Second Chance Cowboy

by Sylvia McDaniel

  She felt his hands reach down and push up the offending garment until it bunched around her hips. Sabrina reached for the hem and helped Patrick pull it over her head. Patrick sent it flying to the floor in a forgotten heap.

  Patrick raised up to gaze longingly down the length of her body. Sabrina shivered with the first shyness of giving herself to his eyes, but his gaze was so warm and loving, it heated her from the inside out. A curling tightness started in the secret depths of her womanliness, and began to unfurl outward. She reached up and touched Patrick’s cheeks with her hands and pulled his lips back down to hers.

  She kissed him softly. “You have too many clothes on,” she whispered.

  Patrick chuckled, a deep sensual laugh... a sound that sent delicious little tingles down Sabrina. His hands reached down to unbutton his pants. Impatiently he pulled them off, and sent them flying across the room to join her gown. Rolling onto his side, he faced Sabrina. He glided one hand down the length of her body in a searching, giving caress.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked.

  Sabrina leaned over to join their lips. She ran her hand across his chest, loving the feel of crisp, male curls and hard, male muscle. Her hand trailed downward. She raised her head and gazed at him. “More than anything,” she replied, her whisper husky with need.

  Patrick clasped her against his body; his mouth covered hers. Both hands trailed down her back to her buttocks, and he pulled her up against his rigid manhood. Sabrina moaned as a flash of white-hot desire flooded her. She ran her hand down his back to cup the hard mounds of his buttocks. Her hand traced its way to the front. Her fingertips touched the head of his manhood in a gingerly exploration. Finally, her hand closed around his rigid promise. A deep, husky groan escaped his lips.

  His lips left hers to trail kisses across her cheeks to her ear. “Witch,” he whispered huskily.

  “Do you want me to stop?” Sabrina questioned, fearful of hurting him.

  “Not till dawn,” he replied as he nibbled her ear, sending shivers scurrying down her neck and along her shoulder. His tongue traced the outline of her ear as his breath tickled her. Tingles trickled down her spine. One hand reached between them, searching for the hunger between her legs. His fingers found her need and caressed it into greed. She moaned with desire. Her legs captured his hand, holding it as he teased her.

  She wanted to crawl inside Patrick and love him from the inside out. Her body cried out for him like a fine-tuned instrument, and Patrick’s body responded like a musician performing a symphony.

  He nudged her legs apart with his knee. Sabrina opened her eyes to see him poised over her, his eyes glazed with love. Her arms reached up for him, embracing the love he so freely offered. His manhood nuzzled between her legs, sweetly demanding entry. Sabrina felt the honey flow from her, easing his path until he was completely enveloped within her.

  Patrick raised up and Sabrina met his eyes, their spirits joining in a second melding. He thrust forward with his hips, and Sabrina rose to match his motion. Her breathing quickened, and a moan escaped from her lips. Patrick lowered his lips, covering her mouth as he plunged within her. Sabrina felt an ever-increasing tension building within her. She moved her hips in an abandoned search, striving toward an unknown goal. Patrick steadily propelled her forward until suddenly the world exploded around her and she cried, “Patrick!”

  Patrick moaned as he drove his body into hers in a final thrusting motion and arched his back. He pressed against her and held her, giving one final little shudder.

  The room was quiet except for the sounds of their breathing, slowing from the race they had both won. Patrick rolled to his side, pulling Sabrina with him. His hand caressed her arm, moving down her stomach and back. The roughness of his callused hand felt good to Sabrina. She sighed happily and gazed into his brown eyes. His eyes, kissed hers, and his lips echoed the action. His arms wrapped around her and he squeezed her close, pulling her into his chest

  “Can we do that again?” Sabrina whispered.

  Patrick threw back his head and tender laughter filled the room . . . until Sabrina pulled his mouth down to hers.

  Chapter 14

  Patrick left the cattle brokers’ office unable to keep the satisfied grin off his face. They had done well. Sabrina would have no problem paying off the bank note and securing the ranch. The men would receive their pay and be free to celebrate the end of a long haul.

  He wanted to jig down the wooden sidewalk and would have but feared looking stupid. The money was safely stashed inside his shirt until he could get to the hotel and hide it away. At thirty dollars a head, the amount of money they had made was staggering to a man from the small town of Sherwood. If only there were a bank in Dodge City, where he could deposit the cash and wire it home, but that part of civilization had yet to reach this cattle town.

  Early this morning he’d left Sabrina sleeping soundly in the downy bed. They’d made love far into the night, and even now he wanted to rush back to the hotel, into her arms. Before he went back he had a small, but important purchase to make.

  His boots carried him down Front Street, past the Long Branch Saloon, to Wright, Beverly & Company. With two stories of sales space, Wright, Beverly & Company was the largest mercantile in the city, and carried everything from firearms to clothing and jewelry. Patrick was interested in the jewelry. Not just any trinket a cowboy would buy his sweetheart, but a ring. In the town where their dreams had been fulfilled, where their hearts had accepted their love for one another, it seemed the perfect place to buy Sabrina’s wedding ring.

  Thirty minutes later, Patrick walked out with a solid gold band. Their initials were inscribed on the inside, and the date could be added later. He walked out of the mercantile and headed down the street toward the Dodge House, anxious to see Sabrina.

  As Patrick strolled past the Long Branch Saloon, a voice called out to him, “Shand!”

  Something about that voice was familiar. Slowly, he turned, his hands going automatically to the gun belt, he had strapped around his waist earlier this morning.

  “Trey.” Patrick acknowledged the man, his nerve endings singing with apprehension. “Surprised I’m still alive?”

  “No. I always knew you were hardheaded. That it would take more than a bullet to stop you.” Trey leaned against the swinging door of the saloon. “Congratulations on bringing your herd in. I’m sure Sabrina is pleased.”

  “She is.”

  “Come in and let me buy you a drink,” Trey urged. Patrick felt every nerve tingling with anticipation. Why was he being so congenial? “I don’t drink with scum who try to kill me.”

  Trey smiled, his face stiff. “If I’d been shooting, you’d be dead.” His voice was calm and confident “Come in and have a drink. I’ll tell you what I know about who killed your mother and father.”

  The man was up to no good. Patrick could sense it, but he had to know what information Trey had regarding his family. A tiny voice warned him not to go into the saloon, but he refused to listen.

  Patrick walked within inches of Trey. His hands rested on his holster, and he glared into the man’s devilish green eyes. “One of these days, Trey, you’re going to pay for all the bedevilment you’ve caused me including the head wound.”

  Sarcastically, Trey replied, “Anytime, Shand, you want to meet me in the street, is fine with me, but if you make me angry, I won’t tell you what I know about your family.”

  Patrick grabbed Trey by the shirt and lifted him up off the ground, choking him with his own collar. “You’ll tell me everything you know, and you’ll tell me now. Your father doesn’t own the sheriff in this town, boy.”

  Patrick carried Trey by the shirt into the shadowy interior of the Long Branch Saloon. Walking into the darkness from the bright morning sun temporarily left him blind. Warning bells resounded as he blinked rapidly trying to adjust his eyes.

  Trey grinned a sinister smile as Redd stopped up behind Patrick and brought down the blunt en
d of his gun on the back of Patrick’s head. A look of shock crossed Patrick’s face as he released Trey’s shirt and crumpled to the ground.

  “Farewell, Shand. It’s not been a pleasure to know you,” Trey said as he looked down on Patrick’s limp body.

  The undertaker had been easy to bribe. The grave should be ready and waiting. All they had to do was get Patrick to the mortician and the man would bury him. The death certificate would show a young cowboy had been killed the night before, and his friends had taken up a collection to bury him with his fellow compatriots on Boot Hill.

  Trey quickly searched Patrick’s shirt pockets, locating the large sums of cash from the cattle drive. He held up the bills and smiled. “This is too easy. She’ll have to marry me now.”

  Redd picked up Patrick’s body. “Let’s go. We have a funeral to attend before leaving town.”

  * * *

  Matt watched the two men depart from the back door of the funeral parlor. He’d been following Trey and Redd for the last few days, knowing they were up to no good. Now it seemed that something had happened to Patrick. God, he hoped he wasn’t dead, but they had taken him to an undertaker. He peered through the window, but the shades kept him from seeing inside.

  The door opened again and Matt watched the undertaker and another man carry a pine coffin out and load it onto a wagon. The undertaker spoke up. “Take the body to Boot Hill. Bury him, and come back.”

  “Yes, sir. There’re no family or friends waiting?”

  “He was a loner.”

  The man nodded his head and climbed up into the wagon. He clicked to the horses and the wagon pulled out of the alley and down the street toward Boot Hill. What if it were Patrick?

  Matt followed the wagon at a discreet distance. When they arrived at Boot Hill, he watched the man slide the coffin toward the back of the wagon.

  Matt rode up beside the man. “You look like you could use some help.”

  The man looked up suspiciously. “Yeah, he’s a heavy one.”

  Climbing off his horse, Matt came around to help the man slide the coffin out of the wagon.

  “Who is this guy?” Matt questioned.

  “Some cowboy who got shot up last night,” the man replied. “No friends or family.”

  “You don’t know his name?”

  “Nope. I just bury them . . . don’t get to know ’em.” The man turned his back to survey the grave. Matt pulled his gun out and pulled back the hammer with a decisive click. The distinctive noise caused the man to whirl around, surprise on his face.

  “What the hell?” he asked.

  “Open that coffin,” Matt demanded.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Maybe. I want to see if this is my friend.”

  The man reached inside the wagon and pulled out a hammer and started pulling out the nails. When he lifted the lid, the bright sun flooded the interior and Patrick groaned.

  The grave-digger’s face turned white and he fell to his knees. “Lord have mercy, he’s alive.”

  He looked up at Matt with a surprised expression. “I don’t know nothin’ about this, honest.”

  Matt watched as the little man’s body shook from fright. “Help me get him into your wagon,” Matt demanded.

  “I didn’t know anything about this. Honest.” The grave-digger peered over into the coffin at Patrick’s ashen face. “He don’t look none too good. Are you going to shoot me?”

  “Not if you help me.” Matt grinned at the man’s expression.

  The scared man looked inside the coffin once again at Patrick. “You sure he ain’t a ghost?”

  “I’ve wished him dead many a time, but he’s as alive as you and me.”

  “All right, but I don’t like this one bit.”

  Matt shoved his gun back into his gun belt. “Tell me everything you know about what’s happened to my friend.”

  “The only thing I know is what Mr. Pearce, the undertaker, told me. He said this man died last night, that he was a loner. He told me to bury him right here,” he explained hurriedly.

  Matt grabbed Patrick by the shoulders to lift him out of the coffin. “Help me put him in the wagon.”

  The grave-digger grabbed him by the feet and they hoisted him into the back of the wagon. Matt checked Patrick’s pulse. His heart was beating steadily. He shook Patrick by the shoulders. There was no response.

  “Wake up, Patrick.” No response. “I’m taking him to a doctor. Then I’m going to the sheriff.”

  “The sheriff!” the little man exclaimed.

  “Yeah. Someone tried to kill my friend, and I’m pretty sure I know who,” Matt replied. “You will talk to the sheriff, won’t you?” Matt pressed.

  “My name is Leroy. He’ll know me,” the man lied.

  “Thanks.” Matt clicked to the horses and drove away.

  The gravedigger looked at the open grave. Mr. Pierce wouldn’t be too happy with him speaking to the sheriff, and he didn’t need to be on that man’s bad side. Sudden inspiration had him lifting the empty coffin and putting it into the grave. Quickly he started shoveling dirt onto the wooden box. When he was completely finished, he took the marker he’d prepared earlier and stuck it in the ground. The name “Patrick Shand” was etched upon the cross. He ran back to the hotel and collected his things. Time to get out of town!

  * * *

  Matt carried Patrick to the town doctor. He was breathing. He had a good pulse, but he wouldn’t come to. The doctor leaned down close to him.

  “Chloroform,” he murmured. “Someone’s drugged him.”

  “Damn.”

  Matt watched the doctor take out smelling salts and put them under Patrick’s nose. Patrick moaned, turning his head away from the strong ammonia smell. His eyes fluttered open.

  “Sabrina,” he moaned and closed his eyes.

  “Patrick, wake up,” Matt commanded.

  Blearily he peered up at Matt. “Sabrina. Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know. Where is she?” Matt inquired.

  “The hotel.” Patrick closed his eyes.

  “Come on; you’ve got to wake up.” Matt looked at the doctor. “Can’t you give him something?”

  “If we can get some coffee down him, it’ll help, but mainly we have to wait for the effects of the drug to wear off.”

  “My head is splitting.”

  The doctor turned Patrick’s head in his hands and checked the back. “That’s because you’ve got a lump the size of a goose egg back there. From the size, I’d say the handle of someone’s gun met the back of your head.” He paused. “I’ll get you some coffee and see if we can’t piece this story together.”

  Sitting down in a chair beside Patrick, Matt asked, “What hotel is Sabrina in?”

  Patrick’s eyelids keep drifting shut. “We rode in last night. It’s on Front Street.”

  “The Dodge House?” Matt prompted.

  “I think so,” Patrick replied. “Why are you here, Matt?”

  “Because I just saved your ass from being buried alive.”

  “What are you talking about?” Patrick questioned.

  “You don’t remember?”

  Running his hand down his face, Patrick tried to wipe the fuzziness away. He wrinkled his forehead. “What happened?”

  “Trey had you a spot all prepared on Boot Hill. When I got there, you were nailed in a coffin, about to be buried alive.”

  Patrick looked questionably at Matt “A coffin?”

  “Yeah. I watched you go into the Long Branch Saloon with Trey, but you never came out,” Matt responded.

  “Trey. Now I remember.” Patrick sat upright in the bed. He grabbed his head, moaning. “Damn. The money.” Matt watched him feel around the inside of his shirt “It’s gone.”

  “What are you talking about5” Matt questioned.

  “I sold the cattle this morning. All the money is gone.”

  Matt put his face in his hands. “I overheard them say they’re leaving town.”

  Patrick sat
up on the edge of the bed. The doctor came back in and handed him a cup of coffee. He sipped at the hot brew. “I’ve got to go. If they get away, then Sabrina will have traveled all this way for nothing. She’ll lose the ranch.”

  “I’ll get the horses,” Matt replied.

  Patrick reached in his pocket. The gold band was all that was left in his pocket. Somehow they had missed it. “Damn, they took every cent I had.”

  Matt smiled. “I have some money.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “What about Sabrina?”

  “I’ll send her a note, telling her to ride back to Sherwood with Buckets and the men. We’ll either catch up with them or meet them back home. We don’t have any time to waste.”

  Patrick leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands. He moaned. If he sent Sabrina a note, she would leave immediately and follow him. Every time he told her no, she disobeyed him. He frowned. For now he couldn’t worry about her safety and sniff out Trey’s trail at the same time.

  “I don’t think you need to be traveling anywhere until that head feels better,” the doctor replied.

  “Can’t wait, Doc. This is too important.” Patrick paused and looked at the doctor. “Have you got something I can write a note on, Doc?”

  * * *

  The doctor’s son looked around the deserted campground. This was the place the man had described to him, but there was no one here named Buckets. Not knowing what to do, he took the man’s message and returned to his father.

  * * *

  Sabrina paced the floor in the tiny hotel room. The afternoon sun was waning, and Patrick had not returned. She was worried. This morning when she’d wakened, a note had been on the pillow beside her, telling her he’d gone to meet with the cattle broker. He’d promised to come back for her, and she’d anxiously awaited his return all day.