Rachel moaned and tried to answer him with her own kiss. She wanted to communicate her love and need for him, wanted him to know that she would stand beside him no matter what the future held. And she succeeded.
By the time they broke apart Lane was breathing as erratically as she. He led her to the bunk, set the basket on the floor and took her in his arms.
"What about Arnie?" she whispered.
"Probably has his ear to the door."
Rachel tried to pull away.
"I'm only teasing," he said against her throat as he kissed his way down to the bodice of her gown. "He's sitting there staring into space, probably trying to picture what the Widow McKenna has under her skirts."
"Lane!"
He reached beneath the hem of her gown and ran his hand up her leg to her thigh. "If he only knew."
"Oh, Lane…" she sighed. His hand found her already warm and moist. When Rachel moaned again. Lane covered her lips with his. Her will melted.
"Stand up," he said, taking her by the hand, pulling her to her feet.
Dazed, she blinked, coming out of a sensual fog. "Why?"
Once she was steady on her feet, he began to guide her slowly backward until she came up against the rough wooden wall of the cell.
"What are you doing?"
Lane pressed her against the wall, smoothed his palms down her arms, then clasped her fingers between his and kissed her lovingly.
"I'm going to make love to you. If Arnie comes in, I'll turn my back to the door, your skirt will fall back into place and all he'll see are two people standing in close conversation."
Rachel frowned. "Can we do it this way?"
Lane nodded and reached for the hem of her skirt.
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely."
"Please don't ever tell me how you found out this works, all right?"
He chuckled and stepped closer. "I promise." His voice lowered, throaty with need. "Unbutton my pants."
She did that and more, eagerly reaching inside, stroking him, easing his turgid member out of his fly. He moaned low in his throat, nuzzled her ear, laved it with his tongue. Rachel shivered.
"You drive me wild," he whispered, his breath feathering warmly over her ear. "No one's ever made me feel this way."
She closed her eyes, gave in and let the wall support her. Lane hooked one hand behind her knee, brought her leg up and draped it over his hip. She was lost in a new realm of sensation. Deftly he untied her drawers and drew down the thin muslin that was the only thing between them.
Lane prodded gently, shifted his weight and eased into her, lifting her higher against the wall as he buried himself in her wet heat. He began moving slowly, intent on pleasuring her even though his own need was so great he felt ready to explode.
Rachel gasped and buried her face against his shoulder, suddenly aware that the threat of discovery was as potent as any aphrodisiac. Lane was tender, giving, opening her fully, moving slowly as he pressed her against the wall. She wanted more, wanted to feel him take possession, hungered for him to bring her to release.
Lost in each other, the future so very uncertain, they stole the moment to cling to one another, to give and take and savor. Outside the window, a carriage drove past. Passersby on the street called out greetings to one another. The sounds were eclipsed by the frantic pace of their breathing, the push and pull of their movements. Nothing existed beyond the confines of the bare cell. No time existed but the present. There was nothing in the world except the two of them and their burning desire.
He grasped her thigh, his fingers sinking deep into her flesh as he drove into her fully, completely.
"Don't move," she whispered before her teeth began to gently tease the fabric along his shoulder blade. But it was too late. Beyond control, her body began to convulse around him and she was lost.
Lane felt the force of her climax as surely as if it were his own, felt her sheath pulsate and sap him of his will to make the moment last. He pulled back and plunged again, heightening her pleasure, stoking his own until blessed release came, sweeping over him in wave after wave after wave.
Shaken, Lane put both hands on the wall behind Rachel and leaned into her, forehead to forehead, and listened as their breathing slowed and faded until all he could hear was his own heartbeat and the softness of her sigh.
He slipped out of her. She eased her leg to the floor. Lane stepped away, turned his back to the door and arranged his clothing. Rachel shook out her skirt and reached down to pull up her drawers as Lane buttoned up his trousers.
"My hair…" she whispered, eyes wide, all her senses aware of what had just passed between them with Arnie Wernermeyer no more than a door and a few feet away. She reached up to see what damage might have been done.
"You look perfect, Widow McKenna. Not a hair out of place."
"Please don't call me that." Tears stung her eyes.
"I'm sorry." He reached out and ran a thumb beneath her lower lashes to sweep away the tears. He leaned close and kissed her, differently this time. This kiss was not driven by need, but by the sheer notion that he had to taste her, touch her, thank her for what she had just given him.
Rachel lifted her lips to receive his offering the way a flower turns faceup to the sun to drink in light and life. She felt renewed. Fate had brought her and Lane together. She was filled with hope that the same strength of love would help her triumph over the unthinkable threat the McKennas held over her.
As Lane pulled away, she smiled up into his eyes. "I didn't know I was only living half a life until you came back."
"You're something special, Teacher. You always have been."
The door beyond the cell bars opened without warning and Arnie appeared, head and shoulders around the doorframe. "Time's about up," he blurted out, his gaze traveling to the basket of food that sat untouched on the floor beside the bunk.
Rachel turned away, her cheeks aflame. Lane shot him a cold, hard glare until Arnie closed the door again, then he reached out for Rachel's hand and led her over to the bunk.
"All of a sudden, I'm starved." He smiled. "I guess I worked up an appetite." He sat on the bunk and pulled the basket onto his lap, shaking his head over the linen napkin, shining flatware and carefully wrapped plate of food Delphie had packed for him. When he saw the jar of peaches, he leaned over and kissed Rachel again.
"Want anything?"
She glanced at the food and shook her head.
"Talk to me while I eat, then you had better go."
Dreading the moment when she would have to leave him, she related the dinner discussion to him as they sat there shoulder to shoulder.
"So you like this new lawyer?" he asked.
"I do. He's confident that I'll win. Eva liked him, too. She went with me to meet him. She and Chase have been wonderful. He agreed to go to Denver and bring back Mr. Johnson if he had to."
Brushing biscuit crumbs off the front of his black shirt, Lane said, "Give Boyd a day or two more."
"We're not going to wait much longer. There's nothing to keep Stuart from getting a group of vigilantes together and demanding to see you hanged on the spot."
Rather than deal with the fear in her eyes, Lane changed the subject. "Is Tom Castor boarding Shield?"
"Yes, and he said not to worry about a thing." Tempted by a wayward lock of his hair, she reached out and smoothed it behind his ear. "Your hair is past your collar."
"You can trim it for me when I get out."
"I'd like that," she murmured, leaning close enough to nuzzle against his neck as he finished off the food on his plate. When he was done, there was nothing but a pile of chicken bones on the Wedgwood.
Lane kept the jar of peaches but packed the other things away carefully, slowly, trying to forestall the inevitable. Finally, when everything was back in place, he turned and handed the basket to Rachel, setting it on her lap so that she was forced to hold it.
"I want you to do something for me, Rachel."
"An
ything."
"I want you to walk out of that door and not come back. When I'm out, I'll come to you."
Just as he knew it would, his directive shocked her. She frowned, trying to understand why he would ask something so profoundly difficult of her.
"Why, Lane? It's not fair. Until Ty comes home again, seeing you is the only thing that will keep me from losing my mind."
"I know you better than that. You're made of stern stuff, Rachel, or you would never have been able to handle me when I was your student."
"But—"
"The McKennas will be looking for anything they can use to keep you from getting Ty. How is it going to look if you come here two and three times a day to be with me? We don't know how this is going to work out, and until we do, I don't think you should be seen visiting me."
He could see her wrestling to come up with an argument. But he could also see that her logical mind was telling her that what he said was true.
"You can't risk losing Ty because of our relationship. The McKennas are looking to incriminate you, and what we just did was pretty incriminating. We were lucky Wernermeyer didn't walk in and catch us."
"Then we won't do anything, but asking me not to see you—"
"I'm not asking you not to come here again, Rachel, I'm telling you. Besides, having you this close drives me crazy. I can't keep my hands off you."
She reached out and took his hand and held on tight. Any contact with him gave her strength.
"You may be right," she admitted grudgingly.
"I know I am. Don't come back," he said, standing up and helping her to her feet. He slipped an arm across her shoulders. The basket came between them, but he was still able to kiss her, long and hard. "I'll come to you when I'm free."
"If you're not out in three days' time, I'm going to send Chase to Denver, no matter what you say."
He yelled for Arnie to come and unlock the cell. As the sheriff lumbered into the room, Lane reached out and ran his fingers along Rachel's cheek. "Don't come back."
Lane watched her as she turned away. She was fighting back tears, refusing to give in to them. Spine stiff, every inch of her prim and proper in a blouse the color of violets, her cheeks blushing like roses and her lips tender from his kisses, Rachel walked out the door without looking back.
Arnie slammed the cell door shut and it locked with a hollow metallic ring, effectively closing Lane off from the outside world. He walked up to the bars and gripped them as rage began a slow simmer inside him, rage directed at himself and no one else. It was not Boyd Johnson's fault that he was here, nor was it Robert McKenna's. He had acted alone, without thought, and though he'd had no intention of killing McKenna or of bringing the McKennas' wrath down on Rachel, his actions had done just that.
He swore on all that was good and holy in Rachel that if and when he was released, he would do anything to make things up to her.
Anything at all.
* * *
Chapter Seventeen
"I'm heading to Denver tomorrow."
Lane stared through the bars at his uncle and knew the minute he heard the words that Chase's mind was set on trying to help him out of this fix.
"I doubt if it will do much good. If we were going to hear from Boyd at all, we'd have heard by now," Lane said.
"I'm not strong enough to stand up to both Eva and Rachel."
"Coward."
"Let's just say I know what's good for me."
"How are Eva and the kids?"
"Fine. We thought little Lane almost busted his arm when he fell off a horse, but it turned out to be a sprain. He insisted on riding one of the wildest devils of the bunch." Chase looked up from beneath the brim of his hat and pinned Lane with a look that spoke volumes. "Sometimes I wish I had named him something else. He seems to take after you more and more every day."
"Then you're in for a hell of a ride before he grows up." Lane laughed.
"Don't I know it," Chase said, then fell silent.
Lane knew he was waiting for him to ask about Rachel, but he didn't oblige him. His thoughts were filled with her day and night, so much so that he thought he would go crazy.
Finally Chase said, "Rachel's doing all right. Trying to cope. Her lawyer agrees with you. Told her that she shouldn't be coming over here to see you and said she should steer clear and walk the straight and narrow until this fight over Ty is finished. 'Course I never knew Rachel to do anything in the least questionable before…"
Lane didn't say a word.
Chase paced over to the window in the wall between the cells and shoved his hat back on the crown of his head.
"You love her?" he asked Lane. "Or have you just been foolin' with her?"
Thankful that they were separated by iron bars, Lane held his temper. He stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, swallowed and finally got the words out.
"What I feel for Rachel scares the hell out of me."
"Sounds like love."
They fell silent long enough to realize there was a conversation going on in the outer office, one that grew louder by the minute. Chase started to ask a question. Lane raised his hand and motioned for quiet.
He listened intently for a moment before he finally smiled and said, "Open the door."
Chase opened the connecting door and stepped back. The deep, authoritative voice they heard was instantly recognized by Lane as that of his mentor, Boyd Johnson.
"—and if those documents aren't proof enough that I'm an administrator from the Pinkerton Agency out of Denver and that Lane Cassidy is one of my operatives in the field, then you can damn well wire Denver yourself. And if their answer isn't good enough for you, Sheriff Wernermeyer, then I suggest you wire the New York and Chicago offices, and after that, you go right to the top and get in touch with William or Robert Pinkerton. That's P-I-N-K-E—"
Arnie mumbled something Lane couldn't hear and the next thing he knew, the sheriff was ushering Boyd into the cell room. Gone was the drunken drifter. A felt bowler had replaced the stained, battered Stetson Lane had last seen Boyd wearing. The stained, ragged, whiskey-soured clothing was gone. Boyd was dressed in the latest fashion, complete with a wing-tip collar that was banded by a black silk tie which echoed the houndstooth checks in his wool suit.
Johnson spared Lane a cursory glance, then walked directly up to Chase with his hand extended in greeting. "I'm Boyd Johnson. You must be the uncle."
"Chase Cassidy." The two men shook hands before Boyd turned to acknowledge Lane. When he finally did, Lane said, "Took you long enough to get here."
"I was tempted to let you get out of this yourself, Cassidy, but since it turns out McKenna was the Gentleman Bandit, I hated to see an innocent man hanged." Boyd turned and hollered out to Arnie, "Get in here, Sheriff, and turn my man loose before I file a complaint with the proper authorities."
Arnie appeared with the key, and in seconds the door swung wide and Lane stepped out. "Come on in and use my office," Arnie offered. "Mr. Johnson here's got some papers for me to look over before we ride out to the McKenna property and break the news to them."
Boyd led the way. Lane paused long enough to retrieve his hat from the bunk and give the cell a quick once-over before he walked out.
"I'll be glad to see the last of that place," he told Chase as they headed for the outer office.
"I know what you mean," Chase said softly.
Lane turned to his uncle and while they were still alone together, he paused. Rotating his hat over and over in his hands, he dug deep inside himself and somehow found the words to say what was in his heart. "I know what it must have cost you to walk in here after all those years you spent in prison, Uncle Chase. I know how you hate to be shut in…"
"It's like Eva says, Lane: We do what we have to do for family."
"I just wanted to say thanks."
"Anytime." Chase laughed, realizing what he had just committed to. "But not anytime soon."
In the office, they found Arnie already seated behind his
desk. Boyd had taken a chair across from him. Lane chose to casually sit on the corner of the desk while Chase stood near the open window with his arms crossed over his chest.
"I'll get right to it, Sheriff," Boyd began. "We've been narrowing our search for months now. Lane here was following one of the leads on his own, trying to clear his uncle's name. You see, we had him figured as the Bandit."
Arnie shot a surprised look at Chase, then concentrated on Boyd, who continued.
"Meanwhile, our operatives in New Orleans were looking into McKenna's import business and doing some snooping around his place, when you telegraphed me with word that Lane had killed him. I didn't have anything concrete to go on yet, and things being what they were"—he shot a dark look at Lane—"I couldn't confirm Cassidy was one of ours until we came up with real evidence that McKenna was the guilty party."
"But you did find proof?" Arnie asked.
"Enough to hang McKenna, if he weren't already dead. And I have a warrant here for you to search the McKenna ranch house for evidence from the last robbery. The way we figure it, Robert didn't have time to get rid of the money before he arrived at the ranch. He was probably going to take it back to New Orleans with him."
"I have to search the McKenna place?" Arnie sounded less than enthusiastic. He slipped a finger between his overly tight shirt collar and his thick neck, as if he were choking.
"You're the lawman in these parts, or so I've been told," Boyd said. "I brought four men with me. They'll accompany you."
"I'm going with you," Lane assured him. "I've got a little business of my own to conduct with the McKennas."
"Count me out," Chase said, moving toward the door. Then, to Lane, "I'll go by and tell Rachel you're free."
"Tell her where I'm headed and that I'll be there as soon as I can. I'll bring Ty home."
Last Chance Page 25
