Night Hawk (11 page)

“Told you I'd be here,” she said quietly with her back to him.

Humor twitched his lips. Yet another surprise, and such a welcome one that he asked without thought, “Can I hold you?”

The big brass bed creaked as she scooted to his side. He drew her to him and wrapped her in his arms. Her warmth, softness, and sweet scent brought such peace he never wanted to let her go. “This is all I want.”

Her reply was hushed. “And if I want more?”

He stilled. She turned in his arms and he could see her looking up at him through the silvery moonlight. “Just one night. No claims or ties afterwards. That okay?”

Bewitched, he studied her with wonder. He wanted what she was offering more than anything he'd wanted in a long time, so he soundlessly lowered his mouth to hers.

Once again, the sweetness made him ache. Her mouth fit his perfectly but she kissed him back with an inexperience he found surprising yet stirring. He drew away and traced the sassy mouth he'd been longing to taste. “Still new at this, aren't you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“The way you kiss.”

“What's the matter with it?”

He chuckled at her defensive retort. “Nothing, you just don't do it like someone with a lot of experience at it. That's all.” He moved a finger over her lips and down her throat.

“I'm not a virgin, if that's what's worrying you,” she said, reacting to his caresses by closing her eyes.

“I know, and it isn't.” He couldn't believe how soft her skin felt.

She slowly traced his mouth in much the same fashion he'd traced hers. Her touch made his senses flare like July 4 fireworks. “Are you changing your mind?”

He kissed her again. “Only unless you want me to.”

“I don't.”

So he spent the next few moments learning the taste and textures of her mouth, sampling the soft skin of her jaw, brushing his lips against the smooth copper column of her throat, and thrilling to the feel of her curves and hollows veiled by a thin, silky fabric beneath his mapping hands. “What are you wearing?”

“A peignoir. Lola says it's a French nightgown.”

“Lola?” he echoed while he continued to explore.

“She thought I should wear it tonight,” she breathed.

He couldn't suppress his chuckling and teased his tongue against a berry-hard nipple. “You two teaming up on me?”

“Sort of,” she said, and her breath caught as he took the veiled berry into his mouth. He circled it with his tongue and pulled at it gently with his teeth.

“It's very pretty,” she choked out while he continued to play and tug. “Do you wish to see it?”

He raised up to capture her mouth again, “Maybe later. Bit busy as the moment . . .”

Kissing his way back down the thin expanse of her throat while his hands continued a slow exploration of her form, he planted a line of lazy kisses over the swells above the gown and then filled his hands with the pliant flesh. The weight burned his palms and he rubbed his thumbs over the nipples until they turned as hard as gemstones. He bit each one gently. When she moaned and tipped her head back against the pillow, he used the tip of his tongue to trace the hollow of her arched throat.

She groaned again. He smiled and ran his hands down her ribs and over her thighs. The short peignoir had risen up to bare her thighs and hips. He impatiently tore the bedding away so he could feast his eyes and touch the lean, firm limbs. He teased a finger over the curling hair and bent to kiss the circle of her navel.

Maggie shuddered in response to the languid delight she was being treated to. The few men she'd been to bed with in her past hadn't done any of this, so she was unprepared to be touched like she was made of priceless crystal or to have her breasts fondled so deliciously. She never knew that her nipples could be made to plead, or that a man's tongue against the corners of her lips could leave her breathless. Every place he touched, kissed, or sucked left a torrid flame in its wake and she was on fire. She wanted to ask him why he was going about this so leisurely when the others before had not, but she was too busy trying to keep from crying out in celebration of the gloriousness of it all.

And as he placed his blazing lips against her navel, she crooned and then shimmered to the possessive pass of his large hands traveling boldly up and down her thighs. His journeying hands found her ankles and then her toes. He bent and paid each one searing tribute, and she just knew she was going to die.

He kissed his way back up her inner thigh. In response her swollen core pulsed in tandem with the sinuous rhythm claiming her hips. She assumed he'd push himself into her now, and she steeled herself for the part of coupling she didn't particularly care for, but once again he showed her how little she really knew. Wicked, wicked hands plied the damp gate to her soul and then focused lustily on the tiny temple of flesh that adorned it, making her spread her legs shamelessly. Desire stacked up inside her like a burgeoning summer storm and she found herself twisting and crooning and rising in uninhibited response. When he lowered his head and flicked his tongue against the throbbing kernel, it was too much. She shattered. Crying out hoarsely as her body buckled and trembled, she felt the red-hot pieces of herself swept away like cinders on the wind. The sensations were so powerful she fell back to earth with tears in her eyes.

Ian heard the sob and froze. “Maggie? Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Then what's wrong?”

She sat up and used the backs of her hands to dash the tears from her cheeks. “I'm not sure.” She looked at him in the moonlight. “The way you touched me. Is that how it should be?”

Ian wasn't sure he understood her question. “You mean that last part that gave you release?”

“Is that what all that shuddering is called?”

“There's a few other names for it, but
release
is one of them.” He paused a moment and tried to see the expression on her face. “You never had a release before?”

“No,” she replied in a subdued tone. “Never had a man touch me like I was fine crystal, or kiss me so sweetly, either.”

Ian was floored. He ran his eyes over her shadowy form.
What kind of men had she been with in the past?

“Carson Epps. And—the man. The one he brayed about on the train. Those were the only ones, and it was never like what you and I just did together.”

He reached over and lifted her onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into his chest. Filled with all that she was, he placed his lips against the crown of her mussed hair and murmured, “You deserve to be touched like fine crystal, every woman does.”

“If that's your philosophy, you must have made a great deal of women happy in your life, Marshal.”

He supposed she was right but he didn't keep tally.

“So, why didn't we do the joining?”

“Wanted to pleasure you first—make sure you were ready.”

“I don't particularly care for that part, but with you, it might be different. The rest of it certainly has been.”

“Shall we see?”

She leaned up and whispered through the kiss, “Yes.”

So they began again. She boldly undid the buttons on his shirt. “I want to touch you . . .” she whispered hotly. Once the buttons were freed, he removed the shirt and tossed it on the floor.

Maggie had never run her hands up and down a man's muscular arm before; never felt the warmth of his chest pressed against her bare flesh, or been so inspired to touch more. He was very well made, but all her thoughts took flight under his renewed sensual claiming. He treated her breasts to another prolonged round of teasing that left her breathless and groaning.

Scintillating touches made her part her legs to allow him to rekindle the heat still simmering from her release. She never knew being with a man could leave her crazed and straining, and not caring how she looked or where or how he touched her, as long as he didn't stop.

Ian undid the placket on his trousers and shucked them down his legs. She was lying on the bed with the peignoir twisted erotically around her waist, and the moonlit tableau made him harder than he'd ever been in his life. He touched a finger to the ripe, slick center and reveled in the moans his loving evoked. He never imagined she would be so uninhibited or that the prospect of not having her by his side like this every night for the rest of his days would leave him bereft, so he didn't think about it. Instead he concentrated on the hard tips of her nipples, her sweet, sassy mouth, and making the rose petals between her thighs bloom like springtime. Only after she was running wet with his magic did he ease himself inside. She was virgin tight. Her muscles closed around his shaft, and heaven couldn't have been more satisfying. She'd voiced an aversion to this part of the act, so it became his charge to make sure she felt nothing but pleasure. So rather than stroke her hard and fast as his manhood was demanding, he held back so she could acclimate herself to his size and the feel of him inside. It was difficult. “You all right?” he whispered through the soaring passion rising within.

“Oh my.”

Humor touched him. Emboldened by her breathless response he stroked her gently; teasing her with his hardness, drawing the tip of his shaft almost free before reentering the channel once more. He repeated the move again and again until she was gasping, and her inner muscles clung to him in greedy, lusty reply. She was now rising to meet his strokes. Her hot hands were moving up and down his arms and circling over the taut muscles in his back. He moved his hips faster and she answered with a welcoming pace. He did his best to keep her pleasure in the front of his mind, but she was so responsive and so supple his hold on his control began to fray. Stroking her as if there would be no tomorrow, he felt white-hot release rising and demanding to be given its head. Instead he bent low and bit her nipples, slid his hands down her trembling torso to grasp her hips and raised her high. Her answering cry signaled her release. Her rippling flesh made him grip her tighter, stroke her harder, and when she cried out again, he broke; shuddering, yelling her name, and not caring if he woke up everyone for miles around. He rode the orgasm until he thought the top of his head would explode, and then he slowly collapsed onto her softness.

When he withdrew and rolled away, Maggie was left breathless, twisting and throbbing. She looked over and found him watching her. All she could do was smile and reach for his hand. He locked his fingers with hers. “I stand corrected,” she whispered.

“Enjoyed yourself, did you?”

“Very much.”

She moved closer and laid her head on his outstretched shoulder and his arm enfolded her. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

In the silence she trailed a finger slowly down the hair on his bare chest and leaned up to give him a sweet kiss. “Are my kisses better?”

“Give me another sample or two and I'll render a decision.”

So she did, filling them with everything she'd learned and all she felt. His decision was to turn her on her back, deepen the kiss, and make love to her all over again.

Chapter 11

I
an awakened the next morning with the still sleeping Maggie sprawled across him in the same intimate manner as yesterday, but this time he didn't have to imagine how it might feel to spend the night with her, he knew. Knew that she tasted of roses and that she was as uninhibited as she was sassy in life. He also got his first true look at the peignoir. It was black, transparent, and tipped with silver piping. The filmy fabric allowed him a veiled view of the breasts and nipples that had enthralled him so, and of the arousing length of her lean legs and hips. His manhood rose in instant response and he closed his eyes to keep from touching her. Lord knew he wanted to, but he couldn't. Now that dawn had broken, last night would have to be put away. He'd have to don his role once again and forget about the pleasures they'd found in each other's arms. In order to do so, he'd have to let the ice encase his heart and feelings once again because that was the only way.

For the moment, however, he savored the sight and feel of her against him one last time and then quietly left the bed to wash and prepare to meet the day.

Maggie awakened alone. That he wasn't there made her sad, but she'd promised him no ties, so she put the sadness away. They'd shared a night she would remember for the rest of her life. She would have to be content with that. She sat up and thought back on the bleakness she'd seen in his eyes after Stapleton's death last night. It confirmed her suspicion that there were places inside him that no one knew, places that were bruised and hurt. That realization was what made her want to offer him solace with the only thing she had to give, herself. She hadn't planned to seduce him, but after he left to accompany the Stapleton sons home, she asked Lola for a nightgown to wear to bed. When she was given the peignoir, the die was apparently cast. She had no regrets. In his arms she'd learned the true meaning of making love and would be forever grateful. If she never experienced such sweetness again, so be it. She had her memories.

She assumed he'd left without waking her to spare them both the awkwardness of having to resume their roles, and a part of her appreciated his thoughtfulness. She'd been around him enough to know that if her assumption was true, he'd show very little emotion when they met face-to-face again, so she planned to do the same.

She took the time to wash and dress herself in her freshly laundered shirt and trousers. She also packed the clothing and toiletries Lola had given her into her weathered saddlebag and carried it with her so that she wouldn't have a reason to return to the room with its memories.

She found him downstairs having breakfast at one of the tables. She dropped her pack on the floor by one of the unoccupied chairs and greeted him nonchalantly. “Good morning, Marshal. Did you sleep well?”

He eyed her over his mug of coffee and searched her face silently as if trying to determine what she was about. She kept her features bland.

“I did,” he finally replied. “And you?”

“I did as well. Is there more food?”

“Kitchen.”

“Thank you.” Walking away she thought she'd handled that as well as could be expected.
That was that.

In the kitchen, Maggie found Lola pouring herself a cup of coffee. Apparently it was too early for the girls to be up and about because the house's owner was alone. “Morning, Miss Lola.”

“Morning, Maggie. How'd the night go?”

Maggie shrugged noncommittally.

Lola raised a tweezered eyebrow. “That good, huh?”

Maggie got herself a cup of coffee but didn't respond.

“There's eggs and bacon and bread on the counter behind you. Get yourself a plate and let's talk.”

Maggie wasn't keen on sharing her evening with the marshal, but she got a plate of food and sat down at the small table anyway.

“So did you ask him to let you go?”

“No.”

“For heaven's sake, why not?”

“Getting him to let me go wasn't the reason,” Maggie said as politely as she could manage around the forkful of eggs in her mouth. “I'm not a whore.”

Lola tossed back with a laugh, “You say that as if being a whore is a bad thing. Plenty of women whore and many of them are married. How else are they going to get that new hat or that fancy stove? You'd be surprised how weak-minded a man can be after a good tumble in the hay. A smart woman should take advantage of that.”

Maggie shook her head. “Guess I'm not that smart.”

“Oh, you're smart enough.”

But not enough to keep from wanting a man she'd never have. She wondered if Lola had a magic salve that could somehow uproot the seeds of feelings that had taken root in her heart for him. Changing the subject, she asked, “What's Abilene like?”

“Much tamer than it used to be. Back in the late sixties, early seventies, folks called it the Queen of the Cow Towns. Hundreds of thousands of cows went through the stockyards. Almost as many cowboys, too. Me and my girls did good business there back then, so did all the brothels and saloons. Lots of shooting, drinking, and carousing.”

“But it's calmer now?”

“Yes. There are still saloons and madams, just not every five steps like it used to be. Wild Bill Hickok was the sheriff there for a while. Spent most of his time playing cards and drinking at the Alamo Saloon though. After he shot his deputy during a misunderstanding, the town council decided the place needed cleaning up, so that's when I packed up my business and moved here.”

Maggie wondered what she'd find in Abilene. She hoped the reply to the wire would be there and have a positive response written on it so that she and the marshal could part ways and her feelings for him could wither.

Lola's voice interrupted her thoughts. “Things will work out, you'll see.”

Maggie nodded and focused on finishing her breakfast.

T
hey reboarded the crowded train without incident. Ian found them two seats together in the second car. Maggie sat by the window while he took the aisle. He hadn't spoken much, so neither had she. According to the conductor the train would arrive in Abilene by early evening. Out of her window she watched the plains roll by. She wished the train could go faster so this would all be over, but it was moving as quickly as the engines would allow. She'd just have to be patient.

Ian was impatient to get to the end of the journey, too. After making love to her last night, his hold on his commitment to keep his heart in check now had cracks in it large enough to send a herd of buffalo through. His feelings didn't care about his resolve, they wanted Maggie and to hell with everything else.

T
he train arrived in Abilene early that evening and they rode Smoke to the sheriff's office. The man who greeted them introduced himself as Pete Granger. He didn't appear to be very old; mid-thirties at the most. Ian knew that many sheriffs were corrupt individuals bought and paid for by the local power brokers and therefore controlled like puppets on a string. Granger, however, shook Ian's hand firmly and looked him in the eye. His decent manner reminded Ian of Sheriff Wells.

Granger assured them that he'd gotten the wire. “Sorry about the pickle you're in, Miss Freeman,” he told her kindly. “Wells wants you to be jailed here until he gets the paperwork finished showing he dropped the charges. Once he sends them you'll be free to go.”

She nodded.

“We'll try and make your short stay with us as comfortable as we can. I'll wire him back and let him know you got here safe and sound.”

“Thank you.”

Granger asked Ian, “So where you headed now, Bigelow?”

“Home.”

“Where's that?”

“Wyoming.” Ian forced himself to stay focused on Granger and not look Maggie's way for fear of what it might do to his resolve.

“Well, have a safe journey. We'll take good care of her. I promise.”

Only then did Ian turn her way. She faced him with unflinching eyes and her chin held high.

“Thank you for your kindness, Marshal. Safe travels.”

“Where will you head, once you're done here?”

She shrugged. “Try and make it to Ohio, I suppose. I'll see.” Her business with him seemingly done, she asked Granger, “So where do I go, Sheriff?”

“How about you just take a seat over there for now, and we'll get you something to eat first.”

She complied.

It was apparent to Ian that she had nothing else to say to him and that she wasn't going to meet his eyes again. He tightened his jaw. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

“You're welcome.”

Maggie watched him walk out of the door, and the pain closed her eyes for a moment. Hoping to appear nonchalant, she angled her head towards the window and watched him mount up and ride away. She was glad the ordeal was over. She didn't mind staying in Abilene until the papers were wired, but the idea of going on with her life without him was difficult.

“So,” Granger said.

Maggie turned to him.

He had his hip propped on the edge of his desk and was viewing her speculatively. “How'd you get the black eye?”

“A fight.”

“A little face paint should cover it fine.”

Maggie stilled. “Face paint?”

The smile on his face gave her both pause and a chill that ran down her spine.

“You sing?” he asked.

She tried to determine where this conversation might be heading, so she responded warily, “A bit, yes.”

“Good. Open your shirt. Let's see what you got?”

She stared, outraged. “No!”

He pulled his gun and pointed it her way. “Open it now, or I'll shoot you and swear on a stack of Bibles you were trying to escape.”

Eyes wide, she searched his face and realized he was serious. She hid her fear behind her fury and after getting to her feet, undid the buttons on her shirt and spread the halves wide to reveal the worn white shift beneath. He studied her for a long moment, then looked up again with pleased icy eyes. “You'll do. Grab your pack and let's go.” Still holding the gun on her, he gestured her towards the door.

They walked a few streets away to a place called the Red Garter Saloon. On the way, she'd prayed the marshal would appear, but of course he hadn't. She was in this new nightmare alone.

Holding her by the arm, Granger guided her in through a back door and up a flight of stairs that led to a hallway on the second floor. A number of painted women in various stages of undress were rushing back and forth, apparently in preparation for the night's activities. They viewed the sheriff malevolently and her with various degrees of curiosity, suspicion, and in one case, pity.

“Where's Bunny?” he asked.

“In her room.” The woman who'd replied had been the one eyeing Maggie so suspiciously. She was tall, and her long blonde wig cascaded past shoulders bared above her tight black corset. Her legs were covered by patched knee-length drawers. Years ago she'd probably been quite beautiful, but now the twin demons of age and a hard life had taken the bloom off the rose. “Who's she?”

“Your new sister.”

The mocking reply drew a sneer and the sight of her back as she walked away.

“Bunny!” he yelled angrily.

A loud female voice hollered back, “What the hell are you bellowing about now!”

The voice belonged to an older woman who came charging out of one of the rooms dressed in a pink satin robe. Her sparse graying hair was in pipe-cleaner rollers, her feet were bare, and she had a lit cheroot in her hand.

“Got a new one for you,” Granger explained.

Maggie watched the woman size her up.

“Says she can sing.”

“That's what they all say,” Bunny replied, inhaling her cheroot. She blew out a thin column of smoke. “Okay. Leave her to me.”

He turned his icy gray eyes on Maggie. “Nice meeting you, Miss Freeman.”

The angry Maggie didn't reply.

While he departed, Bunny said in a far kinder voice, “Come on with me. Place opens in an hour. We need to get you ready.”

Maggie followed her down the hallway.

Once the two of them were sequestered in a room behind closed doors, Bunny tapped ash into a small saucer on the old desk dominating the interior and asked, “So, how'd you wind up in Granger's net?”

Maggie hesitated for a moment, not sure she wanted to share the story.

Bunny must have read her mind. “It's okay. I hate him like everybody else up here does.”

That surprised her.

“We're all wanted for something, but rather than letting us plead our cases before a judge, we're working for him and the bastard owner of this place, McQuade.”

“Who's he?”

“Town's crime boss, and a fine upstanding member of the Kansas legislature. Wants to be governor eventually. With any luck, someone will stick a shiv in his ribs before that happens and save the good citizens a lot of grief.”

“All of you are here against your will?”

Bunny nodded.

“But what if you decide to just leave?”

“You wind up in the cemetery on the edge of town.”

Maggie's eyes widened.

“Saw Granger shoot a girl in the back a couple months ago. Said she was trying to escape.”

“But how can he hide you away like this?”

“If no one knows you're here . . .”

Maggie found this appalling. Had Granger lied about the reply he'd gotten from Sheriff Wells? “How long have you been here?”

“Be three years in July. Most of the others a year or less. Some are here because they answered flyers McQuade posted back East for singers and dancers.”

Maggie thought about Carson Epps. This was more of a nightmare than she'd originally imagined. “So what do we do in the saloon?”

“Dance, sing, make sure the rubes buy lots of drinks.”

“No back work?”

Bunny shrugged. “If you want to. He has a whole 'nother operation for that. Most of those girls are willing. They stay in the cribs in the building next door.”