His Most Wanted (6 page)

She scowled. “Why should I? It's my house. There aren't any laws in Fort McNamara against a woman going out at night.”

He blocked the light, shadowing her, and she could feel the displeasure rolling off his frame. “I've only been a lawman a few hours, but it seems strange to me that a lady would sneak out of her own place. Especially when there's a sheriff under her roof.”

“I've done nothing wrong. I couldn't sleep, so I climbed out my window and went for a walk in town. I didn't want to leave the Willows' doors unbolted where any stranger might wander in off the streets.” She glared up at him, challenging him to argue with her point.

He braced a hand against her dresser just above her shoulder and leaned closer. “These streets are dangerous—even with a gun. You know that, Cora. There are better ways to find sleep.”

“Oh, really?” She eased another step back until her bottom pressed against the cabinet.

“Really. I think maybe you couldn't sleep because you were thinking about our kiss. Maybe we both need some time together to satisfy our cravings.” He surveyed her, tilting his head as he took in her face, her body, searching for something. He caught her hands in his and examined them, his thumbs coaxing her palms open. He then brought the heels of her hands to his lips and kissed each, his breath sweeping across her sensitive skin until she shivered with delight.

Suddenly, she felt blessed she hadn't found Andrea's attacker at the saloon or the hotel that night. If she'd fired her gun, Kit would've been able to tell. The smell of the blast would have lingered on her skin, and no one would know that scent better than the experienced gunman. It was almost as if he were looking for it. Surely to goodness he didn't know her secret?

The stubble around his mouth scraped against her palms as he kissed her again, eliciting tingles up her arms before he moved to her wrists. He spoke quietly as he nuzzled her, “I won't be able to sleep again until I get you out of my system.” He placed her hand against his chest and leaned in for her lips.

The light on his closed eyes and shiny black lashes made him seem less of a threat, more handsome than a man ought to be, and she craved another taste of him. She rose on her toes to meet him, returning his kiss with an eagerness that surprised even her as she braced a hand on his strong shoulder. His tongue swept hers, boldly thrusting deeper in her mouth as matching spirals of pleasure spun in her belly. He spread his hands across the small of her back, dragging her away from the uncomfortable dresser at her back and against the unyielding granite mountain that was his frame. Their hips made contact, and beneath the layers of their clothing, she felt the shocking ridge in his pants, solid against the cradle of her body. Ardent need raged within her, but her thoughts immediately pushed back.

It had been years ago, but the old ghosts returned, the memories of rough hands wrapping her throat. Then the pain and shame that followed.

Panic swelled inside, choking her, collapsing her lungs. Breaking the kiss, she pushed him back and strangled out, “I told you, I don't sleep with anyone.”

Kit took a deep breath, his flushed face reflecting his struggle. “Not with
anyone
, Cora?” He raised a mocking eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Believe what you want. Look, it's not that I don't find you attractive enough. It's just a matter of my professional philosophy. I'm done with men in my life and in my bed.”

He raked a hand through his hair and stared at her for a long moment. “After that kiss, I'd say you're about as done with me as I'm done with you…and that's not at all.”

Uncertain of her fortitude, she crossed her arms and hugged her stomach as she caught her breath. If he took her in his embrace again, the past might return to haunt her…or she might just enjoy it. The latter was far more frightening.

He watched her for a long moment before his expression closed, and then he sighed. “All right. You win again. But—” he backed away and spoke in a raspy voice fraught with discomfort, “—I came back for another reason too, Cora. I need a favor, and you're the only person in town I feel comfortable asking about it. Crazy, right?”

Something in his quiet admission touched her heart, reminding her of the way he'd been so forthright before. She shook her head in relief and gave him a slight smile. “That's not crazy. We get that a lot in the Willows.”

He frowned as if considering her answer. “No, I don't think it's because you run a bordello. I think it's…well, I just don't know.” He walked backwards, heading toward the door, and she felt something in her twisting, like an invisible cord in her reeling him back. How many men would've pushed themselves on her, demanding more, taking it? But not the gunslinger.

Stopping at the door, he frowned, and his throat worked as if he had something hard to say. “The thing is, I could use some company tomorrow when I ride out to Dillard's Peak. I'm not even sure where it is, and you know the territory…” His voice trailed away.

Oh, the ashes. She should say no. Spending a day in Kit's company wasn't wise. Hell, at any time he might realize she was the killer he was looking for. One slip of her tongue, and her life would be over.

She would eventually turn herself in as planned, but not before she'd made certain her ladies were safe. “I'm sure there are plenty of others you could ask. Your deputy for starters.”

He gave her a level look, scorn etched across his strong features. “I'd prefer to spend as little time with Jim Hazen as I have to. Am I so repellant you'd drop me in his company?”

“Of course not.” She shook her head, unable to hide her smile at his unvarnished show of outrage. “Even if I wanted to go, I can't. I don't own a carriage.”

He gave a sideways grin that made her heart flip-flop, and then he unlocked the bolt behind his back. “Ah. Well, good thing you're friends with the farrier. I'm sure you could borrow a horse from the livery for the day.”

“I could, but—”

“'Course, if you don't come, Hazen and I will have more time to look for the sheriff's killer.” He paused in the doorway, staring dejectedly at the floor, his expression grim.

Gracious. Perhaps delaying him a day couldn't hurt. “I suppose I could accompany you.”

His gaze returned to hers, eyes glittering with worldly delight. “Ah, glorious. That's settled then. Now I'll have something pleasant to look forward to tomorrow.” He surveyed her one last time in a lingering glance. “Good night, Cora.”

He then swiveled around, shutting the door on her before she could form another rebuttal.

She gritted her teeth. That man would be the death of her. She didn't like to ride, didn't care for horses. Tarnation, she didn't even know the territory, as he called it, outside of the riverfront.

After bolting the door behind him and then the window, she went to collapse on her bed. Lying still, her blood continued to race from her encounter with Kit. Unbidden, her hand traced the same path across her thigh where he'd touched her bare leg and had discovered her gun.

She swallowed against a hard knot in her throat.

He'd come so close to the truth, and yet he hadn't questioned her. Unlike the deputy, Christopher Wainwright was no buffoon. If he hadn't figured out her secret tonight, he soon would.

The question was, what would she do when he did?

Chapter Six

Kit's yawn was wider than half of Texas as he reached to put on his second boot. He'd been right when he'd told Cora he wouldn't get sleep that night for thinking of her. Worry—and lust—had kept him in a sorry state, tossing and turning, unable to rest in his borrowed bed. He'd finally nodded off shortly before sunrise only to be awoken by the light streaming in through the bedroom window.

When he took over the new ranch, he would have to get used to being up this early. Living on the river, dividing his time between his uncle's house, drinking at the brothel and gambling on the riverboats, he'd seldom gotten out of bed before noon. This change of regime would be the death of him—along with the empty bed and waking to a painful need for a woman.

Perhaps he could alter that in a way that would make Uncle Bart proud. He could send word to his lawyer, Hastings, to post an advertisement in the papers for a mail-order bride who wouldn't mind coming west to be a rancher's wife. After all, his friend Rory had married recently, and the match he'd made had changed the riverboat captain for the better.

Newly determined to find his own happiness, he went to the small desk and took out a piece of paper and a pencil. Once he had the message written, he folded the paper in half and scribbled Hastings's address on the back.

Suddenly, the bedroom door at his back opened. He swiveled in his chair, half-expecting, half-hoping it would be Cora coming to say she'd changed her mind about his offer last night. At that thought, the erection he'd awoken with suddenly roared back to life.

But instead of Cora, the young prostitute Andrea stepped inside, her face downcast, not noticing him. She shut the door and headed for her dresser across the room, slumping along quietly. Her hair was combed back in a neat bun, revealing the healing, yellow bruise.

Her appearance washed away his earthly thoughts with feelings of sorrow for the girl. He cleared his throat.

“Oh!” She whirled around, her shocked eyes latching on to him.

“My apologies. It's just me. The sheriff.” He stood, leaving the paper on the desk. “Miss Cora gave me use of your room last night.”

She backed to the door. “I-I-I'm sorry. If I'd known I would've knocked.”

“It's all right.” Her expression didn't relax a fraction, and he cursed himself silently. He held out his hands in a gesture of peace. “Please. You've probably come for some clothing. I'm done here. I'll leave.”

Frowning, she nodded.

As he went toward the door, she edged away from him, wringing her hands in front of her.

Something kept him from leaving. The old Kit would've turned his back on the lady, wishing he hadn't seen the injustice imposed upon her, but he wasn't his old self anymore. What would Uncle Bart want him to do?

“Your name is Andrea, isn't it?”

She nodded again. “Andrea Burns.”

“Well, Miss Burns, as I'm now the sheriff, I've been meaning to ask you about the man who attacked you the night before last. Did you know his name?”

She dropped her stare to her boots, hunching her shoulders.

He felt certain that fear, rather than professional courtesy, kept her silent. “If you tell me who he was, I
promise
I'll put him behind bars. I'll arrest him and convince the judge to keep him in prison. On my word as a Wainwright.”

Andrea glanced at the ceiling, eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears, then she met his gaze with resolve. “Name's McGruder. He's not from around here. He's only passing through. Probably rode out of town today or yesterday.” Her bottom lip trembled.

“Damn. I was afraid of that. I'll check the hotel for him anyway. If he's there, he's as good as caught.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.” She brightened but didn't smile. “Why you bein' so kind to me?”

He frowned. “That's my job, isn't it? Not to mention, I'm a gentleman.”

This brought a tiny grin, and she chuckled wryly. “It weren't the last sheriff's job. At least he didn't think so. But Miss Cora
paid
him to make it so.”

The blood in his veins went icy. “Your employer gave Bill Sidlow money?”

Andrea nodded. “She didn't have no choice. He was rotten—just as bad as the thief you shot, taking our money for what he was hired to do. At least we didn't have no troubles then. No thieves, no…” Her words drifted away as she turned her damaged cheek to her shoulder.

His neck prickled with apprehension. “You know a lot about Miss Cora. Are the two of you close friends?”

Andrea shook her head, smiling sadly. “None of us are really that close to her. Millie might come the closest, since she was raised here as a babe. But Miss Cora works on the bank ledgers and reads all the time, doesn't talk a lot. Lately, she and I been gettin' on really well, bein's how she got hurt by customers in the past too.”

His chest tightened. Cora had been attacked?

“When?” he demanded.

Andrea blinked, clearly taken aback by his abrupt response. “She said it happened a couple of times some years ago. She hadn't had a man since.” She blanched and covered her mouth. “Oh, I shouldn't have told it.”

He closed his eyes, stricken by all the loathsome things he'd said and done in Cora's company. No wonder she'd treated him like the jackass he'd been.

Recalling he wasn't alone, he opened his eyes and shook his head. “It's all right. I won't say anything.” He turned and opened the door, then paused as another concern gripped him. “Andrea, can I ask one more question? I'm trying to understand how things were in the past here at the Willows, so I might rectify them. Did the sheriff ever attack you or any of the other women?”

Her brows knit together. “No. He was a bad man, but he never demanded nothin' but money from us.”

Bribery was a powerful motivator. He'd known men to kill over less than a handful of dollars. Although it had never caused Kit to take another life, he'd stood at the wrong end of a loaded gun over a game of cards before and had seen greed create horrible monsters.

Cora was no monster, but she could very well be a killer if pushed hard enough.

Cora adored silence. Always the first to rise in the mornings, she enjoyed the peace of the quiet household and time she could spend reading without customers interrupting. There was something delightful in sharing the company of her girls when they sat for a few tranquil moments while sewing or even listening to Millie play a melody on the piano. Yet today, horseback riding the trail up Dillard's Peak in complete silence was not one of those pleasant times.

The tension between her and Kit for the past two hours had been unbearable.

As promised, she'd met him in the parlor that morning dressed in riding clothes—a brown leather vest hiding her holstered gun, a white cotton blouse over her corset and a pair of trousers a client had left, now laundered and comfortable against her legs. The sheriff had taken a second look upon seeing her in pants but said nothing.

Nothing at all.

Her sense of disappointment was staggering. She'd expected more of his flirtation, a compliment on her ensemble, or even his disapproval for her going out in public in men's clothing. But he'd given no response at all.

They'd ridden his horse to the livery where she'd borrowed a horse of her own to ride. She'd thought the physical distance between them would make things easier, but she'd been wrong. The edginess increased, and she sensed it had more to do with her and last night rather than simply the sad task at hand. But then again, she'd never been as close to anyone as Kit had been with his uncle. She'd never experienced a familial bond with her mother, and when fever had taken her life, Cora had finally been free to pursue her goals of improving the Willows and helping its women.

She had been neglected as a youth, forced to be self-sufficient, unlike Kit. He'd been brought up in luxury—albeit in the dangerous dens of riverboat gamblers—so maybe if she'd had a caring provider like Bartholomew Wainwright, she would be grief-stricken as well.

At her direction, Kit now led the way to the summit of Dillard's Peak until he stopped at the overlook to scan the three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the river valley.

She studied his profile. Jaw muscles clenched, he stared at the line of Ouachita Mountains in the distance, tightening his hands on the pommel of his saddle. This side of him, aloof and tense, made her want to console him, no matter the danger to her own sense of self-preservation.

She pushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. “Your uncle chose a gorgeous place to rest. Does this mountain hold a special meaning to him?”

Kit rolled one broad shoulder. “I'm not sure why. My aunt is buried back in St. Louis, but this was his favorite place in the world. He traded in Indian Territory and camped here before heading into Fort McNamara to sell his goods.”

Her heart wrenched at the sadness in his voice. “You miss him. I'm sorry.”

He glanced at her and lifted an eyebrow. “Uncle Bart was a crazy old curmudgeon who'd lived a full life.” After removing his hat, he ran his fingers through his wavy hair. “He wore black as long as I can remember. When I asked him why he didn't just remarry, he told me that the black wasn't for mourning, but to put off any women who might set their sights on him because females did nothing except disappoint a man.” He grinned as he hung his hat over the pommel of his saddle.

Her jaw dropped. “What an absurd proclamation against my gender. You said he was married. Had he no more feelings for his wife than that?”

Kit laughed quietly, lowering his gaze with his cheek dimpling beneath the scruff of his unshaven face in the way that had grown endearing to her. “Honestly, my memories of my aunt are of her disapproval of our uncouth ways. She was a city-bred termagant who resented living in the South. Probably gave the old man hell for bringing her to St. Louis. They were two of a kind.”

“Well, I guess if he never remarried, he must've felt a great loss when she passed. At least now they'll be together.”

His expression smoothed at her suggestion. “Yes, thank you for reminding me of that. Now I guess I'd better stop delaying and get this over with. Uncle Bart would've already cursed me for being so slow in getting here.”

Kit dismounted, took the satchel from his saddle and went to finish the job. Standing on the edge of the bluff, he shook the open bag, and his uncle's ashes caught the breeze and streamed over the valley below before disappearing. He stood with his back turned to her, but she could tell from the sorrowful set of his shoulders that he wished he could bring his beloved uncle back.

Her insides squeezed. She could no longer maintain her safe distance and deny him the small comfort she might provide. Pulled to him by her heartstrings, she hopped down, leaving their horses nibbling weeds, and walked up behind him.

When she put a hand on his back, Kit turned to her with glassy eyes rimmed in red. He faked a smile as if making light of his emotions. Though she'd only known him a few days, she recognized he often hid behind humor, putting a grin over pain like wrapping a bandage over a wound. He might've killed men, but he had a heart.

Maybe Ray had known what he was doing when he'd made Kit sheriff, and maybe if Cora played her cards right, Kit would use some of that compassion when Velvet surrendered.

Knowing he wouldn't make a move toward her without her permission, she stepped up to embrace him. His body felt wooden as she wrapped her arms around his back and pressed her cheek against his chest, but she persisted, caressing a tender circle against his taut shoulder muscles. He issued a sigh, and finally, his chin settled against the crown of her head, his arms coming around her. Listening to his rhythmic heartbeat and taking decadent pleasure in the strong embrace cradling her closer and closer against him, she became aware of her own heart's solid pounding, her blood blazing through her veins at the renewed desire to tip her face up to him and bring his head down for a kiss to wash away the pain.

No, for more than a kiss. More than the wry flirtation of the last few days. She longed to offer him her body—willingly—in the way men sometimes needed.

She eased back, put her hands to his rough cheeks and touched her lips to his.

He made a sound of surprise in his throat and then groaned. He slid his hand down, pausing at her back before slowly moving lower to cup her buttocks, and he deepened the kiss. Squeezing her bottom, he pulled her against his hardened flesh, and his tongue swept hers, coarse and hot. She heard herself moan, an alien sound she'd never made before.

Startled and embarrassed, she eased back, wiping her thumb across her lower lip. Kit's eyes glittered with the remnants of his pain as he watched her with new hunger.

A thread of the old fear ran through her, but she forced it down, putting courage in her expression. “We can use my saddle blanket. I saw a bed of grass on the way up—”

“No.” Kit inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and leaning back. “Not here. Not now.”

She wanted to brighten his mood, to put the spark back into his features, so she leaned against him, bringing his gaze back as her hands ran up the thick muscles of his arms. “It'll be fine. We're perfectly alone.”

Kit swallowed, his heated look devouring her, though he stood immovable as the mountain they stood on. “No, Cora. Not this way.”

His words sent her back a step like a slap to the face. Did he think less of her for offering herself?

Though her face went hot with embarrassment, she couldn't let him know how his refusal stung. At least not while he still grieved.

She spun around and went to her horse, wanting to collect herself before they continued to town. “If we get moving, we'll make it back by sunset,” she said, the words grating her throat like shards of glass.

Kit came up behind her. She could feel his warmth at her back.