Night Hawk

by Beverly Jenkins

  Lola ran out from behind the bar with a handful of towels and pressed them to the wound hoping it might stop the flow, but the effort was futile. Stapleton looked at Billy and then at Dale Jr. He cursed them both, and died.

  Still holding the gun, Billy Stapleton looked over to where Ian stood waiting in the now silent room. He asked in a grief thickened voice, “Are you going to arrest us?”

  Ian shook his head. Another useless death.

  “Thanks,” Billy whispered softly. “We’ll be taking our daddy home. That all right?”

  “Yes.”

  Billy turned to Lola. “Sorry for all the commotion, Miss Lola.”

  “Sorry for your loss, Billy. You too, Dale Jr.”

  Dale nodded while holding the towel she’d given him to the wound in his shoulder.

  Ian wondered if they had a mother or other family to help them with the burial. “You boys have a way to get him home?”

  “Just over his saddle.”

  Ian glanced at Lola. “Do you have a wagon we can use?”

  She nodded.

  “Have it brought around. I’ll drive. Let me speak with Maggie and I’ll ride home with them.”

  Ian headed down the hallway and found her standing in the faint light cast by the oil lamp sconces. He stopped. The sight of her seemed to melt the frost encasing his heart. He was so weary of death.

  Her voice was soft with concern. “I saw what happened. Are you all right?”

  “No, but I want to help them get their father home.”

  “That’s very noble.”

  “You’ll be here when I return? You won’t run?”

  She shook her head. “I won’t run.”

  As time stretched between them in the silence, she placed her hand gently against his scarred cheek. The balm of her touch flooded him with so much sweetness he ached. He covered her hand with his, then eased it away so he could press his lips against the center of her small palm. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Holding on to the sweetness she’d placed inside, Ian strode away.

  The Stapletons lived on a small piece of land not far from the town of Topeka in a crumbling, dilapidated structure that was little more than a shack. Not even the dark could mask the family’s poverty. Ian saw the black outline of a lean-to that might have doubled as a barn or the place where the boys slept. From what he could see of the interior in the light held high by the tired-looking woman who answered the door, the house wasn’t large enough to hold four people.

  The woman was their mother. Dale Jr. made the introductions and told the story of how his father died. Pearl was her name and she met the news of her husband’s demise with a dry-eyed silence and instructed the boys to “Leave him out in the yard. We’ll bury him in the morning.”

  She faced Ian. “Thank you.”

  She and the light disappeared back inside. Only then did her wails of sorrow and grief pierce the night.

  Weary in mind and spirit, Ian made the solitary trip back to Topeka. He drove the wagon to the livery and walked through the darkness back to Lola’s place.

  The interior was quiet. Order had been restored to the room and the place didn’t look too much worse for wear considering all the shooting. She was alone washing glasses and stacking them on the sideboard behind the bar.

  She smiled sadly when he walked over. “Everybody left after all the excitement. Thanks for what you did—taking him home and all. How’d Pearl take the news?”

  Remembering the sounds, he shook his head soberly.

  “Such a waste, but he brought it on himself so don’t go blaming yourself.”

  “I won’t,” or at least that’s what he told her. “Maggie still here?”

  She nodded. “You go get some rest.”

  “We’ll be leaving in the morning.”

  “Why not stay a few more days, put your feet up.”

  “Can’t. I have to get to that wire in Abilene.” And he headed for the hallway.

  “Good night, Ian.”

  Surprised to hear her use his true name, he stopped and turned back.

  She smiled. “Have known it since you rode with the Twins. Neil and his brother are lousy secret keepers.”

  He could only smile. “Night, Lola.”

  The darkness in the room he’d be sharing with Maggie was lightened by pearly moonlight streaming in through the partially opened shutters. She was asleep, so he removed his gun belt as quietly as possible and used the same care in taking off his boots. He eased his weight down onto the bed and stretched out. The grieving wails of Stapleton’s thin wife continued to fill his soul, and he wondered how he’d be able to block them out so he could sleep. Wishing Maggie were awake so they could at least talk and maybe set his mind on something else besides death, he glanced her way. He wanted to hold her; pull her back against his body and let the balm that flowed from her earlier ease the rawness inside.

  “Told you I’d be here,” she said quietly with her back to him.

  Humor twitched his lips. Yet another surprise, and such a welcome one that he asked without thought, “Can I hold you?”

  The big brass bed creaked as she scooted to his side. He drew her to him and wrapped her in his arms. Her warmth, softness, and sweet scent brought such peace he never wanted to let her go. “This is all I want.”

  Her reply was hushed. “And if I want more?”

  He stilled. She turned in his arms and he could see her looking up at him through the silvery moonlight. “Just one night. No claims or ties afterwards. That okay?”

  Bewitched, he studied her with wonder. He wanted what she was offering more than anything he’d wanted in a long time, so he soundlessly lowered his mouth to hers.

  Once again, the sweetness made him ache. Her mouth fit his perfectly but she kissed him back with an inexperience he found surprising yet stirring. He drew away and traced the sassy mouth he’d been longing to taste. “Still new at this, aren’t you?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “The way you kiss.”

  “What’s the matter with it?”

  He chuckled at her defensive retort. “Nothing, you just don’t do it like someone with a lot of experience at it. That’s all.” He moved a finger over her lips and down her throat.

  “I’m not a virgin, if that’s what’s worrying you,” she said, reacting to his caresses by closing her eyes.

  “I know, and it isn’t.” He couldn’t believe how soft her skin felt.

  She slowly traced his mouth in much the same fashion he’d traced hers. Her touch made his senses flare like July 4 fireworks. “Are you changing your mind?”

  He kissed her again. “Only unless you want me to.”

  “I don’t.”

  So he spent the next few moments learning the taste and textures of her mouth, sampling the soft skin of her jaw, brushing his lips against the smooth copper column of her throat, and thrilling to the feel of her curves and hollows veiled by a thin, silky fabric beneath his mapping hands. “What are you wearing?”

  “A peignoir. Lola says it’s a French nightgown.”

  “Lola?” he echoed while he continued to explore.

  “She thought I should wear it tonight,” she breathed.

  He couldn’t suppress his chuckling and teased his tongue against a berry-hard nipple. “You two teaming up on me?”

  “Sort of,” she said, and her breath caught as he took the veiled berry into his mouth. He circled it with his tongue and pulled at it gently with his teeth.

  “It’s very pretty,” she choked out while he continued to play and tug. “Do you wish to see it?”

  He raised up to capture her mouth again, “Maybe later. Bit busy as the moment . . .”

  Kissing his way back down the thin expanse of her throat while his hands continued a slow exploration of her form, he planted a line of lazy kisses over the swells above the gown and then filled his hands with the pliant flesh. The weight burned his palms and he rubbed his thumbs over th
e nipples until they turned as hard as gemstones. He bit each one gently. When she moaned and tipped her head back against the pillow, he used the tip of his tongue to trace the hollow of her arched throat.

  She groaned again. He smiled and ran his hands down her ribs and over her thighs. The short peignoir had risen up to bare her thighs and hips. He impatiently tore the bedding away so he could feast his eyes and touch the lean, firm limbs. He teased a finger over the curling hair and bent to kiss the circle of her navel.

  Maggie shuddered in response to the languid delight she was being treated to. The few men she’d been to bed with in her past hadn’t done any of this, so she was unprepared to be touched like she was made of priceless crystal or to have her breasts fondled so deliciously. She never knew that her nipples could be made to plead, or that a man’s tongue against the corners of her lips could leave her breathless. Every place he touched, kissed, or sucked left a torrid flame in its wake and she was on fire. She wanted to ask him why he was going about this so leisurely when the others before had not, but she was too busy trying to keep from crying out in celebration of the gloriousness of it all.

  And as he placed his blazing lips against her navel, she crooned and then shimmered to the possessive pass of his large hands traveling boldly up and down her thighs. His journeying hands found her ankles and then her toes. He bent and paid each one searing tribute, and she just knew she was going to die.

  He kissed his way back up her inner thigh. In response her swollen core pulsed in tandem with the sinuous rhythm claiming her hips. She assumed he’d push himself into her now, and she steeled herself for the part of coupling she didn’t particularly care for, but once again he showed her how little she really knew. Wicked, wicked hands plied the damp gate to her soul and then focused lustily on the tiny temple of flesh that adorned it, making her spread her legs shamelessly. Desire stacked up inside her like a burgeoning summer storm and she found herself twisting and crooning and rising in uninhibited response. When he lowered his head and flicked his tongue against the throbbing kernel, it was too much. She shattered. Crying out hoarsely as her body buckled and trembled, she felt the red-hot pieces of herself swept away like cinders on the wind. The sensations were so powerful she fell back to earth with tears in her eyes.

  Ian heard the sob and froze. “Maggie? Did I hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  She sat up and used the backs of her hands to dash the tears from her cheeks. “I’m not sure.” She looked at him in the moonlight. “The way you touched me. Is that how it should be?”

  Ian wasn’t sure he understood her question. “You mean that last part that gave you release?”

  “Is that what all that shuddering is called?”

  “There’s a few other names for it, but release is one of them.” He paused a moment and tried to see the expression on her face. “You never had a release before?”

  “No,” she replied in a subdued tone. “Never had a man touch me like I was fine crystal, or kiss me so sweetly, either.”

  Ian was floored. He ran his eyes over her shadowy form. What kind of men had she been with in the past?

  “Carson Epps. And—the man. The one he brayed about on the train. Those were the only ones, and it was never like what you and I just did together.”

  He reached over and lifted her onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into his chest. Filled with all that she was, he placed his lips against the crown of her mussed hair and murmured, “You deserve to be touched like fine crystal, every woman does.”

  “If that’s your philosophy, you must have made a great deal of women happy in your life, Marshal.”

  He supposed she was right but he didn’t keep tally.

  “So, why didn’t we do the joining?”

  “Wanted to pleasure you first—make sure you were ready.”

  “I don’t particularly care for that part, but with you, it might be different. The rest of it certainly has been.”

  “Shall we see?”

  She leaned up and whispered through the kiss, “Yes.”

  So they began again. She boldly undid the buttons on his shirt. “I want to touch you . . .” she whispered hotly. Once the buttons were freed, he removed the shirt and tossed it on the floor.

  Maggie had never run her hands up and down a man’s muscular arm before; never felt the warmth of his chest pressed against her bare flesh, or been so inspired to touch more. He was very well made, but all her thoughts took flight under his renewed sensual claiming. He treated her breasts to another prolonged round of teasing that left her breathless and groaning.

  Scintillating touches made her part her legs to allow him to rekindle the heat still simmering from her release. She never knew being with a man could leave her crazed and straining, and not caring how she looked or where or how he touched her, as long as he didn’t stop.

  Ian undid the placket on his trousers and shucked them down his legs. She was lying on the bed with the peignoir twisted erotically around her waist, and the moonlit tableau made him harder than he’d ever been in his life. He touched a finger to the ripe, slick center and reveled in the moans his loving evoked. He never imagined she would be so uninhibited or that the prospect of not having her by his side like this every night for the rest of his days would leave him bereft, so he didn’t think about it. Instead he concentrated on the hard tips of her nipples, her sweet, sassy mouth, and making the rose petals between her thighs bloom like springtime. Only after she was running wet with his magic did he ease himself inside. She was virgin tight. Her muscles closed around his shaft, and heaven couldn’t have been more satisfying. She’d voiced an aversion to this part of the act, so it became his charge to make sure she felt nothing but pleasure. So rather than stroke her hard and fast as his manhood was demanding, he held back so she could acclimate herself to his size and the feel of him inside. It was difficult. “You all right?” he whispered through the soaring passion rising within.

  “Oh my.”

  Humor touched him. Emboldened by her breathless response he stroked her gently; teasing her with his hardness, drawing the tip of his shaft almost free before reentering the channel once more. He repeated the move again and again until she was gasping, and her inner muscles clung to him in greedy, lusty reply. She was now rising to meet his strokes. Her hot hands were moving up and down his arms and circling over the taut muscles in his back. He moved his hips faster and she answered with a welcoming pace. He did his best to keep her pleasure in the front of his mind, but she was so responsive and so supple his hold on his control began to fray. Stroking her as if there would be no tomorrow, he felt white-hot release rising and demanding to be given its head. Instead he bent low and bit her nipples, slid his hands down her trembling torso to grasp her hips and raised her high. Her answering cry signaled her release. Her rippling flesh made him grip her tighter, stroke her harder, and when she cried out again, he broke; shuddering, yelling her name, and not caring if he woke up everyone for miles around. He rode the orgasm until he thought the top of his head would explode, and then he slowly collapsed onto her softness.

  When he withdrew and rolled away, Maggie was left breathless, twisting and throbbing. She looked over and found him watching her. All she could do was smile and reach for his hand. He locked his fingers with hers. “I stand corrected,” she whispered.

  “Enjoyed yourself, did you?”

  “Very much.”

  She moved closer and laid her head on his outstretched shoulder and his arm enfolded her. “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you.”

  In the silence she trailed a finger slowly down the hair on his bare chest and leaned up to give him a sweet kiss. “Are my kisses better?”

  “Give me another sample or two and I’ll render a decision.”

  So she did, filling them with everything she’d learned and all she felt. His decision was to turn her on her back, deepen the kiss, and make love to
her all over again.

  Chapter 11

  Ian awakened the next morning with the still sleeping Maggie sprawled across him in the same intimate manner as yesterday, but this time he didn’t have to imagine how it might feel to spend the night with her, he knew. Knew that she tasted of roses and that she was as uninhibited as she was sassy in life. He also got his first true look at the peignoir. It was black, transparent, and tipped with silver piping. The filmy fabric allowed him a veiled view of the breasts and nipples that had enthralled him so, and of the arousing length of her lean legs and hips. His manhood rose in instant response and he closed his eyes to keep from touching her. Lord knew he wanted to, but he couldn’t. Now that dawn had broken, last night would have to be put away. He’d have to don his role once again and forget about the pleasures they’d found in each other’s arms. In order to do so, he’d have to let the ice encase his heart and feelings once again because that was the only way.

  For the moment, however, he savored the sight and feel of her against him one last time and then quietly left the bed to wash and prepare to meet the day.

  Maggie awakened alone. That he wasn’t there made her sad, but she’d promised him no ties, so she put the sadness away. They’d shared a night she would remember for the rest of her life. She would have to be content with that. She sat up and thought back on the bleakness she’d seen in his eyes after Stapleton’s death last night. It confirmed her suspicion that there were places inside him that no one knew, places that were bruised and hurt. That realization was what made her want to offer him solace with the only thing she had to give, herself. She hadn’t planned to seduce him, but after he left to accompany the Stapleton sons home, she asked Lola for a nightgown to wear to bed. When she was given the peignoir, the die was apparently cast. She had no regrets. In his arms she’d learned the true meaning of making love and would be forever grateful. If she never experienced such sweetness again, so be it. She had her memories.

  She assumed he’d left without waking her to spare them both the awkwardness of having to resume their roles, and a part of her appreciated his thoughtfulness. She’d been around him enough to know that if her assumption was true, he’d show very little emotion when they met face-to-face again, so she planned to do the same.