The Taming of Shaw MacCade

by Judith E. French

I went west hunting gold, he thought, when all the time it was right here at home. "Raeburns and MacCades," he murmured brusquely, trying to cover the emotion he felt. "Sparks and tinder. But we never let that keep us apart. We were friends, and they couldn't stop that."

  "They tried hard enough."

  "They did that." He still had scars on his back from his father's razor strap. But the more his father had been opposed to him seeing Becca, the more he was determined to do it.

  "I guess we were both too hardheaded for our own good."

  "Still am, Bee." He paused and then said, "Maybe while I'm huntin' Laird's killer, I can find out who's really the daddy of Eve's boy."

  "I hope you can," she answered softly, "but common sense tells me that it's you."

  "I've done a lot of things in my life that I'm ashamed of." He caught her hand in his, marveling at the strength in her slender fingers. Becca wasn't a helpless female. Her palms were callused from the years of operating the ferry, and her grip was firm. "I guess you've got reason to suspect the worst of me. But I've never lied to you. I'm not lying now about Eve. For the sake of what we were to each other, will you give me a chance to prove it?"

  "All right," she agreed. "I'll try."

  They rode a few more miles in silence before they heard the rattle of wagon wheels behind them. "Are you afraid of being seen with me?" he asked.

  "Maybe. No." She made a sound of exasperation. "There's no sense in us asking for trouble, is there?" She pointed to a clump of trees just off the road. "Isn't that the spring? It might not be a bad spot to water your horse. He is carrying double."

  "You want me to hide until they pass?"

  "Not hide, just advance to higher ground."

  He chuckled. It had been one of her favorite expressions when they were kids. Becca had always accused him of having a way with words, but she had more twists in her mind than a Big Sur mountain trail. He nudged Chinook into a trot and reined him toward the grove. When they reached cover, he stopped and waited until two wagons rolled by.

  "Satisfied?" he asked.

  The stallion caught the smell of water and snorted. Shaw guided the animal up a stony incline and down a narrow game trail into a sheltered clearing. At the base of the spring lay a natural basin of white sand overflowing with pure, icy water.

  Becca slid down off Chinook's rump, and Shaw dismounted. Taking her arm, he helped her over the loose gravel and watched as she drank from cupped hands in the moonlight.

  "My father will have a fit when he hears I left the dance with you," she said softly.

  "Could we not talk about them tonight, Bee? Just for now, can't we forget all the rest, and just be two friends travelin' together?"

  "You're asking a lot." She splashed water on her face and settled onto a flat-topped rock.

  "Cold reward you give a man for riskin' his life to save yours."

  "If you were half a gentleman, you'd not mention—"

  "Never claimed to be." He slipped the bridle off Chinook's head and sat down beside her. She slid away far enough so that a hand's width separated them. "Easy," he soothed in the same tone he'd used on the horse. "I don't bite."

  "Yes, but I might."

  They laughed together, and he sensed her mood lightening. "You're one of a kind," he said. Chinook began to crop the clumps of sweet grass growing between the stones.

  "You're not afraid he'll spook on you?" she asked. "Run off and leave us both on foot?"

  "Nope." Shaw tugged off his hat, laid it on the ground, and then ran a hand through his hair. "Appaloosas aren't like other horses. The Nez Perce believe they're part human. He would have followed me into that fire if I had whistled for him. The Indians raise them like children, even bring them into their lodges when they're foals."

  "I've heard stories about these spotted ponies. Folks say the Indians won't sell them and won't trade them away."

  "True enough. But I saved a Nez Perce girl from three white trappers. Her name was..." He laughed. "Hell, I can't even say it right, but it translates as 'First Snow.'" He shifted his hand so that it touched hers. She jerked back as if a wasp had stung her. "You're the one about to spook, darlin'," he said. "You're not scared to be here alone with me, are you?"

  "Should I be?"

  "Probably."

  "Tell me about the girl. Was she beautiful?"

  "Pretty as a picture. Eyes like ripe blackberries and hair as black as a crow's wing." He grinned at her. "Don't get your hackles up. She couldn't have been more than ten or eleven years old."

  "Just a child."

  Shaw nodded. "They say mountain men are tougher than rawhide, but these were just mean. They found First Snow gathering firewood with her grandmother, killed the old lady, and carried Snow off to have their fun with her. Any bastard who would—" He broke off, realizing that he didn't need to say more. Becca would get his meaning. She always did.

  "Anyway, I came on the three beaver trappers before they could do more than scare the kid half to death. It wasn't hard to figure out what was in the wind, so I tried to show them the error of their ways, convince them to turn her loose."

  "They released her?"

  He shrugged. "I put her up on one of their horses, handed her a loaded rifle, and was takin' her back home when a dozen of her kin surrounded me. Her father was ridin' Chinook. For a minute or two, it didn't look like I'd live long enough to sort out what had happened, but First Snow kept her head. She told her father where to find the bodies, and—"

  "You killed them all?"

  "Gave them a chance to walk away. I didn't know they'd murdered the old lady. They went for their guns." He rolled a pebble between his fingers, then tossed it into the pool and watched the ripples fan out. "I guess the Nez Perce felt they owed me a debt of honor. Nothin' would do but that I accept Chinook and one of their best mares as a gift."

  "He is a magnificent animal."

  "More than that, he's been a good friend. I know I can count on him, no matter what."

  "I always felt like that about you," Becca said softly.

  Her nearness was more than he could resist. Throwing caution to the wind, he caught her in his arms and kissed her.

  "Shaw! I..."

  But his mouth was on hers, warm and demanding, and she could no longer fight her own need. Reason told her that she had to break off the embrace... protest... run. Instead, she closed her eyes and kissed him back, reveling in his taste, welcoming the feel of his powerful arms around her.

  This was nothing like their first kiss, the one that had thrilled and terrified her, the kiss that had convinced her that their childhood was over. This seemed right, as if there were no other place in the world for her but here with him.

  She pressed her palms against his chest, feeling the soft nap of his leather vest and the heat of his bare skin. Her hands flexed and loosened, sliding up over his wide shoulders and around the nape of his neck to pull him even closer. Excitement churned inside her until she thought she'd burst with the joy of it.

  Shaw moaned, deep in his throat, as he crushed her against him. Sighing, she parted her lips, eagerly meeting the thrust of his tongue, savoring the sweet sensations of shape and texture. She did not think... could not let herself imagine where this was leading. Instead, she tilted her head back and drank in Shaw's heady, masculine scent while sweet, throbbing sensations surged through every inch of her body.

  Shaw's fingers tangled in her hair as he murmured her name.

  She felt the pins loosen and fall, one by one. And the weight of her undone tresses tumbled thick and heavy around her shoulders. Still, she could not stem the rush of her pent-up longing or stop returning his searing ardor with equal abandon.

  "Ah, Bee." He groaned and pushed her gently back against the flat-topped rock and trailed his mouth across her cheek and then down to nibble at the hollow of her throat. "Becca, Becca."

  She could not lie still. Her thoughts tumbled. She quivered from head to toe, and her breath came in quick, ragged gasps. She felt
as helpless as if she were caught in the whirling winds of a prairie twister.

  How could a man be hard and soft at the same time? She felt the nip of his teeth, the faint, bristly rasp of his clean-shaven face, and the tickle of his hair against her skin. And all the while, Shaw's strong hands moved over her, cupping, stroking, caressing, fanning the storm that grew within her.

  He groaned, whispered her name again, then cupped her chin in his hands and gently sucked her lower lip before tracing the outline of her mouth with the tip of his tongue.

  Shivering with pleasure, she pulled back and gazed full into his moonlit eyes. "Oh, Shaw." Her voice cracked. "We can't do this."

  "No?"

  He released her so quickly that she was stunned. For long seconds, she fumbled for words that would not come. Acutely conscious of a feeling of loss, she covered her mouth with a trembling hand. "I'm sorry," she stammered.

  "Sorry I kissed you, or sorry we stopped?"

  She took a breath and then a second. "Both, I think," she admitted.

  "I didn't plan this." Shaw rose and walked to Chinook.

  "No." She blinked back a rising tear. "I didn't think you had." Thoughts rushed into her head, crowding out the lingering waves of pleasure. Was this what had happened between Shaw and her sister? Had a simple kiss drowned all sense of right and wrong? "It's as much my fault as yours," she said, suddenly angry with herself. What if he'd lied to her?

  Shaw turned back from fitting the bridle over his horse's head and swore loudly. "Don't!" he snapped. "No games between us, Bee. You know what this was?"

  "Lust?"

  "If you want to think so." He buckled the neck strap, gathered the reins, and vaulted into the saddle. "Come on, I'll take you home."

  She hesitated.

  "I said I'd take you home, damn it! Make me get off this horse, and I won't be responsible for what happens."

  A sharp reply rose in Rebecca's throat, but good sense prevailed. Without another word, she handed him his hat, then allowed him to help her up behind the saddle.

  "Hold on," he ordered tersely as he jammed the hat down on his head. "It will take hard riding to get you home before daybreak."

  "Poppa thought I was spending the night in town."

  "But you didn't. And if I keep you out all night, it won't do much for your reputation."

  Becca uttered a bleak sound. "Being with you will pretty much ruin my reputation, no matter what time we get home."

  She locked her hands around his waist as he guided the Appaloosa back toward the game trail that led to the road. Her mouth felt as dry as dust, and her heart was still thumping wildly. There was so much she wanted to say, so many questions that needed answering.

  Had she betrayed Eve? Or was it the other way around? If it was Eve who lied and not Shaw... And even if he was innocent, how could she go against her family by allowing him...

  Shaw ducked a low branch as they entered the grove. "Mind the trees," he warned. "There's—"

  He broke off as Chinook stiffened, then shied as the ghostly figure of a great horned owl glided silently overhead.

  "Easy, easy boy," Shaw soothed as he patted the horse's neck. "Nothin' to worry about. Just—"

  Without warning, a shot exploded out of the night. Bark and wood chips rained down around them. Rebecca cried out as the stallion reared and leaped sideways, nearly unseating her.

  As a second bullet slammed into the trees, Shaw twisted in the saddle, grabbed Rebecca's arm, and shoved her off the rearing horse's back. "Get down!" he shouted.

  Shaw yanked his rifle out of its holster and hit the ground seconds later. He rolled onto hands and knees, then whistled a command that sent Chinook plunging down the trail out of the line of fire.

  "You all right?" Shaw called to Rebecca.

  "Yes." Keeping her head low, she scrambled for the shelter of a big cottonwood.

  "You stay put!" Belly down, Shaw worked his way through the undergrowth to a spot where he could survey the clearing and the woods beyond. Nothing moved. The only sound was his own breathing and the slight creak of branches in the wind.

  For minutes he waited, willing Becca to stay where he'd left her, willing the shooter to step out into the moonlight. Half an hour passed before he crawled back to the trail.

  "It's me," he said. "Where are you?"

  "Here." Her voice came from above his head. Somehow, she'd left the cottonwood and climbed a smaller tree without him hearing her.

  "You'd make a good Indian."

  She ignored his jest. "Are they gone?"

  "I think so. You stay there while I circle around and check out the far side of the spring. If you hear shots, get on down the trail to Chinook, climb up on him, and head for home."

  "Just leave you?"

  "Either I'll have the bushwhacker's horse or I won't need one."

  "And if you're outnumbered?"

  "Numbers never scared me before."

  * * *

  The moon was hanging low on the horizon when he rejoined her. She was sitting on a rock, holding Chinook's reins while the stallion grazed. "Whoever it was, they're long gone," he said.

  She stood, rubbing the small of her back. "Are all your evenings this interesting?"

  "Some of them."

  This time he put her in front of him on the horse. If there were any ambushers hiding along the road, he didn't want her to take a shot meant for him.

  "Who was it, do you think?" she asked. She sounded tired, younger than her years, like the girl she'd been so long ago.

  "Take your pick. Your kin or mine."

  "One of my brothers? My uncle? They wouldn't shoot at me," she said.

  "Maybe." He gave a wry chuckle. "Or maybe it was that big Swede of yours. Could be jealous of—"

  "That's nonsense. Jorgan's not a violent man." She chuckled. "And besides, I've seen him shoot. He can't hit the broad side of—"

  "—a barn," he finished. "Must I remind you that the shooter missed?"

  "Jorgan wouldn't—"

  "Somebody sure as hell wants me dead."

  "Or they want to put the fear of God into us," she suggested.

  "A warning?" He pursed his lips. Becca could be right. Maybe it wasn't poor shooting. Maybe they were never in any real danger, just being warned that MacCades and Raeburns didn't mix. He considered that for a while and then said, "You were good back there, Becca. Most women would have been screaming their heads off. Keeping still the way you did takes grit. I'm proud of you."

  She leaned back against him. "I was scared."

  "So where do we go from here?"

  "I thought you were taking me home."

  He nuzzled the back of her hair. Despite the smell of smoke, it was still soft, and it thrilled him to feel it against his face. "Don't play the fool with me, woman. You know what I mean."

  "It's complicated, Shaw."

  "You still think I did Eve wrong." He could feel the rise and fall of her ribs with every breath, feel the pressure of her hips with every step the horse took. He wanted to taste her mouth again, to see if he'd imagined the combination of sun-ripened berries and wild clover honey.

  "I don't know what I think," she answered. "And I don't know what happened tonight... why or how..."

  "I think you do."

  "No."

  "It can't be the same anymore," he said. "Not between us. You might say that kiss let the bear out of the woodshed."

  "No. I didn't..." She shook her head. "I was upset, and you'd been drinking. It didn't mean anything."

  It took every ounce of his willpower not to slide his hand up to cup her breast. Not to throw her down and love her until she opened to him like flower petals to the sun. He wanted her. He didn't care if she was a Raeburn or if he risked getting shot for having her. He wanted to kiss that sassy mouth, and he wanted more.

  And he figured she did, too.

  But she was right. Things were complicated. Not only did he have to convince her that he wasn't the father of her sister's boy, but
he had to find Laird's killer. And now, he had to discover who was taking potshots at the two of them. After that...

  He reined in Chinook. "Over that rise is Angel Crossing. I'll ride you to the door."

  "No. I'll walk the rest of the way. No sense in finishing off a perfect night by having my father put a bullet through your head."

  He chuckled. "So you admit he's capable of it."

  "Poppa believes you ruined one daughter. He's not about to stand by and see you do the same to a second."

  "You think that's what I've a mind to do?"

  "What I think has nothing to do with it. Go home, Shaw. Go home and give me time to figure this out."

  "You think I'm not man enough to face your father?"

  "I know you are. But they weren't expecting me home tonight. They'll all be asleep. If you ride in, the dogs will go wild, and everyone will be out of bed and asking questions. Then, they'll shoot you."

  "All right, all right. Have it your way." He dismounted and lifted her down. "Don't suppose there's much chance of gettin' a good-night kiss?"

  She laughed. "Less than zero."

  "Take care, Becca."

  "I will."

  He stood for a long time watching her walk away toward her father's house and wondered if he'd ever get the opportunity to hold her in his arms again.

  "Well, what the hell," he said to Chinook. "They claim a man born to hang will never drown." With a wry laugh, he followed her down the hill.

  Chapter 8

  Shaw accompanied Rebecca as far as the gate. "I'll be fine," she assured him. "No one's going to shoot me in my own yard."

  Shaw hesitated. "Tonight... when we dodged those shots..."

  "Yes?" She wanted to be away from him before he tried to kiss her again... before she let him. She needed time to think. And that was impossible when he was near enough to touch.

  "I think you were right. The bullets were high. I think they were meant to frighten us."

  "But who?" She was tired, and her headache had begun again. It would be light soon, and she'd have to rise and go on with her normal routine if she didn't want to arouse suspicion. But how could she pretend that nothing had happened when Shaw had just turned her life upside down?