Silken Dreams (9 page)

She’d never dreamed kissing could be like this!

Not really knowing what she should say to back away gracefully from a situation she didn’t know how to handle, she turned and rushed toward the door. But just before escaping outside, she turned to gaze at him one last time.

His eyes were warm. Aware.

“Your horse and belongings were taken to the stables behind the jail,” she stated quietly, knowing it was the last thing she could give him. Then she slipped through the door.

Ethan remained in the barn and gazed at the spot where she’d been, wondering why he couldn’t ignore the sweet, heavy warmth that curled deep in his gut and spread throughout his limbs. His mind argued that their kiss had been nothing more than an experiment, a teasing game—to both of them.

But damn if his body didn’t urge him to kiss her again.

Ethan waited in the barn until late afternoon. With each moment that passed, the air around him grew hot and more unbearable, until finally, he leaned against the splintered threshold of the barn, cracked open the door, and gazed out at the back porch of the house to watch Lettie iron.

She was a pretty gir—

Woman
. Lettie had been right in her assertion. She was all woman, with delicate features, dark eyes, long honey-brown hair. And there was nothing girlish about her figure. She had curves in all the places a man liked best. High, firm breasts, a narrow waist, full hips. What Ethan wouldn’t give to spend a little more time with her.

Grunting in disgust at his own thoughts, Ethan checked the chamber of his revolver and slipped out the door. Moving as quickly as he dared, he walked toward the far end of town, making his movements as inconspicuous as possible. With a little luck, he could reach the corral behind the jailhouse and gather his horse without anyone being the wiser. Since the deputies were scouring the area, they wouldn’t expect him to have the gall to steal his horse from a corral in the middle of town.

But he only managed to make it as far as the alley butting the west wall of the jailhouse when he heard voices and flattened himself against the side of the building.

“…paid you enough to see the man well and truly caught.”

“I told you: McGuire disappeared from the area a month ago.”

“Obviously not entirely. There have been three robberies since…”

The voices faded away, and Ethan felt only a moment’s indecision before he inched toward the edge of the alleyway and peered around the corner.

“…want him dead, do you understand?”

“On one condition.”

“I’ve already paid you, well in advance—”

“And I’ll see you get your money’s worth. But I can’t do a thing about your problem until you find a way to get Jeb Clark off my back. He’s somehow managed to catch wind of my… extraneous payroll.”

Straining to see around the half-dozen horses in the corral, Ethan barely managed to make out the indistinct forms of the men who spoke in such low, confidential tones. Though one man was hidden from view, Ethan was able to catch a glimpse of the silver hair of his companion. Even so, Ethan had no idea who these men could be, but he had no doubts that they meant to see him hanging from a noose at the first opportunity.

“…and I’ll take care of Clark. You see to McGuire.”

Once again, the voices grew softer, some of the words fading into the dusty summer air.

“He’s brought me enough grief … a lifetime. Just see to it that no trace… you or me… scapegoat…”

When Ethan heard the crunch of footsteps approaching him, he crouched low and dodged away, staying within the shadows of the alley, then blending into the traffic of the town in a way that he had learned so long before yet had hoped to some day forget.

He was slipping back into the barn behind the boardinghouse before he realized that he had even returned. As his fingers closed over the splintered wood of the door and he darted inside, he admitted to himself that he had gravitated toward the meager sense of security he had found here, a sense of security in the spontaneous trust of a young woman who had every reason to suspect him of the crimes he was supposed to have committed.

Standing silently in the shadows, he took deep drags of hot summer air to still the pounding of his heart. But as his nervous energy began to dissipate, he was filled with a firm resolve. For some time, he’d suspected that the answers to his troubles lay in Madison proper. And now he had his proof. To leave now would mean spending the rest of his life looking over his shoulder. But to stay…

In staying, there would be no guarantees of his safety. He was a wanted man, not only for the past crimes he’d committed, but also for the recent rash of robberies he
hadn’t
committed.

And yet, Ethan trusted Lettie Grey—though he should have his head examined for even thinking such a thing. It was ironic really. The only place he felt relatively safe was with the sister of the man who had sought to convict him for so many years. But if he were caught—

Ethan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Sweet heaven!
Don’t let anyone find him here. Because if they did…

He’d be a dead man.

Lettie clutched the edges of her wrapper more tightly against her throat and peered out into the darkness, holding a lantern above her head. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

Though the moon had just begun its ascent, enough light touched the expanse of grass near the chickencoop and barn for her to see that Eloise, the boardinghouse cat, was nowhere in sight. Yet, only a moment before, Lettie had awakened to her plaintive cries.

“Kitty?” she called again, her voice just above a whisper. Something about the dark night discouraged any kind of noise, even the necessity of calling the cat.

Once again, the soft mewl of the cat melted into the blackness and Lettie lifted the hem of her wrapper free and ran through the grass in the direction of the barn. Eloise had probably managed to get herself caught in the rafters again. Though she was a brave animal on her way up, she never had the nerve to get herself down.

Slipping through the door, Lettie paused for a moment, holding the lamp above her so that its mellow light slipped into the corners and warmed the straw with a golden glow.

“Eloise?” she whispered.

Silence.

Pushing away a shiver of disquiet, Lettie padded into the barn. “Eloise, where are you, kitty?”

“Hello, Lettie.”

She whirled at the sudden deep voice, a gasp lodging in her throat. She tensed when she found Ethan McGuire watching her from a few feet away. He sat in a soft pile of straw, and in his lap lay the contented form of Eloise.

Lettie gripped the handle of the lantern more tightly, then lifted her free hand to clasp the neck of her wrapper. “What are you doing here?”

“Petting the cat.”

Lettie’s lips thinned in irritation, but his words caused her to look down. Eloise lay in sublime contentment as Ethan’s hand moved down the length of her body from head to toe. Even from her vantage point a few feet away, Lettie could hear the almost fanatical pleasure of the cat’s purr.

“I thought I heard her call.”

Ethan’s lips lifted in a slow grin.
“Meow.”

She stiffened, realizing it had not been the cat who had drawn her out to the barn. “You told me you were leaving,” she muttered stiffly.

His eyes dropped, his features becoming masked. “I came back.” Once again, his hand passed down the length of Eloise’s white fur, from the top of her head to the tip of her tail.

“Why?” Lettie swallowed when her voice emerged too husky, too soft. Ethan’s hands were broad and firm, his touch light, yet enticing.

When he didn’t answer, Lettie glanced up. She knew he’d noted her fascination with his hands. His touch.

A muted fire began to glow deep in his eyes. Gently scooping the cat from his lap, he set her in the straw beside him and stood up.

Obviously disgruntled by his actions, Eloise twined between his legs, muttering kittenish sounds of displeasure. But Ethan wasn’t looking at the cat. He was watching the way Lettie clutched the neckline of her wrapper.

“It’s awfully late, Lettie. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I was in bed.” Lettie stopped, realizing she shouldn’t be talking this way with Ethan McGuire. “Why are you here?” she demanded again.

He ignored her question and took a step forward, mindful of Eloise at his feet, but his movements were determined, nonetheless.

“I never took you for the soft and frilly type.” He gestured to the delicate batiste of her wrapper and the intricate white embroidery Lettie had added to the edges of the collar, sleeves, and hem. “But it suits you.”

Lettie turned away, suddenly conscious of the fact that she wore nothing more than her wrapper and a threadbare nightshift beneath.

“If you’ve been waiting for dark to make your escape, then go now before someone sees you.”

She gasped when he walked up behind her and took the lantern from her hand, setting it on an old trunk that held leather strips and old laprobes.

“What if I told you I’ve decided to stay?”

She whirled. “You can’t stay!”

Too late, she realized he’d taken another step forward and the heat of his body seeped into her own.

But it was his eyes that made her pause. Though they were cloaked in the shadows of the barn, she thought she saw a loneliness in their depths. And a sliver of desperation.

“Do you know what I’ve been doing the last few years?”

She shook her head, struggling to breathe when he took another step closer.
Sweet heaven!
He was so close now, she could smell the musk of his body, feel the faint scratch of the straw clinging to his clothing.

“I’ve been digging potatoes in Nebraska.” He took another step. “Do you know what that does to a man’s hands?”

She shook her head, trying to back away, but the rough slats of the stall behind her halted any attempt at escape.

Ethan lifted a hand, and one finger touched the high curve of her cheekbone. His skin was warm, calloused.

“It makes a man’s hands rough, Lettie. Rough and scratchy.” He took another step. His thighs brushed against her own, his chest grazed her breasts. “Do you know what I thought about?”

She shook her head, and her hands rose in an effort to push him away. But he was immovable.

“I thought about the velvet touch of a woman. The soft whisper of her skin against mine. The heady fragrance of soap, and lilac water, and female.”

A soft moan eased from her throat when his head bent. His eyes grew dark and stormy blue. The finger at her cheek shifted, and his hand curled around the back of her neck, drawing her toward him.

“It’s been so long,” he whispered, just before his lips brushed against her own. “Don’t push me away, Lettie. Please. Don’t push me away.”

Lettie’s hands had braced instinctively around his rib cage, yet at his words, she hesitated, drawn by the submerged vulnerability she’d heard in his voice.

His head lifted, and her eyes stared into his own. Such a proud man, too proud to show his need of others. Until now.

Unbidden, her hands slid around his ribs to rest against his back. “I won’t push you away,” she whispered, just before his mouth covered her own.

Though there was more hunger than gentle entreaty in his embrace, Lettie surrendered willingly to the tumultuous emotions thundering through her. Her inexperience proved to be no impediment to Ethan. In fact, he seemed to revel in the innocent response of her mouth to his own. And when Ethan drew away, they gazed at each other.

Ethan’s eyes became guarded once again. Yet Lettie had seen a flash of wonder, a flash of need. Unconsciously, she lifted a hand to brush back the dark hair spilling over his brow.

He stepped back and turned away from her, as if just now realizing how much he’d allowed her to see.

Lettie hesitated only a moment, gazing at the proud line of his back, the rigid cast of his shoulders. Then, moving toward him, she reached out and took his hand. When he looked at her, his azure eyes dark and shuttered, she twined her fingers between his own.

“You can’t spend the night in the barn. Come with me.”

When she tugged at his hand, he hesitated.

“Where?”

She paused only a moment before whispering, “My room.”

They crept into the sleeping house together, and Lettie once again led him up the back stairs to her room. When the door had closed behind them, she gathered a pair of quilts and a set of linens from the trunk at the foot of the bed.

“What’s that for?”

“Your bed,” she murmured firmly, pointing to a bare space of floor a few feet away.

His lips twitched, and he regarded her with blatant male amusement. “Come now, Lettie. The floor?”

“The floor.”

He shrugged in good-natured resignation and arranged the linens on the floor. Then, when Lettie had slipped beneath her own covers and doused the lamp, she heard the rustle of clothes as Ethan removed his shirt, gun belt, socks, and shoes.

“Good night, Ethan.”

At first he didn’t answer her; then, finally, she heard, “Night, Lettie.”

Silence slipped into the shadows, cloaking the corners in secrets. Lettie lay on her side for the longest time, pretending to be asleep, while in fact, she thought of the man only a few feet away. She wondered why he had come back. And why—though he’d never admitted as much—he’d lured her into the barn and silently asked for her help.

Lettie was about ready to sigh in frustration at her own tangled thoughts, when she heard a rustle of movement. Holding her breath, she opened her eyes just a slit. After the way Jacob had warned her about Ethan McGuire, she almost expected him to jump on her bed.

But Ethan merely stood up and moved to the window. The pale wash of moonlight stroked the strong lines of his features, highlighting the frown etched in his brow.

She heard him take a deep breath, saw the way his hand tightened into a fist next to the wall. Suddenly the room seemed to fill with his own brand of torment.

Lettie propped herself on her elbow and he stiffened, then slowly turned.

“Why did you come back?” she whispered.

“It’s not important.”

She waited a moment longer, then realized he wasn’t going to tell her anything more.

“Who are you, Ethan McGuire?” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

To her surprise, he answered. “I’m just a man. A tired, tired man.”

She opened her mouth to say something, hoping she could find the words to ease the bleak cast of his features. But he turned away to gaze out the window into the night.

“Good night, Lettie.”

Realizing he’d already revealed more than he’d intended, she sank back against the pillows. The quiet seeped into the attic again, and she was nearly asleep when she heard him turn.

“Lettie?”

“Mmm?”

His voice was a mere whisper in the darkness, half dream, half reality.

“Thank you.”

A sickly moon hung on the far edge of the sky, piercing the blackness like a pale, hollow bootprint that would soon fade with the arrival of the dawn. Five miles west of Madison, the dilapidated remains of the Johnston farmhouse lay nearly hidden in the shadows, partially covered by a copse of ancient oak trees.

A single figure stood on the scarred porch, breathing deeply of the cooler air lingering in the darkness. In his hand, he held the smoldering remains of a cigarette, but it lay half forgotten in his fingers as he stared into the night.

Jacob had been a member of the Star Council of Justice for only a few years, yet he felt as if he had been part of its system forever. Eight years before, as an eager deputy hungry to bring lawbreakers and sinners to their rightful ends, Jacob had discovered that Justice could indeed be blind. Over and over, he’d seen innocent men hanged for crimes they hadn’t committed, while guilty men lived in pleasurable freedom. He’d ached because of that fact. Until he’d been asked to join the brotherhood of the Star.

His lips tilted in wry humor. No one really knew how the Star had begun. Perhaps over a game of cards or a drunken round of whiskey, a group of lawmen had argued about the idea of Henry VIII’s Star Chamber, first introduced hundreds of years ago—if Tyler Grant of Petesville could be believed. Evidently old Henry had found a way of punishing those nobles who’d escaped justice by meting out his own form of punishment through the Star Chamber. As Tyler Grant always said, “Heads would roll when old Henry got his dander up. You betcha, heads would roll.”

Jacob brought the cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag until the butt glowed crimson in the darkness. He had no interest in the Star Chamber, or Henry VIII, or anything hundreds of years old, for that matter. It was the purpose of the Council that had persuaded him to join.

Though vigilante groups were not uncommon—even in Illinois—the Star was special. Unlike most, the governing board of the Star was comprised almost entirely of lawmen who were dedicated to seeing that justice was served. Each of its members were sworn to secrecy—upon pain of death—and only a select few knew that the ruling board of the Star contained two judges, two marshals, two lawyers, a pair of deputies, and two community representatives. Jacob himself didn’t know their identities, even though, two months earlier, he’d been promoted in rank to the circle of men known as “outer rings”—those who served as assistants to the board.

Though the members were known by only a few, the deeds of the Star Council of Justice were legendary, even to the community. In the past five years, the Star’s reputation had grown and people lauded their efforts to rid the state of those criminals who had somehow escaped the justice system and avoided their penance.

Yet, even as the Star was praised for its efforts, it had become a symbol of fear—for once the Star had decided upon the guilt of a man, the Council served as judge, jury…

And executioner.

Jacob flicked the butt of his cigarette into the darkness. Tonight, the hierarchy of the Star had met to decide on the fate of Ethan McGuire, and Jacob had a burning desire to see the man caught, once and for all.

Once again, Jacob felt a tightening in his gut at the thought of the man. It was Jacob who had introduced the case to the Star. But McGuire had eluded capture, and with each month that passed, Jacob had grown more bitter and intent upon seeing McGuire pay for his activities.

Sometimes, Jacob’s single-minded purpose seemed to consume him. He wanted the man punished—not just because McGuire had once bested him and dented his pride—but because Ethan McGuire had been just a little too cocky, a little too sure. Then, when things had become too hot for Ethan to handle, he’d abandoned his life of thievery.

But McGuire’s penitent behavior hadn’t lasted. He’d returned to his thieving ways—with a renewed fervor.

Jacob straightened, peering into the darkness, a cool determination settling in his stomach. Ethan had made a mistake by coming to Madison weeks ago. He’d made a mistake by beginning his rash of robberies again—and most of all, he’d made a mistake by injuring that deputy in Carlton.

Jacob’s brow creased and he damned the fact that he’d evidently lost some of his instincts in regards to Ethan McGuire. Jacob hadn’t anticipated what had happened in Carlton. In fact, the Gentleman seemed to have grown erratic in the last few months—even careless.