by Gini Rifkin
“Holy Hell, Mariah. We should stop. You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
“But I do know, I read all about it in Dad’s books.”
There was a rather long, dead silence. Did he think her wanton for reading such material?
“You mean you’re a virgin?”
“Yes. But I don’t want to be,” she quickly added.
Panting, he hung his head for a moment. Then he straightened and studied her face. “Your first time shouldn’t be up against a tree in the annex of the town hall.”
“I don’t care where it is, as long as it’s with you.”
Didn’t he want her? Was he afraid she wouldn’t know what to do, or that she would expect him to make some kind of commitment to her? All she wanted was to feel loved and to know what it felt like to have a man need her in every way. To have a man please her in every way.
“You make being a virgin sound like some kind of crime, Marshal.” She still held the little bouquet in one hand, her grip now so tight the stems were in danger of breaking.
“It isn’t a crime, but it is important. I want you—you little fool. Bad. So badly I can’t see straight. But I can still think half straight. You don’t know anything about me. Where I’ve been, what I’ve done. I can’t live with your regrets. I have too many of my own.”
She didn’t know what to say. He was killing her with kindness. It was a good thing he didn’t want to take advantage of her, but what did this mean? Did he not want to make love to her at all, ever? She felt a rush of embarrassment and rejection. Her chin started to tremble; she tried to stop it but couldn’t. Then to her great mortification, a big tear escaped her left eye and rolled down her cheek. Virgil dried it with the pad of his thumb, leaned forward, and kissed her. This time the meeting of their lips was chaste and tender, but the pressure of his hand on her left breast was more promising, or at least more enthusiastic. He leaned away, let out a deep breath, and planted his hands against the tree, one on either side of her, keeping her in place.
“You’d best take some time and think about what you’re offering me,” he advised. “Once it’s done, there’s no going back. And after we talk and you know more about me, if you still want to do this, we will. I won’t say no a second time.”
He bucked his hips against hers. The part of him still hard rubbed against the part of her aching for release. Then he stepped back, buttoned up the front of her dress with care, and taking her hand, led her back to the dance.
****
Morgan Blackwell belched and rubbed his stomach. Shouldn’t have had that last helping of ice cream back at the social.
Twisting the dial on the big safe, he pressed down on the handle, opened the door, and secreted away the bill of sale for his beloved cattle. It was absolutely official and correct as far as it went. Of course the mention of the young bull was omitted. It hadn’t been included in the sale. The calf had accidentally been taken from the Somerford herd in Cheshire. Sir Walter Shakerley had so damn many farms and animals, the unplanned theft hadn’t been noticed for nearly a year, or so he’d heard through the grapevine. The perfect unintentional crime, or so it seemed. Post-delivery of the herd, the bull had been young enough to pass off as having been born stateside. After all this time, had they somehow traced it to him?
Damnation, you would think there was enough real crime and strife in England to keep them occupied without worrying about one rustled calf. Of course if it were a bull taken from his herd, he’d probably move mountains to find it and make sure someone paid. But Scotland Yard? That was a bit over the top. And what about that fellow ending up dead just down the road? That was a mystery sure as shootin’, the connection escaping him completely.
He slammed the heavy door shut and spun the dial. Too late to start hiding the bull, everybody in the county knew about him. He’d been branded, inspected, and registered. Nothing left to do now but bide his time, keep his ear to the ground, and his eyes wide open.
Molly had been chatting up the English lawman. Maybe he could pry a little straight talk out of her as to what was going on. Of course, if she truly had her sights set on the poor man, she might be less than likely to give up any information. Still, it would be worth a try.
He’d been surprised tonight to see the marshal was sweet on Doc’s daughter. And based on what was goin’ on out under the oak tree, the feeling appeared mutual. It had been quite the show. Good, it would keep them both busy and out of his hair.
There was probably no reason to worry. He was simply falling prey to a guilty conscience. Turning down the lamp, he headed up the stairs to bed. Too bad it was a new moon. Those British Whites appeared downright magical haloed in celestial light.
Chapter Seven
Virgil chewed on the non-business end of a matchstick and pondered the wisdom of continuing with his efforts to court Mariah.
Since the night of the ice cream social, he was torn between wanting her more than ever and thinking he should avoid her altogether. The way she kissed and touched him set his body on fire. A fire the nature of which he hadn’t experienced before. Recollections of the time they had spent in the dark stampeded though his mind and spiraled down to his crotch. Unbidden, a heavy sigh of discontent and frustration escaped him.
She sure was an exceptional female. One of the smartest and kindest women he’d ever met. And she was a gutsy little thing. A bit of a hardhead who could probably make him toe the line and do his best.
But what did he have to offer her? A fairly steady, low-paying job with no chance of advancement. On the bright side, he wasn’t in debt, owned his horse outright, and had put a down payment on a house just south of town. It was more than some folks could claim. More than he could claim three years ago.
Nobody but Ed Johnson, the bank president, knew about the land and cottage. Virgil didn’t want to move in there yet. The few times he’d walked through the place, the house had felt empty and lonely. He didn’t want to live there until it was full of warmth and laughter, and could be considered a home. Something he’d never had before. He needed someone with whom to share it.
He was proud of how far he’d come, but he’d also done things he wasn’t proud of. He hoped Mariah was the type who looked to the future and was not one for living in the past or for being unwilling to forgive. He’d find out sure enough because if he got the chance, he planned on telling her everything, well nearly everything, about his past.
The door to the office jerked opened, scattering his thoughts. His hand went to the butt of his Colt revolver then he relaxed as Arthur Wentworth stepped over the threshold.
“Good day, Marshal. How’s tricks?”
Virgil grinned. “I see Molly’s been teaching you some new American vernacular. I’d be a little careful where I used that one.”
“I see. Thank you for the clarification.”
“Anything new regarding our little situation?” Virgil asked.
“Not where Molly is concerned. She hasn’t revealed anything of interest regarding her trip to England. Rather closed-mouthed about it in fact. Conversely, she has been very eager to please in other areas.” Wentworth’s cheeks grew ruddy, his gaze unfocused as if he were lost in a particularly fond recollection.
Virgil stifled a laugh. If anyone could befuddle a man, it was Molly. “Just keep a tight rein on your wallet and your heart. Molly has the gift of mesmerism. And she practices it liberally, if you get my drift.”
“Jolly good to know. I’m not the sort to take advantage of a woman. Still I do enjoy a good romp same as the next swell.”
“Are you to see her again soon?”
“Yes, tonight in fact. Working at the tavern, err saloon, she hears the latest gossip. I’m hoping she’ll be on hand should someone in their cups have a slip of the lip. But perhaps I should play more the ‘reluctant lover.’ Don’t want to scare the fox to ground.”
“I’ll leave that up to you to decide. But the idea of a murderer skulking about sure makes me nervous as hell. I
rode out to the foothills again this morning, checking the likely spots where a drifter could make camp and hole up. I didn’t come across anything significant, but it’s a big county. Maybe he’s moved on.”
“Could be. Although I have a feeling he murdered Underhill before he had a chance to contact the person in town with whom he’s associated. He’s probably lying low for a while until he feels safe to try. He’s obviously desperate, and other than the relative in New York who handed him over quickly enough, it sounds as if the person residing here is his last hope in America. I suppose only time will tell. We’ve not much else to go on. It’s the old wait and see, until the game is afoot.”
“Rather a poor plan,” Virgil agreed absently, “but the best we’ve got.” Gaining his feet, he meandered about the limited office space. “I’ll watch for signs out in the surrounding hills and keep an eye on Morgan Blackwell. He’s lying low too. Not his style at all.”
“You seem a bit at loose ends, Marshal, and I’m guessing it has nothing to do with the murder investigation.”
He tried but failed to keep the silly grin from returning to his face.
“The doctor’s daughter?” Wentworth guessed.
“Yep.”
As if summoned by their thoughts, the door opened and Mariah waltzed in, carrying a basket and looking a tonic for whatever might be ailing a man.
“Isn’t it a beautiful morning, Mr. Wentworth?” She beamed.
The man glanced out the window, and his brow puckered in confusion as a cloudy sky and dreary atmosphere met his perusal. “If you say so, Miss McAllister.”
She drifted across the room.
“Good morning, Virgil,” she purred. “I baked you a cherry pie,” she added, offering up the basket.
An angel bearing gifts. He’d been thinking about her all week, especially this morning, but now to have her materialize in front of him left him tongue-tied.
“I’d best go check the telegraph office and see if anything new has come in from the Yard.” Not waiting for a reply, Wentworth slipped out the door.
Virgil studied Mariah’s hair. She’d worn it down today, free-spirited and wild, and he could hardly resist running his fingers through the mass of tempting curls. To keep his hands occupied at another task, he eased the basket from her, set it aside, and put the width of the desk between them. “Thank you for thinking of me,” he said.
“I think of you all the time,” she admitted with an expression that seemed somehow sadly romantic.
She strolled across the room, and as they stood there face to face, his noble intentions of conducting his life differently this time began to flounder. He wanted to take things slow, do right by her, ask for her hand in marriage. But it was hard to think about the future when the needs and desires of the moment were so overwhelming.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked, fiddling with the handle of the basket.
“Not for food.”
She gave him a sideways glance and a come- hither look. He crooked a finger beneath her chin, tipped her head back, and stole a kiss. She leaned forward as if seeking more, and he certainly wanted to oblige, but they had a few things to get out in the open before he let anything like the other night take place again.
He spanned her waist with his hands and eased her back to sit on the desk. Then knowing he needed to keep more than an arm’s length of distance between them, he stepped away and settled into the little chair wedged in the far corner.
“Did you do some thinking about where we were heading the other night under the oak tree?”
“Yes. I’ve thought long and hard about what you said and what I want. For the past week I’ve barely thought about anything or anyone else.” She clasped her hands together as if it gave her strength to reveal what was in her heart. “I haven’t changed my mind, Virgil.”
“You might, before we’re done talking. I don’t have a golden past. I did prison time.” He waited for the shocked expression that usually accompanied the revelation, but none came. “Three years,” he added, trying to drive home the point.
“Why were you in prison?”
“I unwittingly helped someone run a land swindle in New Orleans. Several people were cheated out of thousands of dollars. I did it for a woman I thought I loved, and who I thought loved me. She took the money, and I did the time.”
Mariah leaned forward and studied his face. “Did she break your heart then?”
“Yes. And I broke the law.”
“So you paid your debt to society and you’ve obviously mended your ways. Did you mend your heart as well?”
He met her gaze, but didn’t answer her question.
“Sometimes only love can mend a broken heart,” she said softly, “or are you afraid to fall in love again?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt you. You’re special. I’d be the first man you’d ever be with. And you and me together, that might not last forever.”
“Have you plans to leave Clover City?”
“The prison warden got me this job as marshal. It’s a five year commitment then I’m free to go wherever I want.”
“Well, Marshal, you’ve only been here three years. Why don’t we talk about it again in two?”
He remained in the chair. She eased off the desk, barred the door, and returned to stand before him. Her knees pressed against his, and he could feel her warmth and the smell of fresh baked pie and wanting on her.
He guessed there wasn’t anything left to say. She was old enough to know what she wanted, and he wanted her enough not to turn her down twice.
He captured one of her hands and gently tugged, urging her forward. She hiked up her skirt, straddled his thighs with those lovely long legs, and sat on his lap facing him.
****
In the light of day or the dark of night, this is what she’d dreamed about, yearned for, wanted with all her heart. Face to face—so close, so close the thinness of cloth the only thing separating their bodies from the sensual bliss for which she’d waited a lifetime.
Of course she wasn’t stupid. She’d read Dad’s secret book on herbal cures, and this morning when he wasn’t looking, she’d gagged down all the concoctions that were suppose to prevent pregnancy. She wanted a family someday, but right now she only wanted love—love and Virgil Kincaid. She also knew the first time could hurt, but the desire that tortured her mind and body had to be quelled; this condition was painful too.
He leaned back in the chair. With her legs spanning his, her feet touching the floor, she felt as if she were mounted on a wild horse, about to have the ride of her life. Virgil toyed with the buttons on her bodice, then starting at the top, he slipped them free one at a time. She hadn’t worn a camisole or, for that fact, pantaloons. Would he be shocked? It felt exciting and positively wicked to be out and about with nothing on under her dress and petticoats.
He splayed the edges of material and slid the fabric off her shoulders. His eyes widened in what she hoped was appreciation, then he smiled and grazed his hand across her exposed skin. His bold touch tantalized and teased, exciting her beyond anything she had previously experienced.
Sitting taller, he shifted his hands to her ribcage, drawing her closer. Hands on his shoulders, she leaned forward until he could kiss the path his hands had traveled. Gasping in surprise, she reveled in the sensation as he tongued her nipples into hard nubs and aroused the mounds of flesh surrounding the sensitive peaks.
Mariah wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. She couldn’t think straight as ribbons of delight radiated out from where his mouth worked its magic. She ruffled her fingers through his hair and pressed his head closer, encouraging him, letting him know it felt oh so good.
Little by little he inched her skirt higher. Now his right hand rested on her bare leg, moving upward, grazing across her thigh to one cheek of her bare buttocks. His breath caught in his throat.
“Sweet mother. For a virgin you’re bold as brass.”
“For the brooding silent
type,” she sassed, “you talk too much.”
Scooting down to once more straddle his thighs, she loosened his belt and undid the buttons on his fly. He burst forth, hard and ready, and her hand trembled as she touched him. Rigid as iron, yet soft as silk, a man’s body was a curious mix, just like his mind.
A grimace of pleasure snared his mouth, and he tilted his head back as she petted the tip and then stroked the full length of him. Touching him excited her, and the space between her legs ached more and more for attention. As if reading her mind, he slid his hand between her thighs, rubbing against the sensitive skin, creating a rhythm she followed with her own hands. His thumb found the center point of her desire, his fingers teased across the opening yearning for further exploration. She reeled as indescribable sensations took hold of her mind and body.
Eyes closed, she writhed and rubbed against his hand, her breath coming in jerky gasps and moans. The world around her disappeared, and all she felt and all she knew was concentrated on the desire building within her. A scream of enchantment escaped her lips and waves of pleasure wracked her body as a place deep inside of her pulsed and contracted. Panting with a crazed ecstasy, she scratched his chest and tore at his shirt, hardly noticing as he slipped his hand free and lounged back in the chair. Lifting her up, he urged her onto the most needful part of his body. Wet with her own release, she slid down the glorious length of him, feeling but not caring as a sharp pain grabbed for her attention.
Mariah met each thrust as he bucked beneath her. The bliss she felt moments before returned full blown and gathered strength. This time it was even more extreme as the glorious hard part of him filled the space his fingers had primed. Being with Virgil surpassed all her imaginings. She wanted to please him as well as satisfy her own demanding urges. Wanted him to know they were making love not just having sex.
