by Vanessa Vale
His mouth fell open at my recitation. “You noticed all of that so quickly?”
“I’m a detective, sir. It’s my job to notice things like this.”
I held my ring up between my fingers for him to see. “This ring. She wouldn’t take it off.”
“Maybe she was washing dishes,” he countered. I doubted he was trying to be contrary, but instead thinking of less evil possibilities. Innocent people thought of reasonable reasons for someone to disappear. I was too jaded for that.
“She would have left it by the sink and she knows, she knows to put it back on. She left the ring for me to find, so I would find her.”
I pushed past the older man and stomped down the stairs.
“Matthews! This is preposterous. Who would want to take Lily? She’s just a woman.”
I should have punched him in the nose, but that would solve nothing. “She’s my woman.”
Opening the front door, I stormed outside and practically ran to the saloon.
I didn’t want to answer Dr. Bower’s question as to who would take her, for I knew the answer. There were many people who would want to take Lily. No one wanted her. They wanted to get back at me. In this part of the country, the list was short, but based on the events of the past few days, I could narrow the list even further.
The saloon was as I left it an hour before, perhaps a little more crowded and filled with a touch more smoke. My sharp gaze roamed over the room for the colonel and didn’t find him. A few of his soldiers were playing a game of poker and I stalked over to them.
“Where’s the colonel?” I growled.
They were too drunk to notice my intensity. One pointed upstairs and laughed. I opened four doors and didn’t offer apologies to the men I interrupted from their evening of debauchery. As for the colonel, he was in the fifth room, his enjoyment of a blond with large breasts and a very plump ass at an end.
As the door slammed inward against the wall, I growled. “Morgan has my woman and he’s going to die.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LILY
Perhaps it was the hours riding on a swaying horse. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Perhaps it was the fact that Morgan was cooking a rabbit on a stick over the fire and the charred, sweet smell of grilled meat filled the still night air. Perhaps it was because Morgan was just a complete jackass, but I was going to vomit.
I told the man that, but he didn’t believe me. “I’ve heard you yammering for the past three hours. I’m sick of tired of hearing your problems with hemming a pair of pants or how your pansies wilt in the bright sun or the way the detergent from the mercantile burns your skin.”
He squatted down by the makeshift fire as I sat near him, my hand over my mouth. I was sweating and the saliva in my mouth felt hot. I always had a strong disposition, but now, now the baby decided to make its presence known.
I stood up and turned. Morgan stood as well, the stick with the half-charred, half-raw carcass waving beside my head. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his eyes alight with anger and the glow of the fire.
Lowering my hand from my lips, I replied weakly as my stomach rebelled. “Very well, I will vomit right here.” And so I did.
While he’d been quick to stand, he wasn’t as fast walking backwards and before he got out of my range, I’d vomited all down the front of his shirt, the wet sick of it sliding down over part of his pants and dripping onto his shoe. I heaved again and the rabbit on a stick went flying from his hand, landing in the fire with a hot sizzle.
“God dammit, woman!” He held his arms up away from him as he looked down at himself.
I fell to my knees and retched again, my hands pressed into the cool, damp ground. Finally, finally, my stomach was empty and the bout of nausea subsided. I tried to catch my breath as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. The acidic taste of bile coated my tongue and I wished for water to rinse my mouth.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were going to hurl?”
I glanced up at the man, too weak to move from my knees. “I did, several times. I feel ill if I ride a horse for too long.”
I was not going to tell him I was pregnant.
“You didn’t think that was something you should have warned me about?” he shouted. He complained aloud about his ruined clothes. The stench of vomit came from him and he stormed off to his saddlebag, dug around while he swore up a storm.
“Shit, woman, you’re worse than a rabid dog. I’ve got no other clothes.”
I felt a little like death warmed over, but I wasn’t quite as nauseous. That didn’t keep me from a thrilling sense of revenge on the bastard. Crawling on hands and knees, I moved to a patch of grass and curled up in a ball. I didn’t have to worry, at least in the short term, that he would do anything to me. I wasn’t going to fight him in my current state and he’d want that. I also knew he’d want Jack to witness my demise, so until he arrived, I was reasonably safe. It was easier than I expected to fall into a deep sleep, even with Morgan swearing and cussing as he ate burnt rabbit.
***
I woke when Morgan grabbed me and hauled me to my feet, wrapped his hand securely about my waist. The sun was just brightening the sky; the prairie had a soft gray glow about it. He waved his gun at the dark shapes of men that surrounded us. Jack.
My skin was chilled from the lack of blankets, but Morgan was hot and sweaty against my back. He smelled awful, the combination of unwashed male and my vomit singed my nose.
“Don’t come any closer or I’ll kill her,” Morgan shouted.
“If you wanted her dead, Morgan, you’d have done it already.”
The sound of Jack’s voice was like a balm on a wound. I wilted at his voice. He’d come for me.
“I wanted to see your face when I pulled the trigger,” Morgan shouted, his voice dark with hatred. “You took my fucking money!”
“I didn’t take anything,” Jack replied. “Benson and Crumb were stupid enough to get caught with it.”
“And you’re what, a turncoat? How much are they paying you to come after me, Matthews?” He gave me a good shake. “Or is it this bitch you’re after? She certainly liked what you did to her yesterday. I did, too.”
I frowned, then realized he’d been watching us as Jack had taken me with my hands tied to the curtain rod. He’d seen me, seen what Jack had been doing to me from somewhere outside. I should have been embarrassed, but instead I was angry. He was taking something that was special—albeit very naughty—and making it tawdry.
“I’m not here for the woman,” Jack said. I stilled, then realized what he was doing. He couldn’t show his interest in me. It was the only leverage Morgan had. “If you saw what I did to her, you’d know she’s only good for one thing. I’m here for you. My money’s in your capture. Dead or alive.”
Morgan took a step back, dragging me with him.
“Then you don’t care that I took full use of her last night,” Morgan replied, tossing that lie out to lure Jack in with his anger.
There were at least six, maybe eight men with Jack. They’d fanned out around us in a semicircle, although I didn’t doubt there was someone behind us as well. Some wore uniforms, others plain clothes like Jack. All of them had guns and all of them were slowly coming closer.
“It seems she’s got red hair all over.”
I gasped at the crude comment, but worried that Jack would do something stupid. His growl was loud in the quiet morning. Morgan was deranged and I needed to get away from him before he shot Jack. I shifted in his hold and felt his gun belt against my hip. I remembered his knife, the one he kept there along with his gun. He was right handed—the gun was in that hand—and that meant the knife was on that side as well. I looked down and saw it. Obviously, he’d been surprised by the men’s arrival, or he wouldn’t have forgotten about the other weapon. Or, he never considered me much of a threat. Stupid man. I grabbed the knife and easily sliced the tendon on the inside of his wrist.
Morgan screamed as the fingers of his right hand opened automatically, the gun dropping to the ground. His arm about my waist loosened and I stumbled away from him. Holding the bloody knife, I watched as he held his wrist up. The bleeding was substantial, but I hadn’t cut the artery. I had no sympathy to his cries of pain.
Arms grabbed me from behind again, but this time I didn’t do more than flinch. A hand reached around and took the knife. A hand I recognized. The feel of the man I recognized. Jack.
The other men surrounded Morgan, who was groaning in pain and swearing up a storm.
Spinning me about, Jack looked me over, his hands on my shoulders. “Are you hurt? The baby?” he asked.
“I’m fine, the baby’s fine,” I whispered.
His entire body was rigid as he asked, “Did he touch—”
I cut him off, wanting to end his worry right away. “No. He didn’t do anything to me. He may have wanted to last night but—” I sighed, ending it there. He could have raped me last night, but vomiting on someone wasn’t much of an aphrodisiac.
The powerful energy that had filled my bloodstream from the incident made me shake. I knew it would taper off quickly and I wrapped my arms around Jack, holding on tightly. Pressing my cheek against his chest, I could hear the solid thump of his heart. While he, too, was hot and sweaty, I reveled in his scent. I recognized it immediately and knew I was safe. He took a deep breath, then another.
Reassured I was well, Jack let his excess energy loose. “You scared the shit out of me, seeing him grab you like that. He had a fucking gun!”
“Yes, but he also wasn’t using his knife,” I countered. “He isn’t a very good outlaw.”
Jack sighed, at first probably because I was so frustrating for him, then with obvious relief. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out my ring, then slipped it on my finger. “I keep doing this,” he growled.
“This is the last time, I promise,” I said, as he gripped my hand.
“I’ve got the rest of my life to hold you to it.”
“Why the hell do you smell so bad?” I heard someone ask. I looked over my shoulder at the men working on and guarding Morgan.
“She fucking puked all over me!” Morgan shouted. “She’s a fucking menace. She doesn’t stop blathering and then she gets sick from riding a horse. Who the hell gets horse sick? Then the woman stabbed me!” He was irate and deservedly so. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to smile at how he was so miserable.
“You were horse sick?” Jack asked, his dark eyes meeting mine.
“I don’t think the baby liked him much either,” I admitted.
“And now? Are you well now?”
I nodded and Jack sighed.
“It sounds like you gave that man one hell of a time.”
I recognized the colonel as he joined us, tipping his hat to me. He wore his full uniform, crisp and sharp, but he had not shaved and white whiskers had formed on his cheeks and jaw. “Ma’am,” he said.
I stiffened in Jack’s hold.
“She’s all right, Colonel, she just doesn’t like being called ma’am.”
The colonel just looked at me a little funny, but said, “That was… an interesting thing you did with that knife. Most men would have stabbed him with it.”
“I can’t say for sure what a man would do in a similar situation, Colonel, since I am not one. Morgan had his gun trained on my husband and I did not like that. If I were to stab him, he still would have held the gun and, with his finger on the trigger, he could still have shot Jack, or even one of your men. With a cut to the tendon in the wrist—I won’t go into the scientific specifics behind it—all use of his grip was gone. He couldn’t pull the trigger, couldn’t even hold the gun. Without it, he’s useless.”
We glanced over as two men wrapped a makeshift bandage around Morgan’s wrist. Blood was everywhere. Between that and my vomit, he was a mess. I almost pitied the man. Almost.
“She’s been apprenticing with the town doctor, Dr. Bower,” Jack added.
The colonel looked impressed and a little confounded at the same time. “Just watching Dr. Bower doesn’t account for your keen skill with a knife.”
“No, that is true,” I added. I lifted my chin and met the colonel’s gaze directly. “I learned from Big Ed, the foreman on the ranch where I grew up. But, I’ve kept the skill because I’ve worked at one of the butcher shops in Butte for the past year.”
Jack began to laugh then as the colonel’s mouth fell open, eyes wide.
“I… see.” That was all the older man could say.
“Ah, sweetness, you’ve got secrets. If you’ll excuse us, Colonel, I am going to go and learn some more.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JACK
I checked us into the McDermott, the nicest hotel in Butte. Hell, it was the nicest hotel in the west. The man at the counter had eyed me, scared and in awe. I had yet to shave, I hadn’t slept and I was randy as hell for my wife.
“He’s not an outlaw,” Lily told him, her tone sharp. She looked like she’d spent the week with a den of bears. Even so, she looked down her nose at the snooty man and I wanted to fuck her all the more for it. “He’s my husband.”
That must have snapped the man out of his stupor, for he smiled at me—albeit brittlely—and offered us the key to the finest suite. “Thank you for bringing Bert Benson to justice.”
Before the bellhop led us to our room, Jack told the man, “Charge the room to Mr. Finnemann with the newspaper.”
Once the door to the suite was closed behind us, Lily turned to face me. “Is there a reason the newspaper is paying for our accommodations?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I grinned as she narrowed her eyes. “I made a deal with the copper kings for bringing in Benson instead of working for Pinkerton.”
I watched her eyes go up at my explanation and quickly understood. “Then this suite isn’t the only compensation?”
I shook my head as I closed the distance between us. “Hardly.” I began to undo the buttons down the front of her dirty dress as I added, “You may continue to work for the butcher if you’re concerned about income.”
She laughed then, a magical sound, and wrapped her hand about my neck and pulled me down for a kiss. A very thorough kiss.
“Mrs. Matthews,” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand at her boldness.
“If I am to be working to see food on our table,” she said, her voice prim, “then I should be the one in charge.”
I arched a brow as I saw the flare of amusement in her eyes.
“You want to fuck me?” I asked. My cock hardened.
“Hell, yes,” she purred. I shook my head at her inability to conform. She was going to swear and be prickly until she was ninety.
“If you want to be in charge, sweetness, I’ll let you.”
She pursed her lips at that, knowing that I was letting her be in charge. If she wanted to have her way with me, I wasn’t going to stop her.
“Can we take a bath first?”
“Hell, yes,” she repeated and I groaned, wiping my hand down my face.
An hour later, I was using a plush bath towel to finish drying her naked body, all flushed pink from the warm water. Her hair was damp tendrils piled on top of her head, set in place with a few pins. I’d shaved my beard off and I felt somewhat human, although about ten hours of sleep would help. But my wife wanted my body and rest was not what I had in mind. It was everything she was thinking behind that wicked grin.
Taking my hand, she led me into the bedroom and sat down on the side of the bed. My cock was erect and directly in front of my face. When she licked her lips at the sight of a drop of pre-cum on the tip, I groaned. I itched to reach out and run my fingers through her hair, over her soft skin, cup her full breasts, nuzzle her flat belly, lick her creamy slit. I did nothing, just waited for her to lead.
“I heard men like to touch themselves,” she murmured, lifting her fingers to stroke along the vein that ran up the length of my coc
k. I bucked my hips at the touch.
“Sometimes,” I said, my voice like rough gravel.
“Show me.” She looked up at me with those clear green eyes and I could deny her nothing. When I gripped the base of my cock in my fist and started stroking it, all I wanted to do was feel the tight grip of her pussy instead. I kept my eyes on her as I worked my cock, slow enough where I wouldn’t come right away.
“Did you touch yourself when we were apart those six weeks?”
“Hell, yes.” I copied her words on purpose. “I thought of your sweet pussy milking the seed from my balls.”
Her eyes widened at the crude words.
“I touched myself,” she admitted and I groaned. She cocked her head. “Do you want me to show you?”
I offered her a jerky nod as she moved further onto the bed, then laid back, her legs falling open. As her left hand dipped between her thighs, I saw my ring right over her pussy, the gold of it mixed with the slick pink of her flesh and the fiery red of her curls. Parting her folds, her fingers slipped inside as her right hand slid down to start circling her pussy. Her eyes fell closed and she moaned.
Never before had I seen something so erotic, my wife spread open and pleasuring herself. It was impossible to hold back. I felt the pleasure build at the base of my spine. My balls tightened and I came hard, groaning as my seed spurted onto Lily’s flat belly, the backs of her hands. With ragged breaths, I let the pleasure wash over me as I enjoyed not only the release, but the sight of my bride in such a carnal way. Her eyes had opened at my groan and she stilled her hands when my cum landed on her.
A broad smile spread across her face. I saw the power there, the knowledge that she’d been able to make me that eager for her that I’d come all over before I could even get inside. “See, sweetness, you have control over me. I might be the one in charge, but you’re the one with all the power. All of it. I’m nothing without you.”
