Catch Me (7 page)

Two days later, Dean reined Jameson to a halt. The spring day was unseasonably warm without even a hint of a breeze. Sweat trickled down his spine and prickled across his chest. Because of the heat. Nothing else.

“What are we waiting for?” Maggie asked. She walked Sandie up beside him and there was a curious tilt to both her head and the horse’s, as if both mistress and beast were wondering as to his ailment.

His nerves sparked, insisting that living on venison jerky for the next three days was an acceptable price to pay for staying out of this town. “Just getting the lay of the land.”

She craned around, taking in the tidy homes and the two blocks of commercial properties arrayed before them. “Seems a right nice place to me.”

It was. A safe, quiet town to grow up in, and—at least it had seemed—a good community to raise a family. “We’ll be in and out in less than an hour.”

She sighed and rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead. When she pulled it away, she looked down as if examining the grime smeared on her skin. “Isn’t there any chance I can hire a bath?”

“An hour.” He tugged his hat brim lower over his eyes. Maybe if he kept his head down, no one would recognize him. The family ranch was fifteen miles north, and the rest of the Colliers were as near likely to head to Austin as visit tiny Mason. He’d been the only one to settle there. “No more, no less. Supplies. That’s it.”

“Yessir,” she smart mouthed, complete with a snappy salute and ramrod-straight posture that pressed out her little bosom.

He latched onto his inappropriate thoughts like a lifeline. He’d fill his hands with her pert ass and lie back while she rode him. She’d sink her nails into his chest, take her pleasure however fast she chose. He had every hope she’d be as much a hellcat in bed as she was everywhere else.

From far away, he heard her voice. He shook his head clear. “What’s that?”

She rested her folded hands on the saddle’s pommel, reins pressed between, and leaned toward him. Sweat glistened at her hairline, and dark strands clung to her cheeks. Despite her discomfort, she seemed completely amused. “I asked if we were going to be getting a move on anytime soon, or if you planned to lollygag the day away. I do believe I got my answer.”

He clucked Jameson into movement. “Someday, that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble.”

“I live in hope, Dean. I live in hope.”

An hour later, they’d almost made it out free and clear. He’d picked the smaller mercantile market on the east end of town. The prices were significantly higher, but it was not the store he and Annie had made regular visits to. Even the owner seemed to have changed since the last time he’d been in Mason, as Dean hadn’t recognized him.

Skeletally skinny, the man had a neck somewhere around the diameter of a rifle barrel and leathery, sagging skin. Dean tapped his foot as he waited for him to count out two bits in change.

Scooping the coins off the counter, Dean turned to find Maggie, who should have been right behind him.

She wasn’t. Of course.

Rage near about blinded him as he stormed out of the small store, but then he came up short. Right outside the door on the covered sidewalk, Maggie talked with two women who looked familiar. He couldn’t place either of them, thankfully, which meant they hadn’t been particularly close with his family.

He tipped his hat anyhow, since there was no way to get out of it. “Maggie, let’s go.”

She waved at him. “Oh, give me just a minute, would you?” She turned back to the women and smiled. The grin near about lit the noonday street even more brightly.

“No,” he gritted. “Come on. Now.”

The shorter woman smiled at him and raised a hand as if to set it on his arm. She withdrew when he stared. “Dean, perhaps you don’t remember me and Sarah? Sarah was great friends with Annie.”

He looked back at the tall, curvy blonde and the ground dropped about six inches under his boots. Though he wouldn’t have called them the greatest of friends, considering how Annie decried her catty attitude regarding other women, he certainly did remember Sarah. He nodded his head at her again. “Pleased to see you again.” He looped his hand around Maggie’s arm and pulled. “But I’m afraid we don’t have time for socializing. We have a schedule to keep.”

“Do we?” She turned too-guileless eyes on him. “But I was just having such an interesting chat with Millicent and Sarah.”

He ground his teeth until pain spiked through his temples. “Let’s go,” he said again. “Now. Ladies, it was nice to see you again.” He hauled Maggie away down the boardwalk so quickly she had to run a couple steps to catch up. The pair of women were undoubtedly staring at their backside, all astonishment, but he couldn’t care. Panic flogged him like an overworked mule.

“They said you used to live here, Dean.”

He kept storming down the sidewalk toward the livery, hoping she’d take the hint and leave it be. But of course he couldn’t be that lucky.

“And who was Annie?”

His fingers wrenched down on her arm, and she tried to jerk away. “You’re hurting me.” She slugged him in the shoulder.

Dean snatched off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair before shoving it back down on his head. “Look, I’m sorry if I hurt you. But my past is none of your business. Particularly Annie.”

Her name wasn’t as hard to say as it had been in the past. When they’d first died, and he’d had to endure all the sympathy and well wishes, he’d nearly choked every time he’d talked about her. Eventually it had been easier to leave Mason.

Maggie propped her fists on her hips. “So you
did
used to live here. Was it before you took up bounty hunting?”

He shook his head in frustration. “I have never met a more stubborn, foolishly determined woman than you.”

She flashed a sunny smile and her chin rose. “Why thank you. I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

“Trust me, I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

A man sat on the porch railing outside the livery, one boot propped in the support slats. A cowboy hat tipped down low shaded the top half of his face, but it did nothing to conceal the familiar jaw line or the Indian amulet on a leather strap that dangled over a blue and white striped shirt.

“Well, shit,” Dean muttered.

The man angled up his wide-brimmed hat. “Now, now, Elmer. Is that any way to greet your oldest brother?”

“Elmer?” Maggie’s voice was filled with laughter. “Who in tarnation is Elmer?”

Andrew dropped his feet from the balusters and crossed his arms. “You know, little brother, when I heard reports you were dragging a woman over hell’s back forty, I couldn’t quite credit it.” He eyed Maggie from head to toe with a base appreciation of her snug trousers and smiled at her. “Now I think I understand a little better.”

Maggie’s lightly tanned skin pinkened and she ducked her chin.

“What reports?” Dean said with exasperation. “We’ve seen no one over the past three days.”

“Well, all right, I suppose I exaggerated a tick. One report. From the hotel you apparently dragged this little lady out of.”

“You’re spying on me?”

“I have to, considering all we’ve gotten from you in five years is an occasional telegraph and one, single solitary letter.” Andrew stood and held out his hand. “Since it doesn’t seem Elmer will be making introductions, allow me. I’m Andrew Collier.”

She put her hand in his. “Margaret Bullock. You said your name was Dean.”

Though the words were directed at him, she kept her gaze locked with Andrew’s. Dean’s hands clenched into fists, jealousy coursing through him. His brother had always had an easy charm that went over well with women but it never bothered Dean before. Sometimes they’d teased that Annie only married Dean because she’d met him first.

“Dean is Ma’s family name, and my middle name. Only Ma and Andrew ever call me Elmer.” He sent his brother his best death look, the one that had made plenty of bounties back down and come peacefully. Andrew only grinned at him. “Speaking of Ma, give her my best and tell her I’m sorry I didn’t have time to visit.”

Andrew’s jaw gaped open. “You’re truly not going to visit? Fifteen miles from the ranch, and you’re not going to stop by?”

“We’ve got places to be.”

He hopped down. “I’ll be a son of a bitch. I thought that was you I saw lodging your horses, but I figured I must be plumb crazy. Figured I’d just wait and make sure. But no, you’re here in town and you’re really not going to go home.”

“Come on,
Elmer
,” Maggie said. That one-sided smile graced her mouth. “It’s not like I’m eager to get to Fresh Springs and stand trial.”

“Stand trial?” Andrew echoed. “What could a little girl like you do that was so awful?”

Maggie’s smile dimmed and her eyes flicked in irritation. She didn’t much seem to like being called a little girl. Dean was pleased in a petty manner to see his brother’s charm fail.

Her shoulders went back in challenge. “I robbed a bank.”

“Y-you what?” Andrew sputtered and he eyed Maggie from head to toe again, this time taking in her well-beaten boots and broken-in trousers.

Dean smothered a chuckle. If Andrew knew Maggie even a smidge, it wouldn’t be any surprise at all.

“I robbed a bank,” she repeated, more forcefully. Then she waved a hand in dismissal. “I needed the money for my father. But what’s this about a ranch?”

Andrew lifted his hat and scratched the top of his head. Befuddlement when it came to Maggie seemed to be a common thread. “Our home ranch. Where we grew up.” He turned back to Dean. “Phinn is even visiting. We could have a right good family reunion. Ma would be thrilled.”

“No.” He couldn’t stand being out there again. Everywhere he looked, Annie would be there. And the memories of Jack would be even worse. Visions of the swaddled baby being passed from grandmother to uncle and back again. Dean’s own imagination would haunt him. He’d anticipated taking Jack out to the ranch to ride and rope so often.

“Maggie, it’s time to go.”

“But Dean, I’d love to meet more of your family,” she teased.

Andrew pushed off the railing. “Let me get my things. I’m coming with you.”

“Like hell you are.” The words burst forth from him without consideration.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Besides, I just sold the land I’ve been working, so I could do with getting out of town.”

“What in blazes? Who sells good ranch land?”

Andrew’s grin was as bright and wickedly sharp as ever. “McKovey’s daughter was quite persuasive.”

“You always do think with your prick.”

He gave a little shrug that said he didn’t much care. “My horse is here at the livery too. All I have to do is grab my bags from—well, from where they are.” He glanced back at Maggie. Knowing Andrew, his belongings were at the local whorehouse.

“Why in the world would I wait on you?” Dean picked up the sack of goods he’d bought at the mercantile. “We don’t need the company.”

A cagey look slipped over Andrew’s face. “Because if you don’t, I’ll go straight to the ranch and pack Ma onto a train. We’ll be waiting at—Fresh Springs, was it?—before you get there.”

Dean resisted the urge to kick the livery’s front door. “Aw, hell. Get your stuff.”

As every mile slid by under her horse’s hooves, the thought of going to prison became more and more real, thudding at the back of her brain. They were still in Texas, and Maggie didn’t particularly mind. She most certainly wasn’t doing anything to speed the journey up.

When the opportunity arose to delay even a lunch break, she took it with both hands.

Maggie reclined on a horse blanket under the shade of a tree branch. She worried at an apple, turning it about and about between her teeth, barely paying attention to what she was doing.

The scenery was a tad bit distracting. In a wonderful way.

Twenty feet away, Dean swung an axe as he chopped at a tree blown across the road by some storm. He’d been at it twenty minutes, and had already accumulated a stack of evenly cut wood to the side. She’d poked and teased at him for doing such a pointless task when they could have ridden around the obstacle. But five minutes ago, the words died in her mouth.

Because five minutes ago, he’d taken his shirt off.

He obviously went without his shirt now and then, as his torso was the same lightly golden color as his hands and face. Muscles shifted and played beneath his skin. She particularly liked the thick columns that stretched alongside his spine. A fine sheen of sweat covered him, making the small ligaments that marched up his side more apparent as he hefted the heavy axe again.

What would it be like to touch that glistening skin? He’d be salty if she touched her tongue to the divots at the tempting curve of his back, above his waistband. He’d left his gun belt on, even at such a task; she could wind her hands through it while she grazed her teeth—

“Keep looking at him like that and I’ll be calling you little sister soon enough.”

She jumped and almost dropped her apple. She bobbled it from hand to hand to catch it. “Wha—huh? What?” She passed the back of her hand over her temple as she sat up. A matching sheen of sweat had appeared there.

Andrew dropped to the foot of her blanket. “I said I’d be calling you little sister soon if you keep looking at him like you want to wrap him up and tuck him in your pocket.”

She became as rigid as an oak tree. “I want no such thing.”

She was thinking of creating an opportunity, that was all. A moment out of reality where she could taste all that warm skin and gather to herself a memory for the long years in prison. Not keeping him forever.

A particular sharpness in the way Dean watched her said he wouldn’t be adverse. That perhaps the wakening hunger in her could find a match within him.

“No? My mistake.” His grin said otherwise.

“Have you forgotten Dean is the very man who’s dragging me to prison?” She took a snapping bite of the white-fleshed apple and chomped as she stared at the dark green canopy of the treetops. “And he’s essentially condemning my father to death. It’ll kill him to see me go to jail.”

“From what I’ve heard of Arthur Bullock, I don’t believe that.”

She slanted a look at him. He didn’t wear his customary insouciant expression. His jaw had gone tight and his flattened mouth reminded her of Dean’s. “What are you talking about? My father loves me.”

He shook his head abruptly, sending his brown hair scattering over his forehead, then looked at her. He whipped out another smile. “No, I’ve no doubt of that.”

An uneasy skitter worked over her skin. There was something about his attitude she didn’t like. “Father is a good man. Even after those nasty men killed Robert, he kept the good of the town his top priority. He’s honorable.”

“I never said different.”

Dean leaned the axe against a tree trunk and dropped to his knees beside Maggie. “What’s that?”

He had yet to put his shirt on. All that lovely, luscious skin just inches away. Her fingertips tingled and trembled with nervousness at the same time. Though her virginity would do her no good behind bars, giving it up was still a huge step. If she didn’t have the guts to follow through it could be quite embarrassing.

Andrew leaned back on an elbow. “Maggie and I were just discussing what a great man her father is.”

They shared a silent communication she had no hope of interpreting. She’d once had that with Robert, the shared memories and thoughts only close siblings shared. She dropped her gaze, unwilling to be reminded of what she missed so badly. Spinning the apple around, she snapped off the tiny stem.

Dean tweaked the apple out of her hand and took a bite, his teeth sinking into the crimson skin. A drop of juice dewed on his bottom lip before he licked it off. “I’m done with the wood. We should pack up and get going again.”

“Oh, no sir.” She stood and went to Sandie to grab a change of clothes. “There’s a bathing pool around the bend. I am getting cleaned up before we go.”

This chance might never come again. While she thought she might be able to trade on her very femininity to get a reduced sentence, she was still staring down the barrel of years in prison. She’d never feel a man’s touch.

Never feel this man’s touch.

He followed her over and set a hand over hers. The leather bag beneath her palm was sun-warmed but nothing compared to the heat of his hand. Her breathing came up short and shallow and she was filled with his scent, all tangy and male.

“Maggie, I know I’ve been giving you more leeway, but I just can’t cotton to you going off by yourself.”

She pointed to the protective stand of trees that surrounded the pool. “It’s just right there. I’m not going far.”

He shook his head. “I can’t allow that.”

“Come along and guard me if you like. But the only way you’re getting me out of here without having taken a bath first is to handcuff me again.”

“Maggie—”

She talked right over him. “Dean, please.” She slid her hand out from under his and grabbed his wrist. “I’ve no idea how long I’ll be stuck in Yuma. Give me this, at least.” It was nothing but truth. If Masterson had his way, she’d likely go grey and wrinkled in the Yuma Territorial Prison. When an opportunity presented itself for a bath, like a gift from the heavens, she’d take it.

If losing her family taught her anything, it was that moments fled a tight grasp. She meant to touch something beautiful.

His eyes searched her face, as if looking for escape plans. “All right.” His thick chest lifted with a sigh. “But I won’t let you out of my sight. Not even for a second.”

“Fine.” She yanked a clean shirt from her bag, along with a bundled set of undergarments. “But put a shirt on. You’re indecent.” And tempting.

His expression lightened and for a moment she thought he might laugh again like he had on the riverbank. But he only shook his head as he walked away to grab his shirt from the branch he’d tossed it over. Maggie didn’t watch as he shrugged into it. She didn’t.

Andrew smirked but only said he’d take a nap when they told him of the plan. But when Dean’s back was turned, he winked at her.

Disgusted, Maggie marched into the woods. What in the world was
wrong
with everyone? The last thing in the world she needed was his approval.

Dean followed Maggie closely as she slipped through the trees. A carpet of leaves muffled her steps, but she walked as quietly as a ghost.

Or maybe it was just Dean with ghosts on his mind.

As if being in intimate company of a woman wasn’t enough, he’d acquired his brother for the rest of the trip. Andrew hadn’t said a word about Annie or Jack, but his mere presence sparked memories and regrets. He’d failed her, and the haunting smell of cold blood wound through his every breath. He’d put his full energy into chopping the wood for Mrs. Savoy but all that had done was exhaust his body. His mind still tumbled and churned.

Maggie came to an abrupt halt that nearly left Dean running into her ass. “How nice,” she breathed.

“Indeed.” She did have a fine backside. Pert and rounded, just enough to fill a man’s hands.

“I’m going to have to watch my toes.”

He shook free of the visions of bending her over until her palms came up flat against a tree. “What? What’s that?”

“This pond.” She swept an arm out. “It doesn’t look quite right. I think beavers had a hand in it.”

She was right. A sharp bend in the creek had been augmented with layered and woven sticks and branches, so that a pool had filled. The bend had eaten away at the bank on the near side and the ground beneath the trees fell sharply away. On the other bank, however, a tiny grassy area remained. All in all, it made a cozy little trysting spot.

Not that he had any intention of making full use of the possibilities.

“Come on,” he said, and took the bundle of cloth from her arms. He led the way over the makeshift dam, and it only took a few steps to get across.

She bent to dip her fingers in the water, then grinned over her shoulder at him. “It’s perfect. I can’t wait to get in.”

Dean only stood there like a rock, dumbfounded. With her reckless grin, the reality of her plan had only just sunk in. Was he truly going to stand guard while this little hellcat took a bath out in the open? Until then, he’d half thought she meant simply cleaning up, not a full immersion. He looked down at the bundle he had. Mostly useful, sturdy cloth, a tiny piece of lace stuck out from the middle of the knot of clothing and perched on top was a finely milled soap that smelled faintly like roses.

She scooped it out of his arms and twirled a finger. “You know what to do.”

He thought about handing her some sort of smart-mouth comment, since it’d be only right to give as he’d gotten from her. But nothing came to mind except the thought that she’d soon be naked.

Bare-assed naked.

And even sitting at the very edge of the trees as he was, he’d be only ten feet away.

He did his best to turn his mind to other things—such as when, if ever, Andrew would bring up Dean’s estrangement from the family. Someday he’d have to explain himself to Ma but he wasn’t ready yet. Seeing everyone else happy and whole hurt too badly. The good times he’d had with Annie, and their short moments with Jack, had only recently begun to override the harsh memory of their end.

But it would be downright impossible to reveal that lolling in angry, hurtful remembrances was better than thinking about the tempting slip of womanhood who was stripping to her bare skin behind him.

A splash interrupted his reverie, followed by a gasping giggle.

He took his pistol out and began to inspect it. He dropped out the cylinder and spun it. Full load, everything fit together smoothly, and he’d already cleaned it after the last time he’d shot.

Nothing to do.

More splashing. A wet slap of soaked cloth.

Dean pinched his temples. He wouldn’t look, but his mind could think of nothing else. Even intentionally poking at the painful wounds of Annie didn’t help.

“You wouldn’t believe how good this feels, Dean.” Water trickled.

His head turned instinctively, but caught a glimpse of one pale, slender arm and jerked back toward the trees. Lust hazed his vision and turned his body into a tight coil of barbed wire. “Could you speed this up?”

“I’m trying.” There was a pause, and then she admitted with a laugh in her voice, “But not that hard. It really feels marvelous.”

“I’m happy for you,” he gritted.

“You should try it. When I’m done, of course.”

“Of course.” There was nothing to look at in the woods. Trees, and a small amount of undergrowth. In the brown dirt near his foot, a deer’s hoof print.

Through the silence, his mind went mad. Was she soaping her legs now? Her flat belly? Her breasts?

“I do appreciate your patience in this, Dean. You can’t imagine. When I think of going to prison…”

He scrubbed a flat palm over his mouth. It was either that or yank his hair out by the roots. “Maybe you should have thought of that before you took up bank robbing.”

She sighed. “I know.”

Dean heard water sluicing into the pond. She was likely stepping out. Good. They could get moving again and he could put this interlude behind him and never think on it again.

Except late at night, in a lonely bunk.

He crumbled, as weak as soft shale. He peeked.

She stood naked as the day she’d been born, all sleek lines from her slender shoulders to her long, long legs. She faced the water, scrubbing a cloth over her hair to dry it. Her ass wiggled as she shifted her feet, and his cock hardened.

He turned back to the safe, comfortable trees.

“You know, Dean, I’m going to miss out on a lot when I’m in prison.” Her soft voice wound about him like a serpent.

He didn’t answer. There was nothing to say but what he already had—that she should have thought of that before she’d walked into the bank and demanded money.

“I’ll be old and gray before I get out.”

He shook his head, though she wasn’t likely looking at him. “You don’t know that. Judges are often lenient on women. You might be surprised at how little time you get.”

She laughed. “No. Masterson owns the circuit judge. I used to think it was a wonderful thing, since he and Father made sure lawbreakers got the worst punishment possible and kept them out of our town. I’ll get the maximum time he can wrangle. I’ll be lucky if I breathe fresh air before I die. I’m pretty sure I can depend on being a woman to save my life, but that’s it.”

Having a conversation with his back turned was awkward. “Are you decent yet?”

A pause, and then…“It depends on your definition.” She laughed.

He looked at her, and just as quickly turned back again. She wasn’t decent, not by any stretch of the imagination. The cloth wrapped around her middle but exposed her curvy legs. Their image burned into his brain.

She laughed again and he heard the rustle of clothing.

Then she was at his back, kneeling close behind him. She trailed one finger down his neck from ear to collar. “Dean…What if I said I didn’t want to be decent?”

He snatched her wrist. Her skin burned in his grip. She’d put on her chemise, corset and pants, but her shirt was still folded at the stream’s edge. Damp, dark hair tumbled about her nearly bare shoulders and she smelled like fresh roses. He hadn’t smelled anything so good in years.