Adobe Palace

by Joyce Brandon

  Steve checked to be sure he’d cut the wire in two, then turned to Nabosky.

  “Are you all right?” It was a foolish question. Steve could see Eddy was fine, except for the fear that had rattled them both.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Samantha spurred her mount up the last steep embankment. The man reached his horse the same time Samantha’s horse heaved over the top, too close for the saboteur to mount without her riding into him. He drew his pistol and fired. Samantha felt herself lose her seat, lift up, and soar over her horse’s head, straight at the barrel of the gun.

  As she flew through the air she had all the time she needed to think about her life, which might be over in a moment. It occurred to her that in spite of the mask, the man was too big-eyed and delicate-looking for a killer. She would have thought more about that, but her mind settled on the fact that she was going to die…and she hadn’t even made love with Steve Sheridan.

  Before she was entirely through regretting that, she heard the crash of gunfire and hit the ground. Aside from not being able to breathe, she was surprised that it didn’t hurt and that she hadn’t heard the explosion. Maybe it hadn’t been dynamite at all. Or maybe she was dead and wouldn’t hear anything…ever again.

  The sound of gunfire brought Steve running. He saw men yelling and charging up the hill behind the house site.

  “The bastard’s shot Mrs. Forrester!” a man shouted.

  A hundred men dropped their tools and swarmed up the slope. Steve put down the ax and ran up the hill, dreading to see what he might find when he reached her.

  The crowd around Samantha parted for him. Steve knelt beside her, felt for the pulse in her throat, and found it, pumping nicely. He looked for bullet holes but didn’t see any.

  “She’s…alive,” he croaked, his voice breaking. “Best not to move her until she wakes up. She may have broken something,” he said to the men standing around them, muttering their relief.

  “Did anyone see who did this?”

  “Damned right we did! But he got away on horseback.”

  Steve turned back to Samantha Forrester, who was stirring. “Is everyone all right?” she asked, looking around her at the silent, watching men.

  “Everyone but you. How d’you feel?”

  “What happened to the man with the…?”

  “He got away.”

  With Steve’s help, Samantha sat up. “I thought you’d be killed,” she whispered.

  Steve told her how Eddy had uncovered the dynamite just as she’d yelled. When he finished, she tried to stand, only to discover her ankle had been sprained in the fall. Steve offered to carry her, but Samantha shook her head. She was shaky enough without being carried by Steve Sheridan.

  “Just give me your arm.”

  She took a dozen steps on the painful ankle; her lips turned white. Steve scooped her up into his arms and carried her down the hill toward his cottage, one of the first buildings completed.

  Once it was done and she was in his arms, she tried to relax, but every nerve in her body responded to him. It wasn’t fair that she could love Lance and respond to Steve in this way.

  “Isn’t that better?” he asked.

  “I thought…when I realized that was an apparatus for setting off an explosion, I thought you’d all be killed.”

  “Your warning probably delayed him just enough so I could cut the wire.”

  “Then I’m a heroine. How nice.”

  Steve laughed. Beneath his laughter, she sensed a hard edge of masculine purpose. It was that hard edge that kept leading her on. She had realized at the beginning that she could say anything to him and be fully understood, but theirs was no benign friendship. He was male and she female. No matter what else conspired between them, she remained vibrantly aware of his implacable masculinity. He glanced down at her; a light deep in his eyes made her catch her breath.

  “You’re panting, Steve Sheridan,” she said. “Better stop and rest. This wonderful frame of yours isn’t as powerful as it looks, is it?”

  Steve glowered down at her. His arms around her were too strong. His shirt against her face smelled of resin and his own male scent, which was salty and disturbing.

  Still dazed by the fall, her mind drifted. She imagined Steve carrying her to his lair and ravishing her. She hoped he didn’t feel her trembling, or if he did, that he attributed it to the fear of their near disaster.

  The inside of his cottage smelled of new pine furniture. In his bedroom, he lowered her gently onto a feather bed. “You rest here. You’ve had a nasty spill.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Go back to work,” he said, his tone closing the subject. “I can’t loaf with the boss up here.”

  Samantha laughed. “You must be the most diligent man I’ve ever known. Certainly the most diligent I’ve ever hired. To go back to work immediately after almost being blown up. Will you send a man to tell Juana I’ve been delayed?”

  “Good idea.”

  Steve stalked outside and yelled for the men to get back to work. Samantha relaxed into the feather mattress. She lay there for a while, listening to the sound of men working.

  It felt good to lie in Steve’s bed, smelling his pillow, which still carried his scent. But something about the incident bothered her. Something didn’t ring true. She had the feeling that she’d missed an important detail, although she couldn’t think what it might be.

  Samantha had no memory of falling asleep, but she woke in a dark room, her mouth dry, as if she’d been breathing through it. A sound in the other room told her she was not alone.

  “Steve?”

  Footsteps stopped at the bedroom door. “Aye, lass?”

  “Where’s Steve?”

  “Went to call on a neighbor.”

  Ian Macready lit the lamp on the bureau, carried in a tray, and put it down on her lap.

  “You’re a good nurse, Ian.”

  “Aye, lass. And rainwater is dry, too.”

  “Which neighbor?”

  “Now you’d already be knowing, lass, that I dinna have the least idea.”

  “We only have one neighbor on the north and one on the east. Joe Dart or—”

  “Aye, lass. That’s the name,” he said, smiling.

  Fear gripped her, but it was apparent Ian didn’t know Steve had ridden into danger.

  “Did he go alone?”

  “Aye, that he did.”

  Samantha felt faint. Steve had gone to pick a fight with Ham Russell and his men. He would probably be killed. She calculated how long it would take him to get there and back.

  “What time is it?”

  Ian Macready pulled his gold watch out of his vest. “Seven o’clock, almost.”

  “He’s been gone for hours!”

  “Aye, mayhap they invited him to sup. He’s a right charming lad when he puts his mind to it.”

  Samantha felt panic rising within her, but she controlled it. After all, Steve Sheridan was a grown man. He wouldn’t deliberately go off to get killed.

  She picked at the dinner Ian had brought her, brushed her teeth with a toothbrush and some tooth powder she found on the bureau beside the basin, undressed, put on one of Steve’s nightshirts, and climbed back into bed. Her ankle was much better. She barely limped. Lying in Steve’s bed reminded her of being with Jared, and there were many good memories from that time.

  Ian knocked on the bedroom door.

  “Come in.”

  He brought her a selection of books he’d found in the parlor and moved the lamp from the bureau to a table he pulled next to the bed. It was apparent Steve didn’t read in bed.

  “Sleep tight, lassie.”

  “Thanks, Ian.”

  Samantha picked through the magazines, chose a trade journal for builders, and leafed through it until she felt drowsy. She turned down the wick until the flame guttered out and closed her eyes. Except for the sound of crickets and men snoring, the work site was quiet. She pressed her face i
nto the pillow. The smell—salty and slightly oily—reminded her of Steve, whetting some hungry part of her.

  Steve should have been back by now. She refused to give way to her terror, but it was like tottering at the brink of a dreadful chasm, knowing what she would see if she dared look into it. Even so, she tossed and turned for what seemed most of the night.

  Midnight. Steve still hadn’t come. The nightshirt itched. She slipped out of it, tossed it to the foot of the bed. What a relief! She scratched herself all over in a virtual frenzy.

  One o’clock. He still hadn’t come. She may have drifted off. She woke suddenly, feeling startled, as if she’d had a bad dream she couldn’t remember.

  Outside, she heard the ring of a shod hoof on rock and jumped up. Grabbing the blanket off the bed, she wrapped it around her, and limped through the dark parlor.

  She waited at the front door, her eyes scanning the darkness. Finally she saw a horse, walking slowly, as if trying not to awaken the sleeping camp. Samantha wished she had a gun.

  At last the rider came close enough for her to see his silhouette against the lighter sky. “Steve?”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” Steve said, his voice low.

  Joy flooded her body. Tears of relief spilled over and ran down her cheeks. The dread chasm did not have to be faced. She had never been so relieved in her life.

  Steve dismounted and walked toward her. Shivering, she met him halfway. “Hey,” he whispered, “you shouldn’t be out in the cold with bare feet.”

  “I thought they’d killed you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You liar,” she said accusingly.

  Steve chuckled. “That’s a hard name for a man who’s been riding most of the day. Just goes to show you don’t have a real fine appreciation for how hard I work.”

  “You could have been killed!”

  “I almost was.”

  Samantha pressed against him, so glad to see him—to smell his familiar fragrance—that she couldn’t stop crying. She just stood there, huddled in the blanket, shivering and crying silent tears.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Her hair smelled faintly of peppermint. She seemed to be trembling and crying. Confused, he eased his finger under her chin and lifted it. Moonlight filtering through the pine trees reflected off tears. “Did someone hurt you?”

  “I was scared for you.”

  “For me?” His own heart pounded hard. “I should think you’d be glad to be rid of me.”

  “Glad? Steve Sheridan!”

  “Well, all you’ve done is fight with me. And tell me about your married lover.”

  She shook her head in frustration. She looked beautiful and sweet and miserable.

  “You lied to me!”

  “I did not,” he said, pulling her into his arms. She surged against him strongly. The blanket dropped away. “Hey,” he repeated, grabbing at it and missing, all his tiredness leaving him. Her body shimmered in the moonlight.

  Steve didn’t know whether to kiss her or grab her blanket, but his body seemed to know. He gathered her into his arms and kissed her.

  Samantha moaned with pleasure. His arms around her, his mouth on hers, were the most necessary things she had ever felt. If she lived to be a thousand years old, she felt certain she would never need anything as much as she needed the feel of his mouth and body this moment.

  Still kissing her, he picked her up, carried her into the house, and lowered her onto the bed. She opened her eyes to see him unbuttoning his shirt, his broad shoulders blocking out the window square of moonlight as he peeled it off and tossed it on the floor.

  She closed her eyes, but not seeing didn’t slow her trembling. Steve dropped his boots, his socks, and finally his pants on the floor. The bedsprings screeched as he lay down beside her. She didn’t breathe. His hand touched her cheek, then slid down over her quivering flesh from throat to loins.

  “I’ve been trying to avoid this ever since I met you, Samantha Forrester.” His voice accused her.

  “I know,” she whispered, gripped by a strong sense of destiny. She, too, had been trying to avoid it. “At least we don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

  “I hope that wasn’t supposed to make sense,” he whispered, pressing his face against her cheek. Samantha knew she was supposed to ask him something, but she felt mesmerized by the radiant warmth of his hands stroking her, holding her, guiding her. His rough cheek felt like sandpaper as his open mouth found hers…to kiss her long and deeply.

  With Jared her body resisted the moment when he would enter her. But with Steve her body was aware only of the necessity of it, the wonder of him and how he could possibly know exactly what she wanted him to do and how to do it, even to the lightness or insistence of his touch.

  At the very end, when she was so crazed by him she felt mindless, he finally slipped inside her. He hardly moved. She moaned and spasmed so hard her legs went straight, her hips arched, and her whole body pulsed with pleasure.

  After a time he eased himself out of her and lay beside her, caressing her face. “You’re wonderful,” he whispered, sliding his warm hand over her breasts, her incurving waist, the slight rise of her mound.

  The unfortunate thing was that the minute he said she was wonderful, it reminded her of why she wasn’t. She had no business being in love with Lance and in bed with Steve. “No, I’m not. I feel terrible,” she said, struggling into a sitting position. His strong hand pushed her back down, cuddled her close to him.

  “I hate to argue with you at a time like this, but you feel wonderful—as smooth as a silky kitten.”

  “I didn’t mean on the outside,” she said darkly.

  Steve grinned, resigned to his fate. “So, what is it you want to fight with me about now?”

  “Nothing,” she said grumpily. “I just can’t imagine you thinking highly of me, in love with another man as I am—and in bed with you.”

  That sobered him. It took a minute to decide what he did think. “I fell in love with a girl once when I was seventeen or so. She was about as sweet as a girl can be. I’ll probably always have a soft spot in my heart for the girl she was. But the woman she is now is married to someone else, the mother of six kids, and fat as a woman can get and still walk upright. I don’t see why I should let my boyish love affair spoil the rest of my life.”

  “But I’m still in love with another man.”

  “Maybe you are and maybe you aren’t.”

  “I am,” she said stubbornly.

  “Then how’d you get in my bed?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said, miserable.

  Steve cupped her face in his warm hands. “Look at me, Samantha.”

  “Nooooo.”

  Steve kissed her lips, gently at first and then more urgently. Samantha held out a moment, but her body started to tremble, and her hands slipped up to caress his neck.

  Steve kissed her neck, her chin, and finally, long after she wanted him to, her mouth again. When the kiss ended, she pulled him over on top of her, partly to still the shaking in her body and partly because she wanted to feel the weight of him there. It had been a long time since she’d felt a man’s weight on her. It was a feeling she particularly liked.

  “I’m too heavy for you,” he said, rolling onto his side. “Turn over onto your tummy.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t be so suspicious. I’m going to rub your back.”

  He gave a wonderful back rub. His hands were strong, and just rough enough to feel good on her skin. Her body seemed starved for his touch. She couldn’t remember anything feeling so good.

  “You remember what I told you about the Great Mystery?” he whispered, his breath tickling her neck.

  “Yes.”

  “You know how powerful the Great Mystery is, don’t you? He made this whole creation. Made pigs from scratch. Set everything you see here into motion without any help at all.”

  “Yes,” she said, smiling in spite of herself.

  “Do you t
hink you could end up in my bed without His permission?”

  Samantha laughed. “I knew your odd philosophy was going to come in handy someday.”

  Steve kissed her ear. He nibbled at it with tiny little sucking nips that sent chills down her body all the way to her toes. She forgot to be upset. She turned her face, so he would kiss her mouth, but he didn’t. He just kept rubbing her back. He massaged her hands, her arms, her feet, her legs, never touching the parts of her she’d been taught to guard from men. His hands on her back, legs, and thighs excited her so much that her breath came in short, self-conscious pants.

  By the time he turned her over, slipped inside her, and cuddled her close to his heart, she was aware of nothing except the wonderful way he held her, rocked her, breathed her in with every breath, seemed to be inhaling her through his pores, his mouth, his body…

  Afterward, as they lay together, Samantha’s body glowed with contentment and bliss. She could have lain there all night, content just to feel his warm skin against her own. Steve finally broke the dreamy silence.

  “Your body is smarter than your head,” he whispered, his husky voice possessive.

  “I think I’ve just been insulted,” she whispered.

  Steve chuckled. Samantha liked the sound of his laughter. She didn’t feel insulted. She felt wonderful. Night-singing birds called out. She pressed against Steve, sighing, appreciating him. With Jared, once he finished, he was asleep. Steve Sheridan was awake, alert, and charming to her.

  “At the picnic you didn’t even want to kiss me. Have you figured out what happens next?” asked Samantha.

  “No.”

  “Then why did you change your mind?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “But…”

  “This wasn’t my mind.”

  She couldn’t imagine Steve Sheridan out of control enough to do something he didn’t want to do. It pleased her tremendously that he had made love to her in spite of himself.

  “What happened at the Darts’?”

  “Not much, as it turned out.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I rode in to ask Ham Russell if he was the one who’d tried to dynamite the house. He wasn’t there. Neither was Mrs. Dart. But young Joe came out of the barn and asked me what I wanted. I told him someone had tried to dynamite your new house, but he appeared not to know anything about it. He was pretty decent actually, invited me in to cool off and have a drink of water.”