned her overalls for a clean plaid shirt and denim trousers, cinched to her minuscule waist by a wide belt. The awareness that this beautiful creature had spent the night in his arms made him weak in the knees.

Matt cleared his throat to speak, but she put a cautioning finger to her lips. “Look,” she whispered, nodding toward the meadow.

Dropping to a crouch beside her, he followed the direction of her focus. Through the long grass, his eyes made out the shape of a wild mustang, then another and another, mares and foals and yearlings, drifting like ghosts in the paleness of dawn. The black stallion moved among them like a living shadow, darting here and there, nudging and nipping as he rounded up his herd.

Matt’s hand eased onto Jessie’s shoulder, fingers tightening as they shared the morning stillness and the magic of the wild horses. God willing, they would share many such moments in years to come, and countless nights of loving as well. But the issues they’d put aside last night couldn’t wait any longer. It was time for some serious talk.

In the corral behind the cabin, Jessie’s mare and
the two geldings were becoming agitated. Matt could hear them snorting and banging their bodies against the fragile fence. Unless they were calmed, they might knock down the rails to mingle with the wild mustangs.

He rose to his feet. Seeing the movement, the stallion gave a whistle of alarm. Instantly the mustangs wheeled and thundered away toward higher ground, leaving only the sigh of wind in the long spring grass.