High Plains Passion

by Beaudelaire, Simone

  Rob ran his fingers down the paper. “Sam Bly,” he said, stabbing at the paper. It tore under his finger. He blushed. “Sorry.”

  “Easy, son,” Dylan urged. “Okay, so we have a name, though I don't know any Bly. Do you?”

  Both Rob and Jesse lifted their shoulders.

  “And we know they're here. Bly must be the boss. He's also probably the man who just tried to shoot me.”

  “Sheriff, what?” Rob stared, aghast, looking younger than ever.

  Hero worship. Damn it, kid, don't look at me like that. We're a team here. “I had a run-in with Mr. Bly outside Lydia's café. He pulled a gun on me. If Lydia hadn't intervened, I'd be dead now.”

  “What?” Rob's face twisted in consternation. “Lydia saved you?”

  Dylan nodded. “Never underestimate a woman, son. They're a lot stronger than any of us knows, when they're riled up. I'm not going to swear on it, but I think she might have shot the gun out of his hand… while he held it up to my head. It was a one in a million shot, and she succeeded. Not sure I could have done it.”

  “Oh, God. They're in love.” The youth rolled his eyes toward heaven.

  “It'll happen to you too, if you live long enough,” Jesse pointed out, though the barely suppressed smile lingering in the corners of his mouth conjured images of a pretty, pregnant auburn-haired firecracker of a woman. “And it's not bad. It's the reason we do this. Gotta keep the womenfolk safe.”

  “Except when they're keeping us safe,” Dylan pointed out. “Now that doesn't go beyond these doors, gentlemen. You hear? They might insist I deputize her, and then who would bake the pies?”

  They looked at one another and burst into laughter, chasing away the tension.

  “So, did you get a look at the guy?” Rob asked, holding his guts as weak chuckles tried to escape.

  “Sadly, no.” Dylan wiped his eyes and combed his mustache with his fingertips. “He came up behind me, and I have to admit I was distracted. He was wearing a black duster and hat. Billy Fulton saw him running north. I was just asking Jesse what lies to the north, because I don't recall anything.”

  “There are a few abandoned homesteads,” Jesse said, thinking aloud, “a grain silo, some cattle grazing land. Not much. No cover to speak of.”

  “Right,” Rob confirmed. “There are cities in all directions, if you go far enough. Dodge is closest, though not that close. Liberal to the south, and a few farms to the east, but to the north… nothing but prairie until you hit the Nebraska border, and even then, it's not much. I heard you can go clear into Canada without running into a city.”

  Seeming to realize at last that he was babbling, Rob shut his mouth with a snap.

  Jesse narrowed his eyes, not at Rob's words, but as though he'd thought of something.

  “What's going on, Jesse?” Dylan asked. “What are you thinking?”

  “There's one possible place, northeast of town. A pretty big soddie. I used to play in it as a kid. Kristina, Allison and Wesley would remember. We used to play sheriff and robbers in there. The structure is half underground and really overgrown. You have to know where it is to see it. And there were the remains of a barn too, as I recall. A small operation might set up camp there, if they don't mind living rough.”

  “How small?” Dylan wanted to know. “How many people could hide out there?”

  The sharp focus in Jesse's eyes faded, until he seemed to be studying something Dylan couldn't see. “Eight or ten, maybe. Not much more than that, unless they set up camp in tents. Trouble is, there's really no way to scout it out. The grass is too brittle and noisy this time of year, and there's no elevation to get a bird's eye view. The only way to get to them would be a full-on attack, which would look awfully silly if there turned out to be no one there.”

  “I'll risk it,” Dylan said grimly. “These bastards have been a thorn in our flesh too long.”

  “Agreed,” Rob added. “They made it personal, but we're going to win.”

  “Let's think through this,” Dylan urged. “If we're going to put together a posse and go against them, we need to know as much as possible. Damn it, I wish I had more to go on.”

  Jesse began thinking aloud. “They'd have to send someone into town, for supplies and to mail letters. We have too damned many strangers running through this town every day. Do you recall anyone new?”

  Dylan shook his head. “I can't think of anyone. Can you, Rob?”

  “Not really, boss,” the kid said, scratching his head. “Have you asked your lady?”

  Both Dylan and Jesse turned to him. “What?” Dylan demanded.

  “Well, she saw him. She shot him. Ask her if he seemed familiar.”

  Dylan turned blinking eyes on Jesse, whose jaw hung agape.

  “Kid, you're a genius. Okay, can the two of you cover things for a while? I didn't leave things too well with Lydia. Before she drops me like a hot rock, I should probably try to make amends.”

  “No problem,” Rob agreed, his face glowing over the compliment he'd received. Jesse nodded, a knowing grin on his face.

  Dylan glowered menacingly at the younger deputy. “Whippersnapper,” he muttered under his breath.

  Jesse poked out his cheek with his tongue but didn't say a word.

  Lydia regarded her companion with a raised eyebrow. “Sure you don't want to run on home, Billy?” she asked.

  “Sherriff Brody told me to watch over you,” Billy explained, sipping coffee from a tin mug.

  Dylan, seriously. “I know, Billy. He's very protective, but I promise I can watch over myself.”

  “He loves you.” Billy sat back in his chair.

  Lydia's lips twisted to one side. Do I have to melt a little at each reminder? I understand locking up and hunkering down, but Billy's a gentle soul. I'm as likely to need to watch over him as he is over me. She regarded the young man as he began to crumble the crust on a slice of apple pie. I hope Dylan shows up to relieve him of duty soon. Four years of employment, and suddenly my instructions no longer hold water. Men and their conspiracies.

  Lydia sighed. Exhaustion caused a faint trembling in her fingers. She desperately wanted to rest, but with Billy here, that had become impossible. Doubt I'd sleep anyway. The image of her beloved Dylan, a gun pointed at his head, would haunt her forever. My bullet hit far too close. If he'd twitched, I would have been the one who shot him. She set her rag on the counter and made her way to a wobbly chair, sinking onto it and helplessly replaying the terrifying moments over and over.

  “Sheriff Brody! Sheriff Brody!” A female voice interrupted Dylan's thoughts as he made his way back to Lydia's café.

  Damn it, man, wake up! Shaking off the myriad thoughts crowding his brain, he paused to regard Ilse Jackson sailing in his direction, her skirt billowing in the wind. Her friend Mary trotted along beside her.

  Oh, Lord. What now? “Can I help you, Miss Jackson?” he asked, striving for graciousness.

  “Sheriff Brody,” she panted, scurrying up to him and laying a strategic hand on the swell of her bodice. Her fingers fluttered.

  I wonder if she even realizes she's doing that. Flirting seems to come to her as naturally as breathing. “Yes, Miss Jackson,” he said. Hurry up. I have more important things to do than deal with you.

  She drew herself up to her full height and regarded him closely. “The women of the town have created and signed a petition, one that we insist you look at right away.” She waved a sheet of paper in his direction. With a sigh, Dylan grasped the sheet and removed it from her, then scowled as he read the title.

  “Miss Jackson, my task is to keep this town safe, not to interfere with the running of a legitimate and legal place of business. Sorry, but this means nothing to me.” His eyes scanned down the page, taking in the name of nearly every wife and daughter in the town. “I suggest you call a town meeting. Now if you'll excuse me…”

  “Sheriff Brody,” she snapped, “the saloon threatens the safety of this town far more than any train robbers. It undermine
s families from within, with the temptations of drink and loose women. Even if a few people are picked off, the town itself would remain intact regardless of train robbers.”

  Dylan stared at the woman. Ignorant little featherbrain. “You couldn't be more wrong,” he told her bluntly. “But I'm not taking the time to explain it. Drop off your petition at the mayor's office and see if your father wants it, or call a meeting. Whatever you like. I'm not involved in it.”

  Dropping the paper in the street, he hurried on his way, ignoring her muttering.

  Arriving at the door of the café, he knocked. A flash of color appeared at the window, and then he heard a skirt rustling behind the door a moment before it flew open, leaving him face to face with his woman. She doesn't look happy.

  “Can you please come in and tell Billy to go home?” she requested. “He won't leave until you say so.”

  “Oh, sure. Sorry.”

  Lydia moved aside and Dylan stepped over the threshold, seeing the object of their conversation seated at the table, his face in a cup of coffee. “Finish up, please, Billy,” Dylan urged. “I'm here now and I need to talk to Miss Lydia.”

  “Alone?” The young man smirked. “Okay. I took good care of her, Sheriff.”

  “Thank you, Billy, I can see that.”

  Billy gulped his coffee and shoved a piece of pie into his mouth before scooting for the door, giggling.

  Lydia turned the key in the lock, regarding Dylan with a sour expression. “Was that really necessary? Didn't I just prove to you I can handle myself?”

  Oops. “Sorry, honey. It was an impulse. Safety in numbers and all that.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes.

  “Are you angry with me?” Dylan asked, schooling his expression to deep contrition.

  Lydia's laugh sounded exasperated. “You don't look like a little boy, so stop making that face.”

  “What, this?” He blinked repeatedly.

  She swatted his arm. “Silly man.” Then she sighed. “Once I had a chance to settle down and think, I understood everything you needed to do, other than sending Billy in here. I'm not a dunce, Dylan. You're the sheriff. Of course you have to protect the town, and of course that comes first. I would have preferred to blubber in your arms a bit longer, but I understood. Did you manage to catch Blaylock?”

  Her words brought him up short. “What did you say?”

  “Weren't you listening?” she demanded. “I said I understand…”

  “No,” Dylan interrupted, clamping his hand down on her shoulder. “The name, Lydia. Did you know that man?”

  Her dark eyes widened. “He introduced himself to me as Samuel Blaylock. Older gentleman with silver hair and a starched mustache. Walks with a limp. He's been in town for a few months. Told me he was setting up a business here.”

  Dylan scowled. “Yes. The business of mayhem. Blaylock, eh? Same as that kid we executed.”

  “So he really was his father?” Lydia's knees wobbled, but she stiffened them.

  “Looks like it. How do you know so much about him?”

  She bit her lip. “He's eaten here a few times. Most recently he implied that he wanted a relationship with me. Of course, I turned him down. Not only am I already taken,” she grasped Dylan's hand in hers, drawing it off her shoulder and lacing their fingers together, “but he was far too bossy and forceful for me. You know how independent I am.”

  Dylan nodded. “I love that about you.”

  “And that's why I love you,” she replied.

  He tugged her against his chest, smiling to himself when her arms slid around his neck. He rested his chin on her soft, dark hair. “Blaylock, eh? He called himself Sam Bly in Pueblo. I can't believe he told you his real name. What an arrogant bastard.”

  “He's taunting us all,” Lydia pointed out. “Thinks we're a bunch of dumb country folk.”

  “Well, Jesse thinks he knows where the lair is. We'll be rounding up a posse as soon as we finish our plan of action. Can you describe Sam Blaylock to the posse? One thing we don't want is for him to get away.”

  “Of course,” Lydia insisted. “I'll help any way I can. I came too close to losing you, Dylan.”

  Her arms tightened.

  “You saved me,” he admitted. Bending his head, he kissed her hair. “Did you really shoot the gun out of his hand?”

  She shook her head under his chin. “I couldn't. It was too close to you. I shot him in the vicinity of the elbow. I knew he wouldn't be able to hold the gun or squeeze the trigger.”

  “Ah. What a shot though.”

  She shrugged it off. “I was lucky. I wasn't more than ten paces away. Good thing I've oiled the gate hinges recently. He didn't know I was there.”

  “It was still a great shot. I'm impressed, Lydia. How did you know how to do that?”

  Lydia pulled back in the circle of his arms. “No, Dylan. I don't want to tell stories right now. You took care of your business, and you'll be riding into harm's way far too soon. Right now, you owe me. Come here.”

  She tugged on the back of his neck.

  He met her lips in a kiss of aching tenderness. Lydia would have none of it. She mashed her mouth against him, slipping her tongue inside to tangle with his.

  Passion flared in Dylan. The memory of how close he'd come to death, the fear he'd suppressed, the regret, all awakened in him, bringing with it a fire than threatened to consume him. Lydia is like air. I can't live a minute without her. His lips gentled on hers, maintaining the kiss but reducing the force.

  Lydia wanted none of his gentleness. Her fingers worked the buttons on his shirt and slipped inside, touching his skin.

  “I was so afraid,” she murmured against his mouth. “I thought I was going to watch you die.”

  “Instead you saved me.” He cupped her face in his hand.

  “Dylan, I…” what she was going to say disappeared as he claimed her mouth again, slowly walking her backward toward the kitchen door. The planning will have to wait. Right now, I need my woman and she needs me. This is the reason we have to fight.

  She reached behind her to manipulate the knob. The door opened. The stairs to her apartment waited just across the room, but they didn't make it that far. Once out of sight of the big, plate glass windows that overlooked the street, the passion simmering between them suddenly boiled over.

  Dylan backed Lydia against the wall, his hands lacing into her hair. Pins sprang loose and sprinkled unnoticed onto the floor. He felt Lydia's hands inside his shirt again, caressing his skin. She thumbed his nipples, sending a riot of tingles through his body.

  Oho, my love. Two can play that game. He grasped the front of her shirtwaist and yanked, sending a shower of buttons to lie forgotten among the hairpins. Quick as a flash he unfastened her skirt, which left her clad only in a thin chemise and pantalets. Wanting to take in the sight of her bare body, he released her mouth and lifted the chemise over her head. “Ah, Lydia,” he breathed, reverently running one hand over her plump breast. She bit her lip, her cheek darkening. She's still so new to this, not used to undressing for her man. He reached her nipple and bestowed a naughty pinch on the sensitive nub.

  Lydia sucked in a breath.

  “Do you want this, love? Do you want to make love again?” he asked.

  She stepped close to him and boldly clasped his hand, dragging it inside her pantalets. “I'm aching for you, Dylan,” she told him. “I need to feel you're real, every bit of you; that you didn't die and I'm dreaming this moment.”

  “I'm alive, Lydia,” he reminded her, slipping his fingers between the folds to find her wet and swollen. “I'm alive and really here with you.”

  Her breath caught on a sob as he pushed two fingertips into her well, but inside the tight confines of her undergarment, he couldn't maneuver enough to accomplish anything more interesting.

  “Why don't you take this off, honey,” he suggested.

  “Will you undress also?” she wanted to know.

  He began unbuttoning his shirt. “
Oh, yes. Yes, in a moment we'll be bare and pleasuring each other.”

  Lydia bit her lip and propped one foot up on a chair.

  Dylan chuckled. In his hurry to touch her, he'd forgotten she still had her boots on.

  They undressed quickly. Dylan raced through his buttons and ties, easily removing his clothing while Lydia struggled with a knot in the string that held her bloomers on. He reached out to her in time to slide the white fabric over the smooth curve of her bottom. She stepped free.

  “Put your foot back up on the chair,” he ordered.

  She blinked. “Dylan?”

  “Trust me, honey, you're going to like this.”

  Her face a mask of uncertainty, she raised one foot and braced her hand on the table. The move left her secret places exposed to his perusal… to his touch.

  “Good girl. Stay just like that.” Dylan stepped close and wrapped one arm around Lydia's waist, claiming her lips in a sweet, tender kiss. In contrast, the fingers of his free hand performed a wicked dance against her barely-tried sex.

  Lydia moaned as he stroked, spreading her passion liquid over every fold of flesh. Now easy does it, he reminded himself as the approached the swell of her clitoris. She's so sensitive. With gentle care he manipulated the tender bud. He released her lips and lowered his mouth to capture the peak of one breast, rolling his eyes upward to take in Lydia's gaze on them. He made a great show of licking her nipple even as he slid two fingers back deep inside her. Now that the encumbrance of her garments no longer interfered, he could fill her completely, stretching her sex to prepare her for their joining.

  “Oh, Dylan,” Lydia moaned, her eyes locked on him.

  “Like that, honey?” he asked.

  She didn't respond, but the surge of wetness against his fingers told him everything he needed to know.

  Feeling adventurous, he slowly kissed his way down her belly.

  She drew in a slow, unsteady lungful of air as he approached his destination, but offered no protest. Nudging his fingers deep inside her, he kissed the tender center of her pleasure and then teased it with a swipe of his tongue.