The Lady and the Lawman (5 page)

***

Margaret’s
heart hammered in her chest like the pistons of the steam train she
took to Omaha. Her head still ached, the pain at the back of her
skull pulsing in time with the terrible piano music. From the large
lump the size of a goose egg at the back of her head, she made the
obvious assumption the man who’d kidnapped her had knocked her
unconscious and delivered her to Croft. Every time she tried to
remember what had happened, she got a more powerful headache, not
memories, for her efforts.

With
the men’s attentions on their cards and not her, she took a deep
breath and tried to relax, to calm her nerves. It felt as if her
breasts were about to burst forth from their confines in the
desperately tight corset. She looked down to confirm everything was
still where it was supposed to be.
If
she had much more skin exposed, she’d be naked. It didn’t matter
though, she was sure each of the men had already visually undressed
her in their minds.

She
looked like a trollop, like a used woman—tarnished. She was a used
woman, she'd let William have her, although begrudgingly, as her
choices were either submit or be beaten. She longed for someone to
save her, to take her away from the nightmare that had become her
fate. The lump in her throat burned as she tried not to cry from
mortification of being the prize for these men. To divert her
attention off her near-nakedness, she took in the men who wagered for
her.

The
man called Dalton had hair as black as a raven’s wing. His thick
mustache, she imagined, must get in the way while eating soup,
gravies or other such liquids. Deep lines creasing his forehead made
Margaret wonder if the man ever smiled. She highly doubted it, based
on the short amount of time she’d been in his presence.

Dalton
was dangerous, she had no doubt. She recognized the dark, sinister
look in his eye. William shared such an expression. He also had a
gun, rested next to his right hand on the table, that seemed ready to
shoot a hole through anyone he didn’t like. The possibility of
Dalton winning the hand made her cringe, something she definitely
didn’t want to consider.

Margaret
shifted her gaze and studied the other man in the game. His name
wasn’t mentioned, but the silver badge pinned to his shirt clearly
indicated he was the town sheriff. If she had to guess his name, it
would be Paul Bunyan. The man came from solid stock, one of the
biggest she'd ever seen. His face was rugged, as if he had spent many
a day beneath the sun, wind and rain God dealt. A smattering of
reddish stubble covered his face and Margaret wondered how it would
feel beneath her fingers.

His
hair was a light brown, lighter even at the tips, with thick waves
curling around his ears. The lighting in the saloon was too dim for
her to discern the color of his eyes, but it didn’t matter, she was
more than pleased with his other attributes.

He
was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Maybe she’d
been hit harder on the head than she’d thought, because her heart
galloped like a race horse as she studied him. Strange, since he was
here betting on her just like dangerous Dalton.

But,
the man of the law had given her the opportunity to save herself. A
sheriff had outright asked her if she knew what was happening to her.
She’d have to be unconscious to not know that what was in store for
her. A silver star on his chest however, didn't mean he wasn't
corrupt, wasn't cruel. With Croft looming and the stinging in her
cheek a reminder of what could happen to her if she talked, she
hadn’t dared to speak up. Fear had prevented her from running and
standing behind the behemoth of a lawman for protection. Fear of
being hit, beaten again. Fear of men in general.

***

Grant
glanced up from his cards to see the woman’s green eyes focused on
him. She smiled tremulously, making him forget what he was doing.
That he was playing cards, that he was in a saloon, that he was
sheriff. All he could remember was that he was a man and she was a
woman. She tilted her head to one side and brushed a curl off her
shoulder. Mesmerized, all he could do was stare back.

Quickly
remembering where he was, what he was doing and that she was at
stake, he got his head back in the game. “Call. Let’s see your
cards,” he said to the men, a new edge to his voice.

Croft
laid down a pair of tens, Dalton, three queens.

The
green-eyed vixen wasn’t smiling anymore. Her white knuckles gripped
the edge of the table, clearly awaiting the hand that held her fate.
Did she understand what was going on? Of course she did. Every woman
in this place knew as much about gambling as he did. Maybe more.

“
Well,
well, looks like the little lady’s going with me. I'm looking
forward to teaching her a thing or two,” Dalton said, smirking. He
stood and grabbed the woman’s hand across the scarred wooden table,
fingers digging into her wrist hard enough she cried out in pain.

Grant
noticed the red marks on her wrists that weren't from Dalton's tight
grip. One of her patrons must’ve been into some pretty kinky stuff.
Hell, he liked to tie a woman to the headboard and have his way with
her as much as the next man, forcing her to climax after climax, but
the raw abrasions were more indicative of rough treatment than sexual
games. Knowing Dalton, he’d be more than willing to teach her a
new, perverse trick or two. And none-too-gently while he was doing
it.

“
Not
so fast, Dalton. You haven’t seen my hand yet.” He waited for
Dalton to remove his grip from the woman’s wrist while Grant looked
deep into the woman’s sparkling green eyes. Their faces were close
enough for him to feel the warm, anxious exhale from her lips and see
her fear. “Sit down,” he growled. Immediately, she dropped into
her chair and he quickly realized she thought he was talking to her.

Dalton’s
immediate possession of the woman riled him. But not for long. As he
laid out his hand on the table, one card at a time, Grant made sure
Dalton watched. His pleasure grew with each card he exposed.
“Straight Flush.”

Croft's
jaw dropped and if Dalton ever showed emotion, his probably would’ve,
too. The only sign of his anger was a noticeable tick in his right
cheek. The woman looked between the three of them, her gaze settling
on Grant. Her confusion was blatant, it was obvious in that instant
she
knew
nothing about poker. Nothing about her fate. She still didn’t know
who won.

“
Masterson,
you cheated!”

Dalton
reached for his gun, but Grant was faster. His revolver came out from
beneath the table quicker than a bird on prey. “Put the gun away,
Dalton.”

“
How
the hell did you get those cards?” His rival retreated, putting his
gun back in his holster.

Grant
offered a slight shrug, not interested in enlightening him. He’d
won and that’s all that mattered. Like Croft said, winner took all,
and he was going to get everything he imagined, and hopefully more,
from the woman across the table. Desire and anticipation made it
difficult to keep his cool with Dalton.

“
If
I ever find out, I guarantee there will be a rematch, and you’ll be
sorry.”

“
First
you say I cheated, now you threaten me?”

Dalton
rounded the table and pulled the woman to her feet, ignoring Grant.
“My dear, it seems we must delay our night together. I won't have
you tonight, but I will have you. Soon.”

“
I
don’t think so, Dalton.” Grant pulled her into his lap. Unsteady,
she wrapped her arms around his neck. He couldn’t have asked for a
better reaction since he wanted to show Dalton what he wouldn’t be
getting his hands on. Ever.

Nuzzling
his face into her neck, he took a quick nip at her racing pulse. Her
skin was soft as silk and hot as a bonfire. She tasted sweet at her
nape, and thoughts of how she tasted in other places, other more
intimate places, came to mind. Her warm scent teased him, taunting
him to take more. He didn’t expect the instant, immediate need to
touch all of her.

Dalton
watched the foreplay and laughed, low and menacing. “I always get
my woman, and you’re not going to stand in my way.”

“
I
already have. She’s going upstairs with me. Tonight. Right now. Not
with you.”

Grant
brushed a hand over her mussed hair.
It
was as soft as it looked, the dark curls tangling in his fingers.

“
You’re
not man enough to give her what she needs.”

“
Is
that so?”

Even
though he didn’t like to stoop to Dalton’s level, he couldn’t
back down now. Not only was his virility at stake, he had to prove
this woman was his, at least for the night.

One
hand held her firmly about her narrow waist, the other cupped the
nape of her long neck. His fingers remained tangled in her hair as he
lowered his head. Surprise was the last thing he saw on her face
before he kissed her.

His
mouth consumed hers, not in a tender, warm peck, but in a fiery,
smoldering kiss meant to brand her. The piano music faded, the saloon
sounds all but disappeared as he focused on her
soft
lips, pliant and welcoming beneath his. She tasted so sweet, like
cinnamon and sultry woman. One taste wasn't enough. It was just a
sample of what was to come. His cock pulsed with need at the very
thought. He slowly pulled back to look at her, and gauge her reaction
to his possession. Now he was the one surprised. Smoky green eyes
were all he could see, all he wanted to look at. They pierced him,
questioning his actions, wary. Blurry with passion.

She
seemed as affected as he was. Her lips were a lovely, bright pink,
swollen and damp from his mouth. Pleased with himself, his lips
returned to hers with equal ardor as before. She struggled in his
grasp, to no avail. In fact, her wriggling in his lap had her sweet
little bottom rubbing over his hard shaft. It may not have been a
seductive move, but hell, his body wasn't all that particular at the
moment. She must have felt his growing desire for her in the kiss,
not to mention the bulge growing in his pants beneath her, because
she suddenly froze in place. If his brain worked correctly, he
would’ve questioned her mixed signals, but he didn’t...couldn’t.

Grant
had to tear himself away from the kiss when he heard Dalton’s
stalking retreat. He cleared his throat. “Hey, Dalton, aren’t you
forgetting something?”

Dalton
halted his exit and turned back, hatred etched in his face. His
eyebrow went up in question. His fists clenched and unclenched at his
sides.

“
Your
horse. Leave him tied out front.” Grant ran a possessive hand over
thick, glossy curls and smiled. Damn. A hot woman and besting Dalton.
It was turning out to be a mighty fine night—and he still had his
clothes on. Hopefully that was about to change, with the help of the
delightful morsel in his lap.

Nodding
sharply, Dalton called to his men. Without another word, he stalked
out of the saloon.

Grant
grinned, content to have completely ruined the man’s night.
Fortunately, Dalton missed seeing the woman’s revenge for Grant’s
claim on her charms. Her slap caught him squarely across his cheek.

CHAPTER
THREE

“
What
the hell was that for?” the sheriff questioned, rubbing his square
jaw.

Margaret
saw a glint of anger and a flash of surprise in his brown eyes that
was quickly tempered. She’d hit a man of the law! “I...I—”

She
closed her eyes in preparation for the retribution to come. It never
came.

“
Sheriff,
I apologize for her rude behavior. I’ll set her straight for you,”
Croft said, his voice filled with anger the sheriff's lacked.

Margaret’s
eyes flew open at the cruel man's words.

The
sheriff held one hand up to stop Croft, the other tightened
protectively about her waist, keeping her firmly in his lap. She
could feel his hard length that pressed against her private areas.
She remembered William taking her there, thrusting himself within her
painfully, and without any pleasure whatsoever. The sheriff's kiss
had been unexpected, and almost indescribable. She'd never felt that
way about a man's
lips
against hers, his tongue thrust into h
er
mouth
.
The feeling of William doing the same thing had been one of
revulsion. But with the sheriff, she had no idea kissing him could be
so carnal, so overwhelming.