Cloudcastle

by Nan Ryan

  Enraged, he lashed out, pummeling wildly but doing little damage. Agile, surefooted, Kane danced about, striking with the swiftness of summer lightning, delivering a barrage of blows that stunned his opponent.

  A crowd rapidly filled the Silverton Saloon as grunts and groans and the unmistakable sound of fists slamming flesh drew a large audience. All were certain it would be a short, swift encounter, the quiet southerner the sure loser.

  All but Joe South.

  While Kane, his dark face bloodied, his left eye rapidly swelling, traded blow for blow with his formidable foe, Joe South followed the rapid, savage action with pounding heart and utmost confidence. In Kane's lithe, loose body and long muscled arms, he saw unleashed what he had known was there all along: cold deadliness, fierce power, lethal strength.

  The fight was brutal. Both men were exhausted, but they kept punching, jabbing, reaching. Kane's right cross caught Leatherwood under the chin, slamming his teeth together, pushing his big head backward. He staggered. Kane struck him in the stomach and felt the raw, bloodied skin slide off his battered knuckles.

  Leatherwood spun away, caught his breath, and whirled once more. Kane ducked two wild punches. The third connected with his mouth and bright red blood spurted forth.

  His nose was bleeding, his lips were split, his left eye was swollen shut, but still he came, swinging, weaving, evading.

  A fierce left book from Leatherwood tagged Kane's right jaw with a blinding force that knocked Kane across the room and to the sawdust beneath the swinging saloon doors. Leatherwood bore down on the prostrate man, kicking Kane ruthlessly in the ribs.

  Kane scrambled to his feet on the far side of the doors; up he came, crouching like a panther. Leatherwood banged out the door after him. On the snowy sidewalk, the violent fight continued, the agonized moans and winces of the combatants drowned out by the loud shouts and applause of the excited crowd.

  Leaning back in her judge's chair, Natalie, conducting a bench trial, glanced through the folder before her. Absently running a forefinger under the tight white collar showing above her black robe, she listened to the drawn-out testimony of a witness in a civil case.

  The courtroom was overwarm and stuffy, and Natalie battled the sleepiness threatening to overcome her. The droning voice of a circuit attorney further lulled her. She folded her hands before her and focused, with effort, on the young man speaking.

  From beyond the courtroom doors, there was noise. At first it was only a low hum. Natalie turned her head, trying to bear what was going on outside. She turned her attention back to the lawyer. But the noise promptly grew louder; the shouts, the whistles, the struggling, sounded as though they were coming from just below the courthouse steps.

  Kane was almost out on his feet, but still he lifted his tired arms and swung at Leatherwood, the wet, falling snow washing some of the blood from his dark face. His black shirt hung in shreds, exposing his sweat-slick, muscular arms, scarred back, and heaving chest. His black breeches were soaking wet, and torn at one of his knees. And at his dark, perspiring throat, a sharp panther's claw was crimson with his blood.

  Damon Leatherwood was also in bad shape. Two teeth were missing, his left ear was bleeding, his eyes glazed. Blood stained his shirt and trousers and his breath came in labored short spurts. Still he stalked Kane, saying tiredly, "Give it up, Covington." He spat blood into the snow. "You're beat!"

  Kane's answer was a well-placed blow to Leatherwood's jaw. The big man went down. Kane staggered to him, bent, and dragged him to his feet. Leatherwood swayed drunkenly. He swung and missed. Kane hit him full in the stomach. Leatherwood groaned and again went down, clutching his belly. Once more Kane pulled him to his feet. Barely able to stand, the two men lifted their aching arms.

  With the very last ounce of strength in his lean, powerful body, Kane sent his right fist slamming into Leatherwood's punished face and knew, even as he threw the punch, that the fight was over and he had won.

  Leatherwood's companion, Nate Sweatt, knew too. Eyes sliding sneakily about, he eased his gun out of the holster and aimed it at Kane's scarred back. Joe South urgently called, "Kane! Look out!"

  Kane's dark head snapped about just in time to see Judge Natalie Vallance whip a .38-caliber pistol out from under her long black robes, cock the hammer, and fire, knocking the gun from Nate Sweatt's hand. Sweatt's weapon fell into the snow as he yelped in pain. An awed crowd of rowdies stared at the deadly-aiming lady magistrate, her face impassive, the gun still smoking in her steady right hand.

  Wiping the blood from his shredded mouth, Kane smiled foolishly, rose, and staggered toward Natalie. Emerald eyes never leaving Kane, Natalie said coldly to the big lawman making his way through the crowd, "Deputy Percell, throw all three of them in jail for disturbing the peace!"

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Natalie turned and coolly walked away.

  Cold winds lifted wisps of flaming red hair about her head and the long black robes billowed out around her tall, slender body. Lowered gun in hand, she calmly climbed the steps of the courthouse while every eye followed her. Including Kane's.

  Once inside, she closed the heavy door and leaned back against its carved solidness. And her knees began to tremble. She told herself it was nothing more than a normal attack of jitters. She had, after all, just shot a gun from a man's hand.

  This weakness, she silently vowed, had nothing to do with the fact that Kane Covington had come within a hairsbreadth of being killed. Nothing whatever.

  Natalie quickly composed herself She went to her chambers and shed her judicial robes. But she couldn't resist venturing near the window that afforded a view of Main. She looked out in time to see Kane being escorted into the new jailhouse, his wrists cuffed behind him.

  Her eyes clung to the battered, masculine length of him. He was hurting, she could see the pain etched on his harshly handsome features. Natalie winced softly. She could almost feel his suffering. And she had the insane, barely controllable urge to go to him, to smooth back the dark locks of hair from his bruised brow, to tenderly wipe his lips, to wash away the grime and the sweat and the blood.

  And the pain.

  Kane spent the night in the Castleton County jail and slept not one wink. His battered right hand throbbed wretchedly and Kane, teeth gritted, bruised face pale from suffering, quietly paced the small cell while across from him, Damon Leatherwood and Nate Sweatt snored loudly in the other cell.

  The pacing had finally stopped and Kane was lounging on his bunk when Deputy Percell came to release him the next afternoon. Joe South, as sober as a judge, waited just outside.

  "Sir, you look awful." Joe took the taller man's elbow.

  "Thanks." Kane tried to grin, but the effort pulled at his badly split lip. "Help me to the livery stable?"

  "No, Kane." Joe shook his head. "You're going straight to Marge Baker's; it's been decided. The doc will come by later."

  Kane felt too bad to argue. "You sure Marge has enough space?"

  "She told me your old room is still vacant. You'll sleep there tonight."

  "Let's go," said Kane.

  Kane and Joe South made slow progress. They were stopped repeatedly. Men on the streets rushed forward, eager to pat Kane on the back, to shake his aching hand. Enthusiastic congratulations were offered him. Invitations to buy him a drink were warmly extended.

  The contempt of the past weeks had been replaced with total awe and respect.

  Mildly amused, Kane, with his long arm about Joe's narrow shoulders, smiled and continued on his way.

  He halted at the candy store. "Joe, let's go inside. I want to take Belinda a little gift." Joe nodded and opened the door.

  At the boardinghouse, Marge Baker met the struggling pair at the front door and winced in horror when she saw Kane's swollen eye, his cut lip, and his bruised face. Hands flew to her full cheeks and she blurted, "Kane, you look awful!"

  The sun was setting when old Dr. Ellroy arrived, black bag in hand. "Well, Mr. Covington,"
he mused, "looks like Marge and Belinda are excellent nurses." With the assistance of a large, raw beefsteak, the swelling wound Kane's left eye had gone down enough so that he could open it. His cuts and bruises as well as his throbbing right hand had been carefully bathed. He wore clean clothes borrowed from a boarding miner, and some of the soreness was leaving his tall, lean body. "That hurt very bad?" The doctor indicated the swollen hand.

  "It's killing him, Dr. Ellroy," Marge answered for Kane. Kane nodded affirmation.

  "Very well, I'm going to give you a little laudanum, Mr. Covington. It will help you to sleep; you look haggard." The doctor smiled then and said, "You've become a hero, son. Everyone is talking about your pugilistic prowess." He chuckled and added, "And Judge Vallance's quick-draw sicills."

  After supper, Marge insisted that Kane take wore of the laudanum and go to bed. Kane was quick to agree. Saying his good-nights, he headed for the stairs.

  "Need any help undressing?" Joe South had stayed for supper.

  "I can manage, Joe. Thanks." Kane paused, smiling at Marge and Belinda, whose sweet face made him remember the candy he had brought her. The small paper sack was still on the table in the corridor. "I almost forgot," he drawled sleepily, "I bought you something. Belinda."

  "Where, Kane? What?" She was up out of her chair, her dark eyes shining.

  "Come with me," said Kane, and left Marge and Joe smiling after him. Belinda beat him into the hall.

  She took from the sack the gold-wrapped bonbon and stared at it. Kane stood at her elbow, waiting. At last she looked up at him and in her dark eyes he saw a puzzled expression.

  "Kane," she asked, unsmiling, "why did you bring this to me?"

  "I thought you'd like it. If you don't, then—"

  "No," she said, her eyes holding his. "I do, but… why did you bring it to me?" Kane touched the shiny crown of her dark head. "Because, Belinda, you're my friend." Belinda's dark eyes flickered. "A very special friend?" Bewildered, Kane nodded. "Yes, Belinda. We're friends. Special friends."

  Belinda's wide lips turned up into a knowing smile. She clutched the shiny gold-wrapped candy to her full breasts and shook her head. "I understand," she told him. "We are very special friends." Her lips fell open in a strangely sensuous, seductive way that baffled Kane.

  He shrugged, touched her soft cheek, and said, "'Night, Belinda. See you in the morning."

  Belinda gave no answer. She watched him slowly mount the stairs. She fingered the candy in its gold-wrapper and her mouth began to water.

  With his left hand, Kane unbuttoned his pants and eased them down over slim hips. Naked, he slid into bed, blowing out the lamp by his head. The laudanum had not only dulled the throbbing of his right hand, it had left him with a floating, relaxed feeling, a warm sense of well-being that caused him to stretch and sigh contentedly.

  Heavy eyelids slipping closed, sounds of the night gently lulling him, Kane didn't fight it when a vision of Natalie appeared. His split lips stretched into a lazy grin as he saw her once more, standing in the snow, her black judicial robes blowing about her small feet, the gun in her hand flashing fire.

  Kane licked his split lips.

  The image of Natalie Valance whipping a gun out from under those robes was somehow strangely sensual. He drifted closer to the edge of a laudanum-induced sleep and the pleasing illusion grew more pleasing still, as if he were in an erotic dream.

  Natalie's glorious cinnamon hair came unloosed from restraints. The thick, glossy tresses fell free about her robed shoulders. She slowly released the gun and it fell, still smoking, to the snow. She lifted a slender arm, waved it in an encompassing gesture, and all the others disappeared and there was only Natalie.

  And him.

  She smiled seductively and brazenly opened the long judicial robes, looking straight into his dazzled eyes. And she was naked beneath, just as she had been that cold moonlit night in Blackmore's carriage. She wore only the sheer silk stockings with those turquoise satin garters gleaming just above her pretty knees. He stared, hungrily, hopefully, as she let the full sleeves slide slowly down her bare arms and the black robe puddled at her feet in the white snow.

  His anxious eyes widened in wonder as she stood before him, serenely nude and gorgeous. Her bare, white body took on a ethereal beauty that entranced him, and he felt he would never get his fill of looking at her. Tall and slender, her soft breasts were high and rounded, stomach flat, hips flaring, legs slim but shapely. She appeared as a perfect alabaster statue; a porcelain goddess of love to be worshiped.

  But then she moved.

  Her bare arms lifted and beckoned him to come to her. A tremor coursed through his body when she spoke his name huskily and begged him to disrobe. Shaky fingers unclasped his belt buckle and he struggled out of his clothes impatiently, terrified that she would vanish in the gentle winds that were tossing her glorious auburn hair about her bare ivory shoulders.

  Naked at last, he looked to her for further guidance while his heart thundered in his chest. She was still smiling even as she looked pointedly at his thrusting masculinity, and her huge emerald eyes held a hot hot that pulled him toward her.

  He went to her at once and marveled when she swayed slightly to him, offering herself, eager for his touch. His hand went out and reverently roamed over her naked body. The texture of her skin was baby soft and he watched delightedly as his dark fingers swept from her delicate shoulder to her high, full breast. He caressed it for only a moment before moving on down to the gentle curve of her hip, her thigh, heir…

  He heard her gentle sighs even as her small hand brazenly clasped his throbbing male flesh and her honeyed lips opened beneath his own. And then they were magically stretched out upon the snow, but they were not cold. Their bodies were warm… so warm.

  Kane was sound asleep.

  Kane felt the soft, loving hand caressing his groin, his body responding. Drugged, slumbering, carried away by his dream, he turned his burning body gratefully toward the sweet succubus delights of the soft, bare woman next to him as his erection became total. Eyes closed, he buried his lips in the curve of her neck and shoulder and murmured sleepily, hotly, "Yes, baby. Oh, God, hold me."

  She wrapped her fingers around the rigid male shaft and skillfully moved them up and down while her wide, wet mouth sought his. Just as their hungry lips combined, Kane's blue eyes slid open to gaze at her.

  "Jesus God!" he muttered in shock, tearing his mouth from hers.

  "What's wrong?" Belinda asked innocently, continuing to slide her fingers up and down his pulsing flesh.

  Kane grabbed her hand and jerked it from him. Heart hammering, breath short, he half sat, half lay upon the bed, staring, unbelieving, at a highly desirable, very naked Belinda Baker. Her full breasts were pressed against his bare heaving chest, and a long, silky leg was thrown over his hip.

  "Don't you want to play, Kane?" she asked, leaning forward to nuzzle his hair-matted chest.

  Violently Kane shoved her away, bolted from the bed, and searched frantically in the darkness for his trousers. Completely forgetting his aching right hand, he had the pants up over his flanks and buttoned in seconds, even as he harshly issued the command, "Wrap yourself in the sheet, Belinda!"

  "Why?" she questioned, and disregarding the request, stretched out on her bare belly, kicking her feet in the air.

  Kane ground his teeth and cautioned himself to remain calm. Purposely making his voice low, level, he said, "Belinda, where is your robe? Your nightgown?" She flipped unselfconsciously over onto her back, giving Kane a full view of her naked, voluptuous body. She sat up then, stretching her arms out behind her to prop herself up. "I left it by the door."

  Warning himself that he must keep his composure, Kane went for the discarded nightclothes. He came back to the bed and said coaxingly, "Belinda, put on your robe and we'll talk."

  She giggled. "Oh, I know. You want to play the game where we leave our clothes on to do it. I like that one." She jumped off the bed while Kane, sho
cked, mystified, held the robe open for her. Belinda turned her back to him and slid her arms into the soft blue sleeves of the robe. She whirled to face him, smiling, the robe open.

  Gesturing nervously, Kane said quickly, "Close it. Tie the sash." After lifting her long, tousled hair out from under the fleecy blue collar, Belinda pulled the robe over her naked curves and Kane felt his lungs filling up with air. "Sit down, please."

  Belinda eagerly sat down on the bed's edge, but was no sooner settled than she spread her legs wide apart. "I'm ready, Kane."

  Kane almost had a heart attack.

  But he didn't let it show. As coolly as possible he said, "No, dear, put your feet together and cover yourself."

  Belinda frowned up at him and did not obey. She put her hands behind her on the bed and leaned back, staring at him quizzically. Kane leaned forward, put gentle hands on her bare knees and pushed them together. He hastily spread the folds of the long blue robe over her and sat down beside her.

  Keeping a restraining arm lying firmly across her robed knees, he said patiently, "Belinda, this is wrong, very wrong. You should not have come in here."

  She looked at him wide-eyed. "But you brought me candy."

  "I've brought you presents before, Belinda."

  "Yes, but—"

  "But what?"

  "Well… tonight you told me we are very special friends."

  "Belinda, we are, but friends don't… they don't…"He cleared his throat. "Friends do not take off their clothes and get in bed together." "They don't?"

  "No, dear, they don't. You are never, never to do such a thing." His arm tightened protectively across her knees. "Not with anybody, do you understand?"

  "But what about—"

  "With nobody. Ever. Promise me."

  "I… I'm sorry, Kane." Tears were filling her huge, dark eyes. "I thought you meant for me to come here. I thought you wanted me to…"

  "Why would you think such a thing?" A muscle jumped in his lean jaw. "No… never mind, it doesn't matter. It's my fault somehow."