Rexanne Becnel (27 page)

He didn’t want to hurt her so her sharp cry of pain sent a renewed spurt of guilt through him. He scrambled to get his weight off her and was rewarded by a pair of muddy fists slammed against his head.

“By God!” Would he have to hog-tie her all the way to Chicago?

With one hand he captured her flailing fists and forced them high above her head. With his other he thrust the bunched up slicker away from her face. Though she fought and twisted beneath him, cursing him with her limited repertoire and trying desperately to inflict damage on his body, his weight and the careful placement of his legs prevented her from succeeding.

When she subsided all at once, however, he was undeniably relieved. He didn’t want to hurt her, though he knew she’d never believe that. Still, he had to take a stab at convincing her.

“Abby, just listen for a minute. Just hear me out.” He smoothed a thick wet knot of hair back from her brow, only to be met by a glowering stare. Her eyes were more green than hazel when she was angry. Green as jade. Then she blinked, and he sternly brought himself back to the matter at hand.

“I’m not going to ravish you,” he stated, wanting to reassure her as much as remind himself that she was off-limits to him. “You can hate me for taking you away from the wagon train and dragging you to Chicago. But you don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He saw her swallow and felt the twin pressure of her breasts against his chest as she took a shaky breath. Of relief? It bothered him to admit that it was. Then her lashes lowered, and he could no longer read the emotions in her expressive eyes.

“Get off me,” she muttered, tugging against the hold he had on her hands.

His body wanted to stay right where it was and even to deepen the contact. But when that wayward desire manifested itself in a swiftly rising arousal, he practically leaped away from her. He swore silently, viciously, at his own perversity. If she’d noticed the hard bulge in his pants, she’d never believe what he’d said about not ravishing her. And he couldn’t really blame her.

He sat next to her, his knees bent and his arms draped over them while she lay still a moment. Finally she pushed herself to a sitting position beside and a little behind him.

Tanner blew out a long, weary breath. Against his bowed neck the unrelenting drizzle felt cool and welcome for a change, helping to wash away both the mud and his ardor. “There’s clean clothes for you in a bag on Tulip—”

He broke off and with lightning reaction grabbed for his gun—the gun she was trying to jerk from his holster.

“Dammit!”

With a roar the gun exploded between them, and with a sharp cry she fell backward.

“Abby. Abby!” He shoved the gun back into his holster, unaware that he even did so. Where was she hit? How bad was it? And then, how could he have been so careless?

She lay on her back, her eyes wide and staring. Green as spring grass, one part of his mind noted. He quickly scanned her body. No telltale spurt of blood showed past the mud that now covered her clothes. He scrambled to her side.

“Abby! Are you hurt? Talk to me, sweetheart.” He reached a hand to her face, almost afraid to touch her, but needing to find out if she was hurt.

But when his fingers grazed her cheek, she jerked back in fear. “I hate you,” she cried, her voice filled with loathing, her face tight with anger. “I hate you and I wish you were … you were dead!” she spat out the rest.

She was unharmed. Tanner’s emotions careened from a panicked fear to absolute relief. And then to flat-out fury.

“You stupid little bitch!”

He yanked her to her feet, ignoring her gasp of fear and her frantic attempts to resist. “Don’t you ever try an idiotic stunt like that again. Do you understand?” He shook her hard for emphasis. “You could have been shot—or the wet powder could have made the gun misfire. If you’d been hurt or even killed, what good would that have done you?”

“At least I’d be away from you!” she screamed back at him.

It was the last straw. If she didn’t shut up, he was going to do something violent. So he did the one thing that always shut a woman up. What he’d been wanting to do all along anyway.

He kissed her.

She struggled for only a moment, just a shocked stiffening of her body and a startled attempt to turn her face away. But he easily thwarted her, for her arms were still tied and caught between them, while one of his arms wound firmly around her slender waist, and his other hand tangled in her hair.

She tasted like the sweetest honey—tempered with a bit of mud. But as Tanner pressed his mouth to hers, probing for entrance, licking along the seam of her lips, sucking her pouty lower lip, he didn’t mind the mud. She was a Venus, a woman made for love. Warm. Willing.

He slid his hand down from her waist to cup her buttocks and press her more intimately against him. God, but she felt so good.

When she gasped at his boldness, he took unashamed advantage and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue within the heated confines of her mouth, tasting and wanting more of her with every velvet thrust.

If only her arms weren’t in the way of a full-length embrace.

Tanner pulled just far enough away that he could fit his hand between their damp bodies. Then he ducked his head and with one quick move, looped her tied hands around his neck. In the same instant he did that, however, unpleasant reality intruded. The heady feeling of losing himself in the soft warmth of her sweet kiss dissolved when she opened her eyes and their gazes met.

He hadn’t stolen her away from the wagon train for this—no matter how appealing the idea was. Yet there was no pretending he hadn’t—at least for one insane moment—planned to continue kissing her. And more.

She leaned back, alarm but also chagrin dawning in her expressive eyes. But tied together as they now were, there was no easy way for them to separate.

Tanner raised her arms and extricated himself from their suddenly awkward embrace, then took a muddy step backward. “That won’t happen again,” he muttered, though he knew it hardly sounded like an apology. “It won’t happen again,” he repeated, but with more conviction as anger rose in his chest. “Unless you try another harebrained stunt like that. Then I won’t be held responsible for what I do.”

He gave her a dark scowl before striding off to retrieve the two horses who had shied away at the sound of the gunshot but now grazed peacefully just a little beyond them. Abby, however, was not in the least concerned by Tanner’s furious expression. She watched as his long legs carried him to Mac, then to Tulip, and all the while she simply stood where he’d left her, too confused to seek escape, too stunned even to be angry.

He’d kissed her as if … as if he meant it.

A part of her knew that made no sense. Of course he’d
meant
it. He’d probably kissed any number of women that way and meant it. But he’d broken it off, and that, as ridiculous as it seemed, meant even more than the kiss. He’d stopped their kiss—just like the other time—before it could go too far. He did not mean to trifle with her, and that knowledge warmed her heart despite her previous outrage about what he was doing.

The unanswered question, however, was why he was restraining himself when it was so apparent that she would not restrain him. She practically melted every time he touched her; he couldn’t have mistaken that obvious fact.

She pushed a hopelessly matted lock of muddy hair back from her cheek, then shivered in the damp morning wind. He might be restraining himself on account of the reward. If she were to accuse him of having had his way with her, it might be awkward for him to claim a reward from this man who was supposedly her grandfather.

Abby grimaced. What was wrong with her that with one kiss her anger dissolved and logic fled her mind? Was she so far gone that she could forget that he’d kidnapped her? That she’d lost everything in the world she owned because of him? Why couldn’t she accept the cold, hard fact that he was everything her father had said, and worse? A bounty hunter. A man of violence who got his way no matter who tried to stop him.

Leading Tulip, he rode up on Mac and dismounted without a word. She watched as he retrieved clean clothes for her. Then he turned toward her and gave her a cold, scrutinizing look.

“I’ll untie you while you change. I’ll even turn my back to give you some privacy. But don’t even think about trying anything stupid,” he added caustically.

Abby lifted her chin and glared back at him. She had already done—and thought—enough stupid things where he was concerned. And imagining that this hardhearted man could ever have been honestly interested in her was undoubtedly the stupidest of all. She was a reward to him, that was the sum total of it.

Best to remember that. And to remember that the reward money made them adversaries.

“What do you mean, we’re not going to search for her?” Victor Lewis demanded, his face a study in disbelief. Behind him Sarah wrung her hands together, worried sick over her friend’s absence.

Captain Peters raised his callused hands placatingly. “The good reverend has just given me a little news that puts a different slant on things.”

All eyes turned toward the gangly reverend, and he swallowed and colored slightly. “Well, the thing is, Miss Morgan—I mean, Miss Bliss—she informed me yesterday that she …” He paused and swallowed again before straightening to his full height. “That we would not be wed today after all. Or ever,” he added in clipped tones.

Doris Crenshaw’s eyebrows raised almost to her hairline. Victor frowned. But Sarah looked thoughtful. “Did she say why?”

“No.” The reverend looked indignant at the question. But then his wounded pride got the best of him. “It wouldn’t surprise me a bit, however, if she took off with that man. That McKnight.”

A number of knowing murmurs buzzed in the small group that clustered outside the abandoned Morgan wagon.

“McKnight’s missing too,” Captain Peters confirmed. “Is there anyone who has reason to believe there was something between those two? Something intimate?”

Victor glanced at Sarah, who nodded. He cleared his throat. “He was interested in her, all right.”

“And she had eyes for him,” Sarah added, a small smile showing on her lips.

“She was always panting after him,” another caustic voice threw in.

Everyone turned to look as Martha McCurdle elbowed her way into the circle, and the frowsy blonde puffed up under all the attention. “She acted all pure and pious around everyone else, but I saw how she was around him. Like a cat in heat—”

“That’s not true!” Sarah shouted, pushing past Victor to confront the malicious Martha.

“Are you saying she
didn’t
share an attraction with McKnight?” Captain Peters interjected before the women’s disagreement could escalate into something unpleasant.

Sarah looked up at him. “They shared an attraction, yes,” she admitted. “But she was never less than a complete lady around him.”

“He slept in her wagon,” Martha taunted.

“Her father was there,” Sarah shot right back.

“Yes, but now he’s gone.”

At that undeniable fact the others nodded once more, and many a knowing glance was shared.

“It appears they packed food and clothes. And even her family Bible is gone. I think it’s pretty clear that she went with him willingly,” Captain Peters said with an air of finality. “Now, I’ve made some decisions about how the rest of her goods will be divided up—and who’s to get the oxen.”

As people drifted away—some gossiping about the morals of certain women, others debating about the captain’s apportionment of the Morgan/Bliss household goods—one man only appeared well pleased with the day’s proceedings.

Captain Peters might bemoan the delay this caused. The Bliss girl’s friends might worry about her wellbeing. But Cracker O’Hara was elated.

At last things were under way. No more riding herd on the stock at midnight. No more sleeping in a wet bedroll and doing without either whiskey or women. Time for him to get going. He’d pick up Bud and they’d track down McKnight and the girl. Within a month he planned to be holed up in some fancy hotel in Chicago with a sweet young thing to pass the time and plenty of money to pay her with.

S
HE WAS DRY, BUT
in no other way was Abby any more comfortable than before. She still rode in front of Tanner, though at least she was decently clothed. But he’d insisted she ride astride, so her bottom nestled in the most obscene manner against the vee formed by his thighs.

She’d fought the idea of course. Not that it had done a bit of good. To her horrified objections that it wasn’t seemly, that her legs would be bared all the way up to her knees, he had just scoffed.

“There’s no one to see your knees where we’re going,” he’d laughed, though he had sounded more grim than amused. Then he’d lifted her onto Mac’s withers as if her weight were a small thing indeed, and mounted behind her before she could formulate a plan to escape.

Now they rode a steady direction northeast, so far as she could tell from the watery dawn that lit the world before them. She was outraged by his easy manhandling of her, exhausted from lack of sleep, and starving. Yet he seemed unaffected by any of it. He just sat behind her, stiff and erect, his chest not quite touching her back.

As if his rigid posture could negate the way their hips nestled together.

“I’m hungry,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “And my hands have gone numb.”

He didn’t respond to her first statement. But at the second he covered her hands, which were clasped around the saddle horn, and began to massage her knuckles.

“I’ll untie you,” he began—reluctantly, it sounded to her. “But only if you promise not to fight me.”

Abby closed her eyes in utter frustration. Why must he touch her this way, stroking life back into her fingers and feeling into her suddenly sensitive skin? The fact was she wanted her hands free. She couldn’t bear the helpless feeling being tied up gave her. At the same time, though, she still needed to fight him, for that, perversely, was the only way she could prevent herself from succumbing physically to him.