His words sounded strangled in his throat. "You could have been killed tonight. And I couldn’t have stopped it." She felt him tremble. "I couldn’t have saved you, Cammy."
His hands held her close, as if fearing she might slip away. His lips trembled over hers.
There was danger in his kiss. Cameron tried to steel herself against all feeling. She knew that each time he kissed her he led her further into the unknown. And though she tried with all her will to resist the onslaught, she lacked the strength to fight him. His kiss was practiced, seductive. His touch was one of authority. His mastery was complete.
She knew nothing of the whirlwind that engulfed his emotions. It never occurred to Cameron that he might be as unable to control his passions as she. She knew only that in his embrace she was unable to think, to reason. She could only hang on to his strength while waves of feelings washed over her, dragging her into an undertow that was too powerful to fight.
"Cammy. Little Cammy." The words were thick and muffled against her throat as his lips pressed to the pounding pulsebeat.
Arching her neck, she leaned against him, feeling the familiar warmth begin to drain her strength.
In his arms she felt small and helpless, fragile as a flower bending to the slightest breeze. His hands pressed along the small of her back, drawing her against the length of him, as if measuring her frailty to his strength.
His fingers found the buttons of her rough shirt, and as he unbuttoned first one and then a second button, his lips burned a trail of fire along her collarbone, and then lower still, to the soft roundness of her breast.
The heat and weakness seemed to spread, until she could no longer stand. They dropped to their knees on the earthen floor of the cottage, bathed in rays of moonlight.
Her breath was hotter now, as the darkened head bent lower. She had never believed a man’s lips and fingertips could bring such pleasure. The bruises from her fall were forgotten now. All pain had disappeared, to be replaced by a taut contraction somewhere deep inside her that flowed and ebbed like a pulse.
"Cammy. Oh, Cammy." His lips took hers, tasting her deeply, feasting on her, and she gave, needing to give more, not knowing quite how.
Now they were lying together, their legs tangled, their bodies touching.
"Michael . . . Colt. I feel—oh, I feel lost somewhere." She sighed as his lips closed over hers possessively. When his lips moved along her throat, she heard a soft moan and realized it came from her. She was moving in his arms as if in a dream.
"Help me, Michael. Help me stop this. It can’t be right."
Through the hazy swirl of emotions, he heard her plea and fought for control. She trusted him. He couldn’t let her down. Now, more than ever, he needed her trust.
Battling his own needs, he knelt up and turned stiffly away.
Leaning on one elbow, Cameron’s breath was ragged, burning her throat. Beside her she could hear him taking deep breaths in order to steady himself.
For long moments the only sound in the cottage was their breathing, and the pounding of their heartbeats. Two figures huddled on the moon-dappled floor, drawing strength from their shared weakness.
When he could trust his voice, he turned. "Come on, Cammy. We have a long walk ahead of us."
He held out his hand and helped her up. Awkwardly buttoning her shirt, she accepted his hand, then preceded him out the door.
As the two figures made their way down the moonlit ridge, they fell silent, each lost in private thoughts.
How had this—insignificant creature, this—McCormick, managed to tug at his heart? It was impossible to ignore the need for this woman. Despite who she was, he wanted her. More than anything in his life, she had become an all-consuming passion. The thought of her drifted through his dreams, destroying his sleep. And when he should be alert, and sharp-witted, she disturbed his concentration, dulling his senses. She was definitely dangerous.
Cameron berated herself for this uncontrollable attraction to a gunfighter. How could she allow his touch to bring such excitement, such pleasure? She fought the unfamiliar longings of womanhood. She had no right to feel such things for a villain, even one as compelling as Colt.
Straightening her spine, she unconsciously put some distance between herself and the man beside her. She must not let him get close to her. Only if she stayed away from him would she be able to control this explosive situation. When he was close, she seemed to forget everything except the way she felt in his embrace. He had the power to hurt her. Instinctively, she realized that he could hurt her in a way Jarret never could. Because with Colt she would be a willing partner in her own destruction.
She shivered, and he wrapped his sheepskin jacket around her, engulfing her in its warmth—his warmth, his scent. She snuggled deeply into the lingering heat from his body, oddly touched by this simple gesture of caring.
They stopped on a ridge overlooking the McCormick house.
"I’ll wait here until I see you go inside."
She turned and handed him his jacket. "Why were you there tonight, Colt?"
His expression was closed. His eyes narrowed perceptibly. "Let’s just say I was following a hunch. Go home now, Cammy. Let me get some sleep."
He leaned against a tree and held a match to a thin cigar. As the smoke curled above his head, he watched the slim shadow cross the wide expanse of open land, then slip silently into the brooding house.
Chapter Fourteen
"You came home very late last night. In fact, it was nearly morning." Miriam’s sharp eyes scanned Cameron’s face.
"You must have been dreaming. I didn’t go out last night." Cameron draped her shawl about her shoulders, avoiding Miriam’s gaze.
"Really. Am I dreaming those bruises too?"
Cameron’s eyes widened in surprise. Then she sighed in resignation. Her voice lowered. "You don’t miss much, do you, Miriam? All right. I did go out." She glanced around before adding, "But I don’t want the others to know about it. Do you remember when I told you there was some fresh digging on our land?"
Miriam nodded.
"Well, last night, after everyone was asleep, I went to see for myself."
Miriam’s eyes were round with interest. "And?"
Cameron shrugged. "I saw someone digging."
Miriam raised one eyebrow. "And you got those bruises from just hiding in the shadows?"
Cameron laughed. "All right, Miriam. You’re very perceptive. I’ll tell you the rest. I was thrown down a mine shaft." She ignored the sudden gasp. "But I managed to find my way out." She deliberately avoided mentioning Colt. There was no way to explain his part in all this since she wasn’t really sure of him herself.
At the mention of the mine shaft, Miriam seemed to have shrunk back into herself. The pain she had buried all these years was suddenly fresh in her mind.
Cameron caught Miriam’s cold hands. "Don’t dwell on it, Miriam. The problem now is, who is digging on the land, and why?
"You didn’t see who tried to harm you?"
Cameron shook her head. "And they didn’t recognize me either. They thought I was a drifter. They think I’m dead and out of their way."
"What will you do now?"
"I don’t know. I only know I don’t intend to give up on this mystery."
Miriam clutched her sleeve as she stood up. "Be careful, Cammy. Your next fall down a mine shaft could leave you . . ." She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
Cameron nodded somberly. Crippled like Miriam. Or worse. That thought had already crossed her mind.
* * *
"Jarret said he saw you coming out of the Lampton house." Alex stood, his hands on his hips, glowering at Cameron.
"That’s right."
"I don’t ever want you to go there again."
"I will if I please."
"No, damn you!" He pounded his fist on the table, sending a vase flying. It shattered into a million pieces.
At the sound of breaking glass, Nina and a servant cam
e running. Alex gave them such withering looks, they cringed against the door in silence.
"I swore no self-respecting McCormick would ever set foot in the Lampton house while I’m in charge here."
"Then we can easily remove that simple burden, Alex. You are not in charge of my life. I will do as I please."
As she turned to leave, Alex jerked her by the arm, spinning her around. He caught her by the shoulders, gripping her so tightly she gasped. With his face just inches from hers, he snarled, "You’ve pushed me to the limit, little nun. Now you listen. Unless you want to be watching over your shoulder every step you take, you’ll do exactly as I say. You stay away from the Lamptons. And stop roaming around the countryside like some damned loose woman. Just stay put here in the house and take up needlepoint. It’s much healthier, if you know what I mean."
"Healthier for whom?" She pushed his hands away and straightened her skirts. Meeting his angry stare, she added, "I told you once, Alex. Don’t touch me."
He spat a cruel laugh. "Really? What will you do to me, Little Miss Prim? Slap my hands?"
She went very still. "Don’t force me to show you, Alex."
Something in her tone stopped him. His eyes narrowed, studying her closely. She didn’t look away but simply continued to stare back.
Realizing that Nina and the servant were watching, he laughed mirthlessly. "See that you remember my warning, Cameron." He moved around her and out the door.
"And see that you remember mine." She slammed the door behind him before hurrying up the stairs.
Behind her, the servant watched in stunned silence. Nina’s eyes remained rounded with a look of admiration.
* * *
"Nina. You look lovely." Cameron stopped in the upper hallway as Alex’s wife emerged from her bedroom.
Her thick, ebony hair hung nearly to her waist. Cameron had never seen it loose before. Always Nina wore it pinned in a careful twist at the nape of her neck. Instead of the drab, dark dresses she usually chose, she was dressed in a pale pink confection carefully fitted to accent her bosom and narrow waist, then falling in wide billows about her ankles. It was the perfect contrast to her coffee-colored skin. She carried a pink beribboned parasol, to protect her from the sun.
"Is this a special occasion?"
Nina flushed. Her fingers nervously pleated and unpleated the side of her skirt. "No. I’m just going into town for a few things."
For the first time Cameron realized how young Nina was. Without that prim hairstyle and matronly dark attire, she revealed herself for what she really was—a very striking woman in her early twenties.
"If you can wait awhile, I’ll ride along with you to the fork in the road. I’m going to the Lamptons’ in an hour."
"Yes. I know. But I can’t wait. Goodbye, Cameron."
Cameron watched as the beautiful woman hurried down the stairs and out the door. Beyond, she spotted the horse and rig waiting.
As she turned toward her room, a thought struck. How had Nina known that she was going to the Lamptons’ in an hour? Cameron hadn’t said a word about it to anyone until now.
She ran a brush through her hair and studied her reflection closely. She knew she was taking great pains with her appearance. But knowing that Colt Was at the Lamptons’, she wanted to look her best. The last time he saw her, she had been dressed in a stableboy’s clothes, her face and hands caked with dirt and blood. This time, she wanted to look like a lady.
Into the pocket of her soft ivory dress, she placed the little Remington. It had served no good purpose the night she was thrown down the mine shaft, she thought ruefully. Still, she took it everywhere. It would do her no good hidden under her mattress.
In the stable, she saddled her horse, then rode off across the hills toward the Lampton house. The day was hot, with a molten sun reflected off the barren hills of sand.
She was still a distance from the Lampton land when she saw Nina, seated in the rig, emerge from a wooded area. Cameron was puzzled. Nina should have been all the way to town by now. Glancing to her right and left, the dark woman scanned the horizon, then flicked the reins and turned onto the road that led to town.
Cameron slowed her horse to watch. Nina had seemed ill at ease, as if worried that she might be seen. A few minutes later, she realized why.
The familiar dark stallion emerged from the same woods, carrying Colt. Even from this distance, Cameron knew him. She felt her heart leap at the sight of him. He, too, scanned the horizon, then headed toward the Lampton house.
Cameron halted her horse. To the right, she watched the small cloud of dust that spewed from the rig’s wheels. To the left, the black stallion galloped across the hills, then dropped out of her line of vision.
Nina and Colt had met in the woods. Why? Cameron felt tiny beads of moisture begin to form on her forehead and upper lip. Why not? Nina was so beautiful, so exotic, she could win any man’s heart. And Colt was definitely a man, and a handsome one. There was no denying that. Even if he was a gunfighter.
Cameron felt the sting of tears scald her eyelids. A married woman like Nina would know how to please a man. And Colt. Her heart contracted violently. He would be able to give Nina all the love Alex was incapable of giving.
Nina’s life was so austere. She deserved to be loved. Cameron wiped the tear that trickled down her cheek. But why did it have to be Colt?
Suddenly she needed to ride hard, to be free of this terrible, stifling place. She needed to push herself to the limits, to work off the anger, the frustration, the pain.
Giving her gelding his head, she leaned far down over his neck, feeling the hot dry air whistle past them. His hooves flattened the grass as he thundered over the hill. Faster he ran, faster, while she urged him on, until she felt as if she were flying. He mounted the ridge at a run, crested the hill, then flew at breakneck speed down the incline. Trees and boulders sped past her line of vision. Slowly, ever so slowly, she began to rein him in, until, his flank wet with foam, she walked him into the Lampton yard.
"You little fool! You ran this horse until he’s ready to drop. Look at that lather. There’s no excuse for such treatment."
Colt stood by the barn, his face reflecting the fury of his words.
She supposed a gunfighter would always take good care of his mount, in case he needed to get out of town quickly. Cameron led the horse past him and, reaching for a towel, began methodically wiping down the animal’s overheated body.
"What in hell got into you, Cammy? You know better than to treat an animal like this."
She continued to ignore him, intent on toweling the horse.
"Damn it! Talk to me."
She rounded on him, relieved at the opportunity to vent her anger.
"You’re the second man who’s sworn at me today, Colt, and tried to tell me what to do. I’ll give you the same warning I gave him. Don’t use that tone with me. I won’t be ordered about like a child." Through gritted teeth she added, "And don’t ever touch me again."
His eyes narrowed a fraction. Leaning against the door of the barn, he took a slim cigar from his pocket and lit it, watching her through a haze of smoke.
Her emotions were close to the surface. Living with the McCormicks, that was understandable. But her anger seemed directed at him, not at her family.
"Having lunch with Quenton and old Will again?"
She clamped her mouth shut and finished drying the gelding. Leading him to a stall, she closed the gate and strode stiffly past Colt. Without a backward glance, she climbed the front steps and knocked on the door.
When Rose answered her knock, she gave a quick glance over her shoulder in the direction of the barn. Colt leaned against the door in a lazy stance, his hat shoved forward to shield his eyes, his feet crossed at the ankle. Despite his casual attitude, she could feel his dark eyes branding her.
* * *
"My father isn’t up to a visit," Quenton explained, as he led Cameron through the cool interior of the house. "So I thought we’d take our
lunch in the sun parlor. That way I can set up my paints while we talk. I seem to be a little disorganized today."
Cameron followed him to the cheerful porch, where vines and flowers lent their heady fragrance to the oils and paints.
"You seem a little—out of breath yourself, Cameron. Have you been rushing?"
She frowned. "I had the urge to ride hard and fast."
He looked up sharply. "Do you have that urge often?"
"Not so often I suppose." She shrugged, feeling his intense look. "Well, often enough. Yes, all my life I’ve had this need to rush headlong about. Especially on a horse. There’s a feeling. I can’t explain it. But I feel as if I’m flying. The world is easier to bear if I can escape once in a while and be free." She looked up shyly, aware that he was carefully studying her. "Does that sound crazy, Quenton?"
At her question he shook off the strange feeling that engulfed him. "No, Cameron. I don’t think it sounds crazy at all." He set aside his paints and brushes and stared into the distance. "My sister Elizabeth used to go tearing about the countryside on our most spirited stallion. I don’t think she ever knew fear."
He stood and dug his hands deep into his pockets, still staring at the hills beyond the window. "I was terrified of riding horses when I was about three or four. I remember my father getting into a temper about it. No son of his was going to be a sissy. He threatened to tie me on a horse and keep me there until I could ride." Quenton shook his head, remembering.
"Elizabeth took me out before Father could lay a hand on me. She coaxed me into sitting in the saddle. Before the day had ended, I was riding. Not well, you understand," he said, laughing. "But at least I could sit a horse. And for the moment, she had won my reprieve. My father relented and allowed her to continue to teach me."
His voice grew softer. He was speaking to himself now, having forgotten Cameron completely.
"I’m afraid the pattern was set from the beginning. Nothing I could ever do would please my father. I wasn’t the son he wanted."
Nevada Nights Page 12
