by Linda Broday
“I was glad I missed the war. That was bloody,” Luke said casually. “Did you ever see war, Brenner?”
“Too much of it.” Brenner grimaced and held his shoulder. “I served with the Johnny Rebs, saw too many of my men die. It hurts extra bad when you promise to keep them safe, extra bad when you’re their captain and leading them into battle. Rips your guts out.”
Though Luke had been suspicious, hearing the rank sent shock through him. “How come you never told me?”
“It was a long time ago. Better to forget.” Clutching the half-empty bottle of whiskey, the old outlaw yawned. “It’s gonna be a long night. Where are you camped?”
“I don’t know yet,” Luke lied. “Wherever it is, I’ll have to keep one eye open for O’Keefe.”
In the silence that drifted around them, they could hear a mournful coyote and the rush of the nearby river. Thoughts of the golden-haired woman waiting for him filled his mind. She needed answers to take back her life, and he’d move the moon and stars to get them for her. So, he’d keep digging as far as he could.
At last, Luke said, “I can’t seem to shake that question about Josie Morgan. How does she figure into all that went on with Preston here?”
Brenner jerked up straight, dropping his cigarette in his lap. He quickly flicked it off. “You’d best leave, Weston. I warned you to stay out of it.”
Luke got to his feet. “I never did listen too well. Better get that gunshot seen about.” He took two steps and paused. “About that tip you gave me concerning Ned Sweeney. I never got there, but my gut tells me he was nowhere near that creek.”
He turned and melted into the brush, satisfied with what he’d learned. He was slowly putting all the pieces together of what happened that night. Brenner and Walt Preston had met for God knew what. Some kind of shady deal, to take place under cover of night. But why here? This was an out-of-the-way spot and quite a distance for Walt Preston to go, seeing as how his spread lay a good way south.
The closest thing nearby of any note was Dead Horse Creek, Luke’s destination when he first found Josie. But that was neither here nor there.
So, Reno and his bunch had seen Brenner and Preston, figured them for some easy money, and tried to rob them. Josie raised hell, and Reno knocked her cold.
Everything fit together—except her. She could’ve been up to her pretty little neck in whatever happened before Reno arrived.
Who the hell was he to throw stones? He’d done far worse. Trying to survive made you do things you wouldn’t otherwise consider. But one thing eased his mind—she hadn’t killed anyone. At least not that night. The blood on her dress had been from Kidd’s doing.
He made it back to the abandoned cabin without incident. Josie was waiting outside the door, gripping her pistol. She swung in the direction of his footsteps.
“It’s only me, Josie.”
“I’m glad you’re back. I was ready to go looking for you.”
“I told you to wait.”
She stood so near. So tempting. So full of sass. No one would ever tame this woman. The clouds suddenly parted, allowing the moonlight to caress her with its silvery rays. His mind flew back to the previous night at the Lone Star, lying beneath the huge bronze star with their fingers intertwined.
The hot kisses they’d shared.
He knew at that moment he’d be lost and dead inside when the time came for them to part ways.
And it would probably be sooner than he thought.
No matter what she’d done, or who she’d been involved with, he still burned with hunger for her. When he moved closer, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him like the bold woman she was.
“I missed you, cowboy,” she murmured.
Her warm, lush body pressed against him, making it near to impossible to remember the warning in his head not to let her get too close. But Josie squirmed against him and he immediately forgot everything except the willing woman in his arms.
He cupped her sexy bottom, holding her fast. His need jutted against her stomach but he didn’t apologize. For that, or for the raw, dangerous kind of craving that could make him forget the price on his head and the waiting rope.
Luke ground his mouth against hers. Giving. Taking. Branding her with a passion so hot it made a raging wildfire seem like nothing more than a match. All the ferocity he’d kept restrained exploded.
There would be no turning back.
His hands slid up her body to the slope of her breasts. Thank goodness she’d removed the god-awful wrappings. Her nipples distended, seeming to strain for his touch. He brushed them with his flattened palms then rolled them hard between his thumb and forefinger.
Her breath hitched and a low cry came from her mouth. “Yes.”
Tomorrow he’d go back to the real world. But tonight he’d take his pleasure with the only woman who excited him and made him feel whole. Now that he knew she wasn’t married, he didn’t have to hold back. Depending on how the cards fell, they might have only one night. He’d make it count.
He swept her into his arms and strode through the open door of the shack. It was darker than the inside of his boot. He stumbled over one of the saddles and almost sprawled across the dirt floor.
Josie’s lips on his smothered his curse. She clawed at his shirt. “Make love to me, Luke. Love me like you want to. Make me forget I’m a killer.”
“You’re not one.” He jerked his shirt over his head. “You’re not married either.”
Josie gasped. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. Just talked with a man who confirmed it.” He backed her against a wall, unfastened her gun belt, yanked her shirt and chemise over her head and flung them aside. His ragged breath burning his lungs, he knelt to remove her boots then her trousers.
Desperate to quench the burning fire sweeping along his body, Luke stood and buried his mouth in the long column of her throat. His hands slid to the soft swells of her breasts and he kneaded the flesh that seemed to crave his touch. Lowering his head, he pulled a swollen nipple into his mouth.
She yanked at his gun belt, unbuckling it. Letting it drop, she found the opening of his trousers and slid a hand inside to grip him. He gasped for the sudden loss of air, fighting for control as her hand tightened around him.
Dear God! She was driving him out of his mind. Two dozen lawmen could have them surrounded and he wouldn’t care, wouldn’t even hear them.
He’d promised her at the Lone Star that if he found she was free, he’d light a fire inside her and make slow, sensual love. He had the match. Only the slow part was out. At least this time. His need was too great, and judging by the way Josie ripped the seam of his shirt getting it off, he suspected she shared the same feeling.
Her hands moved up and down his erection, faster and faster.
He propelled her against the wall, anchoring her there. Grinding his mouth against hers, he slid a hand between them to her throbbing center, which was hot and wet.
Blood surged into his head and he could hear nothing except Josie’s heart crying out for him.
Lifting her up, he slid her down onto him. Hot tightness surrounded him and he knew right then that there would be no forgetting the wild and brash Josie Morgan.
Luke closed his eyes and soaked up the feel of being inside her, her breasts pressed against the hard planes of his chest.
The memory she’d begged him for earlier was nothing compared to what he’d leave her with come dawn.
She gave a soft cry and thrust her hands into his hair. “Love me, Luke. Give me all of you. I want to have it all with nothing held back.”
Her body pulled at him, her tight muscles wringing every ounce of strength from him.
Stroke after stroke sent him finally tumbling over the edge. His heart pounding, he shuddered with a powerful release as Josie’s muscles contracted around him.
She took his face between her hands and kissed him long and deep. They leaned against the plank wall, gasping for air, their ragged breaths mingling.
Luke picked her up and laid her on bedrolls she’d already spread out. “I want to take my time with you, lady.”
“Promises, promises,” she murmured in his ear.
He wished for moonlight in order to fully appreciate her beauty. But there were no windows for it to shine through. More’s the pity.
The rest of his clothes landed somewhere in the dark within seconds. He sank down beside her and propped himself on an elbow, his head at her feet. Lazily, he ran a finger down each long, shapely leg.
“Have I mentioned that you have the most beautiful legs?”
Josie sucked in a breath and quivered. “Don’t stop, Luke.”
Like he had that ability.
Some men were drawn to different parts of a woman’s body, but Luke had always preferred the legs. Josie’s were gorgeous. He kissed his way along each then finished crawling up the rest of her luscious body.
Josie sighed, running her hands across his chest. “If this is a dream, I never want to wake up. I want to stay here forever. With you.”
“With the bugs and scorpions?” he teased.
“You’ll protect me.”
That he would. Until death claimed him.
They talked, lazily touching each other, and rested. Josie turned onto her belly. Luke’s fingertips followed the sensuous curve of her back, his hand drifting to firm buttocks that filled out every inch of those trousers. Making love to her would number among the most memorable moments of his life. She loved how she lived—full-out and dangerous.
A short while later, he rose to ready her for more. With his hands and mouth, he rubbed, flicked, and kissed her nipples, lingering over each one, making them harden and beg for more.
At last he claimed her mouth in a kiss that stole his ability to think. The fire blazing inside him wasn’t content to simply flame up. It wanted to devour him, burn through his sanity, and make him crazy with hunger for her.
“Mi princesa,” he murmured into her hair.
“Make me cry your name,” Josie whispered, stroking the muscles in his back. “Make love to me until the stars fall from the sky.”
That had been another one of his promises that night at the Lone Star. No windows meant he couldn’t see the sky, but he was pretty damn sure those stars had already fallen earlier.
He poised above her and slid inside again, feeling her muscles clench around him.
Slow, sultry heat swirled in his belly. It was the kind of good that made a man ante up everything he owned. For an outlaw on the run, his possessions didn’t amount to much, but he’d gladly fork it all over for just one night with Josie Morgan in a real bed.
Just the two of them locked away with no cares in the world.
The release he sought poured over him like warm honey and he found himself spinning in a golden, shimmering sea of contentment.
Nineteen
Josie lay facing Luke, savoring the feel of his naked body against hers. He caressed her face with his long fingers as they drifted in the afterglow of making love, touching, whispering sweet words. They’d found a little slice of heaven here in the humble squatter’s shack, a chance for them both to find peace, an island of perfection.
It had to be around midnight, but Josie couldn’t sleep. She ran her fingers lightly over the fine hair on Luke’s wrist and hand that rested on her belly. The same strong hand that could draw his Colt faster than the eye could blink had caressed her so tenderly.
“Tell me again that I’m not married. Are you sure?”
“Yep. The man I met with seemed dead certain. He was here the night of the murder, and he said Reno Kidd bears the blame for killing that man, not you. You’re not a killer, Josie.”
“At least not this time.” She kissed his chest.
“Don’t buy trouble,” he warned.
“Who? Me?” She giggled. “Name one instance.”
“Well, let’s see. You fought like a tiger to claw out the eyes of those two men of Reno’s and would have if I hadn’t grabbed hold of you. And then you persuaded Tally Shannon to give you a gun and insisted I bring you on this dangerous trip against all my best advice.”
Josie glanced up at her outlaw’s dark shadow and grinned. “That’s only two instances, barely worth mentioning.”
A growl rumbled in his chest and his voice was husky. “I haven’t even reminded you of Noah’s uncle, Bert, and the fact that you tried to take him on all by yourself.”
She could hear the things he couldn’t bring himself to say: the fact that Bert Conley had almost killed her, and that shook him. She knew how much that terrified him, and that was enough.
“I declare, Luke, what is the true purpose of this scorekeeping you insist on, anyway?”
“To try my hardest to corral you, bella dama.”
Pretty lady. Josie smiled at the touching Spanish phrase. It was more than just spouting the phrases. They were a part of him.
She rose, propping her elbows on his chest. “I don’t know very much about you other than your father’s side. Tell me about your mother.”
“Not much to tell. She raised me by herself. We were poor. She died. End of story.”
“Nope. That’s not all. That’s not even a beginning. Now do it right.”
With the music of the rushing river outside their door, he began to talk, hesitant at first—a trait of outlaws, she was beginning to learn. After explaining how he was conceived in Galveston when Stoker was young, he relaxed and opened up.
Her heart broke to learn how Elena Montoya’s family had abducted her, taken her away where Stoker couldn’t find her, how Luke had grown up with such bitterness. When he’d discovered his father’s name, the bitterness had multiplied. Josie could understand how it would, watching the Legends in their privilege and wealth, while he had nothing. She pictured the lost little boy who had become an outlaw, the only way he had to cope with the pain of watching his mother slowly work herself to death.
When he stopped talking, she prodded gently. “Tell me what happened when you were fourteen. What turned you into the man you are?”
“A killer,” he corrected. “I killed a man—for his cruelty to my mother.”
Josie gasped at the story he told about the rich man’s brutality. “I would’ve killed him too!” she cried. “The bastard deserved to die.” Her blood boiled and she hadn’t even known Luke’s mother.
“But then I didn’t stop.” He caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I’m good at what I do. I enjoy ridding the world of scum. Still do.”
“One might argue that taking those lives was justified.”
“Not in the eyes of the law. That first time, my mother made me turn myself in.” He inhaled sharply. “The judge gave me four years in prison.”
“That’s horrible!” She tried to picture a scared fourteen-year-old boy locked up with hardened criminals, but the image was too painful.
“To teach me a lesson, the judge said.” Bitterness filled Luke’s quiet voice.
“I wish I could give that judge a piece of my mind,” she said angrily, running her palm across his chest. Roughened, raised skin alarmed her. “What is this? What happened?”
“Which scar?”
Josie sucked in a breath. “There’s more than one?”
“Afraid so.”
“What caused them?” she asked.
“Gunshots mostly. Two are from stab wounds.”
The darkness didn’t allow for her to see. She could find her way only by touch, but what she discovered as her fingers traveled across his chest and stomach told an agonizing story.
The fishy odor from the river outside the door, coupled with the horrors she was discovering, made her stomach turn. Sour bile
coated her tongue.
“How many scars do you have?” she asked.
“Too many. I’m likely to earn a lot more in my future, depending on how long it takes the lucky bullet to find me.”
His scornful tone revealed more than he’d probably intended. Clearly, he didn’t plan on a long life, likely didn’t plan on anything beyond the next sunrise. Luke Weston was a man expecting death at every sound.
Josie wanted to cry. No wonder he didn’t laugh or dance or rarely cracked a smile.
“Well, your damned attitude about it makes me fighting mad,” she said. “Really, really chewing-nails furious.”
His reply was soft. “I warned you not to get too close, about caring.”
The cautions didn’t make one speck of difference. Her heart already had ideas of its own. Josie trailed a finger down his neck. “Tell me about prison.”
Luke’s muscles suddenly tensed under her palm. “No.”
“Please,” she said gently, kissing the throbbing pulse in the hollow of his throat. “I want to know how you wound up in this dark place.”
A muscle in his jaw quivered. “Prison—I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. At night, the earth opened up beneath the floor and demons climbed from hell.” Luke brushed away the tear trickling down her cheek.
“You were just a little boy,” she cried in anguish. “A frightened little boy.”
“I wasn’t by the time I came out.” His voice hardened to granite. “You do what you must to make it to another sunrise.”
“Your poor mother. What it must’ve done.”
“She often came to visit but I sent her away. I didn’t want her”—his voice caught—“seeing me in a place like that.”
“Of course not.” Josie stroked his face, surprised to find wetness. This strong outlaw who tried so hard to pretend he didn’t care about anyone or anything, that he didn’t have a heart, did. A big one that hurt. She knew without asking that he’d never told another living soul about this part of his life. Not even Stoker or his brothers.
“After I got out, I discovered a way to cope with the pain and entered another type of hell. Opium. I don’t know why I’m telling you. I’ve never told anyone. It’s my shame.”
