The Last Renegade

by Jo Goodman

  Raine stood outside his experience. She was strong-minded, unafraid to challenge him. She was also willing to listen and allow that she could be wrong. She had a soft heart for rascals and a hard one for people who wronged her. He knew from her letters that her decision to hire a protector was not the judgment of a moment. She carefully considered most of the things she had to confront. She was thoughtful in ways that demonstrated different meanings of the word. She did not shy away from thinking through a problem, and she was clever.

  Kellen thought that perhaps her most impulsive act in the short time he had known her had been when she came out of the water to catch the sponge, and he certainly had provoked her.

  Venus rising.

  The image was seared in his mind like a brand.

  Raine put her brush aside and drew her hair over one shoulder. She threaded her fingers through it to make three distinct ropes and began to loosely plait it. It was impossible not to be aware of Kellen’s eyes on her hands. The intensity with which he watched made her normally deft fingers clumsy. She had to draw his attention away from what she was doing or risk having to braid her hair all over again.

  “Why do you suppose the jury is congregating in my saloon?” she asked. “That was your point earlier, wasn’t it?”

  Kellen dragged his eyes away from Raine’s fine hands. “I can’t say with certainty why they’re all there, but I imagine if you think back, you will recognize that it’s been occurring for a while. I noticed there are two other saloons in Bitter Springs, so it’s not as if the men who frequent the Pennyroyal don’t have choices. Walt tells me that you have the only piano, but somehow I don’t think that’s the draw. I think the men are coming here as much for their own protection as yours. I don’t know how organized they are—I suspect they came together more by accident than design—but it seems likely they’ve come to recognize the intelligence of staying together.”

  “I wonder if they have a plan.”

  “Other than to stay alive?”

  Her mouth flattened briefly. “Other than that.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Kellen shifted, stretched his legs. He set his hands on the arms of the chair. “You still haven’t told me why you were out last night by yourself.”

  Raine had been dreading the moment when he would come around to this again. “Is it important?”

  “I think so, but you can lie if you like.”

  “I walked to the graveyard.” She was perverse, she thought, and too easily goaded. “I often go there when I need to think.”

  He nodded. It was easy for him to imagine that she probably thought aloud, but he didn’t press for that information. “It would be better if you did not go alone.”

  “That rather defeats the purpose.”

  “I understand.” Kellen ventured a compromise. “Will you tell me when you’re going out?”

  “So you can follow me?”

  “You won’t know I’m there.”

  She heaved a sigh so heavy with resignation that the tip of her braid fluttered. “I will find some other place to be alone,” she said finally. “The root cellar comes to mind.”

  He couldn’t tell how serious she was, and he did not want to press her any more than he already had. Instead, he gave her back her privacy. “I won’t come here again except at your invitation.”

  “Even if you are about to be cornered by Mr. Jones?”

  “Even if.”

  “Then, thank you.”

  He nodded. “I am sorry I scared you this evening.”

  “I believe you.” She waited to hear if he would apologize for anything else…such as for tossing the sponge over her head. He didn’t. Which, oddly, pleased her.

  “Good night, Raine,” he said, drawing his legs back and moving to the edge of the chair.

  She stood when he did, folding her arms in front of her and slipping her hands into the wide sleeves of her robe. “I’ll get the key.”

  He let her lead the way to the door and waited while she reached in the empty vase to retrieve the key. He noticed that her hand was not entirely steady, but he didn’t comment. She might have been cold, or she might have been…

  He let the thought slide away before it became fixed in his mind.

  Raine slipped the key into the lock, but she didn’t turn it. She hesitated, her hand hovering, and then she was the one turning.

  He was there, so close, not waiting because he expected her to face him, but because he hoped she would. She made a place for herself in his arms before they were fully open, and when his embrace circled her, she made it tighter by clutching his shoulders and pressing herself flat against his chest. He pushed her against the door.

  Raine grew still; only her eyes moved as she searched his face. Her breath quickened. Her eyes grew darker. She breathed in the scent of him and felt her body respond in unfamiliar ways. Her nostrils flared. Her skin tightened. Her breasts swelled. Between her thighs there was a sense of weight, of heaviness, a contraction that felt like throbbing, and most disturbing of all, an emptiness.

  A muscle jumped in his cheek. She wanted to put her mouth there. She wanted to put her mouth everywhere. Her lips parted. Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. It did not matter. There was nothing she wanted to say to him. There were things she wanted to do.

  He watched her closely. His eyes grazed her face, and there was such intensity that she felt it like a touch. He kept her pinned to the door, but there were movements she could make, couldn’t help making, and every one of them carried a charge.

  One of his hands lifted from the small of her back. His palm slid upward along the length of her spine. He found the tail of her braid, wrapped his fist around it, and pulled.

  What he did didn’t hurt, yet she heard a small sound of distress and realized belatedly that it had come from herself. She had no time to wonder at it. He was lowering his head until only a hairsbreadth separated his mouth from hers, and then there was not even that.

  His mouth closed over hers. There was nothing delicate or precise about the kiss. It was hard and hungry, frankly devouring, unapologetic in its need.

  Her need matched his, and she did not shy away from showing it. She kept her fingers tightly curled in the sleeves of his jacket and held on so he couldn’t set her away. Her tongue speared his mouth. He made a rough sound at the back of his throat that made her more aware of the urgency she felt.

  She ran her tongue along the ridge of his teeth, touched the underside of his upper lip. He pushed back, tasting her. She thought she must be delicious. She certainly was desired.

  He tugged on her braid a second time. The movement broke the kiss, turning her face slightly to one side. When his mouth touched her again, it was at the hollow just below her ear. He pressed his lips to the curve of her jaw, her neck. She held her breath as he left a damp trail on her skin with the edge of his tongue. She sipped air again when his mouth was at the base of her throat.

  She felt as if she were risking everything when she released his shoulders. Relief mingled with satisfaction when he didn’t move away. She placed her palms on either side of his face and lifted his head. A moment later, she lifted her own.

  She kissed him. Her mouth brushed his lips. On the next pass her lips lingered. She nibbled. Bit. Her fingers drifted away from his face and slipped into his hair. They threaded together behind his head. She parted her lips wider and slanted her mouth hard across his.

  She kissed him deeply. Slowly. Her tongue moved languorously against his. It was not that she no longer felt a sense of urgency, but that she understood how it could be harnessed and tamed. The expression of it would be at her will.

  Or his.

  She opened her eyes, startled when her feet left the floor. Her hands were still clasped behind his head, but now they were there out of necessity, holding him because he was steady and she was not. He did not carry her to the bedroom. He took her back to the small sofa and set her down in the corner she had recently abandoned. He fo
llowed her, turning on one hip so that he hemmed her in but didn’t cover her.

  She had only a passing notion of being trapped. The abiding thought was that she was being protected. Why, and from whom, was not a consideration. She accepted it and took it to heart.

  He drew her braid over her shoulder and slowly unraveled it with his fingertips. She watched him. She could not dismiss the fancy that he was undressing her. He worked carefully, deliberately. She remembered how his hands had felt at her back untangling the knotted laces of her corset. Then his knuckles had brushed the curve of her bottom. Now they brushed the curve of her breast.

  She pressed her teeth into her bottom lip. She thought she was quiet, but something must have given her away because he looked up and surprised her into meeting his eyes. His pupils were so wide and dark they all but eclipsed the blue-gray iris. His eyelids were heavy but not slumberous. He was watchful, alert, the way a predator was aware of its prey.

  The feeling that he was protecting her vanished, and what was left in its passing made her heart trip over itself.

  The hand that had unwound her braid moved to the belt of her robe. He unfastened it and parted the material. He laid his palm against her shift in the soft curve under her ribs. He raised it slowly until his hand rested between her breasts. Still watching her, he extended his thumb and brushed her nipple.

  Her entire body came to attention. She sucked in a breath and held it while she waited to learn what he would do.

  What he did was smile. It was his maddening, slowly revealed smile, the one that lifted the curves of his mouth so carefully that it seemed he must be guarding a secret.

  She wanted to know that smile. She wanted to know the secret.

  As if he knew the bent of her mind, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to the pulse in her throat. Her blood thrummed. She closed her eyes. She felt his lips move upward along the sensitive cord in her neck until they rested at her ear. His breath was warm and humid, and when he spoke, his voice never registered above a whisper.

  “There’s so much more.”

  The words had impact. She shivered and grasped the wrist that lay between her breasts in both hands. He lifted his head and met her eyes.

  “Show me,” she said.

  She had a second glimpse of the secretive smile just before it touched her lips.

  Kellen twisted his wrist. Her fingers opened like a blossoming flower, releasing him from her grasp. Her hands fell away while his hand moved to her breast. She filled the cup of his palm. The thin muslin kept him from touching her skin but was no barrier to feeling all of her heat.

  She returned his kiss and arched with feline grace under him. He heard her whimper softly when he removed his hand from her breast. She moved restlessly under him, seeking, and quieted the moment his fingers began to manipulate the small buttons that closed the neckline of her shift.

  When the opening at her throat was wide enough, he grazed her skin from neck to breastbone with his fingertips and then followed the same trail again, this time with his mouth.

  Raine’s head fell back against the sofa, exposing the long line of her throat. His lips moved slowly, deliberately. Sometimes he stopped to sip her skin. When he reached her breasts, he nudged the shift to one side. There was no hesitation on his part, no time for her to think about it. He took the puckered nipple into his mouth, laved it with his tongue, and made it tender and responsive with his lips.

  She thought she should do something with her hands. They lay as still and heavy as anvils at her sides, and the picture of that made her laugh abruptly. She was sorry for it because the sound made him rear back suddenly and stare at her. He did not look like a man who was suffering from a loss of confidence, merely one who could not let his curiosity go unsatisfied. At least that was how she interpreted the arch of his eyebrows.

  “I cannot possibly explain it,” she whispered.

  His voice sounded vaguely hoarse to his own ears. “Then you’re not ticklish.”

  “No. Well, yes.” She darted a quick glance at her breast. “But not there. That is, I don’t think…” Apparently it was all he needed to know because he lowered his head and took her between his lips again. The humid suck of his mouth made her gasp. “No,” she said when she could speak. “Not there.”

  With such exquisite attention given to her breast, it was only a matter of moments before she could not think clearly. Her hands, though, no longer seemed to require direction, and they found his shoulders and moved to the back of his head. Her fingertips ruffled the softly curling hair at the nape of his neck. Her nails lightly scraped his scalp. A small shudder rippled the muscles of his back.

  He parted the lower half of her robe and laid his palm over her knee. While his mouth moved to the curve of her throat and then to her lips, his fingers scrabbled and raised the hem of her shift.

  Her hands fisted in his hair when he slid his palm over the outside of her thigh, and when he moved to the inside, she was aware that her skin no longer fit as well as it used to. She felt tight, not uncomfortably so, but there was no escaping the urge to move, to shrug it off. She was restless and unsettled.

  He was neither.

  When he raised his head, she touched his cheek with her fingertips. He did not turn away, and for a moment, she did not move. Touching him steadied her. She let her fingers drift along the line of his jaw. His stubble lightly abraded her fingertips. She dragged her thumb across his mouth. On the second pass she felt the damp, darting edge of his tongue.

  He let her take her time. One palm rested warmly on her inner thigh. The other sat on the curve of her shoulder. His eyes were dark mirrors, reflecting her desire. She was suddenly less certain they reflected his.

  “Are you always so patient?” she asked.

  “You think I’m patient?”

  “You don’t rush your fences.”

  “It’s a matter of strategy.”

  “I didn’t realize.”

  A wry smile changed the curve of his mouth. “I know.”

  Raine heard a hint of regret underscoring his husky voice. She looked past him to the door to her bedroom. “You’re not going to take me in there, are you?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not.” A small crease appeared between her eyebrows, and he spoke to the question she had not yet asked. “I’m not, and you don’t want me to.”

  “I think I do.”

  He simply held her gaze.

  “Do you want to?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She believed him. It didn’t help her understand. “Is it because of our arrangement?”

  “No.”

  Raine closed her shift over her breast. She thought she heard him sigh, but when she glanced at him, she saw resignation, not regret. He removed his palm from her thigh before she could do it for him. She pushed her shift over her knees and closed her robe.

  Kellen straightened but didn’t move away. Raine sat up, her back stiff. He was tempted to take her hand and lay it against his groin. He knew something about stiff. He was no longer confident that she did.

  Raine looked away. She fixed her stare on the oil lamp. “Why did you begin if you didn’t mean to finish?”

  “I’m not sure that I did begin it,” he said. “But I know that I meant to finish it.”

  Her head came around. “Then why—” She stopped because he was looking at her with eyes that gave no quarter.

  “Tell me about Adam,” he said.

  Chapter Seven

  Raine pushed herself out of the corner of the sofa, and he did not try to stop her. She stood, tightening the belt on her robe.

  “I am putting the kettle on for tea,” she said. “Will you want any?”

  “No. But I’ll take that whiskey now.”

  She busied herself with the preparations for tea before she poured Kellen a whiskey. After she gave him his glass, she retreated to the warmth of the stove.

  “Why do you want to know about Adam?” she asked.

  The
re was a slight hesitation as Kellen raised his glass to his mouth. “You know why.”

  Raine did, but a twenty-mule team wasn’t strong enough to pull the words out of her mouth. She set her lips firmly together.

  Kellen rested his glass on his knee and turned it slowly as he considered what he wanted to say.

  “Widow Berry,” he said quietly. “Mrs. Adam Berry. There are generally some assumptions that can be made about the person known by those names. But I wonder if those assumptions would be inaccurate in this case.”

  Raine flushed deeply, but she did not look away. “What did I do wrong?”

  Kellen shook his head. “Not a damn thing. There is no right or wrong, and if your experience were the equal of your eagerness, you would know that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He sighed. “I know.”

  The kettle rattled a little on the stove, drawing Raine’s attention. She used part of the sleeve of her robe as a mitt to grasp the hot handle. The sleeve also hid the trembling in her hand when she poured water into the teapot. She stood at the table while the tea steeped, collecting herself while she had a reason to be partially turned away from Kellen. After she poured a cup and carefully measured out half a teaspoon of sugar to add to it, she returned to the sitting area and took up the chair he’d previously occupied.

  “Your own experience must be considerable,” she said evenly.

  Kellen merely lifted an eyebrow.

  “With women,” she clarified, raising her cup to her lips. “In the bedroom.”

  His mouth quirked. “Yes.”

  “Are you married?” She realized she was coming to the question rather late, but it had not occurred to her before to inquire.

  “No. And I never have been.” He sipped his whiskey. “It’s been my experience that women don’t always want to know.”

  “I asked because I’m curious.”

  “You asked because it matters.”

  Her chin lifted. “Maybe it doesn’t.”

  “Then there’s no point in hurrying things along until both of us are sure.” He rolled his glass between his palms. “I figure Adam was already very sick when you married him.”