by Jenna Kernan
He grinned and gathered her up in his arms as the fiddler began a rousing two-step. Sam swept her around the room as the others moved aside to watch them pass. Men clapped to the beat as Kate’s feet flew beneath her voluminous skirts. When the music stopped, Kate was flushed and breathless.
“You’re as pretty as a rosebud,” he said. “It’s why I gave you those roses.”
What roses, she wondered and then recalled the ring of gold rosettes on the necklace. She would have to tell him that she had left the necklace safely at home and hope he was not too angry. But when she opened her mouth she could not get the words out.
“Might we stop for a drink?”
“Wine, whiskey or sarsaparilla?”
“I should think a nice glass of iced tea.”
“I don’t recommend water that ain’t boiled. How about a beer.”
“I don’t drink beer.”
“It’s safer and it’ll cool your thirst.” Before she could refuse he placed the mug in her hand.
The smell reminded her of rising bread. She took a sip and winced at the bitter taste. Had she not been so thirsty, she never could have swallowed it. Still, there was a bubble to it that was pleasant and it did cool her throat.
“You got a mustache,” he said and then wiped her upper lip. He gazed at her. “Damn, I can’t wait to get you alone.”
Her smile faltered. He wouldn’t abuse her. She knew him well enough to believe that. And he had not been drinking heavily. Sam waited for her to finish most of her beer before saying good-night.
No one seemed surprised that Sam was retiring early and there was much leering and backslapping as he escorted Kate out.
“Party will be getting wild now anyways,” he said. “Best we get you home.”
Home. She liked the way he said it, as if they had a home, as if they were not strangers about to share the most intimate of acts. She half wished they were not strangers, but lovers and friends and that she could rely on him to protect her instead of using her.
The cold reality was so much harder to take. But she accepted her lot, taking his offered arm and allowing him to lead her out into the night.
It had rained while they were inside and the road was now muddy. Sam stopped, and turned to the east.
“Be snowing farther up,” he said and then he shivered as if the cold could reach him even here.
Kate lifted her skirts, preparing to ruin a perfectly lovely pair of satin slippers that had been dyed to match her gown.
“It seems a shame,” she whispered.
“What?”
“To ruin the new slippers.”
Sam glanced down at her hoops as if he could see her slippers through the curtain of fabric. “I could carry you.”
“In hoops. I should say not.”
“Well, take them off, then.”
“What?”
“When I used to ford a stream, I’d just take off my socks and boots and carry them across. Keep ’em dry.”
“But my feet will get muddy.”
“Bet they’ll wash better than the shoes.”
“What about my stockings?”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ll help.”
He was on his knees before her. Kate noticed they were drawing a crowd.
“No. It’s all right. I’ll just muddle through.”
“Nonsense.”
“Sam,” she whispered. “Everyone will see my ankles.”
“Let them.”
Men laughed. He was making a spectacle of her. She flushed in shame.
“Give me your foot.”
She did, resting a hand on his shoulder to steady herself as he pulled off her slipper and then located her garter as if he were a terrier down a rabbit hole. A moment later the ribbon was untied and the stocking and garter removed.
Her pale foot gleamed in the moonlight. “Kinda tiny,” said Sam, then reached for the other and repeated the operation.
Then he threw her stockings over his shoulder and stood.
“Are you certain?” Kate asked.
“Let her go,” he called.
Kate lifted her skirts high, giving spectators a clear view of her ankles and calves. The men cheered.
If he didn’t care who saw, why should she? The shame vanished as she stood there, feeling suddenly free of constraint. They knew what she was and so did she. What was the point in pretending?
She stepped off the wooden walkway into the cold, squishy mud.
They walked along until they reached the depot, Kate leaving muddy footprints beside Sam’s boot tracks. They passed the Pinkertons. The few men who had followed halted at the depot platform, allowing them to continue alone.
Once up the steps, Sam dragged off his boots, leaving them just inside the door. Then he scooped her in his arms and carried her into the coach, setting her gently on an upholstered chair. Kate kept her feet up and off the carpet.
“I’ll get a basin.” He left her and returned a few moments later with a bowl of warm water and a clean white towel.
The sensation of having him wash her feet was one of the most pleasurable experiences of her life. He soaped and lathered and rinsed and then rubbed them with the soft towel leaving no hint of soil.
“You would make an excellent mother,” said Kate.
That made him laugh. Then the smile faded. “I used to take care of Randy.”
She gave him a commiserating look. “I still take care of Phoebe. I wonder if my aunt will help her wash her hair this Saturday?”
“I’ve interrupted your life,” he said.
“You have.”
“Will you forgive me?”
“That remains to be seen.”
This caused his expression to turn devilish. Her breath caught as she realized she had inadvertently issued a challenge. And men like Sam lived for such contests.
Chapter Eleven
S am stood and offered his hand. She had the urge to tuck her own under her skirts. But such childishness would not prevent him from taking his due. All she could hope was that he was a man of his word and that he would not use her too harshly.
She gave him her gloved hand and he drew her up to stand before him.
“Did you enjoy yourself this evening?”
“I can say I have never had an evening like it.”
He laughed. “Not a hearty affirmation. You dance real well.”
“As do you.”
“And you were a help tonight. We sold more shares than I had expected.”
“That was due to your speech, not my ornamentation. You were very eloquent. Passionate, even.”
He looked astonished. “Was I?”
“Oh yes, especially when you spoke about closing Broadner Pass and the wagon trains. The miners were so quiet that you could have heard a mouse scuttle across the far side of the room. It was as if you understood the suffering of the immigrants.”
Sam went silent as he frowned. Now she recalled her earlier impression. A possibility raised its head and she could not keep from a sharp inhalation of air.
“Sam?”
“They were quiet ’cause they know I was a member of that party.”
“What party?” But even as she said it she knew. “Oh, Sam, not the Broadner Party.”
He gave a curt nod.
She covered her mouth with her hand as she tried to regain her flagging composure. Everyone new the story of the doomed wagon train that had arrived at the pass one day too late. Early snows had trapped them, food had run short. The bitter cold and heavy snows had blanketed the outfit like a shroud. Many had perished. Some said those were the lucky ones. Her eyes widened as she tried to fathom the implications of this revelation. Then she lifted her chin and stared up at him, smiling gently. She rested her fingers ever so lightly on his chest. It felt strange, awkward, but she did it.
“Well, no wonder you want to close that pass.”
He nodded. “I want to do that more than anything on this earth.”
“Well, I would
not lay odds against you.”
His expression changed again. The tightness around his mouth eased and his eyes turned warm and inviting. He captivated her into speechlessness.
“Will you allow me to help you with your gown?”
Her breath caught, but she nodded. He motioned toward the back of the car. She knew the sleeper coach waited just beyond. On bare feet she padded before him, feeling the thick woolen carpet beneath her.
He opened the door and then assisted her between the cars. She gasped at the cold metal of the platform beneath her feet. Then he held the other door and they were safely inside. The lock clicked behind her.
Kate inched away. She wanted to trust him and believe he would be gentle, but instead she found herself praying silently for deliverance.
It was one thing to lift her skirts for him to touch her, quite another to allow him to crawl under them.
Trust him.
Don’t trust him. He’s a man and a bloody big one.
Who has never raised a hand to you.
Don’t give him the chance.
Her movements were cautious, and she slipped farther from him as if trying to escape a large wolf without drawing his notice. Sam followed her, his hopeful expression turning to concern.
Kate wrung her hands. Sam reached, she shied.
“What’s wrong?” asked Sam.
“I…Nothing. Everything is fine.”
Sam cocked his head for a moment and his brow descended over his eyes. “You’re not much of a liar.”
She pressed her lips together, damned if she’d mention her husband to this man again, although it was as if he stood here in the room with her. They were not the same, Sam and Luke. She knew it in her heart. Didn’t she?
Sam’s eyes widened and he seemed to notice how she trembled. “I’m not like him, Kate.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” His eyes pinned her. “Then why has all the color gone out of your face?”
It seemed as if the blood had drained from her skin entirely and pooled in her belly. She liked Sam, but wondered how long until he destroyed her trust? She stared at his fists clenched at his sides. As she watched, he slowly released the corded knot of bone and muscle.
“I want this to be different from the others I’ve known, Kate. And different from what you’ve known, too, because…” He lifted a hand to her face and she turned away. His hand dropped.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered.
“I’m trying to.” He lifted her chin and she knew what came next.
Her breathing stopped as his mouth descended taking her in a passionate kiss. She melted against him, all fear and uncertainty drowned in the warm, seductive waters of need. She looped her arms about his neck and pulled.
He stepped back, his eyes narrowing. “Mixed signals. What do you really want, Kate?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know anymore.”
Sam dragged her arms from his neck, putting several feet between them.
“You best decide before we go any further.”
He released her, leaving her wet and wanting. Then he stepped away and walked out the door. She almost followed him.
Almost.
Clearly, Sam had lost his damned mind. It was the only explanation for his stupidity. That’s what comes from breaking his own rule and paying for the company of a female.
What the devil had gotten into him, trying to take an unwilling woman?
But she wasn’t always afraid of him. Sam knew how he could get her past her resistance and he’d nearly done it. He gazed at the door that led to the sleeper compartment, just one car away from the parlor coach.
He had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Kate Wells beneath him. He wanted to rub his scent all over her and breathe deep of the fresh fragrance of her skin as he claimed her as his own. But instead of taking what he wanted he was curled on this velvet-covered horsehair sofa.
Madness or something worse.
It was a blow to his pride to see her hesitate. He wanted her to need him as much as he needed her. But she was still afraid, so he’d walked away.
Damn Luke Wells and may he burn in hell for what he had done to her!
He closed his eyes, recalling how she had melted all over him when he touched her. Her body knew its match, even if her mind resisted. He had to figure out how to convince her. He wouldn’t take her otherwise. How he wanted her to come to him.
He snorted. As if that would happen. Likely she’d already bolted the compartment door. Not that this would stop him. He pictured himself kicking in the door.
“Oh, yeah. That’ll do a world of good.”
He could go into the camps. There were plenty of whores up here. That thought made his stomach sour. He threw himself onto his back. She had ruined him for other women. If he could just have her once, he might get past his obsession.
He heard the click of the door opening and reached for his pistol. After all the trouble at the camps and the attack in the alley, he wasn’t taking any chances.
He rolled off the sofa and hunkered under the window, well out of the beams of moonlight that streamed into the coach. The intruder had taken off his boots and stepped as lightly as a cat. Another moment and he’d be in the light.
Sam raised his pistol but didn’t cock it, knowing the sound would give away his position. Instead he pressed his finger to the trigger.
Kate stepped into the moonlight, her white ruffled robe fluttering about her like angel wings. How had she gotten those buttons loose by herself? He stared in wonder as she floated into the center of the room. His prayer was answered.
Kate had come to him.
At the beauty of her, the breath whooshed out of him. That mane of hair he had speculated on now flowed about her back in a river of dark waves, tumbling to her waist. Her tiny feet were bare and her skin was silver as the moonlight.
“Sam?”
He rose to his feet and holstered his gun.
“Here.”
Sam moved within the ring of moonlight.
Kate stared into his haunting eyes. His hair was mussed and his chin was covered with a day’s growth of whiskers, making him look dangerous and uncivilized. He had removed his coat and wore a white shirt, but not one button was fastened. The sight of hard flesh made her want to turn tail and run. But it also made her itch to stroke him. She listened to that deeper impulse and stepped forward.
His eyes flashed hungrily, but his expression remained tense and, she thought, melancholy. Sam reached and then hesitated, letting his arm drop back to his side, waiting, it seemed, for her.
Kate cleared her throat, hoping her voice would not fail her again. “I came to…to ask you…Sam, why didn’t you…”
“Take what I wanted? Force myself on you? I’m hot as forge iron for you, but I’m not a monster.”
She threaded her fingers together before her and met his gaze, wondering if she saw the spark of hope gleam there.
He remained where he was, his eyes glittering in the moonlight, his figure dark and forbidding. The muscles of his chest bunched as if he held himself back.
Why did he have to have a conscience now? It made her respect him and she didn’t want that. She wanted to hate him for what he was making her do, make it his responsibility and not her own. But he wouldn’t. And that meant she’d have to face the truth.
She might have feared this in the beginning, but no longer. Now her disquiet came from knowing that she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.
She dragged her lip between her teeth as she realized she had not agreed to this because of Phoebe or her aunt or some slip of paper that threatened their existence. That had all been a convenient excuse.
She had come because of that first kiss. She had come to finish what they had started in that alley.
He raked his fingers through his thick hair. The bulging of the muscles of his arms made her stomach twitch. Her breath caught and her gaze flashed to his.
H
e moved closer. A band of moonlight illuminated his face, making his eyes glow unnaturally bright. He exuded an aura of primal power that struck her middle like a blow. But this was not fear, oh no, this was something far more powerful—far more dangerous. She wanted him to do those things to her—all of them.
He lifted a crooked finger and stroked her cheek. “Why can’t I get past you?”
She placed a hand on his chest, feeling his warm, bare flesh and his heartbeat racing with her own. “The same reason I couldn’t stay away. Damn you, Sam, for bringing me here.”
“You want to go back?”
“I can’t. I want you too much.”
He lifted his face to the ceiling. “Thank God.”
Chapter Twelve
A n instant later he captured her, burying his strong fingers deep in her hair. Kate no longer fought his control but submitted to him completely.
Sam stared at her mouth.
She half closed her eyes and smiled up at him in open invitation. “Take me to bed, Sam.”
He moved like a desperate man, sweeping her into his arms and holding her high against his chest. Then he charged out the back door as if retreating from gunfire. She felt the rush of cold air and then they were safe inside the sleeping coach.
Only when they reached the bed did he lower her feet to the carpet, but he kept one arm about her, trapping her beside him. This time she did not want to run.
The room was dark, private. She leaned against him and he pressed her close. He gripped her shoulders and she lifted her chin to look up at him, now the shadows making him appear almost sinister.
“What changed your mind?” he asked, giving her one last chance to escape. His hands still imprisoned her, as if he waged some colossal battle between his heart and head. Hadn’t she done much the same? Only now she was through listening to the nagging whine of reason and heard only the call of her heart.
“You did, by giving me a taste of what we could share and then walking away,” she whispered.
His touch branded her. Anticipation coiled tight within her belly as she lifted her mouth in a silent entreaty.
She threw herself into the kiss, the urgent embrace, the possessive slide of his hot tongue against the darting thrust of her own and the hard ridge of male flesh pressing against her yielding body. Her arms stole around his ribs and she nestled herself close, needing to feel the firm planes of his chest against the soft ache of her breasts.
