Tyrone hesitated a moment before reluctantly nodding in agreement. “Let’s hope Maura got even farther.”
“And then meets your brother?” She glanced up at the gray skies, the sun a weak, pale circle that only made it feel colder. “Does he also have an escape plan if the trains prove too dangerous?”
“He does. The routes we each chose are ones we’ve traveled before, many times. Have done for years. We have friends, relations, and even our own small cabins scattered all along the routes.” He smiled at her expression of puzzled curiosity. “We traded horses for years, liked to hunt and fish, and also had business interests back East. Pa never liked the direct routes except for the simplest business. Felt it let too many crooks track you too easily.”
“Well, we can now be grateful for his suspicious nature.” She winced as an icy wind gusted around them. “Maybe.”
Tyrone laughed softly and reached over to wrap her scarf more thoroughly around her neck. “We’ll have shelter every night and if the weather turns poorly.”
“This is nice weather, is it?”
Deidre silently cursed when he just grinned in reply. She hated the cold, always had, but it seemed she was now doomed to spend a long time suffering in it. It was a shame, she thought crossly, that there was no law which would allow her to make the Martins pay for her extreme discomfort.
The sun had almost set by the time Tyrone led them to a tiny cabin. She helped him settle the horses in the small but sturdy stable attached to the cabin, then stood slowly unwrapping herself as Tyrone built a fire in the stone fireplace. Once stripped to her heavy wool dress, she stood before the fire, soaking up its warmth and looked around. The cabin was surprisingly clean and well stocked with wood for the fire, but what made her frown was that it consisted of just one room and one bed.
“It’ll warm up in here fast,” Tyrone said as he filled a heavy kettle with water from the small sink pump set in a far corner of the room.
“Ye-es, it’s very cozy,” she murmured, wondering how one delicately approached the subject of their sleeping arrangements.
He grinned at her as he hooked the kettle over the fire and began to make coffee. She was so easy to read, her thoughts clear to see on her expressive little face. Although the cabin was a perfect setting for a seduction, Tyrone knew it was still too soon, Deidre still too wary.
“You can have the bed,” he said as he retrieved some beans and bacon from one of his packs. “There’s a decent sleeping mat in the chest at the foot of the bed. I’ll use that.” He concentrated on starting their supper, suspecting that what he was going to say next would discomfort her. “There’s an outhouse a few steps outside the back door.”
Deidre blushed faintly and hurried out the door. That had been her next question, but it had been stuck in her throat. Since she and Tyrone would be traveling together for several weeks, that was an awkwardness she was going to have to overcome. If nothing else, the man had better things to do than worry about catering to her modesty at every turn.
Supper was plain but filling. As Deidre cleaned the dishes and pans, however, she prayed she was not facing weeks of beans, bacon, and pan biscuits. It was good food, but it could quickly become tedious.
It was when she was ready to go to bed that Deidre faced her next dilemma. She did not really wish to sleep in her clothes. After a brief twinge of modesty, she decided her voluminous flannel nightgown was suitable enough, certainly nothing that would inspire a man’s lust. Unfortunately, there was no place for her to change into it. She tugged it out of her bag, frowned at it, and was considering possible alternatives when she felt Tyrone’s stare.
“I will turn my back,” he drawled and, the moment she glanced his way, did so, facing the fireplace as he took a long, thin cigar out of his shirt pocket and lit it.
For only a moment, Deidre hesitated, then scolded herself for her lack of trust. Tyrone had already had plenty of opportunity to force himself upon her if he was so inclined and he had not done so. Nevertheless, she changed quickly, leaving her chemise and stockings on for added modesty as well as warmth. She carefully laid her clothes over the footboard of the bed, took her brush out of her bag, and, fighting a blush, went to sit by the fire to brush out and braid her hair.
Tyrone watched her as she unpinned her hair, his breath catching in his throat as the thick waves tumbled free. He knew Deidre had no idea how erotic it was for a man to watch a woman brush out her hair, but the fact that the temptation was innocently inflicted did not lessen its power. He ached to replace that brush with his fingers, to bury his face in those bright waves of soft hair. When a cross look faintly pinched her face as she struggled to braid her hair, he hastily grabbed the opportunity to indulge at least part of his fantasies.
“I can do that for you,” he said, pleased at how normal his voice sounded. “You seem to be having a little trouble.”
“Maura and I usually do each other’s hair at night,” she explained, blushing slightly as she considered how many rules she would be breaking if she accepted his offer. “If it would not be too much trouble.”
“None at all.” He tossed the stub of his cigar into the fireplace, took her hand in his, and tugged her to her feet.
“Do you know how to braid a woman’s hair?” she asked as he turned her so that her back was toward him and took her brush.
“Can’t be too much different from doing a horse’s tail.”
Deidre laughed briefly. “No, I suppose not.”
A moment later, Deidre wondered if she had made a serious error in judgment. There was something upsettingly intimate about the simple act he was performing for her. She had always liked to have her hair brushed, but, when Maura did it, it was soothing. Feeling Tyrone slide the brush through her hair had her heart beating faster. It was even worse when he set the brush on the mantel and began to braid her hair. He stood so close she could feel his heat, a warmth that seeped into her, entering her blood and flowing through her body. As he slowly braided her hair, his fingers brushed against her, and each light touch sent a spark through her. She was mortified to feel her nipples tauten, and crossed her arms over her chest. Even more horrifying was the sense of aching fullness, even a light dampness, that formed between her legs. When he smoothed his hand down her finished braid and she felt him press a kiss to the back of her head, she trembled. Time to retreat, she thought, feeling a little frantic.
“Thank you,” she squeaked, and hurriedly pulled away.
Tyrone watched Deidre nearly run to the bed and climb in, disappearing beneath the blankets until little more than the top of her head was visible. Amusement began to soften the frustration he felt. So did the knowledge that his hunger for her would soon be satisfied. He knew she was drawn to him, perhaps even as strongly as he was drawn to her. There was no misreading the subtle signs she had inadvertently given him as he had done her hair. Her breathing had grown uneven, she had begun to sway toward him, and she had trembled beneath his touch, light though it was. Deidre had just run away, not out of modesty, but out of fear of what he could make her feel. Tyrone was sure of it.
As he banked the fire, secured the door, and laid out his bedding near the fire, he decided he would allow her to retreat for now. There was time to slip beneath the barriers of modesty and maidenly reticence. As he stripped down to his drawers and slipped beneath his blankets, Tyrone hoped she did not make him suffer for too long.
“Good night, Deidre,” he called.
Deidre silently cursed as she detected that hint of amusement in his deep, too attractive voice. The rogue probably knew exactly why she had just run away from him and hidden beneath the covers like a timid child. A man who looked as good as Tyrone undoubtedly had a lot of wordly experience. He could think what he wished, she decided, but it would be a cold day in hell before she admitted to anything. Deidre just wished she could hide what he made her feel as easily as she could deny it. If she did not learn that trick soon, she was going to find the rest of the trip to Paradise
one long experience in embarrassment.
“Good night, Mister Callahan,” she replied primly, and winced at his soft laughter over her pathetic attempt to keep some proper formality between them.
“Sweet dreams.”
“Oh, shut up,” she muttered, then sighed with self-disgust. So much for not letting him know he was troubling her.
Chapter Five
THE STRONG SMELL OF coffee crept through Deidre’s nose into her sleep-clogged mind and she tried to force it away. After three days of travel, she was exhausted. She had barely stayed awake through the delicious meal the small-town boardinghouse had offered. All she had been able to think of was crawling into bed. Now someone was trying to tempt her out of her warm, soft haven with coffee. Tyrone, she mused, suddenly recalling that he had told the owner of the boardinghouse that they were married so that they could share a room, a plan she had been too weary to argue with.
A hand smoothed down her braid and she murmured with sleepy pleasure at the touch. Tyrone, the rogue, was obviously stealing a caress, something he did with increasing frequency. Deidre knew she ought to swat him for his impertinence, but she was too tired to lift her arm. When she felt something big and warm lie down beside her, however, she scowled and struggled to shake off the last vestiges of sleep.
“Get off my bed, Tyrone,” she muttered, then drew her breath in so sharply she nearly choked when his warm, soft lips touched the hollow behind her ear. “Cut that out.”
“I thought a little pleasant nuzzling might help you wake up,” he said.
The way his deep voice rumbled against her skin as he kissed her cheek and then her forehead made her shiver. “The coffee was working.”
“Was it? Well, the nuzzling got you talking.”
She opened one eye and tried to glare at him. “Nuzzling could also get someone smacked offside the head.”
He laughed against her neck and Deidre wondered if one’s bones could really melt, for hers certainly felt as if they were. “This is highly improper. I am in bed and not dressed.”
“Between that flannel tent you call a nightgown and all of these blankets, you are wrapped up like a mummy.”
There was a disgruntled tone to his voice that nearly made her smile. “A good thing, too, if I’m to be plagued by rogues trying to sneak a little.”
“A little what?”
He licked her ear and every thought in her head vanished. “What?”
“You said I was trying to sneak a little. A little what?”
“Sugar,” she gasped, shuddering when he stuck his tongue in her ear and wondering how something so odd could have her feeling as if she were on fire. “Stop that.” She struggled to free her arm from the bedcovers so that she could push him away.
The minute Deidre got her arm free and shifted around to give him a good push, Tyrone nudged her fully onto her back and sprawled on top of her. Even through the thick covers, the feel of his body on top of hers made Deidre’s pulses race. Although he pestered her, stealing kisses and caresses, he never really took more than she was willing to give. He coaxed and seduced, but seemed to know when her protests became heartfelt ones and stopped. The problem was, her heartfelt stops were growing fewer. She was growing more and more willing to give him everything he asked for. Very soon she was going to have to make a decision to either put a complete halt to this game or allow him to become her lover.
Tyrone brushed his mouth over hers and she sighed, trembling faintly as she wrapped her arms around his neck. There was always the option of just allowing him to seduce her, she mused as she opened her mouth to greedily accept the sensuous invasion of his tongue. With what few scraps of sense she was still able to grasp, she quickly rejected that idea. If she was going to take a lover, something that had far-reaching consequences emotionally and socially, she had to make the decision with a clear head. When Tyrone slipped his hand beneath the covers to cup her breast, such heat flooded her body, Deidre knew she could never make a rational decision while he was touching her.
“Tyrone,” she said, trying to sound firm, but, even to her own ears, his name came out sounding like a husky moan of pleasure.
His warm, soft lips touched the too sensitive skin of her left shoulder and she realized he had undone a few buttons on her nightgown and was tugging one side down. She tried to move her hands to stop him, but could not seem to stop holding him close, savoring the feel of his thick hair beneath her fingers. Cool air touched her left breast and she heard his breath catch. When his far too tempting mouth brushed over the already taut, aching tip of her breast, Deidre did not think there was one inch of her that did not feel it. She was rocked down to her toes.
“Ah, you were right,” Tyrone murmured, his thick, husky voice caressing her breast as he encircled it with kisses. “Definitely sugar.”
Deidre finally found the strength to pull away. She was not sure if it was shock or a fear of the intense sensations racing through her, but she made herself move, fast. She scrambled out from beneath him until she was sitting on her pillows, her back pressed against the rough headboard of the bed. Fighting to catch her breath, she stared at Tyrone, but it took a moment for the fog of desire to clear her head enough to see that he was not meeting her gaze. Deidre followed the direction of his gaze and gasped. Her breast was still exposed, the nipple hard and her skin flushed and damp from his kisses. Muttering a curse, she yanked the front of her nightgown back together and struggled to button it with unsteady fingers.
“I believe I will have that coffee now,” she said, pleased that her voice was steady even though the lingering huskiness revealed how he had affected her.
Tyrone groaned slightly and flopped onto his back. He watched her get up, tug on her robe, and slip into the bathroom, an added luxury that had cost him a lot since there were only two rooms in the small boardinghouse that had one. With her out of sight, it was a little easier to calm the fierce hunger knotting his insides. It was a little hard to believe he could want a woman so badly after knowing her for so short a time, but there was no denying that he did. He grimaced as he thought that, if he did not have her soon, he would be so crippled with want he would be crawling the last miles into Paradise.
A hint of guilt snaked through him as he sat up and took his cup of coffee from the bedside table. Deidre was obviously a virgin and he was asking her to give up a lot, her good name as well as her innocence, with no promises of any more than a few nights of passion. He was, in fact, asking her to ignore all she had been taught was right after only a few days of acquaintance and a few kisses, bone melting though those kisses were.
“Well, hell,” he grumbled as he stood up and walked to the table by the window where their breakfast waited. “If I have to, I’ll marry her.”
“Did you say something?” Deidre asked as she stepped out of the bathroom, collected her coffee, and walked to the table.
“Just complaining about the weather,” he replied, and quickly turned his attention to his meal.
Even as she started to cut the small steak nearly hidden by the piles of scrambled eggs and pan-fried potatoes crowding her plate, Deidre glanced out of the window and gaped. “It’s snowing.”
“I think it started last night.”
Hurrying to eat her meal before it got any colder, Deidre asked, “Do you think it’ll end our journey?”
“Nope. Doesn’t look like a bad storm. It’s already snowing less than it was an hour ago.” He briefly glanced at her over his mug as he sipped his coffee. “It does mean that we won’t be leaving here until tomorrow, however.”
Although that news made her nervous, she managed to give him a small smile as she salted her potatoes. “There are parts of me that’ll be very glad of the short respite.”
Tyrone grinned and nodded. “Despite all the riding I do at the ranch, even I’ll be glad of a breather.”
“Perhaps I will go out and see what shops there are here.”
“Need something?”
“Not much, but i
t’ll be Christmas by the time Maura and I meet in Paradise and I want to have a gift for her.”
“Well, just so long as it isn’t something big and heavy. I think I’ll take a stroll around and make sure no one’s followed us here. Don’t leave the main road and, if you even think someone’s taking an interest in you, get inside a shop or back here. People around you will provide some protection.”
Deidre decided not to remind him that there had been a lot of people around her in the last place she had been accosted. She had not exactly noticed a stampede of good Samaritans eager to stand between her and that gun stuck in her face. So long as the snow remained light, she intended to go and look for that ever-elusive perfect Christmas gift for Maura. All things considered, it was especially important to find something special for her cousin this year. If she reminded Tyrone of how little chance there was of finding a hero to rush to her rescue if and when needed, he might take it into his head to keep her confined to their room.
Tyrone was gone by the time Deidre was dressed and ready to go out. Already used to his constant company, it felt a little odd to step out all alone. It was a good thing, however, she decided as she hurried outside. She needed time away from his handsome face and seductive kisses to decide what to do about the rogue.
The fact that he could so easily seduce her told Deidre that the man probably held a good piece of her heart already, if not all of it. She was sure her strict upbringing, her morals, would have proven shield enough against his seduction if passion was all she felt. There was not the slightest hint that he shared such deeper, more intricate, and confusing feelings. And that, she knew, was one very good reason to hold him at a distance. He could steal a great deal more than her innocence if she was not careful. She might be able to continue on to love, marriage, and children despite a lost maidenhead, but falling in love with the man could easily doom her to a cold, empty life after he left her. That seemed to be too high a price to pay for a few nights of passion, no matter how fierce and sweet that passion was.
A Stockingful of Joy Page 5
