In the Marshal's Arms (7 page)

But at some point in the night, she reached for him, her hands soft, her lips eager. She slipped her hand into his long johns and stroked him until he was hard—which took about half a minute. She rose over him, the heavy braid falling over one shoulder, her breasts peeking out through the opening in her gown, and she took him into her heat.

“How are you so wet?” he asked through his teeth, finding her naked hips under the voluminous skirt.

“Dreaming about you.” She captured his hands and brought them to her breasts, squeezing as she moved up and down on his cock, her movements erratic so that he thought he’d slide free. “I need your mouth.”

With a groan, he curled upward, pulling his hand free and baring her breast for his mouth. Her fingers dug into the back of his scalp as he suckled hard.

He’d never known a woman like her, one who was so independent, who knew what she wanted, in bed and out. He’d never experienced sex when he was barely awake and it was all sensation and desire.

She guided his head to her other breast. He shoved her braid out of the way and curved her hand underneath to lift the heavy globe, stroking his thumb over the underside. Her pussy bathed his cock until all he could think of was her tight, wet channel. He tried to lift into her but had no leverage. He dragged her hips closer and bent his legs behind her but even then his movements were frustrated.

He released her breast and lay back, hands on her hips as he pounded into her, struggling to match her rhythm, unable to, but driving her to a quivering mass. The muscles of her thighs trembled, her inner core rippled. And then she let go with a cry, her body arched, her braid brushing the top of his legs, and he jerked as the orgasm ripped through him, pouring him into her.

When she’d fallen back to sleep beside him, he laid in the dark and wondered how the hell he’d let himself fall in love with her.

He had to tell her the truth.

The next day was much warmer. In typical Texas fashion, the temperatures were downright springlike. The snow had melted, making the yard muddy, but that didn’t keep Maddy inside. As Rhys worked on the chicken coop, he watched as Maddy stopped hanging laundry to play with Jack in the yard, her hair loose about her face.

She tossed her hair and looked up at him with that brilliant smile. It hit him in the gut, followed by that stab of guilt. He’d tell her the truth tonight and hope that she understood his objective enough to overlook his lies. She’d been an actress after all. She knew the importance of keeping in character.

Who was he kidding? She was going to be furious, and hurt.

As much as he hated the thought, he had to do it. He’d started earlier, during breakfast, but the words stuck in his throat. He told himself he was worried about losing ground on finding Luke Colby, but now he knew he couldn’t go one more day without telling her.

He climbed down the ladder and crossed the yard. She tugged the stick from Jack’s mouth and straightened with a smile.

“I was thinking if the weather stays nice we can go to town tomorrow.”

“Why?” he asked, taken aback. They’d gone just three days ago.

“I want to get more of the sausage before winter sets in.”

“All the way to town for sausage?”

“I’m not likely to get it for a while.”

Pure fear shot through him. He’d heard of women having cravings when they were with child. She could be pregnant, something he hadn’t considered when he’d emptied his seed inside her again and again. He and Polly hadn’t had any children, so he hadn’t considered. But now…

Even if these weren’t those kinds of cravings, it didn’t mean she wasn’t pregnant. She wouldn’t know right away, would she? She might find out long after he was gone. He lifted his hand to his face and rubbed.

“We need to talk.”

She cocked her head and a slight frown marred the smooth skin of her forehead. “All right. I have another batch of clothes on the stove. As soon as I’m done with that, all right?”

He rocked back on his heels. He wanted her undivided attention, so, yes, he’d wait. He helped her pin the remaining laundry on the line, then she hurried into the house.

***

Maddy hauled the sheets out of the pot and into the sink. She’d let it drain a bit and put another load in. She wondered if Rhys had anything she needed to wash. She’d only seen him in two shirts. Surely he had more, and if he didn’t, maybe she could use the fabric she’d bought and make him one. She could use buttons from one of Edward’s old shirts. She’d just make a pattern out of one of Rhys’s shirts. While she waited for the laundry to cool off enough to handle, she picked up his bags. After just a moment of wondering if she might be overstepping her bounds, she reached inside.

Her fingers brushed something cold and round. She closed her fingers around it, her thumb brushing the surface. She knew what it was before she saw it laying in her palm.

A silver marshal’s star.

Chapter Five

Maddy could hardly catch all the thoughts racing through her head. Had he killed a marshal and taken his badge?

That her first thought painted him as an outlaw alarmed her. But the only other option was that he was a marshal and he’d lied to her. Her whole body ran cold at the thought. These past few nights in his arms—the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d touched her so reverently. Had anything this week been real?

She jolted when Jack started barking, sharp and alarmed. She almost dropped the badge, then tightened her fingers around it, rising to look out the window. Before she had a chance to do more than count two riders approaching, three steps reverberated on the porch and the door swung in.

Her whole body tensed when Rhys stopped, facing her, his eyes traveling from his bag at her feet to the star clutched in her hand. His jaw clenched, and when he met her gaze, real regret flashed in his eyes.

“Luke Colby is here.”

Luke. Her knees wobbled. That was why Rhys was here. Her suspicion was confirmed when he grabbed his six-shooter from its holster by the door. He lowered it to his thigh and stepped outside.

“Stay inside, away from the window.”

“Are you going to shoot him?” The shrillness of her voice startled them both.

His mouth formed a grim line as he reached for the door handle. “If it comes to that.” He closed the door behind him.

Rhys’s fingers flexed on the grip of his pistol as he stayed in the shadows of the porch. Of all the damn times for Luke to show up, for Maddy to be nosing around in his things. Christ. But he couldn’t let concern for anything but her safety cloud his thoughts. He took in the two riders approaching down the hill, Luke Colby on the paint, and who he suspected was Tim Givens on the roan.

“Put my rifle by the door,” he said through the door, and hoped she could hear him over the barking dog, hoped she would do it. The way she’d looked when he walked in, pale with shock, he wasn’t sure she’d respond. He couldn’t be sure she didn’t want him dead.

Luke pulled his horse up into the yard. Jack, losing his mind on the porch, made the roan toss his head and shy away from the porch, so Tim Givens guided his mount to the center of the yard. Luke tilted his hat back to look at Rhys.

“Marshal.”

“Colby.”

“Been waiting here long?”

“Few days. Snow slow you down?”

“Not as much as the whores in Fort Worth.”

Colby flashed a grin that might be considered charming. He knew now it had worked on Maddy. He shook off the thought. He couldn’t let himself think of her now.

“So what’s going to happen now, Marshal? You going to shoot me?”

“I’d like to take you in alive.”

“I don’t intend to go peacefully. And my man Tim there?” Colby inclined his head toward the other outlaw, who had calmed his mount and was sitting completely still, his rifle leveled over his pommel, aimed at Rhys.

Colby hadn’t cleared his holster but Rhys knew well enough that he could draw before Rhys could put Givens down. Shit. He didn’t want Maddy to see him killed.

Didn’t want her to see anyone killed. But he didn’t see a way out of this without violence.

Shit. She hoped she listened to him and stayed down.

“Luke.”

All of the blood rushed out of his head when the door swung open and Maddy stepped out. Only his years of experience kept him from pivoting toward her.

“Jesus, Maddy. Get back inside,” he said through his teeth.

“Maddy,” Luke drawled, still making no move for his gun. “Helping the marshal with his little ambush.”

The sound of a load racking in a shotgun echoed across the yard. Holy hell. Maddy had his shotgun, and she could barely hold the rifle she’d greeted him with. Rhys eased back so he could keep his attention on the outlaws and still disarm Maddy, who pointed the shotgun at Luke.

She may be pissed off at Rhys but at least she wasn’t aiming at him.

“Put the gun down, Maddy.”

“No. It’s two to one. I’m evening the odds. Then you can all get the hell off my land.”

Tension thickened the air, and his gut tightened. He couldn’t keep track of all three. Every instinct told him Givens was waiting for an opportunity to fire. When he did, Colby would draw. Rhys hoped he’d fire at him, and not Maddy. Rhys played out everything out in his head, as he always did, accounting for the variables. Maddy being one of the variables, he also prayed.

Then, everything happened at once. Maddy shifted the weight of the gun. Givens fired, either threatened by the move or taking advantage of Rhys’s momentary distraction. The post inches from Rhys’s head exploded in splinters. Rhys launched himself sideways, knocking Maddy to the porch as his finger reflexively pulled the trigger.

Givens dropped out of the saddle, a hole between his eyes. Even as Rhys registered that, another shot rang out. Beneath him, Maddy cried out in pain. Rhys had to shut that out as he focused on Colby. He trained his gun on Luke, who fired another shot. Rage tried to overtake reason, but he couldn’t kill the outlaw. He fired, putting a bullet through Luke’s gun hand. Colby’s pistol went flying, and he grabbed his wrist, staring at his ruined hand.

But he still sat astride his horse, and if he thought past the pain another moment, he’d take off. Even as Rhys listened to Maddy’s labored breathing beneath him, he made a choice and shot the man in the leg. Colby dropped out of the saddle. Rhys pushed himself off Maddy and crossed the yard. He scooped up Colby’s gun, then looked down at the bleeding, wounded man. He frisked the outlaw and collected two more guns and a knife, then slammed the butt of his gun against Colby’s skull. The outlaw fell into the mud.

Only then could Rhys return to the porch and dropped to his knees beside Maddy. She stared up at him, sweating and pale.

“Where?” he asked, but her lips only parted on shallow breaths.

His gaze locked on the blood blooming on her shoulder. He reached beneath her skirt to rip her petticoat. He wadded the soft cotton and pressed it to her wound. She barely managed a mewl of pain.

He needed to assess the damage. Had the bullet gone through, or was it lodged inside her? A steady stream of curses poured from his lips as he ripped her blouse open. He’d seen blood plenty in his line of work, but seeing it welling from a bullet hole in the woman he loved made him want to retch. But he couldn’t allow himself the luxury. He was her only help.

Holding the torn petticoat against the hole in her skin, he eased her onto her uninjured arm to look at her back, searching for an exit wound.

He didn’t know whether or not to be relieved that it hadn’t exploded through her shoulder. No, the damned ball was stuck inside her and he had to get it out before he stopped the bleeding with stitches.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, remembering that second shot. He lowered her onto her back and looked at her face, but she only blinked at him. Blood covered her breast. He couldn’t delay. He drew out his knife and sliced her blouse and skirt. He inspected her pale, clammy skin, but saw no other injuries. Thank God.

Her eyes drifted shut and panic squeezed his chest. Was she losing consciousness?

Rhys sat on his heels and considered his options. He could move her to the bed and try to get the ball out himself, hoping he didn’t cause too much damage, or hook up the team, get her in the wagon and haul her over the hills and into town.

No, he was going to have to stop the bleeding. He scooped her into his arms and shoved the door open with his shoulder. The scrabble of the dog’s nails on the floor drew his attention and he looked into Jack’s eyes. The animal’s eyes eyebrows were drawn together as if in concern. If only the damned dog could help him.

Damn it, he needed Luke’s help. He hated even considering it, but he had no choice. Once he insured that Maddy was as comfortable as he could make her, he strode across the yard and dragged Colby up by his good arm.

The outlaw’s hand was a mess, missing two fingers, and he was pale and sweaty himself. But he’d shot Maddy and he’d help her before he got attention himself.

When he prodded Colby into the room ahead of him, the first thing he noticed was that Maddy wasn’t passed out as he’d thought. Eyes swimming with tears of pain, she watched them from the bed, her hand pressing the bloody cloth to her shoulder. Her breathing seemed to have evened out, seemed less panicked.

“Rhys,” she said.

“I’ll get you fixed up,” he promised, prompting Colby into a chair. He needed to give the man some cursory medical attention so the outlaw didn’t pass out while he was helping.

He used Maddy’s ruined dress as a tourniquet for Colby’s wounds. The bullet had passed through the meaty part of Colby’s lower leg, and the bleeding was sluggish, but Rhys tied it off anyway.

“I have whiskey in my saddle bag. For the pain,” Colby said.

“Yours or hers?” Rhys muttered.

“Mostly mine, but she can have some, too, if she needs it.”

Rhys went outside to retrieve the saddle bag from the skittish horse, then all but ran inside. Once Colby had drunk what he needed, Rhys hauled him to his feet.