by Multiple
Her eyes widened and her sweet grin grew just a little bit wicked. He arched an eyebrow, waiting.
“Lower me down and take off my shift.” He wasn’t sure who groaned more as he complied, drawing free from her hot sex as he set her on the bed. He discarded her shift without a second thought, dropping it on the floor.
She had a full figure, heavy breasted and rounded hips. But her belly was flat and firm, having never rounded with childbearing. A collection of dusky brown curls at the juncture to her thighs was the same shade as the warm, honey color of her hair. His cock throbbed, a little done with his teasing, but Kid refused to give in.
A blush stole over her skin, softening it pink and Kid chuckled. He allowed himself the pleasure of caressing her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “What would you like next, Mrs. Carson?”
“I would like you to kiss me.” But she touched a hand to his lips, forestalling him as he bent to comply. “No, you must wait for all your instructions.”
That was the spirit.
He grinned, kissing her finger. Sam, the gold, the town and even his father’s constant disappointment a distant memory as Caroline stretched out in front of him, brazen and proud.
“You should kiss my mouth, then my neck and then each of my breasts. I want your lips to tease them, suckling them for pleasure.” His groin tightened at the picture she painted. “And then I want you to fill me, riding me until we are both spent.”
He cleared his throat. “Is that all?”
“Then you will do it again.”
Kid laughed.
“You may begin.” Her laughter joined his, wrapping around him and pulling him onto the bed. His mouth closed over hers and he let her take him away from the rest, eager to fulfill each and every request.
Cody stared at the cabin. He’d caught the scent despite the rain. It was heavy, musky and laden with sex. He’d watched the woman come out of the cabin and all but mount the boy on the porch. They’d carried their lust back inside, leaving Cody to huddle next to the cabin, sheltering from the rain.
The trails were washing out, but he looked at the swollen creek. His nose quivered as he lifted it to the air. The damp smell of wood smoke came from the north and the east. He gave the cabin one last look before trotting back into the rain.
Chapter Fourteen
And if I want to go?
The question hung, poised, in the moist air between them. But the marshal hadn’t answered. Instead, he’d excused himself to tend the horses. Used a small pan to gather water from the rain and carry it back to them. The great beasts were completely comfortable, shifting in their sleep to whuffle at the pan, but otherwise unimpressed.
Scarlett turned her gaze away and back out to the rain. It was a wall of water, a more effective cell she’d never seen. Not that she couldn’t venture out, but the wind whooshed up against the cave entrance, twice threatening to gutter the fire with the rain that spattered inside. Twice, she’d put her hand out, encouraging the flames, drawing them out and setting the dampened wood to sizzle and pop.
She was aware of Sam moving through the cave, clearing the debris of their meal and repacking it into one of his saddlebags. He retrieved more wood, adding it to the fire. The weight of his stare pressed down on her.
“I don’t understand,” she said, keeping her gaze outside. The stone-embedded runoffs were filling up, the water racing downhill, creating a moat around their rocky homestead.
“Don’t understand what?” Sam dropped back onto the stone floor next to the bedroll, choosing to sit next to her rather than opposite. The heat of him was a warm lure, a tease. Sam, no, she couldn’t think of him that way. The marshal used a longer stick to poke at the logs, kicking up more heat.
She didn’t quite sigh, but exhaustion sat like a dead weight across the back of her shoulders. Her bottom was still sore, a reminder of his earlier reprimand. In some quiet, silly little part of her, she was impressed that he’d dared to spank her.
That he’d not even slowed down.
Humiliation was coupled with admiration and it was the strangest sensation. Not that she wasn’t debating how to get even for it, but she supposed hitting him in the head with a log was her fault.
“Scarlett?” The marshal nudged her, a gentle reminder that she’d spoken. She pulled her gaze away from the flames to look at him. He needed to shave. The bruise on his cheek emphasized the tiredness around his eyes. He needed to sleep, too.
She supposed he would be as resistant to that idea as she was.
But for different causes.
She was worried Buck would find her.
He was likely worried she would bolt.
“I don’t understand why you’re not afraid.” All her life, she’d been taught to hide her abilities from strangers, to never reveal what she could do for fear of reprisal. But Sam—the marshal had seen her at the pond. He’d even asked her to light the fire in the cave and he wasn’t afraid to spank her, when even in her exhausted state she could have lashed out at him.
Sam held out his right hand, forefinger extended. The pad was a white mass of blister, thick against the calloused finger. “Do you know when you did this?”
Scarlett shook her head slowly, looking from the blister to his face. His lips quirked into a half smile.
“When you were taken by the fever, next to the pond. I was trying to help you get out of the dress. I touched your back and your skin was burning.”
She put a hand over her mouth, shame coupled with embarrassment. He’d stripped her from the dress and carried her to the sick cabin. She remembered waking to the ice, to his eyes skimming over her naked body and the strange trembling sensations that boiled in her belly.
“Other than whacking me with that log, that’s the only time you hurt me. And since I am fairly certain you were trying to get to that pond to do what I saw you do this morning, I don’t think you meant to do it. The burn, that is.” His smile grew rueful. “Unfortunately, I won’t be asking you to get any fire wood.”
The wry comment kicked a laugh out of her and she pressed her fingers to her lips. She dropped her gaze from his, shy at the teasing note. Despite his earlier rancor, he seemed almost in too good a humor.
“I’m not sorry I hit you…well, I am only because it hurt.”
“But you could have hurt me far worse.” His tone carried such utter patience and reason. “You lit the wood by just stretching your fingers out. You set the water on fire. You created geysers that turned the pond to steam. Your skin burned me with a simple touch. If you’d wanted to hurt me, Miss Scarlett, I am of a mind you could have done much worse.”
Scarlett frowned, guilt a bitter taste in the back of her throat. “But even knowing that, you’re still not afraid of me?” She stole a look at him from beneath her lashes. The patience in his tone was reflected by an odd kindness easing his face.
A kindness that gentled the hard planes and stiff jaw.
A kindness she’d imagined in her dreams. That thought stirred an entirely different kind of heat inside of her and she shied away from it. Dreaming about her curiosity was one thing, seeing it plain, sitting right next to her, within an arm’s reach was altogether different.
“If you wanted to, you could, right?”
She nodded, slowly.
“Have you ever burned a person? On purpose, deliberately set them aflame?”
“Once, when I was little, I was just seven and I was upset. I don’t even remember why I was so upset. I remember stomping my foot and something struck inside of me, it pushed outwards, racing through the room and when I woke up, the floor was blackened and I’d burned my father.” Her voice stumbled over the memory, the gorge swimming up as she remembered the stench of sizzled flesh.
“One of my brothers was there, he was holding me and my other brothers were taking care of father.” The memory was so real. She’d been in Cody’s lap, his arms cradling her close and his expression fierce. He’d been argui
ng with Wyatt when she woke, yelling at him that they’d been pushing her too hard.
The argument broke off when she opened her eyes and Cody hadn’t pushed her away when she’d retched all over him. Tears pricked her eyes, Cody had just held her closer and when she’d finished, he’d carried her to the lake and helped her clean up.
She’d cried for three days.
Refused to go back to the house.
Refused to eat.
Refused to sleep.
Cody never left her. When she got cold, he’d changed and curled up next to her. Growling at the others to keep them at bay.
Until Quanto came for them both.
They never talked about that day. The skin of his shoulder and upper left arm were melted. The scars of the burn licked up the column of his throat and dipped down to his wrist. Every time she saw it, she remembered what she’d done.
“I don’t reckon a mistake at seven is something you can be held accountable for now.” The marshal’s calm words soothed the ache in her soul. “My father always said the hardest lessons are the mistakes we make. The best lessons are what we learn from those mistakes.”
“And still you’re not afraid?” What was wrong with the man? Shouldn’t he be running? Pointing his gun at her? Instead, he stretched his legs out, folded his hands together on his belly and gave her a heart-tugging grin.
“You’re not going to hurt me, Minx. You were plenty pissed at the pond and if the look you gave me after the paddling was any indication, you were plenty mad then. But you’re not lighting me up, so I don’t think you’re going to. Not on purpose. So being afraid of it would be like being afraid that the horse is going to kick me.”
“Except a horse kicking you won’t kill you.”
Sam shrugged. “Depends on where it kicks you, Minx.”
He had a point.
She threw a glance at the rain outside and sighed. Sheets of rain continued to drench the landscape.
“Tell me about your brothers.”
“Um…no.” No matter how complacent and kind he seemed, he was still the marshal.
Sam sighed. “Scarlett, they returned the gold.”
“I know.” She bit her lip, wincing. The weight of his stare was a tangible thing.
“And how do you know?”
“I can’t tell you.”
He huffed out a breath and put a hand on her knee. “Scarlett…”
“I can’t.” She jerked away, slapping his hand and scrambling off the bedroll. Her bottom protested the sudden movement, but she ignored it for the ache blossoming in her midsection. Her stomach cramped. “Don’t you understand? Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve already said?”
“You’re afraid. And I’m sorry I’ve contributed to that fear. But you’re also all in trouble. Because that was your brothers in that gang. You’ve been robbing banks, stealing gold and sooner or later the army is going to come after you. I can’t unsend the word to the judge, but I can put a word in for you and you’ve already got my father on your side. So help me, help you.”
Oh, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to be able to shrug off the burden and know that her family would be safe. She paced deeper into the cave and spun around when Sam touched her shoulder. She hadn’t even heard him move. He was just there, in front of her and she had to tilt her head back to look up at him.
“Scarlett, trust me.” A slender frown gathered his eyebrows together, his gaze intense. Even backlit by the gray half-light spilling in the cave entrance, she could read the intensity in his eyes. He brushed the back of one hand down the side of her cheek.
“Sam, these aren’t just my secrets to tell.” She tried to ignore the flash of surprise mingling with pleasure when she used his name.
“I understand loving brothers and wanting to protect them. But what they’re doing is wrong and it could get you killed.” He hovered closer, blotting out the light behind him until all she could see was his face. She dropped her gaze, focusing on his collar and the skin revealed where the button had come undone. She could imagine the thrum of his pulse.
“But they returned the gold. Buck told me.”
Sam’s throat bobbed with a swallow, his mouth firming into a thin line. “They gave it back to Kid. After Kid warned them that you were going to hang. He told them our family would likely intercede, particularly if the gold was returned. No stolen gold, no crime. But Dorado’s bank wasn’t the only bank they robbed.”
Scarlett looked away, her gaze skating over the cave walls and then back to Sam. There was nowhere to go. Her muscles tensed with the need to run. Sam stroked his hand along her cheek again, the action tugging her gaze back to his.
“Don’t be afraid,” his voice lowered, a husky whisper against the rhythmic spill of rain and cheery crackle of fire.
“Stop touching me.” The plea tumbled out. “Please.”
His hand fell away, relief edged with disappointment eased the tension in her neck. Her body was reacting like a traitor, seemingly craving both his touch and his retreat. It was confusing.
“Are you still not the marshal?” She backed up a pace, needing to see his face, to see the truth of it in his eyes.
Sam placed a hand over his breast pocket. He tugged out the tin, five pointed star and handed it to her. The metal was warm from its nearness to his skin. She ran her thumb around the circle, tracing the points. She bit down on her lip, needing a little pain for clarity.
“Right now, I’m just Sam.” He said into the silence. The sincerity of his words was reflected in the cool calm of his dark eyes.
“What I tell you, will you give me your word you won’t tell anyone else?” What was the worth of a man’s word? Could he not make promises that he would later break? Isn’t he the marshal whether he wore the star or not? An impatient little voice nagged her, but she pushed it aside. Her brothers rarely gave their word because Quanto urged them to give value to it, that the giving of it was a binding contract, a promise not only to the person it was given to, but also to oneself. Breaking that promise was as injurious to oneself as it was to whom it was given.
A man’s word had to be trusted.
“I give you my word, Scarlett. I gave it to you at the pond and I give it to you now. I will tell no one what you tell me. Help me understand, so I can help you.”
She closed her hand over the star, soaking the heat from the metal into the flesh of her palm. Her heart struck a painful four-step cadence against her ribs, a rush of blood filling her ears. She wanted to trust him.
Despite every damn thing that had happened since she left the mountains for her adventure, she’d had the most fun on the Flying K. She’d been indulged, treated well and even Sam with his wary eyes and warning stares had been kind to her. She wanted to trust him.
Pressing her palms together, she cradled the star in her hands and lifted the steeple of her fingers to rest against her lips. She studied him from beneath her lashes, surprised and pleased that he allowed her wrestle with doubt, not seeking to intrude.
He waited.
Patiently.
Circling him, she tested his resolve and her own. Pacing past the fire to look out at the rain, the sheets of water were lighter, but no less intense. The creek bed below was a raging foam of current rushing south.
“My name is Scarlett Morning Star,” she answered him finally. “I was raised by Quanto Dream Walker and Maker of Peace.” She squeezed her hands together around the star, praying that she was making the right choices. “I can call fire.”
Sam moved up beside her, saying nothing. He leaned against the cave entrance, opposite her. She glanced at him. His gaze was quiet, watchful and waiting. Could she really trust him? Dare she?
“I have seven brothers.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sam looped his fingers against the gun belt, forcing himself to stay still. His minx was so skittish that he worried any sudden movements would swallow the confession trembling on her l
ips. Her shoulders were stiff and hunched, her hands pressing against her lips as though to stem the tide of words that trickled out.
“I have seven brothers.”
The words jolted him. Six of those brothers had likely been with her in town. Brothers would come back for her. She’d warned him that she had to go. She’d told Micah it was to protect them.
Was it to protect the Flying K from her gift or from her brothers?
“Quanto raised us. Taught us how to read, how to survive and how to control our gifts.” Her gaze was steady on the rain outside, as though speaking to it instead of him. The trembling in her lips drifted over the rest of her. Her fingers shook where they pressed against her mouth, her shoulders quaked and even her heels tapped with a bobbing force.
Quanto was an Indian name. Scarlett’s pale skin and rich red tresses belied any Indian blood. Despite the Morning Star appellation, her first name suggested a white man’s too. Had her mother been a kidnap bride? If she had those same flaming red tresses, he could believe it. Most of the Indians, full and half-bloods, he’d ever met were fascinated by red hair and Scarlett’s was particularly rich, even the gray light of the stormy day turned it a molten amber.
“We live in the mountains to the west, beyond the contested lands where Mexico and the Federals leave us be. But with the war over, settlers are pushing west and…” She hesitated, but Sam didn’t need her to paint the picture.
“The Union Army wants U.S. settlers to take the mountains and they are planning a Fort. They’re pushing the Indians past the mountains into the painted desert.”
Scarlett turned those soulful green eyes on him and nodded solemnly. “The auctions begin next spring. Their surveyors are crawling all over our mountain.”
“And you need the gold to buy the land.”
Sam sighed. Their home was being threatened. Their safety. Of course they were searching for solutions. “How much gold have they taken so far?”
