Much Ado About Marshals (Hearts of Owyhee) (2011) (20 page)

You big coward!
Daisy turned the knob and opened the door. There weren’t any lights on, but she knew the marshal was out on his rounds. After she placed the fingerprinting kit on his desk, she removed her gloves. Should she sit in his chair, or on his bed?
In for a penny, in for a pound
. She’d just sit on his bed until he got there.

Chapter 11

Daisy felt her way to the back of the marshal’s office, veering to the right. The marshal slept on the right side of the doorway to the jail. Deputy Kunkle slept on the left side. Her heart thumped. What if Deputy Kunkle decided to come home early?

Dismissing the possibility as an unreasonable fear—after all, the deputy seemed quite happy with the Widows Proctor and Courtney fighting over him—she decided to stick to her plan. Honey Beaulieu certainly didn’t change her plans in the middle of an operation. She had contingencies. Daisy would have contingencies, too. If Deputy Kunkle came in, then she’d just have to ask him to leave, and that was that.

Besides, she was just being a ninny. After a few more steps, she felt the bedstead, then the sheets. She took another step and sat.

“Oomph!”

Daisy sprang to her feet, heart thumping and dizzy with mortification. The marshal was in his bed!

His arm snaked out, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her to the bed, tucking her in front of him. A catch in her breath and a momentarily struggle brought no results, but then she realized he was falling right into her plan. She snuggled into his warmth, his breath fluttering through the hair on the nape of her neck.

Soon, he lay still, a quiet snore his only sound. What a pickle! How could she possibly seduce a sleeping man?

She rolled over—a delicate maneuver on such a narrow cot occupied by such a large man whose arms were wrapped around her—and shook him. “Marshal,” she whispered.

“Ummm.” He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head.

She lifted her face. “Marshal!”

He kissed her full on the mouth, so tenderly. “Kiss me back, Daisy.”

Her pulse raced, and she fought to keep her composure. After all, she was supposed to be the one doing the seducing, and now he was asking her to do just that! She’d kissed him before, she could do it again. She pressed her lips to his, her tummy tightening, her breasts aching for his touch. His body relaxed and settled into the bed. Mid-kiss, he resumed snoring.

“You oaf!” She balled up her fist and clobbered him in the ribs. “You’re drunk.”

“Oompf!” He raised his head, then collapsed to the pillow again.

She struggled against his arms, but he didn’t have the least inclination to let her go. Nor did he seem to have the inclination to do whatever it was that came after kissing. Nor did she have the foggiest notion what to do next. She’d always heard that men were easy prey to a woman’s charms, and that men were especially amorous after a few drinks. The marshal had obviously had a few drinks too many.

“Water,” the marshal rasped.

“If you’d get your paws off of me and let me off this bed, I could get you some water,” she snapped, “although you don’t deserve it.”

But then she reconsidered. Maybe water would wake him up long enough to do the deed. She sure couldn’t do it herself. The schoolgirl whispers had been decidedly vague concerning the next stage of lovemaking that came after the kissing part. All she knew was that his lower appendage got big—she’d noticed that before, so he couldn’t possibly be immune to her charms—and it went inside her. How that happened was a mystery that she aimed to solve.

And while the whole process sounded disgusting, her body disagreed and seemed quite anxious for the marshal to work his magic. She pushed his arms away from her and jumped out of bed before he could grab her again. In order to seduce him, she’d have to wake him up, and to wake him up, she’d fully comply with his request for water.

She lit both lanterns, hoping light would register in his drunken mind, then poured a glass of water. She brought both the pitcher and the glass to his bedside. “Here’s your water, marshal.”

“Hmmm.” He put his hand over his eyes. “Marshal?”

She sighed. Then man was truly discombobulated. “Here’s your water.”

Still he didn’t take it. She heard a snore, then visualized herself stuck in the middle of nowhere, feeding chickens, with forty-seven children of various ages hollering at her. Heavens above! She upended the water pitcher and doused the drunken marshal.

He shot up, spluttering.

She handed him the glass. “Here’s your water, marshal,” Daisy said, using her absolute sweetest tone.

“Thanks.” He downed the entire glassful. “Aw, hell, my bed is soaked.” He struggled to his feet. “What’d you do that for?”

She crossed her arms under her breasts and tapped her toe on the plank floor. “I think, marshal, you are entirely inebriated.”

And that her mission of seduction had gone down in a blaze of flames—or a pitcher of water.
Chickens, here I come.

Cole wiped the water from his face and combed his fingers through his hair. His body ached with need as he remembered Miss Daisy’s kiss and her body pressed against his. Somehow, he had to sort out what he’d imagined and what really did happen.

He studied her face. She still held the water pitcher, frowning. But did he also see passion in her eyes? Passion to match his own? But he was in no shape to get the job done. Except he could have sworn she had lain beside him, and his groin agreed. He had to have her. Now.

The fuzz in his brain warned him of some vague threat, but his need demanded he take care of business with the woman who had tantalized him for a month. He drew the outline of her lips with his fingertip, then lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss only fueled the fire.

He unbuttoned the front of her dress, kissing her throat and watching her green eyes turn darker after each button was freed. She wanted him—her eyes couldn’t lie—and his already intense need for her heightened.

He pushed her shimmy down to expose the tops of her breasts. The glimpse of them he’d had once before had branded them in his mind, and not a night went by but what he dreamt of kissing them. His lips tingled, and he
had
to kiss them.

She stood statue still as he memorized her, not responding except for a tiny sharp intake of breath. He ached all over as he trailed kisses from her throat to those inviting rounded mounds pushed up by her corset. He had to have more.

The corset, that was the problem. He pushed, but it didn’t budge. The corset had to go, but, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember how to get the damned thing off. Only that he shouldn’t, but that he would. “Take it off.”

Obediently, she pulled her dress over her head and threw it on Bosco’s cot. Then, slowly, slowly enough to make him shudder with need, she began unlacing that infernal corset. “Don’t you want to remove your wet shirt, marshal?”

Yeah, good idea. He ripped it off, buttons flying, all the while not able to take his eyes off her. She fumbled with her laces, then the hooks. Finally, the cursed garment came loose and she threw it on top of her dress.

Cole had never seen such a beautiful sight in his entire life as Daisy standing before him in only her shimmy. Again, a disturbing thought that he should send her away plagued him. She stepped forward and ran her hands down his chest and hooked her fingers inside the waist of his pants. The ache to plunge inside her was so great, he would have done damned near anything to get her under him.

Still, he knew he shouldn’t do this, although he couldn’t remember why. He pushed those thoughts away and kissed her again, his tongue probing her warmth, readying her for more. He was sure as hell ready. She wiggled against him and he nearly lost it right then and there. “Take off your shimmy.”

She shucked it without hesitation. Cole growled when he saw her perfect breasts—full, rounded, with nipples perked up just waiting for his mouth. He obliged, licking, sucking, laving his tongue over one of the sweet tips. Her breath quickened, and he grew even harder knowing she loved his touch as much as he loved touching her, feeling her nipples with his lips. He moved to the left breast, sucking the left one while tugging on the other one with his hand.

Her knees buckled. He caught her as she fell into him, kissing him the way he’d kissed her. But a man could only stand so much before the shootin’ match was over. He pushed her down on the cot, and fell on top of her, nuzzling the soft skin of her neck.

“Marshal?” Her voice sounded soft and breathless.

He brushed his hand along her side.

“Marshal?”

He slid his hand over her thigh.

“
Marshal!
”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he groaned, “anything you want.”

“You’re smashing me.” She pushed on his chest. “I can’t breathe.”

He rolled off her, nearly falling off the bed. The narrow cot was barely big enough for him, let alone the two of them.

“What comes after the kissing?”

The flicker of the lantern in her passion-filled eyes urged Cole to ignore another warning floating around in the back of his mind. “The touching. I have to touch you.” He kissed her breast. “Here.” He kissed her nipple. “Here.” He kissed her belly button. “Here.”

Her breath caught, and he knew that she wondered if he would kiss her even lower. He brushed his lips against her woman’s hair. “Here.”

She was hot and wet, ready for him. Sliding his hand up her inner thigh to the center of her need, he asked, “Daisy, do you want me to go on?”

“What’s next?”

He wanted her so badly, he would have died if she had said no. He flicked the center of her passion with his tongue, over and over.

“Marshal, stop! I feel so…
so
…
”

He didn’t stop. Licking, tasting, he wanted to drive her as wild as he felt. Her pelvis arched, her breathing quickened, she jammed her fingers in his hair and pressed his face into her, moaning and quivering at her release. Ah, how he loved this woman! He hugged her tenderly as her breathing slowed.

“
Marshal
.” She dragged the word out, long and slow.

Never had he seen a more beautiful woman in her completion. His yearning had come nearly to the point of pain—he had to be inside her. “Sweetheart, there’s more,” he murmured in her ear. Inching away from her, he stood and unbuttoned his britches.

Footfalls boomed on the boardwalk. Shit! He grabbed her clothes and shoved them under the cot, then snatched Bosco’s blanket and threw it over her. “Hush, Daisy. Someone’s coming.”

Bosco walked in and threw his hat on the desk. “Whoo-wee! That there was some kind of dance. Nearly wore my boots plumb out, what with those widders clammering over me such.” He sat in the office chair and pulled off a boot. “I’d surely like to live in this here town. Yes, sirree, these folks know how to put on a doin’s, all right. Didn’t git lucky, though. Those two purty ladies was watching one another like vultures over a dead fish.”

Cole shrugged on his shirt, frantically thinking of some way or another to get rid of his friend. He needed several minutes to get Daisy dressed and out of there. Not to mention that if there ever was a time he wanted to shoot Bosco, this was it.

“Put your boots back on, Bosco, I have a favor to ask.” What, he didn’t know.

“Ah, Cole, it’s late. And I admit it, I had a few too many barley pops. I’d do ‘bout anything for you, you know that, but I ain’t got much left in me tonight.” But he pulled his boot back on, to Cole’s relief.

“I, uh, need you to check Mrs. Courtney’s yard. I thought I saw one of the Rankin brothers there earlier tonight.”

“Shit-fire!” Bosco sprang to his feet, knocking the chair backwards. “Them sumbitches go nosing around my woman, they’ll be breathing out their assholes.” He grabbed his gunbelt and charged out the door.

Daisy sat up, looking adorably disheveled. Cole removed her clothes from under the bed and handed them to her. “Better let me help, it’ll be faster.”

“Don’t you want me here?”

He let out a deep breath, but all his frustration and exasperation stayed right where it was. “Daisy, you have no idea how much I want you here. But you can’t be here, not right now. I gotta think, figure things out between us. There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Are you married?”

“No, now put your clothes on.” He held her shimmy for her to put on, then grabbed her corset. “You’ll have to tell me how to fasten this thing on you.”

But she grabbed it from his hands and had it on in no time. Her dress, too. “You aren’t going to propose, are you?” she asked quietly.

“Huh?” Cole felt like a louse. He never should have let himself get carried away like that, and it would be best for the both of them if he left before she found out who he really was. He knew leaving would hurt her, but it would hurt her a whole lot more if she found herself married to a liar and an imposter. Thank God that Bosco had saved her from ruin. “Let’s get you home.”

Those Rankin brothers would have him hot on their tails by first light. It was time to get out of this town before any he got in any deeper.