Outlaw Carson (21 page)

Cleaner, with no revealing tracks staining
his cheeks, he used his wet hands to slick his hair back under his
cowboy hat. He settled the brim low on his forehead and with a
quick motion rubbed the dirt off his boot tops on the backs of his
jeans. He didn’t want to look even one tenth of one percent as
torn-up as he felt. What he wanted was Sarah and the way she
believed in him.

Sarah thought he was strong, and next to her
he was. It was one of the many pleasures of kissing her and holding
her, how he had to temper his strength so as not to scare her, or
ever hurt her. Her love and trust gave him the desire to be good,
to be the best.

Sarah.

He squared his shoulders and looked out on
the sea of sun-cured grass floating to the horizon, broken by
coulees and occasional scrub. There was nothing for him in Rock
Creek. He’d known it that day so many years ago when he and his mom
had washed up in this backwater, nowhere place on a flood of grief,
both broken from the loss of her husband, his father. He shouldn’t
have forgotten. He shouldn’t have invested so much of himself in
the two-bit town, so many of his dreams.

There was nothing in Rock Creek, he silently
repeated, never had been, nothing except Sarah. He turned his back
on the prairie and headed for the main street, the cool interior of
Atlas Drugs, and the soothing comfort of the girl he loved.

* * *

Sarah knew the instant Colt stepped into the
store. The bell over the door didn’t jingle any differently for
him, but the air changed. The weatherman could talk all he wanted
about increases in atmospheric pressure; Sarah felt it every time
Colton Haines walked into a room.

She turned and their eyes met briefly over
the postcard rack at the front of the store. She checked where her
Uncle Tobias was helping Doris Childress at the pharmacy and hoped
the preacher’s wife would keep him busy. She knew her uncle felt
bound and beholden to report on her to her father—it was that or
catch hell—and lately the comings and goings of Colt had been the
priority news on any given day of the week.

Colt stayed up by the tourist goods, where
the display of T-shirts hanging from fishing line strung across the
aisle offered the most privacy. Not many tourists stopped in Rock
Creek, but when they did they could get an official Rock Creek
T-shirt at Atlas Drugs.

Over the top of a shelf filled with shot
glasses and knickknacks, she saw the wide blue and black stripes of
his favorite shirt stretched across his broad but youthful
shoulders, a young man’s shoulders used to carrying the burden of a
grown man’s responsibilities. He was like that all over—lean and
hard with muscle, promising to fill out. For Sarah, everything
about Colt was a promise of things to come, of their future.

Sometimes when he looked at her, she saw the
deepening of their friendship over the years of a long and good
marriage; and sometimes, especially when he’d been kissing her, she
saw the heat banked up in him, ready to explode, tethered only by
the same love that had lit the fire. It always amazed her, the way
he wanted her, and the strength it took not to take her.

As she rounded the edge of a display unit
and drew closer to him, she noted the dust on his black cowboy hat
and his clothes. His jeans fit him like a soft, well-worn glove,
faded indigo hugging narrow hips and strong flanks, and breaking
across the tops of remarkably dust-free boots. A smile teased her
mouth. She knew the trick. He’d taught her.

“Colt?” she asked softly, not whispering
exactly, but not wanting her uncle to hear them. The less her
father knew, the better, for all parties concerned.

Colt turned when she spoke, and he felt a
small portion of his hurt melt away under the soft gray light of
her eyes. There wasn’t anyone like Sarah. She wasn’t the prettiest
girl in town, or the most popular, but he’d had to win her. Once,
in grade school, he’d teased her about her straight, dishwater hair
until she’d cried, then he’d pulled her braid.

He was still putting his hands on her hair,
but only to hold her closer, to feel the silky fine silver and gold
strands slip through his fingers. The most he ever did to her braid
was unweave it so the summer-blond veil of hair fell over her
shoulders. He’d lost count of the number of nights he’d spent
dreaming about watching her hair slide over her breasts. It took a
lot of imagination. He’d never seen her breasts.

He’d known she was in the aisle, approaching
him, but he’d waited to face her, wanting one last chance at
pulling himself together just in case something showed. He thought
he’d done a pretty good job, until he looked at her.

“Colt?” Her voice went from welcoming to
concerned.

He forced a smile and wondered what part of
him was giving him away.

“Hi. Can you get out of here?” His voice was
gruff, but it didn’t shake.

She hesitated for a second, then said,
“Sure. Just give me a minute. Do you want a soda?”

He shrugged. “My truck is in the alley.”

“I’ll be right out.”

She brought more than sodas when she came.
Her hands were full of cookie and cracker boxes, a few candy bars,
and a whole six-pack of cold cola. She also brought two sandwiches
she must have made up in the kitchen in the back. He wondered what
her uncle had thought of that.

“You’re not letting me eat you out of
another paycheck, are you?” He tried to grin again. He could afford
a smile now that he had her on his turf. He hadn’t felt welcome in
the drugstore, because he wasn’t welcome anymore. Tobias and he had
gotten along real well up until a few weeks ago, when for reasons
Colt hadn’t understood until today, Sarah’s father had told
everybody that Colt wasn’t supposed to see Sarah any longer, for
any reason. Neither he nor Sarah, though, had considered for a
minute that they’d give each other up. They’d just gotten
careful.

“I’m hungry too,” she said, shoving the food
across the seat before crawling up into his pickup truck.

Her booted feet had barely left the ground
when he scooted over and wrapped his hands around her waist,
pulling her across the seat and onto his lap.

“Colton Haines! What do you think you’re
doing?” She slanted him a provoked glance and reached over to pick
up the boxes being crushed by her legs. “You’re smashing the creme
cookies.”

“Kiss me, Sarah.” The words were spoken low,
with a seriousness that captured her attention.

Her gaze returned to his, and she searched
his crystalline-blue eyes, the color of a Wyoming sky, until his
dark lashes lowered and his mouth lifted to hers. She met him
halfway, not knowing what to expect, but suddenly reminded of the
look she’d seen on his face in the drugstore. Colt was hurting.

She kissed him sweetly, her lips soft but
closed, and he didn’t press for more. But then his hand slid to the
nape of her neck, his legs spread apart, and he pulled her between
his thighs. That was when the kiss changed, growing mysterious, and
darkly exciting, and confusing all at once.

He bit her lips gently, something he’d never
done before. His other hand settled on her hip and pulled her
closer against him, causing him to groan and her to catch her
breath. His mouth came back to hers and he pushed his tongue deep
inside, caressing her with slick, even strokes.

Sarah started to tremble, but she couldn’t
move away. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his
shoulders, her mouth open and responsive. She knew what he was
doing, what he was pretending to do, but she didn’t know where it
would lead, not in broad daylight in the alley and not between
them, even if they’d been parked on the prairie in the middle of
the night.

She couldn’t move away, though, and he
didn’t stop. He only held her tighter. Her breaths grew shallow.
His grew rough. She knew when he became aroused, and guilt slipped
in next to her confusion and gathering excitement.

“Colt . . . Colt,” she whispered, breaking
away and burying her face in the crook of his neck.

Colt tilted his head all the way back to the
seat, his eyes closed, his teeth clenched. Frustration gnawed on
his insides. He was angry, angry at himself for letting go and
getting half crude on her, and angry at a nice girl’s code when he
needed her so badly.

He felt her leave him and slide over to her
side of the truck. Her hand came back and rested on his arm in a
touch of comfort he didn’t acknowledge. He didn’t want her
young-girl comfort. He wanted the woman inside her. He wanted her
beneath him, around him, all over him, until he couldn’t think.

“Let’s go to the river,” he said, and didn’t
wait for a reply as he pushed himself back behind the steering
wheel and started the truck.

The engine was slow to turn over, but Colt
was an expert at getting the ancient pickup going and keeping it
going. He’d had years of practice and damn little hope of getting a
newer or better vehicle. The truck finally fired up, and he pulled
out on the prairie side of the alley, to catch the highway on the
outskirts of town.

Miles of road and pale amber bluffs ran past
them to the horizon, the bluffs breaking into a stretch of cliffs
as they neared the river. She was quiet on the other side of the
barrier she’d absently built out of boxes of cookies and crackers.
She offered him a can of soda, which he accepted without thanks.
But he wasn’t quiet inside, and he knew what her little wall meant
even if she didn’t.

He turned off on a dirt track at riverside,
following it through two gates and up through the pastures before
driving back down to the river. He parked in front of an old barn
used officially for winter hay, and unofficially by him and his
friend Daniel Calhoun as a fishing shack. Daniel’s father owned the
ranch, and it was taken for granted that Daniel would own it
someday. Colt had often wished his future was as securely mapped
out. Instead, it had taken another vicious twist he was going to
have to fight damn hard to accommodate.

“Do you want to go swimming?” he asked, the
edge still in his voice.

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. He
didn’t blame her. He wasn’t in much of a mood to face himself
either.

He got out of the truck and started for the
river, leaving her behind. He’d ground gears getting to her; he’d
kissed her as he’d never dared before, he’d dragged her all the way
the hell out there—and then he’d walked away. He didn’t know what
to think.

But he knew he hurt less because she was
with him. He knew his thoughts were evening out because she was
near, within touching distance if he needed her. He took off his
hat and with a snap of his wrist sent it sailing across the pasture
to the pussy willows crowding the river.

Sarah watched the black Stetson float
through the air and land on a willow branch. When he shrugged out
of his shirt and went for his belt buckle, she looked away. She had
enough problems without watching him strip down to his underwear.
Or so she told herself just before her glance strayed back to where
he’d sat down by the riverbank to take off his boots.

Sunlight caught in his white-blond hair and
shone along the hard brown length of his arms. His chest was
sleekly muscled, his belly ridged and tight. He finished taking off
his boots and rose to drop his jeans. She unconsciously held her
breath for an instant, capturing her bottom lip with her teeth. The
pants came down.

He was hopelessly beautiful, and she loved
him beyond reason. The pent-up breath released on a pained sigh.
With Colt, the lines between right and wrong grew so damned thin,
it was hard to think straight.

Strong legs corded with muscle carried him
to the river’s edge. His buttocks moved in graceful rhythm beneath
the white cotton of his shorts. She watched him dip in and stretch
out in the shallows, then kick off and slide deep beneath the water
to where the brown trout reigned.

She wanted to know so much about him,
everything. She wanted to know how he breathed in his sleep, and
what made him so elemental, able to slip into the river and rise
again, water flying from his hair, freezing like anybody would, but
somehow not minding.

He didn’t last too long, though, and soon he
was padding back across the strip of pasture between the river and
his truck, his shirt flapping open, his jeans damp in spots from
his wet legs, his boots hanging from his fingers.

With one lithe movement of bunched biceps
and tensed thighs, he levered himself into the back of the pickup,
where she had laid out their impromptu picnic.

“Thanks,” he said, sitting down and
accepting the sandwich she handed him. “You always make the best
sandwiches.”

It was a compliment of sorts, and Sarah hid
her quick grin. Truth was, Colt would eat anything that didn’t eat
him first, no matter what it tasted like. She was still pleased.
For being so crazy in love with him, she had the strangest surge of
maternal instincts with him. She didn’t want to be his mother—she
had enough mothering with four younger brothers—but she sure liked
taking care of him.

“How was the river?” she asked.

“Cold.” A small smile twitched at the corner
of his mouth.

She laughed. “Didn’t seem to bother
you.”

“I’m tough.” His gaze caught hers, and the
moment of lightness passed. His darkening eyes, filled with a
hundred messages, held her motionless beneath the flickering shade
and muted sunlight sifting through the cottonwood trees. “I’m
leaving, Sarah.”

She’d known the words before he’d spoken,
and the answer she’d built in her heart was quickly on her lips.
“No.”

He shrugged and lowered his gaze to take a
bite of sandwich.

“No, Colt,” she insisted, feeling strong and
right. “Nothing can be that bad. There’s no reason to leave.”

“There’s no reason to stay.”