by Debra Cowan
Naomi tried to wake her, then Lydia tried, with no better luck.
“Is she dead?” Naomi whispered.
Lydia leaned down to listen to the woman’s heart. “No.”
Naomi grabbed the woman under her arms while Lydia lifted her feet. She was heavy and they could barely get her off the ground.
The black woman grimaced. “What are we going to do? She can’t stay out here. She’ll freeze.”
They tried again to wake up the woman, but couldn’t. Lydia sat on her knees, the cold seeping through her wrapper and causing her to shiver. “Even if we get her to stand, she can’t walk. Her feet are torn up.”
“What should we do?” Naomi’s features were pinched.
“Maybe Willow—”
“She’s nowhere to be found. I haven’t seen her since Mr. Baldwin and the others rode out. Where would she go?”
“I don’t know. We’ll worry about her after we take care of this woman. She’s going to freeze to death.”
After another attempt to rouse the woman, Lydia stopped, a little breathless. “We need someone stronger than us.”
“Ef,” Naomi said quietly.
Yes. Lydia hesitated, but there was really no choice if they wanted to get the victim inside and her feet doctored. She didn’t think this was what Russ had meant when he told her to go to Ef for anything. “Okay. I’ll stay with her.”
Naomi stood and ran the length of the building then disappeared around the corner.
Lydia shook the woman, patted her face. To no avail. “Please wake up.”
From the corner of her eye, she caught a movement and turned to see Naomi and Ef hurrying toward her. Ef was dressed, but his flapping shirttail and dangling suspenders testified that Naomi had woken him, too.
“Oh, thank you.” Lydia kept her voice quiet, getting to her feet and moving back so the blacksmith could kneel beside the woman.
It took a couple of tries before he attempted to stand with her in his arms. His back and arm muscles strained at the fabric of his shirt.
Naomi held the door and Lydia followed as Ef went up the single step and carried the woman inside. Lydia hurried around him and into the pantry, opening the storage room door.
Naomi appeared with a match and Lydia lit the candle they kept at the top of the stairs. She held it high, leading the way through the shifting shadows down the stairs and around the large cupboard. Being so close to the boiler room took the chill from the air.
Ef laid the unconscious woman on the pallet Lydia indicated.
When he straightened, she noticed he was sweating, evidence of how hard he’d worked to get the stranger down here.
“Thank you.” Lydia squeezed his hand.
When he turned, the safe station’s lone occupant shrank back into the dark space behind the cupboard.
The blacksmith’s gaze shot to Lydia. She walked with him to the stairs, keeping her voice low. “Did Naomi explain?”
“Some. She said the hotel was part of a secret network to help abused women escape bad situations.”
Lydia nodded. “Most of them don’t stay more than a night.”
Ef’s eyes were warm. “Naomi said you and she help because your sister died at the hands of her abusive husband.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Thank you.”
“This is a good thing you’re doing here.” He started up the steps then paused. “Need me to fetch anything?”
“Some warm water, cloths and linen strips. Naomi knows where everything is.”
The big man made his way to the top of the stairs. Lydia could hear their quiet murmuring. She was covering the new arrival with a blanket when Ef appeared with the things she’d requested.
As Lydia took the bowl from him, he smiled, admiration plain in his eyes. “Naomi’s bringing some salve.”
“Thank you.” Wincing as she saw the cuts to the woman’s feet, Lydia began to clean the wounds. Ef would keep silent about the operation. Lydia was sure of him. Russ would have, too; she was just as sure of that.
She’d finally revealed the secret, just not to the right man.
The days dragged with no word at all. Lydia’s nerves were scraped raw and tension ran through the whole town.
Willow had shown up the next morning, sheepishly admitting she had fallen asleep in one of the hotel’s bathtubs. Lydia was relieved nothing bad had happened to the former prostitute.
Neither woman who had sought shelter at the hotel was ready to travel so between hotel business and trying to help the new mother, Lydia had plenty to do, but Russ was constantly on her mind. Where was he? Was he all right? What about the others?
She must have replayed his goodbye kiss and the tenderness in his eyes a hundred times. She missed him even more than she had when he’d made that short trip to Abilene. Her feelings went much deeper than she had realized. That only made the time seem longer, the nights interminable.
Three days after Russ left, Josie Holt came looking for Lydia. One look at the petite brunette’s face and dread snaked through Lydia.
Word had come from a lawman in the panhandle. There had been a shoot-out between a band of rustlers and the posse from Whirlwind. Two men in the posse were injured, but the lawman hadn’t given names.
Was Russ hurt? The thought made Lydia ill. Josie, Catherine and the other women were just as worried. Lydia tried to keep busy, but the slightest thing out of the ordinary rattled her. She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t sleep. She held herself together, not only because she had hotel guests to see to, but also because the women taking shelter there needed her.
She prayed for word from somebody. Three grueling, achingly slow days after having gotten news about the shoot-out, she was on the second floor helping Willow change sheets on a guest bed when she heard the thunder of hooves.
Dropping the linens, she rushed to the window. Her gaze cut through the last light of day to the horses galloping into town. She easily found the black-and-white paint and…there was Russ! Her chest went tight.
Willow hurried to stand beside her. Lydia saw Matt, then Riley Holt. Riley wore a sling and Cal Doyle had a bandage on his head. Russ appeared to be unharmed. The relief nearly buckled her knees.
She steadied herself and flew down the stairs behind Willow, who loudly announced the posse had returned. Lydia moved outside to the edge of the porch, searching for Russ. Her gaze scanned the small crowd gathered between the saloon and the newspaper office. There was no sign of his broad shoulders, the gray shirt, dark hat. She couldn’t find him.
Frustration streaked through her. Where was he—there! He straightened from examining his horse. Lydia couldn’t tell what he’d been looking at; she didn’t care. He stood with his brother, Davis Lee and Riley. A crowd jostled around the men, voices rising and falling in welcome.
His gaze cut through the group, locked on hers and relief overwhelmed her. Tears prickled her eyes.
Josie walked over to her. “Davis Lee said about half the rustlers escaped into Oklahoma Territory, with a couple of wounded.”
“How many were there?”
“Eight. Or maybe seven. I can’t remember exactly.” Josie watched her husband with complete adoration. “I was more concerned with kissing him.”
Lydia understood that. As the men continued to talk intently, a sudden thought chilled her. Keeping her eyes locked with Russ’s, she asked the woman beside her, “They’re not going out again, are they?”
“No. At least not yet.”
Lydia wanted to go to him, to talk to him, but one look at the people crowding around him told her it would be better to wait where she was.
Torn between impatience and relief, she listened with half an ear as Josie shared more details of the chase. The posse had run the rustlers to the border. One of the men who had roughed up Matt was dead. Lydia was glad to hear the story, but she wanted to hear it from Russ, touch him and feel for herself that he was unharmed.
; Red dust filmed his clothes, his horse. He hadn’t shaved and lines of fatigue carved his face. He looked perfect.
He took off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. Even from where she was standing, Lydia could sense the restlessness in him. His brother said something and he nodded, then began walking toward her.
People kept stopping him to shake his hand or ask questions. Lydia knew they were glad to see him, too, but she wanted to talk to him. As he moved slowly in her direction, his attention rarely left her. Impatient, she wanted to grab him and take him upstairs.
When he was detained for the third time, Lydia told herself to go inside. He was unharmed. That was what mattered. Later, when things had calmed down, he would find her or she would find him, but she couldn’t make herself leave.
A few seconds later, he cut away from the crowd and angled toward the livery, leading his horse. He caught her eye and tilted his head toward the hotel, a silent message to meet him inside.
She nodded, her stomach fluttering in anticipation. She excused herself from Josie, Naomi and Ef then went inside. Russ’s office door was open and her heart began to pound hard.
Her hands were shaking, she realized in vague disbelief. She was shaking. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm the tangle of emotions in her chest. Relief, gratitude, need. His coat and hat were thrown haphazardly across his desk, the saddlebags on the floor beside it. Red dust filmed everything.
She rapped lightly on the door and peered around it. He stood with his back to her across the room in a long-sleeved undershirt, his trousers and dusty boots. A huge hot sensation she didn’t understand threatened to swallow her up.
He looked over his shoulder and saw her. Pivoting, he covered the distance between them in four strides. Pleasure lit his blue eyes.
Her gaze ran over him. He appeared unharmed, but she had to feel for herself. She moved to meet him. “Are you all—”
In one fluid motion, he swept her up, kicked the door shut and backed her into the wall, capturing her mouth with his. Whatever she wanted to say was forgotten as his hands moved to cradle her face.
Lydia gripped his forearms, kissing him back just as fiercely as he kissed her. He lifted his head, slanted it another way and settled his mouth on hers again.
He made a rumbling sound from his chest. His body was rock-hard against hers. The scents of dirt and man and leather swirled around her. She needed to be closer. Her hands slid up his biceps then to his shoulders, holding tight because her body felt boneless. His tongue stroked hers.
It was a long moment before he drew back, still holding her face. “Sugar, you are a sight for sore eyes.”
“So are you,” she said breathlessly.
He gave a short laugh, trying to ease away from her.
She held tight.
“I’m covered in dirt and I smell like horses.”
“I don’t care. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Her lips were swollen from his. She smiled up at him and he groaned, taking her mouth again.
This time, when he lifted his head, he rested his forehead against hers. “I shouldn’t start this here,” he muttered.
“Why not?” She didn’t want him to stop kissing her. His features sharpened with desire as his gaze did a hot slide down her body. A muscle flexed in his jaw and his eyes glittered with a predatory look. A shiver worked through her.
“Let me clean up, then take you to dinner.”
She nodded. “Where?”
“You pick. I don’t care. Here. Pearl’s.”
She wanted to suggest they stay in his office to eat. Or do other things. Her entire body vibrated with the desire pumping through her veins.
She wanted him. She didn’t want to let go. If he put his hands or mouth on her the way he had the other night, she wouldn’t stop him. That probably made her a wanton, but she didn’t care. She needed him. It was strange, something she’d never felt before, yet it was there.
He stared at her mouth in arrested silence, sending a thrill through her. She thought he might kiss her again; instead he released her. “Give me ten minutes, okay?”
She would give him whatever he wanted. Reaching behind her, she opened the door. “I’m so glad you’re back and safe.”
His eyes darkened and Lydia stepped out while she still could. She headed for her rooms, her pulse skittering.
Ten minutes later, a knock sounded on the door. Pressing a hand to her stomach to still the butterflies, she answered.
Russ stood there, looking big and strong and determined.
“Hi,” he rasped.
“Hi.” The scruffy whiskers were gone, the line of his jaw clean-shaven. The deep blue of his eyes glittered against his burnished skin. She drew in the fresh scent of his spicy shaving soap, a hint of his own darker musk.
She didn’t care about eating. All she wanted was Russ. But he’d been riding long and hard for days. Who knew when he’d last eaten?
He stepped inside and closed the door.
She searched his face, shivering at the intensity there. “I thought you wanted dinner. What are you doing?”
“Getting ready to say something I never thought I would say again.” His voice was hoarse, and his eyes were soft with the same tenderness she’d seen the night he left. He slicked a thumb along her lower lip. “Being gone this last week…”
He paused, slid a big hand across her lower back to her waist and pulled her to him. Her hands lay flat on his chest. He held her so tightly she could feel the buttons of his trousers. And his arousal. The hard ridge of flesh sent a jolt of need through her.
Closing and opening his eyes, he started again. “Things didn’t feel right…”
She’d never seen him have trouble expressing his thoughts.
Bemused, she slid her fingers gently down his jaw. “What?”
Impatience streaked across his face, and he made a deep rough sound that sparked a delicious heat low in her belly just before he lifted her off her feet. “I have feelings for you, Lydia.”
Chapter Fourteen
“R uss,” she whispered, her midnight-black eyes dazed.
Setting his hands at her waist, he let her drift down his body until her feet touched the floor. He buried his face in her neck, filling himself up with her scent, her warmth. “I missed you like hell.”
“I missed you, too.” Her fingers played in the damp hair at his nape.
He lifted his head. In the soft white light, her creamy skin gleamed like a pearl. “I planned to tell you this earlier, but then I saw you and all I could think about was getting my hands on you, kissing you.”
She laughed. “I felt that way myself.”
Emotion rushed through him, the same emotion that had welled up every time he thought about her this past week. Widening his legs, he drew her between them. Her breasts flattened against his chest and his senses swam with the smell of flowers and warm woman.
“I never expected anything like you, like this,” he said quietly.
“Neither did I.” She touched a shaking hand to his jaw. “I’ve…never felt like this before.”
“Not even with your ex-fiancé?”
“No.”
Framing her face with his hands, he looked into her eyes.
“After what Amy did, I never thought I’d let myself care about another woman, never thought I’d want anything except the physical, but the more I’m with you, the more I think about it.”
“Really?” It wasn’t disbelief on her face; it was pleasure.
“There’s more to it than me wanting to get my hands on you. I can’t remember what Whirlwind was like before you came, and I don’t want to go back and find out.”
He curved a hand around her nape, brushing his thumb along her jaw. Her pulse jumped in the hollow of her throat. “When I rode out with those men the other night, I was sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ve been fighting these feelings for a while, but I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to.”
He pulled her tight into him, hard against his ere
ction. “I want you so damn bad. If we don’t go to dinner or get out of here, I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to.”
“What?” A hush came over his body.
Her face was flushed, her eyes deep and hot with desire. “Ever since the night I dragged you upstairs to deal with…that couple, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about being with you.”
Her words drove a spike of pure burning need through him. He hadn’t stopped thinking about being with her, either. He settled his mouth on hers, kissed her long and slow and deep.
When he lifted his head, she opened her eyes. The smoldering heat there had him dragging in a steadying breath. “I want you,” he said hoarsely.
Her fingers skimmed his jaw. “I want you, too.”
Russ froze, something he’d never done with a woman, but this had never seemed so important before. He wanted to taste her, touch every inch of her wonderfully soft skin, feel her naked flesh against his. He didn’t know where to start.
Watching her face, he pulled the pins from her hair. It fell in a tumble of raven silk, sliding around her shoulders and the gray-checked fabric of her dress.
He slid his hands into the thick tresses and kissed her. She moaned, sliding her arms around his shoulders. He went deeper and slower with his tongue. Aching, throbbing, he was nearly blind with the need to have her.
Trying not to ravage her like an animal, he gentled his kiss, dragged his lips from hers and gently scraped his teeth down her throat. She wiggled against him, making a deep breathy sound. He thought his legs might give out.
Scooping her up, he made it to the bed and eased down on the edge of the mattress, pulling her firmly into his lap. “This is about more than one night for me.”
“Me, too.”
Hell, yes. Her agreement unlocked something deep inside, knocked down the last of the wall he’d put up after Amy. Savoring Lydia’s lavender scent, the powder-fine texture of her skin, he laid her down on the bed.
He came over her, threading his fingers through the silky raven tresses. Nuzzling her temple, he pressed openmouthed kisses to the side of her neck, nipped her earlobe.
