by Nan Ryan
She sighed, stepped closer, and put her hands to Kane's belt buckle. She felt his fingers close over hers. "I'll get the pants, you get the whiskey."
Her eyes lifted to his. She blushed and turned away. In moments she was back with the whiskey bottle and one glass. Kane was in bed; his clothes discarded on the floor. Natalie poured, handed him the whiskey, and watched him grimace as the fiery liquid burned his raw throat. He lowered the half-full glass and Natalie took it from him.
"I need this worse than you," said she, and tossed it down. Kane chuckled while she coughed and blew and waved a slim hand before her face.
And then Natalie tended her patient. With gentle hands, and gentler eyes, she hovered over him; pressing clean, wet cloths to his chafed throat, his red, roughened wrists. And as she bathed the raw, punished flesh, they spoke at last of the men who had done this to him.
"Kane," murmured Natalie softly, painstakingly surveying the damage to his brown throat, "was it the Leatherwoods?"
"Yes".
Her eyes met his and her tenderly probing fingertips came to rest at side of his neck. "Did they tell you anything?" Kane nodded his dark head. "Ashlin?"
"Yes. It was Ashlin."
"You found the Manitou gold, didn't you, Kane?"
"I did."
"Ashlin knows of the gold. That's why he tried to murder you." Her eyes lowered. "That's why he wanted to marry me."
"I'm sure the gold was only part of it."
They talked and talked. Natalie told him of Tahomah and the Anasazi legend. Of her promise to guard the gold. Of finding the diary at Ashlin's mansion. Kane told her of stumbling onto the Cliff Palace. Of Tahomah warning him of danger and giving him the panther's claw. Of suspecting Ashlin Blackmore from the beginning.
"Talk no more, Kane," Natalie finally warned, "you'll hurt your throat."
"All right," he answered. "Again I thank you for saving my life. It's getting to be a habit." Natalie rose from the bed. Kane grinned boyishly, and added, "You'd better leave for home now while there's still a little twilight."
"Leave?" Her hands went to her trousered hips and she stared down at him. "Who's leaving? I'm not leaving. I've not fed you your dinner yet." She turned and crossed the room, took her coat down from the peg. "I'm only going to stable Blaze, then I'll be right back." She walked to the door, saying over her shoulder, "I'm spending the night."
The sun had slipped below the western ridge of the Rockies and a near-full moon was rising. Ashlin Blackmore, feet propped on top of a cluttered eating table at the Leatherwood shack, hands laced behind his blond head, leaned back in the wooden chair and said, "Are you certain he's dead? I won't tolerate any more mistakes. You damned near killed my fiancée!"
Burt Leatherwood poured himself a straight whiskey. "We've explained a half dozen times, boss. The judge was dressed like a man and riding near Covington's cabin. It was a natural—"
Ashlin waved a silencing hand. "Answer my question. Is Covington finally out of my hair?"
Burl tight-lipped, nodded yes.
"He's dead, boss," affirmed Damon Leatherwood. "That gray gelding is still running somewhere!" He laughed loudly and sank heavily down into a chair. "The shots come from far away. Whoever fired couldn't have possibly reached Covington in time."
Ashlin's arched blond eyebrows lifted questioningly in Burl's direction.
Burl backed up his brother. "Damon's right, boss. I guarantee you that by the time the intruder reached him, Covington was nothing more than a slab of dead southern white trash swinging in the breeze."
All three men laughed.
"Who do you suppose was shooting?" Ashlin's laugh quickly gave way to frowning inquiry. He directed the question to Burl. "Think it was that old Indian?"
"Who else? That nosy old bastard shows up like he's been sent a message."
"He has to be killed. Right away."
Burl Leatherwood looked straight into Ashlin's brown eyes. "I told you before, you want him dead, you kill him."
Damon nodded vigorously in agreement. "We ain't gonna do it. That old Ute has powers; he spooks the daylights out of us."
"That's nonsense," Ashlin Blackmore scoffed, and sipped his whiskey. "Let me repeat, I will pay you double what I gave you to kill Covington. Hunt him out tomorrow and get rid of him. I want to go up to the cave while this thaw's on; take out some of my gold. You can have your earnings in gold coin."
"We're not killing that shaman," said Burl Leatherwood firmly, "for any amount of money. Or gold."
"Very well." Ashlin Blackmore sighed wearily and yawned. "I'll take care of it myself." He rose on tired legs. "Now I must have some rest. I've not slept in forty-eight hours."
Natalie flung open the door and marched outside, calling to her horse, "Okay, Blaze, it's suppertime. Follow me to the barn." Kane heard the whickering of the beast as the door dammed shut. When she returned, she said breezily, "The temperature is rising."
"You're teasing me," said a skeptical Kane.
"I'm not. Looks like a chinook is blowing in from the west."
"Chinook?"
"Yes. A strangely warm, dry wind that occasionally blows across the Rockies in the winter. It's very odd. By midnight the mercury will have climbed dramatically. For the next day or so it will be almost as balmy as spring."
Kane watched through amused blue eyes as Natalie, a dish towel tied around her waist, went about preparing their meal. It was a simple, priceless pleasure to watch her move around his tiny kitchen, her flaming hair now wound up into a tight knot atop her head, her hands covered with white flour, her small rear end moving rhythmically as she held a big pottery bowl in the crook of her arm and vigorously beat thick biscuit dough.
Proudly, she came to the bed bearing his tray and looking to him for approval. "Mmm." Kane winked at her, inhaling deeply. "Smells good, looks good."
Natalie smiled and admitted, "Kane, I've never made biscuits before." She looked at the large, misshapen rounds of too brown bread, then at him. "I don't know why I did tonight."
She placed the tray across his lap, feeling suddenly foolish. "Whatever your reason, I'm grateful," said Kane. "I haven't had beaten biscuits since the last time my mother made them for me. How did you know they were my favorites?"
They ate a leisurely meal, Kane assuring her that her biscuits were as good as his mother's. They sipped hot coffee and Kane told his rapt audience of one more about his life in Mississippi.
"They were remarkably golden days, Natalie, those years before the war, years when I was a young man." He smiled, remembering. "I roamed up and down the old Gulf Coast—New Orleans, Pass Christian and Biloxi, Gulfport, Port Gibson…"
"It must be beautiful down there. I've never been past Texas but I…"
"You would love the Gulf, Natalie." Kane's blue eyes gleamed. "So warm in the winter, you need only a fight wrap to go about; so sultry hot in the summer, you cast aside your clothes for a swim in the surf…" Kane's voice was growing hoarser as he spoke and Natalie, though longing to know more, put silencing fingertips to his full lips.
"Kane, you sound worse. Don't talk anymore. You need rest. Think you can sleep?"
"No," answered Kane truthfully.
"Well, try," ordered Natalie. She rose and leaned over to blow out the lamp.
"The fire is getting low." Kane's rough voice followed her across the room. "Think I should build it up before we sleep?"
"Don't you dare get out of that bed," scolded Natalie. "We won't need more fire. I told you, a chinook is coming through. You'll think you're back on your warm Gulf Coast come sunrise."
With the soft glow of the dying fire supplying the only light, Natalie stood at the long horsehair sofa. Her back to Kane, she undressed. Wearing only her lace-trimmed chemise, she stretched out on the couch, pulling up a coverlet from its foot.
She lay on her side with a bent arm tucked under her cheek, looking toward the bed. Moonlight streamed in through the north windows, illuminating a dark, handsome head, broad,
bare shoulders, and brown, muscular arms.
Long, sleepless hours later, Natalie's eyes were still fixed on the bed. But she could not see the man. The moon had set. The fire had burned itself out. It was dark in the room, very dark. And warm, so warm. Dark and hot. Like the night they met.
The sudden flare of a match made Natalie's eyes widen. Kane had awakened. Or was still awake. Perhaps he had not slept either. Maybe the same thing keeping her awake was plaguing him.
Entranced, Natalie watched the red tip of a cigar moving back and forth to Kane's mouth. The cigar would glow hotly as he drew on it, then dim slightly as it moved away from his lips. Back it would go to his mouth, to burn brightly, to cast a tiny disc of orange light over his full lips, to ignite a smoldering fire deep within the watching woman.
Natalie lay in the hot, heavy darkness allowing her simmering passions to surface and conquer. She was alone in this remote place with her dark southern lover, just as she had been that night at Spanish Widow. All she need do to know the ecstasy of his arms was to cross the darkened room to him.
With cool determination, Natalie threw off the covers and sat up. Silently she lifted the chemise over her head and let it flutter to the floor. Naked, she sat for a second on the sofa, back rigid, slender legs tense, her gaze on the pinpoint of orange light once again brightening as Kane drew on the cigar.
She rose.
Wearing nothing but the shiny gold disc at her throat, Natalie went to Kane. She said nothing as she crossed the room. Like a moth to the flame, she followed the beacon of Kane's hot-tipped cigar, not stopping until she stood with her bare knees touching the edge of the mattress.
She sat down on the bed facing him, and heard Kane's sharp intake of air. She reached for the nearly finished cigar. Taking it from his lean fingers, she snuffed it out in a glass ashtray; tiny orange sparks showering outward. Unhurriedly, Natalie lifted and lowered the thin cigar, methodically tapping; extinguishing each and every minuscule bit of burning ash.
The room was cast into total blackness.
Natalie laid a warm hand upon the dark, handsome face she could not see. "I want you," she whispered in a low, throaty voice.
Kane, heart drumming in his naked chest, smiled in the darkness. He had said those very words to her that hot, dark night at Spanish Widow. Just that. Nothing more. He recalled what her answer had been on that fateful evening. In hoarse, teasing tones he repeated it now.
"Don't hurt me."
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kane's strong, warm hands lifted to Natalie's bare shoulders. Gently he pulled her down to him. Shuddering at the touch of naked flesh, Natalie waited breathlessly. For a time he held her quietly, strong arms around her, a firm hand cradling the crown of her head.
Open lips pressed to his warm, muscular chest, eyes closed in the darkness, Natalie heard him murmur against her temple, "Natalie, I'd like to be tender… I'm not sure I can; I want you too much."
Natalie smiled and lifted her head. She brought a hand up to his tense mouth, touched the full, warm lips with her fingertips, and told him honestly, "Tenderness can come later, Kane. I'm as impatient as you." She laughed then, a soft, sensual sound in the darkness, and added playfully a line her Uncle Shelby often used: "Let the joy be unrestrained."
"Ah, baby," rasped a delighted Kane, and his mouth came down on hers.
They did, indeed, let the joy be unrestrained. The very first kiss was deep and passionate and flaming. Little tenderness; much ferocity. Wildly they kissed, mouths open wide, seeking, exploring, devouring. While their heated lips were locked in that raw, ravaging caress, their bare bodies touched pressed, strained, and burst into scotoiling flame. And their hands, brazen and eager, shamelessly searched planes and curves and hollows of blistering bodies.
When their bruised lips finally parted, Natalie found she was on her back lying across the bed, Kane's lean body beside her. They were tangled up in the sheet, both fighting to be free of it, far too aroused to halt the lovemaking.
Long arms wrapped around her, Kane kissed all the warm, naked flesh he could find, his questing lips feasting on delicate shoulders, swelling breasts, and narrow rib cage, leaving a moist trail of fire in his path. His knee was between Natalie's parted legs, pressing, rubbing, igniting, through the barrier of rumpled sheet trapped between them.
Panting, breathless, Natalie sought closer contact with that obliging knee, pushing up against it, her entire body arching and lifting and giving itself over to her dark lover's fiery lips, masterful hands, hard, muscled body.
A soft cry of joy came from her open mouth when she felt the obstructing sheet jerked away and in its place Kane's skilled fingers caressing her, readying her. Tensed, on fire, aching, she felt his long, lean body shifting over hers and then…
"Ahhh," moaned Kane as he slid easily into her.
"Ohhh," she breathed as his powerful, throbbing masculinity sank into her, stretching her, filling her, enthralling her.
As with the first kiss, there was no tenderness. Violently, vigorously, they mated, abandoned, unrestrained. He thrust rapidly, rhythmically, shoving forcefully into her, burying himself as deeply as possible in the hot female sweetness. She clutched at his scarred back, lifting rounded hips, bucking wildly against him, gripping him tightly, begging for all he had.
The carnal coupling was bawdy but brief.
Hot and hungry for each other for far too long, they quickly exploded into earth-shattering orgasmic ecstasy. Natalie's startled sobs mingled with Kane's loud groans of gratification, the odd chorus ringing in the darkness of the room. And when the sobs and groans died away, two spent, sweat-drenched lovers lay in the thick, hot darkness.
And laughed. They laughed with the sheer joy of being alive. Of being in each other's arms. Of being young and lusty and rapturously sated.
Legs and arms entwined, slick bodies shaking with their glee, they tumbled about on the rumpled bed and giggled uncontrollably, tears streaming down their happy faces, stomachs aching from the continuous jerking, breaths short and labored.
They laughed and laughed. One of them would calm a bit, the other would still be caught up in fierce fits of laughter. Then the calmed one would burst out once more even as the other quieted.
At last two exhausted, peaceful people lay on their backs, their knees pulled up and bent, soles of their feet flat on the bed, hands held between their limp bodies, fingers loosely entwined.
It was Natalie who finally broke the close, comfortable silence. "Kane," she said, turning her head to press a kiss to his damp, hot shoulder, "I think it's time we talked."
She felt his long, lean body tense against her.
"All right," answered Kane. He rolled up onto an elbow and leaned over her flushed face. "I'll light the lamps." He gave her lips a quick kiss and was up in one fast, fluid movement. Natalie sat up, scooted across the bed, shoved fat pillows against the brass-cylindered headboard, and curled her long, slender legs beneath her.
A lamp flickered to life, illuminating Kane's darkly handsome face and tall, muscular body. He looked at Natalie and smiled nervously. A fleeting, little-boy smile that reached her very soul. He looked for all the world like a shy tiger. Never had he been more appealing, more lovable. More unsure.
"My darling," she said, beckoning him, "come here." He. came to her almost reluctantly, as though fearful of what she was going to say. She read the unease in his beautiful blue eyes. Touched, heart filled with love, she drew him down beside her, put a hand up into his thick black hair, questioned, "What is it?"
He captured her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it, then placed it on the thick, dampened hair of his chest. The little-boy smile had fled; his face was set. The blue, blue eyes narrowed. He was Kane once more, the hard, skeptical man who had seen most everything in life and disliked much of it.
The woman who loved him understood. Understood both his shyness and his cynicism. This big, fearless man was afraid of her. Afraid to care. To love.
She
looked straight into those hard blue eyes and said, "Kane, my foolish darling, don't you know how much I love you?" His eyes Bickered, full black lashes lifting restlessly. "I do, you know," she crooned softly. "I love you very, very much, and you love me as well. Don't you?"
Kane gave no reply, but the heart beneath Natalie's splayed fingers thumped rapidly, giving him away.
"Don't be afraid to love me, Kane. Please don't." She smiled at him and added, "I'm not the loose woman you think. You are the second man in my life. The other was my husband." She waited for him to react.
"It doesn't matter to me if you—"
"Yes, it does, and I'm glad. I've never made love to Ashlin. I swear it."
"Why would you—"
"Make love to you as soon as we met?" she finished for him. Smiling, she said, "I thought it would be my first and last chance what with those deadly Apaches breathing down our necks." She sobered then and told him, "I'm not sure, Kane. I wanted you, I needed you. Who knows, perhaps I loved you even then."
"I'm not much of a prize," said Kane in the soft Mississippi drawl she had grown to adore. "You really love me?"
"With all of my heart, Kane." Her hands went up to frame his dark, chiseled face. "And I fully intend to make you love me." She leaned toward him, kissed his smooth jaw, and said, "But for now, may I please have a bath?"
They bathed, they ate, they drank hot black coffee and sipped warm amber brandy. And they talked. Natalie gently convinced Kane, through her seemingly spontaneous conversations regarding her background, her family, her dreams and hopes, that she was far from a deceitful, unprincipled wanton. She was instead a warm-blooded, trustworthy woman capable of abiding, long-lasting faithfulness as well as deep, glowing passion.
She spoke openly of the relationship she had shared with Ashlin. She had been fooled by Ashlin's intentions and had agreed to become his wife even though she had never been in love with him. She admitted to believing that she would never again fall in love as she had with her husband, and told Kane she longed for children as any woman might.
