by Sharon Ihle
"Open your mouth, little flower," Cole breathed against her fiery flesh. "Let me taste your sweetness." Then he crushed her mouth, determined to invade the honeyed sanctuary.
If she relented, allowed him to perform this unnatural act with his tongue, would he finally be rendered helpless? Could this concession give her the opportunity she sought? It was a chance she decided to take.
Steeling herself against the wave of nausea she was sure to have, Sunny slowly parted her teeth. But Cole didn't plunge in as she'd assumed, didn't ravage her tender flesh or bite her. Instead, he slowly circled the tip of her tongue with his in a lazy swirling motion. In place of the expected revulsion, she was hit with a stunning series of new and terrifying sensations. She was on fire everywhere at once. Her skin burned where he touched her, yet begged for him to return and add to the flames. As if it had a life of its own, her body arched against his, demanded that he fill the aching voids she never knew existed within her.
And then she became more aware of Cole, of the hard length of his body pressing against hers. Of his immediate need. Clad only in a shirt and his loose summer drawers, Sunny could feel every angle in his body, every muscular ridge as he pushed against her thin cotton breeches. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was to have a man want her, to feel his arousal thundering against her core. Suddenly confused, wondering why her most sensitive area was so alive with a deliciously painful ache—and worse, why she wanted the feelings to continue—she struggled to clear her mind and ignore the sweet torment.
Cole moved from her mouth and spread a trail of hot kisses across her cheeks to her earlobe. One big hand slid along her ribs until it found, then cupped, a full breast. And when his lips began the return trip to her open mouth, this time sweeping across her forehead and down to the tip of her nose, he began to murmur hoarse words of encouragement against her flushed skin.
Instinct told her he was ready to mate.
Her brain told her he had only that purpose in mind and it was time for her to make a move.
Her body told her an entirely different story.
Her body won. Just a couple more of those wonderful exciting kisses, she convinced herself. Then she would be ready to do what had to be done.
Not thinking of her own slipping control, Sunny reached up with her free hand and sank her fingers into Cole's flaxen hair. She guided his mouth back to hers as if it were an act she'd performed a thousand times, and buried her lips in his.
Suddenly bold, wanting to know everything at once, Sunny didn't wait for his exploring tongue, and instead drove hers into his mouth and mimicked his swirling motion with the expertise of a far more experienced woman. She was drowning in him, savoring the exquisite sensations and marvelous texture of his mouth as the kiss deepened. His aroma, that same blend of fresh tobacco, of the earth and his horse, nearly drove her mad as her senses heightened. Unaware she'd become as helpless as her victim, or that the gun had fallen from her suddenly boneless hand, Sunny wrapped both of her arms around Cole's broad back and dug eager fingers into the hard muscles of his shoulders.
She was even wilder than he'd first imagined, as schooled as any courtesan in the art of driving a man into a frenzy. Where had she learned her skills, how many men had shown her the way? Cole flinched at the thought, then dismissed it—along with the fact that she was Indian—as a wave of urgency shook him. Impatient to possess her, to know what other delights she had in mind for him, he slipped his hand between their damp bodies and began to fumble with the knot in her shirt.
Singular in his purpose, aware only of the beautiful, sensual woman he held in his arms, Cole failed to pick up the ominous signals of impending danger. By the time he heard the distinct click of a rifle hammer, it was too late.
"Now ain't this an interestin' sight for these tired ole eyes," a deep whiskey voice commented.
Cole jerked as if ready to leap to his feet, but the barrel of the rifle dug into the center of his back.
"That wouldn't be too smart, stranger. Just slide to the side of that little gal and keep your face hugged to that there blanket."
Silently cursing the lapse in his usually excellent instincts, Cole inched his body off Sunflower's and pushed his head into the bed roll.
A shrill, appreciative whistle cut into the calm night before the man said, "Can't say as I blame ya, mister. She your squaw?"
"I am no man's squaw," Sunny snapped. "I am not a squaw."
Heedless of his own danger, Cole whipped his head towards Sunflower. "Shut your mouth and lay still," he hissed under his breath.
Through cackling laughter, the man said, "Better listen to him, squaw. You and me can have us a real good time if you don't give me any trouble. But if you insist on misbehavin'," he ran his fingers over the rifle as if it were a woman's body, "I'd just as soon splatter your pretty face all over the sand."
Confident and suddenly hungry for the squaw, the outlaw spread his legs wide and added, "Be a real waste, tho."
His mind exploding with rapid-fire ideas for their escape, Cole glanced at Sunflower, hoping she'd remain quiet and go along with him. "No need to threaten the squaw, buddy. She'll do anything you want."
Sunny gasped, but something in Cole's cool green eyes and low, even tone prompted her to lie back and press her lips together.
"That's good. That's real good," the outlaw remarked lustily. Then he took a few steps back and picked up the coils of rope he'd left at the edge of the campsite. When he returned to the pair, he tossed two short lengths to Sunny. "Be a good little injun and tie your friend up for me," he ordered harshly. "Hands behind his back, legs at the ankles."
Realizing that for the first time since she'd left her mother's home she was in real danger, Sunny shook off a cold shiver and got to her knees. She began to bind Cole's hands, careful to leave the coils loose enough for him to maneuver out of them, when the barrel of the rifle suddenly cracked against the side of her head.
"Nice and tight, honey. We don't want your friend interruptin' us, now do we?"
Wincing in pain, Sunny refused to give the outlaw satisfaction by bringing her hand to the lump forming on her scalp. With a burst of anger, she yanked the loops tighter and twisted the ends into a knot, then moved down to Cole's ankles and performed the same task.
When she finished, the outlaw reached down, grabbing the back of her shirt, and jerked her to her feet. "That's real good, honey."
Terrified, but with her Irish eyes flashing defiance, Sunny got her first good look at the man. Not much taller than she, he was thick and barrel-chested with the flat cold eyes of a rattlesnake. Stubbles of a week-old beard poked out of his puffy cheeks, and strands of silver popped through the muddy brown hairs. Sunny grimaced when his sour breath reached her nose. He smelled of whiskey and rotted vegetables, sweat and damp rawhide.
"You're gonna have to wait a bit for your reward, squaw," he said with a throaty chuckle. "I got to collect my horse and gear."
Moving quicker than she imagined he was capable of, the man grabbed her hands and bound her wrists together. Leading her by a long length of rope, they walked past Cole's head to a nearby mesquite tree. Pulling her hands over her head, the man looped the rope over the tallest branch and tied a knot at the base of the tree.
"Now you just stand there and think of all the fun we're gonna have, honey." He turned to walk away, then suddenly pivoted. "Say, where's the gun, squaw?"
"Gun?" she squeaked out.
"Yeah, gun. You know—bang, bang, you're dead? I heard the shot from your camp, brought me to you like one of your smoke signals." Bellowing an ugly laugh, he turned his rattlesnake eyes on Cole. "I see he ain't wearin' no gun. He ain't hardly wearin' nuttin'."
Cole had spent the minutes since Sunny tied him searching the sand for that very item, and had discovered the butt of his Colt poking out from under the bedroll not three inches from his head. Thinking quickly, he explained, "I lost my gun several miles down the trail. You heard my rifle when I shot at a coyo
te. It's over by my saddle."
"Rifle, huh? Didn't sound like no rifle to me."
The skeptical outlaw scoured the campground for the weapon, and dug through Cole's saddlebags, but found only the rifle. Taking the Winchester with him, he disappeared into the bushes at the edge of the campsite.
Cocking his head until he could look up into Sunflower's eyes, Cole whispered, "Can you get loose?"
"I'm trying," she answered quietly, "but my hands are swollen."
"Damn," he muttered under his breath. "Keep trying. I'll think of something in the meantime."
He glanced at her silhouette, illuminated by the moonlight as she struggled against her bonds, and cursed his negligence. How could he have been blindsided, and because of an Indian squaw of all people?
Disgusted with himself, Cole snapped at her, "You did a hell of a job tying me up. You have a better chance of getting free than I do."
Sunny nodded, renewed her efforts, then glanced toward the bushes where the outlaw had disappeared. "And if I do, what then? I think this man means to kill us."
"Not as long as I can draw a breath, he won't. If you manage to get free before I do, the gun is under the blanket by my chin. Do you know how to use it—really use it?"
Hearing the stranger's approach, Sunny kept her silence and gave him a short nod.
Satisfied she could handle the pistol, Cole eased his head back down on the blanket and watched the outlaw tie his scraggly mount next to Sage.
"Nice horse you got here, mister. Damn fine animal." He swaggered past the fire and headed for the mesquite tree, taunting Cole as he walked by him, "What do you say to a little swap? Sound fair? It does to me," he rambled on to his silent prisoner. "Yep, I think that's exactly what I'll do."
When he reached Sunny, he stood before her, eyeing her from head to toe. "Let's see what kind of swap you and me can cook up, honey," he threatened before he planted a wet sloppy kiss on her mouth.
When his fat, slimy lips touched hers, Sunny jerked her knee up and drove it into the man's groin.
"Shit, oh ... shit," he groaned, grabbing his crotch as he staggered backwards. "You rotten little bitch," he managed to add, the words strangling in his throat as he fell to his knees and rested, panting between groans.
After he recovered enough to move again, the outlaw lurched to his feet and began to stalk her. His features twisted in a murderous rage, he raised his thick arm high above his head. "You stupid, stupid bitch."
Then he whipped his open palm across the side of her face with enough force to knock Sunny off her feet.
"Think you're a real wildcat, huh?" he bellowed. "You miserable excuse for a half-breed whore. I'm just the man to take all the fight out of you. When I'm done with you, you won't have the strength to feed yourself."
Stunned by the blow, Sunny hung by her wrists until the man untied the rope. Then she dropped to the ground. Grabbing her shoulders, the man pulled her to her feet and gave her a vicious shove towards the fire. "Go rustle me up some grab, squaw. Then I'll be happy to show you how a real man tames a no-good savage."
Disoriented, Sunny stumbled and nearly fell several times as she crossed the opening. When she reached Cole's saddlebags, she thought of digging deep and retrieving her grandfather's war club, but the click of the hammer on the stranger's gun pushed the thought from her mind. She would have her chance. She would make her chance.
Thick cords stood out along the sides of Cole's neck as he fought to keep his temper and struggled to remain silent. Watching the outlaw strike Sunflower sent a burst of white-hot anger coursing through him, tensed his entire body, and paled the skin on his knuckles the way the desert sun blanched the skull of a dead steer. Disregarding the pain of skin rubbed raw by his bindings, Cole worked at loosening the ropes. He couldn't take much more, couldn't bear to witness the next chapter in the man's plans for Sunflower. Somehow, he would break free. Then, if he had to, he would kill the bastard with his bare hands.
Sunny hung her head low, her eyes cast to the ground as she served the outlaw a supper of leftover rabbit, some jerky, and a couple of biscuits.
"That's better," the stranger growled. He waved her away with his pistol. "Go sit across from me where I can keep an eye on you."
Obediently, Sunny sidestepped the campfire and sank cross-legged into the soft sand. She watched the man stuff the food in his mouth and wash it down with a swig of whiskey, and wondered how she might gain an advantage over this cunning animal. Would he drink enough poteen to slow his responses? Or would she have to pretend to submit to this disgusting creature and wait for him to lose control, as she'd tried to do with Cole?
She glanced over at the blond rancher, warming inside in spite of her predicament, and picked out the gleam of his watchful eyes. She gave him a shy smile, then dropped her gaze to the sand. It wouldn't be the same with this ugly beast. She didn't need experience to know that this man could never make her feel the way Cole had, to know that instead of setting her on fire with longings and pleasures she didn't understand, this stranger's touch would make her wither inside—make her wish she were dead.
"Toss me that there pouch of tobacco, woman," the whiskey voice bellowed.
Startled, Sunny scrambled over near Cole's saddle, then threw the bundle across the fire.
The outlaw held the pouch near the flames and read the inscription on the canvas bag. "Bull Durham, huh?" He turned his gaze on Cole. "Mighty fancy smokes ya got here, fellah. Mind if I have one?" But he turned his back to the prisoner, not interested in his response. "I didn't think you would," he said with a hoarse laugh.
Guessing the time in which to save herself was running short, Sunny desperately searched her mind for a way to disarm or disable the man. If she moved without his permission, she had no doubt he'd shoot her on the spot. What ploy could she use to get up and walk around the campsite?
Unwittingly, the outlaw provided one for her. "Let's have a better look at you, squaw. Stand up and walk around to the front of the fire."
Taking a deep drag on his cigarette as she followed his directions, the outlaw peered at her through rings of blue-white smoke. "Damn half-breed, all right. Do you even know the name of the bull that sired ya?"
Her heart pounding in her throat, Sunny bit her bottom lip and slowly shook her head.
"Didn't think so," he grunted with a disgusted sneer. "The only thing your kind is good for is a little relief at the end of the trail. Then—" He pointed the pistol at her head and made a popping sound with his mouth. Laughing, he looked back at Cole. "You don't mind if I pick up where you left off with the little gal, do you?" Again swiveling back to the fire, he grunted, "I didn't think you would."
Measuring the distance between herself and the man, Sunny took a tentative step in his direction. "I am good for much more than that," she promised. "If you will take me with you, I can make your journey very pleasurable."
"Yeah? What can a half-breed whore do for me except slow me down?"
Sunny swallowed the lump in her throat before she answered. "Besides warming your bed at night, I can cook for you."
"Cook for me?" he snorted. "If them biscuits are your idea of cookin', I'm better off chokin' down cactus needles."
"M-maybe I could—"
"Shut up, woman. I don't want to listen to your yammering. I want a look at you. Take off your clothes."
Sunny bit her bottom lip again, this time hard enough to bring the salty taste of her own blood to her mouth. With a terrified glance in Cole's direction, she brought trembling fingers to the knot in her shirt and slowly began to untie it.
The look on Sunflower's face was too much for Cole.
Swearing hotly under his breath, he jerked and twisted his hands, caring little if he tore off his fingers in his efforts to save her from the ultimate indignity. Sunflower's expression showed him much more than her terror. She had a look of innocence, of an almost virginal fear of what was about to happen. With a great effort, he jackknifed to his knees, still twisting h
is raw and bleeding hands against the bindings.
Then everything seemed to happen at once.
Her shirt removed, it dangled in Sunny's hand as she took a couple of bold steps towards the man. Her head held high, her eyes cold and hard, she arched her back and presented her upturned breasts for his inspection.
"Nice," he grunted thickly. "Real nice. Now the drawers."
His lust-glazed eyes and complete attention focused on her dusky nipples as she'd hoped, Sunny made her move. She tossed the shirt over the man's head, then scrambled over to the bedroll—and Cole's .44.
Her back to the outlaw, Sunny could hear him screaming curses as he struggled with the shirt. Frantically searching for the gun, she finally found it and pulled it from its hiding spot.
Still fighting his bonds, Cole saw the outlaw get up and charge through the sand and rocks like an enraged bull. Unable to do anything else, he called out a warning.
"Behind you. Quick, turn and shoot him."
Wheeling around as she stood up, Sunny raised the pistol and aimed it at the man's chest.
"You no-good bastard daughter of a diseased whore," he bellowed, a murderous gleam eclipsing the lust in his eye. "I'll teach you a thing or two. You don't know who you're messin' with, squaw."
Then he saw the gun and froze.
Advancing a few feet, Sunny cocked the hammer. "Sit down or I will blow a hole in your black heart."
"Stupid injun squaw.Gimme that gun," he growled as he lunged towards her.
Sunny's moment of indecision gave the outlaw enough time to grab the barrel of the Colt. The pair grappled, the outlaw's curses jumbled with Cole's frantic words of encouragement.
