by Jill Gregory
Tomorrow, I’ll get myself a room in the Plattsville hotel and a girl to share it with me. A black-haired girl with blue eyes, he decided. Or maybe a buxom redhead. Anything, anything but a blonde.
That’s that, he told himself. Tomorrow she’ll be Hank Rivers’ problem, not mine.
He heard her soft even breathing beside him and couldn’t resist lifting his hat and turning to look at her one more time. Damned if she didn’t look just like an angel dropped right out of heaven.
But she wasn’t an angel. She was an armful of trouble he wished he’d never met. Two days with Juliana Montgomery had been enough for him.
Soon as they reached Plattsville, he’d wash his hands of her for good.
But first, there was one more thing about her he had to know. Come morning, he’d find out for sure.
12
A tiny sigh escaped Juliana as she cuddled beneath her flowered silk coverlet, delaying the moment when she opened her eyes. She was deliciously comfortable in her big lilac bedroom with the French silk drapes and Persian carpet and the antique looking glass above her dressing table. The plump pillows felt so lovely beneath her head, and the silk caressed her skin as she shifted in the bed, turning onto her side, with her hand cupped beneath her cheek. In a moment, Maura would come in with her chocolate and part the drapes to let the sunshine in, but for now Juliana delayed the moment of full awakening, letting herself drift peacefully on the edge of wakefulness. She sensed something beside her and realized she must have brought Charlotte into her bed.
Charlotte was the doll Mama had given her on her sixth birthday, a beautiful china doll with blue eyes and snow-white skin and black silken hair. Charlotte always looked resplendent in her dress of exquisite blue satin with tiny pearl buttons down the back. She had brought Charlotte with her from Independence when she went to live with Aunt Katharine and Uncle Edward, and for a long while Charlotte had shared her bed every night, bringing the comfort of familiarity and warm memories and love. But when Juliana was twelve, Aunt Katharine had decided she was too old to sleep with dolls, and had insisted Charlotte take her place on a shelf in the bedroom instead. Sometimes, when Juliana felt very lonely, she would sneak Charlotte off the shelf and onto her pillow for an evening.
She must have done that last night. But why had she felt so lonely? There was some reason ... She had better return Charlotte before Aunt Katharine noticed she was missing from the shelf....
Juliana’s fingers were still stroking the doll’s hair as she opened her eyes. Beside her was not the dainty figure of her beloved doll, but the tall, well-muscled form of Cole Rawdon. Her body had somehow rolled right up alongside his. She was curled against him, as close as could be, and her fingers were stroking not Charlotte’s silky doll hair, but Rawdon’s black unruly curls, while he lay grinning at her in the most unnerving way.
“Oh, good Lord ...”
She snatched her hand away in confusion as Rawdon lifted himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her, his grin widening. “Don’t stop now. It was just getting interesting.”
He slipped a hand along the curve of her spine and pressed her forward against him, while at the same time one leg swung over both of hers to keep her from moving away.
“Stay away from me,” Juliana gasped, trying to roll sideways, but he held her tight.
“You started it.”
“I th-thought you were Charlotte,” she stammered.
“Who?” His blank look made her feel like even more of an idiot.
“My doll,” she blurted out. Her cheeks blazed pink as carnations. “Never mind, you wouldn’t understand,” she said hastily, trying to wriggle away from him.
“Yeah. Your doll.” Cole held her beneath him without effort and studied her, thinking she looked like a delectable doll herself, all soft and pale and delicate, lovely as any porcelain creation. But the rounded breasts beneath the faded muslin gown, and the slender neck and soft arms and shapely hips, all belonged to a real, live woman. Those wide green eyes were still a bit dreamy with sleep, making his insides tighten uncomfortably. He didn’t know why she was babbling to him about a doll, but he didn’t believe a word of it. This whole thing was probably an act of some kind, meant to drive him to distraction. Well, it was succeeding. She’d just have to take the consequences of her little scheme, for a man could endure only so much....
“You’re the one who rolled onto my part of the oilskin,” he told her, his gaze sweeping over the tempting curves pressed against him. “You had the whole bedroll to yourself, but you spent the night huddled right beside me.”
“I ... must have been cold ...”
“It still is cold.”
He was right. A luminous pink was only now squeezing through the silver gloom of the night, and the air about them still held a bitter predawn chill. The fire had all but died out, and their little clearing in the valley was cold and quiet and eerie, as if there were no other life or light or warmth anywhere in the world. Juliana found herself trembling, but not from the nip in the air. Cole’s nearness was alarming to her and intoxicating all at once. He filled her mind and her senses. She didn’t know what it was about him, but he commanded all her sensations in a way no one else ever had—it was as if she was mesmerized by his muscular strength, his presence, the virility and purpose that infused him with some rugged, irresistible appeal she couldn’t fathom.
When he leaned down toward her, gathering her close, she could feel his heart beating in his chest, and she was struck with a yearning so fierce that panic immediately broke over her. She sensed he would not be a man easily stopped; unlike her St. Louis beaux, polite restraint dictated by the bounds of society would carry no weight with him. Neither would gentlemanly manners. Her voice caught in her throat as she started to struggle, pushing against his chest. “No,” she whispered, terrified that her plan, vague at best, would any moment careen out of her control. But instead of listening to her, he slid his hand into the thick tangles of her hair and tightened it so she couldn’t turn away.
“Yes,” he said, and pinioned her with his body.
Juliana’s lips parted in a gasp of half-frightened, half-hypnotized anticipation. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. Against her will, her neck craned upward to meet him.
For just a moment she saw the glint in his eyes, and he almost smiled, then he kissed her hard, a kiss naked in its pleasure, as if he were conquering an enemy and reveling in every moment of it. He took his time with her, his mouth searching and insistent as he tasted her lips, her tongue, and took from her what he wished. What he was doing to her left her breathless, panting, and on fire with a need that terrified her even as it filled her blood like the headiest of potions. She did more than kiss him back. She tasted his mouth, and quivered with delight, and parted her lips to receive him. Moaning, she fought to quench the fire he had started by battling back with her own tongue, but the flames within her only grew and spread, roaring through her like an inferno as he caught her face between his hands and kissed her even more thoroughly than before. Juliana was consumed, driven by the fire he ignited all around and within her.
His thighs pressed down on hers, and he began to stroke her hair while his mouth burned a trail of kisses along her throat. Ripples of ecstasy fluttered downward to her belly and below. His hands were strong, sure. She clung to him, gripping at his strength, the muscular power of him, and as she did so, his mouth returned to her lips and he groaned in pleasure, and kissed her again, this time with slow, exquisite gentleness.
What was he doing to her mouth, to her body? Driving her to distraction, making her quiver and yearn ...
She twined her legs about his powerful calves, and gasped as his body seemed to mold against her. When one of his strong hands cupped her breast, she gasped with pleasure and felt the tension coiled in every muscle of his body as he murmured something indistinguishable against her hair. He was arousing sensations in her she had never dreamed of before, and her eyes widened as h
is hand tightened on her breast. He gazed down at her with glittering and unmistakable desire.
“Juliana, you’re so damned beautiful,” he whispered. The husky passion in his voice sent waves of electricity through her. It was the first time he had called her by her name, and the sound of it on his lips thrilled her, but as his fingers began slipping deftly down the buttons of her muslin dress, leaving the bodice parted and her chemise exposed, years of ingrained modesty suddenly intruded. Her sanity swooped back upon her, banishing passion, recklessness, and every inkling of desire. She blushed a fiery red.
“Stop! Don’t do that ...”
She clutched the gown over her exposed skin as he froze, then drew back to stare down at her in disbelief.
“What the—”
“How dare you!” Juliana tried to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist before she could connect with his jaw.
“Hold it, angel. Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Get off of me! Get away! How dare you take such liberties ... when you promised you wouldn’t hurt me if I didn’t try to escape again ...”
“Who said I was planning to hurt you?”
“You were! You are! You attacked me.”
“Attacked?” His skin was flushed a deep, sunburned bronze, but his laugh sounded deadly cold. “Ma’am, I know an invitation when I see one, and I saw one here plain as day. Just because you changed your mind ...”
She sat up and pushed him off, scrambling to her knees. She still was clutching her gown to her chest as angry tears glittered in her eyes. “I didn’t change my mind. I never wanted ... you—all I wanted was to find my brothers! Oh, why wouldn’t you ever listen to me? I told you I wasn’t a thief, I told you I never stole John Breen’s money...!”
“Breen? You mean that big-shot tycoon who owns half the country? That’s who you stole from?” Rawdon gave an astounded laugh. He couldn’t help staring at the beautiful, dainty girl before him. He had figured her for a small-time con artist and thief, a shrewd little easterner who probably got run out of Chicago or Philadelphia or St. Louis and had decided to try her luck on the poor suckers out west. But John Breen?
Like everyone else, Cole had read newspaper accounts of the man and knew the name was synonymous with self-made wealth and business genius. Juliana Montgomery was far more stupid than he had thought, or far more ingenious. To take on a man like that ...
“Lady, you sure know how to pick ‘em.”
“I didn’t pick anyone! He picked me! He wanted to marry me ...”
“I’ll bet he did.” Cole hauled her up to a standing position and drew her to him with one arm locked around her waist. His narrow-eyed gaze was filled with speculation.
“Those brothers of yours. Were they in on this scheme with you?”
She glared at him. “There was no scheme ... and I already told you they had nothing to do with what happened in Denver.”
“Outlaw blood just happens to run in your family,” he mocked.
The remark echoed so closely the kinds of things Aunt Katharine used to hint at that Juliana was suddenly overwhelmed with mortification. For the first time since she had learned that John Breen had actually put out a bounty on her head and accused her of all sorts of horrendous crimes, she wondered how her aunt and uncle were reacting to this turn of events. If they knew about this, it would humiliate them beyond words. If it ever reached the St. Louis papers ...
Suddenly she jerked free of Cole Rawdon and whirled away from his cold blue gaze, from his mocking, distrustful face, toward the massive pine-crested rims to the west. They shimmered silver in the dawn, as majestic and awesome as any kingdom on earth, and she lifted her face to the mighty peaks, yearning to lose herself in them. It had all sounded so simple, trying to find Wade and Tommy, trying to reunite her family, which had been split apart for so long. How had it all gone so wrong?
Because one man had seen something he could not have and had wanted it badly enough to destroy another person’s life to get it. More than one life, she realized, thinking of her aunt and uncle, of the harm that such a scandal could do to Victoria as well. Heaviness descended over her heart as she thought of the pain they were suffering now, thanks to John Breen. When she thought of the hopelessness of her own predicament, captured by a man as heartless as the very hills surrounding her, a man who believed the worst about her and who would not stop until she was delivered right back to John Breen’s doorstep, she wanted to scream. But she wouldn’t lose control in front of Cole Rawdon. Instead, she spoke bitingly without turning to look at him.
“You can leave my family out of this. What happened in Denver is between me and John Breen. You can believe his side of it if you want to, but don’t expect me to tell you one thing that would help you find Wade and Tommy.”
“I suppose they’re going to try to rescue you?”
Rescue her? They had probably forgotten her very existence. She was the sister from a childhood home that at the moment seemed even to Juliana like a hazy, distant dream.
She turned toward Cole Rawdon, glad at last that she could say something that might alarm him, that might make him sleep just a bit less easily in the coming nights. If he were nervous, on edge, he might make a mistake. And a mistake on his part would be to her advantage.
She regarded him in her haughtiest manner. “They might. That wouldn’t be too healthy for you, Mr. Rawdon.”
To her infuriation, he laughed. Juliana resisted the urge to slap the smile from his face. “You’ve sure changed your tune from last night and from a little while ago,” he commented, his expression filled with contempt. “I could’ve sworn you wanted to make friends.”
“I don’t! I didn’t! I just ...”
“Wanted to charm me into trusting you enough to turn my back on you. I know.” He did turn his back then, and started toward the horses. “Pack up and make it quick, angel. We’re leaving pronto.”
As he walked away she glanced down and started to tremble. A strange queasiness ran all through her. His gunbelt was lying on the ground just beyond the oilskin where he’d been sleeping. Both of the big Colt pistols were in their holsters.
Her throat tightened. From the relatively short time she had spent in this brutal, violent West, she had learned one thing: Guns were power—and power, in her case, would bring freedom. If she could bring herself to grab that power and use it, she just might make it to Cooper Creek yet.
She swallowed. She had to try. And if she had to shoot Cole Rawdon to get away from him, then she would.
She stooped down and slipped one of the Colts from the holster smooth as silk. Then she covered the other one and the gunbelt with the oilskin. The Colt was heavier than she had thought it would be, and it felt ominously cold in her hand. She repelled the urge to drop it on the ground, and instead closed her hand around it. There was no doubt in her mind that she could hit Cole Rawdon if she fired at him. Tommy had taught her how to shoot tin cans without missing a one of them—he’d said she had a good eye. But she’d never thought to use a gun on a human being, especially not since that day in Independence when she’d come home to find—
Juliana’s knees grew weak and she forced those memories away. All she had to think about now was Cole Rawdon and getting away. Not one thing else.
Juliana took a step forward. Then another. She approached him warily, her hair fluttering in the morning breeze, the gun raised before her as she stepped across the matted grass.
He was intent on saddling the horses and never glanced up at her approach. When she was a dozen feet away from him, she stopped. Sunshine poured down upon her head, making her feel hot despite the iciness of her palms. Perspiration beaded at her temples and her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.
“Don’t move, Rawdon.” Juliana’s voice sounded high-pitched and breathless, not at all like the strong, clear tones she had hoped to achieve. She tried again as he turned slowly to look at her, those keen blue eyes noting the gun in her hand.
“Sa
ddle the packhorse for me.” This time she managed an authoritative note. “I will be kind enough, you see, to leave you your precious pinto. But I want all of the supplies. Pack them.”
To her chagrin, he didn’t look the least bit alarmed—or even surprised. His eyes were frosty as he gazed at her, and the darkly handsome face that a short time ago had been gazing at her with passion now wore a mask of nonchalance that infuriated her.
“You’re stealing my supplies?” he inquired in a drawl that made her eyes snap. “But I thought you weren’t a thief.”
“Don’t talk,” she ordered through clenched teeth. The gun felt heavy as a cannonball in her hands, and the perspiration dampening her palms didn’t help. “Just do what I say and you won’t get hurt.”
He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “And if I don’t?”
“I’ll blow your damned head off.”
Juliana marveled at her own coolness. It was a bluff she prayed she wouldn’t have to live up to, but she had observed enough in the past days to understand that weakness was despised out here in this savage land. Strength and ruthlessness were respected, and if she didn’t quite have all those qualities, it wouldn’t hurt to pretend she did. Cole Rawdon already thought the worst of her. If he believed she would shoot him, then she most likely wouldn’t have to do it. So she gestured with the gun, and barked at him the way she’d heard John Breen bark at his men: “Get moving and don’t try anything funny.”
“I am moving.” Cole Rawdon took one deliberate step toward her, his lean, hard gaze boring into her face. Then he took another. Juliana’s fingers tightened on the gun.
“Get back,” she snapped. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Why not? You’re going to shoot me?”
“You bet your boots I’m going to shoot you—if you take one more step.”
He did.
“You’re lying,” he remarked in a pleasant tone, almost as if he were discussing weather or crops. “You’re the girl who fainted outside the Gold Dust Saloon because you saw a dead man. You nearly puked when I shot those hombres in Cedar Gulch full of holes. And you wouldn’t let me kill a bear, of all damned things. Lady, you’re not going to shoot anyone. You don’t have the stomach for it.”
