Shotgun Grooms

by Susan Mallery

  Taking up the scissors, she hacked away at the length of his beard until it was cut close to the injured side of his face. Then thoughtfully, she eased backward, cocked her head to one side and studied his now lopsided beard. It was foolish, she thought, to shave only half of his face. Why, he’d look ridiculous. Better to just do the whole beard, she told herself. No sense in doing half a task. Surely he’d understand her reasoning.

  And before she could give it another thought, she set to work. Sometime later, she wiped the last of the shaving soap from his skin and took her first, unhindered look at her new husband. She smiled. Why, he was much more handsome than his brother. His jaw was more square, his brow more proud and his nose, which had obviously been broken at least once, gave his features character. The fresh cut on his cheek lay directly above an old, jagged scar that slashed across his cheek. This, she thought, was the reason for his beard. He’d obviously sought to cover it up. Hide it from the world.

  “Foolish man,” she whispered, shaking her head. Didn’t he know that the scar only made him look more dangerously attractive? Then she cleaned the fresh wound and was glad to see it wouldn’t require stitches. “This one won’t scar,” she told him though he couldn’t hear her.

  When she’d finished, she took a moment to study him and a swirl of pleasure lit her up from within. Even with the flush of fever still coursing through him, he was a proud, strong-looking man. Who would have guessed that beneath all that hair was such a good face? “You’ll do me fine, Jackson MacIntyre,” she whispered, and reached out to stroke her fingertips across the ancient scar he’d kept hidden.

  Instinctively he turned into her touch, reaching up to capture her hand and hold it to his face. His lips brushed her palm and Molly hissed in a breath. He murmured something, but she couldn’t quite catch it. Still, it didn’t matter, did it? All that mattered now was that she was home. At last, she’d found a husband who needed her. A place where the two of them together could build a future. A home to love and care for.

  And, she added around a wide yawn, “A bed, thank heaven, to sleep in.”

  The days of travel, the hurried wedding and the long, wet ride up the mountain finally took its toll. Fatigue clawed at her, dragging her down into a darkness she was all too ready for. Gathering up her things, she took them into the other room, then checked on Captain Blood. She found the ornery bird actually snoring. Smiling to herself, Molly went back to the bedroom and slipped into bed beside her husband. In his sleep, he pulled her close, spooning her up against him, her back to his front. She lay stiffly for a moment, then realized that even in his sleep, he’d reached out for his wife and, pleased, she relaxed against him. His hard, warm strength surrounded her. Heat from his body poured into hers. And relishing the simple joy of being held, Molly fell asleep.

  In his hazy, fever-driven dream world, Jackson reached for the woman lying beside him. Dixie, he thought with a smile. Damned if she hadn’t missed his weekly visit. She must have trudged all the way up the mountain to see him. A fine woman, he told himself. He didn’t know what she was up to exactly, but enough teasing already. Not that he didn’t appreciate her cool touch or the way her hands felt smoothing across his chest. But he was ready…hungry for more.

  Her body curled into his and Jackson swallowed a groan that ripped through him, along with a wave of need that threatened to swamp him. He bent his head to kiss the curve of her neck and the soft sigh she made gave him the encouragement he really didn’t need. The fever still raging in his blood glazed his vision. Shifting slightly, he levered himself up on one elbow, leaned over her and couldn’t even make out her features in the darkness. But then, he thought, he didn’t need to see her. He’d let his hands do the looking for him.

  Besides, he’d held her before, had sex with her once a week for the past few months. She was comfort when he needed it. Warmth when he felt cold to his soul. And another heartbeat in the darkness when he couldn’t bear to be alone another minute. Most importantly, she never expected more from him than he could give.

  He bent his head to kiss her, drowning in the cool feel of her skin against his. She seemed a little less eager than usual, but his fevered brain put that down to her being anxious for his health. A fine woman, he thought again, and smiled against her mouth. Then he got down to business.

  Parting her lips with his tongue, he rushed into her warm mouth and felt a gasp shudder through her body. She squirmed against him for a moment or two and every move she made fed the flames licking at his insides. Then tentatively, almost shyly, she stroked her tongue against his. A flicker of something sweet and wild sparkled within him at her purposely clumsy kiss. That touch of innocence, he thought, and gave himself up to new sensations, new wonders to be found.

  His hand swept beneath the hem of her nightshirt. Sliding his palm along the length of her body, a part of his befuddled brain noted that she seemed thinner than before. And weren’t her breasts smaller than he remembered? No matter. He liked it. He cupped one breast in his palm and loved knowing that his hand could completely cover her. His thumb and forefinger circled the hard, rigid tip of her nipple and she arched into him, a moan slipping from her throat and into his.

  She trembled in his arms and Jackson held her tighter, wrapping his arms around her, holding her to him, molding her body to his, and still it wasn’t enough. Different, he thought, despite his bleary vision and muddled brain. She felt different. Better.

  Her hands slid up his arms to his shoulders and her fingers dug into his flesh, holding on as if the world was rocking around her. Need bubbled inside him and Jackson gave himself into it, surrendering to the flood of feelings coursing through him.

  He took her mouth while his hands explored her curves as if for the first time. Soft, smooth. Dragging his fingertips along the inside of her leg, he drifted higher and higher until he found the source of her heat. He cupped her, his thumb gently rubbing the one sensitive spot that had her twisting and writhing in his grasp. Her soft sighs, eager moans and clutching fingers drove him on. His fingers dipped in and out of her warmth until she quaked and shivered beneath him. When she claimed her release, he gave her still more until she tore her mouth from his and bit down hard on his shoulder to keep from shouting.

  “Ah, darlin’,” he whispered, holding on to her as her world shifted, splintered, feeling her pleasure as keenly as if it were his own.

  Her response fired him, feeding the desire inside until it was a blaze that couldn’t be stopped. Jackson quickly shifted position, kneeling between her legs, covering her body with his. He slid into her warmth, claiming her body, needing her more than he ever had before. He didn’t understand it, but here in the darkness, he’d found something he hadn’t been expecting. This woman he’d thought he knew had touched him unexpectedly. And he needed to know if there was more. He wanted more.

  Her breath hitched and she stiffened slightly. Her body was tight. Tighter than he’d remembered. Jackson moved slowly, accommodating himself to her. And when she lifted her hips into his, he knew she was ready, that she wanted him as badly as he did her. Jackson built a rhythm between them, moving in and out of her like a man searching for something just out of reach. Her breath dusted his shoulder, her sighs sifted into his soul. She held him to her, arms and legs wrapped around his body, cradling him in her softness. A new wave of release swept through her and she trembled as he emptied himself into her then, groaning tightly, collapsed on top of her.

  Still tingling, Molly sighed and ran her hands up and down Jackson’s back. Her breath raced in and out of her lungs. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her blood felt as if it was boiling. She’d never imagined…never supposed… But how could she have known? Women didn’t talk about such things. At least, they didn’t discuss them with unmarried women, which didn’t seem fair at all. Someone should have warned her. Someone should have prepared her for the soul-shattering wonder of it all.

  His body, so big, so powerful, had slipped into hers like the missing pi
ece of a puzzle. And any discomfort she’d felt had dissolved quickly beneath the sheer pleasure of being joined with him. To know he was actually a part of her. To be able to feel him within her. Then to have the added bonus of actually seeing stars…well, it was simply amazing.

  “That was,” she said softly, wanting to tell him just how touched she’d been, “absolutely wonderful.”

  He didn’t answer.

  She smiled into the darkness. Obviously, he’d been as moved as she by the experience. He couldn’t even speak. It was a gift, she thought. To marry a man sight unseen and to find such an instant closeness. Pleasure surged inside her as she acknowledged that she’d made the right decision in coming to Defiance. And now that she’d started her new life as a wife, she had to wonder if perhaps she hadn’t already conceived the first of their children.

  A curl of anticipation unwound in the pit of her stomach. Only a few short weeks ago, she’d been alone in the house where she’d grown up. Alone and wondering about a future that had stretched out long and empty in front of her.

  Now, here she was, married, perhaps pregnant, and…being suffocated by the limp, heavy body of her husband.

  “Jackson,” she said, and squirmed just a bit as his weight pressed down on her. “I want you to know that I think our marriage will be a good partnership. We’ll…” Frowning, she pushed at him a little. Really, he was very heavy. She cleared her throat and started again. “We’ll make this cabin a home.” Molly shifted a bit to her right, but his broad chest wasn’t that easy to escape. And frankly, if he wanted to maintain their closeness, she was willing to put up with the crushing weight of him. It was comforting, in a way. She hitched in a breath. “You’ll see, we’ll—”

  A deep rumbling sound interrupted her and Molly’s eyes went wide. “What was that?” In the silence, that horrible noise brought visions of mountain lions or bears or…what all else lived in the wilds of Colorado, anyway?

  Her gaze shot to the small window and the night outside. Sheer blackness hovered just beyond the glass, where rain still slashed at the little house as if demanding entry. Briefly she mourned the loss of the streetlights at home. Their pale glow against a fog-shrouded night had comforted her more than once. But here, in Colorado on a moonless night, the darkness was all encompassing—and crouched to pounce. Her fingers dug into Jackson’s shoulders, taking comfort from the fact that he didn’t seem worried. Still, she held her breath and waited what seemed an eternity.

  Then it came again—low, deep, guttural. Close. Scowling, Molly slowly drew her head back, trying to see Jackson’s face.

  The man who’d just shown her the stars…the man who’d touched her as no other man ever had…was snoring.

  “Jackson?”

  He snorted, mumbled something and nuzzled her neck.

  Sparks of something hot and wonderful sizzled through her bloodstream, but she fought past the sensation. “Jackson!”

  “Can’t a man get any sleep around here?” he demanded in a growling mutter, then pushed himself off her, rolled to the side and in seconds was sound asleep again.

  Molly sat straight up in bed and looked down at the man beside her. “For heaven’s sake!”

  In the darkness, she could just make out his profile. “How can he sleep?” she wondered aloud. She’d never felt so awake…so alive in her life. She couldn’t sleep now if her life depended on it. There was so much to talk about. To plan. To discover about each other.

  Another snore rattled the windowpane and she glared at him. How could a man capable of such magic be so…insensitive? Her back teeth ground together as he shifted position, digging his head into the feather pillow.

  Then she remembered. Of course. He was sick. That explained everything. Naturally the man would fall asleep after such exertion. Things would be different in the morning, she told herself. He would be so happy to see her. And no doubt he’d apologize for falling asleep and leaving her to lie awake alone on her first night with him.

  Feeling better about the whole situation, Molly stretched out in the bed beside him and stared up at the beamed ceiling. He muttered something just under his breath, then rolled over and reached for her. She went willingly, curling into him, laying her head on his chest, enjoying the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her. Listening to the beat of his heart, Molly stared into the darkness and thought about what the morning would bring. How she and her new husband would begin their lives together.

  And as she named their children and planned the next fifty years, Molly Malone MacIntyre fell asleep in the arms of her husband.

  Chapter Three

  Jackson woke up to the sound of rain hammering at the cabin and the unmistakable scent of coffee.

  He rolled over in bed and greedily sniffed the air and also picked up the aroma of fresh-baked bread and bacon. His stomach rumbled in anticipation and he clapped one hand to his empty belly. But for the hunger gnawing at him, he felt better than he had in a long time. The fever that had laid him low seemed to have left as quickly as it had come and he’d slept like a dead man. Who would have thought a simple cut on the cheek could produce a fever high enough to send him to bed?

  Opening his eyes, he stared up at the beam ceiling and told himself he was a lucky man. He had a nice warm cabin to sit out the rain in and there was bacon and coffee cooking in the other room. And as that thought settled in and took root, he scowled a bit. Just who the hell was cooking?

  Then it all started trickling back to him. Sitting up, he shoved one hand through his hair and gave his skull a squeeze as if it would help him think. Dixie. Dixie was here last night. He remembered sleeping with her, the incredible feel of her body, the flash of desire, the rush of heated blood and her eager, untutored response. But even as the notion came to him, he discounted it. Not only was Dixie no innocent…but that woman would sooner march naked down Main Street than make a trip up the mountain. In the rain, no less. Nope. Dixie hadn’t been here.

  He must have dreamed that encounter in the darkness. Damn good dream, he thought, but that left him with the question, just who the hell was in his house?

  Only one way to find out. He swung his legs off the bed, snatched up his trousers from the floor and headed across the room. If some traveler looking to get out of the rain had just helped himself to Jackson’s supplies, then he was about to pay for them. The hard way.

  With blood in his eye, Jackson stepped into the main room and stopped dead.

  “Good morning!” a female voice called. “Well, afternoon, really.”

  A tall redhead with a wide smile and sea-green eyes turned to greet him as if he was a welcome guest in his own place. She wore a crisp white apron tied around her narrow waist and a blue calico dress that looked worn from too many washings. Even from across the room, he saw a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks that looked as if her pale skin had been spattered with gold dust. Her long hair fell to just above her hips in a tangle of curls that shimmered like a fire at night each time she moved.

  Memory danced around the edges of his mind. That hair of hers. He knew it. Knew the soft, silky feel of it, the way the curls would twine around his fingers. A pang of foreboding rocked him as he tried to bring back the image of the woman in his dream. But he couldn’t see her clearly. Couldn’t make out her features. A dream, he told himself. Just a dream.

  “I thought you’d never wake up,” she said, snapping him back to the moment at hand. That smile of hers got even wider. “I kept checking on you to make sure you were breathin’.”

  Breathing and apparently still dreaming, he thought. Best-looking squatter he’d ever seen. And it didn’t matter a damn how good-looking she was, he told himself firmly even as something inside him sat up and took notice. She didn’t belong here and he was getting her out. Now.

  “Lady,” he said, his voice low and deep, rumbling just below the sound of the rain drumming on the roof, “who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

  “I’m cooking,” she said i
n a tone most people used when dealing with a half-wit.

  “I can see that,” he told her, though why she was cooking in his house was still a mystery.

  “And I must say, your supplies aren’t what they should be.”

  Not only was she trespassing, she was insulting him. Hell, his supplies were just fine—for one person.

  “Is that right?” He scowled at her, knowing full well that grown men had been known to cower when Jackson MacIntyre turned a cold eye on them.

  She didn’t seem to notice.

  “I’m sure they were sufficient for one, but now that I’m here, we’ll have to stock up.” Tapping one finger against her chin, she kept talking, listing the things she wanted him to buy. “Let’s see…we’ll need sugar, coffee, bacon, some salt, of course.”

  “Of course,” he agreed, nodding.

  Crazy, that’s what she was, he told himself. Which would explain a lot. No sane woman would troop into a man’s cabin and make herself at home like this. Damn shame, he told himself. Fine-looking woman like her. Too bad her bucket had a hole in it. But it wasn’t his problem. All he had to do was figure out who she belonged to and how she’d ended up in his house.

  Now that he knew what he was dealing with, he interrupted her flow of words in a soft, reasonable voice. “Sure. We’ll do that. Soon as it stops raining, we’ll go to town.” He should be able to find her keepers back in town. How in the heck they’d let her escape was beyond him.

  Pleased, she gave him a smile that lit the gloomy room up like a fireworks display. A damn shame, he thought again. A woman that good-lookin’ shouldn’t be let loose to wander on her own. Especially since her bread didn’t seem to be quite done.

  “Oh good,” she said. “Maybe we’ll have time to visit with your brother and his wife.” Picking up the coffeepot from the stove top, she poured two cups, then spared him a quick look. “There wasn’t much time to talk yesterday. Things were so rushed, what with the wedding and all.”