Brides of the West Read online

  Jake stared at the running boy, a knot forming in his gut. What the hell did he mean? Had Uncle Raven put some crazed notion in the lad’s head? Jake wouldn’t put it past the old buzzard to try some old Indian match-making trick.

  Suddenly, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut back there at the crossroads, given the whole thing a chance. Who was he fooling? She’d made it perfectly clear she wanted to leave, to hit the nearest town. Hell, she would’ve been gone by now if not for those damned steers breaking down the fence. Just because she could ride a horse and had faced a herd of angry cattle as well as any of them didn’t make her good wife material. Not when she didn’t want to stay.

  The same kind of woman had sent Bill to his death and left the boys deeply wounded. He couldn’t allow the boys to suffer that kind of rejection again. He knew how bad it felt.

  He gave his knots a hard tug, fixed one that looked loose and then followed the fence along the top of the cliff looking for signs of whatever had disturbed the herd. This wasn’t the first time cattle had gone over the bluff, but never so many all at once. He inspected the ridge for tracks. Nothing. He peered over the sheer drop into the narrowest part of the fissure.

  His mouth dried. He closed his eyes and opened them again to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. There, where the water fell into inky depths, Tess lay in the shallows, her long hair a halo around her head and her body white and clearly visible through her thigh-length clinging shift.

  Dear God. She looked like one of them mermaids. Her limbs were long and slender and beautifully curved, her belly flat like a young girl’s and the curls at the juncture of her thighs a dark red triangle and all the more erotic because of their transparent veil. He let his gaze drift to her high tiny breasts and their rose-tinted peaks. He imagined the nipples tight and hard. They weren’t the only things tight and hard. His erection was going to burst his belt buckle. He glanced over his shoulder, wanting to do the gentlemanly thing and walk away, not wanting anyone else to see her in all her glory.

  Leisurely, she rolled onto her stomach, revealing rounded buttocks, the crevasse between a hypnotic draw. The dimples at the base of her spine begged his exploration. He groaned his frustration as a few splashy strokes brought her to the bank. She stood up, ankle deep, her hair cascading water down her elfin body.

  She wrung the water from her hair, and pushed it back, her body arching like a bow. He knew poets had the words to describe women. The only one in his vocabulary was goddess. He wanted her. And the wanting drove so deep it hurt.

  Lust grabbed him hard and wrung his withers. He almost let go a yell of frustration as she slipped on her shirt, then sat to shimmy into Matt’s pants. Jesus. What was he doing peeping at her like some perverted old man?

  He turned his back and ran hell for leather to find the boys.

  Tomorrow. He’d get her to San Antonio tomorrow, come hell or high water.

  ***

  By the time Tess returned from her bath, Raven had a fire lighted and three small tent-like constructions made from branches and horse blankets. He told Tess the tents were for her and the boys, he and Jake would sleep in the open. He cooked over the fire while they waited for Jake and the boys to return from checking the cattle. They also went down to the stream to wash up.

  The mess of pork and beans Raven called supper was mouth wateringly wonderful. She recalled the picnics of her youth, family outings on Hampstead Heath, when the food always tasted better in the open air. She glanced across the fire at Jake who appeared lost in thought, as he had been for most of the meal.

  Dave yawned and rolled on his side, one hand propping his head.

  “Bed,” Raven said.

  “Not yet,” Dave whined. “Ain’t we goin’ to sing around the fire?” He appealed to Jake. “It’s our first camp out of the summer. We always have singin’.”

  “What do you sing?” Fascinated, Tess leaned back against her saddle.

  “Cowboy songs,” Matt said, nicely excluding her.

  She kept her smile to herself. “I’ve never heard any cowboy songs.”

  “Boys,” Jake said his voice full of gravel, “next time.”

  Little Dave’s face dropped.

  “A couple of songs won’t hurt,” Raven murmured.

  “You know, I ain’t got much of a voice,” Jake said. Then he threw up his hands at the sight of the two glum faces. “One. But y‘all have to join in.”

  The song talked of cowboys and their work, dogies and lassoes and a lot of other words that made no sense to Tess.

  He was wrong about his voice though. It was a beautiful bass timbre that carried soft and low on the night air. It strummed at her woman’s core, and at her heart. This man spoke to her in ways she couldn’t fathom. After tomorrow she would never see him again. The ache in her chest intensified. She swallowed her tears. Tears were for weaklings. She had come out here to find Albert, to make him come home. Jake and his strange little family were never part of the plan.

  The boys joined in the chorus and she hummed along. It was blissful—the stars above, the warm night air with a faint breath of wind to keep it from being oppressive.

  As the notes died away, she thought of her own family, the songs they had sung in the workshop, the scent of the leather saddle at her back sharpening the memories.

  “You sing,” Dave said pointing at her.

  She opened her mouth to refuse, but couldn’t quite resist the longing in his voice.

  One song in particular stuck in her head from her childhood, a time when she still cherished the ideals of youth. It surprised her how easily she started the first verse.

  “Early one morning just as the sun was rising, I heard a maiden singing in the valley below. Oh don’t deceive me, Oh never leave me, how could you use a poor maiden so.”

  Her voice wasn’t pretty, it grated like sand on metal Mother always said, but she had always loved the sad romance of that ballad. A wry smile curled her lips. Romance was for other girls. And besides, she glanced at Jake across the fire, who avoided her gaze, it could be a painful affair.

  The men sat quietly until she finished the chorus.

  “Hey,” said Dave. “That was great.”

  Raven clapped and Jake joined him. Matt just stared at the fire, the firelight glinting off moisture in his eyes. Obviously the wrong choice of a song.

  “Time for bed,” Jake said firmly.

  Grumbling, but apparently good-natured, the two boys disappeared into their makeshift shelters.

  Tess gathered up the metal dishes. “Since Raven cooked, I’ll wash. I’ll take them down to the river.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Jake said.

  That was the last thing she needed. She’d thought to get out of his disturbing presence, not be alone with him. “No need.”

  “Snakes,” he said. “Water Moccasins.”

  “What,” she almost shrieked, thinking of her bath.

  He raised a brow.

  “Perhaps we should leave the dishes until morning?” she said.

  He shook his head. “The smell of food will bring other critters once the fire dies down, coyotes, and such.”

  “Oh my, this is certainly a dangerous place.”

  He gave her a hard stare. “That it is.”

  “Is it safe to walk down to the river at night?”

  “Sure. If I go with you.”

  Defeated, she picked up the tin plates and mugs. They walked side by side down the slope. The silvery light gave the damp ground a dull glow.

  He handed her over the slippery rocks she’d clambered this afternoon and they knelt side by side at the edge of the pool, her washing, him drying on the rag he’d brought along, the waterfall splashing into the still water like a black snake with reflective scales. She tried to pretend this was nothing unusual, the dark and the presence of a large warm man at her side, that it didn’t shorten her breath or quicken her heartbeat.

  “You did a good job today,” he murmured close to her ear.

&nb
sp; Her heart seemed to grow and swell in her chest. Compliments were few and far between in her life. “Thank you. I am glad we managed to save your cows.”

  “Cattle,” he growled.

  She laughed.

  He rose to his feet and helped her to stand. They faced each other, practically toe to toe. “I’m sorry things couldn’t work out between us,” he said, gazing down into her face, his eyes catching the light, his expression shadowed.

  Was it really regret in his voice, or simply guilt? It didn’t matter. The die was cast. “It has been an interesting experience.” She preferred to keep things light rather than reveal the painful sense that she’d lost something far more valuable than her money and her luggage.

  In the dark, he seemed dreadfully close, the heat of his body, the scent of hard working man, sweat and musk and a trace of cigar. If she didn’t know it was imagination, she would say his heartbeat kept time with hers. She was having trouble breathing, as if he somehow used up the air around them. The night closed around them as if they were alone in the world, free to do as they wished, no duty, no obligations, just two strangers who would never meet again.

  Longing overcame reason. She stretched up, her fingers encountering long silky hair at his nape. He leaned forward, just enough for his lips to be in range of hers. She rose on tiptoes and kissed him, discovered the warm velvet feel of his mouth, tasted the faint tang of tobacco and coffee.

  A goodbye kiss. The kiss one might give a brother, if it were not for the pounding of her heart, the pulse beat at her temple, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

  His arm slid around her back, a firm warm hand cradled her skull. He angled his mouth, nibbled her bottom lip and she opened to him. His tongue slipped inside, his hips pressed against her belly, one thigh eased between her legs sending sparks of lust skittering down her veins like embers from a blazing fire.

  She moaned and leaned against him, let her mind empty and her body sing its own song.

  He broke the kiss. “I want you,” he said, his voice thick and hoarse.

  Dazed, breathless, burning with desire, she recognized the request for permission. Her body clamored for her to say yes. Her heart warned of the danger. If she gave herself, it would be with her soul. And tomorrow she was leaving. He didn’t want her as a wife.

  Never had she felt such passion for a man. She also had no doubt that if she said no, that would be the end of it. They would return to the campfire and their own separate beds.

  And convincing Albert to come home wouldn’t help with her lonely nights.

  After tomorrow, she would return to her old life, dutiful daughter, sister and widow. Convenient. Practical. Passionless.

  She’d regret it for the rest of her life.

  “I want you, too,” she said.

  He inhaled a sharp hiss of breath, pulled her shirt from the waistband of her pants, skimmed her ribs with calloused fingers, cupped her breasts.

  A groan rumbled up from his chest and he pulled her close for a kiss. While his tongue worked magic in her mouth, his hands explored her breasts, rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger, weighed and measured and caressed in gentle circles. Weakness invaded her limbs, her insides melted.

  The hammering of his heart against her palm tempted her own exploration. Her fingertips followed the contours of a rock hard chest, lean powerful shoulder, sculpted biceps. The man was as sleek as a lion, but the shirt seemed to keep her at a distance when she wanted to blend into him. She unfastened the shirt’s top two buttons and slipped a hand inside the fabric. Silky skin roughened by a patch of hair in the center of his wide chest, met her touch. She curled her fingers in the springy curls and tugged.

  “Mmmm,” he murmured against her mouth. Then stepped back and whipped the shirt over his head, tossing it onto the grass at his feet.

  She undid her buttons and let the billowing shirt slide to the ground. Would he shy away from her skinny, almost boyish body? Her husband had tolerated it on the few occasions he’d felt the urge to copulate. She shivered, suddenly cold despite the warm night air.

  Desire softened the hard angles of his face as his gaze skimmed lingeringly down her length. “Lovely,” he breathed. He shook his head. “Beautiful.”

  The reverence in his hushed resonant voice meant far more than mere words. Tears of joy and hope welled up to blur her vision. She dashed them away with the heel of her hand before his mouth came down hard on hers, demanding, giving, wanting and blissfully generous.

  Her core clenched and unfurled in quickening beats, sending waves of heat to her breasts, tightening her nipples, sensitizing every inch of her flesh where it came in contact with him.

  The warm hand on her back stroked, circled, caressed her ribs, her spine the curve of her bottom, then rose to the waistband of her borrowed pants. He slid one finger beneath the fabric, following the edge from her back to the front, tickling the sensitive spot on her hip, grazing her stomach with tantalizing slowness until it paused at the button.

  She held her breath, then swallowed.

  “Are you sure?” he murmured against her mouth, his voice rough as if his throat had tightened to the limit of its endurance.

  “Yes,” she whispered, wanting to say hurry, before she started to think, to analyze, to regain her senses.

  As if he sensed her urgency, the buttons popped free in quick succession. He crouched to peel the pants over her hips, taking her drawers along with them. He pressed his lips to her mound. A shiver wracked her body. She grabbed for his shoulder. He turned his cheek against her belly and the stubble on his jaw grazed her delicate skin in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. She tangled her fingers in his hair for balance as, one foot at a time, he freed her from boots and trousers until she stood naked in the moonlight, white as a ghost against the tan of his hands splayed on her hips. Spray from the falling water cooled her skin and puckered her nipples. Still kneeling at her feet, he gazed at her woman’s curls, pressed a warm palm to the flat of her stomach, brushed his fingers over her breasts. Their gazes clashed.

  Even in this palest of light, she saw blue heat in the depths of his crystal gaze. She bowed her head, let her hair fall forward to cover her shoulders and the tingling peaks of her breasts

  “Now you,” she gasped, suddenly tense, uncomfortable, as shy as a virgin.

  His hands felt light on her waist, and hot, as he reached his full height without a word. He pulled off his boots, the spurs a faint jangle, then stripped his pants away.

  His manhood sprang free. Big, hard, unerringly nosing in the direction of her woman’s centre.

  Her mouth went dry. Fear? Lust? A little of both.

  He glanced around with a small wry grimace, bent to spread their clothes on the patch of grass giving her a view of lean buttocks, firm flanks and a broad back. Pure masculine beauty. Hers for a night. She wanted to feel that strength inside her, taking her. Hard and fast. Now.

  She sank on the makeshift bed, pulling him down with her, taking his mouth, nibbling his lips, tasting the hot cavity of his mouth with her tongue. He didn’t hesitate. His hands were all over her, touching as if they could taste.

  She parted her thighs and he slid a finger insider her cleft. Pleasure weighted her eyelids and limbs. “Yes,” she cried.

  Was he dreaming? Like some schoolboy with his dick in his hand in the small hours of the night? Would he awake alone as usual? The moisture slicking his fingers, the sound of her mewling breaths in his ear, told him this was real and it was heaven on earth.

  He stroked her inner flesh with his finger. Her passage was tight, almost virginal, and as hot and wet as a wanton. All contradiction, this fragile yet tough woman. Perhaps he was wrong to think she couldn’t survive out here? He couldn’t think, not with her writhing beneath his hands, her skin sliding over his. He pressed deeper, harder. She circled her hips, taking more pleasure for herself. Her demand drove him wild with want.

  He found the beaded nub of her pleasure center with his thumb,
teased and circled and rubbed. Her scream of pleasure hardened his balls to rock, but when her fingers slid along the crack of his ass and stroked behind his balls, his brain felt ready to explode.

  Oh God, he was going to come before he got inside.

  Grabbing for every shred of control in his power, he eased his finger from her soft wet heat and rubbed the head of his sex in her wonderful moisture. Slowly, aware of her narrowness, afraid he might cause her pain, he pushed into her entrance and held still, to get her used to his girth before he gave her the full length.

  Her sigh created a storm of pleasure in his veins. She tilted her hips, opening to him, encouraging him deeper. “Oh God, Tess,” he groaned. “Take it slow.” He palmed her breast, felt it pebble, bent to lave it with his tongue, drew it into his mouth and suckled.

  Her screams of encouragement ripped through the night. Pride swelled his shaft unbearably, the need to dominate, to pound, to climax, the instinct to spill his life force inside her shuddered his frame. Wait. She had to go first.

  He eased deeper, feeling the squeeze of her inner muscles on his demanding sex, then pulled back, cold air hitting hot skin a delicious torture of the need to drive home. She lifted her legs around his hips, her feet dragging him closer. He let go and drove deep, pounding, thrust after thrust, giving hard and feeling her take and take and take more and deeper.

  Tess thought she might die of pleasure. This was the lovemaking she’d missed out on. This urgent give and take, the deep penetration, the waves of pleasure so huge they blinded and shivered and pounded her senses until they were one being, one heartbeat, one flow of blood. She hovered on the brink of something wonderful and frightening.

  “Come for me, Tess,” he grated on a harsh shivery out rush of air in her ear. “Now, Tess.” He sounded tortured.

  It was there, just out of reach.

  “Let go, Tess.”

  She shattered, screaming her pleasure, proclaiming her joy, her possession of this glorious man. Tremors shook her from stem to stern. She clung to his shoulders, felt her nails bite his skin.