by Myla Jackson
Honor sucked in a sharp breath, her nether regions wet and slick with desire. If she was a floozy, she’d be tempted to strip bare and join the sensual dance these two magnificent men were engaged in.
Parson Whitaker’s voice hammered in her mind, railing that what they did constituted a moral sin. He’d told Honor on more than one occasion that the devil resided in everyone and it was up to them to exorcise the evil, to live by the Bible and what the good Lord intended. And the Lord did not intend his children to find pleasure in lust and desire.
Surely the devil had hold of Honor now, urging her to join, to get naked and slide into the water between the men. Her woman’s opening craved fulfillment, drooling like a mouth salivating for a savory treat.
Tucked safely into the shadows of the bush, away from detection, safe from Running Bear, Honor touched her breasts, imagining the men each trailing their hands down over her naked body. Her fingers moved lower, lifting the squaw dress to press into the thatch of curls covering her mons. A tiny flick had her gasping softly, her gaze never leaving the men in the pool.
How could she have such carnal lust for strangers? Not one but two. By Parson Whitaker’s standards, she would surely rot in hell.
Her fingers dug deeper, flicking against that tender spot encased in her folds. That mystical, magically sensitive area she’d learned provided more pleasure than her husband could dare to imagine. When the parson traveled overnight to neighboring villages, she’d stayed at home, happy to be alone. Only then could she pleasure herself without censure. Her little secret kept her somewhat satisfied throughout her five-year marriage to Parson Whitaker with his overbearing and judgmental ways.
When he’d died, she wept at his funeral as was proper for a widow. As soon as she was alone, she made plans. Using the money she’d made crafting ladies’ hats, she purchased passage on a wagon train headed for San Francisco, a town known for opportunity and growth. No longer would she be governed by a man, told what to do and how to do it, more or less a slave to his desires and needs.
Yet here she was lusting after two men, her own desires bound to their actions, her body aching for their touch, Parson Whitaker fading into the darkest recesses of her mind. She touched that secret spot again, sliding her finger into her woman’s opening, dredging her channel for the warm, thick fluid. Her breasts tingled, her tummy tensing with a myriad of sinful sensations. As she slid her wet thumb over that tender nub, her breath caught in her throat, her body going rigid.
In the pool, both men pumped their hands, faster and faster, their faces tensed, their muscles tight. At the exact same time, they threw back their heads and cried out, their voices echoing off the rocks and trees, the sound so primal it fit with the natural surroundings.
Honor stopped breathing, her own orgasm rushing the blood through her veins, pulsing downward to where her fingers stroked her nub. How she wished the men would fill her, pressing their magnificent shafts inside her slick channel. Only then would her satisfaction be complete.
As she floated back to earth, so too did her cognizance of her predicament. Running Bear would never give up looking for her and she would never get to San Francisco if she didn’t find her way out of the mountains and back to civilization.
She pushed her dress back down and straightened her hair, dragging in enough breath to refill her lungs. Should she announce herself to the other occupants of the forest stream? Or would she be better off circumnavigating the pool and any complications that might arise from such an encounter? Having spent enough time under a man’s demands, Honor chose to leave the handsome men and press on.
The men stood staring at each other, panting, their eyes rounded.
The tall dark one stepped back, his hands falling to his sides. “Lord help us. What just happened?”
A nervous giggle rose in Honor’s throat as she swallowed hard to keep from letting it loose. If she wanted to get away, she had to go while they were still scratching their heads and whatever else men scratched.
She slid back through the bush and climbed the bank away from the pool. The stream meandered through a narrow valley. Honor followed the water, keeping out of sight of the stream, hiding in the underbrush.
After walking for several minutes, the woods opened into a clearing. A weathered, gray log cabin dominated the site and behind it rose a ragged rocky cliff, towering into the sky, blocking the afternoon sun. In the side of the cliff, a rough hole had been chiseled out of the mountainside, shored up by timbers.
Miners.
Honor pressed a hand to her throat. The men in the stream had to be miners. From what Parson Whitaker had said, miners were some of the most godless men on the North American continent. Then again, she’d spent the past six weeks in the company of a savage. How much worse could it be? Besides she didn’t plan on staying with them.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the previous morning when Running Bear had shared a rabbit with her. Maybe the men in the pool had food in the cabin.
She angled her way around the clearing, afraid of getting caught, but drawn from the shadows by hunger pains. A quick glance around verified that she had the site to herself. The men had yet to return from their foray into the creek.
Honor dashed across the rock-strewn clearing, her heart hammering. She hit the door to the cabin at full speed, sliding the latch upward and ducking in, closing the door behind her. She fell against the wooden door, gasping for breath, terrified she’d be caught.
What had she done? If the men came back, she had nowhere to hide in the one-room cabin. Two rough-hewn beds hugged one wall, covered in bearskin fur. A coffee pot hung beside the fireplace. On a table made of logs split in half and worn smooth stood two empty plates. A pot sat beside the plates, four uneaten beans the only food in evidence.
Honor’s eyes filled with tears as she scooped the four beans from the pot with her fingers and shoved them in her mouth. Never had she tasted anything more wonderful. If only there had been more. She scanned the contents of the room. A small bag sat on a shelf above the table. Honor lifted it and shook it. Beans. Hope flared in her chest. If she took these, she’d have something to sustain her until she could get to a town and find help.
As she continued her swift perusal of the cabin’s contents, her gaze lit on a blue shirt and a pair of trousers hanging on a peg on the wall. What were the chances these men had a woman’s dress among their worldly goods? She hadn’t seen a single sign that a woman occupied the cabin. Honor shook her head. No, they wouldn’t have women’s clothing. But a white man’s clothing might be more acceptable to civilized folk than a squaw’s dress. She grabbed the shirt, slid the dress up over her head and tossed it in the corner. Perhaps not a fair trade, but she didn’t have money to pay for her acquisition.
As she slid her arms into the shirt, a noise out in the yard made her freeze in place.
Male voices, low and booming, grew louder.
Oh, dear God, she’d taken too long. With no time now to slip into the trousers, she grabbed the bag of beans and stuffed them in the trouser pocket and wadded the fabric, tucking it beneath her arm. The shirt hung down to her knees, covering as much as the squaw’s dress. If she could make it out the door, she’d run as fast as she could for the trees.
Honor crept up to the open cabin window and peeked around the corner.
Shirtless and dressed in wet dungarees, the men approached. Drops of water glistened in the hair on their heads and on their chests.
Honor’s mouth dried, her eyes wide, drinking in the incredible size and breadth of their shoulders. From a distance, down by the pool, she’d been impressed. Up close… Honor shivered.
The taller man had dark wavy hair that hung down to his shoulders and eyes as blue as a summer sky. The shorter man, equally strong and well-muscled, had reddish-brown curly hair that stood out in striking disarray. Not unlike a Greek god, his bronzed skin and gray eyes would melt any woman’s heart with only a glance.
They
hung dripping shirts on the hitching posts in the full sun before they turned for the house.
If she remained hidden in the cabin, how long would it be before they discovered her there, and what would they do to her when they did? An image of the two men touching each other flashed in her mind. Contrary to the fear she should have felt, a shiver of excitement coursed through her. If she ran from the cabin, they’d catch her. In either scenario, Honor Whitaker was trapped.
Chapter Two
Zach straightened his shirt across the hitching post, noticing the stains and tears he’d acquired over the months he’d worn it while mining their claim. All the way back from the pool, he’d avoided looking at Jake. What had once been an open, easy camaraderie with his friend and claim partner had changed. They’d strayed into the forbidden, the sinful act of a man touching another man’s dick.
What worried him most was that he’d enjoyed every minute of Jake touching him. He’d liked it so much that he couldn’t think of anything else. He’d practically forgotten his boots at the stream, he’d been so sunk in reliving the desire. Even now his cock twitched, ready to harden at the drop of a hat.
He turned toward the cabin, his chest tight, breathing labored.
Jake put out a hand, stopping him. “You know, Zach, what we did isn’t a sin. It’s only a sin in other people’s eyes. And then only if they find out.”
Zach didn’t look the other man in the eye, his gaze aimed back toward the pool, his thoughts reliving the moment he’d crossed the line. “I’m not tellin’.” He faced the other man. “What about you, Jake?”
“You even have to ask?” Jake shook his head. “Wild Indians couldn’t drag it out of me. I guess you could say what we have is special. If we let on to anyone else, they’ll make it sound tawdry. And it isn’t.”
Zach nodded as though satisfied with Jake’s answer. “Still, let’s not do it again. It ain’t right.”
Jake grinned. “But you liked it as much as I did, didn’t you?”
“I ain’t a’ sayin’.” Zach strode toward the cabin. When he reached for the door latch, he frowned. He had locked it in place when he left at noon. “Did you go back into the cabin after I closed it earlier?”
“Nope.” Jake pushed past Zach and stepped into the cabin. “You cookin’ tonight?” He tossed his gun belt on the bed and stripped out of his dungarees, his naked ass as white as a newborn babe’s.
Zach turned away as desire filled his groin and his dick lengthened. Wet denim did nothing to quench the heat. “I’ll cook,” he grunted. “I want to finish off the beans before we leave for Idaho Springs.”
Jake hung his dungarees on the wall and turned toward Zach, his cock erect, a smirk on his face. “Then I’ll get the firewood.”
“Don’t ya think you ought to put on some trousers?”
Jake shrugged. “When they dry.”
“You do have another pair,” Zach reminded him.
“I know.” Jake walked by Zach, naked as the day he was born, and patted Zach on the ass. “You’ve seen me naked before. What’s the problem?”
Problem? Hell, he had a problem pressed against the fabric of his britches, making him as uncomfortable on the outside as he was inside.
Zach stood for a long moment after Jake left the cabin before he could even think about what he was supposed to be doing. Beans. He had cooking duty. With a deep indrawn breath, he stared up at the shelf where the beans had been. Two tin cups and a couple tin plates were all the shelf held. He turned toward the fireplace. Maybe he’d set the bag on the floor when he’d cooked breakfast.
Zach couldn’t wait until they bought supplies in Idaho Springs. Having lived on beans and biscuits for the past few weeks, he wouldn’t be the least unhappy if he never saw another bean. However, when that was all a man had, he didn’t argue. You ate the damned beans. Now where were they? He checked in the bean pot on the table and scratched his head.
Zach walked to the door and leaned out. “Did you move the bag of beans?”
“No, I left them on the shelf where they always are,” Jake called out from the woodpile. The sound of wood falling was followed by a loud curse.
“Damned fool. Gonna hurt something important gathering wood in his birthday suit.” Zach redirected his attention back to the interior of the cabin. The bag of beans had to be somewhere.
With careful deliberation, his gaze swung across the small room, searching every nook and cranny. As it passed over his peg on the wall where he kept his good clothes, he stopped. The peg was empty. “Damn it.” He walked across the room and stared at the peg and the floor beneath it. “Jake!”
Jake appeared in the doorway, his arms loaded with firewood and kindling, his dick hard and erect. “What?”
“Did you take my good shirt and trousers from the peg on the wall?”
Jake shook his head. “You sure you didn’t fold them and put them under your bed?”
“No, I specifically hung them on that peg last time I wore them to Idaho Springs three months ago. They’ve been hangin’ there since.”
Jake’s brows rose. “You think some claim jumper got ’em?”
Zach’s shoulder hitched. “I don’t know. But I can’t find the bag of beans either.”
Jake’s face paled. “You can’t?” He dove for the shelf, though the bag was gone. “You have to find the bag of beans.” He pushed aside the table and handmade chairs. “We have to find the bag of beans.” His gray eyes flashed wild and excited, sweat popping out on his forehead. Jake’s search expanded to the rest of the room.
Zach frowned. Jake never got this upset. He was the calm, collected one who always had a joke and a ready smile. “We can go without the beans. I still have flour left for biscuits.”
“You don’t understand,” Jake yelled. “We have to find the beans.”
Zach grabbed Jake by the arms and forced his friend to look into his eyes. “Why are the beans so damned important, Jake?”
Jake’s eyes widened. “Don’t you see?”
“No I don’t. Tell me.” Zach’s heart beat faster. He stood close enough he could reach out and touch the other man’s cock. But Jake was no longer aroused, the crazed look in his eye one of a cornered coon, desperate and ready to take on anyone who came at him. “What’s wrong?”
Jake looked around the room. “I hid it in the bag.”
“Hid what?” Even as Zach asked the question, he knew. “You didn’t.”
His friend nodded. “I did. I wanted to hide it in a place no one would look.”
Zach dropped Jake’s arms and started turning over furniture. “We have to find that bag.” He located the flour bag and opened it, just in case the bean bag miraculously ended up in the flour by some strange quirk of fate. He checked in the coffee pot, under the firewood, behind the wooden barrel he set the kerosene lamp on.
Jake ran to his bed and ripped back the bearskin robes, flinging them to the dirt floor. He rifled through old sacks and gun-cleaning equipment. “What’s this?” He held up what looked like a squaw’s doeskin dress.
Zach’s eyes narrowed. The only place they hadn’t looked was underneath his bed. If the owner of the dress was still in the cabin, that was the only place she could be hiding. Was she armed? Would she stab them in the eyes if they tried to grab her? “Maybe whoever took the clothes and beans is outside.” Zach made sure his words were loud and clear.
Jake frowned at him. “In that case she’d be long gone.”
Zach shook his head and pointed to the bed.
Jake’s eyes widened and his mouth formed an O. “Yeah, how about we go check outside?”
Zach and Jake stomped toward the door, Jake grabbing his wet dungarees from the peg on the wall. As soon as they cleared the door, Zach pushed Jake to one side while he ducked to the other.
Jake shoved his legs into the trousers. He was still trying to get the pant leg up when a flurry of movement erupted from the cabin door.
Zach grabbed the first thing he could get hold of—a
handful of bright red hair. He didn’t yank or pull, just held on.
The forward movement of the woman whose head the hair remained attached to carried her a step farther before she jerked to a stop and squealed. Then all hell broke loose. The little she-cat scratched, clawed and kicked like a trapped mountain lion.
Zach closed his eyes to keep from being blinded by her fury. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground, her feet flailing in the air. Not until he had her arms and hands locked to her side in the circumference of his arms did Zach reopen his eyes.
For a moment the woman’s movements stilled and he lowered her to her feet, his arms remaining in position like steel bands around a wooden barrel…a soft and curvy barrel.
Zach dragged in a breath and let it out, his shins aching, a dozen scratches on his chest and arms to show for his troubles.
Jake buttoned the top button of his dungarees and stood back, a grin stretched across his face. “Well, well, looks like we caught a she-cat by the tail.”
The woman bucked and reared, squirming so much she managed to slip free of his hold and duck beneath his arms.
Jake blocked her escape long enough for Zach to grab her from behind, one arm around her middle, holding her arms to her sides, and one clamped over the top of her chest. No sooner did he have her than she resumed kicking and clawing.
Bruised and battered, Zach had had enough. “Stop kicking.” He tightened his hold.
Jake doubled over, laughing so hard tears ran from his eyes.
“Would you do something?” Zach shouted.
Jake wiped his face. “Do what? You seem to have everything under control.”
“Get a damned rope.”
“I haven’t been this entertained since the last time we were in Denver.”
Zach took another blow to the shin and gut. “Get the rope or I swear I’ll string you up with it,” he said between grunts.
“Goin’.” Jake ducked inside the cabin and emerged with a worn rope they used to lead the pack mules through the mountains. He captured one of the woman’s feet and slipped a loop over her ankle, jumping back as she kicked loose of his grip and aimed her heel for his face.
