“Perhaps you would like to just climb up on my lap,” Mitchell drawled as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
She would kill him, she thought, smiling weakly at a chuckling Mrs. Dixon and trying not to be embarrassed by his audacity.
“Newlyweds, huh?” Mrs. Dixon had the sort of voice that bounced off the sides of the stage, causing those asleep to twitch and those awake to lean back.
“Yes, ma’am.” Mitchell kissed Maura’s ear, darting his tongue inside and grinning against her skin when she trembled. “She’s my little darlin’ and I’m taking her home to Montana to show her off.”
She would kill him slowly, Maura decided.
“Don’t see any rings. You wouldn’t be trying to fun with an old lady, would you?”
Although annoyed by the woman’s rudeness, Maura used her sweetest tone of voice as she smoothly lied. “I have placed our rings in a safe place, ma’am. I heard so many frightening tales of robberies, and they are my parents’ rings. It would break my heart if they were stolen and lost to me forever.”
Mrs. Dixon reached over to pat Maura’s hand. “Very wise, m’dear.” She sat back, folding her plump hands over her well-rounded stomach. “Ah, two such handsome young people. You’ll make some very pretty babies.”
Maura could feel a deep blush heat her cheeks. To her utter dismay, she could envision it, could see a little boy with thick black hair and deep gray eyes. That was absurd. No matter what happened between her and Mitchell, marriage was not in the plans, not in hers, and most probably not in Mitchell’s. When Mitchell proceeded to agree with the woman, indulging her with fanciful descriptions of what appeared to be a veritable horde of children, Maura decided that killing was too good for the fool. As soon as they reached the next stop, she would begin to slowly torture him.
* * *
Maura practically fell in the dirt, she got out of the stage so fast. Only Mitchell grabbing her around the waist saved her from an embarrassing fall. She joined him in politely saying good-bye to all of their fellow passengers even as she prayed that they would never have to travel with the people again.
The stage driver directed them to a faintly run-down-looking boardinghouse that grandly called itself a hotel, and Maura let Mitchell lead her there. Out of the corner of her eve she saw the steeple of a church and decided she would have to get herself over there as soon as possible. It was time to send up a few more prayers.
The room was clean, but had little else to recommend it. This time they had to share the bathroom, but fortunately there were only a few other boarders and half of them were headed out on the next stage. It was not as nice as having a bathroom all to oneself, but it was a shade better than trying to share it with a dozen other people.
“Dinner will be ready in an hour or so,” Mitchell said when Maura returned from making use of the bathroom.
“Oh, good, then I have time to go to church,” she said, and reached for her coat and hat.
“Church?”
Maura was not sure why Mitchell looked so shocked. She had told him that she had been to a church the first night they met, when he had saved her from the drunken cowboys. Although she was not an oppressively religious person, at times like these, she felt a need to say prayers. It made sense to her to get all the help one could get.
“I would like to go and say some prayers. I say one for my uncle and poor Bill every chance I get. At the moment, I also say a few for guidance and a little protection. I haven’t been to a church since the night we met, so now I will add one or two for you.”
“Going to try and save my soul?” he asked with a grin as he, too, started to put on his coat and hat.
“It might be an idea. You don’t have to come with me. I’m not one to expect everybody to do as I do, or even condemn them if they don’t.”
“Oh, I have no real problem with going to church occasionally, but that’s not why I’m coming now. You shouldn’t be out wandering the streets alone.”
“Ah, of course. Actually, from what little I saw, I think it is only one street.”
“Is there a prayer one can say to cure excessive sassiness?”
“Well, perhaps a little one for a return of humility.”
He just laughed and led her out of their room. Maura did not tell him, but she also wanted to ask forgiveness for her lies. While it was true that she had never openly lied and told him the papers she had were real when they were not, she had committed the lie of evasion and silence. That she was doing so with him made her feel especially guilty and she hoped a moment or two of contemplation in church would ease her guilt.
Once at the church, Mitchell took a quick look around inside. No one was there, so he left her to her prayers, stepping outside to roll a cigarette. Maura took out the rosary her father had given her shortly before he had been killed and began her prayers. Soon she began to feel the sense of peace that always came over her while engaged in the ritual of prayer. Before she finished, she also asked for forgiveness for the sin she was thinking of committing with Mitchell. Breaking society’s rules she could do with no real qualms, but she would also be breaking a few church rules if she gave in to her passions and that did trouble her.
“Not enough to stop me, though,” she mused with a hint of self-disgust as she rose and brushed off her skirts.
As she approached the church doors, she became aware of a noise just outside. At first she thought Mitchell was talking to someone, then heard a thud and what sounded like grunts of pain. What it did not sound like now was a passing, friendly chat with some passerby.
Cautiously, she opened the church door and gasped in horror at what she saw. Three men were doing their best to pound Mitchell into the ground. Maura slipped outside, careful not to draw their attention. The only way she could help Mitchell was if she employed the element of surprise. Resting against the side of the church was a shovel and Maura grabbed it. As a weapon for her, it was almost perfect. She idly hoped it was not the one used to dig graves, for the thought of touching that tool gave her the shivers.
Each blow Mitchell suffered made her wince, but she resisted the urge to charge right into the fray. She knew she had a better chance of helping him, of thinning out the odds against him, if she moved stealthily. That resolve faded when they got him pinned to the ground and one of the men pulled out a knife. With a cry that was a mixture of fear for Mitchell and of outrage over this cowardly assault, she rushed toward the men.
The one holding the knife turned just as she swung the shovel. It caught him square in the face. Blood spurted from his nose and she suspected she had broken it. She did not pause to consider the violence she was now directly involved in, however, but swung the shovel again, catching him off the side of his head. He sprawled on the ground at her feet.
A little distracted by her own success, she was almost too slow to respond to the attempted attack by one of the two men left conscious. She swung the shovel, but missed. The man hesitated to get too close to her, however, and she quickly used that to her advantage. Only once did she take her eyes off him as she held him at bay with the shovel, and that was to check briefly on what was happening to Mitchell. To her relief he had thrown off the grip of the third man and was returning some of the pain that had been dealt to him.
Mitchell threw off the man who had been helping the others to hold him still for the kill. He could see Maura trying to hold the other man back and see the third attacker laid out in the snow. Mitchell knew Maura could not hold off a full-grown man for long, however, no matter how well she wielded her shovel, so he worked to quickly dispatch the man facing him. It was tempting to make him hurt as much as he himself did, but Mitchell resisted that temptation. The moment his opponent fell to the ground and did not move, Mitchell turned all of his attention to the man facing Maura.
The moment Mitchell approached, Maura got out of the way. She could hear voices, and a quick look up the street revealed several men running toward them. By the time they reached the church, she d
oubted Mitchell would still be in need of any help, not the way he was pounding on the man who had come after her. However, she did hope that one of those men was a sheriff. Just once it would be nice to have the men who attacked them be taken up by the law. If they were very lucky, maybe one of them would implicate the Martins.
When she looked back at Mitchell, she saw him slowly fall to his knees next to the man he had just knocked out. “Mitchell!” she cried in alarm, tossing aside her shovel and running over to him. “Did they get you with that knife?”
“Nope, my spade-swinging heroine arrived in the nick of time,” he said, but his voice was hoarse with pain and the blood from a small cut on his lips made his smile a little gruesome.
“What’s happened here?” asked a barrel-shaped man as the three townsmen slowed their pace somewhat and walked up to her and Mitchell. “Who started a damned brawl outside of my church?”
“Those men did, sir,” Maura replied as she helped Mitchell stand up.
“Bounty hunters?” the sheriff asked, narrowing his eyes and lifting his rifle just a little so that it pointed more directly at Mitchell.
“No, sir,” Mitchell replied. “Just some men hired by an enemy of mine.”
“Seems you got some powerful enemies, son.” The sheriff lowered his rifle and signaled the two men with him to go to the men on the ground. “Secure them good, lads,” he ordered, then looked at Mitchell again. “Going to be around if they go to trial?”
“I’d like to, but don’t think I can. I’ve got something to do that needs to be done by the new year.” Mitchell waved his hand toward the three men on the ground. “These men were just trying to make sure I don’t get that little job done.”
“I don’t need this kind of trouble in my town, son.”
“Are you telling us to get out of town?” Maura asked, shock and dismay weakening her voice so much that it was barely loud enough for the men to hear.
“Let’s just say I ain’t inviting you to make a long stay.”
“Weather permitting, we will be gone as soon as we can,” Mitchell said, pulling Maura close to his side in a gesture meant to keep her quiet and for a little support as the grogginess he felt was slow to leave him.
Maura knew Mitchell wished her to stay out of the discussion, but she had to bite her lip to help herself concede to his silent command. They had done nothing except keep themselves alive, yet, once again, they were being treated as if it was all their fault. It seemed an appallingly unjust way to keep the peace, but she knew no one would welcome her opinion on the matter. In fact, she had the impression that, if she said too much, she could get them in even more trouble. If word of any of this got back to Saint Louis, she would never live it down.
Keeping only half an ear on the conversation, Maura thought about all she had just been through. She now knew she was very capable of committing violence. The fact that she had done so to save Mitchell only eased her conscience a little. Yet again her manners and gentility had vanished in a heartbeat because of Mitchell Callahan. True, a delicate, ladylike swoon would have been no help to him at all, but she still felt annoyed.
She suspected some of the tension in her came from the fact that she had also had a revelation as she watched that man hold a knife on Mitchell. Her heart had nearly stopped beating and her blood had run cold in her veins. It was a rather strong reaction to have over a man she kept claiming was little more than a stranger to her. Sadly, it was obvious that a lot more than her passion was stirred by the tall, dark Irishman.
One clear thought had popped into her head as she had thought he was about to die. He was being taken away from her before she could taste the fullness of the passion they so effortlessly created each time they touched. He was all right, but that sense of loss and deep regret still lingered. Even though she hated to even consider the possibility, she could not ignore the fact that there would probably be other attempts made and one of them might well be successful.
Maura knew that, in that brief moment when she had seen the knife aimed at Mitchell’s heart, she had made her decision. Right or wrong, she was going to allow Mitchell to become her lover. There would be some regrets at the end of the affair, but she now knew that none of them would compare to the regret that would come if she never tasted of the desire they shared.
And an affair was all it would be, she promised herself. She did not think there was much chance that Mitchell would fall madly in love with a skinny, poor redhead, so she would not allow herself to consider the possibilities of a future. There was also her plan to keep herself free of love’s choking grasp.
She sighed and inwardly shook her head. It was a trap she was greatly afraid she had already fallen into. Still keenly aware of the danger he had been in, she felt so afraid for him that she knew he had already made some serious inroads into her well-protected heart. She would have to be careful not to let him know, to keep the whole affair one of passion and passion alone, at least as far as Mitchell knew.
Suddenly, she was impatient to get back to their room, and scowled at the men. They were going over the same bits of information again and again. Maura suspected the sheriff was just trying to be sure he was getting the truth from Mitchell, but it was cruel to keep the battered man standing here in the cold.
“I think this has been discussed quite enough,” she said, drawing all eyes her way.
“Just trying to get the facts straight, ma’am,” said the sheriff.
“I can understand that, sir, but Mitchell has just been thrashed by three men and I would like to get him back to the hotel to make sure all he suffers from is bruises and scratches.”
“Do you think he’ll be needing a long time to recover?”
Maura resisted the urge to hit the man. “I cannot be sure, Sheriff. It is dark and he is wearing far too many clothes for me to judge the seriousness of his wounds with any accuracy.”
“Well, he looks all right to me.”
“How comforting of you to say so.”
“Maura,” Mitchell whispered, thinking that it would not help their cause at all if she whetted her surprisingly sharp tongue on the sheriff. “Since there is no stage headed where I need to go tomorrow, I will still be here if you think of anything else you wish to ask me,” he said to the sheriff.
Since the sheriff was giving her the look some men gave women they considered uppity, Maura nodded in agreement. “He should be well rested by then,” she murmured, trying to act complacent.
“Well, that’ll do, I guess. Just not sure I can keep the fellows long if there’s no one here to lay charges against them.”
“I deeply regret that, Sheriff,” Mitchell said, and the truth of those words was clear to hear in his voice. “I will lose too much if I linger, however. I sure as hell don’t want them free to come after me again.”
“I’ll hold them as long as I can.”
“Thank you, sir.” Mitchell secured his arm more firmly around Maura’s shoulders. “Shall we go, darlin’? Our supper is probably served by now and I could use something to eat.”
“You always do. Want food, I mean.”
After murmuring a word or two of gratitude, Mitchell started toward the hotel, pulling Maura right along with him. She had the feeling he knew she was losing all grip on her temper concerning the sheriff, so she kept her mouth clenched tightly shut and helped keep Mitchell steady as they walked. Her next problem was going to be how to let Mitchell know she was ready to become his lover, and she turned her thoughts to that difficulty.
Chapter Six
“GO GET ON THAT bed,” Maura ordered the minute they entered their hotel room.
“You don’t know how long I have waited to hear you say that, darlin’,” Mitchell said, kissing her cheek.
Maura just shook her head and nudged him toward the bed. She had calmed down a little since the attack, but her fear for Mitchell would obviously be a long time in receding. Seeing any man in such danger was shocking enough, but to be swamped by personal revelation
s at the same time would probably leave anyone reeling. She collected some clean water, cloth for washing and bandaging, salve, and some basilicum powder in case there was a deep wound. As she walked over to the bed and set the things down on the small chest of drawers next to it, she took several deep breaths to further calm herself. Mitchell could watch her too closely now and she did not want him to be able to read her feelings in her face, her eyes or her touch.
“I am not hurt that bad, Maura,” Mitchell said, flashing her a smile as he took off his shirt, using it to wipe himself off, then tossing it aside. “Just a few bruises and cuts.”
“Which all need to be cleaned. Neither the ground you were rolling around on nor the fools pounding on you were clean.” She shook her head as she wet a cloth and began to wash off each scrape, bruise, and cut. “I can’t believe they attacked us at a church.”
“Killers like those, just dumb hired thugs, are, generally, probably not church-going fellows.”
She laughed softly as she began to smooth salve over his wounds. Despite the pounding he had taken, he was not injured badly. No stitches or bandages were really needed. Even the cut over his eye that had bled so freely did not look deep enough to require anything more than some salve.
It was a minute before she realized she was taking far longer than was needed to tend to his wounds. She was now simply savoring the feel of his skin beneath her fingers. Maura ached to do more, but her innocence kept her from knowing what that more might be. Neither did she know how to tell him that she was more than ready to succumb to his seduction. Lost in her thoughts and her growing desire, she did not see him move so gave a start of surprise when he suddenly clasped his hands around her waist.
A Stockingful of Joy Page 18
