“So we should be there the week before Christmas. I hope Deidre is there. It will seem strange not to spend Christmas with her. And I am worried about her.”
“She’ll get there.” He smiled faintly when Maura just shrugged. “Look how well you’re doing, and you say she’s stronger and more worldly than you are.”
“But she doesn’t have you charging to the rescue when it’s needed.”
“True, poor girl.” He laughed softly when she muttered something about conceited cowboys, then grew serious. “I just feel that she will hook up with Tyrone. Don’t ask me why I feel it; I just do. If I’m right, and that’s happened, you’ll be seeing her soon.”
“I hope so. Even beating the Martins would lose its pleasant taste if it cost Deidre’s life, or any of our lives.”
Chapter Nine
“I THINK I AM just one solid block of ice,” said Maura as she and Mitchell stumbled into the little cabin just as the sun started to lighten the sky to a dull gray.
“I’ll get a fire going,” Mitchell said even as he moved to do so.
As he piled some kindling on the logs set in the fireplace, he frowned. The ashes still scattered there looked very fresh. Glancing around as he nursed the fire to life, he noticed that the cabin did not have that unused look it usually did the few times he had stopped in. Everything was clean, too clean, although there was no real sign of a recent occupancy besides that. He prayed that meant Tyrone had used the place, for it would mean he was safe.
“Oh, that is just what I needed,” Maura said as she stepped in front of the fire, still bundled up in all of her clothes. “That, and about three days of sleep.”
Mitchell laughed as he tugged her down onto the sheepskin rug in front of the fire. They sat there for a while, enjoying the return of some warmth to their bodies. It was not until he began to nod off to sleep that Mitchell decided they needed to move.
“Get your coat and things off,” he advised as he stood up and tugged a drowsy Maura to her feet. “I will make us some food. Just bacon and beans, I’m afraid, but we should eat something before we rest.”
She nodded and took off her coat, hanging it on a hook near the door. “We should probably just nap a little, then try to stay awake until night. It could thoroughly twist up our schedule if we start sleeping all day and staying awake all night. Uncle always tried to do that when he had a few jobs that required him to watch people all night.” Once stripped down to her dress, she went and sat at the table. “Spying, I suppose you could call it, although I cannot understand what one could possibly see at night. Do many people stay up all night?”
“Most people will save their wrongdoing until the dark can hide them.”
“Of course. Well, it may be only beans and bacon, but it smells very nice.” She took a deep breath. “And the coffee smells like heaven.”
When Mitchell set a plate full of beans, bacon, and pan biscuits in front of her, Maura barely took the time to say thank you before she began to eat. Mitchell was surprisingly quiet and she watched him closely. He looked pale, yet there was a disturbing flush high on each of his cheekbones. He had said that he suffered no ill effects from the knock on the head, but she began to wonder.
Once they had finished their meal, she washed the dishes while he spread the blankets over the bed. He was moving slowly, stiffly. Then she heard him cough, a deep, hoarse noise that shook him and caused the blood in her veins to chill. Quickly drying her hands, she hurried to his side.
“Mitchell, you are sick,” she said, pushing at him until he sat down on the bed. “You should have said something.” She felt his forehead, and the heat there made her even more afraid for him.
“Thought I was just tired. Never been sick a day in my life.”
“You’ve probably never been shot at, beaten up, and banged on the head all in just a few days, either.”
“How would getting knocked on the head make me sick?”
She began to tug off his clothes, his passivity simply confirming her diagnosis. A healthy Mitchell would be grabbing her by now and trying hard to return the service. It looked as if they were about to lose a few more days. He would undoubtedly complain, not willing to rest until he was completely well and strong again, but she would tie him to the bed if she had to.
“Such things can leave you weakened enough to catch something like this.” She shrugged as she finished stripping off his clothes and gently urged him beneath the blankets. “It is not at all unusual for people who have suffered a serious injury to become sick and feverish afterward.”
“Damn. We’re going to lose a few more days, aren’t we?”
“We certainly are. It’s the middle of winter. Until you are well and strong again, it would be suicide to go back outside and stay out in the cold day after day.”
“And you’re going to be really bossy about this, too.”
“I am. If I must, I will tie you to that bed.”
“Wait until I’m strong again.”
She frowned at him, his words making no sense. Then she saw the slow, lecherous grin curving his mouth. It took only a moment to imagine several interesting things one could do if one’s lover was tied to the bed. Maura blushed, more at her own scandalous thoughts than over his outrageous suggestion.
“Rogue,” she scolded, and went to see what she could find that would help him.
In her search, Maura found a surprising number of things that could be used to nurse Mitchell. Not only was the cabin stocked with a few supplies, but Mitchell had filled several saddle packs with a vast assortment of goods. To her delight, she found honey and two lemons. Those would make a soothing drink for his throat. Together with her own few medical supplies, she felt confident that she could get him through this.
“I have to ask,” Maura said as she made him a hot honey and lemon drink, using the lemon only sparingly so that her meager supply would last longer. “Lemons seem an odd thing to bring along.”
“I thought you might get sick,” he muttered, and grimaced, rubbing at his temples in a vain attempt to ease the aching in his head. “You’re just a little bit of a thing, not much flesh on you. I was afraid riding for days in the cold would make you sicken.”
“I am stronger than I look,” she said as she sat down on the side of the bed and handed him the hot drink. “There’s some of my headache powder in there to help ease any aches and pains you may have.”
“My head does hurt. They gave me a good crack on the head. At least I hope that’s what is making it ache. If it is, it’ll stop soon.” He took another drink of the hot honey and lemon. “This is helping. Damn, I really wanted to get back to Paradise by Christmas.”
“That is still possible. Just because you feel like death warmed over doesn’t mean you’ll be ill that long. Some of these illnesses can be very fierce for only a short time, then leave as quickly as they arrived.”
Finishing his drink, he handed the cup back to Maura and sank back down onto the bed. “Let’s hope it’s one of those. And since I suspect I will not be a very good patient, allow me to apologize now for any rotten behavior I indulge in later.”
“You could not possibly be any worse a patient than my cousin Deidre. She begins by moaning that she is sure to die, says all her farewells, and at least considers making out her last will and testament. Then, when she doesn’t die, she gets increasingly cross with the slowness of her recovery, and slow to Deidre can be one afternoon.”
Mitchell smiled sleepily. “I don’t think I will be that bad; at least I know I won’t be that dramatic.”
* * *
Maura suddenly remembered those words three days later when his fever finally broke and he slept easily for the first time since their arrival. Within hours after speaking them, Mitchell had declared that he was about to die, and cursed the lack of a priest. Maura was now prepared for the ill temper brought on by the slow pace of his return to full strength. He was a big man, strong, and otherwise healthy, so she hoped that return would not be a
long, slow one. If nothing else, she, too, had hoped to get to Paradise before Christmas.
She sat by the fire, relaxed after a comforting bath, and brushed her newly washed hair dry. After the first night of trying to get some sleep next to a thrashing, muttering Mitchell, she had made herself a bed on the floor near the fire. Maura was looking forward to sleeping in the bed tonight. A sound from the bed drew her attention and she scowled when she saw Mitchell sitting up and reaching for his pants where they hung on the bedpost.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
“To the outhouse,” he grumbled, struggling into his pants.
“There is a chamberpot—” she began.
“No, thank you. I have an urge to regain a little of my dignity.” He yanked on his boots and cautiously stood up. “Not too dizzy,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
“If you fall down out there, you will have to crawl back,” she said as he staggered to the back door and pulled on his coat.
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Easier said than done,” she grumbled after he left.
Maura paused only a second before dragging on her coat and putting her boots on. She slipped out the door after him and stood on the little back stoop waiting. If he did collapse, she was going to have the devil of a time trying to get his big body back into bed, but he could not afford to take a bad chill now.
“Didn’t think I could do it, huh?” he said as he walked back.
Following him back inside, she noticed that, although his step was a little unsteady, he appeared to be holding his own. “I was just there to make sure I could move the rocks out of your way if you had to do some crawling.”
“So kind.”
He yanked off his clothes, and fell back into bed. Pure bravado had carried him that far, and the last of that was gone. Mitchell smiled faintly as he heard her muttering while she picked up his clothes. By the time she came back to the side of the bed to pull the covers over him, he had regained enough strength to shift his body in an attempt to assist her in the chore.
“And just what did that prove?” she asked as she stood by the bed, her hands on her hips and her small foot tapping on the wooden floor in a gesture of pure annoyance.
“That I’m on the mend?”
“Really? I thought it was a demonstration of just how pigheaded you can be.”
“That, too,” he said, grinning at her.
“You could have made yourself feverish again.”
“We can’t stay here too much longer, Maura. I needed to see just how bad I was. I’m weak, no doubt about it, but at least I can stand upright for a little while. Another night’s sleep and I’ll be even better. I am hoping we can leave before a full week has passed.”
“It’s so cold out there,” she murmured, knowing he was right, yet fearful for him.
“It’s not much farther to Paradise.” He gave her a coaxing smile. “Do you think I can have some more of that drink you concoct?”
“Of course, although it will be a little weak on the lemon. I’ve nearly stretched it as far as it will go.”
He watched her leave to make him his potion. She had taken very good care of him, the memories of her gentle hands clear despite his fevered state. She also displayed an encouraging concern for his welfare. That implied that her feelings for him went deeper than passion, but he discovered that he was too much of a coward to flat out ask her what she felt. If she still kept her own feelings well hidden by the time they reached Paradise, he was going to have to take the first step. Mitchell hoped that, faced with the possibility that she would return to Saint Louis with her cousin, he would find the strength to do so.
* * *
Maura hummed to herself as she finished brushing her hair. Mitchell would return in a minute, having felt a need to go see that the horses were all right. He had improved rapidly in the three days since his fever broke, and they would be back on the trail first thing in the morning. Since she had no idea of what sort of accommodations they would be using, and suspected that she was going to be both tired and aching after riding all day, she did not foresee much chance of indulging their passions again until they reached Paradise. Tonight she intended to indulge them until they both collapsed with exhaustion. There had been a certain look in Mitchell’s eyes that told her he was thinking the same thing.
Wanton Maura was back in full control, she mused as she made sure the tie on her robe was secure. Beneath it she wore a truly scandalous collection of deep-purple underthings, trimmed in black. Mitchell made no secret of how much he enjoyed her choice of underclothes and Maura felt certain these would meet with his wholehearted approval. She just hoped she did not turn cowardly when the time for the unveiling arrived.
She set out their dinner, a little sorry that she could not produce something a bit more tantalizing to their senses. It was hard to make beans, bacon, and pan biscuits romantic. Maura smiled at him when he entered and took off his coat.
“The horses are still hale and hearty, are they?” she asked as they sat down and began to eat.
“You’ve changed your clothes,” he murmured, trying, and failing, to see what she had under her robe.
“I had a quick but thorough wash while you were out attending to the poor beasts, and saw no reason to get all dressed again.”
He just nodded, but covertly watched her as they ate. She seemed to be sparkling with energy and he wondered why. Then Mitchell decided the why of it was not particularly important. That energy she was displaying would serve him well when they went to bed shortly. The fever and the need to fully recover from its effects had kept him from making love to her for their entire stay. When he had awakened this morning, he had felt more than ready to rectify that little problem, but she had already left his bed. Tonight, however, would be a different story. Considering how hard the rest of the trip to Paradise could be, there would probably be little opportunity or inclination for lovemaking, and he intended to gather a full harvest of pleasure to keep him content during the anticipated drought.
As he sat sipping his coffee, Maura got up to wash the dishes and he caught his first brief peek at what was under the robe. A clear but too-soon-gone glance at her stockings made him nearly choke on his coffee. Purple? Not a bright, shocking purple, but a rich, deep one. He did not even know they sold stockings in that color. Several more times as she busied herself around the sink, he saw a tantalizing bit of stocking. Mitchell felt himself growing more and more interested in what the rest of her ensemble looked like. When she came over to wipe off the table, bending over so far that he could peek down the front of her robe and be tempted with even more glimpses of purple, his gaze narrowed and he stared at her.
“Maura, my love, are you taunting me?” he asked.
Maura tossed the cloth in the general direction of the sink, put her hands on her hips, and slowly smiled at him. “Mitchell, how you do malign me.”
“Hussy.”
“Yes, I am feeling a little hussyish this evening.”
He laughed. “I don’t think hussyish is a word.”
“Perhaps it should be.”
“And perhaps it isn’t wise to tease a desperate man.”
“Desperate, are you?”
“It has been a while.”
“Yes, it has.”
Maura watched as he peered at the front of her robe as if he could open it through sheer willpower. He began to take another sip of his coffee and she reached for the ties of her robe. What she was wearing was undoubtedly going to shock him. This particular ensemble even shocked her a little. She hesitated, wondering if she should wait until he finished his coffee.
“You’re looking at me a little oddly,” Mitchell said, thinking that, as soon as he finished his coffee, if she had not removed the robe, he would do it for her.
“I was just recalling how you have reacted to my underthings on other occasions. You do seem to like them.”
“I adore them.”
“Y
es, although one or two of them have seemed to cause you to act, well, surprised. It might be an idea to set down your coffee.”
“Are these better than those pinkish things you wore once?”
Briefly diverted, she asked, “Oh, you liked those pink things?”
“Couldn’t you tell? We didn’t even make it to the bed that time. Hell, they were so sheer, so thin, it looked like you were naked.”
“Oh, well, these are not nearly so sheer.”
When she dropped her robe, Mitchell drew his breath in so sharply he nearly choked. She wore no chemise this time. The deep-purple corset was elaborately trimmed with black lace and delicate black embroidery. The thin ruffle of lace at the top of the corset barely covered her breasts. Her little French demi-drawers were also in that rich purple color, and trimmed with black. They were also very short. Since her stockings were tied with a lacy black garter just above her knee, there was a vast amount of lovely white thigh exposed to view.
“I think my fever just came back,” he said hoarsely as he rose and went to stand in front of her.
“I believe that is the purpose of these things.”
He started to take off his shirt. “Just how hussyish are you feeling?”
“Very. Are you about to make one of your odd and very naughty requests?”
“Oh yeah.” He bent down and yanked off his boots and socks. “Take off the little drawers.”
That would leave her boldly exposed to view, for the bottom point of the corset stopped just short of what he obviously wanted to look at. Maura thought about it for one minute, just long enough for him to yank off the rest of his clothes. She looked at him standing there, bold and beautiful in his arousal, and decided it would not hurt to grant him his desire. Slowly, trying to be seductive and thinking she might be succeeding if the hot look on his face was any indication, she pulled off her little drawers. She stood up straight, held them out as she looked him plumb in the eye, then dropped them.
“God, Maura,” he whispered as he dropped to his knees in front of her, “you cripple me.”
He slid his hands up the backs of her thighs and stroked her buttocks, slowly tugging her closer to him. The shock she felt when he kissed the soft curls between her thighs disappeared at the first stroke of his tongue. She threaded her fingers through his hair, obeyed his hoarsely whispered command to spread her legs, and then sank beneath the weight of her own passion. He brought her to release with his intimate kiss, then slowly lowered her sated body down onto the sheepskin rug in front of the fire.
A Stockingful of Joy Page 22
