In the Marshal's Arms (4 page)

“I got some hot bricks from the hotel. They’ll keep our feet warm for the short term, anyway.” He rounded the wagon, hopped in and pulled the edge of the lap robe over his thighs.

His body heat added to the warmth from the bricks and Maddy shifted closer unconsciously. He glanced down, offered a small smile and accommodated her with a shift of his arm as he drove the horse out of town.

The snow didn’t start until the town was no longer visible. It fell lightly at first, then in heavy wet clumps. Mr. Burgess set his hat farther forward on his head, and Maddy kept her face bent against the wind. The bricks had cooled rapidly, and Maddy no longer thought twice about snuggling against Mr. Burgess for warmth. He wrapped his free arm around her, drawing her closer.

“At least the meat won’t go bad,” she said through chattering teeth, and was rewarded by his chuckle.

She reached up to wipe frost from his whiskers with her gloved hand. “Should I drive awhile?” That way he could keep both hands under the blanket for a time. Even her hands in her gloves were cold. His must feel like ice.

“I’m fine.”

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?” she challenged.

He grinned. “Probably not.”

“I’m sure you’ve never been called stubborn before.”

“Once or twice,” he drawled.

But conversation took too much energy and she drifted against his shoulder.

He jerked beneath her. “Don’t you go to sleep,” he said sternly. “If you fall asleep, I’ll make you get out and walk.”

For a moment her drowsy mind wondered at his change in mood, but then she remembered. Falling asleep in the cold was too dangerous.

“All right.” She lifted her too-heavy head and shifted away from him. The urge to lean into him was too strong, and made her sleepy. The cool air between them made her more alert.

“Smart girl. Talk to me, now.”

“’Bout what?”

“Tell me everything you want me to do to your place to fix it up.”

“Hm. Would love to see it whitewashed.”

“Maybe we should have bought some whitewash, then.”

“Have some. In the barn.”

“I’ll get right on that after the snow melts.”

“The fence line needs to be checked.”

“I can do that. What else?”

“Probably a new door hung on the barn. I’m not strong enough to do it myself. I could help, though.”

“Yes, you could.”

“I wish I had insisted on a separate bedroom. I hate having my bed right next to my dining table.”

“Handy when you’re living alone.”

“And not hard to clean.”

“Was it your husband’s place before you married, or did he build it for you?”

“It was his place.” She shifted on the seat again. “Did they tell you in town? About him?”

“About your husband?”

“That he’s gone? That he was killed robbing a bank?”

He turned his head to look at her. No surprise showed on his face. “They told me.”

“I should have told you. You understand why I didn’t.”

“You wanted me to think you were a married woman so I would think your husband was coming home. I understand that.”

“I didn’t know you. I wish I’d told you myself, that you hadn’t heard from someone else.”

“Did you know he was a bank robber?”

She hadn’t expected the question, or the way it plunged her back in time to the first time she’d seen them, Edward and Luke, so handsome, so virile, so different from the skinny actor she’d been sharing a bed with. The actor, Jeremy, had slunk away with one look from Edward. She’d fallen for him first, and agreed to let his brother join them after a few weeks. She’d delighted in the wickedness, and hadn’t thought twice about what the two did for a living that made them able to indulge her every whim. “Not when I met him. He was this charming man, you know? Handsome and willing to spend money, and infatuated with me.”

“And when you found out?”

She fidgeted again. She hated admitting how stupid and shallow she’d been. “I was already in love with him. I thought it was exciting. I’d pretended to be all these things, but he was living a real adventure. I didn’t think of the danger he put others in, or the harm he’d be in.”

“When did he bring you to the farm?”

“There were lawmen on his trail and he feared they would use me to get to him, so he wanted me out of sight. And then I started liking being self-sufficient and he liked having me hidden away. No doubt there were other women. And then the marshal came to tell me he’d been killed.” Her emotions had been all over the place as she’d looked up at the somber man who couldn’t be bothered to get off his horse to deliver the news. Hurt and sorrow. Anger at Edward for getting so cocky and getting himself killed. Anger at herself for being pulled into the life of a bank robber’s mistress. And an odd sense of freedom. The farm was hers now, all hers. She wasn’t rich, but she owned land and a house and didn’t have to answer to anyone.

“Why did you stay?”

“Where would I go? My parents wouldn’t have me home, and even if they did, I’d be living by their rules, not mine. Back to the stage?” She shook her head. She’d missed the traveling and some of the companionship, but not the competition, not the constant play for her attentions. “I’m content.”

“Not lonely.”

“Maybe I will be by spring. Maybe I’ll be crazy and scream at anyone who approaches the place. People will tell tales about the outlaw’s widow who lost her mind.” She chuckled softly, picturing herself with wild hair and torn clothes, jabbering to herself.

Just then they crested the rise above the farmhouse. The scene was idyllic, snow floating around, covering everything, making it look beautiful and not run-down. Beside her, Mr. Burgess heaved a sigh of relief, and in front of them, the horse pricked up his ears and picked up the pace. Within minutes they were at the front porch. Jack crawled out from beneath it, wagging his tail anxiously.

“Start the fire while I see to the stock,” he said.

“I can get the chickens.”

“Don’t worry about them. I’ll do it. You get inside and get warm.

She walked toward the back of the wagon.

“The supplies can keep until morning.”

“Our dinner,” she said simply, and pulled out the basket the hotel restaurant had packed for them. “I’ll get this warming.” She headed toward the door, Jack on her heels.

He nodded, then drove the wagon toward the barn.

Rhys was stiff with cold when he entered the little house several long minutes later. Every chore had taken twice as long because he had trouble moving his fingers. A fire roared in the fireplace, but the heat hadn’t permeated the room. She bent over the cast-iron stove, poking at another fire there, and he thought he smelled coffee.  She still wore her coat, though her bonnet hung by the fire, dripping on the wood floor.

When she heard the door close, she looked up, then crossed to him, unbuttoning his coat, pushing the damp cloth from his shoulders.

“You need to get out of your wet clothes. You’ll catch a chill. I can’t get it warm enough in here.” She crossed to hang his coat with her bonnet, then came back to him to rub at his cheeks. “Take off your boots and come to the fire. I have some wool socks you can wear.”

Good, because his feet were blocks of ice inside his boots, and he fumbled to remove them. She bent quickly and urged him to lift one foot, then the other, so she could help. Before he could protest, she’d stripped off his socks, too.

She was so lovely, so sweet, so giving, so vulnerable. Every rule he’d ever followed, every rule that led his actions every day of his life, fled as he looked down at her kneeling before him.

“Your clothes are wet, too,” he said when she dragged a chair from the table, placed it in front of the fire and pushed him into it.

“I didn’t walk through the snow back to the house.” But she did take off her coat, then shivered. “Coffee’s brewing, and I’m warming our dinner. Once we get something warm inside us—”

She broke off when he caught her hand and pulled her sideways into his lap, chafing her reddened hands between his. The weight of her on his lap felt good, felt right. He had only intended to warm her, but the way she snuggled into him made him remember how long it had been since he held a woman in his arms.

“Take off your boots,” he urged, his hand sliding down the front of her skirt to assist.

“I should get those wool socks,” she said, a touch breathless as he lifted her foot and unlaced the boot. She shook it loose and it fell to the floor with a thump.

“I can’t reach the other one,” he said, and watched the skin of her throat quiver at the touch of his hot breath. What would she do when he touched her?

“I’ll get it. And the socks,” she said, but made no move to leave, only nestled closer. “You’re warmer than I expected.”

He chuckled softly as all the blood rushed from where it was needed in his extremities to the place right where her hip rested. No doubt she could feel the rise of his cock, even through the layers of her skirts.

“I have bricks warming for the bed,” she murmured, turning her face toward him shyly. “No sense you sleeping on the cold floor.”

Blood surged to his groin so quickly he was dizzy with it. “Mrs. Colby,” he managed, sliding his hand up her thigh, over her skirts.

“Maddy,” she corrected, her gaze on his mouth.

“Maddy,” he repeated. “Call me Rhys.”

And then, against every sense in his head, he kissed her, her cool lush lips warming quickly beneath his, parting in welcome for his tongue as his hand massaged her leg. She curved her hand behind his neck, threading her fingers through his hair as she invited a deeper kiss.

She tasted wonderful, smoky and spicy, hot and crisp, and her lips were so soft, as was the skin of her cheek as he caressed it. He’d forgotten how soft, how fragile women were. What was he doing here?

He tightened his hand on her leg and drew her closer, but not close enough. Never had desire overtaken him so quickly, not since he was an untried boy with his first woman. He had to feel her beneath him, length to length. Wrapping his arms under her, he stood, lifting her, and carried her to the bed. He lowered her there, and stood over her, waiting for her protest. Instead, she reached for him. He took her hand, pressed his mouth to her palm, and knelt beside her.

Before his good sense could return, she sat up, gripping his arm for balance while she worked the buttons of his shirt with the other.

“I’ve wanted to do this,” she said, releasing his arm to slide her hand inside, over the hair of his chest, her fingers stroking.

He closed his eyes against the flare of lust. Never had he known a woman so bold. Again, his conscience tried to question him, but he shut it down, stripping his shirt off and lowering himself over her. She glided her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, her fingertips dancing in the ridges of muscle.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he asked.

Her eyelashes drifted upward, and the sultry expression in her eyes told him she knew just what. He lowered his mouth to hers. Their tongues tangled, breath mingled, and he forgot all about the cold as he inhaled her scent. She arched her back to rub her breasts against him, the wool of her dress scratchy. He eased back and looked down at the row of buttons, his desire-fogged mind unable to figure out how to work them. She laughed and began unhooking them herself. He knelt and watched the fabric fall away to reveal her lawn shift and her generous breasts. She eased up on her elbows to wriggle out of the dress and he was mesmerized by the sway of her bosom. They were works of art, full and white, with rosy nipples twisted tight. He coasted his hand down the slope of one and thumbed the tip with the pad of his thumb. Maddy gasped and pressed her breast into his palm.

“Please,” she said, her voice throaty.

The chill permeated for a moment, long enough for him to reach beneath them to yank back the blankets and roll her beneath him, before he lowered his mouth and sucked her nipple into his mouth.

Her cry of delight echoed in the small room, and she wrapped her arms around his head, holding him to her. He pressed the tender bud against the roof of his mouth, then drew on it before releasing it with a pop and turning his attention to the other. She wriggled beneath him, pushing her chemise down farther.

“Let me—the dress,” she murmured.

He didn’t want to let her go, but neither did he want to shove up her skirts and plow into her. She deserved better, and damn, he wanted to hold her, treat her right, feel her come, make her come.

“It’s been a long time,” he said when she sat up and tugged her dress free, then unfastened her petticoats, one at a time. He helped her pull them down her legs, rolled off her stockings, and then she wore only her shift. Her whole body was pink, flushed with desire, but pebbled with chills.

“Get under the blankets, Maddy.”

She did, then watched as he stood and pushed his own pants down. Her lower lip dropped as she stared at his cock, curving up as if beckoning to her. She pushed back the blankets enough so he could see her peel her shift over her head, beautifully naked and waiting for him.

He slid onto the cold sheets next to her and drew the blankets over both of them before he reached for her. She squeaked when his cold hand touched her waist, but then she nestled closer, sliding her hand down his chest to close around his erection. His hips jerked toward her, sliding his cock against her smooth palm. Never had his wife touched him like that, stroked him, and he couldn’t help himself from pumping into her grasp.

“Maddy, I—” With the ultimate will, he broke contact. He turned her onto her back and returned his attention to her breasts, molding them between his hands, tasting her nipples, stroking the texture of them with the tip of his tongue. He trailed his nails down her belly to stroke the curls of her womanhood, then dipping between her thighs. A moan escaped him as he found her wet for him. He teased the petals of her sex apart and teased the hard nub at the apex.

Soft pants escaped her lips as she grasped his hand, holding it to her, moving into his touch. Then she went completely still, her whimpers turning into a quiet keening, and her skin trembled. She repeated his name over and over, in rhythm with his caress.