by Carol Finch
“I want you more than I want air to breathe,” he groaned. “I need to touch you again, Hanna. Now.”
He surged off the chair and nearly tripped over the clothes that were strewn about the floor. On wobbly legs he walked her backward to sit her on the edge of the bed. He sank between her knees, guiding them apart with a nudge of his shoulders. And when he touched her intimately, he found her hot and slick beneath his lips and fingertips.
He wasn’t going to be satisfied until he pleasured her to the very limits of her sanity. He wanted her to be as achy and needy as he was. He wanted to hear his name on her lips, wanted to hear those desperate cries that assured him he held the same power over her that she held over him.
She could enslave him with her tenderness and her determination to pleasure him. She could bring him to his knees—quite literally—with wanting her. He’d never known such helplessness, such vulnerability, and he’d certainly never thought he’d like it so much. But when she seduced him and reduced him to a quivering mass of desire, he didn’t care about anything except becoming one with her.
“Cale…” She gasped, and shivered with pleasure.
He smiled when she used those claws on him again, dragging him upward to capture his lips. They tasted each other’s passion in a kiss that spoke of desperation, of an intimate knowledge they’d shared with no others. Groaning with impatience, Cale urged her toward the middle of the bed. He hovered over her, watching the shaft of golden lantern light stream across her passion-drugged face. She reminded him of a fantasy he’d conjured up from the fog. But she was flesh and blood and all alluring woman. She was here with him, wanting him as much as he wanted her, giving herself to him for this space of time, until the terms of their bargain were met. And until he released her to chase her rainbows, she would be his wife, his lover and his closest friend.
He sank into her, marveling at the incredible sense of rightness, savoring the remarkable pleasure of being inside her, surrounded by her shimmering warmth. She moved with him, as if they’d been lovers throughout eternity, as if they instinctively knew how to please and satisfy one another. He drove into her mindlessly, and she chanted his name while she clung to him, then convulsed around him. The echo of her pleasure resounded through his body, sending him spiraling in a wild freefall of passion.
Cale held her to him as uncontrollable shudders buffeted his body. He buried his face in the scented tendrils of her hair, then pressed his lips to her cheek. “It was never like this, Hanna. Believe that,” he whispered raggedly.
She brushed her lips against his shoulder and he felt her smile against his flesh. “I believe you.”
Her words touched him to the bottom of his soul.
In the past he’d acknowledged the begrudging respect other folks directed at him, because they feared him and his reputation. He’d accepted the isolation of being different and unwelcome in proper society. But he’d never before encountered Hanna’s brand of unfaltering faith, and it humbled him. She made him feel wanted, worthy and special.
“You make me need you too much,” he murmured hoarsely. “That’s a dangerous thing, Hanna.”
“You make me want you too much,” she whispered back. “It’s a dangerous thing, Cale. But I’m finding that I love living dangerously.”
He smiled wryly. “You proved that with your daring heroics during the stage holdup. And they call me a daredevil?”
Cale rolled away, then gathered her close. He’d never spent an entire night with a woman before. Never wanted to. Was always driven by the need to move on, to maintain his lone-wolf lifestyle. But when Hanna burst into his life with her astounding proposition, she’d tugged at the tender emotion that had callused over in his heart five years ago. She made him want more from life, things he’d never considered within the realm of possibility. Things too dangerous to consider even now.
“Good night, husband,” she murmured as she cuddled against him.
“Good night, wife.”
Cale was sure he fell asleep with an idiotic smile on his lips. It was becoming a habit that he wasn’t sure he wanted to break…until the day when he kept their bargain and let her go her own way.
Chapter Twelve
At dawn, Hanna said her farewells to Mary Watkins, her young daughter and the other passengers. She and Cale left the stage station and headed south on a trail plagued by mud to reach the Red River ferry to Texas. The trek was slow going and far too rough for Hanna to work on the mat she was knitting for Skeet. Cale hadn’t had much to say and Hanna sensed that he was concentrating on his upcoming encounter with Otis Pryor.
Hanna kept the chitchat to a minimum because she knew how important apprehending Pryor was to Cale. Her only comments centered around tidbits of information on gentlemanly behavior. Such as gallantly holding open doors for women, polite greetings and small talk that would convince the townsfolk of Cromwell that Cale Elliot was only what he appeared to be: a shopkeeper and gunsmith who was making a fresh start with his new bride.
“That must be the place,” Cale said at last, dragging Hanna from her own pensive thoughts.
She glanced downhill to note the stone ranch house, barns and corrals and the startling number of saddle horses tethered to every available hitching post. Pryor’s stronghold, Hanna mused as she scanned the place. Situated in a sprawling valley filled with grazing cattle, the ranch was surrounded by towering sandstone cliffs. She wondered how much of the livestock was stolen property and decided that most of it probably was. According to Cale, Otis Pryor was a leech who preyed on others’ prosperity to get ahead in the world. For Cale’s sake, Hanna intended to play this charade to the hilt and ensure justice was served, so he could avenge his family’s senseless deaths.
Hanna stared east, surveying the small hamlet of Cromwell, which was set near a river lined with trees and heavy underbrush. This was to be her home for the next few weeks, she mused as Cale lifted her from the wagon so they could change into suitable clothing.
When Hanna’s gaze strayed to Cale’s bare chest, and thoughts of their splendorous nights together tried to intrude, she glanced away. She had to concentrate on using her proper upbringing and social skills to be quickly accepted in this frontier community. She didn’t doubt her abilities because her father had groomed her to be the perfect hostess who knew just the right thing to say and how to behave, but she was concerned that she hadn’t given Cale enough instruction to ensure he was comfortable with his role.
Her concern eased considerably when Cale donned a crisp linen shirt, black vest and trousers. She smiled in approval when he struck a dignified pose. Cale now looked the part of a gentleman shopkeeper.
“In honor of my half brother, Gray Cloud, I’ve decided to use Grayson McCloud as an alias,” Cale announced as he fastened the buttons on the back of Hanna’s lavender gown.
“Very fitting. I approve,” she said as she smoothed the wrinkles from her dress.
As the wagon rolled into town, Hanna searched the main street for a vacant shop and was relieved to note there were two available spaces. One appeared to have living quarters upstairs. “That one,” she said, pointing it out to Cale.
He nodded agreeably as he veered toward the town marshal’s office to ask about renting or buying the space. Hanna took the opportunity to stroll the boardwalk that lined the town square and greet passersby while Cale talked to the marshal. The citizens she met seemed polite but restrained, and she speculated as to the cause of it.
Hanna suspected Otis Pryor was responsible for making the townsfolk cautious. Judging by the number of signs overhead—Pryor’s General Store, Pryor’s Livery, Pryor’s Saloon—the bully and his brigade had taken control of this town. Hanna was left to wonder who had previously owned the shops and what had become of the former proprietors.
She gulped uneasily. Maybe she didn’t want to know.
By the time Hanna returned to the wagon, Cale and the town marshal were standing on the boardwalk waiting for her. She pasted on a smile to
greet the bewhiskered marshal, but she didn’t like the looks of him, especially when she saw him spit tobacco juice on the boardwalk and she had to veer around it. She was certain Cale was correct when he said the law enforcement was in Pryor’s pocket. This was one of his henchmen, no doubt.
“This is my wife, Hanna,” Cale said in introduction. “Marshal Sam Vickers informed me that the shop is available for rent. He volunteered to contact the owner while we have lunch.”
Hanna tried hard not to react to the Southern accent Cale had suddenly developed. She had the feeling he’d been paying close attention to the way she talked so he could adapt her manner of speech for his role as gentleman shopkeeper.
Offering her best smile to the scraggly looking marshal, Hanna held out her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
When Sam’s lecherous gaze flooded over her, Hanna forced herself not to take offense. She wouldn’t have walked out on the street alone after dark while this hooligan was on patrol. He looked as if he could cause more trouble than he would quell. Yes, this town definitely needed to be cleaned up and control returned to its citizens, she decided instantly. And she had married the man who could do exactly that.
Hanna stared after the supposed marshal when he mounted his horse and trotted northwest. “No question as to whom our new landlord is,” she murmured.
Cale nodded grimly. “I’m telling you here and now, Mags—watch your step. I suspect Pryor has infiltrated this town and planted his men to insure that he maintains control.”
“Men like Sam Vickers, for one. I figured that out quickly enough. Fortunately, we have a secret weapon,” she said confidently.
“Yeah? What’s that?” he asked as he escorted her toward the restaurant.
“You. I’m not going to mind delaying my journey west because it’s going to be pure pleasure watching you give these citizens their town back and ridding this part of Texas of self-serving bullies like Otis Pryor.”
Her confidence in him was flattering, but Cale had detected a strong whiff of trouble the moment he arrived in Cromwell. Otis Pryor had taken a foothold here and he’d be around personally to check out the new arrivals. Cale knew Hanna was smart enough not to reveal their ultimate purpose, but what worried him most was that leer the marshal directed at her. If Hanna came to harm because of this scheme Cale would never forgive himself.
He stopped abruptly and tugged her into his arms before she breezed into the restaurant. Violet eyes hedged with thick lashes lifted inquiringly to his. The need to protect Hanna hit Cale with the impact of a flying bullet.
“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he murmured. “Promise me you’ll remember to expect the unexpected. Don’t argue with me when I tell you to take Skeet with you when you venture out.”
She stared at him just as intently and said, “Promise me that you won’t try to take on Pryor and his henchmen alone. Promise me that you’ll let me do what I can to help.”
He couldn’t make that promise because that was exactly what he planned to do. Once he’d monitored Pryor’s activities he’d know where and how to strike—without Hanna’s assistance.
His expression must have given him away because she blew out a breath, regarded him accusingly and said, “That’s what I thought. Well, so much for promises, my dear husband. Shall we dine?”
Cale reached out to snag her arm, but she sailed inside to distribute her beguiling smile around the café. All eyes focused on her as she headed toward a corner table.
Another wave of protectiveness splashed over him as he followed in her wake. Cale had the unshakable feeling that he was going to need to be in two places at once while keeping surveillance on Pryor’s activities. Someone needed to keep a sharp eye out for Hanna—if the hungry looks she instantly drew from this group of men were any indication.
Maybe he should put her on the next stage that came through Cromwell. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her hurt. Watching it happen would be pure torment. If she was off chasing her rainbows, at least he could hope she was safe and sound. He wouldn’t have to watch her be hurt and know he was personally responsible.
Cale pulled out a chair for Hanna, then plunked down across from her. He’d prided himself on making very few mistakes in life, but he was pretty sure that dragging her into this mess was going to haunt him for years to come.
Hanna was truly amazed at Cale’s ability to restrain himself when Otis Pryor swaggered down the boardwalk beside Sam Vickers. The man was far more handsome than she expected—considering he was a murdering bully. Blond and blue-eyed, tall and lean, Otis Pryor could easily pass himself off as a respectable citizen in his expensive clothes. No wonder the townsfolk hadn’t realized what trouble awaited them until Otis sank his fangs into this unsuspecting community.
“So, Sam tells me you’re anxious to set up shop in Cromwell,” Otis said as he came to a halt, cast Cale a quick glance and then focused his hawkish gaze on Hanna. “Otis Pryor at your service, ma’am.”
She forced a bright smile for his benefit. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Pryor. My husband and I are recently married and we’re hoping to settle here. After growing up in N’Awlins I’m eager to begin our life together in this quaint community.”
“I wondered where that enchanting accent originated,” Otis replied as he took her hand and gallantly pressed a kiss to her wrist. Hanna inwardly winced when a repulsive shiver slithered through her. “You have a charming wife, Mr. McCloud.”
“My greatest treasure,” Cale drawled as his gaze settled adoringly on Hanna. “I’m hoping we can come to terms with you quickly. My wife and I have had a long journey and I’m anxious to see her settled in.”
“Of course, where are my manners,” Otis said, then gestured toward the abandoned shop. “Come inside and see what you think of the place.”
Hanna eyed Otis warily. Despite what he said—and how he said it—she knew his sense of honor and decency was nonexistent. This was not a man who spent his time fretting over the safety and comfort of others.
Somehow she would take his flaws and turn them against him. She’d seen the flicker of masculine interest in his deep blue eyes. She wasn’t sure how she’d use it to aid Cale, but she vowed to find a way. For certain, she’d allow Otis to take her for granted and see her as no possible threat. But she’d been listening closely to Cale’s constant instructions about using her wits and showing precaution. She was going to be of assistance in Cale’s mission. She’d see to it.
“This shop will suit us perfectly while we get our business up and running,” Hanna declared as she stepped into the establishment, which looked as if it had once served as a lawyer’s office. Empty bookshelves lined the walls and large oak conference tables divided the room in half. “Why, it won’t take long a-tall to convert this shop to suit our needs.”
“A gunsmith, are you?” Otis eyed Cale speculatively.
Cale nodded, and drawled, “As was my father before me. I grew up dismantling and cleaning weapons. And I suppose you could say that I’m an avid hunter because I have always been fascinated with hunting a variety of game and using all manner of weapons.”
Hanna knew, right there and then, that if Cale decided to switch from a professional gunfighter to a professional liar the transition wouldn’t be difficult. He sounded so sincere that she almost believed that nonsense, and she knew better.
Otis regarded Cale for a long moment—sized him up was nearer the mark—then gestured toward the stairs. “Let me show you the living quarters.”
Hanna studied the simple accommodations, which would require considerable elbow grease to make them livable. “I was hoping for something larger, but we’ll make do for the time being.” Hanna wanted to leave the impression with Otis that she was accustomed to better quarters, but she would work with what she had—temporarily. She smiled—just the slightest bit flirtatiously—at him. “We’ll take good care of your property, sir. No need to fret about that.”
“I’m sure you will, my dear.” His tee
th flashed and Hanna was instantly reminded of a slimy shark. “I can hardly turn down a lovely lady like you. I just don’t have it in me to disappoint a beautiful woman. The place is yours.”
When Otis named his price, Hanna muffled a gasp of outrage, but she managed not to call attention to herself. Without so much as a grimace Cale agreed to the astronomical rent and the transaction was over as quickly as it began. Cale asked for directions to Otis’s ranch and promised to deliver the rent in person the following day.
The moment the two men closed the door behind them Hanna pivoted toward Cale. “Although I much prefer a larger place, we can manage here for a while,” she said for the benefit of Otis and Sam, whom she predicted had their ears pressed to the other side of the door. “It’s a start.”
“Are you sure you’ll be satisfied here, love?” Cale crooned in his newly acquired Southern drawl. “I’ll be happy wherever you are. You know that, don’t you?”
Hanna walked over to the window that overlooked the street to watch the blue-eyed sidewinder who went by the fictitious name of Otis Pryor exit from the shop and swing into the saddle to ride away. Their new accommodations offered a bird’s-eye view of town, she noted with satisfaction. They had made a wise choice.
Her thoughts trailed off when Cale looped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on the top of her head. “This won’t work,” he said grimly. “I want you on the first stage out of town.”
Hanna lurched around to face his determined expression. “I will do no such thing. A deal is a deal,” she huffed.
Cale cupped her chin and met her defiant stare. “I’ve got years of experience under my belt,” he reminded her sternly. “I sense real trouble here. I don’t want you involved in it. I don’t know how I’d react if you got hurt and I sure as hell don’t want to find out the hard way. You can concoct the tale that your mother has suddenly taken ill and you’re needed to care for her and your younger siblings. That won’t raise suspicion, and you’ll be free to go wherever you wish, without your father reeling you back to New Orleans like a landed fish.”
