by Jodi Thomas
Suddenly, she realized she’d seen more of Sloan as he sat wrapped in a towel than she’d ever seen of her father or grandfather. The scars on his body interested her more than repelled her. She had a feeling each was a story.
“You don’t have to answer.” Sloan patted her hand. “I’d be very surprised if you ever considered the idea of sleeping without your collar button tightly closed.” He yawned. “I’d like to stay up and talk, but my mind feels like it’s floating in mud.”
McCall gently brushed the sandy-colored hair from his forehead. “Sleep. I’ll wake you at dawn.”
Before she could pull her hand away, she guessed he was asleep. The worry lines began to soften and his breathing took on a slow, steady rhythm. Pulling the sheet over his shoulder, she thought of how natural it seemed to see him like this. Somehow he’d become a part of her life, almost like he’d always been there in the shadows, waiting to come forward. Reason told her she should be outraged to have a man she’d known only briefly sleeping in her room. But she wasn’t.
She gathered the quilt from the foot of the bed and wrapped herself in it. McCall thought of going to tell Miss Alyce that he was here, but she didn’t want to wake the old woman so late. Whatever Sloan had to say could wait till morning. Besides, Miss Alyce had never been worried about him, or doubted he’d be back.
At first she tried to sleep in the rocker, but it was too hard. Then she curled up by the low fire. But the floor was cold and drafty against her still-damp gown. She knew if she burned more coal she’d not have enough to last the night. The wind rattled the windows with icy rain and snow, making her feel cold all the way to her bones. The only other place to sit in the room was by the windows, and she knew it would be colder there.
Finally, after an hour of discomfort, she marched over to the bed and curled beneath the covers on the opposite side from Sloan. The sheets were cold and she could hear the wind howling, creating a draft even through the covers.
McCall tried to lie still, but her body didn’t seem to be putting off enough heat to warm the bed. She began to shiver, drawing her arms and legs up in a ball to keep warm. Her fingers felt icy. She was sure her feet would never warm. Rubbing her hands over her arms and legs, she tried to force warmth into her cold flesh. She pushed her nose below the blankets and breathed long breaths beneath the covers, but it was hopeless. For each breath she shivered, letting more cold air in around her shoulders.
Suddenly, Sloan’s arm touched her. With one mighty tug he pulled her to him, uncoiling her body and pressing it against his own for warmth. He didn’t say a word, as though he’d done the action in his sleep.
McCall felt the heat come back into her as the knowledge that a nude man lay beside her registered in her mind. His leg moved over hers, pinning her in place. His arm rested over her chest. His breath came slow and warm against her throat.
She tried to remain still. All cold was forgotten. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. The cotton of her gown did little to guard against the feel of him.
“Sloan,” she whispered. “Let go of me. I wasn’t all that cold.”
He didn’t move.
“Sloan,” she repeated, turning to face him. She’d fight her way out of his arms if she had to. He couldn’t just pull her against him as though she were May, wandering from bedroll to bedroll. She hadn’t planned to be this close when she’d thought she’d share the bed for a few hours.
But Sloan Alexander was sound asleep.
McCall didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
Nineteen
MORNING CREPT INTO the room without any warmth, but McCall didn’t notice. She was curled against Sloan, half awake, thinking of how wonderful it had been to sleep with a man. All night he’d kept her warm. Slowly, their bodies had gotten accustomed to one another. When he moved, she adjusted. When he turned, she formed against him. Each time she shifted, he covered her shoulder. It was almost like they were dancing to a very slow lullaby.
“McCall?” Sloan rubbed his scratchy chin against her ear. “You awake?”
She moved her forehead against his chin. “No,” she whispered.
“Good.” He laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to be alert enough to hear this, but I think somehow you’ve become a part of my life so completely I can’t even dream without you. I don’t ever remember sleeping so soundly.”
She didn’t answer and he wasn’t sure she was conscious enough to respond. But it didn’t matter; he needed to talk anyway. It seemed all his life he’d kept his feelings inside. Now he needed to hear the words.
“When I said I’d come back to you, I meant it. All I’ve thought about for days is the way you felt against me in the dark that night with your blouse open. Every time I’d try to sleep after I left you, I could feel you next to me like you are now, all warm and soft. I’ve spent most of my life alone, but these past few days I didn’t feel like I was alone, even out there in the middle of nowhere. I felt like you were by my side.”
He gently moved his hand along her back, until his fingers rested just below her waist, over the curve of her hip. “Will you unbutton your gown for me now the way you did in the dark?”
For a moment he didn’t breathe. If she were sound asleep he could probably unbutton it himself without waking her, but he wanted her to show in some way she cared, even if she couldn’t in her kisses. These feelings mixed up in his mind had to be returned, in some small way, on her part.
“Unbutton it for me, McCall. I want to see you in the early light. I need to feel your heart against mine again as it was that night.”
Slowly, her fingers moved to her throat. Without a word, she unbuttoned the top few buttons of her nightgown.
Sloan pushed the soft cotton away with his nose and kissed the skin at her throat. “Now the next, darling.”
McCall moved again, unbuttoning the next button.
“And the next,” he coached as he had once before. In the shadowy light, he could see her lying across his arm. Her eyes were closed, her hair spread all around her, and a tiny smile tilted the corners of her mouth.
“And the next,” he whispered, loving the way she pulled the material apart slightly as she moved down. The swell of her breasts showed. When she moved her fingers lightly down the valley between her breasts to the next button, he felt his every muscle tighten in an attempt at self-control.
“Now, open your mouth,” he ordered softly as he lightly kissed her bottom lip.
Still she didn’t move or struggle, but her lips parted. She allowed him to taste her. She might not think she could feel, but she was allowing him to feel and taste and hold her. He accepted her gift as a treasure.
His kiss was gentle and loving, as she needed it to be. Since the night she’d dreamed he died, McCall had promised herself that if he were alive she wouldn’t push him away again. She might not be able to respond to his loving, but she wouldn’t deny it.
Sloan raised above her on one elbow. “Are you awake now?”
“No,” she answered without opening her eyes.
“Good, because I’m having a great dream and don’t want to be interrupted.” He played with the button just below her bustline until it gave, and then the next. “Mind if I open a few of these?”
“No,” she whispered.
When he reached her waist, he stopped and slowly spread the cotton wide so that he could look at her. As his hands moved over her bare flesh, he heard her sharp intake of breath, but she still didn’t open her eyes.
He wanted to tell her how lovely she was, but he couldn’t find any words. She took his breath away just by lying amid the sheets with her proper gown open wide.
“Put your hands on my shoulders,” he whispered as he moved his fingers over the curve of her waist.
Timidly, McCall touched him.
“Now move down,” he ordered.
Slowly, her fingers traveled along his skin, feeling every curve, every muscle, every scar. When she reached his waist, she stopped.
He leaned and kissed her lightly. Then he unbuttoned the next button below her waist, as if allowing himself only so much pleasure at one time.
“Now lower,” he whispered as he nibbled at her ear. “Touch me lower.”
Her fingers didn’t move.
He brushed his hand across her breast and caught her open mouth with a kiss. As he kissed her deeply, his palm moved over her tender mound and pressed lightly, moving only slightly to a rhythm of her heartbeat.
“Touch me,” he whispered finally when he released her mouth. “Touch me.”
Slowly, her fingers moved past his waist and along the sides of his hips.
Sloan groaned with a need deeper than life itself. He pressed his chest over hers and moved above her. Very lightly, her fingers slid to his hips and up to the small of his back. Then slowly her hands spread across him, caressing with gentle strokes.
Burying his face in her hair, he tried to endure the pure pleasure of her touch without yelling out his joy. The need to have her was a throbbing pain shaking his body, but the longing to feel her touch was stronger.
He held himself in check as she hesitantly explored his back, then his hips. Her caress was featherlight, afire with each stroke. He could feel the softness of her below him and the whisper of her breath at his throat.
Her hands grew bolder, exploring along his sides. He twisted until they were facing one another. While she continued to touch him, he pulled her gown up so that her legs were bare. Gently, with fingers as light as hers, he moved his hand across her legs.
He kissed her tenderly, as if yet afraid to move too fast and break the spell. Slowly, she relaxed in his arms, opening her mouth each time he kissed her lips and opening her legs as his hands grew bolder.
Her breasts molded to his capture and her back arched as he spread his fingers wide and moved down the length of her body. Like snow slowly melting, she began to respond to his loving. Her caresses became bolder; her body moved against him, pressing as if needing to be closer still.
Making himself wait was maddening, but Sloan forced back his own needs. Finally, she was answering his every touch with a longing of her own. Her mouth was warm from the fire he’d started. Her body moved against his with a hunger for more. Her hands explored possessively, as though each touch brought a need for more.
Sloan parted her legs wide with gentle tugs and rolled between them, loving the cry of joy she gave in response to his weight once more atop her. With a sudden plunge, he entered her, driving deep as she arched to meet him. When he moved within, she held his shoulders tightly, pulling him closer still with all her strength.
As they moved together in a rhythm of perfect timing, Sloan felt himself alive, totally alive. All the visions he’d had of making love to a woman paled in comparison. He could have never guessed how soft her body would be when she welcomed him or how great his need.
Suddenly, McCall jerked and stiffened, pulling his hips to her as she cried out his name. He pushed once more and felt all reason shatter in his mind. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tightly as they both drifted back to earth, their hearts pounding wildly against one another.
When he could think again, he rolled without turning loose of her so that she rested atop him. He loved the way she felt, all warm and satisfied. The familiar smell of her rose soap blended with the warm perfume of her hair and the slightly salty taste of her shoulder.
For a long while they lay together, both too moved by what had happened to speak.
Finally, Sloan brushed the hair away from her face and kissed her cheek. “Are you awake yet?” he laughed.
“No,” she mumbled. “I think I died in my sleep. I never dreamed anything could feel so good.”
“No, darling, you didn’t die. I think you came alive in your sleep.”
“I never knew it could be like that,” she whispered against his chest. “Never.”
“Neither did I,” he answered honestly.
McCall let out a long sigh and snuggled her cheek against his chest. “I’m so tired now.”
“Me, too,” he whispered.
With a smile on his face he fell back asleep, loving the way she curled atop his chest.
Sometime long after dawn, he felt her kiss him lightly on the cheek. A few minutes later he heard the door open and close. Without rolling over, he pulled the covers over his head, knowing McCall would be back with his clothes soon, and they would have to talk. He’d never thought in terms of the future because he’d never seen one ahead, but when she returned they had to make plans. He had no idea how they could make it work, but he knew one thing—sleeping beside McCall was where he belonged.
An hour later Sloan heard a light tap on the door.
“Yes,” he said as he twisted to face her.
To his shock the station manager entered. “I brought you some clothes,” he mumbled. “Mrs. Harrison told me you’d need these. She also ordered breakfast for you, if you’re ready.”
Sloan reached for the shirt. “Thanks. Mine were covered in mud.” He felt he had to explain, though he doubted the manager cared. He’d probably seen enough in his life that the fact that McCall and he had spent the night together wasn’t all that shocking. “Where’s McCall?”
The manager rubbed his hands on his dirty apron. “She left about an hour ago on the early stage. From the looks of things, it may be the only one out today.”
“What!” Sloan forgot all about the clothes he was putting on. In his bare feet, with his shirt wide open, he stormed at the man. “She left?”
The station manager raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Said to tell you not to look for her. She believed she’d take your advice from last night and disappear for a while. She left the boy in Miss Alyce’s care. As soon as the weather clears, I’m to take them out to her place.”
Sloan headed out the bedroom door, still pulling on his boots. “Where was the stage headed?” he snapped.
“You can’t chase the stage!” The station manager looked irritated as he tried to balance Sloan’s coat and guns. “It’s been snowing for half an hour.”
“I’ll follow the tracks. Which way did it go?”
The manager frowned. “I figure if Mrs. Harrison wanted you to know, she’d have left you a note.”
“I figure if you want to stay standing, you’ll volunteer the information.” Sloan was in no mood to be subtle. McCall had left without any idea of how much danger she was in. He wasn’t sure if he was madder at himself for not telling her or at her for walking out on him. How could the woman make love to him only hours before, then get up and pack to leave him?
“West,” the manager answered. “She’s going west to the next station. It’s four hours in good weather from here, then another four or five to Fort Worth. But if you—”
“Don’t threaten me.” Sloan strapped on his gun belt. “I don’t like threats.”
The manager nodded. “If she hadn’t cared for you some, you wouldn’t have woke up in her bed.”
Just as the last words trickled from his lips, Miss Alyce Wren opened her bedroom door and looked out at Sloan and the station manager, as if their conversation was disturbing her.
Sloan froze. He knew she’d heard the last words, but from the expression on her face she didn’t look all that happy to see him.
“I…” What could he say, that he’d just slept with an angel and she’d flown at dawn? “I’ve got to go.” He pulled his shirt closed. “Good morning, Miss Alyce.”
A slow, knowing smile spread over Miss Alyce’s wrinkles. “Trying to learn to swim, are you?”
“No,” he answered. “I’m trying to learn to fly, and I’ll do it if I have to, to get to McCall before she stumbles into any more trouble.”
Miss Alyce chuckled. “You think you’re going to keep her out of trouble? Son, you are just the trouble I’ve been hoping she’d fall into.”
Sloan took the steps two at a time. “Good. It’s nice to know I have your blessing.”
He slammed the front door shut, cutting off her laughter.
Twenty
SLOAN PULLED UP the wool collar of his new coat and pushed the horse forward. Nothing made sense to him, not even the weather. The snow seemed to swirl without direction, making it hard to see the tracks of the stagecoach, much less follow them. From time to time, the snow would feel more like rain, then harden into cutting ice against his cheeks.
He tried to put the pieces together. He had spent the night with McCall. She made love to him as he never knew people made love. Then, she took the time to kiss him good-bye, buy him clothes, including a coat and gloves; and order breakfast. Next, she left him without a word.
The pieces didn’t fit.
If she’d disappeared suddenly, he’d have sworn she’d been kidnapped. He would have searched the country for her like a madman. But she hadn’t disappeared in any suspicious way. Her leaving had obviously been by her own free choice.
Sloan slowed his horse. What was he doing? She didn’t want to be with him. How much plainer did she need to make it? She must have realized last night had been a big mistake. Maybe she’d cried out his name because she hated his lovemaking so much? Maybe she couldn’t stand to face him again, even to tell him she never wanted to see him? Maybe she’d be like his mother and notice him on the street one day, then walk away without saying a word.
“I’m being a fool!” Sloan mumbled to no one but the wind. “I’ve been a fool for many reasons, but never because of a woman.”
Nothing else in his life had ever made sense. Why should he have expected love to? Why couldn’t he have been happy spending a few hours with a whore in some back room of a bar? Why did he have to learn what it felt like to make love to a woman who took his very soul inside when she accepted his body? How could he live on without feeling her heartbeat echo his each night?
She was just a woman, he told himself. Nothing more. They’d never said they loved one another. He hadn’t offered marriage and she’d never mentioned it. She was a lady, though. A hero’s widow. A wealthy landowner. While he was nothing but a soldier. He knew how to ride and shoot and fight. And last night…last night, for a moment, he’d thought he knew how to make love.
