Merline Lovelace (15 page)

“Here!”

She caught the rifle he tossed and pumped the lever to feed a shell into the chamber.

“Stay back,” he barked.

She slammed up against the cabin wall. Her shoulder blades had no sooner made contact than heavy footsteps pounded toward the cabin.

“Hey!” O’Reilly shouted. “Mexican! That you doin’ the shootin’ in there?”

Alejandro’s hoarse warning sounded only a second before Jack dived out the window. The wavy glass shattered. O’Reilly spun around.

Two pistols spit smoke.

“You sorry bastard!” Screeching, the outlaw danced from one foot to the other and clutched
frantically at his fingers. “You done shot away half my hand!”

Jack didn’t waste either time or sympathy on the man. Rolling to his feet once again, he shook off a shower of glass shards and gestured toward the cabin door.

“Inside.”

Cursing and holding his injured hand tight against his chest, the robber stumbled in. Jack followed, swung up his arm, and smashed Alejandro’s pistol down butt first. O’Reilly crumpled with a small, gobbled squawk.

“Keep them covered while I find some rope,” Jack instructed Suzanne tersely.

Jack made quick work of binding and gagging the two outlaws. He yanked the still-unconscious O’Reilly upright and tied him back-to-back to the protesting, groaning Alejandro. Only after he was satisfied they posed no immediate threat did he tear one of the men’s shirts into a rough bandage for the Mexican’s wound, rip another strip for the Irishman’s bloody finger stumps and join Suzanne at the door.

“I haven’t seen anything moving,” she told him.

“The sentry must have heard the shots.”

Squinting through the afternoon sunlight, Jack scanned the rocks on the far side of the box canyon
for a glint of steel, a moving shadow, anything that might pinpoint the guard Big Nose had left at the entrance. All he saw were the swirls of dust tossed up by the wind as it soughed through the tall rock spires and narrow creases.

Well, they couldn’t wait for the man to work his way around the upper reaches of the canyon. Once in position to cover the cabin, he could keep them pinned down indefinitely.

“I’ll make a run for the barn. Stay here until I bring the horses.”

“Jack, wait!”

“Dammit, you promised you’d do what I told you to.”

“I will! I just couldn’t let you go without this.”

Grabbing a handful of vest and shirt, she yanked him down and herself up. The kiss was hard and fierce. Suzanne held nothing back. Nothing.

When she pulled away, he shook his head. “You are one bodacious female,
Miss
Bonneaux.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Sloan. I do believe that’s the first compliment you’ve paid me in the entire course of our acquaintance.”

Praying it wouldn’t be the last, she curled her hands into tight fists as Jack made another quick scan of the canyon, then exploded through the doorway. With every step he cut across to the barn, Suzanne expected to hear a shot and see him spin around. Her nails had dug deep gouges in her
palms before the shadows inside the barn swallowed him whole.

After another search of the canyon walls, she made a quick dash to the storage room to retrieve her hat and canvas duster. Spinning around, she started out, then whirled back and stuffed tins grabbed at random from the shelves into the duster’s deep pockets. She was back at the door long, agonizing moments before Jack reappeared.

He came out of the barn riding low and fast on the big roan, tugging the chestnut’s reins. At his call, Suzanne dashed out, tossed him the rifle and scrambled into the saddle. They took off at a dead run for the narrow tunnel.

Halfway across the canyon, a puff of dust flew up only yards to their right. The crack of rifle fire followed a second later. She heard a grunt, then whipped her head around just in time to see Jack yank on the reins.

Her heart stopped dead in her chest, then started again with a painful kick when he cut right and brought the roan up between her and the shooter. Shielding her with his body, he cocked the rifle and returned fire while they raced side by side for the narrow opening in the rocks.

T
hey made it!

With a joyous prayer of thanks, Suzanne flattened herself against the chestnut’s neck and plunged into the tunnel. Jack and the big roan pounded in behind her. Pulling frantically on the reins, she twisted around as much as the crowding rock walls would allow.

“Jack! Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“I heard you grunt. Were you hit?”

“Just ride!”

The tunnel had seemed endless when Suzanne had first traveled through it days ago. Now it stretched into infinity. Bending so low that the chestnut’s mane flayed her face, she rode almost blind. Rock closed in on her from all sides. The echo of iron-shod hooves thundered in her ears. One narrow, twisting turn followed another. Fi
nally—
finally!
—she caught a slice of open sky up ahead.

The chestnut burst out of the tunnel and into a wide, winding ravine. She kicked him into a gallop and charged straight for the first bend. She had no idea whether Jack had disabled the sentry, no notion of whether the man could scramble to cover both the entrance to and exit from the tunnel, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

Only after she’d rounded the bend and ridden almost into a series of tall, wind-sculpted spires did she draw rein. Her breath knifing into her lungs, she twisted around and waited for Jack to pull up beside her. When she saw the blood tracing a bright red path down his chin and neck, her stomach lurched.

“You’re hit!”

“It was just a sliver of rock.”

A swipe with his forearm smeared the red across his cheek. The cut looked deep, but the blood had already slowed to a sluggish trickle. Jack ignored it as he scanned the forest of spires ahead. His glance cut sharply back to Suzanne.

“Guess this is where we learn whether you’re as good a pathfinder as you are rider. Which heel did you use to make those marks, right or left?”

“My right mostly.”

“We would’ve been coming from the opposite direction, so look to your left.”

Three different trails cut through the towering stone pinnacles. They found the small white scar some thirty or so yards down the second path. Suzanne sidled the chestnut next to the rock to measure her heel against the mark.

“This is it!”

“Looks like.”

She couldn’t resist a triumphant grin.

“I wouldn’t be feeling too smug,” Jack advised, eyeing the winding gully beyond. “We’ve got a good-size chunk of Badlands ahead, and two stage robbers likely to come charging out of that tunnel behind us at any minute with guns blazing.”

“Three, counting the guard.”

“Two,” he said flatly. “Let’s move.”

Despite Jack’s grim prediction, neither Alejandro nor O’Reilly came after them. Jack must have done a good job with the knots. Tied back-to-back as they were, they’d be ready to eat nails by the time they finally worked loose or Big Nose returned.

The possibility of meeting Parrott and his gang riding in while they were on their way out kept Suzanne and Jack straining to find the heel marks. It was slow work, far slower than Suzanne had anticipated. They had to explore each side turn, then backtrack after a mile or more passed with no small, white scar to guide them. Any hope of clear
ing The Wall before nightfall and reaching Fort Meade in time to telegraph a warning to the stage line soon faded.

They stayed in the saddle until huge black clouds of bats began their exodus from the caves hidden among the rocks. By then shadows had grown too deep to see the path ahead, much less a faint scrape in the rock. Dust coated Suzanne’s face and thirst scratched at her throat, but those mild irritations faded in comparison to her fierce satisfaction at having escaped.

“We’ll hole up in here.”

The gully Jack selected looked identical to dozens of others they’d passed. Spires of rock guarded its entrance, so fat and round the horses could barely squeeze by. Once past, the columns formed a perfect screen.

Suzanne cast a glance at the rock that surrounded her on all sides. By day, the Badlands appeared both formidable and desolate. By the light of the rising moon, the striated cliffs and wind-carved turrets took on a luminous sort of beauty all their own. Dismounting, she loosened the chestnut’s cinch and left him ground-tied to graze on the sparse clumps of grass poking through the dirt. They’d have to find water tomorrow. The horses could go some miles yet without solid feed, but they needed water.

So did Suzanne. Water, or any other liquid to
wash the dust down her throat. Claiming a flat rock, she emptied her pockets.

“When did you think to grab those?” Jack asked in surprise.

“While you were saddling the horses. I wasn’t sure how long it would take us to find our way through The Wall.”

Admiration flickered across his face. “You keep your head about you, I’ll say that for you, Miss Bonneaux.”

“My goodness! Two compliments in one day.” She fluttered her lashes, simpering coyly. “Do have a care, Mr. Sloan. You’ll turn my head.”

His laughter rolled down the small ravine, rich and deep. As near as Suzanne could recall, that was the first time she’d heard it.

How odd. How very odd! They’d shared so much this past week, yet she’d never heard him laugh until this moment. A little ache started just under her breastbone. She made a silent vow to give him many, many more opportunities to laugh with her.

“Let’s see what we have here.” She squinted to read the labels in the fast-descending darkness. “One tin of bully beef, one of pickled pigs knuckles and—” she tilted the cans to catch the light of the moon just climbing above the rocks “—two of stewed pears.”

“The beef and pig’s knuckles will be swimming
in brine,” Jack said. “We’d better leave them until we find water.”

“We can make do nicely with the pears. How shall we open them?”

“A sharp-pointed rock should do the trick.”

He hunted around until he found one that suited him. Drawing up her legs, Suzanne rested her chin on her knees while he attacked the tins. The rising moon cast enough light for him to work and her to note the concentration that furrowed his brow and squared his jaw.

The ache that had begun with his laughter suddenly intensified into a needle-sharp longing. Her fingers tingled with the need to trace the line of that set jaw, to brush the new bristles on his chin, and feel the firm, smooth line of his lips.

He looked up at that moment and caught the longing on her face. “Hungry?”

“Yes,” Suzanne murmured. “I am.”

Peeling back the jagged tin, he offered her the first bite. “Careful. Don’t cut your fingers on the edge.”

She picked out a juicy morsel and brought it to her mouth. Glancing up, she caught an odd look on Jack’s face. Half amused, half something she couldn’t quite decipher.

“You should see yourself,” he said, joining her on the flat rock. “You’re almost lost in that hat and dust catcher. Your face carries at least an inch
of red dirt, and yet you’re holding your pinky up as dainty as you please.”

“To quote my instructors at the Misses Merriweather’s Academy for Select Young Ladies, ‘One should maintain one’s dignity in all circumstances.”’

Which was hard to do, she discovered, with pear juice dribbling down one’s fingers. She popped another morsel into her mouth and then promptly abandoned her dignity and licked the juice from her fingers.

They finished the first tin in short order but decided to save the second for tomorrow. Judging by their difficulty in locating the marks Suzanne had made this afternoon, it would take some hours yet to find their way out of the red rock maze. The rest of the pears would have to serve as breakfast and possibly lunch. Ignoring her belly’s rumbling protest, Suzanne swiped her hands on her skirt.

“You’ve got juice on your chin,” Jack told her with a crooked smile.

When she missed the glistening spot, he reached over. “No, right here.”

Without thinking, she turned her head and licked the drop of juice from his finger. “Mmm. You taste good.”

He would have pulled away then, but she caught his wrist. Her tongue made another swipe, slower
this time. Across the rough, callused pad. Up one side. Down the other.

“
Very
good.”

“Suzanne…”

The need she’d felt earlier stabbed into her again, swift and sharp. Ignoring his low growl, she brushed her lower lip from side to side against his fingertip. His rough skin scraped the slick, satiny inner lining.

He had such strong hands. She couldn’t help remembering the sensations their touch had raised on her throat, her breasts, the quivering skin of her belly. Her lids drifted down, shutting out the deep shadows, the crowding rocks, the man standing taut before her. Her tongue explored the hard ridges and leathery creases, stroking softly.

When she took his forefinger in her mouth and sucked slowly, he made a strangled sound and took control. Catching her chin, he angled her face to his.

“Do you know what the hell you’re doing?”

Her lids flew up. Head back, she stared into the gray eyes boring down into hers.

“Yes.”

The soft, sure reply hit Jack square in the gut. He was already hard. Now he hurt.

He couldn’t take her here, in the open, up against a rock, for God’s sake! He had to consider Alejandro and O’Reilly. If the outlaws had wres
tled free of their ropes, they could be searching even now. Night would slow them, just as it had Jack and Suzanne, but…

“Kiss me, Jack.”

“Christ!”

“Kiss me. Please.”

The soft entreaty destroyed what little was left of his control. He wanted her, had wanted her almost from the moment he’d tumbled her into his arms after the stage holdup. He’d tried his damnedest to keep his hands off her, but he was done fighting the desire she’d teased and tormented into a raging need. Sliding his hand to the back of her head, he brought his mouth down on hers.

She opened for him joyfully. Her tongue danced with his, so clever, so quick. So damned busy. He tasted dust. Syrupy sweetness. Warm, willing woman. Looping her arms around his neck, she took greedily.

Her eagerness pushed Jack right over the edge. He had to have her, had to finish what they’d started in Mother Featherlegs’s bed. Finish it now. Here. With half an ear cocked to the sounds around them and the rest of him twisted tight as baling wire.

Cupping her bottom, he dragged her against him. The canvas coat flapped open. Her skirt tangled around her knees. With an impatient yank, she got it out of the way and scooted forward another
inch or two, until their bodies were fused at hip and chest and mouth. Her breasts pressed his chest, but she’d passed the point of needing Jack to stroke and suckle her into readiness.

She was hot and wet. He could feel the damp heat between her legs, where they were separated only by the barrier of her drawers and his trouser flap. He lifted her, canting her hips into his, letting her feel his hardness. It was a warning, the last warning he’d give her.

She tore her mouth away. Wide-eyed, she stared up at him. He saw a flash of uncertainty, and every muscle in his body screamed a protest.

“Jack, I don’t…I don’t…”

“It’s all right,” he ground out, forcing a space between them.

“No!” She clutched at his arms and dragged him back. “I…I don’t know what to do. You’ll have to show me.”

Reeling, he felt as though she’d reached into his chest and wrapped both small, dainty hands around his heart.

“Jack?”

“You don’t do anything, sweetheart.” Sliding his palm down her belly, he found the slit in her drawers. “Not a single thing.”

“Then what…? Oh! Oh, my!”

Her head went back. In the light of the glowing moon, her eyes were wide and startled. Gently, he
stroked her wet, slick flesh. She squirmed at his touch, half embarrassed, more than a little nervous, yet still so eager her breath came in swift, painful pants.

Blood rushed to his shaft, swelling it against his trousers. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow. Deliberately, he pushed a finger inside her.

“Jack!”

He claimed her mouth again. One hand tangled in her hair, the other probed gently. She was so tight. So damned small and tight.

He’d never bedded a virgin before. Never particularly wanted to. Now he knew why. The idea of breaching her shield, of thrusting into Suzanne’s quivering flesh and causing her pain almost unmanned him.

Almost.

Another part of him, a dark, primitive side, raged with the savage need to claim this woman, to mark her in the most elemental way a male can mark a female. The primal need swept through him, so fierce and urgent he didn’t even try to beat it back.

He deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers. Began a slow, steady rhythm that soon had her squirming frantically. He was sweating now, and so hard he hurt all over.

Still, he made himself wait until he was sure she could take him. Until she cried his name. Until the
first, convulsive spasms gripped her. Then, and only then, did he tear at the buttons on his trousers, take hold of her hips and steady her. With a swift thrust, he breached her.

She cried out again. Jack heard the surprise, the shock, but no note of pain or fear. Relief pounded through him, and gave way almost instantly to roaring, rushing need.

The haze in Suzanne’s mind slowly lifted.

Gradually, she became aware of a dozen different sensations, each one strange and unfamiliar. A faint throbbing at the juncture of her thighs. A sticky wetness between her legs. The remnants of the most incredible pleasure.

And Jack.

Jack, cradling her against his chest. Jack, stroking her hair. Jack, alternating muttered curses with gruff endearments.

“…such a damned fool!”

She took a deep breath and pulled away. “Are you referring to me or to yourself?”

“Me.” His jaw tight, he straightened her skirts. “You deserved better than this your first time.”

She thought back to the moment her entire universe had dwindled to a single point of bright, white-hot pleasure.

“I must defer to your judgment, of course, but I hardly see how it could have been much better.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”