In order to keep from scaring her any more than he probably just did, he slipped beneath the sheets and pulled her on top of him in one swift motion. Long tendrils of her hair fell on his face and shoulders like a cascading waterfall. He brushed them back with his large hands.
“Grant, I....”
Damn, he’d given her time to change her mind and something to be scared about. No time for retreat now, though. He pulled her head down to his for the first of what he expected to be many kisses. Hot breath mingled before their lips touched, then tongues. Tentative at first, she let his tongue taunt hers, but soon she was tempting him, luring him with her hot mouth.
His desire had to be more than apparent to her now. The length of her body matched his, one of her legs nestled between his. His shirt had thankfully ridden up her lithe body and he caressed her smooth thighs and higher to cup her round bottom.
Groaning, he deepened his kiss. Could he ever get enough of her?
She wasn’t timid any longer. The passion he’d seen, he’d so desperately wanted, flared red hot. She now kissed him back, her tongue thrusting to meet his, her hands just as wild with abandon. She was learning his body, his shape.
“Don’t leave me ever again,” she whispered, her breath hot against his neck.
Joy sprung from his chest at the words he so longed to hear. Rolling, he held her close but offered her better access to the part of his body so needing her touch.
“I don’t know what to do.” Tentative, she whispered into his chest.
“I’ll show you.”
And he did.
***
His hands slid up her back beneath the shirt to stroke her. Slowly, his thumbs curved around her thin frame to caress the sensitive sides of her breasts. Lightening shot through her at the surprise touch. Thumbs weren’t enough for her or for Grant because his broad hands soon slid from her slim ribcage to cover her breasts fully.
Gasping at the caress, she unconsciously arched her back, pressing into his palms, into his thumbs now brushing across her sensitive nipples.
Desperate, incredible, amazing was how she described his touch. She had no idea it would be like this. A light pinch of his nimble fingers made her cry out. His hands moved everywhere, but it still wasn’t enough for her.
Sensations she didn’t understand were mounting. Frustration mixed with sheer pleasure. She didn’t think she could take any more of the painful bliss, but at the same time didn’t want him to stop. It was nothing like William's ruthless groping.
Grant's hands fumbled and finally undid the buttons down the front of her shirt. She felt the coolness of the night air touching her bare skin as his mouth took over where his hands had ministered. Naked, exposed to Grant’s eyes, she felt embarrassed, if only for mere seconds. Passion quickly blocked all apprehension.
Wet kisses, soft caresses with his mouth, his tongue drifted lower to her flat belly, leaving her breasts tingling and very lonely. Stubble scraped on her smooth hip as his hot mouth moved even lower.
“Oh, Grant!” She called out his name, not sure whether from want or from surprise at the direction of his mouth.
His hands slid over her thighs, parting her legs for his lowering head. She felt the curls of his hair tickle her stomach as...
“Sheriff!”
The male voice and banging on the door brought Grant’s head up. His hands gripped her thighs.
“Sheriff!” The pounding continued.
“Damn.” Grant gave her a scorching kiss before climbing off her. The cold air from the bedroom replaced his heat. Her body, tingling and throbbing, practically screamed from loneliness. Grabbing the thick quilt from the bed and wrapping it around his waist, he left her alone so he could answer the banging.
“This better be damned important!”
She heard Grant’s bellow from the bed. Cold, she pulled the sheet up to cover her nakedness. Only Grant’s voice could be heard, the other too muffled to understand. Curiosity was strong, but modesty won out and she stayed where she was, waiting for Grant to return.
“All right, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
His large frame filled the doorway, his hand on his hip holding the blanket in place. He ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up on end in places.
“What’s happened?” she asked, worried.
“There’s been a murder.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“A murder?” Margaret sat straight up in bed, one hand clutching the sheet in front of her. My God, what was this world coming to?
Grant tossed the quilt onto the bed, still warm from his body. The view was spectacular, even in the darkness. Moonlight showed off his hard lean muscles, long legs and broad, square shoulders. Dark hair curled on his chest and narrowed as it worked its way down his body. Desire—for her—was evident. She gulped.
Bending, he picked up his clothes from the pile on the floor.
“Do they know who it is?” she asked, watching as he shoved his arms and legs through their appropriate holes, muttering to himself. Not all of his words were clear, but it sounded like he swore almost every other word.
Shaking his head, he replied, “No. The body was found behind the saloon, so it could be anyone.”
He fastened his gun belt low around his waist, picked up his weapon from the dresser, checked the cylinder to make sure it was fully loaded, then shoved it into its holster. Sighing, his gaze shifted to her watched as she tenuously held the sheet over her breasts. He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair then down his face.
“Maggie, I’m so damn sorry about this. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. I swear the man who did this is going to get what’s coming to him.”
“It’s all right. I understand. It’s your job.” She gripped the sheet a bit tighter to her.
“I know, but my job is also to be your husband.” He leaned in, fingertips on her thigh for balance, and kissed her mouth. His tongue darted with hers and she ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.
He groaned and pulled back. “Don’t move from that spot.” The look he gave her matched the seriousness of his tone. “I’ll be back as soon as I can—and this time, nothing is going to interrupt us.”
With that, he was gone. She felt her blush recede. She settled into the warm bed as she heard the front door lock. Now she had the solitude she had initially desired, but realized it wasn’t what she wanted anymore. She felt lonely, and something else. A craving, a yearning she knew only he could take away. She pulled the covers up around her and tried to fall asleep, but thoughts of his hard body pressing her into the mattress kept it at bay.
***
“I’ve never seen him before, either.”
Grant gazed down at the dead man lying in the dirt, trying to forget about Maggie all rumpled and soft in his warm bed. Parks, the man who’d found the body, stood next to him holding a lantern.
“Go get Doc Baker.” As the man’s footsteps retreated, Grant squatted down in front of the body, bringing the light in close. The man appeared to have been in his late twenties, with dark hair. He looked like any ranch hand in the area. Dirty, worn about the edges. The tangy aroma of alcohol permeated the air. No doubt the man had spent quite a bit of coin at Croft’s before his demise.
Lying on his belly with his head turned to the side, unseeing eyes stared past Grant into nothingness. Blood coated his shirt and pooled about his upper body from a gunshot wound in the back. He was definitely murdered, just like Parks had said.
No one accidentally shot themselves in the back.
Minutes later, Parks returned with Doc Baker. Tipping his hat to the older man, Grant said, “This is just a formality, John. Sorry about getting you up.”
Doc Baker shook his head. “Mrs. Merritt went into labor so her husband came for me a few hours ago. He’s been driving me crazy. Can’t form a coherent sentence.” He walked around the body. “I’ve got just a few minutes before I have to get back. I think Mrs. Merritt will kill me
if I leave her alone with her husband a minute longer than necessary.” Squatting down, he took in the large wound to the back. “Yup, I’d say he’s dead.”
Grant chuckled. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll put him in the jail until morning, then we’ll get him buried.” Doc Baker walked off, leaving Grant with the body.
“I can bring my wagon around if you’d like, Sheriff.” Parks seemed an eager assistant, even though it was far past the hour most people kept.
“That’s mighty nice, thank you.”
Grabbing the man’s shoulder, he rolled him onto his back. Looking through the dead man’s clothing, Grant hoped he could find some identification, a watch or some other personal item.
What he didn’t expect to pull from the dead man’s shirt pocket was a ladies reticule. It was a small bag, but expensive. Too impractical for the ladies of Cranston to carry. The material was too fine, the style too modern. A bag someone from a big city would carry.
He sighed. He’d hoped to keep Maggie out of the messes of his job, but he needed her help in bringing down Dalton. Feeling the cool, smooth fabric of the little bag, he knew the only person who could identify the dead man was his new wife.
It took them what felt like hours to load the body into the wagon and move him to the jail. All he wanted to do was get back to Maggie. Wrapping the corpse in a sheet to keep the remaining blood from staining the wood floor, they locked it in an empty cell, ready for the undertaker in the morning.
By the time he walked the short distance from the jail to home, he’d dreamt up several different fantasies involving Maggie, and he hoped to fulfill them all before dawn. Since that was coming on soon, he quickened his pace.
His weariness faded away as desire took over. He unlocked the door quietly and walked to his bedroom—their bedroom. In the darkness, Maggie’s lithe shape was barely visible. Removing his gun belt, he gently placed it on the dresser, gun next to it.
Her sleeping form was sprawled diagonally across the bed, offering little room for him to fit. She was on her stomach, with the sheet covering most of her body. One smooth shoulder and arm sprawled above her cover, and Grant could see a hint of a breast pressed into the mattress.
Stripping off his clothes, he slid in next to her, made room for himself. At the same time, he pulled her into him, her back fit his front like spoons. Her round bottom fit perfectly—dangerously—with his groin.
She did not stir. He did.
It was almost impossible to not want more. One hand draped over her rounded waist to rest on a firm breast. Grant wanted to make her first time with him something to remember, to treasure, not a quick tumble between the sheets to satisfy his lust. He just held her in his arms, his palm tingling from desire to caress the breast it so carefully held.
Dawn came quickly. He'd barely slept, reveling in the feel of her in his arms. He breathed in her scent, soft flowers, woman. She stirred, shifting in his arms, finding comfort. Her breath was once again even with sleep.
Unable to resist any longer, his hand moved softly, slowly over her warmed skin. Her body arched unconsciously toward his caress, and she purred like a cat at his stroking. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open at his touch. He raised up on his elbow so his eyes met hers, his hand continuing its ministrations.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
She smiled shyly. “Hello.”
He moved his hand over her warm skin, reveling in it.
“Oh!” She sat bolt upright in bed, putting distance between them. “Tell me about the murder.”
He didn’t stop, but only found a new area of her body to caress. “Now?” No way was he going to let a dead man get between them now.
“Yes, of course now. Tell me about him.” Her eyes followed the motions of his hand over her skin. She swatted it away as if he were a pesky fly. “Grant!” Her tone meant no nonsense.
“I liked the way you said that last night better.”
Maggie blushed, she too remembering how close his hands, his mouth, came to.... “I must know. Now.”
Resigned, he climbed from bed, not caring about his nakedness. He went to the dresser and threw the reticule onto the bed. He returned as she grabbed the bag, a stunned look on her face. Her eyes met his.
“How...?”
“So it is yours.”
She nodded.
“I thought so.”
“Where did you find it?”
“On the dead man.”
She paled. “But they're both dead. How did he get it?”
He took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. “I don't know. Two men held up the stage, and now I've got three dead bodies. I’ll need you to see if you recognize him.” Damn, he hated to have her look at a dead man. What he hated almost worse was they needed to do it soon. The body wasn’t getting any fresher in the hot July weather.
So much for spending a leisurely morning in bed getting to know his wife.
***
“No, I don't recognize him.”
Maggie clutched Grant’s hand tightly. She was very pale and her hand was clammy as she looked at the body. A few quick seconds for identification was enough. No way was he letting her become involved in the darker side of his job. He led her out of the cell and nodded to the undertaker. After pulling her in for a hug, he kissed her ear. “I’m sorry you had to do this. I needed to be sure.”
Clinging to him, she replied, “It’s all right. I understand.” She freed her fingers from the tight grip on his shirt. She stepped away and sat down in his desk chair as she watched the undertaker carry the body through the jail and out into the bright sunshine. Her back was straight as a sunflower in August and her hands were primly placed in her lap.
“Who took your bag then?”
“The leader of the two,” she offered. “He was the one who kept his friend from mauling me. Thankfully, he kept me from being raped.”
He wanted to kill the man all over again. She was speaking as if this man had done her a good deed when he’d kidnapped her and sold her to a bastard like Croft. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to remain calm as she continued.
“He took the money from my bag,” she lifted it from her lap. “They were looking for, what was it they called it? Oh yes, loot. They even took the watch from Mr. Cawley’s wrist. Then he thought Croft might buy me for extra money. It seemed there was less on the stage than what they expected and thought I would make up the difference.”
He was surprised at how calm she was as she spoke of what happened to her. Most women wouldn’t have held up under similar circumstances.
“He was the one from the other day? You're sure?” He tried to keep his voice calm, but he could hear the hatred in his words. He couldn’t help it. The thought of the bastard stealing from a dead man—a friend of his no less—made him glad he was a lawman and he could shoot to kill without question.
“The one I killed?”
He shook his head at her words. “Maggie, you didn’t kill him.” He knelt down in front of her. “It was self defense. He not only took you from the stage and sold you to Croft, but he kidnapped you all over again, beat and strangled you.”
The words left a bad taste in his mouth. Thank God she came away unscathed. He’d always relished his freedom, to come and go as he pleased, but now, with Maggie in his life, he realized how lonely and empty his old life had been. She had been so close to death, the thought petrified him.
“Yes, of course you’re right.” She smiled weakly. “But what about the murder last night? Who killed him and how did he come to have my reticule?”
That was a good question. Grant believed he knew who was behind the criminal activity.
Dalton.
The man was slowly eliminating all the people who could tie him to the stage robbery, or any other evildoing he had cooked up. Even though she'd helped the robber with his demise, he wasn’t sure how Dalton fit in. It wasn’t hard to see he’d sent the man to follow Maggie, to keep an eye on her. Maybe the bastard didn’t follow orders
.
And the new dead body. Who the hell was he, and how did he get Maggie's bag? Why did Dalton want him dead? Whatever his motives, Dalton had what he wanted, two dead stage robbers and another man who wouldn't talk.
If there was only anyone else to tie Dalton to the robbery, their time was most likely very short. It was up to Grant to track down anyone else who might be involved before he turned up dead, too. A dead man was a quiet man, and he needed people to talk. Loud and clear.
“Damn you, Dalton.” He swore under his breath.
She heard him and arched a brow in question. “You still think Dalton’s behind this?”
He grimaced at the thought and nodded.
“What did Dalton do to make you hate him so?”
Old memories fueled his anger and bitterness at his one-time friend. He stood abruptly and paced the room.
“Years ago, he had his sights set on my sister, Amy.” Pausing, he thought back. “She was sixteen and innocent. Dalton was her escort one evening for a dance. On the way home he made...advances on her. When she arrived home, her dress was torn in places,” he continued slowly, the memories still painful. “She was hysterical, inconsolable.”
“Dear God.” Maggie’s hand covered her mouth in shock.
“He’d raped her.”
Maggie’s eyes closed at the words.
“He said she came on to him, but she was only sixteen. Sixteen!”
Dalton had been his friend. He hadn’t been there to protect his sister. It had been his fault. The old feelings of guilt returned like a ship tossed in a storm.
“It was her word against his.” He finished with old anguish torturing his words.
“Your father must have wanted to kill Dalton.”
He shook his head. “Our parents were already dead.” His voice was now hard. “I was her guardian.”
“Why...why weren’t there charges pressed against him?”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “I wasn’t sheriff then. The old lawman believed Dalton. The bastard had paid the man off, like everyone else in this town.”
“Tom said she married?”
A smile hinted at his mouth. “Yes, she did marry. A friend of a friend was visiting from out of town. They had one look at each other and that was it. Christopher was a decent enough man to overlook the incident with Dalton. He always said if I had enough evidence to get Dalton, I was to send for him. He wants to pull the trigger.”
The Lady and the Lawman Page 19
