by Jillian Hart
"Wyatt! That's my sister you are talking about. She is an innocent, do you understand me? She does not roll in the sheets with anyone, particularly any prospector."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Wyatt crumpled the paper in one fist, his broad shoulders set, his powerful gaze riveted on hers. He made her feel small and foolish and . . . oh, how did she explain?
"I'm a prospector. Do you mean I am not good enough for you?" His anger came quietly.
You are more than good enough, her heart answered. But then her mind argued, You are too much like Pa. But it wasn't true. Wyatt did work his claim hard, he had an admirable work ethic for a prospector, and he was the only man she'd ever wanted to kiss. The only man she ever wanted to hold in her arms and never let go, to stay with, to feel his touch, know everything inside his heart.
Embarrassed, she lowered her gaze. "I was speaking about Lance, not you. Never you."
His thumb nudged her chin upward. A fading hurt reflected in his eyes. She'd hurt his feelings. Her chest tightened and she bit her lip, furious at herself for speaking without thinking.
"Surely your sister is of a marriageable age. I know you raised her, Garnet. I know you feel a great responsibility to see to her welfare. Just tell me what's bothering you. Tell me what's wrong with Lance."
She blinked hard so that the tears forming in her eyes wouldn't fall and show her for the weak, softhearted fool she was. "Lance is a drifter, a dreamer, a ne'er-do-well."
"A man like your pa?"
She nodded. "I can't think of a worse fate." The very idea of Golda wanting that dreamer was more than she could bear. "You don't understand. Pa got to do whatever he wanted, but not me. I had to stay and worry whether or not the crop would fail and we would have nothing but turnips to eat through the winter. I had to worry about the mortgage and the harvesting and finding enough money for doctor bills. I don't want that life for my sister, don't you understand?"
A choked sob resonated in the night. Rain dripped from the tear in the roof and plopped in the growing puddle on the floor between them.
"You're free from all that responsibility and worry, Garnet. Can't you see that?" His voice was a gruff, low rumble and so caring it was nothing short of magic. "You can do anything you want from this point on."
Garnet feared she might have imagined his empathy, but his work-roughened finger brushed against her cheek, wiping off the salty tears that stung her face. He was right, she knew it. She wasn't on the farm, Golda had run off, her responsibilities were over. Almost.
"Don't push me away," he asked now, an affection lighting his eyes. "I thought we agreed to be friends. Good friends. I've told you things about me I have never told any woman."
Garnet saw the raw power of this man's heart. Sincere and loyal and so tender she'd never seen the like. A deep yearning filled her chest. All she wanted was him. She wanted him more than anything she'd ever known.
She could no longer deny her strong feelings, this weakness for Wyatt Tanner. She firmed her chin against the most painful truth: She could not do everything alone. And she no longer wanted to. "I need your help, Wyatt. I need you."
His eyes darkened and he leaned close until their lips met in a dance of heat and warm velvet. She closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and let herself feel what it was like to be good and truly kissed.
* * *
"What do ya keep lookin' back fer?" Lance asked in Golda's ear, his arms comfortable around her as they rode together over the trail toward Virginia City and matrimony.
If only they were headed there on a fine stepping horse instead of a borrowed donkey, but Golda knew she couldn't be particular. Not until Lance struck it rich on his claim. Then only the best-blooded stallions would pull their luxury carriage.
"I have this prickly feeling on the back of my neck." She didn't see anyone on the muddy trail behind them. Thunder cracked, and the donkey gave an awful, ear-splitting bellow. "I get this feeling every time Garnet is watching me do something she doesn't approve of."
"It's jest yer imagination." Lance squeezed her in a warm, wonderful hug.
Oh, with his big strong body warm against hers, she couldn't wait to become his wife. Her entire person was aflame with all sorts of desires.
If Garnet lacked the good sense to leave her alone and showed up to do anything to stop her wedding, Golda wouldn't stand for it. She loved Lance. She didn't need her big bossy sister ruining her happiness anymore. She was a grown woman, old enough to be a wife. And no jealous old spinster was going to destroy her chance to marry a man who was going to be rich one day.
* * *
Garnet tried to concentrate on her packing. Rain kept leaking from the roof and the afternoon was ebbing away. Wyatt had raced to town to secure the necessary items they would need for their trip to Virginia City.
She folded her nightgown, a serviceable white flannel garment, and stuffed it into her cracked valise. She was tormented by their brief kiss. All sliding tongues and lips and desire. That kiss was far too intimate; she did not believe it proper in the slightest for a man to kiss a woman unless they were engaged. But she hadn't cared one whit for her principles while enfolded in Wyatt's arms, opening her mouth to his.
It didn't matter how sensible she was, she wanted to feel passion. She'd never understood that yearning until now, until Wyatt had made her feel protected and special. Until he had kissed her lips and held her tight against his strong chest, and she had felt dizzy with that closeness, with wanting more than a kiss.
Heavens, she was slipping. Actually allowing herself to fall victim to a man's charm. Worse, she was liking it.
* * *
Wyatt ambled over to the bar, tugged out a stool, and sat on it. "Bring me a bottle," he instructed the barkeep when the elderly man limped over.
"That Miss Garnet shore is nice." The bartender grinned kindly as he set an unopened bottle and a clean shot glass on the polished bar between them. "She done agreed to clean up for me once a week and it's my pleasure to have her do it. It's mighty nice to have a proper woman in these parts, ain't it?"
Wyatt stared helplessly at the opened bottle, feeling the fresh jab of pain in his heart. "She's proper, all right." Her very improper, uninhibited kiss still scorched like fire across the surface of his lips.
The barkeep leaned both elbows on the counter. "Look around. Look what she done. Nearly every man in this town is shaved and showered. I heard Carson's store ran clean outta soap. I've been thinkin' of gussyin' myself up ever since I heard she's unmarried. I shore would like to have her for a wife. Is she pretty. Wow-ee."
Wyatt slammed the shot glass down on the counter. Jealousy thundered through his chest. Jealousy? Of course not! He wasn't jealous.
Yet as he poured his own whiskey, watching the sweet clear liquid splash into the chunky glass, unbidden thoughts flashed through his mind. Garnet with the long fall of raven-black hair cascading down her back, caressed lovingly by the wind. Garnet standing in the sunlight in that white dress sprinkled with small green leaves, so fresh . . . like a vision of the home he had always drawn in his mind. Garnet clinging to his arms, trembling with passion as he'd kissed her. He drained the shot glass and still he could remember holding her tight to his chest. She was all inviting curves and tempting woman.
And there was more. He could remember the taste of her mouth, velvet-warm and uncertain, soft as the morning. He could imagine what it might be like to kiss her more intimately, to unfasten those prim buttons marching down the front of her bodice and touch her lily-white skin.
Wyatt choked on the next image imprinted in his brain. He sputtered whiskey, coughed, but still the picture remained in his mind, all hot passion and fantasy. Garnet naked and reaching out her arms to welcome him.
Wyatt closed his eyes, leaned his elbow on the edge of the bar and buried his face in his hand. If he were more of a religious man, he'd ask the good Lord to help him, to save him from his own base desires. But Wyatt knew enough about himself, a
nd about sex and desire, to know he wasn't lusting after Garnet.
He was in love with her.
* * *
Garnet was in a hurry, but she didn't wish to be rude. Sweet Katy, a kindly looking woman from one of the brothels, had stopped her on the street to inquire about laundry services. She couldn't turn away business, but then she realized Sweet Katy was inquiring about a job. Katy was thinking of finding something respectable, and Garnet could not turn her down. The woman was trying to improve her life, after all.
Sweet Katy mentioned that with the miners gussying themselves up and wearing clean clothes, she'd noticed some of the men were quite handsome. She'd always hoped to be a proper wife and mother one day, for she'd had little choice in her profession a few years ago. So Garnet promised Katy a job upon her return from Virginia City.
Outside the Stinking Creek Saloon, Garnet squared her shoulders. She had never been inside such an establishment before. But this was Montana Territory, not Willow Hollow, New York, and she was no longer the same woman she'd been when she first stepped foot off that stagecoach.
She recognized him at once among the din and the crush of men drinking booze. She would recognize Wyatt anywhere, even from behind. Those shoulders, strong enough to best any man in a fight. The powerful way he leaned forward on the bar stool, all steely confidence.
"Whiskey is not a necessary supply for our trip." She reached for the bottle.
Wyatt scooted it away.
"You broke the last one you touched," he explained with a grimace. "Besides, I'll need whiskey if you insist on making the coffee."
"Well, if you make the coffee I'll need to take Mr. Carson's chocolates."
"You will do no such thing." Stony anger distorted his face.
Was he jealous? No, he couldn't be. That didn't make sense. He was the one who suggested they should be friends. Then again, he was the one who had initiated all three of their kisses, especially the last, where he'd kissed her so deeply and boldly every inch of her body had craved more. And still craved it.
Intrigued, she sat down on the vacant stool beside him. The barkeep wandered over, a kindly, worn-out looking man carrying a fresh jug of whiskey, but she shook her head to decline his silent offer. She may be a new woman, but she wasn't about to sample spirits.
"Miss Garnet," a man's smooth-as-silk voice purred from behind.
She twisted to face him. She recognized his handsome face at once, polished in the way of money and social standing, but not attractive the way Wyatt was. "Hello, Mr. Carson. Thank you again for the gift of chocolates."
He removed his hat with a flourish. "I am deeply gratified to do anything I can for a fine woman like you."
Wyatt's hand closed over hers, commanding and possessive. "We'd better leave now. I see Tom outside with the horses. Let's go. Say good-bye, Carson."
Why, he truly was jealous! Garnet bit her lip so she wouldn't laugh. She bid Mr. Carson a hasty good-bye as Wyatt nearly pulled her out onto the street.
"Wyatt, not so fast."
"We need to hurry."
"Of course. Lance and Golda have several hours of a head start on us."
"I was thinking more of getting you away from Carson." He released his hold on her wrist. "Don't worry. I'll find your sister. Count on me."
"I will." Something in her heart let go, something she'd been holding on to for so long–her inability to trust. But she could trust Wyatt. She would wager she could trust him with her life.
"Do you know how to ride?" he asked, great doubt booming low in his voice.
"Probably better than you." She turned to study the three horses at the hitching post. Wyatt's black mare, a sturdy packhorse loaded with supplies and sparse baggage, and a docile sorrel gelding that looked at her with big moon eyes. "Where's the sidesaddle?"
"A sidesaddle?" Wyatt tipped back his head, laughing. "I doubt there is one in the whole of Montana Territory."
"Well, how do civilized women ride?"
"Like men. Astride."
"Why–" That didn't sound decent at all.
* * *
Garnet could smell Virginia City before she saw it. A mix of odors that ranged from garbage to wood smoke to the scents of baking breads and smokehouses.
The city was nothing more than a grim stretch of buildings crammed along the wrinkled hillside. Yet in the night, with the slightest crescent of a moon, the entire town shone with an eerie candor. She had stayed a few days in Virginia City before catching the stage to Stinking Creek. She hadn't liked it.
Now, she had to find her sister. At the worst, Golda and Lance were only an hour or so ahead of them. Surely they could catch them in time. There was hope.
"Perhaps it's too late at night to find a minister to marry them." She leaned back in the saddle, attempting to post but failing as the horse trotted down the side of the hill. Her pantalooned bottom slapped against the hard saddle with every jarring step, and it hurt. Very much.
Beside her, seated on his proud horse, Wyatt shrugged. She could see the silhouette of his form, of man and horse, elegant and strong and bracing. He cleared his throat. "Don't count on it. You can buy anything anytime in this town, even a minister. You only need the money."
"Lance is pretty poor. Maybe they will have to wait until morning."
"He hasn't been very lucky on his claim."
"How do you know?"
"Oh, I have my ways." He tipped back his hat to stare at the town. "I used to spend my evenings in the saloon until a certain woman stumbled into my life. I pay attention, and it doesn't take long to figure out who has a good claim and who doesn't."
"Because they have the gold to gamble?"
"Exactly." His face compressed with thought, showing an intelligence she knew was there all along.
"Let me guess. You are not one of the men who spends his gold freely."
"Not until today. I had to buy those two horses and our supplies." He held out his hand. "Look. The rain is turning to snow."
"I see." The snow was significant because it meant she might be trapped in Stinking Creek for the winter. With Wyatt. With her growing desire for him, a desire she feared she could not resist.
Best to concentrate on the task ahead and not on the man riding at her side. "Do you know where we should start searching? I don't see any churches."
"I know Virginia City like the back of my hand." Mischief sparkled in his eyes. "Trust me. It won't be too hard to find all the ministers in this town."
How wonderful to have his help, Garnet marveled. She could get used to having such a strong shoulder to lean on. "You don't think they're married yet, do you?"
"Could be." He sounded noncommittal.
"She better not be." She didn't want Golda–or herself–to make a life-altering mistake.
Wyatt took the lead on the narrowing path, the mud making a sucking sound as the horses trotted. A crisp breeze blew down from the mountains and fat flakes whispered to the ground. Snow collected on the brim of her bonnet and she shook it off.
"Are you cold?" Wyatt twisted around in his saddle.
"I'm perfectly fine," she lied. Her bottom felt so sore from contact with the unyielding leather saddle it hardly mattered if she was soaked through to the skin.
"Does your behind hurt?"
"Something fierce."
"You don't have much further to ride. We're almost there."
"Those were the longest ten miles of my life."
His chuckle warmed her clear through, chasing away the chill in her bones and all her discomfort. "After you've found your sister, we'll get you in a hot bath and you can soak those saddle pains away."
"Oh, don't tease me. I want one right now!"
The sky chose that moment to send down great sheets of enormous snowflakes that plummeted like feathered bullets to the earth. A cold wind stirred up those bullets, driving them at a mean angle. In moments, Garnet was sheer ice from head to shoe. She had never felt so cold.
"This is mighty disagreeable countr
y," she shouted over the gusty wind.
"You haven't seen nothing yet. Wait until you see a full-fledged Montana blizzard."
With any luck, she thought, secretly happy.
Now, when exactly did she start hoping she'd be stuck here all winter?
* * *
Gunslingers. Outlaws. Scar-faced men wearing guns. Virginia City's noisy, filthy, muddy main street wove like a snake through the hilly town. Despite the late hour, Garnet was not surprised to see the flock of men milling from one saloon to another.
The streets were jammed with life. Merchants on corners, men in the streets, soiled doves hanging out of second-story windows. And it was noisy. Men yelled above the clack and rattle of wagons, horses whinnied their opinion of the muddy streets, and the calls of the soiled doves rang like bells above the din.
Garnet felt out of place, a lone woman on the dangerous street of this frightening mining town. She might have been terrified, but walking beside Wyatt with his capable look, his steely strength, and his lethal black eyes scared off any trouble.
Shivering and miserable, Garnet never thought she would feel so relieved to touch the ground again. She dismounted in the livery, with Wyatt's hand on her elbow to steady her. She was exhausted from the long ride, and her legs ached. Her fanny hurt even worse! If only she could just lie down in one of the fresh clean stalls and close her eyes for a moment.
But she could not afford to rest. She had a sister to find, so she stood huddled, dripping wet, while Wyatt gave explicit and very long-winded instructions to the stable boy on how to care for his muddy, thoroughly soaked mare. Apparently the horse was expensive, and he seemed to be very attached to it.
After ascertaining that a young couple matching Lance and Golda's descriptions had stabled a donkey in that particular livery, Garnet led Wyatt back out into the night. The stable boy didn't know where the man and woman had headed, but they were talking of marriage. Small groups of men wandered by, looking for excitement. The snowfall had little effect on the town's nightlife.
Garnet couldn't stop shivering. Or panicking. She knew she should find clean clothes and dry off, maybe eat a warm meal. She knew this cold night could put a chill in one's lungs, but she had no time to spare. Golda was about to make the worst mistake of her life.
