The Outlaw (Montana Men Book 3) (3 page)

CAROLINE

I was shocked. Stunned. Aroused. There was something wrong with me as I watched his retreating form--his retreating naked form--walk to the cabin and then disappear inside. Most assuredly I had some kind of defect that had me thinking carnal thoughts about a man who had stolen me away from the man I was supposed to marry.

That was what a man looked like? Muscular and powerful and so virile? His body was sprinkled with a dusting of red hair. His broad chest had a smattering that tapered into a thin line that had gone from his navel and straight down to the nest of curls that surrounded his...oh God! And his...his what had he called it? His cock.
That
was supposed to fit inside a woman? Surely the crude tales I'd heard had been wrong. The man's cock had been long, almost reaching up to his navel, and so thick. My small hands certainly couldn't grasp hold of it with my fingers touching. And the top of it! It had been big and blunt, the tip of it leaking some kind of clear fluid. When I'd stared at it, I could have sworn it had grown even further in size, the color of it darkening from a mauve to a dark, ruddy red.

Instead of repulsing me, his cock had made my mouth water. Yes, I'd actually salivated at the sight of it. Why? Why would my body react that way? Why would my skin flush other than out of embarrassment when I stared at his tapered back? Why would my nipples tighten once again and press painfully against my corset as I watched the muscles in his bottom flex with each step? And lower, between my thighs, why did I ache and my body weep, as if longing for him? For his cock?

Yes, there was something wrong with me.

The idea of rinsing the travel dust from my person was very appealing, but I didn't wish to take my clothes off with him looming. He would see me as naked as when I was born.

"Take off your clothes, Caroline, or I will strip you down myself." His voice carried from the shack and down the rise to me.

Turning, I walked down to the water's edge and started undoing the little buttons down the front of my pale blue dress, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds, expecting to see the man watching. He was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't mean he couldn't see me. Did I feel he would harm me? Perhaps take advantage of me? He'd certainly had opportunity when he stood before me naked. There was no way I could defend myself against him if he were to push his advantage. He'd even said my maidenhead was safe for marriage, meaning his intentions were favorable. But he most certainly wasn't a gentleman!

A man didn't parade around naked, definitely when his cock was aroused. Or was he that way all the time? Were all men like that? I was so confused! I lowered my dress so it pooled around my ankles and undid my corset, but I would not remove my shift or drawers. Wearing just those thin unmentionables was where I would keep my modesty, if just nominally. If he found hardship with this, then it was his concern, not mine. Wading slowly into the water, I hissed out a breath at how chilly it was. But it felt good. Wonderful even. After three weeks within stages and trains and the most basic of hotels, a bath was a luxury that we ladies did not have. The feel of the water as it wound its way downstream, flowing around my legs as it went, was delightful. I lowered myself just as the man had in the deep pool, although instead of just coming to mid-waist as it did on him, the water covered me up to my shoulders.

Tipping my head back and closing my eyes, I let the water move around me, letting myself lay back and practically float on the surface. The sun was warm on my face, the scent of wet earth filled my nose. The babbling of the water against rock, the wind through the grasses was the only sound. It was so quiet in comparison to the bustle of Minneapolis. It was...peaceful.

"You look like Ophelia from Hamlet," he said, startling me.

I crouched beneath the surface and eyed the man on shore. I still did not know his name. "I do not intend to drown, as she did."

"I should hope not. I would rescue you before you come to any kind of harm."

Even in the cool water, his words warmed me. Why, I did not rightly know. Maybe it wasn't the words, but the fact that he walked about solely in his denim pants, without shirt or shoes. His hair was  darker, wet as it was and it fell casually over his forehead.

"Your lips are turning blue." He held out what appeared to be a dishcloth. "This is all I have, but it might get the damp from your hair."

"I can't get out with you standing there," I scolded.

He shrugged, dropped the cloth onto a patch of tall grasses, picked up my dress and corset and walked away.

"Wait!" I stood abruptly. "I need my dress."

He turned around and his eyes didn't meet mine. Instead, they raked over my body, from my breasts to the juncture of my thighs, to my legs - every inch of me. I glanced down and saw why he was so entranced. Instead of hiding my figure, the shift and drawers were transparent and clung to my skin. The shape of my breasts was obvious, even the bright pink color of my turgid nipples. Looking lower, I could see my blond curls and even some of my womanhood that was usually hidden.

"It is too hot for your dress. That much fabric will make you overheat." His voice was now a deep baritone, a voice as rough as the pebbles beneath my feet. "I am hungry and can not eat until you join me."

He turned and walked back to the cabin, my pale dress and corset dainty and frivolous beneath his arm.

FINN

The woman was going to kill me. It was more than apparent that she did not carry a knife or a gun on her person, her shift and drawers hid nothing of her body when wet. She would finish me off just the same. My cock was aching and throbbing painfully against the front of my pants. I wanted her with a powerful need I'd never felt before. I wanted to walk into the water, toss her over my shoulder and carry her to the soft grass, lay her down and fuck her until we were both senseless, until we were both replete and this craving had dissipated. Instead, I grabbed her discarded clothing and went back in the shack, giving myself time to cool my ardor and also to hide her dress. She would not be wearing it again for some time. I'd just slipped it into the hiding place beneath a loose board in the floor when she returned. She glanced at me from where I stood in just my pants before averting her eyes.

I, however, did not. I looked my fill. Her hair was down now, hanging to her waist in long tendrils of wild curls that swept her shoulders and breasts. Her unmentionables were damp, not dripping and sodden as before, offering a little more opacity. She was perfectly formed, with shapely legs, a trim waist and plump breasts my hands itched to cup. Her nipples were still visible through the thin fabric. She looked far less prim now… far more wanton.

Turning to the stove, I took the pot of beans and ladled some with a spoon onto each plate Caroline had placed earlier on the table. "I've rewarmed them. Please." I indicated with my hand to one of the chairs.

"I would like my dress, please."

I shook my head. The sooner she accustomed herself to me, the better. Her body belonged to me now and I wished to see it. The shift and drawers were accommodations as I had originally planned for her to remain naked.

She didn't move, only clenched her hands tightly together in front of her.

"I can't sit until you do," I added, goading her into action.

"We have to eat without all of our clothes on?" She bit her lip.

"Yes."

Pursing her lips, she sat finally, adjusting her shift primly. It did nothing to cover her and it would be hard for me to sit across from her and look into her eyes when her body was so beautiful.

I cleared my throat and dug in. It wasn't much, but I needed my sustenance for what I had planned later. After eating our meager meal in silence for a spell, I spoke up. "You have questions for me, I venture."

Providing answers would ease her mind.I did not want her anger. I wanted her passion.

She put her fork down. "What is your name?"

I glanced at her, noting the hesitancy in her cornflower blue eyes. "A good question," I replied, grinning. All this time I'd forgotten she'd only heard McCallister call my name once. She had no idea the full name of her kidnapper, of her outlaw, of her soon-to-be husband.
"Finn Masters."

"How...how did you know I would be on the stage?"

I watched her slender neck as she swallowed and my eyes dipped lower to the swell of her breasts.

"A card game at the saloon." I scooped up some beans, ate.

A small frown marred her smooth forehead.

"I was talk at a card game? By whom?"

"Horace Meecham," I answered.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You kidnapped me because...because why?" she asked tentatively, perhaps afraid of the answer.

My plate empty, I leaned back in my chair, my hands resting on my belly. It wasn't a steak dinner, but it would do. "Care to venture a guess?" I arched a brow at her, daring her.

She bit her lip, looked at me, her gaze roving over me. Eyes, hair, chin, mouth, bare chest, hands, eyes once again. The way her teeth dented that tender pink flesh had me shifting in my seat.

"You don't want Horace Meecham to have me," she replied.

"Correct." I didn't want
anyone
to have her. She was mine and she was just about to discover that. I wanted to see her prim facade crumble and look at the passionate woman I knew to be hiding beneath. I'd known her a few short hours but I'd seen it, briefly when she'd lost a moment's control, when her anger had flushed her cheeks, making her eyes a darker blue. The anger was back, making her breasts rise and fall with each deep breath.

"But I'm married to him. Married! This isn't something that can be undone, no matter your intentions." Her hands came up and gestured as she spoke. "You keep me immodestly dressed when I am married to another."

As far as she knew, she was a married woman. Her honesty, her loyalty to the sanctity of marriage, even never having met her husband, was an insight into the strength of her character. I wanted a woman who believed in holy matrimony, that a woman belonged to her husband.

"There is one way a marriage can be undone," I countered.

She paused, considered. "Divorce?"

I shook my head. "Death."

Her mouth fell open, her face leeched of color. "You don't mean to...to kill me. You gain nothing."

"Very true."

"You intend to kill Horace Meecham?" Her voice squeaked out the question.

I shook my head. "He's already dead. Died two days ago. Which makes you no longer married."

"Dead? How?" The pulse point at her neck was thrumming like a hummingbird.

"His heart." I didn't need to tell her he was in the bed of his mistress at the time.

"Then how could you have played cards with him if he was already dead?"

"The Horace Meecham at the card game was his son. Horace Meecham, Jr."

"He has...had a grown son? How old was...um, Mr. Meecham, Sr?"

She was quick. Knew her Shakespeare, too.

"Late fifties I'd venture."

Her eyes widened slightly, clearly she was never told the man was almost three times her age. Her posture didn't falter at all through this conversation, her hands in her lap. She was so proper, even sitting in just her shift.

"Since his father is dead, the son intends to claim you as
his
bride."

She cringed. "He's claiming his dead father's wife?"

I nodded.

Swallowing what I hoped was revulsion, she asked, "And Mr. Meecham, Jr? You must dislike the man something fierce to steal his bride."

"Again, very true."

"Then what do you intend to do with me?"

"Marry you, of course."

CAROLINE

"Marry you?" I repeated as I stood, the simple wooden chair skidding loudly against the floor. The man was insane. He’d kidnapped me from a moving stage, dragged me across the countryside to a tiny little cabin and said he was going to marry me? "Why would I want to marry
you
? You kidnapped me! You're not any better than the man who wants to marry his father's bride!"

I retreated slowly toward the open doorway. The sun had lowered in the west, making the air cooler, but the stove was still hot, the room stuffy. I was perversely glad for no dress. For once, I wasn't stifled in the long sleeves or high neck. But I was exposed, vulnerable to this man. He not only had sheer strength and power on his side, he knew the terrain, where we were. He also had my dress. I couldn't just walk into town in just my shift.

I closed my eyes, shut the man out of my field of vision and took a deep breath. I couldn't count to ten; my mind was too full, my thoughts scattered. If Horace Meecham, the elder, was such a miserable excuse for a man, why had Mrs. Bidwell made the match? Had she misjudged the man? Had she not cared about me? Had he deceived her? I just needed to calm myself.

"Caroline?"

Opening my eyes, I met his concerned ones. "I am not like Junior.
Nothing
like him. I have treated you well, have I not?"

I gave a curt nod.

"He would have forced himself on you, taken the privilege of your virginity ruthlessly and without care. Then, he would have left you in his big house alone while he went to seek the bed of his mistress - the same mistress who tended to the needs of his father, in the same bed where the man died."

I grimaced at the crude and unwelcome picture he painted. "Why are you telling me this? So you’ll look better by comparison?"

He picked up the plates and the pot from the stove and stepped around me to go outside. I had no choice but to follow. He walked to the creek and squatted down on the bank to wash. "I couldn’t let you fall victim to him. I had to save you. Protect you."

"Save me by marrying me? How is being married to a kidnapper any better?"

He scrubbed at one plate, then the other, before moving onto the pot.

"I'm not a kidnapper, I'm a rancher." His red whiskers rasped as he ran a hand over his jaw. "Jesus, have I hurt you in any way? Sought ransom? Anything? I didn't kidnap you as much as kept you from Junior."

"You want to marry me, too."

"I do, yet for completely different reasons. Why did you become a mail order bride, Caroline? What was so bad that had you accepting marriage to a man you knew nothing about?"

I pursed my lips tightly.

"Why is it wrong for me to save you from a bastard and then want you as my own?"

The dishes were washed, yet we stood on the bank of the stream facing each other. The sun had dipped lower in the sky now. Whether it was from the fullness of the day or the weight of the conversation, but I was weary.

"Who hurt you, Caroline?"

"How do you know--" I started, but he cut me off, raised his hand to halt my words.

"I know. Who hurt you?" he repeated.

I sighed. He was mastering this conversation and it was frustrating. Soon he would know all my secrets if he kept wheedling as he did. So I shut my eyes and closed him out as I started my counting.

I heard his footsteps on the soft ground before I felt his hands on my shoulders. My eyes flew open in surprise. He hadn't touched me since he helped me from the horse. His hands were big, warm and I could feel the slight rasp of callouses against my skin. "You can close your eyes, but it won't make me go away. Who hurt you? I won't ask again."

"Or what, you'll hurt me, too?" I asked bitterly. I realized my slip, validating his thoughts.

He didn't reply, just waited without letting go. His thumbs brushed lazy circles on my shoulders, distracting me. I never had a man touch me this way before - skin to skin.

"My father," I admitted. "My father used to...to hurt me, but I found a way out." I looked at the red hair on his chest. His skin was so dark, so tanned from being outdoors, probably shirtless. It was quite appealing, actually.

"Did he force his attentions on you?" Finn growled.

I shook my head, remembering how I would lock my door or even sneak out my window at night to sleep on the flat porch roof to hide from him when he'd been drinking.

"No. I...found ways to remain unscathed, at least from that."

"He will never touch you again," he vowed.

I knew he meant the words, as he seemed very protective. If my father were to appear out of thin air by a magician's wand, Finn would keep me safe from him. But that would not happen. I'd ensured that myself in a very final way.

"No man will touch you in harm again. In fact, no other man will touch you
ever
again."

This wasn't just protectiveness lacing his every word, it was possessiveness. He was claiming me.

"You don't know anything about me. Surely there is some woman here in Apex or in a nearby town who is as biddable and beautiful."

"I'm not too sure about biddable, but I've got beautiful right here."

I flushed at his words. This was the first male compliment I'd received. Living with a drunken father, who, when lucid, was quite controlling, had kept me sheltered from male suitors.

"You should only find pleasure in a man's touch - in
my
touch. Starting now."

Before I had a moment to reflect on his words, his mouth was on mine. His lips were as soft as I'd imagined as he brushed them gently back and forth, as if learning the shape of my mouth. He didn't keep his kisses solely to my mouth alone, but worked his way along my jawline to the soft spot behind my ear. I tipped my head back involuntarily to offer him better access.

"Oh my," I whispered, little chills running up and down the length of my spine. I felt hot and cold all over, my breathing loud. I felt crisp hair and warm flesh beneath my fingers and I realized I'd put my hands on his chest. A sound escaped his throat as I did so.

Finn's mouth continued to move over me, down my nape to the spot where my shoulder met my neck. His tongue flicked out and licked the spot. How could it be so sensitive right there? I felt my nipples tighten when he nipped the skin. Working his way further, he took the thin strap of my shift between his teeth and slipped it off my shoulder, the thin material catching on the swell of my breast.

It felt so good. I never knew it could feel this way. My mother, when alive, had told me I had to endure a man's touch, his advances. She'd said if I were lucky, my future husband would be gentle and kind. But I had thought she meant he wouldn't hit. This...this was something else entirely.

How could just the brush of a man's lips make my blood thicken, my heartbeat slow, my breath become erratic, my thoughts scatter like dandelion threads in the wind? When his head moved lower still to take my nipple, still barely covered by the thin fabric, into his mouth and suck, I cried out. His whiskers were scratchy and abraded my tender skin. Grabbing onto his hair, it felt silky beneath my clenched fingers. Was I pulling him closer or pushing him away?

"You're a terrible kidnapper. She should be tied to a chair awaiting ransom," a voice called out from behind me. We weren't alone.

I felt Finn's mouth form into a smile on my breast before he lifted his head. I jumped back and Finn placed a steadying hand on my shoulder as I scurried behind him to shield my exposed body from the newcomer. My fingers fumbled to work the strap back up onto my shoulder.

"Maybe I'm just smarter," Finn replied, tilting his head to glance down at me. "Paul Stevens, may I introduce to you Miss Caroline Turner."

The man removed his hat, revealing thick black hair. He was a few inches shorter than Finn, yet more squarely built. The tin star on his chest indicated his profession, however he could have worked as a distillery in Minneapolis lugging barrels for his size. "Ma'am."

"Are you here to arrest me?"

The man lifted a brow. "Should I?"

"I'm surprised you found us so quickly," Finn said.

The lawman just shook his head, looking dejected. "You wound me with your insults. A couple hours ago, Meecham and McCallister stormed into the jail with tales of kidnapping and bride stealing. Fortunately, McCallister only shared his experience and departed, interested more in whiskey at the saloon than seeing justice served. Sorry, Ma'am, but the man's not known for his compassionate nature."

That, I knew firsthand.

"Meecham, however, was not as assuaged." Mr. Stevens ran his hand over the back of his neck, looked to Finn. "He rode to your ranch to confront you. I rode here instead, knowing you as I do."

Were these men friends then?

"Angry, was he?"

I looked up at Finn who smiled and seemed relaxed. He didn't have the look of a man heading to jail.

"Like a cat dunked in a creek." Mr. Stevens shook his head and grinned at the recollection, then sobered. "He wants your hide."

"He can try."

"He also wants his bride."

"His father's bride," Finn countered. "His widow."

The lawman ran his hand over the back of his neck once again. "That's not the story he tells. Says she's
his
bride. Ordered her up from Minneapolis."

"I'll make your job easy for you."

The other man looked at Finn in surprise. "That would be nice for once. And how's that?"

"Caroline is marrying me. Right now."

Had I heard him correctly? My mind was muddled by Finn's kisses. "Now?" I asked.

"Stevens is a Justice Of The Peace," Finn replied.

"I can't marry you
now
," I sputtered. "You don't even know me!"

He didn't know what I'd done. Besides the stunt of kidnapping me, Finn seemed to be a decent man - perhaps so decent that he’d been willing to steal me in order to save me. And his touch, his touch was...incredible. He was good, while I was bad. Very, very bad. I'd watched as my father had subjected my mother to the verbal and often physical abuse, and he'd turned those attentions to me once she died. It was something I'd endured for years, but when he'd begun to look at me in the way a man does a woman, like the way Finn did with me, I knew I couldn't let him continue. And so I'd killed him. I was a murderer -  calculated murderer, and Finn didn't know, nor could I tell him. I had justification on my side for the wrongdoing; even the police considered it an accident, but it didn't change the fact that I could--and should--go to jail. Hang. Instead, I'd accepted the role as a mail order bride, not caring who the groom was. I just needed away.

Learning the character of both Mr. Meechams, perhaps I had acted too hastily in my departure. Substituting one cruel man for another in my life was not smart. If I was smart enough to have gotten away with murder, I should have been wiser in marriage.

A murderer and an outlaw. Perhaps we were a good fit after all. Finn should be more wary of me than I of him because I'd gotten away with my crime. No one questioned a long-standing drunk dying in his sleep, whiskey bottle in hand.

"Don't know you?" Finn turned to face me, holding my chin in his hand as he forced me to look into his green eyes. "I was just starting to do so when we were rudely interrupted."

The lawman chuckled while I blushed hotly.

"You married Meecham, Sr., by proxy, having never met him," Finn stated plainly.

That was true. "Perhaps I've discovered the error of my ways. Maybe you're just like him. I haven't known you long enough to know one way or the other."

Finn's jaw clamped down tightly and I worried for his teeth. "You can't judge my character based on the past few hours together?"

"You did kidnap her," the lawman added.

Finn turned his hard stare toward his friend.

"I kept her from Meecham. I protected her. I was a gentleman. I did not ravage her."

"It looked like you were on the way there when I came upon you," Mr. Stevens countered drily.

Finn sighed. "You are
not
helping."

"You're an outlaw," I said.

Mr. Stevens grinned at my words. "Ma'am, I have known Finn Masters my entire life. He is
not
an outlaw. While he led me into a scrape or two when we were wet-behind-the-ears boys, you will not find a better husband. Except perhaps me."

Finn might not be a true outlaw, but I was still a murderer. Did I deserve a man who received such a glowing review?

"She's mine," Finn replied in a very possessive tone, pulling me into his side.

Mr. Stevens held his hands up. "Fine, fine."

"But--" I wanted to dissuade him, for if he were as nice as his friend said, was I the best wife for him?

"You have been compromised, Caroline. My mouth was on your breast. You are wearing just your shift. Your skin is flushed, your nipples tight little buds. Stevens can see for himself I've taken your virtue."