"I said, don’t ever touch me again. Do you understand?"
His fists clenched at his sides. Not now, but very soon, he would make her regret this humiliation.
Cameron stared around the room, allowing her gaze to linger for a brief moment on each family member. Then, regally lifting her skirts, she spun and hurried to her room, leaving behind her a stunned silence.
A short time later there was a knock on her door. She opened it to admit the lawyer.
"Mr. Sturgiss, why did my father do this?" She paced the center of the room, clearly agitated.
"I’m sure he had his reasons, Miss McCormick."
"But I didn’t want their inheritance, Mr. Sturgiss." She turned to face him. "You saw their reactions. They all resent me. They think I came here to steal from them what is rightfully theirs."
"Theirs, Miss McCormick? All of this belonged to Big John. He had the right to leave it to whomever he pleased. And it pleased him tremendously to give you that land."
"But he expected me to stay here, to make my home here on his land." Her voice lowered. "I can’t possibly stay here with these people, with all this bitterness."
"I suppose not," the lawyer said dryly. "I would guess it is tempting to think about the simple life in the convent. I’m sure your life there was serene. All your needs were taken care of. Of course, it may be a bit stifling for a spirited woman like you, but at least it’s safe." He paused. "Well then, leave, Miss McCormick, and ask Alex to manage your estate." He leveled his gaze on her. "Is that what you wish?"
Cameron walked to the window and stood silently, staring down at the barren landscape. She had promised her father they would be a team. She had promised herself she would be strong enough to control her own destiny. Was this land her birthright? What did she want—security, or a chance to taste life?
Should she stay long enough at least to put up a fight for what was hers?
The lawyer stood quietly, watching as she suddenly clenched her fists at her side.
She turned to face him. "I can’t imagine Alex managing my—estate."
"You will be staying then, Miss McCormick?" he asked gently.
"Yes. For the time being anyway, Mr. Sturgiss, I’ll be staying."
A flicker of a smile softened his professional bearing. "I’ll see myself out. Good day, Miss McCormick."
* * *
Cameron tied her horse at the railing and entered the general store. Several pair of eyes studied her intently. She realized glumly that many of the men of this town had probably witnessed her humiliating experience at the saloon.
"Yes, miss. What can I get you?"
She lowered her voice, hoping to keep her business a secret from the curious bystanders.
"I wish to purchase a hand gun."
If the shopkeeper felt surprised at her request, he didn’t show it. With barely a pause he said, "Over here."
She followed the storekeeper to a locked case. Taking a key from his pocket, he set three guns on a countertop.
"I don’t know anything about these things," she muttered. "Which one do you recommend?"
"Depends." He looked her over, noting her short stature and slender figure. "You going for distance or close range?"
She frowned. "Fairly close range, I think."
"You going to wear it on your hip or conceal it on your person?"
A good question. She hadn’t thought about that. But it was obvious that she had no intention of going about the town wearing a gunbelt. "I believe I’d like to conceal it."
His hand paused at a little derringer, then moved on. "This little Remington would fit in a pocket, or even the waistband of a petticoat, begging your pardon, miss."
Cameron bestowed a smile on him, instantly approving of his manners. Gingerly she cradled the pistol in her hand.
"Will you show me how to load it and use it?"
The shopkeeper ran his hands across his shirt front, considering. "I’ll show you how to load it, miss. But using it’s another thing. It’ll take a lot of time and practice to comfortably shoot a pistol. The best way is to go out back behind a barn and keep on shooting till you can hit a target every time." He smiled gently. "Just keep in mind that some folks never get the hang of it."
She met his look. "I intend to get the hang of it." She handed him the Remington. "If you’ll be good enough to show me how to load it then."
"Yes, miss." He took a box of bullets from the cabinet and demonstrated the proper way to load.
Then he handed the gun back to her and watched as she followed his lead.
Satisfied, he nodded. "You’re a clever little lady. You might just learn how to shoot this thing like you said."
As she sauntered from the store, the man watched her with obvious approval. The curious bystanders were left to mutter among themselves, speculating on the strange behavior of Big John’s daughter.
Chapter Ten
Cameron stood at the window. Dawn softened the darkened hills that littered the barren landscape. In the silent hours while the world slept, she had allowed her mind to travel the miles back to her beloved Allumette Island. There she rode wild and free, the hooves of her horse flattening the grass as he broke into a run. From a crest above her, a mysterious rider on a black stallion moved effortlessly toward her until their paths converged. Strong arms lifted her from her saddle and settled her firmly against a body corded with muscles, which complemented her soft curves. She melted into an embrace that spoke of tenderness, and unending love, and endless delights. She actually blushed at some of the images that flitted through her mind, as she wondered what it would be like to be loved completely by her dream lover.
Renewed by her fantasy visit to that gentler place, she crossed to the door, safely barricaded by the dresser. Shoving the barrier aside, she hurried out to escape to the hills before the rest of the brooding household awoke.
In the secret hours of night, resolutions are easily made. But in the harsh light of day, the reality of her situation came back to grip her.
She was no longer that child of her memory. She would never again feel completely secure. Here, in this hostile land, there were vipers coiled to strike. Who among these could be counted on as friend?
When the horse had carried her a safe distance, Cameron tethered him in a shady spot and pulled the Remington from the folds of her gown. Loading it as the shopkeeper had instructed, she held it in shaking hands and squeezed the trigger. The bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock, whistling through the air, and imbedded itself in the trunk of the tree directly beside her.
"Damn little fool! A couple of inches more and it could have killed you!"
Cameron whirled at the sound of Colt’s voice.
"You! What are you doing here? Did you follow me?"
"Don’t flatter yourself. I have better things to do than make camp outside your door all night."
"And I have better things to do than stand here wasting my time with a gunfighter."
He saw the flash of fire in her eyes and smiled thinly. "Who better to teach you how to handle this thing?" Taking the pistol from her hand, he examined it carefully before returning it to her.
"By now, everyone in Virginia City knows that the newest member of the McCormick clan bought herself a gun."
He studied her intently, noting the eyes rimmed from lack of sleep, the overly bright color to her cheeks. He cursed silently at the faint bruises on her wrists.
"So you’ve decided to throw in with that pack?" He watched her lips thin. "Then you’d better become an expert with this gun, little Cammy. Mad dogs have been known to turn on their own if they spot any weakness."
"What makes you think I didn’t buy this to use on you, Colt?"
He saw the glitter of hard emeralds before she lowered her lashes.
After a silent pause, he murmured, "All right, Cammy. Fair enough. But it wouldn’t even be a contest unless you learn how to handle this first. And I’m the expert on guns."
He caught her by the shoul
ders and twisted her around. Surprised, she tried to resist as his arms encircled her from behind and came up under her arms to clutch the gun. Positioning her fingers around the pistol, he lifted it to eye level. His lips grazed her ear.
"Think of this as part of your hand. Hold it, fondle it, until you’re so familiar with this little piece of metal that you know every groove, every angle, every edge."
"You make it sound like a lover."
She heard his sudden intake of breath. Ignoring her taunt, he tightened his grip over her hands. "Close your eyes. Feel it with your fingertips. Balance it in your palm. Know it, Cammy, so that you can be comfortable with it even in the dark."
She obeyed, dropping her lids, letting the warmth of his voice flow over her. She felt a tingle curl itself along her spine as his lips continued to brush her temple and cheek. It was so easy, with her eyes closed, to forget about Colt; to remember only Michael, the lover of her dreams. In his strong arms she felt safe and warm. His voice commanded, lulled, softened, until she wanted only to turn and bury her face in the warm flesh she would always remember. More than anything in the world, she wanted to feel his pulsebeat against her lips.
He felt the change in her as she relaxed against him, and he swore softly, berating himself for the swift surge of desire he had to fight to resist.
Cameron kept her eyes closed, to lock out the reality around her. If only she could stay here on this hill, cradled in his arms. If only she didn’t have to go back to that house, to be a member of that hostile band. If only he didn’t have to go back to a life of drifting, and card playing, and gunfighting. If, if, if! She forced herself to concentrate on the lesson rather than the teacher.
"Pick out a target." His voice caressed beside her ear.
"That tumbleweed by the rock."
"All right." He continued to cover her hands with his. "Line up your target, looking just about here." He rested a finger along the top of the gun. "This is your sight. When it’s perfectly lined up, squeeze off your shot."
Cameron did as she was told. As the gun fired, her hands flew up, then back, startling her.
"What happened?"
"That’s just the reflex from the release of the bullet. After a while, you’ll learn to allow for it. You won’t even have to think. It will all become one smooth motion."
Cameron watched in dismay as the bullet spewed dust several feet beyond the tumbleweed.
"Adjust your distance and try again."
Gradually she became so absorbed in the instruction she began to forget the man whose voice coaxed beside her temple.
"Over a bit more. Good. Shoot."
Again and again she squeezed the trigger, loading the small Remington each time she emptied the chamber. For over an hour they stood, his arms at first wrapped around her, guiding her through the lesson. Gradually he withdrew until, seemingly unaware, she continued on her own, aiming at targets, squeezing, correcting her own inaccuracies.
Colt leaned against a rock, watching her with a mixture of grimness and admiration. She had spirit. Maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to protect herself.
His gaze slid over the slim figure, looking incongruous in the prim pink gown, boldly aiming the pistol. There was a familiar look of resolution on her face. The wind had pried loose little tendrils, which glinted flame in the rising sun. He thought fleetingly of Jarret’s hands soiling her beauty, and a knot of rage tightened within him. Even with a gun, what chance could she possibly have against all the dangers he knew she was facing?
"I hit it!"
He found himself smiling at her childlike enthusiasm.
"So you hit the target once. Tumbleweeds can’t shoot back. If it were a man, you’d be dead by now. Don’t gloat until you can hit any target in your sight at least ten times in a row without missing."
"Ten times. That will take forever."
"You don’t have forever, Cammy. Keep thinking about Jarret and that scene in the Delta Saloon. That ought to be enough to make you work harder."
Instantly, he saw her blanch. Why had he reminded her of her humiliation? His hands clenched into fists. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He wanted to erase those ugly memories from her mind for all time.
She turned away, the smile replaced by a look of grim determination.
Without warning the gun was yanked from her hand and dropped to the sand at her feet. His hands caught at her shoulders, turning her toward him.
His lips covered hers, stifling her little gasp. The kiss was intense, smoldering. There was anger in his kiss, as his lips took hers. Anger, and a fierce protectiveness.
Her reaction to his kiss shocked her. After the first moment of sudden stillness, she swayed against him, parting her lips for his deeper exploration. She fit so perfectly in the circle of his embrace. Their hearts kept perfect rhythm. It seemed the most natural thing in the world, to be standing beneath a shimmering sun, lost in the delights of this newly discovered passion.
"Ummm, you taste so good," he muttered against her lips. "Like cool water on a hot afternoon."
"I do?" She lifted her gaze to his dark eyes and smiled as she saw herself reflected there.
"If I didn’t know better, Miss McCormick, I’d think you were flirting with your teacher."
A delighted laugh escaped her. "Do you know, Colt, this is the first time I’ve ever flirted with a man. The very first time."
He caught a stray wisp of hair and lifted it. His eyes narrowed as the fiery strands sifted through his fingers.
"Then you’re very good at it, Miss McCormick. This being your first time."
"Am I?" She pressed against him and felt his fingers suddenly grasp her shoulders, pulling her even closer.
Lifting her face to his, she stood on tiptoe to bring her lips to his. For one heart-stopping moment he paused, his lips hovering a fraction above hers. Then, with a sigh, he wrapped her in his arms and brought his mouth to hers. The kiss was demanding, seething with undercurrents of restrained passion.
With a little moan, she moved in his arms, wanting to give in a way she had never before experienced.
His hands moved along the small of her back, pinning her firmly against him. Slowly he moved his hands up along her sides, allowing his thumbs to graze the soft swell of her breasts.
With a sudden gasp, she tried to pull away. His hands lowered, pulling her close, caressing her back. She relaxed in his embrace and tentatively allowed her tongue to explore his mouth. She heard his moan of impatience before his lips closed over hers once more, devouring, seducing, demanding.
Colt caught her by the shoulders, suddenly holding her at arm’s length. Through narrowed eyes he studied her, an unreadable expression on his face.
Abruptly he strode to where his horse stood tethered beside hers. Swinging info the saddle, he caught up the reins and stared down at her.
"If any other man was thinking what I’m thinking about you right now, I’d kill him."
Without a backward glance, he rode away.
Chapter Eleven
Cameron turned the dust-streaked horse over to a scowling Alex without a word, then strode to the house. As she climbed the steps, she saw the corner of the curtain flutter.
In the parlor, Miriam sat in her wheelchair, watching the doorway. Cameron was aware of the eager, questioning look, which Miriam instantly tried to hide with a scowl.
Reverend Mother had once said there was a way to reach each person’s heart. The problem was, some people put up barriers, and others were afraid to cross them. The wise ones learned to look beyond the image, to discover the person hidden within.
Maybe Miriam had been hurt too often in the past. Could she be so afraid of rejection that she hid behind a wall of anger? Cameron determined to risk Miriam’s wrath.
"I rode over some of our land today."
Miriam frowned. "You mean ‘your’ land."
Cameron chatted easily. "It’s beautiful, Miriam. Have you ever seen it?"
Another frown. "Yes. I wasn’t
always a cripple." Her tone hardened. "Before my—fall, I used to play out there. I hate it! It’s ugly. Scarred with deep mine shafts."
Cameron moistened her lips and plunged on. "Is that how you ... Is that what happened to you?"
"I—fell down a shaft when I was six."
Cameron couldn’t hold back the gasp. "How terrible. Who found you?"
"My father. Alex and Jarret brought him. He had to lower himself on a rope, strap me to his back, then climb back out."
Cameron could imagine a child’s terror in the blackness of a deserted shaft. "You must have suffered great pain."
Miriam was silent for long moments. Her expression was closed. "I don’t remember."
Cameron let that comment pass, knowing that it must have been so horrible that Miriam had locked it all away, to keep from remembering. "Have you ever been out of this house since?"
"No." She bit the single word off.
Cameron took a deep breath. "Oh, Miriam, there’s so much beauty in the world. Each day, when I return from my ride, I’ll describe everything and everyone I saw. It will be just as if you’ve been there with me."
Blue eyes lit with life, then abruptly dimmed. "Why would you want to do that?"
"Because we’re sisters. I’ll be your legs, Miriam."
Suspicion was replaced by a steady, narrowed look.
"Huh. Maybe."
Cameron expelled the breath she had been holding. It wasn’t friendship. It wasn’t much of anything yet. But it was a start.
* * *
The day was warm. Almost too warm. Removing her shawl, Cameron draped it across the saddle and lifted her heavy hair from her neck, shaking it loose. As her horse crested a hill, she reined him in abruptly.
Standing on the side of the grassy knoll, staring at her, was the man who had rushed out of the saloon on that night—a night Cameron would forever think of as her "night of humiliation."
"Your name is Quenton, I believe."
He continued to stare until Cameron felt her temper flare.
Some of the fire was evident in her haughty tone. "My name is Cameron McCormick."
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