by Mary Wine
“Nail your shutters shut and never trust a man again.”
He turned her body around and let her go. She stumbled back and her temper flared as she hit the table. But the retort bubbling up her throat died before crossing her lips as she caught the look he cast her. Something untamed stared back at her. Fear of him didn’t make her hold her tongue. Pure fascination with the flare of uncivilized maleness flickering in his gaze did. It excited her to see such heat aimed at her. Never once had she considered herself alluring.
Shame turned her face bright red. “You’re a harsh man.” And the worst part was the fact that she liked it all too much.
“Keeps me alive.” He stepped out her front door a second later. He dragged a deep breath into his lungs before he touched the brim of his wide Stetson. “Sloan McAlister. Pleasure helping you collect your account.”
She slammed the door in his face. Sloan grinned at the worn wood as he heard the bar being shoved into place. His stomach rumbled and he tried to think about the meal she’d offered him and just how damn long it had been since he’d eaten anything as fine as her home cooking smelled.
But his mind didn’t stay on his stomach. His thoughts homed in on the real hunger he wanted to feed and that had nothing to do with the cinnamon drifting on the night air. It ran a hell of a lot deeper. Snaking through his flesh to the hard erection in the front of his britches. His gaze moved to the window as his thoughts told him just how simple it would be to get her back into his arms.
Clayton’s payment still sat on her table. That little bundle of temptation that gave him the chance to seek her out when he knew damn good and well he had no business sniffing around her. He lived his life with a rifle on his shoulder. That cut respectable women out clean. Besides, the sort of entertainment he craved went beyond wifely duty. It was dark, and sometimes harsh, but polite compliance between the sheets wasn’t his idea of marriage.
He turned and strode into the cold night to where his horse was tethered to a tree. Swinging up into the saddle he toyed with that dangerous idea all the way back to town. He tempered his lustful thoughts with iron control, maintaining his course away from Brianna and her fine kitchen. But he still enjoyed the burn of arousal as it tried to eat at his resolve. The personal battle took the edge off his hunger while the chill of approaching winter bit through his duster. Catching the first noise from the saloons as he neared the edge of town, he grunted with satisfaction. Kneeing his horse forward, he forced himself farther from the object of his thoughts. The pianos were busy filling the night with fast music and the promise of quick women. But there wasn’t a single madam that interested him. Maybe he was getting old, but laying down with a female who only wanted his money left a bad taste in his mouth. The fragile scent he’d inhaled while Brianna was imprisoned in his embrace burned into his mind as the most potent perfume he’d ever encountered.
He headed back to his dock bunkhouse as he cussed at fate. Brianna’s face filled his head, along with the way her body fit against his. She had a little nose and dark blue eyes that hit him as far too cute. That was a word you used to describe girls, not women you wanted to handle. She wasn’t beautiful, but he found her incredibly attractive because of her fiery nature. His cock throbbed for more than just ideas, but he grinned as he hung his hat and duster on the hooks next to his door. He snickered at himself as he considered the fact that a female out there could turn his cock hard without lifting her hem to flash her knickers. It sure was a surprise to find Brianna Spencer so difficult to banish from his mind.
Although it might be a long shot, it just might prove that he wasn’t past any hope of redemption.
Maybe.
Chapter Two
Sloan McAlister.
Brianna hissed and attacked her morning work with a vengeance that had built up as she’d tossed and kicked through the night. She drove thick iron nails through her window shutters, adding a few new boards to the inside just for good measure. She didn’t bother to think about how she was ever going to get them open again.
Sloan McAlister…
Ohhhh! She’d like to say a few well-sharpened words to the man today. Finishing off his visit with an introduction took her beyond infuriated. If he was going to touch her, the least the man could have done was finish the job by kissing her.
A groan surfaced from her throat as she stopped to confront the real reason she was mad. Shame. Thick and hot, she was facing the biggest deviation from the road of straight and narrow she had ever been tempted with. Sins of the flesh had never enticed her before. Her memory taunted her with the way she felt in his embrace. Good saints, she had never even suspected her body could feel so good or so much at one time. The devil sure did bait his trap well, because she was like a fox fixated on fresh meat laid out in a steel trap during the dead of winter. She could smell it and practically taste how good it would be to have Sloan touch his mouth to hers. Even risking the steel jaws of the trap wasn’t too much, considering the bait. She hungered for that kiss.
She shivered and then laughed at her own foolish daydreams. She didn’t have any clue what a man’s kiss was like. That was a hard fact of working every day. Like a lot of folks in the small mining town, even Sunday wasn’t a reason to be idle. She wasn’t lacking in faith, but piety didn’t place food on the supper table. The best bargain she’d come up with was to grind only barter jobs on the Lord’s day after church service was done.
However, the workload didn’t leave any time for social meetings either. It had been a small eternity since she’d heard music. A lone fiddle would be a feast for her starving senses. Courting was as big a mystery now as it had been when she’d turned fourteen and was considered old enough to receive a gentleman caller.
And now she dreamed of being kissed by Sloan McAlister.
That was a huge blot on her soul, if ever she strayed from the teachings of her mother. Sloan wasn’t a gentleman. She could almost hear her mother lecturing on about the proper type of man a lady received. A lady only gave her time to a gentleman who shined his shoes before calling on her. He might bring flowers or some small gift for her mother, but of course a proper suitor never tried to bestow a gift to a lady outright. He would call every Sunday afternoon, in a clean coat, to sit and flirt with her under the supervision of some suitable chaperone. He might kiss her hand, in an ever so soft salute of affection. While they wasted the afternoon with idle chatter. Only their gazes touching, in proper, respectable courtship.
Her lips twitched as she considered the way Sloan had pulled her up against his body last night. Absolutely nothing genteel about it. He’d handled her, like, well she wasn’t sure what the phrase was, but he’d handled her. The good matrons in town would tell her he was sin incarnate, if they got wind of it. She could practically hear them berating her with their quotes from the Bible about eternal damnation over admitting that she enjoyed being kissed by Sloan McAlister. No doubt about it, they’d point their fingers and heap guilt onto her head. Warning her to turn her nose up at him or face disgrace.
But that didn’t change the fact that her nipples tingled again and she hugged her arms over her chest. Her breasts were sensitive. It was surprising to discover her body alive with enjoyment she hadn’t considered before. How exactly did a man tempt a woman with nothing more than a stroke across her cheek?
It baffled her. Just about as much as Sloan intrigued her. Held against his body, she had felt so trapped, but a portion of her enjoyed knowing he was stronger. It was a first in her life. She’d always taken pride in keeping up with her father when the rest of the townsfolk shook their heads and proclaimed it a shame that he didn’t have a son, and wasn’t it time to remarry?
Her daddy had told her he was still in love with her mother. He was a onewoman man, even if their marriage had ended before his life did. She always loved listening to her father talk about his late wife. His voice still glowed with every sentence as he talked about courting her mother and convincing her to marry up with a man who had little more than a dream t
o offer her.
A shiver worked its way down her spine. Sloan McAlister wasn’t evoking that same sort of warm, secure feeling. She bit into her lip as she pulled the money out of her pantry. Every penny was accounted for. A feat she had to honestly admit she’d have found difficult to accomplish. Clayton had been dodging her for weeks while sending his bullyboys to fetch his ground flour. Two other clients had begun to mimic his behavior since he was getting away with it.
The law was uncertain in any territory town, but the railroad authority was about as solid as it got. Without the railroad, the town would die practically overnight. A man like Sloan held a huge amount of power over men like Clayton who earned their way on the docks. If the agents reported corruption back to their superiors, a rail line might not be used. The residents would have to use their wagons to bring in supplies if the train didn’t stop. The railroads owned the rails and only they made the choice on where to stop their trains.
Sure, she might just refuse to grind anything for Clayton, but she risked retaliation. Oh, nothing outright or that could be proved, but she didn’t need a run of bad-luck accidents.
Tucking the money into her skirt pocket, she considered her reflection. Her hair was slicked back because of her own sweat and her nose was pasty white with flour. Her breasts with all their new awareness chimed in to tell her that her skin felt grimy. Her brain tempted her with the thought of a bath. With the window nailed firmly shut, she was at liberty to bar the door and strip down for a complete bath.
One thing the back bedroom was good for was bathing. Her old bedroom had also been the washroom. There was a common tin tub, lightweight enough to be brought down river without too much expense. Her father had built a large water tank out back of the cabin. It was on top of sturdy posts that elevated it enough so that when you pulled the piece of wood out of its bottom, gravity let the water rush down and fill the tub. Last night’s snow had filled the tub and the afternoon sun had melted a good amount of it by now. There was also a drainpipe set into the wood floor to save her from having to empty dirty water by hand. Baths were not a luxury she got in the dead of winter because the water tank froze over. She’d have to make do with snow that she hauled in a bucket at a time while letting all her coal heat out the front door as she did it.
Filling a kettle, she set it on the stove and barred the door. The idea of being pretty took hold of her and there was no denying she wanted to indulge her feminine side. As long as she was going to town to take Clayton’s money to the bank, she might as well look good. Her memory reminded her that it was Friday. A smile covered her face as she began to dig the hairpins out of her braids. The church ladies would be hosting a social tonight, in their ongoing efforts to keep the male population away from the saloons and certain damnation. There would be music and dancing, all carefully chaperoned by the matrons.
It might be the last one she could make it to before winter sealed her tight in her home. In the interest of flash-fire protection, the mill was at the edge of town. Once the snow drifted, it was safer to stay at home rather than risk the walk through the weather. She’d spend the winter months working the black cast-iron sewing machine that was pushed into the corner of her kitchen. A neat stack of fabric lay waiting for her to cut it into new garments and the scraps would be used for quilt blocks to cover her rough wool blankets and make them comfy. Only the tiniest bits would be tossed into the stove. The idea of hearing music was suddenly tempting beyond her control. She’d be alone with herself soon enough when the weather turned foul.
She wouldn’t mind. It was quiet and simple. Today as she sank back into her tub, it was serene. She felt a tiny bit mischievous, completely naked with nothing but water on her skin. There was one more thing for the good matrons in town to berate her for…bathing in the nude. Polite society dictated that young ladies wore a bathing chemise while attending to the chore of cleaning their skin. Blah. That made no sense at all. Once the thin cotton was wet, you could see right through it anyway and she just couldn’t justify spending money on a garment that was only used to promote her modesty. The body needed cleaning like everything else in life. She figured the Lord understood, since he’d made her. If she were in some grand school for young ladies, she might need to bathe in a chemise, but not alone on a patch of California homesteaded land.
Moving the soap over her skin raised gooseflesh and sent heat through her belly. Her nipples were hard little peaks that didn’t have anything to do with the temperature. No, she was still seeing Sloan’s obsidian eyes and the way his gaze had lingered over her body for just the briefest of moments. It was like he’d touched her, stroked every inch of her body and sent heat racing through her blood.
Foolishness? Quite possibly. But the pleasure spreading through her body fascinated her. At twenty, a part of her was actually relieved to discover even base lust moving along her body. Most of the town girls married up by eighteen. There had never been a single man who had made her take a second look at him.
Except Sloan.
Brianna frowned. Too bad he was such a brute. Oh yes, she had seen his type before. The men who laid down their law on anyone and everyone, but most especially their wives. That was, when they married. Few of them did. More than one woman had climbed into the daily stagecoach with disgrace clinging to her hem because of a lawman in town. They were hard men who lived life just as bluntly. Everything was done to the extreme and there was no such thing as flirting with them. They took your hand and didn’t stop. It was the one thing her father had insisted she do—steer clear of the rougher element.
Which meant leaving her fantasies of Sloan behind, like her used bath water. It wouldn’t be so hard, just stand up and step away from the rush of sensation running over her skin. Reach back and wrap her fingers around the chain that was attached to the plug in the bottom of the tub and give it a yank. The water would run out the drainpipe and flow down the river.
A whole lot like the way Sloan McAlister would climb onto a train and disappear over the ridge one day soon.
Only a fool would lay her body down for a man who wouldn’t sleep beside her once he’d had her.
“Miss Spencer.” Gregory Blanery didn’t say anything further, but his gaze was fastened onto her through the thick black bars set between his customer and himself. Brianna savored the moment, her best bonnet tied into a careful bow at her chin, along with her best dress. The entire way into town she had been a bundle of tension, her imagination running wild with ideas of bandits stealing her land mortgage money in those moments that it took her to get to the bank. But the last rays of sunlight were fading as she flashed the banker a sweet smile before stepping forward to place her stack of carefully counted money in front of him. His attention instantly focused on the bills, his boney fingers closing around the paper. He counted it faster than she could have, flipping through the bills twice.
“I do believe that settles our account for the next year.”
He glared at her for a long second before nodding his head. “It does.” Disappointment laced his words, but it was music to her ears. There would
be no land auction to line his pockets. The land note was not even half the value of her father’s mill. But if the bank note went into foreclosure, the banker could take everything she couldn’t carry away. That would include the heavy grinding stones.
The banker scratched out a receipt and slid it across his counter to her eager hand.
“Until next season.”
He grunted at her, but nothing could tarnish her happiness as she tucked the little payment slip into her purse. It was better than money. Stepping outside she paused for a moment to clutch her handbag tight against her chest.
“See, Daddy? I didn’t let you down.”
Music drifted up from the church as the sun faded completely. Climbing up onto her horse, she rode the short distance to the light spilling out of the church doors. Several teams stood in the cooling night air as their owners flocked inside to share the music. Her step was l
ight as she cast blankets over her horse and went to join them. It was time to celebrate.
He shouldn’t touch her.
That thought didn’t stick. Sloan wasn’t sure it even left a trail as it slipped right out of his brain to make room for the hunger that was doubling in size as he watch Brianna work the last of her coat buttons. A smile touched his lips at the innocent picture she made in the coatroom—she was still wearing her gloves and her fingers were clumsy on the buttons due to the fabric coating her fingers. A silvery giggle escaped her lips as she stopped and tugged her gloves off before stuffing them into a coat pocket. Music floated in on the wind as the light flickered over her smile. She was humming with the fiddle as she shrugged out of her jacket and turned around to place it on a hook.
Brianna had to rise up onto her toes to reach a free hook. The walls already strained under the number of coats and shawls hanging there. It didn’t bother her. In fact, it added to the festive atmosphere. A pair of male hands suddenly appeared over hers and plucked her coat from her. A little gasp escaped her lips as sensation rippled along her skin from the contact of bare fingers against bare fingers. It was such a silly thing to notice so intently, but little goose bumps spread along her arms.
Her coat landed on a hook that was sure a whole lot easier for Sloan McAlister to reach with his towering height. Brianna wasn’t even certain her head came to the man’s shoulders. She turned around and discovered it didn’t. Her breath got stuck in her throat as she tipped her chin up to look at his face. It was strange the way her body quivered. On some level, she actually recognized what his skin smelled like and something in her belly jumped at that scent. There was no room to retreat among the coats and wraps. Trapping her, once more close to his frame. The level of awareness she had developed for him was astounding. She felt drawn to him even as her common sense warned her to run.
“Thank you. Guess I should be on time if I want to hang up my coat.” Brianna stared at the way he looked at her. It was an odd detail and her brain insisted on noticing his gaze on her mouth. A shiver raced up her arms, shaking her body hard enough for Sloan to see in the poor light. One corner of his mouth rose slightly as his hand brushed her cheek. The skin-to-skin contact felt so good it was almost exciting. Sloan stepped closer and her foot moved back. The coats wouldn’t let her retreat any farther though, forming a soft mountain of fabric that pressed her towards Sloan. His hand moved to her lips where he traced them with his thumb.
