by Carol Finch
“I’m still married, you know,” she’d reminded him, forcing herself to peer into those blue eyes that flared with primal lust.
“Some marriages simply aren’t meant to be,” he’d told her huskily. “I want you in my bed. I can lay the world at your feet. You should be surrounded by wealth and luxury, not wasting away at that shop in town, married to a man who doesn’t fully appreciate you.”
“I do miss the wealth and luxury I grew up with,” she replied. When he’d tried to kiss her again Hanna had ducked under his arm and latched on to the doorknob. “I really should go. Unfortunately, I have responsibilities at the shop.”
To her relief, Otis had backed off, then accompanied her to town. Although Hanna hadn’t openly encouraged his advances, neither had she discouraged them. She’d allowed him to think she was contemplating his offer. Little did the man know that offers of wealth and status didn’t impress her. She’d had the world at her fingertips, but had left it all behind to chase her own dreams.…
“Are you ready, Mags?”
Cale’s question jostled her back to the present. Hanna cast one last look in the mirror to ensure the coil of hair she’d pinned atop her head was secured and wouldn’t come tumbling down in disarray while she was dancing. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she murmured, dreading another encounter with Otis.
Although Cale bowed gallantly, then offered his arm—as she’d instructed—there was no smile on his rugged features. His expression was astonishingly intense. “Did you enjoy this afternoon’s kiss at Pryor’s ranch?”
Stunned, Hanna gaped at him. “You were there?” she croaked. “How?”
“Did you?” he persisted. His expression was now carefully devoid of emotion.
She tilted her chin and met his gaze directly. Other women might employ jealousy to force a commitment from the man who’d captured her interest, but Hanna refused to sink to that petty level. Even though Cale’s interest in her had withered away, she had no intention of punishing him for hurting her. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t love her. After all, she expected nothing less than honesty from him, and she would offer nothing less than honesty in return.
“Kissing devious sidewinders is not my idea of enjoyment,” she told him. “But if there comes a time when I can turn his lust against him, then you can be positively certain that I will. Otis is your archenemy, therefore, mine as well. Does that answer your question satisfactorily?”
“I didn’t like watching him kiss you,” he snapped gruffly.
“I didn’t like kissing him, either. He is despicable and repulsive, so I presume we both endured an unpleasant afternoon.”
The faintest hint of a smile pursed his lips as he leaned his head deliberately toward hers. Ah, what a difference the right man made when it came to kissing, she mused as she willed his lips to touch down on hers. She wanted Cale to erase the repugnant memory of kissing a snake, but his sensuous mouth hovered just shy of her lips. She was tempted to grab him by the lapels of his expensive black jacket and yank him to her.
“The man is a snake, to be sure,” he rasped as he stared at her mouth. “But he has the kind of charisma that I don’t have.”
She could feel the heat of Cale’s body. She could feel her own response. “You have more than your fair share of charisma, dear husband,” she whispered, wanting his mouth on hers so badly she could almost taste him. “You’ve just grown tired of tossing it in my direction.”
“Mags, I—”
She didn’t let him finish because she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. He’d probably break her heart. “Just hush up and kiss me one last time,” she demanded as she grabbed his jacket lapels and brought his mouth those last few inches to hers.
Hanna kissed him for all she was worth, for all the times the past few days that she’d wanted his kisses and he hadn’t offered. If this was to be their last kiss then it was going to have to last her a lifetime, because she knew she’d never let another man this close again.
The scent, feel and taste of Cale would be forever emblazoned in her memory, branded on her heart. When she was with him she felt as if she was everything she’d ever hoped to be. And he alone held the power to hurt her or pleasure her. He could send her spiraling to rapturous pinnacles or plunging into depths of despair. He’d touched her soul and made her feel whole and alive, and she was never going to be the same again.
She knew he didn’t return the depths of her feelings, but, fool that she was, she loved him nonetheless. There was no talking herself out of it. No matter how many times Cale backed away and turned himself into the lone wolf he’d been when they’d first met, she was going to go on loving him.
When he finally abandoned that infuriating restraint she’d encountered the past few days and kissed her senseless, Hanna knew what heaven was like without actually dying first. His tongue swept into her mouth as he hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her full length against him. He kissed her as if he wanted to devour her whole, and she felt him grow hard against her.
He still desired her. At least there was still that. Even knowing he didn’t love her, she savored this last kiss and gave all of herself to him, hoping he understood what she didn’t have the nerve to translate into words.
When there was no more air left in her lungs, Hanna was forced to break the steamy kiss. Hang the fandango! She wanted to rip off Cale’s citified clothes and have her way with him for the last time. Dancing with the male citizens of Cromwell—and Otis, no doubt—wouldn’t be half as much fun as making love with Cale.
Before he could circle back to whatever he’d tried to say—before she interrupted him with a hungry kiss—Hanna grabbed his hand and opened the door.
“Hanna—”
“For a man who disapproves of conversation that lasts more than a minute, you’ve started talking entirely too much,” she interrupted as she tugged him down the steps.
“Mags, I—”
“Cale, do hush up,” she demanded. “There are only two things that prevent you from being the perfect husband. You don’t know when to keep your mouth shut.”
“And the second?” he asked, chuckling.
“Let’s tackle first things first, shall we?” she said as she led him onto the street.
Several times during their leisurely stroll to the town square Cale considered dragging Hanna to a halt and assuring her that it wasn’t lack of interest that prompted him to keep his distance from her. As long as he drew breath he’d desire her, want her. But he’d never make it out of Cromwell with his heart intact if he didn’t maintain this emotional detachment and let her believe the worst.
This was for the best, he reminded himself. What did he possibly have to offer Hanna after they completed this assignment? Money? She had plenty of her own. A home? He didn’t have one to share with her. Respectability? Hell, he didn’t have that, either. He’d given up all his personal dreams five years ago to avenge his brother’s death, but her dreams were still ahead of her, shimmering on the western horizon. He had to set her free when this investigation was concluded.
And it was very close to its conclusion now.
Cale had collected the evidence he needed to confront Otis Pryor. He’d confiscated the land deeds and the former owners’ will. As predicted, there had been no exchange of money or property titles that indicated Pryor had legally obtained the land. Furthermore, there were no bills of sale for the hundreds of cattle that Pryor claimed to own. In short, everything Pryor had was stolen.
Tomorrow night, while the guards were asleep at their posts, Cale intended to lure that murdering bastard away from the house, slap him in irons and then gather up his small army. He’d make preparations to haul Pryor and company to Fort Smith to stand trial.
Hanna would be out of harm’s way, because Cale had already purchased a ticket and he intended to put her on the morning stage—kicking and screaming, if that’s the only way she’d go. But she would be long gone when Cale made the arrests.
&
nbsp; Music and laughter wafted on the evening air as Cale and Hanna approached the square. Lanterns hung overhead, spotlighting the refreshment tables, the dance area and the group of local musicians. Citizens had turned out in full force to celebrate the founding of their community. Women were decked out in finery, but none of them remotely compared to Hanna’s stunning beauty. She was the belle of the ball, just as she’d likely been while she was rubbing shoulders with the aristocracy in New Orleans.
Cale glanced sideways, noting how her hair shone like moonbeams in the light. He yearned to reach over and loosen that sophisticated braid atop her head so he could run his fingers through those silky strands. The locket she always wore around her neck like some sort of talisman glowed in the golden light and called attention to the slender column of her throat. Her pale blue satin gown accentuated her perfect figure, and his fingers itched to map her luscious curves and swells.
Indeed, Hanna was a bewitching sight to behold, and every male in attendance turned to stare as she walked by. Hell, Cale could almost hear the collective sigh of male approval as she strolled toward the dance area.
Cale had never learned to dance and he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself in front of Hanna. When she tugged on his hand he shook his head. “I don’t know how,” he admitted.
“You don’t know—” She clamped her mouth shut and stared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me? As light and agile as you are on your feet, it wouldn’t have taken long a-tall for me to teach you. Heavens, it isn’t like you haven’t taught me one lesson after another. Even things I wish I hadn’t learned—” She snapped her mouth shut so fast she bit her tongue. “Ouch.”
“Things like what?” he couldn’t help but ask when he noticed the rueful expression on her face.
“Never mind.” She stared at the air over his right shoulder. “Well, then, I suppose we should mix and mingle with the crowd and sample the refreshments.”
“What things?” he insisted, refusing to be distracted.
She tossed him a sugarcoated smile. “None of your business. Ah, there’s Mrs. Hensley. I met her this morning. I think I’ll have a chat with her. Excuse me.”
When Hanna buzzed off, Cale glanced around uncertainly. Talk about feeling out of place! He wasn’t a party goer. He had, however, interrupted one or two necktie parties—hosted by criminals who’d made some innocent victim their guest of honor—during his forays for Parker. But those didn’t count.
If nothing else, this fandango reinforced Cale’s conviction that no matter how much he enjoyed Hanna’s companionship and her presence in his life, they didn’t suit each other. He could don the fancy trappings of a gentleman shopkeeper, but he was still a half-breed bounty hunter who was better adapted to life in the wilderness than in society. He couldn’t dance. He wasn’t a master of conversation—idle or otherwise—and the only thing he knew about fashion was what the tailor who’d sold him this suit had told him.
Cale’s train of thought derailed when he saw Otis Pryor. The rancher was dressed fit to kill—and the evidence Cale had collected certainly indicated he’d done it several times since his arrival in Cromwell. He was also stalking Hanna. Cale gritted his teeth when the well-dressed bastard took her arm and drew her toward the dance area. Watching Otis pull Hanna close was as tormenting as watching the man kiss her that afternoon. Cale’s stomach churned as if he’d ingested rancid bacon.
Hanna was absolutely, positively going to be on that morning stage, he promised himself. He wanted her as far from Otis as she could get. The man was staring at her as if he wanted to gobble her up. Otis’s veneer of gentlemanly patience was wearing thin, Cale predicted. Being a man himself, he could sense Otis’s desire to take his budding “friendship” with Hanna to an intimate level.
Over Cale’s dead body!
He was so thoroughly distracted, watching Otis spin Hanna in circles, that he hadn’t noticed several of Otis’s men sneaking up behind him. Suddenly Cale felt a pistol barrel boring into his spine, smelled the foul order of trouble crowding in on him.
“Easy, friend,” Sam Vickers growled from directly behind him. He patted Cale’s back, then reached beneath his jacket to grab the concealed pistol. “Make one move to resist and your lovely wife will become our target. I’ve received an anonymous tip that your inventory of weapons is stolen property. I’ll need to see your bill of sale and ask you a few questions.”
Same song, tenth verse, Cale mused. According to his findings—and Arliss Fenton’s helpful information—former store owners had been accused of theft before their inventory was confiscated and they mysteriously disappeared. Cale had the unshakable feeling that not only did Otis Pryor and his henchmen want to stock their arsenal with his weapons, but Otis had decided that claiming Hanna as his own would be a damned sight easier if Cale was conveniently out of the way.
When Sam Vickers grabbed his arm, every instinct inside Cale screamed to attack, but he noticed the pistol aimed directly at Hanna, and counted dozens of innocent citizens who could be injured if the shot was fired. Damn it to hell!
“C’mon, McCloud. You’re under arrest,” Sam sneered. “Move it.”
While the band played a lively tune and the townsfolk danced and chatted, Cale allowed himself to be led away from Hanna and the other citizens, and ushered into the shadows on the street. He swore foully when he took a head count and noted the gunman who’d targeted Hanna had remained behind to ensure Cale’s cooperation.
Cale waited until the men frog-marched him far enough from the dance area that the potential sniper couldn’t see what was going on. Suddenly, Cale wheeled around, kicking Sam’s pistol from his hand and simultaneously plowing his fist into the nearest bearded jaw. Muted curses erupted around him as he attacked his would-be assailants with a vengeance.
Suddenly he heard the pounding of feet and saw shadowy figures racing from the alley like wraiths surging from the bowels of hell. The abrupt blow to the back of his head left him staggering. A doubled fist—equipped with brass knuckles—plowed into his solar plexus, and Cale’s knees threatened to buckle beneath him.
He reminded himself that he’d been pummeled before—for being a half-breed, for being a deputy that criminals wanted off their trail. He could take a punch and endure the pain.
Snarling, he launched himself at the man directly in front of him. By the time they landed in the dirt Cale had already retrieved the dagger tucked in his shirtsleeve and slashed the gunman’s wrist. The man squealed in pain and lashed out, but Cale rolled away and regained his feet.
“Damn, who are you?” Sam scowled as he darted away from the slashing dagger.
“The curse of your life, Vickers,” Cale growled. By sheer will alone he kept on his feet to square off against the five men who’d formed a semicircle around him. He could smell the blood oozing from the wound on the back of his head, but he refused to be distracted. “Call off your sniper or eat this knife. Your choice.”
Vickers smirked as he shifted in front of one of the other men. “Apparently you’re short on brains if you haven’t figured out that you aren’t calling the shots here, McCloud. Just try to use that knife and see where it gets you.” He nodded slightly to the man standing behind him. “Smitty, go tell Harlan to keep his pistol trained on McCloud’s lovely wife until I tell him otherwise.”
Cale swore under his breath when the henchman Vickers had been shielding turned and darted off. He glanced discreetly at the six-shooter that had fallen from his victim’s bleeding hand and now lay four feet away. Damn it, he really needed that pistol. Certainly, he had another knife tucked in his boot, but he could do a lot more damage with a loaded pistol. And double damn it, these men were trying to use Hanna as leverage over him. Her life or his. Hell, that was no choice at all, but he doubted his assailants understood the full measure of extremes that Cale would dare to go to give Hanna a sporting chance.
“Skeet!” Cale called suddenly.
“Expecting your mutt to come to your rescue?” Vickers
chuckled wickedly. “Sorry, McCloud. No help from that quarter. Guess it’s you against all of us. This all boils down to whether you want to keep your wife alive—”
Cale hurled the knife, noting the look of surprise on Sam Vickers’s whiskered face when he glanced down at the lethal wound on his chest. Shocked amazement registered on the other henchmen’s faces, immobilizing them for a split second. It was all the time Cale needed to dive for the discarded pistol and get off a couple of shots before the gunmen could react.
He dropped two men before he felt a bullet graze his shoulder. He rolled and fired off two rapid shots, and two more assailants pitched forward in the dirt.
Screams erupted in the town square, and Cale hoped to hell that the sniper couldn’t get off a shot at Hanna while people were scattering in all directions. He hoped Hanna had the presence of mind to run for her life before Otis got his filthy hands on her. He prayed that she remembered the tricks of the trade he’d taught her.…
From out of nowhere, another blow landed on the back of Cale’s head. Damn, Otis had posted his men in every nook and cranny in town, Cale figured, as intense pain exploded in his skull. His stomach rolled and stars flashed before his eyes. He staggered, braced himself, then lurched around to clip his attacker in the jaw, but his strength was fading fast.
Cale felt as if the world was caving in around him. His knees folded when someone blindsided him with a blow to the ribs, forcing out his breath in an agonized whoosh. He had the unmistakable feeling his life was about to end, but he hoped to hell that Hanna’s didn’t. Cale hadn’t asked the Indian’s or the white man’s God for anything, but he was damn sure asking now. Let Hanna survive this ordeal so she could chase her own dreams!
His only regret was that he hadn’t had the courage to tell her that he loved her when he had the chance. He hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself, wasn’t pleased that young Arliss Fenton had seen right through him. Granted, Cale hadn’t wanted to love Hanna, but it seemed there were some things that a man just couldn’t overcome. The heart, he’d discovered, had a mind of its own.
