Cherished (21 page)

Cole heard a sound in the rocks above.
Instantly, he was on his feet. The horses were quiet, apparently
not disturbed by whatever he had noticed.

He wondered if there were Apache about. A
peace treaty had been signed, but that didn’t necessarily mean
anything. There were still plenty of renegades who didn’t give a
damn about treaties with the whites, General Crook, or any number
of cavalry patrols sent out to hunt them down. He scanned the rocks
above, then moved stealthily to the smooth white boulder from where
he had heard the sound. He watched and waited, listening with the
skills he’d learned among the Cheyenne, but only the sound of wind
and water reached his ears, only the spell of the night smote him.
Then, suddenly, he saw a glint of tawny fur. A mountain lion leapt
off the ledge twenty feet above Cole and bounded silently toward
the forest. He spotted a doe darting away into the blackness of the
spruce, pursued by the big cat. The horses started, whinnying their
fright. Cole gave a sigh of relief. Not Apache after all, merely a
mountain lion stalking its prey. Nevertheless, he listened for a
while, standing in still, perfect silence before he was finally
satisfied and turned once more back to the camp.

His prisoner was lying flat out on the grass
near the fire. For one grim moment Cole thought she was dead,
murdered by an Apache while his attention had been distracted by
the mountain lion. He reached her in three quick strides and saw
that she was asleep, peacefully curled upon the grass, her head
resting against the crook of her arm, her hair flowing like molten
gold across the earth. He stared down at her, breathing hard.

Hell, she looked innocent when she slept. She
also looked completely exhausted. He knelt down and studied her in
the moonlight, noting the delicate lines of her cheekbones and the
proud curve of her chin, and felt a strange tightening in his rib
cage. Suddenly he remembered the way she had looked up in that
tree, with the bear right below her. He grinned to himself. He
scooped her up in his arms and carried her away from the fire, over
to the gear. On impulse, he laid her down on his bedroll, which was
softer and thicker than the oilskin, and covered her with the
blanket. She murmured softly in her sleep and snuggled into a more
comfortable position. Cole just stared at her. After a few
contemplative moments, he settled down beside her and rolled up in
the oilskin, covering his face with his hat.

It was just for tonight, he told himself.
Tomorrow she’d be spending the night in the Plattsville jail. And
after that ... well, it didn’t matter what happened to her.

But maybe he’d have Hank Rivers ask a few
questions about this business just the same. Not that he believed
her story, but ... it wouldn’t hurt to get more facts. Then he
could turn her in with a clean conscience and take advantage of his
chance to buy back Fire Mesa.

Tomorrow, I’ll get myself a room in the
Plattsville hotel and a girl to share it with me. A black-haired
girl with blue eyes,
he decided.
Or maybe a buxom redhead.
Anything, anything but a blonde.

That’s that, he told himself.
Tomorrow
she’ll be Hank Rivers’ problem, not mine
.

He heard her soft even breathing beside him
and couldn’t resist lifting his hat and turning to look at her one
more time. Damned if she didn’t look just like an angel dropped
right out of heaven.

But she wasn’t an angel. She was an armful of
trouble he wished he’d never met. Two days with Juliana Montgomery
had been enough for him.

Soon as they reached Plattsville, he’d wash
his hands of her for good.

But first, there was one more thing about her
he had to know. Come morning, he’d find out for sure.

A tiny sigh escaped Juliana as she cuddled
beneath her flowered silk coverlet, delaying the moment when she
opened her eyes. She was deliciously comfortable in her big lilac
bedroom with the French silk drapes and Persian carpet and the
antique looking glass above her dressing table. The plump pillows
felt so lovely beneath her head, and the silk caressed her skin as
she shifted in the bed, turning onto her side, with her hand cupped
beneath her cheek. In a moment, Maura would come in with her
chocolate and part the drapes to let the sunshine in, but for now
Juliana delayed the moment of full awakening, letting herself drift
peacefully on the edge of wakefulness. She sensed something beside
her and realized she must have brought Charlotte into her bed.

Charlotte was the doll Mama had given her on
her sixth birthday, a beautiful china doll with blue eyes and
snow-white skin and black silken hair. Charlotte always looked
resplendent in her dress of exquisite blue satin with tiny pearl
buttons down the back. She had brought Charlotte with her from
Independence when she went to live with Aunt Katharine and Uncle
Edward, and for a long while Charlotte had shared her bed every
night, bringing the comfort of familiarity and warm memories and
love. But when Juliana was twelve, Aunt Katharine had decided she
was too old to sleep with dolls, and had insisted Charlotte take
her place on a shelf in the bedroom instead. Sometimes, when
Juliana felt very lonely, she would sneak Charlotte off the shelf
and onto her pillow for an evening.

She must have done that last night. But why
had she felt so lonely? There was some reason ... She had better
return Charlotte before Aunt Katharine noticed she was missing from
the shelf....

Juliana’s fingers were still stroking the
doll’s hair as she opened her eyes. Beside her was not the dainty
figure of her beloved doll, but the tall, well-muscled form of Cole
Rawdon. Her body had somehow rolled right up alongside his. She was
curled against him, as close as could be, and her fingers were
stroking not Charlotte’s silky doll hair, but Rawdon’s black unruly
curls, while he lay grinning at her in the most unnerving way.

“Oh, good Lord ...”

She snatched her hand away in confusion as
Rawdon lifted himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her, his
grin widening. “Don’t stop now. It was just getting
interesting.”

He slipped a hand along the curve of her
spine and pressed her forward against him, while at the same time
one leg swung over both of hers to keep her from moving away.

“Stay away from me,” Juliana gasped, trying
to roll sideways, but he held her tight.

“You started it.”

“I th-thought you were Charlotte,” she
stammered.

“Who?” His blank look made her feel like even
more of an idiot.

“My doll,” she blurted out. Her cheeks blazed
pink as carnations. “Never mind, you wouldn’t understand,” she said
hastily, trying to wriggle away from him.

“Yeah. Your doll.” Cole held her beneath him
without effort and studied her, thinking she looked like a
delectable doll herself, all soft and pale and delicate, lovely as
any porcelain creation. But the rounded breasts beneath the faded
muslin gown, and the slender neck and soft arms and shapely hips,
all belonged to a real, live woman. Those wide green eyes were
still a bit dreamy with sleep, making his insides tighten
uncomfortably. He didn’t know why she was babbling to him about a
doll, but he didn’t believe a word of it. This whole thing was
probably an act of some kind, meant to drive him to distraction.
Well, it was succeeding. She’d just have to take the consequences
of her little scheme, for a man could endure only so much....

“You’re the one who rolled onto my part of
the oilskin,” he told her, his gaze sweeping over the tempting
curves pressed against him. “You had the whole bedroll to yourself,
but you spent the night huddled right beside me.”

“I ... must have been cold ...”

“It still is cold.”

He was right. A luminous pink was only now
squeezing through the silver gloom of the night, and the air about
them still held a bitter predawn chill. The fire had all but died
out, and their little clearing in the valley was cold and quiet and
eerie, as if there were no other life or light or warmth anywhere
in the world. Juliana found herself trembling, but not from the nip
in the air. Cole’s nearness was alarming to her and intoxicating
all at once. He filled her mind and her senses. She didn’t know
what it was about him, but he commanded all her sensations in a way
no one else ever had—it was as if she was mesmerized by his
muscular strength, his presence, the virility and purpose that
infused him with some rugged, irresistible appeal she couldn’t
fathom.

When he leaned down toward her, gathering her
close, she could feel his heart beating in his chest, and she was
struck with a yearning so fierce that panic immediately broke over
her. She sensed he would not be a man easily stopped; unlike her
St. Louis beaux, polite restraint dictated by the bounds of society
would carry no weight with him. Neither would gentlemanly manners.
Her voice caught in her throat as she started to struggle, pushing
against his chest. “No,” she whispered, terrified that her plan,
vague at best, would any moment careen out of her control. But
instead of listening to her, he slid his hand into the thick
tangles of her hair and tightened it so she couldn’t turn away.

“Yes,” he said, and pinioned her with his
body.

Juliana’s lips parted in a gasp of
half-frightened, half-hypnotized anticipation. She couldn’t
breathe. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. Against her
will, her neck craned upward to meet him.

For just a moment she saw the glint in his
eyes, and he almost smiled, then he kissed her hard, a kiss naked
in its pleasure, as if he were conquering an enemy and reveling in
every moment of it. He took his time with her, his mouth searching
and insistent as he tasted her lips, her tongue, and took from her
what he wished. What he was doing to her left her breathless,
panting, and on fire with a need that terrified her even as it
filled her blood like the headiest of potions. She did more than
kiss him back. She tasted his mouth, and quivered with delight, and
parted her lips to receive him. Moaning, she fought to quench the
fire he had started by battling back with her own tongue, but the
flames within her only grew and spread, roaring through her like an
inferno as he caught her face between his hands and kissed her even
more thoroughly than before. Juliana was consumed, driven by the
fire he ignited all around and within her.

His thighs pressed down on hers, and he began
to stroke her hair while his mouth burned a trail of kisses along
her throat. Ripples of ecstasy fluttered downward to her belly and
below. His hands were strong, sure. She clung to him, gripping at
his strength, the muscular power of him, and as she did so, his
mouth returned to her lips and he groaned in pleasure, and kissed
her again, this time with slow, exquisite gentleness.

What was he doing to her mouth, to her body?
Driving her to distraction, making her quiver and yearn ...

She twined her legs about his powerful
calves, and gasped as his body seemed to mold against her. When one
of his strong hands cupped her breast, she gasped with pleasure and
felt the tension coiled in every muscle of his body as he murmured
something indistinguishable against her hair. He was arousing
sensations in her she had never dreamed of before, and her eyes
widened as his hand tightened on her breast. He gazed down at her
with glittering and unmistakable desire.

“Juliana, you’re so damned beautiful,” he
whispered. The husky passion in his voice sent waves of electricity
through her. It was the first time he had called her by her name,
and the sound of it on his lips thrilled her, but as his fingers
began slipping deftly down the buttons of her muslin dress, leaving
the bodice parted and her chemise exposed, years of ingrained
modesty suddenly intruded. Her sanity swooped back upon her,
banishing passion, recklessness, and every inkling of desire. She
blushed a fiery red.

“Stop! Don’t do that ...”

She clutched the gown over her exposed skin
as he froze, then drew back to stare down at her in disbelief.

“What the—”

“How dare you!” Juliana tried to slap him,
but he grabbed her wrist before she could connect with his jaw.

“Hold it, angel. Just what the hell do you
think you’re doing?”

“Get off of me! Get away! How dare you take
such liberties ... when you promised you wouldn’t hurt me if I
didn’t try to escape again ...”

“Who said I was planning to hurt you?”

“You were! You are! You attacked me.”

“Attacked?” His skin was flushed a deep,
sunburned bronze, but his laugh sounded deadly cold. “Ma’am, I know
an invitation when I see one, and I saw one here plain as day. Just
because you changed your mind ...”

She sat up and pushed him off, scrambling to
her knees. She still was clutching her gown to her chest as angry
tears glittered in her eyes. “I didn’t change my mind. I never
wanted ... you—all I wanted was to find my brothers! Oh, why
wouldn’t you ever listen to me? I told you I wasn’t a thief, I told
you I never stole John Breen’s money...!”

“Breen? You mean that big-shot tycoon who
owns half the country?
That’s
who you stole from?” Rawdon
gave an astounded laugh. He couldn’t help staring at the beautiful,
dainty girl before him. He had figured her for a small-time con
artist and thief, a shrewd little easterner who probably got run
out of Chicago or Philadelphia or St. Louis and had decided to try
her luck on the poor suckers out west. But John Breen?

Like everyone else, Cole had read newspaper
accounts of the man and knew the name was synonymous with self-made
wealth and business genius. Juliana Montgomery was far more stupid
than he had thought, or far more ingenious. To take on a man like
that ...

“Lady, you sure know how to pick ‘em.”