by Ana Morgan
“Not here,” he said. “Mount up, or I’ll put you up.”
She heard a knife’s edge in his tone and decided it was better to have this argument at the edge of town. She hiked up her skirt and revealed a scandalous amount of bare leg as she swung into his saddle.
“Stormy, are you leaving?” Anna Lee called.
Stormy didn’t respond. Her reputation was tainted beyond redemption.
Blade pried her foot out of the stirrups and climbed up behind her. At the edge of town, instead of stopping, he belted one arm around her waist and kicked Belinda into a gallop.
After six or seven shouts to stop, she gave up and held on. She’d show him she could play his game.
Miles later, he slowed Belinda to a stop. The air was still except for the hum of nocturnal insects. A pale moon glowed behind wisps of clouds high overhead.
Blade pushed himself off Belinda’s back. “Do you want me to stand for murder? I’d have shot him dead for you,” he bellowed. “Are you promised to Jonathan Vance?”
“No and no!” No one had ever yelled at her like this before.
“Then, why did you go with him? You know what he’s like.”
“You have some nerve.” She climbed down from the saddle and faced him. “I saw you walk towards the hotel with your arm around a whore. Why were you in such a hurry? Did Emma turn you down?”
“What?” He stared at her as if she’d just swallowed the moon.
She set her fists on her hips.
“Get back up on Belinda.”
“Not with you.”
“Stormy, let’s go home. I’ll explain on the way.”
“No. You are going to answer every question I have right here, right now. Even if it takes all night.”
Blade crouched, scraped up a handful of dirt, and hurled it into the night. “Purdy had something important to show me.”
“Purdy?”
“She owns Purdy’s Place in Yankton. I stayed there for a few days before I headed this way.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Best food in town.”
“She runs a whorehouse.” Stormy crossed her arms.
“That’s not important. I wasn’t going anywhere with her until she said, ‘Patrick and Natalie.”
Stormy had no idea what he was talking about. The haunted look on his face told her this was deep and personal.
“Patrick and Natalie are my—my brother’s children.”
Chapter 12
Blade prayed Stormy didn’t notice his stumble over the word ‘my.’
He never should have taken Candy on that carriage ride past his family’s mansion. Patrick was born ten months later, which meant she’d stopped taking her herbs right after that excursion.
Not knowing if he was Patrick’s father haunted him. Even worse was the fear she’d bedded a more virile steamer rat after he shipped out two weeks later.
“How would this madam know the names of your niece and nephew?” Stormy’s brow arched keenly.
He exhaled with relief. “She said she had a telegram in her valise at the hotel. I told her to make it quick.”
“So, you took her to your room?”
She knows? Barely masking his shock, his mind tackled this new puzzle. Someone at the hotel must have snitched to Vance. He should have seen this coming.
He should have seen a lot of things coming.
Stormy rubbed her arms as if to warm them.
“You’re cold.” He took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “That cape is pretty, but it’s thin.”
“Don’t change the subject.” She glared at him, but didn’t shrug off the jacket. “You couldn’t wait to get Purdy to your room.”
“She had a telegram addressed to Vance from a private investigator in St. Louis agreeing to investigate my family.”
“Did this investigator have a name?” Stormy looked skeptical.
“E. Peabody. He listed their ages and where they go to school. Natalie’s dance tutor and Patrick’s fencing coach.”
“Why would Vance investigate you? You’re just a cowboy who grew up in a city. And, how would Purdy get her hands on this wire?”
“The teletype agent knew she was bringing a carriage of girls up for Founders Day.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“The agent has a standing appointment.”
“For sex,” she said. “He decided to cut the delivery time by having Purdy deliver the wire.”
“You’re right.” Someday, he’d explain that he’d paid Purdy to pump the agent for any transmissions mentioning his family. He wanted to tell Stormy everything. He just had to figure out how.
Stormy looked pleased with herself as she stood on one foot and skimmed her shoe back and forth through the top of the grass. In the moonlight, she looked like a mischievous pixie, preparing to fly off after stealing his heart.
She was everything he’d want in a wife—smart, direct, honest, full of piss and purpose. She loved her land and her way of life, and he did, too, but gazing at her under the star-filled sky, he realized he was wrong to want it all for himself.
The Hawkins ranch wouldn’t be the same without her and her father. They were as much part of the land as the cows and the grass. They hadn’t asked him to leave, despite his probing and wouldn’t-you-like-to questions. Instead, they’d embraced him. Welcomed him to stay.
Stormy hadn’t, though. When she wasn’t avoiding him, she was downright peevish.
All his life he’d had a way with women. From his mother’s high-society friends, to bar maids and whores working Missouri River docks, to the widows and wives of ranchers.
Stormy was the exception. She’d charmed him. Since their ride home from putting in Albert Schultz’s good-for-nothing bull, his johnson had wagged like an excited dog’s tail. He’d whacked his thumb more than once when nailing barbed wire because he’d been speculating if her puss hair was as red-gold as the brows over her clear blue eyes.
“Will Purdy give the investigator’s letter to Vance?”
“I’m sure she will. The telegraph agent could lose his job.” Not wanting to think about what Vance might do after Purdy delivered his telegram in the morning, Blade stepped behind Stormy and began to knead her shoulders. He moved his fingers in deft, rhythmic circles along the base of her neck as he imagined how silky her skin would feel under the work-roughened pads of his thumbs.
“Mmm.” She moaned with pleasure. “Maybe Vance will leave it be now. You are who you are, and you can’t pick your family.”
His heart beat a cadence that put every part of his body on alert.
She leaned back against him and rolled her shoulders as if she was trying to shake out a kink.
“Where does it hurt?” he asked softly.
“The top of my head.”
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “Does that help?”
“A little,” she said. “More might be better.”
Invited, he slid his hands forward and massaged her collarbones as he kissed the top of her head everywhere it could be sore. He wanted his lips to erase the memory of Vance’s abuse and claim all her thoughts. He lowered his hands to the neck of her dress and toyed with the swell of her breasts.
She drew a quick, open-mouthed breath.
He brushed the tips of his fingers across her nipples. They stiffened under the fabric of her dress, and he fought the desire to roll them between his fingers. His ball sac tightened as he waited for a cue. Some sign she wanted him to do more. There was so much he could show her.
She reached back and set her palms on the sides of his thighs.
Blood rushed to his johnson. As it swelled to its full length, he marveled. He truly thought he’d never feel anything there again. This sprite of a
woman, warm and alive in his arms, had brought it back to life.
He cradled her breasts, first underneath, and then wholly over the soft, round mounds while she swayed against his erection. He wasn’t sure if she moved with deliberate intent, or if her movements were innocent squirming, but he had to still her or he’d lose control.
He clamped one hand around her waist and slid the other inside her bodice. His fingers found the stiff bump they sought, and he squeezed in a steady one-two, release-two count.
A little cry escaped her lips, and she arched her back. Her fingers clamped his thighs, and he bit his lower lip to keep from begging her to unbutton his jeans.
He knew now what he wanted to do to her. For her. But first, he wanted her permission. He refused to do anything that she’d interpret later as forced or unwanted. “Do you want to stop?”
“No. I’ve wanted you since I sighted my Winchester at your head.” She slithered down until his hand slipped out of her bodice. Turning around, she rose on her toes and offered her lips.
He was stunned by the ferocity of her kiss. Her lips parted, and her tongue met his, darting and teasing until he broke away. He hiked up her skirt. “Lean back against me and spread your legs.”
She shivered in his arms as he exposed her bare skin to the night air. As soon as he had her skirt bunched up, he gripped the material with the hand imprisoning her waist and toyed with the triangle of hair between her legs.
“More,” she pleaded. “Please.”
The head of his johnson rose like a flag up a pole.
“Lace your fingers behind my neck.” He probed between her folds and teased her opening. After wetting two fingers with her slippery heat, he slid them to her clit.
She sagged against him.
“I’ve got you.” He locked his legs and tightened his hold on her waist.
She squeezed his neck as he stroked. Her clit enlarged and pulsed as he circled its base. When it had swelled firm, he spiraled slowly up to its peak and caressed the tip with a feathery touch. She thrust her hips forward, and he flicked faster.
Her pants turned to moans.
He slid his fingers deep inside, touched her maidenhead, and pulled out. He could pleasure her without tearing it. That could come later.
Suddenly eager to taste her, he raised his fingers to his mouth and savored her salty nectar. Then, knowing this pause would make her ready, he re-slicked his fingers at her opening and loved her clit with tight circles. Harder, faster, relentless until she gasped and slapped her hands over his.
Hugging her as she throbbed with release, he felt exhilaration and satisfaction. Her first sexual encounter had been purely pleasurable. No pain, no blood, and he hoped, no regrets.
As if she’d read his mind, she turned, wrapped her arms around his waist, and rested her head on his chest. She sighed like a contented woman.
He closed his eyes and grinned. She was his, and they had all the time in the world.
Several minutes later, she stirred. “Blade, could we do that again when we get home?”
Chapter 13
Stormy estimated it was nearly midnight when they arrived home. Silvery moonlight lent a fairytale aura to the ranch yard as Blade guided his mare to the corral gate and dismounted.
She put her hands on his shoulders and let them slide down his chest as he helped her down. She’d stolen countless glances at his sun-bronzed back when he worked on the fence, and had tried to imagine how his muscles would ripple under her hands. Liquid pooled between her legs as he set her lightly on the ground.
He made no move to release her. Instead, he caressed her back and sides like a blind man reading a braille love poem.
She looked up, trying to read the thoughts hidden behind his dusky eyes. Surely, he’d kiss her now. That’s what lovers did in the novelettes she’d read. She closed her eyes and waited.
Nothing.
When she opened them, he was staring at her, the muscles of his jaw working.
Uncertainty jabbed her. The suffocating shroud of her self-doubt threatened to crash back into place. Her fists closed defensively.
She was debating whether to hit him or run when the only possible explanation exploded like fireworks in her head. Blade had a manly problem.
When she was twelve, the Pendergasts’ ranch hand was kicked in the groin by an out-of-control stallion and nearly died. Brownie had explained that no eligible woman would ever marry him, even out of pity. He’d moved far away, where no one knew about his unfortunate condition.
The hurt and anger twisting her gut vanished. There had to be herbs that could restore Blade’s virility. She’d talk to Running Bear. Maybe Zed had a book of remedies.
She reached up and tucked an errant lock of Blade’s hair behind his ear, hoping the soothing gesture implied she’d never mock him. His secret was safe. She’d try to help him with his problem, and whatever the outcome, she’d remain his stalwart friend.
He folded his hand around hers and pressed her fingertips to his lips as if shoring up a crumbling dam. They stood, frozen in place, until his mare snorted.
“Go on inside.” His voice sounded more choked than eager. “I’ll take care of Belinda.”
~ ~ ~
Blade lit a lamp in the barn, set Belinda’s saddle on the sawhorse, and touched the leather lace he’d knotted into a ball five years ago. Hidden inside was the ring he’d bought for Candy.
He wanted to offer it to Stormy before they made love. By making her his fiancée tonight, he’d protect her from Vance and give Prosperity’s gossips something positive to wag their tongues about. He’d be able to look Brownie, Running Bear, and Zed in the eye come sunup.
As he picked at the unforgiving knot, the memory that had dogged him for years came crashing back.
He’d just spilled his seed inside Candy. She’d pushed him off, put on her rhinestone robe, and sat at her dressing table, fixing her hair.
His heart thumped in his chest as he admired her curves. He rose from her bed and fished in his shirt pocket for the ring box. Though small, the embedded stones were genuine diamonds.
Hiding it in his hand, he stood behind her, catching her eyes in the mirror. “I’ve saved enough money to buy a small ranch.”
She pursed her lips into a pout. “Sugar, surely you don’t still expect me to eat dirt, day in and day out. Not when I know you can give me a grand house with servants.”
“But, you promised.” He couldn’t believe what she was saying. “We made plans.”
“You made plans.” She hurled her brush to the dressing table, snapping the handle. “I want fine clothes and jewels. To eat in restaurants and attend society balls.” She turned on him in a fury. “Living on a ranch is your dream, not mine. If you love me, you’ll give me what I want.”
He set the opened box on her dresser, certain that the sight of the glistening gems would pacify her. He waited for her to rush into his outstretched arms and say she was sorry.
She glanced down at the ring. “Chip diamonds? Are they even real?” Her laugh dripped with derision. “Silly boy, take your things and get out. Don’t bother coming back.”
Two days later, Jared announced at dinner that he and Miss Candace Kennedy were engaged to be married. She wanted a sumptuous wedding with Blade as best man.
Olivia Masters was ecstatic. A wedding to plan. “Why can’t you find a nice girl, Blade?”
Sam Masters thumped Jared on the back. “Grandchildren. And, a promotion to pay for a nice, big house.”
Late that night, he’d packed his things and headed for Kansas.
Blade looked down. The diamond-flecked band dangled on the leather lace. As he stared at the token of his former infatuation in the shelter of the Hawkins’ barn, a great weight slid off his shoulders. He’d been so young and lonely, and C
andy was a consummate gold digger. He hadn’t stood a chance.
His family, however, deserved her. His father, Sam, so sure of his ability to outsmart competitors. His mother, Olivia, who’d lectured endlessly about good breeding and proper matches. And, Jared. Poor Jared. Convinced he’d finally bested his big brother.
For years, he’d wanted to tell them about Candy, but now, miraculously, that didn’t matter anymore. He’d found a new home. A true love. If he had anything to regret, it was that his family would never meet her.
One day soon, when he and Stormy were caught up on ranch work, he’d take her to Yankton and let her pick out a brand-new ring. He would reserve the honeymoon suite and feed her strawberries dipped in French champagne.
Feeling like a kid on Christmas Eve, he slipped the ring into his pocket, extinguished the light, and headed for the house.
On the way, he glanced through the windows overlooking the front porch. His soon-to-be wife stood in front of the big bookcase wearing only a man’s shirt with tails that hung to her knees. She bent, revealing her lithe thighs, and ran her hand along the bottom shelf of books as if she was searching for a particular title.
His johnson bucked. Soon he’d be lying between her soft, naked legs. He took the steps two at a time and burst into the sitting room. “I prefer Keats to Byron, if you want to recite poetry.”
She turned, her face nearly as scarlet as her hair. “I . . . I was looking for a remedy book.”
He checked his smile. “What do you want to remedy?”
Impossibly, her face turned redder. “You.”
“Me? I’m not sick.”
“Yes, but part of you is.”
He ran his hands through his hair, buying time to think. “Stormy, all my parts work fine.”
“No. You took too long coming in.” Sympathy played across her face. “I understand, Blade. Truly I do. I didn’t mean to pressure you when I asked to . . .”
