She removed her boots and stockings and drew her dress up to her knees. Free of propriety, she savored the warm, humid air as it caressed her bare legs. She undid the top three buttons on her dress, exposing her neck and chest. Laying back on the blanket, she closed her eyes.
Slowly, like the creek drifting in front of her, she relaxed and let the sunshine and the gurgling water calm her. A wren warbled in the branches above her head, and grasshoppers chirruped nearby. A slight wind whispered through the prairie grass. The current bubbled and swept along. The air didn’t seem as still and hot as it was in town. Trixianna thought this must be heaven on earth.
Her predicament with the law didn’t seem quite so serious out here under God’s loving eye. She knew in her heart that Chance would soon discover she wasn’t Mad Maggie West. The Dena Valley sheriff would arrive soon, or her family, and either could verify her innocence. She would be free to go back home to Abilene. If that was what she wanted. She wasn’t sure. Although she missed her family, the thought of leaving Chance left a lump in her throat and a twisting in her stomach. Could she be falling in love with the sheriff? She doubted it. In actuality it felt more like a case of dyspepsia.
She knew little about love, but doubted it made one ill.
Mad Maggie West was going to drive Chance to some serious drinking. No, much worse, she was going to prod him into murder. Hers. She had no business wandering off. She was probably having a tryst with her band of cutthroats. Well, maybe not. In all honesty, he didn’t know she had a gang, and furthermore, he couldn’t imagine her riding with one. In fact, he couldn’t even see that woman atop a horse.
But somehow, in his wild imaginings, she was off plotting a dirty deed. Something to do with harming his body. He rubbed his thigh where she’d etched a half-inch scratch into his skin with her knife. Six inches to the left and she’d have gelded him. He shuddered at the appalling thought.
He crushed her note in one hand and picked up a cookie. While munching, he took a look around the kitchen. She kept it neat and tidy, unlike her own room. He’d walked past it on his way to the kitchen every morning. And each and every time he peeked in, stared in surprise, then slammed the door shut, his heart pounding. Her room reminded him of a bordello bedroom after a hard night of lusty bed play. Mussed sheets, quilt wrapped around the footboard, clothes tossed in all directions. A warm flowery scent that startled his senses. Worst of all, her silky-soft pink nightgown puddled on the floor. He shook his head to scatter the wayward thoughts arousing his body.
He picked up another cookie and chewed it thoughtfully as he left the house to search for her. Damn, she made a fine cookie. And she had the prettiest green eyes this side of the Mississippi. And the cutest freckled nose.
And, by God, he had to steer clear of her. He had a fiancée who was a fine upstanding woman and deserved better. He had responsibilities as the sheriff of Grand Fork. He needed to haul Maggie’s wayward carcass back home where he could keep a careful eye on her.
And that seemed to be his biggest problem at the moment. He couldn’t keep his lecherous eyes off her.
He trudged down the hot, dusty road, his Stetson pulled low over his brow, his irritation with himself and with her growing. He’d thought he was easygoing, but since that woman had come into his life and turned it upside down and ass-backward, he hadn’t been an easygoing man. He’d been edgy and either growling or snarling at the slightest provocation.
Chance frowned and brought his head up, his ear cocked to the unfamiliar sound. What was that infernal racket coming from over the hill? It sounded like hell had turned loose one of its inhabitants.
He scrambled down an incline and crossed through a thicket of trees. He stopped at the edge of the creek and looked downstream.
Unless he was mistaken, that was Mad Maggie in the middle of the creek attempting to walk downstream through the moving current. Water lapped at her knees. She held her arms up to keep her uncertain balance, though she didn’t appear to be in much danger. In one hand she clutched her skirt, giving him a startling view of slender legs clad in transparent silk. He stood gawking like a schoolboy.
The god-awful screeching came from farther down the creek. He ran down the length of the stream and called her name. “Maggie!”
She stopped suddenly and turned at the sound of his voice. As she turned, she lost her balance. She fell to her knees, drenching her dress and splashing her face and head. Her dark red hair hung down her back in curling wet ribbons.
She pulled herself up and staggered to her feet. Her wide eyes sparkled with fright. “Oh, Chance! Angel’s floating away.”
“An angel?” He glanced at the sky. “Where?”
“No,” she shouted. She pointed downstream and trudged awkwardly through the churning water. “Down there.”
He looked, seeing nothing but leaves and broken twigs floating on the water. The creek angled right and veered from sight. He kept pace with her from the shore. “I don’t see anything.”
“It’s Angel. Can’t you do something? I’m afraid he’s going to drown.”
Angel? What angel? He was dumbfounded. However, fear radiated from her and pushed him to run past the curve in the stream.
Then he saw her cat. Of course—Angel! The danged feline had managed to perch on a floating log, and now found himself moving downstream with the current as it picked up speed at every turn.
His high-pitched yowling hurt Chance’s ears. He thought about letting the stupid beast drown, but then remembered the look of terror on Maggie’s face. He ran alongside, yanking his boots and socks off as he scrambled down the steep embankment.
He stepped in and gasped. The cool water took him by surprise. It brought an instant numbing to his skin. The mud sucked at his feet and made maneuvering difficult. It seemed the harder he worked, the farther away the cat floated. Finally, he just gave up and plunged beneath the water.
Trixianna rounded the bend, her legs tired and aching. Her skin tingled with the cold. Fatigue threatened to overcome her. She winced, then shivered when she saw Chance dive beneath the water. He came up mere inches from Angel. She hurried forward as fast as she could.
He submerged again, and this time when he popped to the surface he held the hissing, scratching cat by the scruff of the neck in his outstretched hand. Angel, bedraggled and dripping, didn’t look too grateful. Chance shook water droplets from his face and hair, then grinned.
Trixianna slogged forward to take the cat. As she did, she slipped on a mossy stone and stumbled. Simultaneously with the start of her fall, her hand collided with Chance’s extended arm. He dropped the mewling cat. They bent over at the same time to retrieve him, and their heads bumped with a resounding thwack. Chance lost his balance and fell over backward, striking his head on the incline of the creek bank. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed, unconscious, his legs folding beneath him, his head lolling onto one shoulder.
Oh, no, not again.
Trixianna tossed Angel up onto the bank, where he scampered away. She put her hands under Chance’s arms and pulled his head and shoulders out of the water, then dragged his body as far as she could from the creek. She dropped to her knees beside him, cradling his head in her lap. She shivered with fear for his welfare. He lay so still, so quiet.
She patted his chilled cheek and brushed wet hair from his eyes. “Chance? Dear God, answer me. Please be all right.”
She slapped his cheek a little harder, terrified of doing more harm than good. His blue-tinged lips parted and he moaned. His eyelids fluttered. Thank God. “Chance? Can you hear me?”
He came to, sputtering and coughing up water. His pale blue eyes opened, then widened. He tried to lift his head but Trixianna refused to let go.
“Damn. You did it again, woman.” He turned his head and looked around as if unsure of his whereabouts. Uttering an impressive obscenity that under different circumstances might have shocked Trixianna, he glanced back at her with a look of complete irritation.
She he
aved a heavy sigh of relief. He was going to be fine. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Hell, no.”
“What’s wrong? Is it your head?”
“Yes. No. Dammit, it does hurt, but that’s not it. I passed out again, didn’t I?”
“No, no,” she reassured him. “You just banged your head on a rock or something. You knocked yourself out. You didn’t faint.”
He snorted. “I don’t see much difference.”
She patted his cheek again and smiled.
He grabbed her hand and sat bolt upright. “Your hands are like ice, woman.” His gaze traveled down her body and then up again, taking in her soaked, shivering condition. “Did you happen to notice we’re sitting in six inches of damnably cold water and conversing like we’re at a church social?”
Trixianna shrugged her shoulders. “I couldn’t lift you any farther.”
His black brows shot up. “You actually moved me? I weigh twice what you do.”
“Maybe, but I couldn’t let you die, not after you saved my dear Angel.”
“And almost drowned doing it,” he muttered. He paused. “I do appreciate it, but I seriously doubt I’d have drowned.”
“You never know.”
He swiped a droplet of water off the end of his nose. “Besides, aren’t cats supposed to have nine lives?”
“Yes, I guess so.” She smiled. “Regardless of that, you jumped right into the water without even thinking about your own welfare.” Overwhelmed with gratitude and something more indefinable, Trixianna leaned forward and framed his face with both hands. His breathing quickened, and his moist breath caressed her face. She parted her lips and pressed her mouth against his jaw. Her lips brushed against his rough beard and her eyes drifted shut. She heard his quick intake of air, and turned her head ever so slightly. His cool lips, soft and pliant, met hers; then they heated, and his mouth covered her own. His tongue slipped inside, delving, exploring, caressing.
Amazingly, his body gave off a heat that penetrated Trixianna’s chill. Her own body grew flushed and heavy. She kissed him back with an eagerness that surprised her. With a tentative touch, she stroked her tongue against his. He tasted like sweet, warmed honey.
Chance angled his head and took the kiss deeper, melting her insides and making her tremble. He clasped her waist in a gentle grip. His thumbs rubbed tiny circles against her ribs. Gooseflesh broke out on her skin.
Trixianna lifted her palms to his hard chest, feeling his heart’s reassuring steady rhythm. She eased her hands to the back of his head and plunged them into the thick black hair there. Kneading the back of his neck, she relished the feel of his scalp beneath her searching fingers.
He made a growling noise deep in his throat, then moved his mouth from hers. His hands tightened at her waist. His eyes shimmered with a pale sky-blue light, the pupils dilated. He swallowed hard. “Why did you kiss me?”
“I-I don’t know,” she lied. She peered at him, unable to tear her gaze away from his features. She did know, but would die of embarrassment before she ever told him. She’d wanted his kiss, and felt like a terrible wanton for even admitting it to herself.
He stared back at her, appearing completely and utterly surprised. Spots of crimson washed the upper half of his face. A muscle twitched at his jaw. She saw him visibly swallow again.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he murmured, his voice raspy. His gentle tone conveyed little conviction behind the harsh words.
“Like what?” she whispered. Her heart thundered; her lips throbbed with the remembrance of his kiss. A fevered wanting like nothing she’d ever experienced coursed through her veins. She licked her dry lips.
Chance shook his head. “And stop that, too.”
He propped one hand on the slope of the bank, and wrapped the other one around Trixianna’s waist. He rose to his feet. Mud clung to his trousers and shirt. “We’ve got to get you out of those wet clothes. Can’t have you dying on me before I get the chance to hang you.”
Although he smiled, his deep voice reminded Trixianna of her circumstances and brought her back down to earth with a start. “Thank you for your concern,” she said bitterly. Disconcerted, she pulled away. She’d almost forgotten she was kneeling in a cold, muddy creek. Now, as reality set in, she shivered from head to toe.
With his hands on her bottom, he unceremoniously shoved her up the bank, then scrambled after her. He looked around, and saw Angel grooming himself on the blanket beneath the cottonwood tree. “Damn fool cat.”
Chance jerked the blanket from beneath the cat’s paws and sent the feline flying. Then he wrapped the warm covering around Trixianna’s shoulders. She offered him a corner of it, but he shook his head as he gathered up her things.
Chance started walking toward town, acting as though nothing had happened between them.
In his mind, had anything occurred? Probably not. To him, she was the notorious outlaw Mad Maggie West, and the sheriff had no real interest in dallying with that kind of woman. She was available, and he’d simply returned her kiss.
It meant nothing to him.
She knew she would never forget his generosity in saving Angel. She would never forget his tender yet dangerous kisses. She couldn’t forget either that she was his prisoner and that he reminded her of it daily.
Later that afternoon, Jones’s Laundry and Bathhouse had never had a more thankful customer than one Sheriff Chance Magrane.
Grand Fork was fortunate to have Jones’s Laundry and Bathhouse. It seemed a strange combination to some folks, but both businesses required hot water and plenty of it. To Hiram Jones, they went together like ham and eggs.
When the sheriff dragged his soaked, tired body into the place, Hiram didn’t have to ask twice what he wanted.
Hiram kept a steady stream of hot water pouring into the tin tub before the water had a chance to cool. Chance didn’t complain.
He leaned his head against his knees, closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. Steam swirled around his upper body and dripped off his chin. Although his muscles were beginning to relax, his thoughts weren’t. They kept darting through his mind like a hummingbird at full speed.
Images of Mad Maggie kept popping into his head.
She, with her wet dress clinging like a second skin, a vision close enough to see her perfect, round breasts and hard button-like nipples begging for his touch.
She, with soft lips and a pliant mouth. She, who kissed like she’d never kissed a man before.
She, the notorious outlaw, Mad Maggie West, who most definitely wasn’t his fiancée.
And never would be.
Chance ducked his head beneath the water until he couldn’t hold his breath any longer without drowning. He came up sputtering. “Damn! Damn that confounded woman.”
“And who might that be?”
Chance’s eyes flew open. He wiped water from his face and stared into the grinning countenance of Alistair Burns. The Englishman was weaving from side to side, eyes blurry, derby missing and hair standing on end. Drunk as a lord.
Would the man never give up drinking? Chance doubted it. “Burnsey.”
Hiram sauntered in behind him, burdened with two steaming buckets of water and dumped them into the tub next to Chance’s. A cloud of steam rose to the ceiling.
Burnsey wasted little time stripping off his clothes…or trying to anyway. He tripped, lost his balance and grabbed the side of Chance’s tub to keep from toppling inside and joining him. He finally settled on the floor, where he undressed with careful deliberation, scattering his wrinkled clothing to all four corners of the room.
Hiram rolled his eyes heavenward when he caught Chance’s amused grin. “Maybe the hot water’ll sober him up,” Hiram muttered. “Then again, maybe pigs will fly.” He left the room, muttering to himself.
Chance chuckled. He leaned back and tried not to watch Burnsey in his clumsy attempt to disrobe.
Finally, naked as the day he was born, Burnsey stepped gingerly into the h
ot water.
“Ahh, ‘upon the seraph-wings of ecstasy.’”
Sheriff-wings? What the hell did that mean? Chance laughed again, then shook his head. Burnsey could put away a gallon of whiskey and keep right on bending a person’s ear, his speech unaffected until he passed out, usually with one last word of wisdom, on the floor.
Chance closed his eyes. “Burnsey, you’ve got quite a vocabulary for a drunk.”
“Now, Sheriff, is that any way to speak to me? It just sho—” he said, then stopped. He cleared his throat, inhaled, then began again, carefully enunciating each word. “It just so happens I had a royal-like education. The great poets were required reading. Would you care to hear more?”
“Thanks, but I believe I’ll pass.”
“Undoubtedly, you are unappreciative when it comes to the arts.”
Chance snorted. “I just don’t want to argue with a drunk.”
“We’re not arguing.”
“That’s right, we’re not. Now shut up and let me take my bath in peace. I haven’t had much lately.”
“I’ve heard. Is Trixianna more woman that you can handle, Sheriff?”
“Mad Maggie is more woman than any half-dozen men can handle.”
The Englishman chuckled, then paused before speaking again. “She’s a grand, upstanding woman and you two do make a fine couple.”
Startled, Chance turned to peer at his bathhouse companion. Burnsey had his head tilted back and eyes widened. He seemed to be staring with avid fascination at the ceiling overhead. Chance glanced up, too. He saw nothing but rising steam amid the wooden beams and rafters. He glanced away, shaking his head. Next thing he knew, he’d be seeing pink elephants right along with the rummy. “Maybe you haven’t heard, Burnsey, but I’m engaged to be married.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” His face took on a faraway look. “Fanny Fair.”
“That’s Fairfax.”
“Yes, of course. A beautiful girl.”
Fanny? Beautiful? Were they discussing the same woman? She was many things, but Chance didn’t think beautiful was one of them. Honest and intelligent, pleasant and generous, good-hearted. She would make a satisfactory wife. However, meaning no offense, Chance put her a mite closer to homely than beautiful.