Authors: Sabine Starr
Lady Gone Bad (6 page)
Chapter 11
L
ady woke with a start, feeling disoriented and confused. Head hurt. Body hurt. Wet all over. She sat in what must be a rocker. Groggy, she opened her eyes a slit to get her bearings.
ady woke with a start, feeling disoriented and confused. Head hurt. Body hurt. Wet all over. She sat in what must be a rocker. Groggy, she opened her eyes a slit to get her bearings.
And almost fell out of the chair. A tall, lean, but oh-so-buck-naked man with his back to her was pulling blue jeans up over his taut, muscular butt. He stood near a table where a single lantern cast a spotlight of golden glow over him while the rest of the room faded into shadows.
She ogled his long legs and perused his fine ass. His back and broad shoulders were thickly muscled. Sleek, tanned skin marred by old scars the color of muscadine wine and fresh crimson wounds spoke of a tough, perilous, predatory life. Dark hair hung loose about his shoulders. She wished she could see his face.
The sight of him bypassed her brain and inflamed her body with hot, dangerous desire. She wanted him with a single-minded intensity that thrust everything from her mind except getting her hands on his hard body. When he buttoned up his blue jeans in front, putting into play the thick muscles of his arms and back, she wanted to howl in frustration.
If he’d been performing in a saloon for ladies, he’d have earned a fortune. As it was, she was ready to buy him a drink, or anything else he was willing to sell. A man shouldn’t be allowed to be so gorgeous. He might take advantage. She was ready for him to do just that, what with her nipples puckering to pebbles, her inner core turning molten, and her skin aching to be stroked.
Yet she could be only so appreciative. She felt like hell. She squeezed her eyes closed. Couldn’t stand the light, or the sight. Made her head pound even harder. Felt like she’d been kicked by a horse. Sleep tugged at her again, or maybe she’d been dreaming all along. She floated down into a fantasy where she lassoed her man, slipped a bit in his mouth, and rode him hard.
When she woke up again, teeth chattering with cold, she felt smothered in wet, clammy clothes. Pain pounded in her head like a blacksmith striking an anvil. She couldn’t stand the lantern light and kept her eyes squeezed tight. She had to get warm, but felt too tired and too hurt to move.
“Cold,” she muttered, her body shivering. “So cold.”
Next thing she knew, strong arms lifted her up against a warm body that smelled of sage and leather. Delicious scent. Luscious heat. Wondrous strength. She snuggled, rubbing her face like a contented cat against a bare, muscular chest. If she was still in a dream, she didn’t want it to end. She felt safe and secure.
As she was carried across the room, she felt woozy with the movement, so she kept her eyes shut. She tried to collect her thoughts, but they skittered away like wild horses. Darkness claimed her again.
When consciousness returned, she was sitting on the side of a bed, head pounding, body freezing. She took deep breaths to hold down the nausea. No dream, surely.
Strong hands unbuttoned her wet shirt, swiftly, efficiently, and tossed it to the floor. Chills pebbled her flesh, causing her nipples to harden. She quickly crossed her arms over her breasts.
Thoughts raced around in her pounding head. Was she drunk? Had she allowed somebody in the bar too much freedom? She shivered from the chill, the pain, the confusion. If this wasn’t a dream, she had to get up and escape, but her body didn’t want to obey her.
Next her boots, socks, Levi’s, and drawers were stripped away. She was completely naked. And vulnerable.
A soft quilt quickly went around her, wrapping her in blessed warmth. Next strong arms tugged her against a hard chest. When a gentle kiss pressed against her lips, she heard the warning cry of Epona in her head. She was in danger of succumbing to a man, letting him get too close, kiss her, hold her in his arms, see her completely naked.
Clarity rang like a bell in her head. The Deputy! She shoved him away and leaped to her feet, holding the quilt around her like a shield. She swayed, but regained her balance.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, even more alarmed when she saw that he was half naked, too.
“Horse kicked you. You’re wet, hurt, cold.” He stepped back, giving her space. “You were fading in and out. I had to get those sopping clothes off you and get you warm.”
“What about that kiss?” She clinched the quilt with her hands, trying not to succumb to the pain pounding in her head.
“Looked like you needed one.”
“What!”
He smiled, shrugged, failed to look innocent. “Body heat. Can’t build a fire. Somebody might see it, even in the rain.”
“Were you taking advantage? You knew I wasn’t thinking straight.”
He sighed, running a hand through his still damp hair. “You think a woman has to be out of her mind to want me?”
“If you think every woman wants you, you must be shy a few marbles.”
“Must’ve lost my mind wantin’ anything to do with you.”
“If you recall, I pulled your fine ass out of the fire.”
“My fine what?” He grinned, crossing his arms over his bare chest.
“Nothing.” She didn’t know how she’d gotten into this argument. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a week. Maybe then her head would stop pounding like a drum.
“You peeked when I changed clothes, didn’t you?”
“I was asleep.”
“The whole time?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
He stepped closer. “If you’re still cold, I can warm you up.”
She frowned, not up to fencing with him. “Why don’t you go put on a shirt?”
“Something bothering you?” He gave her a smoldering look with his smoky gray eyes. “Something I can do to help?”
“Go take a walk outside and cool off in the rain.”
He chuckled, standing there, long legs spread wide, muscular chest lightly furred, big bulge in his Levi’s. He looked like a man way too pleased with himself and his effect on a woman.
She wanted to hit him, or worse, toss him on her bed and have her way with him. But he was the enemy. She’d made a mistake because she was hurt. Once she could forgive herself, but not twice.
Yet Rafe was a stud, a prize stallion worthy of the name.
And she’d just gone into heat.
Chapter 12
R
afe lost his swagger when Lady turned pale, swayed, and sat back hard on the bed. Once more, he felt like a fool. But he had an excuse. Holding her close, seeing her naked, kissing her lips had addled his mind to the point where he wasn’t thinking straight.
afe lost his swagger when Lady turned pale, swayed, and sat back hard on the bed. Once more, he felt like a fool. But he had an excuse. Holding her close, seeing her naked, kissing her lips had addled his mind to the point where he wasn’t thinking straight.
She was tired, hungry, and injured. He ought to be helping her, not entertaining thoughts of a tryst with a wanted woman, no matter how much she set his cock on fire.
“Okay.” He took control of the situation, if not his body. “I’ll take care of us.”
She glanced up, pulling the quilt tighter. “Horses?”
“Dry, fed, and plum tuckered out.”
“Asleep then.”
“Brought our stuff in here. Saddles, blankets, saddlebags, rifles. Put our Colts on the table. Give everything a chance to dry out tonight.”
“Good.”
“Ought to see to our wounds.”
“Salve in my saddlebags.”
“We treat each other’s injuries. Keep it professional.”
“Deal.”
He walked to the table and started to open her saddlebags, but he felt her gaze on him and glanced back.
“Over here. I’ll get what I need.” She adjusted the quilt to free one arm, giving a quick glimpse of soft flesh.
He looked away, not needing any reminder of her lush body. Course she didn’t trust him. No telling what kind of stolen goods, along with Chinese fireworks, she carried with her. He set her saddlebags on the bed and stepped back from temptation.
“Thanks.” She rummaged around before she pulled out a small dark blue jar with a white metal top. She held it up to him. “Best in the world for a quick heal.”
“No label.” He unscrewed and lifted the lid. Pungent odor almost took off his head. “What in the hell is that stuff?”
“Old family recipe.”
“Strong enough to shoo horseflies.”
“Horses do like it.”
He slammed the lid back on the jar. “Don’t you have any people medicine?”
“That’s it.”
“Works?”
She nodded, wincing as she put a hand to her head and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Don’t mean to be a bear,” he said in a gentle voice.
She opened her eyes and held up her hand. “Let me rub salve in your wounds. You’ll feel better. And the smell goes away.”
“Thanks.” He handed her the jar.
“Come closer.”
He turned his back and knelt in front of her. He was putting a lot of trust in an outlaw. Yet they’d ridden long and hard together. In that time, he’d come to understand that she lived by her own code of honor. She wouldn’t try to hurt him, not when he was vulnerable. He’d stake his life on it. And he was.
She started with the abraded ring around his neck, gently applying salve. When she moved on to the bullet graze on his right bicep, he took a deep, steadying breath. She rubbed the salve slowly into one wound after another, even the old scars. He felt almost instant relief from the pain, but she was causing blood to rush south and lodge in his cock. If she didn’t stop soon, he was going to ruin his only dry pair of blue jeans.
He gazed out the door at the rain, trying to cool down.
Outlaw. Outlaw. Outlaw.
He chased the word around in his head like the answer to his salvation or the doom of his existence. No matter how he twisted his mind, he couldn’t turn his body. He remained ready for action, long, hard, and hot.
Outlaw. Outlaw. Outlaw.
He chased the word around in his head like the answer to his salvation or the doom of his existence. No matter how he twisted his mind, he couldn’t turn his body. He remained ready for action, long, hard, and hot.
“There,” she said. “Feel better?”
“Yes. Thanks.” She’d eased one pain, but caused another.
Lady leaned forward, holding the quilt in front while letting it slide down to reveal her back. “Got a bullet graze back there. Can you reach it?”
He’d be happy to help her, more than she’d ever know. He sat on the bed and tried not to think about what he really wanted to do. Instead, he focused on her injuries. A bullet had burned across one shoulder blade, another had cut lower on her side, and one had grazed a bicep. He hated to think how close she’d come to death.
“You’re lucky,” he said, voice tight.
“We both are.”
“Hold still. This may sting.” He dipped a forefinger in the salve and gently massaged her painful wounds, drawing out the process as long as possible.
“Appreciate it,” she said in a husky voice. “Feels better already.”
Her voice brought him back to reality. No more touching. He screwed the lid on the jar, tucked it in his pocket, and stood up.
“Ruined my shirt,” she said. “Don’t know what to sleep in. Everything’s wet.”
“You can use my dry shirt.” The thought made him even harder, if that was possible.
“What will you wear?”
“Don’t need one tonight. My other shirt will dry by tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
He stalked over to his saddlebags, jerked out his blue chambray shirt, and tossed it to her. “I’ll take first watch. Check the horses and put salve on their wounds.”
“That’s good. You want me to fix food?”
“No. You need sleep.”
She pulled two packages out of a saddlebag. “Here’s cornpone and beef jerky.”
He walked over to the open back door. “You go ahead and eat. I’ll get some later.”
“Okay. I’ll put it on the table for you.”
“Looks like the rain is letting up.”
“Rafe?”
He glanced back at her wrapped in the colorful quilt, clutching his shirt. The sight made his heart beat way too fast.
“Thanks for the help. Wake me when it’s my turn to watch.”
“Get some rest.”
He leaped out back, not caring if he got wet all over again. Last thing he wanted was to sleep in the same room with Lady Gone Bad, not when she wore nothing but his own damn shirt.
Chapter 13
L
ady sat at the kitchen table, the toes of her right foot wedged under a too short table leg to keep the top level as she cleaned her Colt .44. Ammunition lay strewn about a half-eaten can of beans, spoon sticking out of the top. She’d cleaned her Winchester and the long barrel gleamed in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the open front door of the station.
ady sat at the kitchen table, the toes of her right foot wedged under a too short table leg to keep the top level as she cleaned her Colt .44. Ammunition lay strewn about a half-eaten can of beans, spoon sticking out of the top. She’d cleaned her Winchester and the long barrel gleamed in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the open front door of the station.
She felt logy headed from her hard night’s sleep. She’d stumbled out of bed, no Rafe in sight, checked on the drowsy horses, and relieved herself in the bushes. Back inside, she’d changed out of his shirt into her own damp blue jeans and stained shirt. She’d pulled her hair back into a tight chignon and was ready to go.
At least she wasn’t quite as tired as the night before, but she still felt as if she’d been run over by a team of mules. A dull throb and a knot the size of a hen’s egg reminded her of the kick to her head.
She’d already packed her saddlebags. Weapons were now top priority. As soon as she loaded them, she’d saddle Jipsey and be on her way. Rafe wouldn’t have gone far, not without his horse. Maybe she could get away before he returned and possibly caused trouble. She’d folded his shirt and placed it on the rocker, pushing away a reluctance to part with it, or him. When he didn’t waken her for guard duty, she’d slept with his scent all night long. Now she felt as if he’d somehow crawled under her skin along with his smell of sage and leather. She didn’t want or need the distraction.
As she spun the cylinder in her six-shooter and reached for cartridges to reload, she heard Epona’s warning cry in her head. She glanced up as Rafe stepped inside, a dark, menacing silhouette that filled the doorway.
All the air seemed to leave the room, sucked into his presence. She felt her heart speed up, a fast thud in her chest that left her breathless. She could smell him, sense him, see him with an intensity that belied rational thought. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms, seeking his lips for a kiss that would drown the aching sorrow of the past, fill the lonely hunger of her soul, and warm her future with heat and passion.
Instinctively, she stood up, feeling a silly smile spread across her face just at the sight of him. Hope swelled in her heart. Maybe life held more than the quest for justice and the fulfillment of her parents’ dreams. Perhaps life held something special for her.
“Rafe.” She tasted his name on her lips like blackberries and sweet cream. “I guess this is where we part ways.” Yet some young place in her heart held out hope that someone would, at last, remain with her.
“Ready to go?” He stepped into the room, boot heels thudding against the wooden floor. Beard stubble accented his strong jaw, giving him the appearance of a desperado.
No warm welcome. All business. No longer in silhouette, she could see the expression on his face, closed, severe, dangerous. Smile fled to frown. Instinctively, she gripped the Colt .44, wishing she’d already loaded her weapon. She fumbled with a bullet, glancing down to see what she was doing although she’d been trained to work in the dark.
“Don’t load.”
She looked up at him as she pushed a cartridge home and spun the cylinder. One chance, at least, if she needed it.
Sunlight glinted on metal as he pulled an object from behind his back and tossed it on the table, scattering bullets everywhere.
She knew some women might associate metal with a gift of jewelry, rings, or necklaces. Rafe didn’t disappoint. He’d chosen bracelets. Trouble was, his gift came with a key. “Handcuffs?”
“Put them on. You’re under arrest.”
She sat down hard, feeling all her hopes and dreams rush out. Epona’s warning had come too late. “You said you wouldn’t mention the Hangin’ Judge again,” she said, reminding him of his promise.
“And I’m keeping my word on that.”
“Rafe, I saved your life.” She held down her anger through sheer force of will. She must think clearly if she had any hope of turning this to her favor.
“You dang near got me strung up.”
“Just a game gone wrong.”
“More than that when you’re on the business end of a rope.”
“You’ll never get me out of Indian Territory alive. Fort Smith is a long ride from here. All the outlaws have lookouts.”
“We’re not going to Fort Smith.”
“But that’s Indian Territory’s court.” Confusion warred with anger, making her wonder if she understood anything about him.
“I’ve got more than one fish to fry.” He pointed at the handcuffs. “I’ll let you off easy. You can cuff your hands in front.”
“But we’ve been through so much together.” She stared at him, trying to find the gentle healer or ardent lover in the hard-faced man confronting her.
“We may be a lot of things, but right now, you’re an outlaw and I’m a deputy with a warrant for your arrest.”
“Can’t you saddle your horse and ride out? Forget you ever saw me?” She gave negotiation one more try.
“No.”
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she looked down at the pistol in her hand. One bullet stood between her and arrest. Could she shoot Rafe? Would he shoot her?
“Don’t try.”
Beneath the steel in his voice, she heard the slight thread that still connected him to her. She pointed her Colt .44 at his heart. “I’ve got one shot. Doubt I’ll miss at this range.”
“Give the court a chance. You’re a woman so—”
“Rafe, I can’t let you take me in.”
“I can’t let you go free.”
“If you want to live, walk out of here right now.”
“Lady . . . Sharlot—”
She caught his tell, a slight narrowing of his eyes, before he lunged at her. She adjusted her aim, going against everything she knew and had been taught, to hit him in the arm, not the heart, as she squeezed the trigger. Yet her six-shooter dry-fired, pin hitting empty cylinder. She rapid-fired as he came at her, but she kept hitting empty. Just as he reached her, grabbing the handcuffs, she finally hit home. A loud bang filled the room and smoke stung her nose as she braced against the recoil of the six-shooter. But the bullet didn’t stop him, even though it grazed his shoulder, gouging a red path across his flesh.
Growling, he jerked the Colt .44 from her hands, slammed it on the table, pulled her hands together in front of her, and handcuffed them. When he stepped back, he glared at her with steel gray eyes.
She frowned. “No fair using brute strength.”
“Hell! I didn’t pull my Peacemaker on you.” He glanced down at his arm where blood stained his torn shirt. “You tried to kill me.”
“You’re not getting any more of my salve. You can hurt all the way to Fort Smith.” She was as mad at herself as at him. If she’d taken true aim, she’d be free now. But he’d be hurt. Maybe dead. She couldn’t stand the thought.
“We’re not going to Fort Smith.”
“Liar! You’re taking me to the Hangin’ Judge.”
“I’m taking you back to Texas.”
“Texas?”
“Closest U.S. Marshal is in Paris. We’re going there.”
“But why take me there?”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He sighed, put fingers to his wound, and held out his hand stained with crimson. “You’re more trouble than any dozen outlaws.”
“That’s because I’m righteous.”
“You’re anything but that.” He hesitated, his gaze searching her face. “Would you really have killed me?”
“I’m usually a dead shot.”
“Pulled your aim?”
“Wish I hadn’t.”
“When I finally get you to Fort Smith, you’ll probably get some jail time, nothing more.”
She felt a sickening drop in the pit of her stomach. She had not a moment to spare. Copper was already on borrowed time. If she didn’t find the stallion soon, he’d be put down. If that happened, she’d never get a chance to save him or get justice for her parents.
“Let’s load up and get out of here.”
“Rafe, please, you don’t understand.” She tried one last time to reason with him. “You’ve got to let me go.”
“Save it for the judge. I’ve heard it all before.”
“Not
my
story.” If he’d been a reasonable man who would listen to her truth and believe her, she’d have told him why she rode the outlaw trail, why she risked her life, why she had no time to waste. But he was a lawman. Without any shred of proof to back up her claim, he’d laugh at her, at the very least. To him, she was an outlaw, nothing more, nothing less. He thought he had the proof to back up his truth, his claim, his right to judge her. But she hadn’t survived this long without a few tricks up her sleeve. He’d learn that a woman who couldn’t get justice as a lady threw all caution to the wind when she turned bad.
my
story.” If he’d been a reasonable man who would listen to her truth and believe her, she’d have told him why she rode the outlaw trail, why she risked her life, why she had no time to waste. But he was a lawman. Without any shred of proof to back up her claim, he’d laugh at her, at the very least. To him, she was an outlaw, nothing more, nothing less. He thought he had the proof to back up his truth, his claim, his right to judge her. But she hadn’t survived this long without a few tricks up her sleeve. He’d learn that a woman who couldn’t get justice as a lady threw all caution to the wind when she turned bad.
“We’ll make Paris by nightfall.”
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