Calico

by Raine Cantrell

  “Would you be…” Maggie rubbed her hands on her thighs. “Well, would you be lookin’ to kiss me that long?”

  Leaning his forehead against her shoulder, McCready hid his smile. The hand stroking her hair hadn’t told him that Maggie was trembling. But this close he couldn’t help but feel the effect he had on her.

  “Maggie, let’s make this easy. We’ll try it and see.”

  “You’re known to have a powerful cravin’ for whiskey.”

  “But I’m beginning to understand that I have other cravings just as strong.” He swept his hand from the table to her far shoulder, urging her around in the chair. Sliding his fingers from her hair down to the slender curve of her neck, he angled his head so that he could look up at her face.

  “Maggie—”

  “It’s the damn mines, isn’t it?” she blurted. “You’ll do anythin’ to have them. Take them, McCready. Take them and to hell you’ll go. But you’ll not—”

  “For once, Maggie, you’re wrong about me. I’ve wanted to kiss you since you walked into the Rawhider dressed to marry another man. I wasn’t thinking about the mines; I was thinking about you. How you would feel beneath me. How your lips would taste. How many freckles you have. You can’t know how many times I’ve seen myself counting them with kisses. And there is one more promise I made you that day that I haven’t carried out.”

  Maggie shook her head and closed her eyes again. Her body was flushed from the inside out. She didn’t need to ask about the promise; she recalled his words when she had ordered Satin to keep him pinned in place. He had sworn then that for every moment the dog held him down, he’d have her the same way. Maggie tried backing off the chair, but he held her still.

  Now she faced not only being held captive in his cabin, but by McCready himself.

  But was he lying to her? She didn’t know. Could a man lie with his touches and kisses? There was only one way to find out.

  She opened her eyes and stared directly into his. There was no gentle amusement, no glitter, nothing but serious regard.

  “All right, McCready. You’ll have your payment. But we set rules about it.”

  “No rules, Maggie,” he stated with utter calm, convinced that he had won.

  “None?”

  “Not a one.”

  She licked her bottom lip, then sunk her teeth into it. “Well, what’re you waitin’ for?” McCready stood up abruptly, and Maggie’s gaze followed the rise of his body. She knew she wasn’t small, but she felt that way as he towered over her. No man’s body had ever held curiosity for her. But suddenly McCready’s did. The thought of his arms around her own body, pressing intimately against her, sent an arrow of sensation sliding from her breasts to the pit of her belly. She swallowed hard and looked away from his clear, penetrating eyes.

  Silence stretched and then stretched some more, leaving Maggie feeling uncertain and breathless. She glanced up at McCready, only to find him watching her with unnerving intensity, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  For a moment McCready lost himself in the darkening green color of her eyes. Her lips were full, the soft curves a silent invitation to a man’s hungry mouth, and he knew that hunger. His body hardened in a single wild rush, forcing him to bite back a curse and a groan. But there was no way to take back what he said. Not when Maggie seemed to be willing to pay it.

  With one finger he tilted her face up and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. Her breath caught, then rushed out over his skin.

  “Stand up, Maggie.” But even as he ordered her, he was lifting her from the chair, drawing her against him. Need sank little claws of demand for him to hurry. But he tried to slow himself down. Tried to remember that he liked his women petite and soft. Maggie wasn’t petite, and as he stroked her back, pressing her breasts against his chest, he knew she wasn’t soft. There was strength in the slender body he caressed, and the only softness she had was where she needed it. Her mouth. The lush curves of her breasts. And the softest heat now hidden from him.

  Maggie braced her hands on his shoulders. She had always thought of McCready as soft. But the warmth of his body, the strength of his shoulders made her feel like she was touching the granite of a placer strike. She gazed up at his eyes, and the glitter was back, like gold running through quartz, just as sharp and bright. Maggie heard the tearing sound of his breath and knew she wasn’t alone with the strange feelings McCready caused.

  “Maggie,” he breathed, bending down to her mouth, brushing it lightly when he felt her trembling. He wanted to know the heat and taste of her. With aching slowness he again whispered his mouth over hers, repeating the caress again and again until he lingered a bit longer and felt the hardness of her teeth behind the warmth of her giving mouth.

  But he remembered Maggie’s taking and giving with a hot wildness that was unlike any he had known.

  She shut down on the battle waging inside her. His mouth wasn’t lazy now. Hard and hot, his lips took from hers while his fingers pressed her back. She moaned when his tongue slid over hers. She uncurled her fingers to clutch at his shirt, then slid them up into his hair. The scrape of his teeth against her bottom lip had her gasping. There was a too new desperation spilling through her and she wanted to fight it. Her body betrayed her and strained against his while her mouth burned to match his need.

  McCready lost himself. He knew how a woman clouded a man’s senses, how she caused his body to throb and burn. But Maggie … her almost dazed surrender made him know a desire so knife-blade sharp that it sliced through him. There was no coyness, no need for him to seduce. Maggie was as direct and honest about what she wanted from him as if she had spoken.

  His body had no trouble answering the pleading cry of hers to be closer. To fit thigh to thigh, belly to belly, breast to chest, and mouth to mouth. There were, he was fast finding out, a great deal of advantages to kissing a woman of Maggie’s height. He didn’t have to bend to reach the delicate lobe of her ear or trace the taut line of her neck. And when he claimed her mouth again, he fit himself in the cradle of her hips, cupping her bottom to hold her there and ease his aroused flesh.

  He brought his mouth down on hers, harder and rougher than he had meant to. His emotions broke free of his control as raw, explosive passion dictated to him.

  The excitement built inside Maggie until she didn’t think she could stand it. Kissing McCready was better than finding gold. It was watching the eagles soar and closing your eyes, wishing you were up there with them, carried on sweeping air currents, free. He made her forget everything. Everything but the hot churning within her body.

  When his mouth released hers, she wanted to pull him back, but his lips raced down her throat. Instinct sent her head tilting back to give him what he wanted. The scents that melded and were McCready’s alone drifted over her, then his mouth was at her ear, his teeth tugging and nipping before he whispered something she didn’t understand. Words didn’t matter. The sound of his rough voice made her tremble. She dragged his lips back to hers with a soft moan of desperation.

  She explored his back while the hot caress of his skilled mouth had her wanting his hands on her body. There were so many things she didn’t know, but her body was telling her that McCready could teach her.

  She felt him pull her shirttail free, then slide his hand over the thin cotton chemise that offered no shield to the heat of his touch tracing the line of her spine. The frenzied mating of their mouths subtly changed to a slower, deeper rhythm, just as his caresses became unhurried. He drew his palms around to her sides, stroking up and down, the heels of his hands pressing against her breasts. Shivers of desire ran down her belly.

  With his mouth still covering hers, McCready backed her up against the wall before she could stop him. Her arms were around him as if they belonged there. Strained against her, his body throbbed until it was one sweet ache. He could sense each change as it flowed through her. The unbridled passion in Maggie stole his breath, and he lifted
his head, watching her lean limply back against the wall. Maggie’s pulse was wild beneath his hand where he cupped her throat.

  But he hadn’t finished his seduction of Maggie’s mouth, making it wholly his. She tasted of him, her breath tore as his did, and every sound of desire he called from her was an echo of his own.

  Biting the tip of her tongue distracted her from feeling each shirt button that he opened. But the cool air touching her bared skin and the heat of McCready’s mouth trailing along the edge of the thin cotton chemise had Maggie tense. His murmured “Trust me” broke into the passion that nearly consumed her.

  The wall at her back left her nowhere to retreat, but he felt her instant withdrawal and slowly lifted his head to look at her.

  “Why?” he asked, trying to make sense of her frozen state. Her eyes were still passion-dazed, her lips swollen from his kisses, and her body throbbing as fiercely as his.

  Anger surged through him at her continued silence. He gripped her shoulders, pinning her tight to the wall. “Tell me why, Maggie?”

  “You. You want me to trust you.” He had made her need him. He had to know just by looking at her that he only had to touch her, kiss her, and she would be helpless to stop him. He made her want to give. And he wouldn’t have to ask. It shamed her. That anyone, especially McCready, could have any power over her pride and her will shook her to her soul.

  Infuriated that tears burned behind her eyes, Maggie shoved his chest and was thankful that he gave her breathing room. “Do you want me to say more? Do you want me to tell you that I want you?”

  “Nothing would please me more, Maggie, than to hear you say it. But not like this. Not when you hate the thought of it.”

  “Let me go, McCready.”

  There was an underlying plea for him to let her go that went beyond this cabin and his presence. With regret he shook his head. “I can’t, Maggie, even if I wanted to.”

  “It’s the damn mines that you want.”

  “No. There’s you. I want you. I told you that, and you wouldn’t believe me.” He lifted his hand to her face, and she stiffened and shut her eyes.

  “You won’t win. I won’t let you win.”

  The way she looked at him made him feel as if he had shattered something smaller and definitely more fragile than himself.

  “I can’t even tell you that I’m sorry, Maggie.”

  “Don’t bother, boyo.” She glared at him, dragging up anger to give her strength. “I’m the one sorry enough for both of us.”

  Without another word he walked out of the cabin.

  Chapter 12

  Within minutes of meeting with McCready, Dutch decided that he was in a rare mood. He had seen McCready like this few times in the past, but when he did, Dutch had learned not to argue with him.

  McCready had a dangerous glint in his eyes that warned of a man ready for a fight. No, Dutch amended, McCready was not just ready to fight, he was spoiling for one.

  He could only guess that things were heating up with Maggie. He tried to warn McCready, but the man wouldn’t listen then, and he doubted he would listen to anything he had to say about Maggie now. But he wished he could see McCready, wound tighter than a two-dollar watch, fly apart.

  “Well,” McCready asked, “what are you waiting around for?”

  “Just making sure that you didn’t forget anything you needed. Don’t hardly seem worth the trip to bring you eggs and whiskey.”

  McCready knew that Dutch was angling for an explanation of what had happened to all the whiskey he had helped store at the cabin, but he wasn’t about to give it to him.

  “That’s what I need. That’s all you are to bring to me tomorrow.”

  “Don’t think I can do it. Not tomorrow anyhow. Satin’s pining something fierce for Maggie. The dog doesn’t want to eat. Can’t tempt her at all, especially not with steak. I even tried to take her outside—”

  “Are you deliberately trying to let her get away from you?” “No me, boss. I made a collar for her with rope and just figured that a walk might perk up her appetite. Didn’t do a bit of good. She still refused to eat.”

  “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, Dutch, you’re doing a hell of a good job.”

  “It ain’t that. I don’t need to put any guilt on you, boss. You’ve got enough of your own without me adding to it.”

  McCready closed his eyes briefly. Dutch was right. He did have enough guilt of his own. And he had to go back and face that guilt in the form of one Mary Margaret O’Roarke the way he couldn’t do it last night. He had thought himself a man unafraid to face anything that came his way. But once he had walked out of the cabin last night, he couldn’t make himself go back inside. The cold ground in front of the door had made a sorry bed, but then, he had been so restless it wouldn’t have mattered where he tried to sleep.

  A glance up at the sky showed the dark clouds that had begun piling to the north yesterday were moving slowly toward them. Rain would cool things off, he thought, raking his hand through his hair.

  “So, it’s all right with you if I wait—”

  “No. Christ, no! I need the whiskey, Dutch. If you could go back to camp and get it now, I’d wait.”

  Lumbering to his feet, Dutch shook his head. McCready had it bad. His own words came back to him from the other day when he had asked McCready if Maggie was giving him a hard time. It appeared to him as if she wasn’t anywhere near done, judging by the way McCready behaved.

  He, too, saw the threatening clouds and felt the urge to get back to the Rawhider before the rain hit. “You know, boss, I’m getting a feeling that things might be stirring up in camp.”

  “I thought you said Quincy followed Ryder out of camp north to Santa Fe?”

  “That he did, just like I figured he would, and he ain’t come back.”

  “Then why the feeling?” McCready had a healthy respect for Dutch’s feelings. He didn’t get them often, but when he did, it was worth paying attention.

  “This time I can’t answer you. Just take it as gospel.”

  “What I’m taking is a hike back up to the cabin. You, I expect to see here tomorrow.”

  Dutch had a serious decision to make. He could bring McCready his whiskey, but that would prolong his staying up at the cabin with Maggie. He could also risk his friendship and his job and not come back at all.

  “A right fetching dilemma,” he murmured to himself, hurrying now to ride back to the Rawhider.

  Maggie had let the fire die. The damp from the coming storm was already seeping into the cabin, but she didn’t care. She told herself she wasn’t worried about where McCready was, couldn’t care less if he ever showed his face again. But the truth was, she did care. The man was a burr under her skin, and she knew how to pluck those out even if it pained her. Why, then, couldn’t she get McCready out of her head?

  The coffee in her cup had long since cooled, but Maggie drank it anyway. She had to find a way to escape. There was no other way to get rid of McCready. Once free, she could take off and be lost in the mountains long enough for him to forget about her and her mines. True, that move would cost her the chance of marrying Quincy and getting the money she needed to open the mines.

  “Damn him!” she yelled, throwing the cup across the room. Inactivity ate at her. She couldn’t sit here hour by hour and not do something. She stared at the closed door, then shifted her gaze to the shuttered windows. There had to be…

  Before she finished her thought, she was up and moving around to the chair. Hefting it chest high, she carried it over to the window and rammed it against the wood. The shutter flew open.

  Maggie’s mouth hung open, and she dropped the chair, barely missing her foot. Leaning over the edge, she saw no broken wood. It had never been barred at all.

  “An’ here I sat, fool that I am, while McCready’s been gone.” Yet, she didn’t climb out the window, cautious now that she knew she hadn’t been entirely locked in. Sh
e knew she didn’t trust McCready. It would be just like him to be lying in wait for her. If she knew one thing, she knew that McCready would do anything to get his hands on her again.

  But as she studied the rocky land around the cabin as far as she could see, Maggie began to understand that McCready might not be there at all.

  She couldn’t wait any longer. Since he hadn’t come back into the cabin last night, she had no way of knowing how long he had been gone. He could be returning while she hesitated.

  Freedom was so close that she could taste it, but Maggie spun from the window and grabbed a blanket. She still had no weapon, for McCready kept the knife locked in his chest. A fork would have to do. This time she wasn’t recklessly going to run without food. She couldn’t take the dinner no one ate, but the hard biscuits would keep her from starving until she found her way back to her cabin.

  After shoving the biscuits into her shirt, she fumbled with the buttons, urged now by an inner warning that she had to hurry. Tossing the blanket out the window, Maggie hoisted herself over the ledge and out.

  The last time she’d run, she had no time to plan, and McCready had found her. Luck didn’t seem to be riding with her this time, either. She headed around the back of the cabin, trying to forget the storm that was piling up grief faster than a miner’s unshored diggings. There were few things that Maggie was afraid of. Gully-washers with their thunder and lightning topped her small list.

  To the far north, jagged peaks were being smothered by the darkening clouds. She glanced to the south, to the mesas rising like cones with their tops cut off, and thought of the Indians that still roamed the land. But the Indians posed less threat to her than McCready did.

  Maggie looked back and saw she hadn’t come far enough from the cabin. But before her was a narrow path between boulders. Hitching the blanket over her shoulder, instinct warned this was not the way to go, but she was still in view of McCready’s cabin, and that meant if he came back, he could see her.

  Not twenty feet farther Maggie knew why she should have listened to her own inner warning. She was on the edge of a crevice that was almost fifteen feet wide. She didn’t even think about jumping. She backed away, just as the first rumbles of thunder pealed in the sky.