Rexanne Becnel (37 page)

Tanner sat back. She needed someone to watch out for her, all right. But he wasn’t the right person. The third whiskey arrived, and he grabbed for it as if it would somehow save him from the crazy feelings that were gripping him. His eyes stung from the bite of the drink. “If Hogan needs me to stick around, I will. Assuming he and I can come to terms.”

It was her turn to sit back in her chair. She didn’t like being reminded that it all came down to money for him, he realized. That was the surest way to rile her up. The surest way to make her stop going soft over him when she should know as well as he that they were a mismatched pair. It would never work. He continued, “If I can get a few more weeks’ work out of him, I’ll be sitting real pretty.”

Her jaw tightened, but she managed to keep her voice relatively civil. But it was costing her, he thought with an inner smirk “And what is it you intend to do with all your newfound riches?”

“Buy a stud horse,” he said, trying to make it sound as vulgar as possible. “Yeah, a stud horse and a dozen or so brood mares.”

Instead of being put off, however, she got a speculative look in her jade-green eyes. “You’re going to raise horses?”

He nodded, but warily. This wasn’t going as he’d expected.

“Have you already got a farm or ranch for them?”

“No.” He practically shouted the word when he realized where she was leading. A farm. A home. A wife and family.

She looked at him suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you’re going to drag all those horses around with you while you hunt down people. It’ll be awfully hard sneaking up on them.”

He cleared his throat and slid the empty whiskey glass back and forth between his two hands. Why had he admitted he was buying horses? What had he been thinking?

The problem was the whiskey had caught up with him, he realized. Three drinks on an empty stomach and all of a sudden his mouth was saying things before his brain could stop it.

“Well?” she persisted, looking like a cat waiting to strike. An adorable kitten ready to pounce.

“I have some land,” he admitted, thinking back to his valley, the one he’d foolishly wanted her to see. “There’s nothing there but grass and trees, though. No house. Not even a barn.”

“But you intend to build them.” She sat back, looking much the contented feline.

Tanner cast about desperately for a reply. “I’ll probably just build a sod house. That’s all I really need.” He stared at her, forcing himself to look unconcerned about her and her interest in his future plans. He even yawned, or faked a yawn. He saw the shadow of doubt that crept over her face and then the confusion she tried to hide. When the waiter finally brought their meal, he suspected that she was almost as relieved as he.

They ate their meal in relative silence. At a table near theirs a couple with two young children ate, and the barely restrained antics of the young girl and her even younger brother were welcome distractions.

The man wore a three-piece suit of gray wool with crisp white cuffs and his watch chain showing. The woman was small and round, her hair a wispy blond. They looked nothing at all like him and Abby. Yet when the man helped his daughter place her napkin on her lap and the mother cut her son’s meat for him, Tanner’s whiskey-influenced imagination too easily made the connection.

Abby would make a wonderful mother. She was good with children; he already knew that. And she could teach them so much.

He, on the other hand, couldn’t teach them a damn thing, except maybe how to hunt down men for a living.

He pushed his plate away, suddenly unable to choke down another bite. He signaled the waiter for their bill.

“Bring me a bottle of whiskey too,” he muttered to the man. “A fresh one.”

It had been a long time since he’d felt the need to get blind drunk. On the trail it was too dangerous—he needed his wits about him. The same was usually true in town too. But tonight …

Tonight drinking himself into a stupor was the only thing that would stop him from making a mistake that would ruin Abby’s life forever.

A
BBY CLOSED THE DOOR
to her room and locked it, just as Tanner had instructed. Then she turned, leaned heavily against it, and stared at the other door, the one that led to Tanner’s room. She heard him enter from his hall door, heard the dull thud of the bottle he’d bought hit the wood dresser, then the fall of each of his boots to the floor.

One thin door, six panels of golden oak with handsome brass fixtures. All she had to do was open it.

Tanner had told her to lock it, too, as if he needed that extra barrier between them. But Abby just stared at it, wondering if he meant to lock his side.

He was the stubbornest man alive, she thought, shoving herself upright. She began to pace, ripping off first one glove, then the other, and tossing them on the dresser. The bonnet was next. Then she stopped and, breathing hard, studied herself critically in the beveled-glass mirror.

Perhaps she was no beauty, at least not in the flashy way some men preferred. But she wasn’t ugly either. And the fact was Tanner had been attracted to her from the first. At least he’d acted like he was. Now, though, he seemed determined to keep her at arm’s length.

Was it because she’d already given in to him once?

Abby turned away from the mirror in dismay. She didn’t think that was the reason. More than likely it was that she was Willard Hogan’s grandchild. He’d started acting cool toward her once he’d determined she was the one he was searching for. She was Willard Hogan’s lost grandchild, the only heir to the man’s wealth, if Tanner was to be believed. How rich could one man be anyway?

She unfastened the row of tiny buttons down the front of her bodice and removed the lovely garment with care. The skirt was next, and the tied-on dress improver. As she reached around to untie the tapes for the top petticoat, however, the most scandalous idea took root in her head. She caught her breath in a rush as she considered just what the ramifications of such behavior would be.

Had her mother ever plotted in just such a fashion to capture her father’s attention?

Abby didn’t stop to consider. Instead she removed several of the pins that helped hold up her hair, then leaned toward the mirror to pinch her cheeks. But she didn’t need to use any artificial means to brighten her face. Just the thought of what she planned to do was enough to bring a rosy blush to her cheeks and darken her eyes.

Tanner McKnight had better watch out, she bravely reassured herself. Then before she could turn coward, she moved to the door that separated their rooms, took hold of the knob, and opened it.

Tanner sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands and an opened bottle of Monongahela whiskey on the floor between his bare feet. He looked up at her entrance and stiffened. “I told you to lock that damned door.” He grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck and took a swift gulp. “What do you want?”

Abby could not have been more nervous. Her knees shook and her palms were damp with perspiration. “My … my corset. I need help to unlace it.”

He looked at her, as dumbfounded as if she’d just announced the hotel was on fire. No, he would have reacted better if she’d told him that. He looked as if he couldn’t believe what she’d just said. “Son of a bitch!”

Abby quaked at the vehemence of his tone, but she didn’t retreat when he stood up. “It laces up the back,” she murmured. “The lady at the shop—”

“Shouldn’t have sold you such a stupid thing. Clothes that you can’t take off without help. Damn,” he added furiously.

“She thought I would have help,” Abby snapped right back at him. “She thought you were my husband.”

“Well, why didn’t you correct her?”

“Why didn’t you?”

By now they were facing each other, practically shouting. He stood with his legs spread, his fists on his hips in a belligerent, blatantly masculine stance. Abby placed her fists on her hips, too, and lifted her chin challengingly. The heavy knot of her hair slipped lower on her neck, and one hairpin landed on the wooden floor with a faint plunk.

Tanner looked down at the pin as if puzzled. Then slowly he returned his gaze to her. He seemed to gather his strength before he spoke. “Turn around.”

“I have to remove this corset cover first.”

She accomplished that task fairly quickly, considering that her fingers were trembling so bad, she could hardly control them. Once she shrugged the delicate linen garment from her shoulders, however, the rest of her hair tumbled loose, thick and silken about her shoulders and back. His eyes turned almost black at the sight, and though Abby knew it was what she wanted, she became even more rattled.

“It has two sets of laces,” she whispered, knowing her voice must give away every one of her emotions. “They both lace from the middle.”

She turned around then, away from that devouring gaze and the frown that drew his brows together and tightened his jaw. He seemed all at the same time to want her and to want her to leave.

It was torture, knowing he would eventually touch her and yet not knowing if it would be efficient and impersonal or seductive and very, very personal.

Then she felt him, just his nearness. The warmth that seemed to emanate from him. His breath stirring her hair ever so slightly.

“Why are you doing this, Abby?” One of his hands stroked slowly down the length of her hair, but so lightly that she might only be imagining it. “Why?”

Abby didn’t answer. How could she? But in truth he seemed not to expect an answer from her. Once again his hand moved along her hair, but this time he took its weight into his hand, and she heard him inhale, slow and deep.

“You’re making this harder than it has to be,” he muttered. But he didn’t release her hair. If anything, he drew her nearer with his reverent handling of it.

Abby’s eyes had fallen closed. It was heaven to be desired by him, for she knew now that he still did desire her. But she wanted him to love her. Until he did, she must suffer the perverse torture of loving alone.

He let her hair fall free and put his hands on her shoulders instead. “You’d better get out of here, little girl. Before it’s too late.”

But Abby only shook her head a little. “I need help with my corset,” she repeated breathlessly.

His fingers tightened a long moment, then with a sigh, as if in resignation, he parted her hair so that he could find the corset laces. Abby bent her head forward, allowing him freer access to the restrictive garment. With two pulls he released the bow ties. Then he tugged the crisscrossed lacings loose. With every tug, however, his fingers moved along her spine, along the warm flesh, covered now only by her new lawn chemise. By the time the corset was loose enough to be removed, her breath came fast and her heart sounded like a drumroll in her own ears.

She caught the corset with her hands but continued to stand there, waiting for him to make the next move, yet worried that maybe she should do it. Then his knuckles skimmed along the length of her back, from her neck down to the curve at her waist and the swell of her derriere. She stopped breathing; her heart seemed to halt as well.

“Tanner …” His name slipped out, filled with all the love and longing that she felt for him.

“Hell’s bells,” he muttered. Then before she could wonder if his reply was good or bad, he kissed the nape of her neck.

Abby sucked in a sharp breath at the first touch of his warm mouth to her sensitive skin. His hands moved back to her shoulders as he again kissed her in the same spot, tasting and exploring. His tongue stroked the gentle protuberance of bones there before he moved the kiss along her shoulder and to the side of her neck.

Abby wanted to hold him close, to catch him fast in her arms and keep him there forever. But what he was doing with just those nibbling little kisses was far too wonderful for her to give up. So she contented herself with covering his strong hands with her own smaller ones and relaxed her weight against him.

Tanner groaned, then nuzzled past her hair to find her right ear. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, the words sounding too angry, given the delicious way he tormented her.

“You won’t.” She tilted her head sideways so he could strengthen the kiss. At once his hands moved down her arms, then under them to her waist. He hauled her abruptly against his loins, and she felt most clearly the press of his arousal against her derriere.

“You’re a fool,” he muttered, again sounding angry. His hands slipped around to her stomach. One slid down to flatten against her belly and start the most alarming sensations deep inside her there. The other moved up to cup one of her breasts, and with that Abby thought she would actually faint.

“Tanner,” she moaned, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

He answered with a short oath—an oath of capitulation, she realized even in the fog of desire that gripped her. For his kiss changed with that oath, as did his hold on her. He sucked at her neck; his teeth bit down on her earlobe, just enough to hurt, yet not enough to kill the fire that burned full force between them. His hand at her belly slid down even farther, so that his fingers curved despite her linen petticoat into the dark space between her legs.

At her gasp of surprise he whispered hoarsely, “Are you sure you want this, Abby? Are you sure? Because this time there’ll be no holding back. Not by me or by you.”

She answered him by moving her hand to his denim-covered thigh and then sliding it between his legs to touch the hard maleness that raged there.

It was all the answer he needed. With a groan that was part triumph and part surrender, he scooped her up in his arms. Forgotten was the poor corset. Ignored was the bottle of expensive Monongahela. He headed for the big bed, and when she wound her arms around his neck, he followed her down upon it.

Having Tanner’s magnificent body, so hard and heavy, weighing her down into the thick feather bed was truly the most marvelous sensation Abby could imagine. Yet even as that fuzzy thought took form in her mind, one of his knees parted her legs, and the pressure of his rough-clad thigh between her delicately covered ones only intensified the feelings.