Colorado Captive

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “You’ll still be scheming when the Devil pricks you with his pitchfork, won’t you?” she replied with a shake of her head. “So how’d you know I’d be here?”

  “Because you won’t rest till Donahue’s dead. And because you and I usually think alike.” Matt ran a gentle finger along her temple, wanting to make love to her immediately yet knowing she needed to rest. “And when Barry told me Crabtree’s visit got your spunk up again, I figured you wouldn’t wait for him to bring a wagon to Cripple.”

  Emily smiled tiredly. “So you and the marshal have been in cahoots all along?”

  “Yep. He brought me out here a couple days ago, to finish recuperating, and to watch for Donahue.” He chuckled. “Richard’s eyes about popped out when he saw who was in the wagon, but he’s taken good care of me.”

  She stroked the line of stitches above his cheek and let her fingers wander into his soft ebony beard. Emily was supremely happy that Matt knew her so well and could still love her—what kind of joyless existence would she have faced had he not come back into her life? Yet after all they’d been through, she didn’t really know him. “Who are you?” she whispered. “You’ve told me bits and pieces—”

  “We’ll talk about it later, rosebud. I promise.” He guided her toward the stairs, aware of how heavily she was leaning on him. “Right now you need a hot bath, and two arms holding you while you sleep. Then we’ll plan our strategy for when Donahue shows up. I have a feeling it won’t be long.”

  “He knows I’m here, Matt. I saw him on the north ridge about ten miles out, watching me.”

  McClanahan heard the weariness of the night’s ride in her voice, along with a desperation she was trying to hide. The last shots hadn’t yet been fired—they both knew that. And as he eased her onto the stool in the bathroom and started her bath water, he hoped the only blood lost this time would be Donahue’s. Emily was young and getting stronger, but another brush with death might finish her off.

  “I imagine he’ll wait till dark, so the hands won’t spot him,” he said quietly. “But we have to be ready—have to use the element of surprise to its fullest advantage. Let’s get these clothes off you.”

  Emily watched as though from a distance as Matt kneeled to pull her boots and socks off. She wanted to respond to his gentle touch, but she was just too tired. Resting her hands on his shoulders for balance, she stood so he could remove her pants.

  “Longjohns?” he teased. “What happened to those lacy little temptations Barry described in such detail?”

  “I suppose he told you all about how he had to put them on me?”

  “Several times. Did me good to know you still had some fight in you, but I nearly slugged him when he sounded like he’d had too much fun at it.” McClanahan let her shirt drop to the floor, gazing hungrily at her dainty pink camisole and breasts as he slid the heavy male undergarment off her. “Did you like my roses? Thompson said you didn’t make over them much.”

  “They were from you?” She thought back to the morning Barry had brought the flowers as she stepped out of Idaho’s underwear. “I—I loved them, Matt. But I thought Thompson was getting too interested in me, and when he said I looked like a rosebud…”

  “I asked him to say that, because I couldn’t. Didn’t mean to upset you, honey.” He took her in his arms, savoring her soft sweetness as she rested against him. When he ran a trail of kisses along her throat and felt a delicate chain beneath his lips, his heart swelled. “You’re wearing the locket.”

  “I needed a good luck charm. I thought I’d be facing Donahue without you.” When his beard tickled her chest and his tongue teased at her nipple through her silk undergarment, Emily grabbed him so she wouldn’t fall over from sheer delight. “Matt, I want to want you—it’s been so long, but—”

  “I’m not playing fair, am I?” he murmured. “Plenty of time for loving you later, when you can enjoy it, too.” With a few deft movements, McClanahan finished undressing her and lowered her into the steaming tub. He missed her feistiness, recalling times when they’d frolicked until the bathroom floor was puddled, yet her languor inspired a fierce protectiveness within him. He rubbed her all over with the soap, and massaged the tight muscles in her back and thighs until he ached from wanting her.

  Emily watched, her head lolling against the rim of the tub as McClanahan reacquainted her with the intimate luxury of his tender hands. But when his palm rested on her abdomen she tensed. “I—I guess you heard about the baby.”

  Matt nodded sadly. “Maybe if I’d landed beside you instead of on top—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You saved my life.”

  Satisfied that she meant what she said, McClanahan lathered her long, golden hair. “We’ll make other babies, Emily. After this showdown with Donahue’s over, I don’t intend to let you out of my sight—or out of my bed—for very long. It’s too hard on both of us.”

  She let him duck her head gently into the water, and after he wrapped her hair in a towel, she felt herself being lifted by two strong arms and dried by thorough, loving hands. The last thing Emily heard before she drifted off to sleep was the rustle of McClanahan’s clothing falling to the floor. As he drew her against his solid, virile body, all she could think was that she was finally, forever home.

  Matt waited until his need for Emily could no longer be denied before he kissed her. Long rays of late-afternoon sunshine turned her hair into a shimmering mass of gold, and once again he was acutely aware of how Emily Rose Burnham could drive him wild without even trying. She needed to eat and to be fully alert before Clancy Donahue showed up, and McClanahan grinned as he thought about how he’d revive her.

  Sliding down between the sheets, he suckled each of her pert, enticing breasts until she stirred slightly. He continued on, letting his lips linger on the tautness of her stomach only for a moment…he’d have to pamper her, fatten her up so she could carry another child. But all thoughts of food vanished as he settled between her slender legs, crouching near the bottom of the bed to avail himself of the delicacy he craved most.

  Emily was aware of a sweet, familiar warmth and she moaned softly. She remembered a grueling ride…cold, stiff fingers and a saddle-sore bottom. But the flame now flickering inside her could only be associated with one thing—one man—and as his tongue sent a burst of wildfire through her body, she grinned with the deliciousness of it. “McClanahan, you—come here and kiss me. Give me a chance to catch up to you.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Chuckling, he delved deeper into her intoxicating warmth. Her moans spurred him on, fueling his own passions until it was all he could do not to crawl on top of her and seek release.

  “Matt…Matt, I’m going crazy—this is happening too fast!” Emily strained to stay above the waves of heat, coaxing him forward with urgent hands, but it was useless. As the fireworks exploded within her, all she could do was weave her fingers through McClanahan’s thick hair and hold on.

  He let her rest for a moment, and with a final kiss on her damp thigh he stretched until he was lying on top of her. “Am I too heavy?” he whispered.

  “No, but you’re a decadent, no-account—”

  Matt kissed her firmly, laughing as she tried to wriggle out from under him. She was herself again, rested and playful, and though her passivity had excited him, he felt more keenly virile and alive now that she was responding with her usual energy. Emily Burnham was never meant to be a hothouse flower; she was wild and invincible, like the roses of the prairie, and he intended to be the man who made her bloom again. “You’re driving me insane, rubbing against me this way,” he breathed.

  “Driving you insane? Any man who still wants the woman who nearly got him killed is already—” Her words were cut off by a demanding mouth and a tongue that insisted on dueling with hers.

  “I love you, Emily,” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

  And suddenly McClanahan’s love was all that mattered. She clutched him, pressing her lips
to his, and as the passions rose within her again she realized that instead of tiring her, their lovemaking was restoring her strength. His hard, masculine form seemed to be transferring its power to her weakened limbs; Emily wrapped her legs around his hips, rising to meet the need Matt could subdue no longer.

  He kissed her hard on the mouth, and in his joy at loving her again, McClanahan rolled them onto their sides. He slid Emily’s upper leg higher, deepening his thrusts until her murmurings became as incoherent as his own. As he shot into her, she cried out as though she’d been struck by a fireball, and then he collapsed.

  After a few moments, Emily started to buck against him again, satisfying a desire that had lain dormant too long. When he tightened his arms around her, she grinned triumphantly. “Come on, McClanahan,” she whispered against his ear. “If you have to quit first, I’ll never let you live it down.”

  Matt felt himself stiffening with her challenge, and quickly rolled so she was on top of him. “Ride on, Miss Burnham,” he drawled. “This ole bronc’s a long way from bein’ broke.”

  She laughed, happiness flowing through every vein of her body like life itself. McClanahan was grasping her hips and then coaxing her shoulders lower, so he could bury his face in her bosom. She watched him fondle each breast with fervent lips, enjoying the new sensations of seeing and feeling his dark beard on her ivory skin.

  He glanced up, his blue eyes sparkling, and then he winked.

  “McClanahan, you’re the biggest flirt I ever—Matt! You’re making us—”

  He rocked beneath her mercilessly, aware that they were as close to another climax as they were to the edge of the bed. As Emily’s knee slipped off the mattress, she sent him deeper inside her and from out of nowhere he felt a powerful surge of the passion he’d been saving since their last lovemaking. He gripped her arching hips and felt the sheet sliding beneath him as he was carried away by the force of his explosion.

  “We’re falling! Matt!” Emily tried desperately to shift their weight back onto the bed, but McClanahan’s urgent writhing made her forget everything except her own undeniable greed for release. One moment she had the sensation of flying without wings and the next she was sprawling on top of him, caught in a tangle of arms and lacy, white bedclothes on the floor. He was shaking with laughter, and as the sound of her giggles joined his, her body and soul eclipsed and she cried out with the splendor of it.

  McClanahan waited a moment, and then shifted so they weren’t trapped in the blankets. “Are you all right, rosebud? I didn’t mean to—”

  “Liar! You knew exactly what you were doing.” Emily rose up to stick her tongue out at him, but she broke into a new fit of giggles instead.

  “You’re a dangerous woman, Emily,” he teased. “Half hellcat and half hyena.”

  “Tell that to Donahue. Maybe he’ll think twice before he tries to make me prisoner again.” The words swaggered out before she thought about them, and when Matt’s smile tightened, she nipped her lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil our fun.”

  “You can’t help but think about him, honey. We should get dressed—there’s something I want you to see before he gets here.” McClanahan started to slide out from under Emily and the bedclothes, but she wrapped her arms and legs around him. He chuckled and kissed her nose. “Not again, rosebud. Save it for later.”

  Emily gazed into his crystal blue eyes and felt a welling up of emotion that nearly choked her. She’d lost this man—twice—and letting go of him, when they knew Clancy Donahue was on his way, was a risk she hated to take. “I love you,” she said in a tiny voice.

  “I love you, too, Emily.” Matt met her lips with a solemn kiss that, for him, was like a covenant: he vowed to cherish and protect her forever, if she’d only love him years from now as intensely as she did at this moment. Her response was sweet and confident, and when she opened her eyes, they were bright with unshed tears. “Go on, now,” he whispered.

  “What should I wear? I didn’t bring a lot of—”

  “Pants and a shirt,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I took the liberty of picking up your new dresses from Mrs. Andersen, the day after you ordered me off your property. But that low-cut, lacy blue one is the last thing I want Donahue to see you in.”

  Emily smiled wryly, recalling their argument over the revealing gown. “Maybe Clancy would like me as a Southern belle. I could distract him while you—”

  “I don’t intend to let him get close enough to see what you’re wearing.” McClanahan noted her impish grin and slid resolutely out from under her. “Save those contrary ideas for me, after we’ve dealt with Donahue. We need to be ready for any tricks he might pull, and I won’t have you exposing yourself—in any way”

  She watched him dress, and with a last look at his alluring backside as he left the room, Emily pulled herself from the tangle of sheets and blankets. Once again her white, frilly bedroom seemed childish to her—more so, now that she’d made such passionate love here—but she set her wistfulness aside to concentrate on the evening ahead. Clancy would come tonight, as surely as the moon would rise like a gold coin in the sky. She had to prepare herself for a confrontation with a devious, maniacal outlaw whose codes and actions made sense to no one but himself.

  Yet Emily slipped into her laciest white underthings and quickly buttoned herself into the provocative dress, just to see how it looked. It was a flattering shade of powder blue, with eyelet-trimmed sleeves, and ruffles in every seam, and a wide velvet sash that tied into a huge bow in the back. As she studied her reflection, she thought of the delicate china dolls that sat on her shelf. Woe to Clancy, if he assumed she was as fragile as she looked right now!

  She plaited her long blond hair into four slender braids, which she draped daintily at her crown. Then she fastened the gold locket around her neck, noting that it hung just above the scalloped neckline, right between her breasts. Not even the ladies at the Golden Rose exposed so much skin in public—which was the very reason McClanahan had ordered this dress.

  She couldn’t resist stepping into Papa’s study, and Matt’s reaction confirmed her theory. He glanced up from the ledger he was reading and let out a long, appreciative breath. “Emily Rose, you look like a cross between a shameless hussy and a Madonna.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” she asked coyly. She turned to show him the ruffled bustle in the back, her color rising as she saw the desire in his eyes. “It’s a good thing I lost some weight, or I’d be falling out the front.”

  “Time and my spoiling you will remedy that, honey.” He gestured toward the chair beside the desk, barely able to keep from touching the delicate ivory skin that rose and fell with her breathing. “Let’s eat some of this food Crabtree sent over, while it’s hot. Then you’re changing into pants.”

  Emily sat down, suddenly aware of how ravenous she was. Matt had set two bowls of beef stew and a half a loaf of bread on the desk, with butter and jam. He cut a generous slice for her, and without bothering to butter it, she tore off a large corner with her teeth. It was soft and chewy, and it was gone before she realized Matt was watching her. “I—you must think—”

  “It’s good to see you’ve gotten your appetite back,” he said with a soft laugh. “I had a hard time imagining Barry holding you in a headlock, forcing you to eat.”

  “You must’ve enjoyed pumping him for every little detail of his visits!” she teased as she reached for more bread. “And Barry! Now there’s a friend—talked about your death without blinking an eye, as though he were coming to see me in his own interest, rather than yours.” Emily chewed for a moment, once again taking stock of her feelings for the man who was sitting across from her. “We’ve told some real whoppers, haven’t we?” she asked quietly. “A pretty untrustworthy lot, the two of us and our friends.”

  “It’s how we’ve survived, rosebud. You can’t always be concerned about etiquette—or ethics—when you’re dealing with the likes of Grath and Donahue.” McClanahan dipped his spoon into his stew,
wondering how best to resolve Emily’s doubts—how to give her the details she deserved to know, if she was to love him without reservation. He let her eat until she could slow down, while he savored the sight of her flawless face…the highlights in her hair, and the way her gaze lingered on him, as though she, too, realized what two heartless rogues could have taken from them.

  “I found some interesting entries in your father’s records—at Richard’s suggestion,” he began in a low voice. “I hope you don’t think I’ve overstepped my bounds by looking through them.”

  Emily glanced at the thick leather-bound books that lay open between her and Matt. One volume was Papa’s last journal; the other was yellowed, and it smelled musty. “Of course not. Papa and Richard got together a couple times a year to compare notes on the livestock and the payroll. He often wrote things in his journals, rather than cluttering his ledger with handwriting.”

  Nodding, Matt carefully turned the older book so she could read her father’s small script. “I marked the pages that told about my mother paying back the loan he made her to keep her ranch going, and to start her horse business. And later, he mentions the fire—says he asked Richard and Viry and the men not to discuss it in front of you. You were pretty upset, I guess.”

  She gazed at Papa’s notes, surprised at the emotions and fears his writing brought back. “I had awful nightmares—did my best to keep Idaho from stoking the furnace for several weeks, afraid we’d all be blown into the hereafter.” Emily finished reading and looked at Matt with a rueful smile. “I guest this proves what you tried to tell me before. But I still can’t understand why, if Papa knew you, he didn’t mention you’d returned to run the Wickersham ranch.”

  McClanahan smiled, pleased to see he’d won a few points. “I’d been away for most of my life. And after the fire, it was easier to stay busy elsewhere than to face that charred foundation.” He glanced at the newer journal on the desktop, pointing to a spot on the page. “But those things happened a few years back. It’s your father’s most recent writing that you’ll find…especially interesting.”