“Butte is northeast of here?”
“You’ve never been? It’s only a half day’s ride from here.”
Good grief, had Morgan really taken her on such a roundabout route that he’d wasted a full extra day getting her to his camp? Yes, of course he had. At the time, he’d been sure she worked for his enemy.
How ironic that she had a claim jumper to thank for telling her exactly where they were, on that lovely mountain she’d seen in the distance—and passed right by—the day Morgan took her out of Butte. But considering everything the claim jumper had just said, she asked, “If you want to mine, why not just make your own?”
“ ’Cause this one is already dug and beamed, has a smelter, even a house now, and water right there. And we don’t mind killing him for it.”
She gasped. He chuckled, adding, “Who’s gonna know if we take over his mine?”
“I’ll know what you’ve done.”
“Not if you’re dead, too. Lawmen ain’t hunting for us up here, and we aim to keep it that way. Just have to be real careful down in Wyoming when we visit Ma, or we’ll end up getting strung up again. My brother didn’t like being kicked out of Laramie and shot the ornery deputy doing it. There were a few witnesses. The posse found us pretty quick, four of them. They hanged us out in the middle of nowhere from the only tree around. But our ma heard about what happened and she followed the posse. She got there in time to shoot them all and our ropes. We thought Bert was dead, he weren’t breathing. Ma was mighty steamed up about it and started beating the living daylights out of him, and damned if it didn’t wake him up.”
“So you’ve never done anything to deserve a hanging?” she asked. “Just your brother—and your mother?”
He laughed. “Didn’t say that. We had to eat and put some money in our pockets before we found a new place to live. But I won’t kill you if you can be accommodating. Can you?”
“I thought you were negotiating with the miner!”
He shrugged. “If that works, sure, but you said it wouldn’t work. Or were you lying about him not liking you? You were, huh? Course you were, pretty thing like you.”
She looked away, closed her eyes. She was going to have to beat him to that horse. But she heard another horse approaching. She glanced around to see his brother riding up to them and dismounting—or attempting to. He fell halfway to the ground, groaning. Blood was pouring down one of his legs.
“You’re bleeding, Bert?” Curly said. It sounded like an accusation.
“He shot me. This is the second damn time he’s shot me! I want him dead.”
“Idiot, you’ve left a blood trail that will lead him here.”
“He won’t find it.” Bert smirked. “I rode down the stream until I was out of the mountains, then galloped on the flats straight here.”
“That skinny-ass stream that flows by his camp? Your horse would’ve still left some tracks around it.”
“Good, then we wait till he shows and shoot him, and her, too.”
“I’m not shooting her,” Curly said, giving Violet another glance. “She’s too pretty.”
“Can’t leave witnesses. Bad enough we can never live in Wyoming again with all those wanted posters hung in every town down there. Up in this territory, they don’t know us. We’re keeping it that way.”
There was no hiding her trembling now when she saw Curly grudgingly nod his agreement. And Bert managed to get to his feet to draw the gun from his holster, and then her Colt, which he’d stuck in his pants. But it was obvious that he’d been weakened by blood loss. The man hadn’t even stopped long enough to tie off the wound to try to lessen the flow. He seemed somewhat dazed from it, wobbling on his feet. She might be able to leap at him, knock him over and grab one of those Colts. But she’d never done anything so daring or aggressive in her life! It certainly wouldn’t be easy with her wrists tied together. She’d have to get the gun even as he fell, before she got shot for the effort. So grab, roll, shoot. What other choice—?
The bullet went right through Bert’s neck, blood splattering in every direction. Both of his Colts fell to the ground as he tried to cover one side of his neck. He fell over, face-first.
With blood on her face, her hands, her dress, and a dead man lying only feet away, Violet was screaming hysterically. She couldn’t stop, not even when the brother who wasn’t dead yanked her up and held her in front of him, his gun pressed to her cheek. He slowly turned in a circle as if he couldn’t find the shooter, had no idea from which direction the shot that had killed his brother had come.
“Show yourself or she dies!” he yelled. And then he hissed by her ear, “Shut the hell up. He can’t hear me with you yelling. Shut up or I’ll smash your head!”
She vaguely heard another shot as she fainted.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
SHE WAS BEING CARRIED, she guessed by Morgan. But when Violet opened her eyes she screamed and struggled, not recognizing whoever was taking her away.
“Wasn’t exactly expecting this reaction to my shaving. It’s still me, Morgan, you know.”
It was his voice, even if it wasn’t his face. She stopped struggling to gaze up at him, trying to process the change in his appearance. It truly wasn’t easy.
“You look so different,” she said as she clung to him. “But you rescued me. I knew you would. I was so scared!”
He held her tighter. “You’re safe now.”
“Are they both . . . ? ”
“Yeah. Faked or not, your fainting got you out of the way so I could take a clean shot at the last one. Smart thinking if you planned it, good timing otherwise.”
She wasn’t sure how to fake a faint, but now there were two fewer killers on the loose, so she should be glad. She should thank him for rescuing her, too. She would have died if he hadn’t.
He set her on the ground when he reached Caesar and wrapped a blanket around her, probably because she was still trembling. But when he tied the two horses he’d been leading behind them to Caesar’s saddle, she asked haltingly, “What are you doing? Are you taking the bodies with us, too?”
“No. Texas will retrieve them when he returns from Butte. They were both wanted in Wyoming, dead or alive, so there’s a reward.”
“How do you know?”
He picked her up and set her on Caesar before mounting behind her. “Because they were dumb enough to carry their own wanted posters on them.”
So Texas hadn’t been in the camp to help him? Morgan had come after her alone? But no one else had been needed. Just two shots, and he’d killed both men. He was more dangerous than she’d realized, like that gunslinger she’d seen in Butte. Was everyone in the West like that? Ready to kill if necessary—or, like those two outlaws, ready to kill for any reason? She couldn’t stay in this barbaric land any longer. She had to leave, with or without a partnership agreement, and return to the civilized world, her world, where men didn’t fall dead at her feet. . . .
He’d drawn her across his lap before starting off, his arms tight around her. “You’re still trembling,” he said after a few minutes. “Did they hurt you?”
“No, they only gagged me and tied my hands, but they would have . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Don’t think about it. You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you and we’ll be home soon.”
Home? She could never call this wild, violent land home. But she felt safe in Morgan’s arms.
It was nearing dusk when they rode up the hill to his camp. He carried her inside the cabin and set her on her bed. “Will we be safe here? What if other outlaws show up? Texas isn’t even here to help guard.”
“You know you’re safe with me, Violet. And Bo doesn’t go far from you. And you have this.” He set the Colt that he’d retrieved from the claim jumper on the top crate by her bed. “Don’t hesitate to fire it, if only to summon me.”
She smiled weakly. She already knew she should have done that today. Next time—God, there couldn’t be a next time. She
wasn’t stepping foot out of this camp again unless the bear was with her.
He knelt to remove her boots, then left. She didn’t move, simply stared at the floor by her bare feet. Even after he came back in and began washing the blood from her face and hands with cold water, she still just stared at the floor, letting him remove the signs of what had happened. But what would wash away the fear and terror that were lurking in her mind?
He lit a few lanterns and started the fire before he said, “You need to eat.”
She didn’t answer. After a moment he stood in front of her again and added, “Maybe you need this instead.”
She saw the glass in his hand filled with golden liquid, the stuff he drank, whiskey or rum. “No thank you.”
He tipped up her chin and looked at her closely. “How are you feeling?”
“I can’t stop thinking about the dead men and all that blood.”
“You were brave today. I doubt many London debutantes would be able to help take down two American outlaws the way you did.”
He was trying to make her laugh, but his grin, so easily seen now, just pointed out that this wasn’t her Morgan. His voice, his eyes were familiar to her, but the rest of his face wasn’t. It was too bloody handsome. Why’d he have to shave? The bear had been somewhat safe.
“They were bad men, Violet,” he added. “Now they won’t be able to hurt people anymore.”
But she’d watched them die! She began to shake uncontrollably. And cry, great wrenching sobs. She couldn’t stop either reaction. She’d been so sure she was going to die today.
“Sometimes a good cry helps, according to my ma. I’m sorry you went through this, but I promise it will get better.”
She covered her face with her hands and felt him sit on the bed next to her and draw her onto his lap to try to soothe her. She remembered that her aunt had said something similar about tears being beneficial, so she didn’t try to stop crying, but she did try to stop thinking. The tears finally wound down to sniffles. She didn’t feel better yet, but maybe she could more easily lock those memories away now. And thinking about the new Morgan helped. He was still safe, still protecting her. Even if he was too handsome, she sensed that deep down he was still the bear.
“You want some of that whiskey now?”
“No, I think your mother was right about a good cry,” she said with a smile to assure him the flood was over.
He wiped her cheeks gently. “We should probably get rid of your dirty clothes and brush your hair.”
She gave him a curious look. “You do like doing that, don’t you?”
He grinned, abashed. “Can’t help it, with beautiful hair like yours.”
It was nice of him to just call her clothes dirty instead of mentioning the blood splatters, and she did want to get rid of them, so she helped him get them off her, saying, “They need to be burned.”
“We don’t need a room full of smoke. I’ll deal with them later.”
He found her brush and had her sit between his legs on the edge of the bed. He unwound her braid first, then began the long, gentle strokes that felt so good. “Picture my flower garden,” he said softly. “If I were to stay here longer, what would you recommend adding to it? I was thinking violets, but would roses be better? Are they popular in England?”
She laughed, aware that he was trying to make her feel better; it was certainly working. “Everyone knows English roses are the most beautiful.”
She turned halfway to face him, arrested again by his handsome face, but it was suddenly very important that he know how grateful she was. “Thank you for rescuing me and taking care of me.”
She leaned over to kiss his newly smooth cheek, but didn’t lean all the way back, still staring at him. He’d done so much for her today, but she suddenly wanted more, and before she could stop them, the words came out: “Kiss me.”
He didn’t hesitate, put his mouth to hers gently at first, and then more passionately. Had he already been thinking about this and only resisted for her sake? It only took moments for her to wrap an arm about his neck and kiss him back with equal passion.
A different realm, this, sensual, feelings so new they were yet to be explored, so far removed from what she was escaping. She delved deeper, quickened at the touch of his palm to her cheek, her neck, her breast. When a hand moved ever so slowly up her leg, it was hot skin she felt, making her realize she was only wearing her underclothes now. But propriety didn’t intrude, not even a little. There was just him and what he was doing.
He laid her back on the bed and joined her, half lying on top of her because there was so little room—or because he wanted to. She liked the position, liked feeling so much of him against her. His body, so long, so strong, was her shield from harm. He was her guardian knight, but tonight he was much more than that. He’d saved her life today, rescued her from danger and darkness. And now he was showing her the sweeter side of life—the tenderness! The exquisite pleasures she’d never imagined.
She wanted to say thank you, but even more she didn’t want to distract him, not when he was still kissing her, still moving one hand up and down her body in such an exciting way. He raised one of her legs over his shoulder, then bent down to kiss her breast, but he also slid an arm beneath her between her legs to lift her even closer to him. It felt unusual and yet thrilling, the heat of his mouth over her nipple, that hard arm rubbing between her legs, igniting little fires that coursed through her. Little moans escaped from her in gasps as he continued to kiss her breasts.
She almost cried out when his warmth left her as he rose to his knees to take off his shirt, but she was arrested by his new appearance, by how handsome he was. Good God, he was tantalizing, and all those muscles, flexed as he tossed the shirt away, flexed again as he removed his gun belt and then started on his belt. Her aunt had been so right when they’d had “that talk” and Elizabeth had warned, “Some men don’t want to be naked in bed, but some do. Hope for one that does.” She hadn’t really understood, but now she did—because this man was a feast for the eyes, Adonis in the flesh. Just looking at him set her pulse racing!
He’d already untied her chemise, those silk ties, a mere decoration, never used because it was easier to slip the garment over her head. It lay open now, both of her breasts exposed, so she didn’t even think of protesting when he removed her drawers, too, longer to watch him, longer to be fascinated by his own undressing.
She was fully embracing the unknown, but she still felt a moment of apprehension when he discarded his pants and she saw the size of his manhood. It might have been better to cut her curiosity short. She closed her eyes. She didn’t have to know everything. And yet the moment he slid up her body, his skin against hers, and kissed her deeply again, the thought was gone and she opened her eyes. She did want to know everything, to feel everything sensual he could share with her.
Her arms were around him and she moved a hand into his hair, running her fingers through it. The black mane was still long, but not so shaggy now, even soft to the touch. But his beardless face still fascinated her, and she cupped one of his cheeks to feel stubble already returning. She smiled. She probably wouldn’t shave either if the results barely lasted a day.
He put his hand over hers, brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed the pulse under her wrist. He was staring at her now, those lovely powder-blue eyes, warm with passion and . . . concern?
“You’ve been through a lot today,” he said. “I didn’t mean for things to progress this quickly, but I want you so much. I don’t want to stop, but I will if you want to wait until you feel better?”
Stop? “No, I want this, want you. Please don’t stop.”
He groaned and kissed her deeply. Then she felt it, gone in a blink, her maidenhood. And him inside her, foreign but still, waiting. She’d closed her eyes with a gasp but opened them now to see his smile, then felt that amazing length sliding deeper. Divine. There was more to explore, more to feel as he moved steadily inside her, then faster, bri
nging forth multiple gasps from her. But she sensed something else approaching that widened her eyes, gathering momentum, elusive until she was overwhelmed by a sudden burst of pure, wondrous pleasure.
She cried out with it, held on to Morgan’s shoulders tightly, utterly incredulous that something like that even existed. And it left all sorts of unexpected feelings behind, tenderness, caring, gratitude, and an urge to hug him, to simply hug him.
Chapter Thirty
VIOLET RESISTED THE URGE to continue hugging the man on top of her, feeling a little shy now for having behaved so passionately with him. Morgan had felt the same amazing thing she did, had been quite loud about it, but he was still now. Nonetheless, she couldn’t resist lightly caressing his shoulder and muscular arm. His face was pressed between her shoulder and her neck, his breathing still labored, his arms keeping most of his weight from her chest. She wondered if they would sleep like that. She didn’t think she’d mind. But the bed was so narrow, would it even be possible for two people to sleep on it with any degree of comfort? And once he slept, his arms would relax and she’d end up crushed and have to wake him, and they might end up making love again. . . .
She frowned. They probably shouldn’t do that again, no matter how nice—no, how amazing it had been. Being this close to Morgan, feeling surrounded by him, made her feel so safe, so comfortable. But she was hungry, very hungry, noisily so.
He chuckled when he heard her belly growl. “That stew I made for lunch should be hot by now.”
He kissed her neck, then her cheek, before he lifted himself off her and headed to the fireplace. Naked. A blush crept up her cheeks.
She got up quickly, grabbed her valise, and rushed outside to the porch to dress, yelling back, “Do put something on!”
“I’ve only been sleeping with my pants on for your sake, Violet. It’s not how I usually sleep.”
“Your thoughtfulness was and is appreciated!”
She hoped he got the point. Just because she’d lain naked with him didn’t mean she would eat or sleep all night that way.