by Stacy Reid
She shifted away pressing her back into the tree trunk. She stared at him with narrowed eyes. “You did not have to read my personal correspondence.”
He gave her a lazy smile and bit deep into a piece of chicken. “You have family you can return to.”
“No I don’t. My family is my father, my brother, and when the mood suits, my stepmother. Lady Ashton is simply a distant cousin on my mother’s side.”
“She is an option.”
“No she isn’t, Elijah. London is a distant dream. More of a memory because I have no wish to return. Maybe one day to visit…but never to live.”
He went silent. “Was it that bad? That you would choose to remain here…where a man like Sullivan hunts you? Where you will have to work hard and fight to hold onto all you value? You are the only woman I know who would fight to stay in the West. Our men are enticing the ladies to travel west, and we have had a slew of mail order brides, but many are leaving.”
She knew the truth of his words. “For a man that has been holed up in his mountain cabin for months, you are well informed.”
She liked the sensual quirk of his lips. His dark blonde hair shone under the light and she fancied she could see four different hues, like that of a lion. He laughed the sound rough and masculine. It warmed something deep inside of her. When was the last time she had heard his laughter?
“Everyone knows Mr. Dickens’s mail ordered bride returned to Virginia, and Mr. Clarke’s missus changed her mind the minute she arrived in Blue Lagoon.”
Sheridan grinned, happy with the normality of their conversation.
“But you Sheridan….why?”
“Maybe I am just disreputable,” she teased.
His direct stare unnerved her. She picked up a cloth napkin, and settled it across her lap. She placed her barely nibbled food in her lap frowning. How could she explain to him how the land called to her? The wildness, the sheer beauty that laid in the savagery?
“My father remarried when I was eight years old. My stepmother hated me. She thought I was wild and uncontrollable and that two years was sufficient time for me to heal from my mother’s passing. I was sent away to boarding school for years. Even for the holidays I was not allowed home. My father simply forgot about me.
“The loneliness was so painful. Nine years of prim and proper imprisonment in a boarding school, nine years deprived of even written contact with my family. Years of wondering why I meant so little to my father, when I loved him with my whole heart.”
“I remembered,” he said softly.
“I could not stay beyond eighteen and I was collected. Very reluctantly too. I had a season and I should have fallen in love with at least one of the gentleman from the haute monde. I had been too restless, hungry for something more. When Thomas came it was easy for me to be swept away by his promises of a simpler life, and my father was only too happy to give us his blessings. I’d foolishly thought my father and I would have at least corresponded through letters. But it is as if I am still at boarding school.” She bit into a chicken leg, chewing thoughtfully. “The moment I stepped onto the Whispering Creek with its vastness of the land, open air, beauty, and mountains, I fell in love. Here I was free…and I had purpose in the land.”
She licked the grease from her fingers and her stomach fluttered at the desire that flared in his eyes. “I wanted a family…Thomas didn’t want me. And then I met you…and you were…” She shrugged, unable to hold his scrutiny any longer.
“You used me to ease your loneliness.”
Instead of condemnation she heard curiosity.
“No I didn’t use you, Elijah. I wanted you…I…You were…” she trailed off at loss at how to explain how he had been for her. “You were like the land itself. Raw and potent…I was drawn to you before you touched me, and when you finally kissed me you lit me aflame with passion and feelings that drowned me. You still do.”
A slow color burned along his cheekbones and she blinked in amazement. Had her words flustered him? “Are you not in the least bit curious why Thomas never wanted me?”
Blazing green eyes met hers. “I suspected.”
“As Thomas explained one day, he simply wasn’t built to desire any woman.”
Her heart lurched when Elijah moved and sat beside her, his knee drawn up, resting on the massive oak trunk as well.
“That is why it was hard for me to forgive Thomas’s actions against you,” Elijah said.
As if on cue, the lashes on her back burned. Its phantom caress always teased at her whenever she thought about it. “I never got to thank you,” she murmured. “But I am deeply regretful my actions hurt your friendship.”
He turned his head and her breath hitched. His lips were scant inches from hers. “Do not be. A man who hits a woman…even one who would think to whip her is less than pond scum.”
She swallowed. “Thank you.”
His eyes rove her face with an intensity that had heat pooling low and hot.
“Are you going to kiss me?”
“No.”
Her gaze dipped to his lips. “You are staring.”
“I am thinking.”
She shifted even closer to him, breathing in his scent—musk, leather, and sandalwood soap. Her heart rate doubled. “Are you thinking about kissing me?”
“No.”
The amusement in his tone had her lifting her eyes to meet his. She gasped at the lust firing from his gaze. Yet he did nothing. She admired his restraint, for she wanted to climb into his lap and be devoured by him. “If you suspected why Thomas never wanted me. Why were you so angry with me?”
Elijah sighed. “I was angry with myself. I had made a vow never to be with a woman like you again….and I broke that vow and allowed myself to believe in the promise of another future, a future that was a façade.”
Her mouth went dry and she wished she hadn’t mentioned it. She did not want him to be thinking about how lacking she was for this life.
“Do not ever go into town alone,” he ordered suddenly.
She nodded, grateful for the, shift in subject. “I won’t,” she agreed.
“Always take at least two ranch hands with you. If they are unavailable, wait until I am available.”
“I will,” she promised.
His gaze dropped to her lips and she held her breath in an agony of hopeful anticipation. He withdrew and disappointment settled in her stomach. Before she could say anything, he gripped her hair and wound it in his hand, drawing her towards him.
Her heart stuttered when he lifted his hand and caressed her cheek. “This does not mean anything,” he growled and then took her lips.
From the intensity in his eyes and his grip she’d expected him to ravish her mouth. Instead, his tongue was a teasing foray, a gentle exploration she had never expected. Sheridan parted her lips allowing him easier access. He pleasured her mouth in small nips and licks, more teasing and soothing than sensual. Tears pricked behind her lids as she twined her hand around his neck and returned his kiss. It had been so long since he’d touched her with such wonderful care.
Before she could sink into the embrace, he slowly pulled from her and leaned back against the tree. He released her hair, shifting its thick strands through his fingers. He said nothing, simply rested his arm on his knee and watched the horizon in contemplative silence.
He said it meant nothing. But to her it meant everything, and for the first time she really felt he might fall in love with her. She clenched her fingers in the blanket, hoping she was not leading her stubborn heart to pain and disappointment.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked gruffly.
A soft gasp escaped her. Where had that offer come from? Before she could query he spoke, “You told me once it was the only thing you missed about your life in London. Dancing the waltz.”
She laughed. “And you actually
suffered through me teaching you the steps.”
He grunted but the corner of his lips twitched. Then with grace he pushed to his feet, faced her and delivered a perfect courtly bow. “Would you honor me with a dance?”
Her heart a beating mess in her excitement, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. Sheridan stepped back a few paces, before dipping into an elegant curtesy. “It would be my pleasure.”
Then she was in his arms, he drew her in an extremely close embrace, and the whistle of the breeze across the lands, and the chirping of the cicadas, and the thrilling birds became the music they twirled with elegant grace across the wide-open plains.
A smile burst on her lips at the glorious sensations bursting inside her heart. She was happy…and as she had long suspected, there was hope for her and Elijah.
Chapter Eleven
Several cats and dogs lay sprawled in the dirt soaking up the noon day sun. Sheridan jumped out of the wagon and hitched it to the post near the blacksmith’s shop. Blue Lagoon was a thriving town with a two-story hotel, three saloons, two schools, and a church. It even had its own mayor, judge, and sheriff.
“I will not be long, Tom.”
Tom nodded and tipped his hat. “I will wait here, Mrs. Galloway.”
Jason Finchman the other cowhand who rode into town with her hitched his horse and walked to position himself on the boardwalk near the dry goods store. Sheridan had mentioned to Elijah that Beth was to travel into town for a few bolts of calico. He had named the ranch hands that should accompany her. However, Grayson had been fussy this morning. Possibly teething. So, instead of riding out to meet Elijah where he’d been rounding up cows that had strayed onto their neighbor’s homestead, Sheridan had ridden into town with the men in Beth’s stead.
Today was the first time she had come into town since Sullivan had visited the ranch. It had only been a little over a week, but it seemed like a lifetime. She was relieved Sullivan had not visited again, but she also felt on edge. He had hounded her for weeks, always sending one of his cowhands to the ranch with either a message or some gift. He had been persistent, so his silence now was effective. She was intimidated and she understood Elijah’s caution.
Sheridan adjusted her wide brimmed straw hat, seating it more firmly on her head. While it was not fashionable, without it her skin would blister in the summer heat. She walked down the street, her skirt swishing against her legs as she thought about the items she needed to purchase. She travelled down Baker Street, the most prosperous street in the town where there were a dozen bustling buildings, towards the general store. She strolled past Mrs. Henshaw’s bakery and her mouth watered at the scent of cake and coffee. She crossed the street and was about to ascend the boardwalk when two men stepped in her path, their faces blank.
“Excuse me,” she muttered politely and made to move around.
Sheridan frowned when they shifted with her, and then it occurred to her that they had deliberately blocked her path. “I do not understand why you are blocking my path gentlemen, please excuse me.”
“She seems hostile, doesn’t she?” the man closest to her demanded with a disgusting leer.
“She sure do,” the second man drawled with a leer chewing steadily on his jerky.
Hostile? Sheridan’s lips curled in disgust when he grabbed his crotch suggestively. She glanced around to see a few people watching covertly. She looked enquiringly at Mrs. Glibly, the mayor’s wife as she walked wide around them as if she did not see. At least a dozen people were standing around quietly observing. Surely these men would not act uncouth with the town’s people looking on?
The one that had the jerky in his mouth took malicious pleasure in informing her. “They don’t cotton too much to whores that pretend to be ladies.”
Sheridan’s stomach tightened in dread. “Please excuse me.” She would be polite even if it killed her.
They assessed her person in a way that made her twitch nervously. Disgusting reprobates.
“Mr. Sullivan demands your presence in the saloon.”
She inhaled sharply. The Saloon? No respectable woman would enter there. “You will move out of my way, gentlemen,” she snapped, not in the least intimidated by them. “I have no business with Mr. Sullivan.”
The boardwalk creaked and she glanced up to see Bartley exiting the saloon. He had the most salacious countenance, as he slowly roved her body with his slimy eyes. She fought not to show the nerves growing in her stomach. Sullivan’s goons had never bothered her so overtly in town before. Why would they do so now?
Bartley stepped toward her and she inclined her head to meet his steady regard. He lifted one of his hands and cupped her cheek, his thumb parting her lips and dipping inside her mouth. She stumbled away from him and stared at him revolted. “Don’t you touch me!”
She glanced to where she hitched the wagon and the colt she had nestled inside. Where was Tom?
She met Jason’s eyes and he walked over scanning the men. He seemed cool and controlled, and some of the tension eased from her. Jason paused beside her, his hands hitching in his belt buckle close to his gun strapped onto his thigh.
“Is there a reason you are blocking Mrs. Galloway’s path?” he demanded.
Quick as a snake and faster than she could track, the man directly in front of her punched Jason in the stomach, then stepped in close and slammed his knee into his face.
She jerked at the unexpected brutality.
Her eyes flickered to the few men and women that lingered observing them. Something was wrong. No one made any effort to approach them, and many people went about as if they did not notice she was being accosted. Jason lay on the ground, blood trickling freely from a deep gash in his forehead obviously unconscious, but no one made any attempt to intervene.
Bartley hitched his gun belt higher on his waist and satisfaction resounded in his voice when he spoke. “I will be doing much more than touching you before the day is out, Sheridan,” he assured her with that disgusting smile on his face. “After Mr. Sullivan is done with you, I will keep you for a while before handing you over to the boys. But if yer good to me, I may not pass you over to them at all. It will only be me and Mr. Sullivan between those lily-white thighs of yers.”
The hollow dip in her stomach was more than unpleasant. “You are insane,” she breathed. “Elijah Kincaid will kill you if you so much as touch me.”
“Will he?” Bartley mused. “Never figured a man would be willing to fight over a whore.”
The other two men cackled as if he related some grand tale.
The fear inside her tightened its grip. She felt sick to her stomach. She could not believe what was happening. Even though she knew they wanted her land and wealth, never had they accosted her in such a vile manner.
Bartley touched her hips, and battling the panic that tried to claim her, she gripped the basket in her hand tightly and swung it at his head. She turned and dashed toward the wagon. Iron bands of arms circled her and pulled her back. She tried to pull away from them. A cry issued from her when the arms tightened painfully.
“You are needed in the Saloon.”
“Let go of me!” she growled. “You are mistaken if you think I will enter a saloon.”
Bartley guffawed, jerking her to him so she pressed against his chest. “She still is pretending to be a lady, boys. Everyone knows you are shacking up with Elijah Kincaid and that you were giving it to him before Thomas died. That makes you nothing more than a whore. Now Mr. Sullivan could have invited you to dine with him at his hotel. But such a fancy meal and setting would be wasted on you.”
The blood drained from her face and she stilled. How did they come by such knowledge?
The noon sun pressed down on her and a bead of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades. Bartley pressed a kiss to her neck and she jerked her knees up, aiming for his nether region. Her skirt hampered her movements an
d he barely grunted.
His laughter taunted her. “Feisty…I like it.”
Her voice was hoarse with rage. “Unhand me sir or you will be sorry.”
Bartley’s eyes glittered with lust and possessiveness as he stared at her. “Do you think we believe Elijah Kincaid will fight us for a light skirt like you? Imagine our surprise when Ben Jefferson let us know you had been giving it to Kincaid and when Thomas found out he whipped you. Imagine that. All this time you were simply a no-account whore with money.”
He bent his head and tried to claim her lips. She twisted her face and his disgusting lips smacked her cheeks.
“I am going to have fun with you, darlin’. Unlike Mr. Sullivan I like my women with fight in them and you look like you have plenty.”
She pushed her hand between them trying to create space. When he refused to budge, she did not hesitate in bringing her knee to his crotch once again. He blocked her movement and pushed her away from him, jeering her with his coarse laughter.
Sheridan spun around and ran toward the wagon. Strong hands came around her and jerked her off her feet. She was spun around so fast, she felt dizzy. It was now one of the goons holding her.
“No missy, off to the saloon with you, and do not make me hurt you,” he growled.
Sheridan straightened her spine and curled her lips in disgust. “You are wasting your time. I am not interested in anything Mr. Sullivan has to say and you will release me, you slime. You will not hinder me further.”
“Mighty fine word you’re using ma’am. Hinder. What you figure it means, Omar?”
The goon chewing the jerky swallowed and a leer came over his face. “I was sort of figurin’ she is agreein’ with us that as a light tail she cannot expect to meet with Mr. Sullivan in any fancy dining room.”
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to shed any. The slimes were toying with her.
The goon shoved her towards Omar, and he snaked a hand out to haul her towards him, grinding his hips into her buttocks. He encircled his hands around her breasts, and squeezed painfully.
