The Dakota Man

by Joan Hohl

  “The bastard,” Mitch growled.

  “That’s precisely what I said.” She smiled. “I went wacky for a while. I slashed my damned wedding gown into ribbons, quit my job, rented out my apartment and simply loaded my car and started driving. I finally wound up here, in Deadwood.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “I’m sure you are,” she said dryly, shooting a pointed look at the bed. “And now I’ll be on my way.” Swinging around, she headed for the door.

  “Wait a damned minute,” he said, his hand clasping her arm to stop her in her tracks, turning her to face him. “Where are you going?”

  “Home, to my bed…” She smiled, almost.

  “I’d rather you slept here, in my bed.” His soft voice enticed her senses.

  Maggie drew a slow, steadying breath. “I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. “I lost my head there for a while, but it’s back in place now. This—” she flicked a hand at the bed “—won’t happen again.”

  “Not even if you find you can trust me?” he asked, raising a hand to cup her face.

  Maggie’s breathing went haywire. He was going to kiss her. She knew he was going to kiss her. She knew as well that she should stop him, step away from him…run away from him. She neither stopped him nor ran. She parted her lips for him.

  Mitch’s mouth was gentle on hers, sweet, undemanding, demoralizing.

  “Maggie?” He lifted his head to stare into her eyes. “If you find you can trust me?”

  She swallowed and pulled her scattered senses together. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  “Good enough.” Releasing his hold on her arm, and her face, Mitch stepped back. “I’ll follow you home.”

  “No.” Maggie shook her head. “That’s not necessary.”

  He sighed. “Don’t argue, Maggie. Just give me a few minutes to get dressed.”

  Maggie didn’t argue, but as soon as he had crossed the room and entered the bathroom, she called, “Don’t forget that fax for your brother.”

  Then she ran.

  Exasperating woman. Fumbling with the top snap on his jeans, silently cursing, Mitch pushed open the bathroom door and strode to the clothes closet, determined to pull on a shirt and shoes and tear after Maggie.

  He was stamping into buff-toned desert boots when he heard a car start up in the employees’ parking lot.

  “Dammit,” he muttered, kicking off the boots. No point in going after her now. Letting the boots lie where they fell, he turned to the nightstand to collect their coffee cups, and stopped still at the sight of the rumpled bed.

  A shiver-inducing thrill, immediately followed by a searing streak of heat, shot through him at the vivid recollection of the activity that had caused the wild disorder of bedding.

  Lord, she was magnificent, this woman who had presented a challenge to him from the first day she had walked into his office. Was it really only a little over two weeks ago? Mitch asked himself. It seemed more like months, or years that he had spent watching Maggie, learning her mannerisms, her particular personality traits, listening for the sound of her voice, her laughter…wanting her.

  And now that he had tasted the fullness of her, tapped the depths of her sensuality, reveled in her surrender, Mitch instinctively feared he would never again live to see a day dawn that he did not want to be with her, in and out of bed.

  It was a sobering consideration. It was a mindand life-altering thought, most especially since Maggie, the woman who didn’t trust any man, just might decide on the spur of any moment to cut and run.

  Maggie was afraid. She was afraid to trust not only men, but herself. Because one lapse in her judgment had allowed her to lead herself down the proverbial garden path.

  And yet, by his observation—and he had made almost a science of observing her—she had revealed not only a quick wit and sharp intelligence, but a warm, caring personality. She showed genuine affection, with a strong strain of protectiveness toward Karla…which he highly approved of. In addition, everyone she had come in contact with in the casino appeared to like and respect her.

  All of which was a clear indication to Mitch that the cool, savvy, challenging, almost militant front she presented was simply that—a self-protective facade.

  And beneath that facade was a many-faceted woman, a woman confident and comfortable wearing many of life’s hats.

  Maggie wanted a child, a family life…

  The matter needed more serious thought.

  Grabbing up the cups, Mitch left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen. If he was going to engage in some mental and emotional probing and come up with some viable solutions, he needed caffeine, lots of caffeine.

  By 3:00 a.m. he was tired but wide awake. His hair was ruffled from repeated raking of fingers and he fairly sloshed with the two pots of coffee he had drunk. But his mental and emotional state was resolved as he stumbled down to his office to at last send the fax to his brother.

  As impossible and improbable as it seemed to him, and after much soul-searching, Mitch had finally faced the singularly amazing fact that he was in love with Maggie Reynolds. He was deeply, irrevocably and forever-after in love with her.

  Who would have thought? Certainly not Mitch. He had long since decided that love, romantic love, was for, well…romantics, of which he was not one.

  But there it was, romantic love, in all its gut-wrenching glory, figuratively laughing its ass off at him. Okay, let it laugh. Better yet, hopefully, he’d laugh along.

  But now, Mitch acknowledged, his work was really cut out for him. For now, he had to not only prove to Maggie that she could trust him, but love him back in return.

  It was enough to make a strong, iron-willed man weep.

  Of course, Mitch wasn’t into weeping over his troubles, or anything else. He never had been. He was into taking whatever action was required to remedy the situation.

  With his eyelids heavy, but his brain alert on caffeine, Mitch retraced his steps to his bedroom. Shucking out of his clothes, he crawled naked into the tangled bedding and set about devising a strategy to lure Maggie back into the bed next to him…for the rest of her natural life.

  Nine

  It was raining, hard. Fortunately, it was Saturday. At least she didn’t have to go to work and beard her personal dragon in his den, so to speak, Maggie thought as she dragged her weary, sleep-denied body from the bed. She had a headache, most likely from the battering her brain had taken throughout the long night of mental taxation. She also ached in some, no, a lot of very delicate places.

  And it was all thanks to her personal, bedrock-hard dragon, she reflected. She now had firsthand knowledge of how very hard, and gentle, Mitch could be.

  What to do? What to do?

  Sick and tired of the endless question, Maggie started a pot of coffee. Then she headed for the bathroom to beat her protesting body parts into submission with a hot shower.

  Fifteen minutes later, she felt marginally better, so far as her aching muscles went. Dressed in jeans and an oversize Penn State University sweatshirt, Maggie sat curled up on the kitchen window seat, a steaming cup of coffee warming her cradling hands.

  Three sips of the brew made her feel almost human. Perhaps some food. Maggie made a face. Perhaps not. So, okay, she advised herself. Drink the coffee and think it through.

  Then again, what was to think about? She had felt an immediate attraction to Mitch, an attraction she had thought was purely physical in nature. Think again.

  Mitch was scrupulously honest, not only fair but generous with his employees, and genuinely concerned for their well-being. In retrospect, Maggie had to laugh at her original suspicions about Mitch being the father of Karla’s baby. He actually acted more like Karla’s father, monitoring her increasing condition, making sure she ate right and wasn’t overdoing the office work, insisting she stay off her feet when her ankles swelled.

  Maggie had quickly come to appreciate Mitch’s sense of humor, revealed in the teasing gleam that lit his eyes,
the occasional droll remark, the laughter that rang out, free and clear of any malicious content.

  And Mitch was fantastic in bed. The errant thought induced a delicious tingle inside Maggie. Good heavens, she never dreamed she could feel the sensations she had experienced in his bed. Of course, she was sadly inexperienced, since Todd had been her one and only lover…and he had hardly aroused her, never mind set her on fire. For Maggie, sex with Todd had been a functional exchange, uninspired and finished quickly.

  With Mitch… Maggie sighed. With Mitch the physical act had been an enlightenment, a feast of sensual delights, a shared journey through exotic realms.

  Every living cell in her body cried out to share that journey with Mitch again. Share the closeness, the laughter, the passion, the feeling of being joyously alive.

  By her third cup of coffee, Maggie admitted that she could very easily fall in love with Mitch…if in fact she hadn’t already fallen in love with him. If she dared.

  But Mitch had a thing about trust.

  Maggie winced. She had a thing about trust, too. Her thing being that she had good reason to doubt the sincerity of any man’s avowed trustworthiness.

  What to do? What to do?

  Maggie was back at square one.

  Hugging her knees, she stared out the window at the pouring rain, noticing that autumn had come to South Dakota. The leaves on the trees behind the house, colorful mere days before, were drying. Many had already fallen to the ground. There was a chill in the air she could feel through the windowpane.

  Maybe it was time to hit the trail, go home to Philadelphia before winter set in.

  She sighed again. The shame of her situation was that she really liked being here. She liked the town, the surrounding terrain. She liked her work. She liked her apartment. She liked Karla, and the other employees she had come to know over the previous two weeks. And, despite her initial misgivings, she liked Mitch, the man.

  The man wanted her.

  And she wanted him.

  A part of her demanded she give it time, explore the possibility of a workable and satisfying relationship with Mitch. Another part of her, the wary part, urged her to pack up and take off before she got hurt again.

  But she couldn’t go, at least not yet, Maggie told the wary part. She had to stay, wanted to stay until after Karla’s baby was born. So she’d stay…awhile.

  But she’d have to play it cool, Maggie told herself. Resisting Mitch wouldn’t be easy, but she would have to keep him at arm’s length. And maybe, with any luck, she might discover that she could place her trust in him.

  One could always hope.

  Maggie took her tired body, and her hope, back to bed.

  The phone woke her late in the afternoon. It was still raining, and almost dark.

  “Where have you been hiding all day?” Karla’s cheery voice brought full wakefulness.

  “Right here,” Maggie said, covering a yawn with her hand. “I was having a nap.”

  “Did Mitch keep you at it very late?”

  A loaded question if Maggie ever heard one. She played it straight. “Not too late,” she answered, her tone neutral. “I left around ten-thirty.” Which was true. “But I didn’t sleep well, so I went back to bed.” Also true. “Did you and Ben have a nice evening?”

  A pause, then Karla said, “Oh, yes, we had a lovely dinner, and then we just talked.”

  “May I ask what about?”

  “Sure,” Karla said, her voice light, happy. “I’ll tell you everything over supper.”

  Maggie smiled, and pushed a swath of hair from her eyes. “We’re having supper together?”

  “Yep, chicken and salad, and it’s almost done.” Karla laughed. “You have twenty minutes to get up, get dressed and get yourself down here.”

  Maggie produced a not entirely fake groan. “Nag.”

  Karla laughed again. “Did I mention that the chicken is in a pasta dish…with mushrooms and other good stuff?”

  Laughing to herself, Maggie threw back the covers. “Start the coffee, I’ll be down in fifteen.”

  “Oh, that was so-o-o good,” Maggie complimented the cook, sighing with repletion as she set her napkin aside. “Where did you find the recipe?”

  “I’m so glad it turned out right, and that you liked it,” Karla said, smiling with pleasure for the compliment. “I got it from one of those TV cooking shows.”

  “It was wonderful,” Maggie said, feeling stuffed, and curious. “So, was your dinner last night as good?”

  “Yes.” Karla nodded. “But later was better.”

  “Later?” Maggie prompted.

  Karla nodded, looking shy. “We… Ben and I came back here after dinner to talk.”

  Alarm flared inside Maggie, concern for her innocent friend. Ben was a mature man, after all, a virile, healthy male. “And…er, what did you talk about?”

  “Us… Ben and me.” Karla’s cheeks bloomed with becoming pink. “He said…he’s in love with me.”

  “Karla…” The alarm bells were clanging, and Maggie didn’t know how to proceed, other than directly. “He didn’t…you didn’t…?”

  “Go to bed with him?” Karla said it for her. “No, I didn’t. I wanted to,” she quickly added. “I know I’m in love with him—Ben’s so wonderful. And I really wanted to make love with him before he had to leave but…”

  “But?” Maggie repeated, fearing that the couple had tried but that Karla had found it uncomfortable.

  “He wouldn’t.”

  The simple statement rocked Maggie’s precepts of the male gender. “He wouldn’t?”

  “No.” Karla pouted. “He said he was afraid he’d hurt me or the baby.”

  “Well, good for him,” Maggie said, breathing a silent sigh of relief. “Is he still planning to come back here and be with you through the birth?”

  “Yes.” The pink in her cheeks deepened to red. “And he promised he’d make up for last night…after we’re married.”

  “He proposed?”

  “Not really.” She giggled. “He just said we’re getting married, that we’d do it as soon as it could be arranged. But he had to go back to the ranch first and talk to his boss.”

  What was wrong with the telephone? Maggie wondered with cynical suspicion. Not wanting to upset Karla, she kept her mouth shut.

  “Oh, Maggie, I’m so happy. I couldn’t wait another minute to tell you. That’s why I called.” She laughed. “And, you’ll be surprised to hear, I was so happy, I called my folks, too. Told them everything. They’re coming to Deadwood the week before my due date to be with me when the baby comes.”

  “Oh, Karla, I’m so glad you called them. And I am happy for you,” Maggie said, jumping up to hug her friend, glad she had kept her suspicions to herself.

  “Have dinner with me.” It was Wednesday, and the third time that week Mitch had asked that same question. Over a week and a half had elapsed since the memorable night they had been together. And though she had maintained a pleasant, outwardly friendly demeanor, Maggie had kept a cool and deliberate distance between them.

  “Mitch, I…” Maggie began.

  “Wait,” Mitch interrupted her, certain she was about to refuse him, again. “Just dinner, Maggie, no strings, no pressure for anything more. I promise.”

  “I don’t know.” She hesitated, her gaze steady on his, her eyes revealing an inner conflict.

  Encouraged, Mitch forged ahead. “Maggie, it’s only dinner. I’m inviting you to have a meal with me, not an orgy,” he said, even though, with the constant memory of those incredible hours they’d spent together tormenting him, an orgy sounded pretty good to him. Especially considering how difficult he was finding it to keep his hands off her.

  Maggie didn’t frown, or go stiff and cold with rejection. She laughed. More encouraging still.

  “If I say please?”

  “Well…” She smiled. “If you behave yourself.”

  With a sorrowful expression, he placed a hand on his chest over his h
eart. “You wound me.”

  “I seriously doubt it,” she drawled, arching a brow and looking suspicious. “Where?”

  Mitch knew exactly what she was asking. “Not in my apartment, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

  “It was,” she admitted.

  “But we were so good together, so…” Mitch caught himself up short, but it was too late, the impassioned words were out, dangling there in the sudden silence.

  Maggie didn’t respond or even react. She simply sat there, still as death, staring at him.

  Damned fool, Mitch berated himself. He’d screwed up, big time, and it would serve him right if she told him to take a flying leap off a high cliff. He knew how she felt, knew she didn’t trust him.

  The results of winging it, he supposed. After crawling back into bed the night they had been together, Mitch had scrapped the notion of forming a strategy to win Maggie’s trust, and eventually her love. He’d decided to just be himself. For if she couldn’t come to trust him, love him, for what and who he was, the whole thing would be pointless. Maybe he should have gone with a strategy. Too late now, he thought, his path was set.

  “Maggie, I’m sorry. Not about us being good together. I’m not sorry about that, because we were, more than merely good, more like fantastic. But I am sorry for bringing it up now, when I know you don’t want to discuss it.”

  “You’re right, I don’t wish to discuss it.” She moved her shoulders in a minishrug. “But you’re also right about being good together—we were.”

  “But…then why…”

  The simple act of raising her hand silenced him. “I don’t know where you’re coming from, what you want from me—” a wry smile brushed her lips “—other than sex.”

  “It was more than sex, Maggie.” Mitch paused, then admitted with blunt honesty, “Okay, to begin with it was the sexual attraction… I felt it, and you felt it, too.” He gave her a hard stare. “Didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” She met his stare with commendable directness. “And it rattled me.”