Calico (17 page)

The tremors faded slowly. Maggie felt the shift of his body and held him tighter. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

“I couldn’t if I wanted to. And I don’t want to, Maggie.”

He angled his head to the side, and she saw the fire reflected in his eyes. Before she could say a word, he was talking.

“I’ve never had a woman so giving as you. Nothing held back, Maggie. I just had you and still want you,” he said, his voice taking on a harsh edge. “But you’re tender and sore, and I’ll take you again and again just like I said. Until I can’t breathe.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

His lean hips moved, and Maggie lost her breath with the rush of fire that started all over again. She drew his face to hers, licking his lip with her tongue. “Yes,” she murmured, taking his mouth just as his body pinned her again under its hard weight. He began moving, and her eyes blazed as he drove into her, taking all of her again, just as he whispered he would. Sweat gleamed on his body, and Maggie could feel the sheen on her own. The hot slide of their bodies brought sparks to flame, and she clung tightly to him, for there was no peace. He was driving her higher, rocking against her, then harder still, and she thought she would die. She fiercely arched into him, telling him the only way she could that she needed more of him.

The savage light of his eyes should have frightened her. It didn’t. His teeth scored her neck; she found his shoulder.

“It feels like your blood’s on fire, doesn’t it, Maggie? A burning that goes all the way to the soul. That’s what you do to me.”

Twisting, hearing his dark voice, Maggie fought for the fulfillment she knew was waiting. He rose up slightly, pinning her hips still, feeding the wild hunger, until he was driven to have her mouth. She was helpless beneath him as he drove into her, grinding his body against hers as if he had to become a part of her.

Maggie wanted to scream. She had no breath. No voice. Nothing but savage blows thundering through her, impaling her as he did, shuddering with the same tormented cry that ripped McCready.
A burning to the soul
. She knew it was true. Fire stretched between them, both hell and heaven, wrapping them in its flame, taking him, taking her, until there was only one.

She lay spent beneath him, shocked by the passion that rocked through them. Now she fought for breath, just as he did, holding him tight against the world that still spun around her.

The spinning stopped, and the night faded with hours consumed in learning the slow, shimmering caresses that taught her the pleasures of McCready’s body even as she learned her own.

And as dawn slowly stole the night, as slowly as McCready unraveled her once more, she learned that her need of him carried no shame, for he was as vulnerable as she and as needing.

Still joined, sleep finally staked its claim, but just before Maggie closed her eyes with his kiss on her lips, she knew that need could turn to the beginnings of love.

And McCready blessed the education found in countless bedrooms that had taught him how fragile the barrier of a woman’s innocence was. Knowing how Maggie lived, it was no wonder that there had been no pain, no blood. His darling innocent wasn’t even aware that there should have been.

But Maggie had gifted him with her trust. And she gave it as she gave herself, with nothing held back. He had told her he could prevent there being a child.

He hadn’t.

The only excuse he offered himself was that she was a fever inside him that left no room for logic. It was feeble at best. He promised himself he’d be more careful.

“Bein’ a lady, learnin’ to read, an’ havin’ me mines open are me only dreams.” Cradled on McCready’s lap, Maggie toyed with the top button of his pants. “What’s yours?”

Tucking her head under his chin, McCready didn’t answer her immediately.
No one had ever asked him about his dreams
. He tugged the edge of her shirt to cover a little more of her thigh. Maggie, he’d found, wanted everything from him. She gave the same way.

“Don’t you have any?” she asked, sensing his tension.

“I’ll live yours for a little while, Maggie mine.”

“You can’t. Every one has dreams of his own.” His hand on the back of her neck prevented her from looking at him. She felt hurt. Whatever he asked her to share with him, she had. Her body, her fears, her past, and now her few dreams. To feel him withdrawing, although he didn’t move, forced her to realize that he’d made no more promises than the gift of their shared pleasure with each other.
But we’re married
, she reminded herself. What other promise was as important? What other promise could matter? She nuzzled his throat.

“Maggie,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her hair, “I could teach you to read.”

Distracted by the way her lips could speed up his pulse, Maggie didn’t answer. Her tongue stole into the hollow of his throat.

“Maggie, did you hear me?”

His abrupt move that had her off his lap and standing beside him left her surprised.

“No more, Maggie mine.”

“Not at all?” she asked with a smile that was as wicked as the one breaking over his lips.

“You’re insatiable. I’m almost sorry I was the one to introduce you to the—”

“What does that mean, McCready?”

He saw the flare of hurt and the beginnings of anger in her eyes. “It means to be unsatisfied, Maggie. Like a thirst that doesn’t quit no matter how much you drink.”

A flush stole into her cheeks as she thought of the night past. “Meself had enough, thanks.” She turned her back to him, burning to hear his rough laugh.

“I didn’t,” he murmured, coming to stand behind her.

“Don’t be givin’ me your lies, McCready.”

“No lies, Maggie. There haven’t been any since I kissed you last night.” With one finger he drew a small circle and adjoined a line to it on her back. He felt her shiver, and his smile broke, for he knew just how sensitive Maggie was. His own flesh hardened at the memory, and he repeated it.

“What’s that you’re doin’ now?”

“Teaching you … to … to read.”

“On me back?” Maggie shrugged off his hand and stepped away from him. She had had enough of McCready and his fool’s games.

McCready was right behind her. Cupping her shoulder, he drew her back against his chest, ignoring her small effort to be free. “Listen to me, Maggie, I said I could make that dream come true.” The exposed skin of her nape invited a kiss, a nip, and the soothe of his tongue. He was rewarded by a deeper shiver that joined his.

“Never heard of no learnin’ the likes of yours.”

“Trust me, Maggie. You
will
like my way. What’s more,” he promised in a silken voice against her skin, “so will I.”

Maggie had to fight to keep her mind on what he was saying. His voice was promising other things, sending shivers deep inside, wiping away the hours in his arms, and leaving her with new needs, harder cravings.

“You could—” Her voice broke as he nuzzled her neck, tilting her head to the side.

“Yes, Maggie? What could I do?”

“A stick. From the fire. The floor would do.”

McCready murmured agreement, sliding his hands around her waist. “But my way is better. You won’t forget anything that I teach you, Maggie.” His fingers splayed over the flat plane of her belly, and he couldn’t stifle his harsh groan. “You’re like a fever, Maggie. And I’ll be damned if I know how to get rid of it.”

“Show me.”

Still holding her with one hand, he used the other to draw an I on one hip. “I,” he breathed into her ear and followed it by spelling out
want you
.

“What did you do?” She couldn’t think again. His palm cupped her intimately, and she knew the coil had already begun holding her in its grip.

“Want you. I want you, Maggie.” She was twisting and turning, bringing his lips to hers, teaching forgotten while they repeated the lessons already learned.

But when the shimmering ecstasy left them bathed in soft flames, Maggie found that McCready’s teaching skills brought rich rewards. By the time the afternoon’s light descended, she had learned to write I
want you
. But Maggie mumbled an apology when her letters seemed to follow their own erotic pattern. She had found that McCready’s blunt, hot flesh truly helped her form the perfect
u
. And she kept on saying she was sorry that her tongue seemed quicker than her fingertips to learn the making of all those strange shapes.

McCready accepted the apology, even if her eyes were full of sass. He was in complete agreement that she was learning fast. He had no choice. She was killing him, but he was dying with a smile.

Dutch was not smiling. He was polishing the same glass for the last ten minutes. He was aware of it but didn’t stop, for he was watching Cora Ann cuddle with the stranger that rode in late last night. Trouble was, Cora Ann didn’t look too happy about it, and when he called her away to find out if she wanted the man gone, she said no.

On a quick look the man appeared to be a drifter. The top of his head, including the high crown of his hat, had barely come to Dutch’s shoulder. He wasn’t young, and Dutch made that judgment not on his thinning brown hair, but the man’s brown eyes. They were cold and hard, for even when he smiled, like now at something Cora Ann said, the smile never reached his eyes. That bothered Dutch, that and the way Cora Ann hadn’t left him since he had walked into the Rawhider. And for all his questions, he’d only found out that the man’s name was Bill and he had a pocketful of cash to spend.

It was more than enough for Cora Ann, but not for him. And he had his worries about McCready that kept getting in his way. The man would likely be hitting a slow boil along about now that Dutch didn’t meet him with his whiskey. He could only hope that McCready didn’t take it out on Maggie’s soft hide. But he felt it was the wrong time for him to be leaving.

Cora Ann motioned for another bottle of whiskey, and Dutch set one out on the bar, still watching the man and trying to figure out what about Bill didn’t fit. He looked as if he could use the gun he wore. Dutch had seen his share of green broncs looking to make a reputation, and this man wasn’t one of them. Besides, there were no guns in Cooney Camp that would make a man’s reputation. Well, there weren’t any but Lee Warren, and he kept a low profile. This man was as quiet.

But as Cora Ann took the bottle and walked back to the table they shared, Dutch saw that he’d been caught staring. For a moment there was warning in the man’s eyes for Dutch, then it was gone.

Slick walked in with Lee Warren and ordered up a bottle just as the Rose came down the steps. Lee had eyes for no one else, and within minutes the Rose was playing and singing for him.

“Bodes no good,” Dutch muttered, leaving his place behind the bar. “Cora Ann,” he called out, “you tend to things. I’ll be in back.” He headed for the storeroom where Satin was. The dog had the sense to sit and listen while he sorted out his feelings from facts.

Cora Ann turned back to William Berger once Dutch was out of sight. Slick, Lee, and a miner she didn’t know were clustered around the piano and the Rose, so she didn’t need to worry that anyone would hear them.

“I keep trying to tell you it was a mistake for you to come here. You see the way Dutch’s watching you. Sending word to me would have been fine. But it wouldn’t have mattered. I don’t know where Maggie O’Roarke is.”

“But Dutch does.”

“He might,” she answered, filling her glass. She made the mistake of looking up at William’s face. His eyes had a way of narrowing and appearing so cold that goosebumps broke on her skin. “Don’t think I can get Dutch in bed. He doesn’t mess with the Rose or me. Dutch would rather take off to the big towns and find his own women.”

“I’m not leaving until I have what I want.”

“But Dutch isn’t going to tell you or anyone more than he told Quincy.” This time she hoped he would add something more to the little he had told her. Cora Ann scratched her nose, for it was itching as it only did when someone lied to her about money. She knew that McCready was claiming that he had won old Pete’s mines and now owned them. But Maggie had been planning to marry Quincy to get the money she needed to open the mines. It was anyone’s guess who really owned them. And she didn’t understand why William thought she would believe his story of being partners with Quincy. He knew she was a woman who watched out for herself. She knew who Quincy’s boss was, even if William didn’t. Give a man what he wanted in bed or anywhere else that tickled him, and he’d tell you how many visits he’d made to the outhouse, if you wanted to know.

Below the table William’s bony fingers squeezed her knee.

She knew it wasn’t a signal to go upstairs. William wouldn’t even bother to ask.

“Pay attention to me, Cora Ann. I want to know where Maggie O’Roarke is. And I want to have that information by tonight.”

“But I told you—” She winced as he increased the hard pressure of his grip.

“You owe me and don’t you forget it, Clarissa.”

“Cora Ann. Clarissa is as gone as if she never was.”

“There’s a Texas marshal that believes differently. I didn’t tell you that he was up to see me a few weeks ago. Just stopped by in case I had any word from you.”

“You know that I didn’t cheat that cowboy. When he pulled his gun, I had to protect myself. You saw us fighting. You could have helped me get the gun away from him.”

“But I couldn’t get involved. I told that to the marshal. Said it was an accident, but you can’t blame him for not believing me. It was his brother that you shot.” He leaned closer. “I don’t care how you find out. Just do it.”

“Work and more work. I’m sick of work,” Pamela muttered in her father’s mercantile. There were supplies to be sorted, but once Ira had helped her father unload the freight wagon, and they’d left, she refused to do another bit by herself.

“Ira was only looking for another grub stake. Pa had to give him enough so he wouldn’t stay. But he won’t give me the money to leave this back of nowhere. Sometimes, I swear I’ll dry up and rot here.”

She peered into the small mirror propped up behind the counter, trying to decide if Miss Philippa Gosling’s face wash was really turning her skin to feel like silk. That’s what the advertisement in the
Daily New Mexican
claimed. True, she reminded herself, she had only been using it for two months. Maybe it took more time to work. Sighing, she turned.

Sugar loafs waited to be stored. The ready mades had to be sorted, pants from shirts, and the near empty pickle barrel moved to make room for the new one.

Pamela turned back to her primping, bored, and wishing that something would happen. Things had been quiet in camp with both McCready and Maggie gone. Well, there had been a little excitement stirred up that night that Quincy had come looking for Maggie and McCready, but she had been asleep and didn’t hear about it until snippy Cora Ann told her.

And everyone was worried about Maggie. Even Pamela’s father. Why he would think that she would know where Maggie went was too much to understand. But he was right in saying that it wasn’t like Maggie to take off and leave Satin behind. She had even gone up to Maggie’s cabin yesterday afternoon only to find that nothing had been touched, nor was there any sign that Maggie had been back. The strange thing was that both her mare and mule were still in camp.

Strange thing, and that’s all there was to it.

The cowbell tinkled over the door, and Pamela whisked the mirror under the counter before she looked up.

She offered her most timid smile to the man that filled her vision, frightened that he walked so softly. The dust coating his clothes said he had ridden hard. The look in his eyes told her that she had better not ask from where or why.

“Can I help you?”

“Looking for Burton. Andrew Burton.”

“That’s my father. But he’s not here right now. Why don’t you come back—” Pamela’s words were lost in her cry as he hauled her forward across the counter.

“Where is he?”

“He … he took a load of supplies up to Clairmont. The-there aren’t as many miners now, since most of them have come down here to Cooney Camp, but Pa has his regulars that he delivers supplies to and … and…” She stopped herself when she realized that she was babbling and he was no longer listening to her. “Please, you’re hurting—”

“When’s he expected back?”

“To-tonight.” She wished she could swallow and spit in his eye. Maggie wouldn’t have hesitated a moment. But she didn’t have any moisture in her mouth.

“You tell him,” he demanded, twisting the cloth of her gown in his fist, “that Ryder’s looking for him. An’ if you know what’s good for you, you won’t be mentioning me to anyone else. Got that?”

“Got it,” she repeated in a high squeak. “Yes. Now, please, I—” Pamela found herself released as suddenly as he had grabbed her, and she collapsed across the counter like a discarded rag doll. What had her father gotten himself into this time? She had to get out of this place.

Slowly dragging herself to stand, Pamela stared in shock at the way her hands were shaking. That man, Ryder, had meant to frighten her—and he’d accomplished it. She tried to fix the lace edge of her collar, and tears came to find that he had torn it.

For the second time she wished she were Maggie. Maggie would have gutted him before he put a hand on her. She glanced at the gun concealed beneath the counter and used a few of Maggie’s more colorful swears for her own stupidity in not making a grab for it. The man wouldn’t have dared to be so rough with her if she had been holding a gun.

But Pamela knew she hated guns and hating touching them.

Once again she heard the bell above the door tinkle, and this time she didn’t think. She grabbed the gun and pointed at the towering man that filled the narrow doorway.