A shaft of moonlight spilled through the leaves of a tree, showering them in golden light. Her cloud of hair shimmered in the haze. Her breasts were nearly exposed beneath the open dress. Defiantly she tossed her head, causing her hair to drift like a halo, before fluttering down around her cheeks and shoulders.
She was so lovely, she took his breath away. Clean, untouched, a breath of air in this hellhole. Desire ripped through him, and he fought the growing need.
"Please, Michael. Don’t—look at me like that."
He froze. "What did you call me?"
"Colt." She licked her dry lips. "Colt, please."
"Please what?"
"Please, just let me go."
He could sense, knew instinctively, what she was fearing. She had the look of a mustang that had been run to ground and held fast by a dozen ropes. A wild thing cornered. He knew he must never let himself spoil what she was. Still . . .
Reluctantly, his hands dropped to his sides. She felt a sudden chill. They stood, almost touching, staring into each other’s eyes.
"Cammy, little Cammy," he murmured.
He paused for long moments, watching the heaving of her shoulders as she fought to calm herself. His eyes narrowed. "Promise me something." His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "Promise me you’ll go back to your convent."
She blinked in surprise.
"You don’t belong here, Cammy. This town teems with the scum that has been forced to leave other towns. This is a place for drifters and cons. And your family is a pack of curs. They’ll rip you apart. A girl like you doesn’t stand a chance."
He studied her face. Slowly, that look was returning. He could see the growing anger, as she prepared to fight back. Forgotten now was the fear and frustration of a few minutes ago. As much as he admired her spirit, he was honestly worried about her. She didn’t stand a chance against these odds.
"Will you go back?"
Her chin lifted. "My father sent for me. I’m staying, and no—gunfighter named Colt can change my mind." She spit his name from between clenched teeth.
He expelled a savage breath. "You damn little fool!"
Without thinking, he caught her roughly by the shoulders. He was shaking from wanting her. The seething drive he fought to control was fighting to control him, longing for release. If he had half a brain he would take her here and now. It was what everyone back at the saloon expected. And from her trembling response he knew it was within his grasp. God, how he wanted her.
Desire was shattering his cool control. Desire made his body ache for hers. He knew he should be tender with her. This innocent deserved a gentle lover. But his control had slipped completely. There was no time to think, to be slow, to be easy. There was only this driving need that grew and grew.
His mouth covered hers savagely. The kiss was hot, hungry.
He felt her stiffen in his arms, holding herself rigidly in control. He had no way of knowing how devastating the kiss was for Cameron.
She was losing herself. Her world was rocking, teetering on an abyss. And then she was slipping, drowning in waves of feelings she never even knew lay within her.
Something hot flamed deep within her, coursing through her veins, searing even her skin.
Struggling with his own raging passion, Colt moved his lips over hers, until, ever so slowly, he felt her resolve begin to slip. Now, lightly, his mouth moved over hers, tasting, allowing her time to taste him as well.
"I knew your skin would be creamy," he breathed against her mouth. "And I knew it would be like the underside of a rose petal to the touch." Gently he ran his fingertips along the smooth, velvet skin of her throat and shoulders. "And I knew you would taste like this," he muttered thickly, letting his lips follow the trail of his fingertips.
She trembled violently. Both of them sensed the primitive stirrings of passion taking over their control.
For a man who had known many different women, the depth of the emotion that suddenly gripped him was a puzzle. He wanted her. God, how he wanted her. But despite the passions that surged through him, he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her. He felt a raging need to protect her, while at the same time he longed to lay in the grass with her, to feed on her sweetness, the warmth of her.
For Cameron, this kiss was cataclysmic. It was the very first time she had ever known such feelings. Dazed, confused, she tried to push away from his embrace. With her palms against his chest, she pushed with all her might. Colt’s strength was too overpowering. He simply tightened his grasp on her, thrilling to the provocative movement in his arms. Cameron was stunned to feel the drumming of his heartbeat. It was as thunderous as her own.
Now his lips moved gently over hers, with the barest whisper of a touch. He inhaled the scent of bayberry soap and knew that for the rest of his life he would never be able to smell that delicate fragrance without thinking of her. Caught up in the sweetness of her, the kiss gentled like a fine mist after a summer storm.
For Cameron, shock soon turned to pleasure. Her lips parted slightly, allowing his tongue to invade the sweet, intimate recesses of her mouth. Tiny curls of pleasure skittered along her spine, making her knees weak. Almost with a will of their own, her hands crawled up his chest, then moved along his muscled shoulders, clinging to his strength.
She felt a core of heat and weakness from deep within her begin to radiate all the way to her fingertips. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced.
For a moment, Colt stopped and held her a little away from him, needing to see her face, needing to confirm what they had both felt. Wide, luminous eyes stared back at him. Her lips, moist and swollen from his kiss, pursed into a rounded mew of surprise. With a sudden intake of breath, he cupped her face between his hands, then buried his fingers in her mane of honey hair. Pulling her firmly against him, his lips took hers again, this time with a fierce longing that rocked her. She was instantly caught up in the kiss. His hands trailed down her body to her hips, drawing her tightly to him, making her aware of how perfectly they fit together. She wrapped her arms around his waist, needing to cling to him. Her knees were growing weak, her limbs heavy. His arousal made her achingly aware of her own sudden, shocking desire.
Pressed to him, she was no longer cold. Not only the heat of his body but his very being seemed to merge with hers, demanding that she give as well as take. There was hunger in his kiss, and possession.
Something raw and primal seemed to take over her control. She was no longer Cameron McCormick, the proper, convent-bred young woman, but a mass of nerve endings, a hungry, trembling wanton.
"Oh God, Cammy." He spoke the words inside her mouth, unwilling to break the contact. "How I want you. Now. Now."
In one last burst of sanity, she pushed away.
"I can’t think." She pressed her hands to burning cheeks. Her breathing was shallow. "This can’t be right. You’re Colt—a gunfighter. And my father has just died. How can I feel such things just hours after his death? What kind of person am I? What can I be thinking of?"
She turned away from him, close to tears. His hand gently stroked the silken tangles.
"Yes. I know, Cammy. I understand. That independent girl I met in the convent would need to know why and how. You have a right to question what’s happening in your life. And you have a right to control your destiny. It’s just—" His voice tightened. "Be warned. I want you. And I won’t be the only man in this town who will."
With a sob choking her, she covered her face and turned away.
"Little Cammy—"
"Don’t. Don’t touch me again. Ever!"
Gently, he turned her toward him. "Look at me," he commanded.
When she looked up, he saw the glimmer of tears on her lashes.
There was a long silence. Then, in an ominously tight voice, he snapped, "You can walk back from here. I can’t go any closer to the McCormick house."
She blinked. "You’re not going to . . . force me?"
He gave her a grim smile. "I don’t think fo
rce would be the proper term for it now, do you?"
His fingers traced the tiny trail of tears along her cheek. She stood very still, fighting the desire to move like a kitten against his hand, almost regretting it when he finally broke the contact.
He swore in frustration, then turned and swung into the saddle before saying gruffly, "Think about what I said. Go back to your convent, Cammy. You don’t belong in Virginia City, or in the McCormick house."
She was back in control and feeling the sting of humiliation as she realized just how easily she had succumbed to his persuasions.
"It’s my house too—Colt," she hissed.
She pivoted away. Without looking back at him, she began to run toward the lights of the house—her father’s house. No. Her father was dead now.
She slowed. Tears stung her eyelids. She seemed to have shed more tears this night than she had in a lifetime. There would be no more. Angrily she brushed them away with the back of her hand before stumbling blindly on.
Now it was Alex’s house. And mine, she thought fiercely. Mine.
She shuddered and, drawing the remnants of her dress tightly about her, wondered how she could survive this savage world, her bitter, unforgiving family, and above all, the new, terrifying passions this man had unleashed.
Chapter Nine
"Well, well. Out meeting the charming men of Virginia City."
Cameron whirled at the shrill voice coming from the darkened parlor. Taking a candle from the hallway, she entered the room. Near the window, Miriam sat in her wooden chair. The smug look on her face faded as she took in Cameron’s torn dress, her loosened hair streaming about her face and shoulders.
Pulling the wheels with trembling hands, she glided nearer.
"Were you . . . Are you—hurt?"
Her real concern wasn’t lost on the trembling young woman. At least it was a start toward friendship. Cameron lifted her head. "No. I’m—fine."
The look of concern was instantly erased. The voice hardened. "I’ve heard that the citizens of Virginia City are a tough lot. That’s one of the things I won’t ever have to worry about. And you wouldn’t either if you didn’t go about the countryside alone."
"Thank you, Miriam. I’ll remember that in the future." Cameron kept her voice even. "And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I’ve had all I can deal with tonight."
As she walked from the room, Cameron could feel her half-sister’s gaze leveled at her.
She was painfully aware of their contrast. Miriam’s fine, cornsilk hair was perfumed and curled, perfectly arranged in a mass of ringlets and tied back with pale blue ribbons to match her blue gown trimmed with blue velvet bows at the neckline. A pale blue shawl fell softly about her lap, to hide her withered limbs.
Cameron’s wind-tossed mane fell in tangles about her face and shoulders. The once demure gown hung in tatters, the hem torn and spattered with dirt. She looked like a creature from the wild.
She held herself erect, though, refusing to give in to the utter weariness that enveloped her until she was safely alone in her room.
For the first time in her life, Cameron felt the need to lock her door. Shoving a heavy dresser across the floor, she positioned it so that it was impossible for anyone to open her door from the outside. Too exhausted even to undress, she fell across the bed and slept fitfully.
* * *
Cameron sat in the library with the other family members. She had wanted to avoid this, but Mr. Sturgiss insisted she be present when her father’s will was read.
The funeral that morning had been almost primitive. At her insistence, Jarret drove the rig to town for a priest. Both Jarret and Alex acted as if nothing had happened the night before. For the moment, Cameron was willing to go along with the charade. There were more important issues to deal with. But even as they stood on opposite sides of the pine coffin, Cameron could feel the hairs on the back of her neck bristle as she recalled the terrifying scene at the saloon. Would she ever be able to wash away the feeling of Jarret’s hands on her skin?
The shriveled old cleric, who looked as if all his juices had been sapped by the relentless sun, went through the motions of a funeral in a trance. After saying a few prayers over the casket, the priest turned and cupped her chin in his gnarled hand. Cameron waited, expecting to hear him utter his sympathy, needing some familiar words of comfort. Instead, he broke into a fit of coughing and, pressing a soiled handkerchief to his lips, turned away without a word. The other members of the family followed him. As the carriage carrying him back to his rectory clattered along the road, they disappeared inside the house.
Cameron stood alone on the windswept hillside as two old men lowered the casket into the ground and began silently shoveling red sand into the cavity. At her direction, one of the men hammered a simple wooden cross into the mound of earth. Long after they left, she stood, staring at a spot on the ground. The finality of it all overwhelmed her. Her father was really gone. Forever. And with him went all the answers she was seeking. She had lived her whole life on promises that someday, somewhere, someone would tell her who she was. She had lived for the day when she would receive that wonderful summons to come and share her father’s life. A few days ago, she had been on top of the world. Now, that whole world had come crashing down around her. And all because she had let herself believe that one man would make everything all right.
She fingered the lovely gold locket about her neck, a parting gift from Sister Adele, whose lover’s broken promise had sent her to the convent for solace. The beautiful young sister’s words echoed. "Oh, Cammy, don’t ever pin your hopes and dreams on a man. For he’ll be a thief and steal your most precious possession of all—your hopes, your dreams, your very future. Remember, Cammy, don’t ever trust your life to the whims of a man."
Tears squeezed from beneath lowered lids and trickled down her cheeks. A sob caught in her throat, and she swallowed it and turned away from the grave abruptly.
Surrounded now by family members, she felt more alone than at any time in her life.
Fool! What a silly, childish fool she had been! She had forgotten all the words of caution and had counted on someone else. Her father. Michael. No one could be counted on to change her life. Only herself. Cameron resolved to heed the betrayed nun’s warning or she would be doomed to repeat the mistakes forever.
She came to a decision. She would heed Michael’s . . . Colt’s advice. This wasn’t her world. When the will was read, she would go back to the convent where she belonged.
Sitting alone, to one side of the room, Cameron could see the tense profiles as Harold Sturgiss removed a document from his case and began to read.
"To my daughter Miriam."
Cameron studied the young woman seated stiffly in her wooden wheelchair. Her gaze was locked on the lawyer’s face, as if willing him to read what was in her mind. She seemed to be hardly daring to breathe.
"I leave this house in which she was born and all the furnishings therein."
A slow gleam of triumph spread across Miriam’s face. Her eyes narrowed as she turned to stare at Alex and Jarret.
The lawyer cleared his throat.
"To the twin sons of my dead wife, Salina."
Cameron nearly gasped in surprise. Twins. She studied the profiles of the two men. Where Alex was tall and muscular, with fierce, hard features and dark, swarthy coloring, Jarret seemed slighter of build, with pale skin and bland, vacant eyes. Yet his blandness was deceptive. She knew from the bruises on her wrist where he had gripped her last night that he was a powerful man.
The lawyer’s voice intoned, "I leave two hundred fifty acres of the southernmost section of land and any building thereon. Fifty percent of all profits from this land shall be held in trust for young Alexander. That money, plus the interest accrued, shall go to Alexander on his twenty-first birthday, or be split equally among my heirs in the event of his death. The other fifty percent of the profits shall be shared equally among all my heirs."
Cameron no
ted that her father never referred to them as his stepsons. He obviously didn’t wish to refer to them in any familiar way. She watched as the two exchanged glances. Alex seemed about to speak, but the lawyer cleared his throat and continued.
"To my daughter Cameron."
Everyone in the room turned to stare sullenly at her.
"I leave the two hundred fifty acres which adjoin the Lampton property and any buildings thereon. I have every confidence that she will put this land to good use."
Cameron sat in stunned silence.
Harold Sturgiss gathered his papers and stuffed them into a briefcase.
Alex bounded to his feet, his eyes blazing.
"Big John McCormick was a double-dealing gambler all his life. I should have realized he’d hide a trump card up his sleeve."
He towered menacingly over Cameron. "So this is why he kept your existence a secret from us all these years. Even in death he was determined to cheat us. He promised our mother that all this would be ours. That was the only reason she agreed to marry him. In return for her being mistress of his fine house, he agreed to secure the future of her fatherless twin sons. That was the agreement they made. It was the only way for a helpless widow to survive."
Cameron found herself wondering about the woman who could have raised such villainous men. A helpless widow? Though Big John McCormick was hardly a saint, judging by the things she had already heard, it looked like he may have struck a bargain with a she-devil.
Alex’s voice thundered. "And now this! You’ve been brought here to take what’s ours. But then, Big John always cheated. He beat old Lampton out of all this years ago. And now he’s cheated us out of our rightful inheritance." He lowered his voice to a chilling whisper as he caught her arm. "You will live to regret this, little sister."
All heads snapped to attention as Cameron’s unwavering voice stopped him.
"Take your hand off me, Alex. Don’t you ever touch me again."
His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in fury. "No little nun can tell—"
Nevada Nights Page 7
