Maverick Heart

by Joan Johnston

  With the threat of Indians looming, she found herself feeling a little more tolerant of Tom’s company than she might have been under other circumstances. Especially since it was clear Miles had no intention of allowing Tom to importune her.

  “How far will we be traveling today?” she asked Miles.

  “There’s plenty of daylight left before we have to start looking for a place to lay down a bedroll.”

  “Isn’t there somewhere we could spend the night with a roof over our heads?” Verity asked.

  “Do you want to find your son, or spend a comfortable night inside?”

  Her cheeks burned. “That’s not fair. You know Rand and Freddy—Lady Winnifred—come first with me.”

  “There aren’t many folks living around here. If there was a place I thought we could stay—”

  “What about the Hanrahan place?” Tom suggested.

  Miles grunted thoughtfully. “Maybe. We’d have to spend most of the night riding to get there. Hardly seems worth it. Verity?”

  “I …” She was so very tired of riding. Her inner thighs already ached as a result of being spread unnaturally over the broad back of her mount. But a glance around at the wide open spaces gave a certain appeal to four walls and a roof. “I’d rather ride for the Hanrahan ranch,” she said.

  Miles shrugged. “Fine with me.” He angled himself in the saddle so he could see the four men riding behind them. “You boys spread out and ride on ahead to see if you can find any sign of those Sioux. If we’re lucky, they’ll stay with the cattle. They won’t be able to drive them hard without losing some, and they won’t want to do that. Their prisoners should also slow them down.”

  Red licked the edge of a cigarette paper, rolled the smoke one-handed to seal the tobacco inside, then stuck it in the corner of his mouth. “Injuns’ll probably just kill them two if they make any trouble.”

  Verity stared straight ahead and struggled not to reveal the despair she felt at that bit of plain speaking.

  “Damn it, Red. Keep your opinions to yourself,” Miles said.

  “Aw, hell, boss. I forgot—Sorry, ma’am.”

  “You boys get moving,” Miles said. “If you run into trouble, fire a warning shot and the rest of us will come running. If you hit a trail, fire two shots and leave sign which way you’re headed. If nothing turns up, we’ll all meet at the Hanrahans’, spend the rest of the night there, and move on tomorrow. Any questions?”

  There were none.

  “I’ll head straight north with Mrs. Broderick. See you later, boys. And good hunting.”

  Verity watched the four men ride off in different directions. “Aren’t they afraid they might run into the Indians when they’re all alone?”

  “A man learns to keep his eyes and ears open. If they see any sign at all, it’ll be hours old. They’ll be careful.”

  “How many hours before we catch up to the Indians?”

  He eyed her askance. “I think you’d better prepare yourself for the possibility that we won’t catch up to Rand at all.”

  Verity forced herself to remain calm. Ranting and raving wasn’t going to change anything. “We have to find them, Miles.”

  “I hope we do” was all he said.

  They rode for a long time without speaking. Verity watched the sun sliding down over the horizon with a feeling of panic. She had lived all of her married life in London, where there was a constant glow of light even at night. It had been years since she had experienced the utter blackness of night she had known as a girl growing up in the English countryside.

  “How are we going to find our way in the dark?” she asked.

  “Once the sun goes down, we’ll have to stop for a while and wait for the moon to come up.”

  “It’s frightening to be out here in the middle of nowhere with night coming.”

  “I’ll light a fire. That’ll keep the critters away.”

  “It’s not the four-footed animals I was worrying about.”

  “The Sioux are long gone, Verity.”

  “It isn’t the Sioux, either.”

  He eyed her quizzically. Then his features hardened. “I have no intention of forcing myself on you tonight.”

  She was grateful for the fading light that hid the flush staining her throat. Until Miles had brought it up, she hadn’t considered what he might do to her when they stopped. She hurried to give him another reason for her distress. “I was thinking of how Rand and Freddy must feel. I can’t bear to lose my son, Miles. He’s everything to me.”

  “What is he like?”

  Verity was surprised Miles had asked, but more than willing to talk about her—their—son. “You’d like him.”

  “A son of Chester Talbot’s? I doubt it.”

  “He isn’t—” The words of denial were out before she could stop them. She caught herself before she revealed everything and then wondered why she didn’t just tell Miles the truth. He was bound to notice the resemblance to himself when he saw Rand. Her son reminded her a great deal of Miles at the same age, especially when he smiled.

  But it would cause Miles needless pain if she told him he had a son and Rand was never found. Better to wait.

  Lurking beneath her noble reason for hiding the truth was one a bit more selfish. If, God forbid, Rand was not found, she would never have to reveal to Miles the wrong she had done him. She would not have to live the rest of her life with whatever blame he would have heaped upon her for keeping his son from him. They would still have a chance at happiness together.

  But she couldn’t resist telling him about Rand. Because when the two men met—and despite the consequences she was sure to pay, she hoped they would—she wanted Miles to have the best possible impression of his son.

  “You would like Rand,” she repeated. “He’s a fine man.”

  Miles snorted.

  She ignored him and continued, “I’ve taught him to be considerate and thoughtful of other people’s feelings. He rides like he was born on a horse, and he can drive to an inch. He’s strong and courageous. He has no vices—”

  “He sounds too perfect to be true,” Miles interrupted.

  Verity flared up in defense of her son. “He’s a wonderful young man.”

  “I would expect a mother to say that about her son. You’ll never convince me Chester Talbot could raise such a paragon.”

  “Chester had very little to do with Rand,” she snapped. And then made a face because she had again revealed more than she had intended.

  “Why not?” Miles asked. “The boy was his heir.”

  “He … they didn’t get along.”

  “Why not?”

  “I … They … Rand could never please Chester.” Because he had been Miles’s son.

  “No, I suppose having a son like you describe wouldn’t be at all pleasing to a man like Chester Talbot. But I’m surprised he didn’t corrupt the boy with his own foulness.”

  “I wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  “How could you have prevented it?”

  “I sent Rand away to school as soon as it was possible to do so.” It had been hard, heartbreaking really, to give up her son so young, but she had known it was the only way to save him. “Chester was with his cronies a great deal of the time when Rand was home on holiday. And there were ways to keep them separated.” She had resorted to them all.

  “What did the boy think of your machinations? Didn’t he miss his father?”

  “No. No, he did not.” She didn’t explain herself and, thank God, Miles didn’t ask for an explanation.

  She couldn’t very well tell him that Chester had barely spoken to Rand over the years except to criticize him, that he had refused to have Rand in his presence except on occasions when it would have looked odd for his son and heir to be absent.

  Nor could she reveal the times she had held Rand as a child while he cried wretched tears, wondering what he had done to so displease his father that he didn’t want anything to do with him.

  She had tried to e
xplain to Rand that there was nothing wrong with him, that it was Chester’s fault he was unable to love his son. Rand had never given up trying to earn his father’s love, even though he had failed to the very end.

  In the few hours before his self-inflicted gunshot wound in the chest had finally killed him, Chester had refused to see Rand. But Rand would not be denied. He had entered his father’s room and stayed alone with him for some time. When he had come out at last, he had been white-faced.

  When she had asked her son, “What’s wrong? What did he say to you?” Rand had replied, “Only what he has said before. Leave be, Mother. I am only sick at heart.”

  Her horse stumbled, and Verity realized it was nearly impossible to see a foot in front of her. “Are we stopping soon?”

  “I guess we’d better.”

  “How long before the moon comes up?”

  “An hour or so.” Miles halted his horse and dismounted. “I’ll see if I can find some buffalo chips for the fire.”

  “Buffalo chips?”

  “There’s no wood out here, but dried buffalo dung—which is mostly undigested grass—burns pretty well.”

  “Oh.”

  Verity pulled her gelding to a stop, then realized there was no ladylike way to dismount. She would have to lift her leg over the horse’s rump. Not that she could have urged her tired muscles into any display of grace and strength.

  Miles solved the problem for her by grasping her waist with both hands and tugging her off the horse. She slid down the length of him. A frisson of awareness skittered down her spine. For a moment she thought he was going to let her go, but his arms closed around her, pulling her close. One hand cupped her buttocks, pressing her against him.

  Nothing but a few layers of cloth separated them, and she was amazed and appalled to discover he was aroused. And frightened, despite his promise. She held herself rigid.

  She felt the tension in him, realized the battle he waged for control. She would have given anything to be able to see his face, but it was too dark.

  Abruptly he released her. “I’ll be back. Don’t wander off.” Then he disappeared into the darkness.

  She took advantage of the few moments of privacy Miles had given her to relieve herself, then stood by the horses and waited for him to return. Red had taken the mule with him, so as far as she knew, they had nothing with them to eat. Not that she could have forced anything down. But there was a canteen hanging from Miles’s saddle, and she helped herself to a drink. The water wasn’t fresh, but it was wet.

  “Give me a minute to get a fire going, and I’ll make us some coffee.”

  She whirled, and Miles was standing at her shoulder. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

  “That’s the general idea behind wearing moccasins,” he said.

  She watched him dig a shallow pit before breaking up the buffalo chips into smaller pieces and dropping them in. He used a few bits of dry grass and a sulfur match to start the fire.

  “Come over here and make yourself comfortable,” he said.

  When she hesitated, he said, “I won’t deny I want you, Verity. But I can wait.”

  That was small comfort, but apparently all she was going to get. The fire looked warm. She crossed the short distance between them, settled herself awkwardly on the ground, and held out her hands to the heat.

  The supplies in Miles’s saddlebags included a blue and white speckled coffeepot and a couple of tin cups. Before long the smell of coffee wafted to her on the night breeze. Miles poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her.

  “Careful, it’s hot.”

  She had to hold the tin cup by the handle and the rim to avoid being burned. He joined her but sat outside the light from the fire, so his face remained in shadows.

  Verity had nothing in her life with which to compare this experience. It was like a nighttime picnic, only there were no servants to set up tables and chairs and prepare the food and serve it. There was no furniture at all to sit on, not even a blanket, for that matter, between her and the ground.

  She heard only the crackle and pop of the fire as grass seeds in the dung exploded, the occasional stomp of the horses’ hooves, and the sound of grass being ripped from the earth as the animals grazed.

  She and Miles were completely alone in the middle of nowhere. She should be terrified.

  But it was obvious none of this was new to Miles, and his confidence in the situation communicated itself to her. He had already demonstrated that he had enough self-control not to ravish her. If the situation weren’t what it was, she might even have enjoyed herself.

  A wolf howled, and the horses lifted their heads and stared alertly into the darkness. Verity held her breath until the animals lowered their heads to graze again. “Are you sure we aren’t in any danger?”

  “Wolves won’t come near the fire,” Miles reassured her.

  “Of all the sites you could have chosen for your revenge, why did you pick this godforsaken wilderness?” she asked.

  “Wyoming is where I live. It’s my home.”

  She snorted, a totally unladylike sound. “You could have made a home anywhere. Why here?”

  “I don’t know exactly how to explain it to you, except to say there are places here where you know no other human being has ever set foot before you.”

  “It’s desolate.”

  “I like the wide open spaces. And no one here minds the way I look.”

  She darted a glance in his direction. Of course not, when there were men like Rufus around who had been scalped.

  And a thousand other souls like Miles who had run from their pasts to a place where only the present mattered.

  “Why didn’t you ever write to me?” she asked.

  He took a swallow of coffee before he answered. “What was there to say?”

  “You could have told me where you were, what you were doing. Didn’t you think I would worry?”

  “No,” he said baldly. “Did you?”

  She stared straight ahead. “Yes. At first. When I thought you might have left England because I had hurt you. When you stayed away so long … I couldn’t believe you would be gone so long just to punish me. I thought something must have happened to you.”

  “Something did.”

  “I know, you were shanghaied. But when you made it back to dry land, when you were free …” She turned to face him. “Not a word, Miles. Not a word to tell me you were alive. I had to find out from gossip what had happened to you.”

  “I didn’t think you cared,” he said, echoing her cruel words back to her.

  Her cry of anguished protest spooked one of the horses. It whinnied and skittered sideways. Miles dropped his cup and was on his feet beside the animal in an instant, calming it. Verity used the time to regain her composure. She set down what was left of her coffee and folded her hands in her lap.

  When Miles returned to the fire, he stood close enough behind her that she could feel his heat. “What was I supposed to think when you chose to marry a man I hated, a man who hated me?” he said. “I didn’t know Talbot had threatened you.”

  She rose and turned to face him, putting a little more distance between them. “You should have known I loved you too much to marry another man. You should have trusted me!”

  His eyes reflected the firelight. “Like you trusted me? You never even gave me a chance to confront Chester.” He shook his head in disgust. “You made all the choices, Verity. If they were the wrong ones, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

  “I’ve paid for my mistakes.”

  “Not quite yet, you haven’t. There’s a little something owed to me.”

  “Miles, I—”

  “Come here, Verity.”

  He didn’t wait for her to respond, simply reached out and pulled her into his arms. She could have resisted him, could have spit and clawed and kicked. It would have been futile, because he was stronger than she was. And hypocritical, because she didn’t want to resist him.

  Her eyes closed a
s he lowered his mouth to hers. She had waited long, lonely years to be held in his arms, to be loved once more, to be exactly where she was.

  She felt the anger in his kiss as he captured her lips, and she sought to soothe the savage beast. But her surrender only seemed to incite him. She gasped as he tore at the buttons of her basque-waist, thrusting his hand inside the layers of muslin beneath it to capture her naked breast. He made an animal sound in his throat as his hand teased her, caressed her, shaped her flesh.

  Her heart pounded out of control as his lips sought her throat, the shell of her ear, then found her mouth once more. He seemed ravenous, as though he couldn’t get enough of her.

  He suddenly froze, then lifted his head, searching the darkness with his eyes much as the horses had done when the wolf howled.

  She stared at him with dazed eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Be still.” He let go of her abruptly and kicked out the fire. Then he grabbed her wrist and headed for the horses.

  She struggled to repair her bodice one-handed, but before she could, Miles had hoisted her into the saddle. He tightened the cinch on her saddle, then on his, before mounting.

  “Follow me. Be as quiet as you can,” he murmured.

  Then he headed off across the prairie. She was stunned to realize the moon had come up. It didn’t seem possible so much time had passed.

  What did you hear? she wanted to ask. Where are we going? But she had seen enough of the dangers in this land to realize it was no idle warning he had given her. She remained silent. And followed where he led.

  6

  Miles had lived long enough in the wilderness to trust his instincts. It wasn’t what he had heard that had spooked him, it was what he hadn’t heard. The night sounds had ceased. It was a sign that something predatory had invaded the area. Until he knew precisely what—or who—it was, he wasn’t taking any chances on getting caught, literally, with his pants down.

  What had possessed him to touch her? To kiss her? He had known there was no possibility he could have satisfaction before journey’s end. So why had he tortured himself by reaching for her?