“Now, Miss Kenney, I have been a patient man,” he said, and ignored the soft derisive noise she made. “I have accepted the fact that you have taken over your father’s obligations. I gave in to your insistence that you hold on to the papers that are rightfully mine. I have agreed to allow you to accompany me to Paradise despite the added danger and difficulty that will arise. However, after what has just happened and what occurred in the dining room, I insist that we stick close together. If that offends your delicate sensibilities, then I am sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” she muttered, then pressed her lips together when he scowled at her.
“If you must go to Paradise with me, then you will accept my protection and not complain about the form it takes or any inconveniences that may result.”
“We are talking about more than inconveniences, sir. We are talking scandal, the complete blackening of my name should any of this ever reach the ears of anyone in Saint Louis.”
“You would rather they hear about your untimely death?”
Deidre clenched her hands into small, tight fists and glared at him, fighting the urge to punch him squarely in his firm, beard-shadowed jaw. He had already used that threat to her life to bend her to his will once. It was evident that he intended to use that particular cudgel as often as necessary, and she was already heartily sick of it. What truly upset her, however, was the thought of being in his company day and night. He stirred all of her senses, and that frightened her. There would be no time for her to step back, to get away from his increasingly intoxicating presence and restore herself to some state of calm, to regain some distance from him. That was not something she could explain to him, however. She would have to cling to the argument concerning the impropriety of it all, and it was clear that he was not about to heed any of that.
“Sir, you may not realize it, but, quite often, a good name is all a poor girl has to cling to,” she said.
“Oh, I realize that. I’m also sure that, by the time we get to Paradise, we’ll have thought of some good explanation, something that will soothe most of those ruffled feathers. That is assuming there will be any need to do so. I think the chances of any news of your adventures reaching those you know in Saint Louis are pretty small, especially since you are traveling as Mrs. Irene Williams. In fact, if you stick to that name whenever we may stop, or another, it will give you a perfect chance to deny it all.”
She had not considered that, and she frowned at him, annoyed that he had. “It might work.”
“You know it will.” He stood up, grasped her by the hand, and tugged her into his arms. “Why, you could do a great deal of misbehaving beneath the shelter of that name.”
“Misbehaving?” she snapped, and started to push him away.
Pretending he misread her shock as confusion or surprise, he tightened his hold on her. Tyrone suspected he would pay dearly for stealing a kiss, but the temptation to do so was too strong to ignore. The look that briefly flared in her eyes as he touched his mouth to hers hinted that she was as curious as he. It could explain why she had not yet fought herself free of his firm but easily breakable hold.
“Misbehaving,” he whispered. “Like this.”
Deidre went still in his arms as he pressed his lips against hers. She knew, to her shame, that it was not all shock or uncertainty that kept her from shoving him away or hitting him. A part of her, a dangerously large part of her, was eager to be kissed by him. She had accepted a few chaste kisses from beaux in Saint Louis and fought free of a few mauling ones, but never had a man as heartwrenchingly handsome as Tyrone Callahan ever shown an interest in kissing her. One quick kiss, she mused, could not hurt anything, especially if she followed it with a hasty retreat and the appropriate show of outraged modesty. As he began to nibble at her lips, Deidre realized there could indeed be a great deal of danger in even one stolen kiss.
She slid her hands up his chest to clutch at his broad shoulders as he nudged her lips apart with the gentle proddings of his tongue. When he began to stroke the inside of her mouth, she trembled, her grip tightening slightly as unknown yet thrilling sensations tore through her. It terrified her and confused her to discover that a man’s kiss could affect her so completely and deeply. What truly worried her was that loud, demanding part of her that did not care, did, in fact, relish it. There was clearly a devil inside her, and Tyrone Callahan was what was needed to draw it out.
“Ah, now that is sweet,” he murmured as he began to kiss his way to the soft hollow at the base of her throat. “Sinfully sweet.”
It took every scrap of scattered willpower she could pull together, but Deidre heard the word sin, planted it firmly in her mind, and used it to rally her strength. Still tingling from his kiss and a little unsteady on her feet, she pulled free of his hold and hurriedly put some distance between them. The man was ruination and temptation on two long legs. She was almost tempted to give him his papers and run back to Saint Louis as fast as she could. Only the thought of Maura, the danger her cousin might be in, and the need to meet her in Paradise kept her from doing just that.
Tyrone fought to control the urge to drag her back into his arms. She enflamed him, and her response to his kiss, brief and untutored though it was, told him his passion was returned. He wanted to explore and satisfy it in all of its promised glory, but he could see that he had at last frightened her. Deidre had obviously never had her passions stirred before, a thought that made his desire harder to control, but Tyrone held back. She would have to be seduced, carefully, slowly. It was ungentlemanly to consider the seduction of such an obvious innocent, but the way Deidre made him feel was far from gentlemanly.
“Get your things together and we’ll go to my room,” he said, watching her closely.
“Oh, we will, will we?”
“Yes. They know where you are now.”
That made her stop and think. Twice she had been assaulted and the two men had escaped capture. She did not really want to stay and see if they would try for a third time. Tyrone Callahan might be a serious threat to her morals and her peace of mind, but Jim and Pete were a threat to her very life.
“Fine,” she snapped as she moved to put on her robe and collect her belongings, covertly stealing a quick feel in the hidden pocket of her gown and pleased to feel the papers still there. “I really don’t have any choice in this. But, there will be no more misbehaving.” She paused to glare at him. “Do I make myself clear, Mister Callahan?”
“Very,” he murmured as he took her bag and gently pushed her toward the door.
He watched Deidre walk toward his room, his gaze fixed upon the gentle sway of her hips, a movement accentuated by the swish of her thick hair. The sweet, intoxicating taste of her was still on his tongue. If Deidre Kenney thought he would not be trying for another taste and a lot more besides, she was not as smart as he thought she was. The trip to Paradise was going to be long, hard, and fraught with danger, but Tyrone felt himself heartily looking forward to it.
Chapter Four
“YOU INTEND TO MAKE us ride the rest of the way?” Deidre asked, trying to hide her dismay as she watched Tyrone look over the horses the stable owner offered for sale.
“It’ll be easier to evade pursuit,” he replied. “Stages follow specific routes and try to be on time. Too easy to follow.” He glanced at her as he patted the nose of a sleek, brown mare. “You do ride, don’t you?”
“Of course. I’m just not sure I want to do so in the dead of winter.”
“It’ll be cold, no doubt of it, but we’ll buy the gear we need before we leave here. Also, unless the snow gets too deep or a storm too fierce, we can still ride. A stage might have to stop and wait it out.”
“Thus making us nice little sitting targets for the Martins’ thugs.” She silently cursed, and left him to negotiate with the man selling the horses.
She leaned against the side of the large stables and watched the people of the town hurry about their business. It had always been her dream to travel, but t
his was not what she had had in mind. Not only was it the wrong time of the year, but the only thing she had time to watch for was the approach of one or more of the men working for the Martins. If there was anything else worth looking at, she was too busy trying to get to Paradise alive to look for it. Perhaps, when it was all over and the money for the job was paid, she and Maura could take a small trip together somewhere.
As if compelled to, she looked at Tyrone, who was now arguing over the price of the saddles, and sighed. He had not kissed her again and she almost hated the part of her that was sorely disappointed by that. Last night she had ignored his taunts and sarcasm and gone to sleep in one of the chairs in his room. Sometime after she had fallen asleep, however, he had put her into the bed by his side. When she had opened her eyes this morning he had been right there, staring at her, one strong arm encircling her waist. To her embarrassment, she had squeaked in alarm and moved away so fast she had fallen out of bed. His soft laughter had followed her into the bathroom. Then, to further her sour mood, the hotel manager had only grudgingly allowed them to breakfast before practically escorting them out of the hotel personally. All in all, the day had not begun well and she saw little chance of improvement.
What really preyed on her mind was what to do about Tyrone or, more specifically, what he made her feel. She could still taste his kiss. Even thinking about it was enough to make her blood warm and her heart beat faster. Deidre did not think it was just the newness of such feelings that made them so hard to fight. They were proving too fierce, too tempting, to completely banish. She tried to tell herself that it was so strong because she was lonely and afraid, her resistance weakened by that and a lingering grief, but her more sensible, honest self scoffed at that explanation.
The hard truth she fought to ignore was that she was afraid of the feelings he stirred inside her. They were too strong, too overwhelming. She knew nothing of this man except what little her father had told her or made note of, and none of those little insights had been the kind to help her much. They had not told her if he was the sort of man who would bed her then leave her, for instance, or if he was the sort of man who enjoyed many women. The biggest problem with Tyrone Callahan, however, the strongest reason why she should keep her wits about her and not succumb to whatever strange bewitchment flared between them, was who the man was. He was too handsome for any woman’s peace of mind and he was rich, part of the growing society of powerful cattlemen and miners in the West. He was, in a word, too big a prize for a poor, skinny Irish girl from just outside of Saint Louis. Men like him built their futures with tall, well-shaped society women educated in the finest ladies’ seminaries, ones with crisp accents, blond curls, and big blue eyes. Ladies with fashion sense and their own exclusive modistes. Ladies with two last names. Girls like herself were fondly remembered bachelor follies or that discreet little bit on the side. The Deidre Kenneys of the world only got burned if they tried to reach so high. Deidre feared it would not be too long before she risked that fate just to experience the fevered joy of being Tyrone’s lover. It began to look as if Patrick Kenney’s little girl would pay very dearly indeed to fulfill his dying request.
“Now we need to go and buy our supplies,” Tyrone said as he stepped up beside her and hooked her arm through his before striding off toward the mercantile store. “Food, warm clothes, blankets.”
“Are you sure we can’t just take the stage or a train?” she asked. “Maybe we could just outrun them?”
“You haven’t yet, have you?”
Deidre decided the way Tyrone could ask questions that shattered her arguments could become extremely tiresome. “No, but I’m not sure riding across country in the dead of winter will help much, either.” She watched Tyrone out of the corner of her eye as they entered the store. “In fact, we could be helping the Martins. They’d certainly be pleased to know that they drove us out into the cold, barren wastelands and won’t hear another word about us until the spring sun thaws out our pathetic corpses.”
Tyrone bit back a laugh as he picked up a couple of thick blankets and thrust them into her arms. “Such a dour outlook. Not a hint of optimism. I certainly have no intention of leaving a pathetic corpse.”
“A handsome one then.” She grimaced slightly when he proceeded to hold up heavy, warm, and very ugly coats, trying to judge her size. “Although, it’ll be unlikely if we’re wearing something like that.”
“We seek warmth, not style.”
“A good thing, too, if that is all there is.” When he moved to look at the women’s clothing, she quickly shoved the blankets into his arms and snatched the coat he had been holding. “I will pick out some warm clothes myself, thank you.” She nudged him toward the men’s clothing. “You see to your own.” She hastily tried on the coat, grimacing when the heavy wool coat, dyed a dull blue, actually fit. “Think it can repel snow?”
“We are having a very mild winter.”
“That could change with a dangerous swiftness.”
“Which is why I have plotted a trail that keeps us safely close to places where we may seek shelter.”
She paused in looking over some flannel petticoats and eyed him with suspicion. “This is not a sudden decision, is it.”
“Oh, it is, but I did plan for it before I left Paradise. Don’t forget some thick, warm stockings,” he said as he moved away to look over the selection of men’s clothing.
A heavy sigh escaped her as she glanced toward the stockings. By the time she donned all of the warm clothes she was going to look like a walking lump of wool and flannel. What few curves she had would disappear after only one layer. These were not the sort of clothes meant to attract and hold a man’s attention.
Then she cursed. Why was she worrying about that? Perhaps, she thought suddenly, because she was female and he was the handsomest man she had ever seen. He could also kiss her in a way that melted her bones and seared away every last vestige of good sense she had. There could well be an advantage to wearing so many thick, unattractive clothes, she mused as she snatched up a pair of black wool stockings and added them to her growing pile of clothing. If Tyrone tried to seduce her, there would be so much to remove, she would have plenty of time to come to her senses. Deidre just prayed that would happen, but had the sinking feeling she could just as easily help him with the unwrapping.
By the time they were done buying the clothes and supplies they needed, Deidre understood why Tyrone had bought a third horse, a rather homely but sturdy animal. While Tyrone packed their belongings on the docile beast, she was shown to the tack room so that she could change into her scratchingly new warm clothes. She put her other clothes away while Tyrone changed, surreptitiously tying the secret pocket which held the papers beneath her skirts.
As they rode out of town, Deidre decided that sometime soon she was going to have to tell Tyrone where she kept the papers. There was always the chance that something could happen to her and he would need to know. She was not exactly sure why she had not told him yet. There was still no doubt in her mind that he was Tyrone Callahan and that he was as anxious as she to get the papers to Paradise on time, yet she hesitated to hand them over. She no longer believed he would take them and run, for he knew the men after her would not stop until they could see with their own beady eyes that she no longer had the deeds. All Deidre could think was that, in some odd way, she could still feel as if she was fulfilling her promise to her father if she held the papers even if she had, more or less, handed the problem of getting to Paradise alive over to Tyrone.
Deidre thought of the dangerous journey ahead, of the danger she had just barely escaped, and then thought of Maura. She prayed her cousin was having more luck than she was. If fate was kind, Tyrone’s brother had stumbled upon Maura just as Tyrone had stumbled upon her. It was galling to admit that a man was needed to get the job done, but Deidre was not so choked with pride that she could ignore that truth. The closer she and Maura got to Paradise, the harder the Martins would try to stop them, and a set
of broad shoulders plus a steady gun hand would not be amiss.
“Worrying about your cousin?” Tyrone asked as he paced his horse to ride by Deidre’s side.
“Yes.” She grimaced. “Despite the murders which set us on this path, I guess I never really considered such things as guns stuck in my face or men attacking me in the middle of the night.”
“Unless it’s something one’s dealt with before, such threats are hard to consider.”
“Perhaps, or, perhaps I was fool enough to think your enemies wouldn’t think that a woman could or would take on the job.”
“Or that they would have some scrap of chivalry in them and not actually hurt you?”
“That, too, I guess. A strange arrogance I didn’t realize I suffered from.” She sighed. “And one that has set Maura in the sights of those killers. Well, there is no turning back now. I can’t do anything for Maura, either, except to worry.”
“And that won’t help her much. Best to concentrate on yourself, selfish as that sounds; set your mind to getting yourself safely to Paradise. Once there, if Maura isn’t there waiting, you’ll have the freedom to do something.”
She stared out over the empty land they had to cross and nodded. “And, if I get to Paradise, the Martins will know that they have lost and the threat to Maura should end.”
“Maybe you should’ve warned us that you and Maura had taken on your father’s job.”
Deidre briefly considered that, wondering if she had erred, then shook her head. “The Martins discovered you were having the papers brought in by Bill and Da. They knew those two men were dead and that’s why they now hunt me and maybe Maura. I suspect they would’ve managed to know if I had sent word to you, plus there would’ve been a delay while I waited for a reply or for us to sort out a new plan. Maybe the Martins were surprised that two women would take over the job and that’s why I got almost half the way to Paradise before any real trouble started.”
A Stockingful of Joy Page 4
