Last Chance

by Jill Marie Landis

  "You seem far away tonight. So lost—"

  "I loved Stuart… at first," she admitted slowly. "But I found out soon enough that I could never be the woman he wanted me to be."

  Lane stepped into the room and sat down beside her on the settee. "There isn't a man on earth who wouldn't want a woman like you."

  She looked surprised. "There used to be. Unfortunately, I was married to him. I tried my best to do everything perfectly. I thought I was the wife Stuart wanted, but nothing I did pleased him."

  She looked down at her hands, then at a point across the room. When she spoke, it was in words barely above a whisper.

  "I wasn't woman enough for him in bed."

  Knowing he was in deep water, Lane didn't know what to say or do. Admitting the truth must have been painful for a decent, upright woman like Rachel, he realized. He found himself feeling so awkward he wished he had never mentioned her former husband.

  "Rachel, you don't have to say any more."

  "I've kept this inside for too long already. It's a relief to tell someone." She looked down at her hands as she traced her cuticles over and over. "I quit loving Stuart years ago. The night I conceived Ty was the last time we slept together."

  Her hands were shaking so violently that he reached out to still them. Lane took her hands in his and held them tight, rubbing the backs with his thumbs. He could feel the delicate bone structure beneath her skin. At a loss for words, he let her air her pain.

  "Stuart had a heart attack and died in bed with one of the whores at the Slippery Saloon." She shook her head and blinked back tears. "It was the talk of the town for quite a while. Every time things get slow around the pickle barrel at Carberry's General Store, the subject comes up again.

  "When I argued with Stuart Senior and Loretta the other day, my father-in-law informed me that Stuart had even told him that he was dissatisfied with me." She paused, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "The whole town knows. And now you know, too. I feel like such a fool."

  Lane scooted closer until their thighs touched. He reached out and slipped his hand around the nape of her neck and drew her head down to his shoulder. Holding her gently, offering the only thing he had to give, he gently rubbed her back.

  "I'm sorry, Lane."

  He was surprised when she didn't try to move out of his arms. "What do you have to feel sorry for?"

  "For falling apart on you like this."

  "You took care of me one night long ago," he reminded her. "Took me in and fed me, let me bed down here. You even rode back to the ranch with me so I wouldn't have to face Chase alone."

  He felt her nod against his collarbone.

  In that moment he found himself hating Stuart McKenna for what he had done to her. The man had been a fool not to see that beneath her studied composure, Rachel was a woman who had as much love to give as any man could want. It suddenly dawned on him what he could do for her before he rode out of her life. He could give her back the confidence she needed. He could replace the haunted look in her eyes.

  At a point in his life when he'd been beginning to despair of ever having a normal life after what he had suffered as a child, he'd been schooled by an expert that it required give-and-take to achieve mutual satisfaction. Lane knew he would be safe in betting that if Stuart McKenna found Rachel lacking, it was because the man had not known how to give her pleasure and bring her to life in his arms.

  He wanted to prove to her that Stuart McKenna had been at fault.

  "Rachel?" He put his hand beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. Her dark lashes were spiked with tears, her eyes red-rimmed but luminescent. Worry puckered her brow.

  "I'm willing to bet all I've got that you weren't responsible for McKenna's disappointment," he told her gently, unable to take his eyes off her full lips.

  "What do you mean?" she whispered.

  "Will you let me show you?"

  "I don't think—"

  "Don't think, Rachel. Just let me kiss you."

  "Like before?"

  "No, this time it would be your choice."

  Her eyes wide, her expression one of confusion, she stared up at him. He could feel the tension and fear that emanated from her. He could see that she was torn.

  "Rachel, let me kiss you."

  She gave a slight nod and closed her eyes.

  He savored the fresh, floral scent of her hair, the way the lace on the collar of her creamy blouse teased his fingertips where his hand still lay at the nape of her neck. He let his thumb play up and down along her throat. Her shoulders went rigid. He heard her swift intake of breath before his mouth covered hers.

  Lane moved slowly at first, tasting, nipping, putting her at ease, before he pressed for more. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, tempted her to open up to him by applying gentle pressure until she did.

  As he deepened the kiss and delved into the warm, wet interior of her mouth, he felt his heartbeat accelerate. Involuntarily, he pulled her closer until her full, pliant breasts flattened against his chest.

  When he realized what he had done, Lane was afraid he had gone too far, that she would pull away. Instead, he heard her moan low in her throat. The hand she had been holding idly in her lap tentatively grasped his waist. He deepened the kiss, pressed her closer, circled her tongue with his until he felt her shudder against him.

  When he raised his head, he took a deep, satisfied breath. He could see that she was afraid she had failed.

  He took her hand and held it against his racing heart.

  Her eyes widened.

  "You did this to me with just one kiss, Rachel. Do you want to take things a step further and see what else you're capable of doing to me?"

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  Shocked by her response, Rachel found it hard to deny she hungered for more. Until this moment, she'd thought kisses were nothing more than pecks on the cheek or the kind of fierce, demanding, tight-lipped exchanges she'd endured with Stuart.

  What Lane had done was something altogether different, something enticing, exciting and exhilarating. Not to mention inspiring.

  Lost in the depths of his eyes, she could only repeat in a whisper, "Take it a step further?"

  Lane nodded.

  Rachel found it impossible to think about anything while he held her so close. His kiss had sapped her of her will, but it certainly hadn't dulled her senses. She could still feel his heart beating thunderously beneath her hand and marveled mat a kiss, her kiss, could do that to any man, let alone Lane Cassidy.

  She had been right when she'd told him he could probably teach her quite a lot about kissing.

  She closed her eyes, fighting back wave after wave of regret. Sadly, she knew she could not let this go on any longer. Not Rachel McKenna, well-respected widow and mother.

  "I can't do this, Lane. You know that."

  "I know." Regret weighed heavy in his tone. "But did I prove my point?"

  It was still hard for her to believe she could have aroused him so quickly. She changed the subject. "I'm too old to be doing this sort of thing."

  "How old are you?"

  "Thirty."

  "If it matters, we're almost the same age."

  "Thank you, Lane."

  "For what?"

  "For proving a point tonight. You've given me a lot to think about."

  She watched a thoughtful expression darken his eyes. "You've given me more than that." He stood up, straightened his shirt and adjusted his waistband. "I had best be going."

  "I'll walk you to the door."

  She left the lamp burning in the parlor and escorted him into the darkened hallway. They paused in shadows, passing an awkward moment in silence while she reached around him to grasp the doorknob.

  "My hat?"

  "On the piazza," she reminded him. "On the rocker."

  He lingered for a moment, a faraway look in his eyes.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  Her question seemed to draw his attention bac
k to the moment. "I was wondering if you might know how Chase will react to seeing me again after all this time."

  "Why, I imagine he will be thrilled."

  "Don't say that just to make me feel better, Rachel."

  His comment gave her pause to think. Lane had ridden out of his uncle's life without a good-bye, leaving things unsettled between them. If something other than rebellion against his uncle's authority had driven Lane out of Last Chance, that something still remained a mystery to everyone who knew him.

  "You left years ago, Lane. I'm sure that Chase will be more than willing to leave the bad blood in the past, where it belongs. His family means everything to him now—anyone who lays eyes on him with Eva and the children knows that. He felt the same way about you. Will you stay until he comes back?"

  It was a moment or two before he answered. "Yeah. I'll stay."

  "If you want me to be there when you see him again, let me know."

  He reached out, cupped her chin and traced her lips with his thumbs. "Thanks, Rachel."

  "Thank you, Lane. You taught me something I might never have known."

  His lips tipped up in a beguiling, tempting smile. "Care to go over the lesson again? We've barely gotten started."

  "No thank you, Mr. Cassidy." She gave him a firm shove in the direction of the porch.

  Lane stepped outside and picked his hat up off the wicker chair. She closed the door so that she wouldn't have to watch him ride away. Moving through the silent house, she returned to the parlor and reached for the lamp, then used it to guide herself up the stairs. Her room was at the top of the hall, the same room once occupied by her parents, the one she had shared with Stuart.

  Once inside, she cupped her hand around the top of the glass chimney and blew out the lamp, preferring the cloak of darkness. She moved through the room with practiced familiarity, even though she felt like a stranger to herself.

  She walked to the window, pushed the lace curtains aside and raised the shade. As the lace tiers fell back into place, she gazed out at the waning moonlight and began to work the pins from her hair. She shook her long hair free, relishing the comfort more subdued styles did not allow.

  She took her time slipping out of her clothes, pulled her blouse free of the waistband of her skirt and draped it over the stool drawn up before her vanity table.

  Quickly, she divested herself of her shoes, skirt and then her underclothing. Somewhere down the street a horse whinnied. She glanced over her shoulder at the open window, her heartbeat arrested for a moment, daring to wonder if Lane might have lingered outside, thinking perhaps to come back and convince her she needed additional tutoring in the art of lovemaking.

  A foolish notion, she chided herself, when she suspected the next step would lead them into forbidden realms. She may have let propriety slip tonight, but she hadn't completely lost her wits.

  Tempted to dive naked between the cool sheets, Rachel called upon her already strained good sense and donned her summer nightgown. It was made of lightweight muslin and was overly modest, and had long sleeves banded by ruffled cuffs and a high collar. Still feeling daring, she left off buttoning it to the neck.

  As she climbed into bed, Rachel recalled how many nights she had waited, fully gowned, for Stuart to come to her. Before their honeymoon, she had dreamt of the act of lovemaking, wondering what secrets lay ahead. Schooled in the lessons of life and love interpreted by her mother, Rachel had left it up to Stuart to make all the sexual advances.

  After experiencing Lane's kiss, she wondered if her mother might have misinterpreted some of the fine points.

  "No man wants to find he's married a wanton, Rachel," her mother had warned a few days after the girl had turned eighteen.

  "You don't want your husband to think you forward. Behave always in a dignified manner. You may lose your heart to a man, but never lose your moral fiber or your composure. There are things he might ask of you," her mother had warned mysteriously, "but some things just are not done, not by decent women anyway."

  Rachel flung her arm across her eyes and groaned. The heated kiss she had let Lane press upon her was most certainly one of those things her mother had insisted was not done.

  She had never even removed her clothing in the presence of a man, nor had she seen Stuart fully unclothed in the daylight. The secrets of his maleness had remained hidden beneath the covers. In his blundering attempts to arouse her, Stuart had never done anything more than roughly knead her breasts through her nightgown. After that, he would quickly raise the flounced hem of her gown when he was ready and shove himself into her, grunting, panting, often mumbling curses. He battered against her, rocking the bed violently until he spilled his seed inside her.

  Not once in all the years they had been married had he ever brought her to the heart-pounding pitch she had reached so very quickly in Lane's arms. There had been a moment downstairs when she actually didn't want him to stop, a moment when she felt she was on the brink of some great discovery.

  What would it feel like to have Lane moving inside her? She suspected he would be gentle, but never tame. He would give as well as take. If the intense longing he had aroused with one kiss was any indication, in his arms she just might discover the fulfillment which had always eluded her.

  She rolled to her side, hugging her pillow close. Half of her wanted to cry with relief for the glimpse of heaven Lane had given her, while the other half wanted to cry over what she could never have. At least now she was fairly convinced that it was her husband's ineptness, coupled with her own ignorance, that had doomed her marriage.

  Unfortunately, it was Lane Cassidy who had opened Pandora's box and given her a view of the treasure inside.

  Lost in thought, Lane made his way down the sidewalk, his footsteps heavy as he headed toward the telegraph office, intent on wiring Boyd Johnson to alert him to his whereabouts, as he had been about to before Delphie had spotted him and invited him to dinner.

  He kept an eye out, ready to duck from sight if he saw the housekeeper, Ty or even Rachel. He sidestepped a stern-faced woman in a poke bonnet who was dragging a sobbing little girl away from a penny candy display in the window of Carberry's. As he passed the open door, he ducked his head and pulled his hat brim down low on his brow.

  After last night, there was no way to avoid temptation if he kept seeing Rachel. Once before she had expected more of him than he was willing to give, and he had disappointed her by refusing to stay in school. He had been too angry inside, too anxious to get away from Chase and the ranch to stick around and learn how to read, write or cipher.

  He didn't want to disappoint her again, didn't want her expecting him to show up on her doorstep with his hat in his hand ready to promise her the moon. Her and the boy.

  He glanced in the open door of the general store. There were too many people lined up at the counter for his comfort. He would wait until the crowd thinned before he went in to buy supplies.

  At the end of the block, Lane paused long enough for a buckboard full of bushel baskets of vegetables to rumble by before he stepped out into the street. When he reached the opposite corner, the swinging doors of the saloon flew open. A hatless, bald, filthy drunkard in a ragged, emerald and brown checkered suit careened into him, nearly knocking Lane off his feet.

  The stench of whiskey mired in sweat wafted off the stout, reeling figure. Lane grasped the portly, mustachioed old man by the back of his collar and heaved him back toward the sidewalk.

  Passersby scattered. Two couples on the walk nearby stopped dead in their tracks. The gentlemen quickly took their well-dressed female companions by their arms and urged them in the opposite direction. The women glanced curiously over their shoulders as the men led them away, obviously disgusted. One escort even pinned Lane with a warning stare.

  "What are you looking at?" In a foul mood already, Lane glared the man down, daring him to make a move, wishing it would happen so he could vent the frustration building inside him.

  "Yeah," the old
drunk mimicked, "what'cha luckin' at?"

  At the sound of the sot's voice, Lane whirled around and gave the codger a long hard once-over. He reached for the man's collar again and shook him hard. The drunk crossed his arms protectively over his face.

  "Don't hit me," he whined.

  "Don't worry," Lane grumbled.

  He hauled the much shorter man across the boardwalk and back into the saloon. A path immediately opened through the sparse morning crowd as Lane continued to half drag the man toward a table in the back.

  "Let me make amends, old-timer," he said loud enough for those close by to hear.

  The thin, well-endowed barmaid who had approached him on the Fourth followed them to the table against the back wall. As Lane shoved the old man into a chair he told the girl, "Two whiskeys, straight up."

  With a quick glance around the room, Lane folded himself down into the chair beside the bald man and drew up close to him, ignoring the stench of whiskey-soaked wool.

  "How did you find me?" Lane asked the old man as he watched a newcomer sidle up to the bar.

  Boyd Johnson smiled, revealing two artfully blackened teeth beneath a thick, gray mustache partially streaked with henna. He dipped his head between his shoulders, elbows splayed on the table, and stared into a puddle of liquor as he mumbled, "I'm good at my job, you know that."

  "You smell like hell."

  "You don't look so good yourself, Cassidy. In trouble?"

  "No more than usual—but this time it's a woman," Lane admitted grudgingly. He wouldn't have told anyone in the world but his mentor what was behind his foul mood.

  "Never known you to get involved."

  "Love 'em and leave 'em, that's me." Since he rarely bothered with women, Lane smiled at his own joke and struck a more casual pose by slouching down. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossed his ankles and concentrated on the dusty toes of his black boots.

  "You don't look like you believe that this time," Boyd said.

  "What's up?" Lane said, changing the line of questioning. "How'd you say you found me?"