by Carol Finch
“You’re leaving so soon?” he said groggily. “Stay…”
That was the last thing he said before his eyelids slammed shut, his head lolled against the pillow and he fell into a deep, motionless sleep.
Rachel smiled in amusement as she traced his sensuous lips with her forefinger. So much tender emotion welled up inside her when she stared at him that it nearly squeezed her heart in two. She could easily fall in love with Nate—if she hadn’t already. And what a disaster that would be! He was strikingly handsome—especially without the beard and mustache. Plus, he was undeniably virile, intelligent and quite charming when he wanted to be. But also he was an ex-lawman and most likely she was wanted for murder.
Her mother and grandmother had fallen for the wrong men and they had ended up pining away in misery. Rachel had vowed long ago that history wouldn’t repeat itself with her.
She knew Nate would leave her behind to begin his new life in a place that was off-limits to her. She also knew she would never see him again. She needed to devote her life to another purpose, just as her grandmother, Singing Bird, had devoted her life to healing the Cheyenne with her natural curatives.
Rachel frowned pensively, wondering if that’s why she felt a natural affinity to Doc Grant. His crusade for tending the sick was similar to her grandmother’s.
Too bad her mother hadn’t found a worthwhile purpose when her father broke his pledge to uphold the law and turned to a life of crime. Her mother had begun to drink excessively—also like Doc Grant. She had lost the will to live, even for the sake of her young daughter, and she had died in a nameless Colorado town while Rachel sang for handouts to pay for their food and lodging.
Rachel had reaffirmed her vow never to care so deeply for a man that he stole her soul and her reason for existence when he walked away. She was a survivor. She might be dangerously close to losing her heart to Nate, but she refused to give up as her mother had.
Resolved, Rachel donned her chemise and gown, then returned to stand beside Nate’s bed. A myriad of intense emotions tumbled helter-skelter through her. She felt guilty for giving him the same potion she had mixed the first night they met.
That first time had been an accident. This time wasn’t.
This was proof positive that her concoction had made him extremely susceptible to her and it had aroused him past the point of resistance. He had been unaware that all she knew of men was what she overheard promiscuous barmaids whispering to each other. That is, until that moment when Nate realized she had been innocent of men.
Since the aftereffects of the love potion made Nate drowsy, she expected him to sleep the afternoon away. Good. She wanted to avoid a possible confrontation with the three scalawags who were out for her blood.
Rachel was still at odds with herself about preventing Nate from discovering the whereabouts of Adolph’s henchmen. However, three-to-one odds provoked her to protect him, as well as herself, from harm. He might be outraged by her deception but he couldn’t argue with the fact those ruthless bastards got the best of him recently.
Yet she knew Nate and those ruffians would clash eventually in Dodge City. Also, Nate would discover the truth about her, she mused as she poured the remainder of his bottle of whiskey into the chamber pot. She suspected that her strong love potion and the liquor he’d ingested were a potent combination.
She bent over to press a light kiss to Nate’s unresponsive lips, then draped the corner of the bedspread over his muscular body. She smiled, knowing there was no other man alive she wanted to introduce her to the pleasures of intimate passion. Even if he was a former lawman she couldn’t care less.
After checking her reflection in the mirror to ensure that she looked presentable, she pinned her hair atop her head, then exited. She returned to her own room and stood guard at the window for a few minutes. She tensed reflexively when the scraggly-looking thugs staggered from the saloon, each carrying a half-empty bottle of whiskey. She cursed in frustration when the men veered into a restaurant for a late lunch.
“Darn it, are they ever going to leave town?” she grumbled in frustration.
Although Rachel was willing to give Nate another dose of love potion and experience the same incredible pleasures again, she didn’t want to have to sedate him all day while those three goons lollygagged around town. Heavens, if they spent the night in Possum Grove she would have to keep Nate occupied in bed until morning. Wickedly appealing as that thought was—
“Stop it,” she scolded herself. “You can’t hold Nate—naked—in his hotel room and turn him into your love slave by giving him that potion continuously.”
Pivoting away from the window, Rachel shed her gown and crawled into her bed. Her lack of sleep during last night’s storm—and her passionate interlude with Nate—left her exhausted. Not to mention the mounting concern about the possibility of being apprehended by Adolph’s henchmen.
Rachel dozed off almost immediately. The erotic memories of the passion she had discovered in Nate’s arms were there to greet her, luring her into rapturous dreams.
Rachel awoke with a start. Her pleasant dream had transformed into a nightmare in which those three hounds from hell, sent by the devil himself, interrupted her tryst with Nate and dragged him away, leaving her to face Adolph the demon.
Scrubbing her hands over her face, she stared at the ceiling and reassured herself that it was only a bad dream. She rolled from bed to dab her eyes and cheeks with cool water. Then she stood guard at the window, uncertain how much time had passed while she slept.
Were those goons still eating their fill? Had they wandered back to the saloon to ingest more liquor? Although she didn’t approve of imbibing large amounts of whiskey, she wished Adolph’s men would drink themselves blind so they wouldn’t recognize her or Nate.
“Damn it, where are they now?” Her anxious gaze darted back and forth between the restaurant and the four saloons. Well, there was only one way to find out what had become of those scoundrels, she reminded herself.
She whirled around to rummage through her satchel, locating the men’s clothing she had altered to fit after Nate had purchased garments for himself in Crossville. The baggy breeches still concealed her feminine physique but she had hemmed them up so she wouldn’t trip over them constantly. She had shortened the long cuffs on the oversize shirt and added a brown vest that she had stitched together from a scrap of fabric she’d picked up at the dry-goods store in Crossville.
Tucking her hair beneath the floppy hat, Rachel exited her room to take the narrow metal steps that served as a fire escape at the back of the hotel. She scampered down the alley, then inched up to a café window to survey the interior.
The three men weren’t there.
Pulling her cap low on her forehead and ducking her chin to conceal her identity, she stepped onto the boardwalk to amble past the first saloon. She glanced inside but she didn’t see the men bellied up to the bar or sprawled negligently at a table. Then she walked to the second tavern to have a look-see but she saw nothing of the men.
Simmering with impatience, she headed to the third saloon—and glanced inadvertently toward the park near the stream bank. The men were watering their horses and sipping whiskey. Rachel leaned a shoulder against the supporting beam of the saloon and kept surveillance for several minutes. She entertained the thought of dashing downhill to shove the drunken men facedown in the water and letting them float away.
Of course, that would add more crimes to her list. Damn, if nothing else she wished she could walk up and ask them if Adolph had survived their fracas in the storeroom. At least she would know for certain what she was up against. The not knowing frustrated her to no end.
When the men led away their horses, then mounted up, Rachel thanked the Powers That Be—both Indian and white. She had bought herself crucial time.
“Whew! Talk about dodging the bullet,” she said to herself as she scurried across the street to pay for the supplies Nate had purchased earlier in the day.
/> Now that the ruffians had ridden away, she could breathe easy. Also, she could perform in the medicine show without the fear of being recognized and captured.
Rachel climbed the fire escape, then checked the hall to ensure no one saw her duck into her room. She had avoided disaster—even if Nate wouldn’t see it that way if he found out she had purposely detained him.
Nate awoke with a dull headache and a feeling of lethargy. He blinked, befuddled, when he realized he was lying spread-eagle in bed—nude. “What the hell—?”
He raked his fingers through his hair and frowned thoughtfully when he noticed the empty bottle on the end table. How much whiskey had he consumed? He didn’t remember guzzling the entire bottle.
A feeling of amazing satisfaction thrummed through him and he tried to figure out whether he was recalling a hazy dream or reality.
Then it hit him like a doubled fist between the eyes.
“Oh, damn. I did it again.” He scowled.
This time he had taken advantage of Rachel completely. That was no dream. It must have been the result of a whiskey-induced lust attack. She probably hated him with a vengeance.
Not that he blamed her.
Nate levered himself upright on the bed, then glanced around. He remembered Rachel walking into his room, wearing a bewitching gown that he’d wanted to rip off her—with his teeth. He tried to recall what had happened next but the sequence of events became fuzzy and disjointed. Thoughts and sensations buzzed around him and he frowned in absolute concentration. One thing he definitely remembered was the tantalizing feel of her hands and lips on his sensitized body. Had he asked her to pleasure him or had she volunteered?
He massaged his throbbing forehead, then squinted at the late-afternoon sunlight that streamed through the window. Erotic images darted across his mind, then spun in dizzying circles. He remembered Rachel making a feast of him before he made a feast of her. Then he had taken her in a wild rush of obsessive passion.
The problem was that she’d been a virgin and he hadn’t realized it until it was too late. He hadn’t cared because the pleasure he’d discovered with her had overshadowed his conscience and any sense of decency he had going for him. He’d acted selfishly and shamelessly and he didn’t blame Rachel if she refused to speak to him again.
“Damnation,” he muttered as he flopped back on the bed.
He stared at the ceiling—as if it held all the answers to the tormenting questions swirling in his brain. It didn’t. He didn’t understand why he’d been so reckless and inconsiderate of Rachel. He wasn’t sure why his vision seemed impaired, either. Must’ve been too much whiskey, he decided.
And what was that odd taste on his tongue? It must have been the fried potatoes, he decided. He’d thought they’d had an unusual flavor. Obviously, the seasoning didn’t agree with him. That, added to too much whiskey, must have made him behave recklessly and irresponsibly.
Now he’d have to apologize to Rachel all over again because he couldn’t remember if he had said or done anything else to offend her.
Other than stealing her innocence, he amended with a wince.
Hell’s bells! He didn’t really want to apologize for something that he’d do again—and again—if she gave him the chance. She hadn’t trusted men before. Now he’d given her every reason not to.
Scowling, Nate heaved himself on to his feet and wobbled to the tub to thrust his head into the cool water. If he didn’t clear his fuzzy senses quickly, he would be stumbling around all evening. For all he knew the medicine-show performance might be under way and he was staggering around in his room while Rachel changed costumes without him there to protect her privacy.
Not that he’d respected her privacy or modesty this afternoon, he thought with a grimace.
Would she be too proud and ashamed to discuss what had happened between them? he wondered. Probably. She had been awkward with him this morning after their interrupted tryst during last night’s storm.
Nate shook the water from his hair, then grabbed a towel. He grumbled sourly when his thoughts cleared up enough for him to realize there might be serious consequences to today’s intimate liaison. Rachel hadn’t been with a man before. If she conceived a child…
His thoughts stalled, knowing this unexpected turn of events would probably have Brody Montgomery jumping for joy. His father might not like the fact that he hadn’t been the one to handpick the mother of his grandchild from Kansas City’s socially elite, but perpetuating the family name was his father’s ultimate objective.
He wondered how Rachel would react if she conceived his child. Not happy, he predicted.
“Well, damn,” he mumbled as he cast aside the towel, then donned his clothes.
He strode down the hall to knock on Rachel’s door. When she didn’t answer, he tried Doc’s door. Doc didn’t answer, either. Assuming the two were setting up for a performance, Nate hurried downstairs to locate the medicine wagon.
Chapter Eight
A few minutes later Nate noticed that Ludy Anderson had pulled the wagon into the creek-side park and set up beneath a shade tree. Curious bystanders wandered downhill to listen to Ludy strum his banjo and sing a few lively tunes. His voice didn’t compare to Rachel’s, but he sang a helluva lot better than Nate, so who was he to judge?
A short time later Rachel appeared. As always, she captivated the crowd with her Cheyenne costume and the Indian version of creation. Curiosity ate Nate alive while he watched her performance. He wanted to know when and where she had learned to speak fluent Cheyenne. Her dark hair and dark eyes indicated Indian ancestry. How much? he wondered. He also wondered why she refused to divulge her last name. If she became the mother of his child, he was entitled to know such things.
Mother of his child? Nate wasn’t sure what he thought about that. Nevertheless, he wasn’t a man who turned his back on his responsibilities. Not that the mysterious Rachel would have him as a husband. She might change her mind, however, if she discovered the Montgomery name came with a sizeable fortune he had inherited from his maternal grandparents.
Money had a way of changing a woman’s mind, he assured himself cynically. Several females had crawled all over him in years past in attempt to charm him, deceive him or lure him into marriage. Since that hadn’t worked, his father had decided to manipulate him into settling down in Kansas City.
Nate shook himself from his wandering thoughts when Rachel completed her performance and the crowd applauded enthusiastically. As Rachel approached him, wearing the bead-and-buckskin squaw dress that fit her curvaceous figure like a glove, he watched her astutely.
As anticipated, she was reluctant to meet his gaze. No doubt, she felt uneasy about their passionate encounter. Damn, he hoped like hell that he hadn’t made the experience unpleasant for her. He hated that he couldn’t remember all the intimate details.
She spoke not one word as she walked uphill to change clothes in the storeroom of the general store. When two men scurried after her, Nate blocked their path and thrust out his arm to forestall them.
“Why don’t you enjoy the rest of the show,” Nate suggested pleasantly. “The young lady will return shortly to give another performance.”
The two men, dressed in cowboy boots, jeans and tattered shirts, looked him up and down and smirked disdainfully.
“What are you supposed to be? Her bodyguard?” the tall, lanky cowpuncher asked sarcastically.
“That’s right. Doc Grant has a special place in his heart for the young lady. He pays me extremely well to make sure no one bothers her.”
The stocky cowboy grinned and waggled his bushy brows suggestively. “Wasn’t planning to harm her, just gonna show her a real good time.”
Nate suspected Rachel had had enough of men for the day. He’d taken advantage of her already and these two men would likely upset her with their bungling attempts to seduce her.
“Go away,” he said curtly, discarding all tact.
When they didn’t back off, Nate practicall
y stood on top of them and bared his teeth while his hand hovered threateningly over his pistol.
“Okay,” the skinny, long-faced cowboy replied, then added defiantly, “but we’ll be back.”
“And I’ll still be here,” Nate assured him.
Ten minutes later Rachel appeared in a stunning green satin gown…Nate jerked to attention when he remembered this was the dress Rachel had been wearing when he’d unfastened those dainty buttons on the bodice—and hadn’t stopped touching her until he was buried deeply inside her.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out when she approached.
She halted and blinked at him. “Sorry for what?”
“I’m terribly sorry about this afternoon,” he hurried on. “For some reason I can’t recall everything that happened but I do remember this dress. You said you made it yourself…then I unbuttoned it off of you.”
Her face turned the color of steamed beets and she tried to brush past him, but he grabbed her arm and held her fast.
“Let me go,” she demanded sharply. “People are staring.”
“That’s because you look stunning,” he insisted. “I want you to know that if I hurt you…if I forced you—”
“You didn’t,” she cut in quickly. “It was my fault and I apologize to you. Now let me go. I have to give a performance and I can’t do it properly if you get me rattled.”
“I rattle you?” He tilted his head to study her pinched expression. “In what way?”
“Every way imaginable.” She clamped her mouth shut, then blew out her breath. “Just let me go. We can talk about this later…or not at all. Not at all would be best.”
He released her arm and she surged downhill, moving as quickly as the stylish gown permitted.
Nate frowned—which only made his head hurt worse. What did she mean that what had happened was her fault? He had made his intentions toward her quite clear that morning, he recalled.
