Rafe's Redemption (11 page)

“Would you…?” She couldn’t do it, couldn’t ask. Her nerve deserted, and she scrambled for something to say.

“I lied earlier. I am scared.” Scared of the things he made her think, feel. Want. But he would probably think she meant Michael. A nd that was for the best.

“Do you…” He released a long breath. “Would you like me to hold you?”

Rafe watched her blue eyes darken. Maybe she didn’t want him to touch her. Maybe she thought he meant something indecent. Maybe he did. The thought of sleeping with her in his arms made his mouth dry and his dick throb. He ought to be ashamed of himself. But he wasn’t.

“It would be the same as today on Moses,” he assured. “Nothing more.” Except they were lying down, and Rafe’s cock pulsed with anticipation.

Why did he torture himself like this?

“A ll right.” She scooted closer to him, snuggling her back to his front. “But just so you know,” she craned her neck, “I have never done anything like this before.”

“I never thought that about you.”

“You practically accused me of such today.”

“I didn’t mean it to sound that way.” He should have just asked if she had a beau waiting back home. Not that it was any of his business.

She nodded, then settled back on the fur pallet. Her hair fanned out, catching in his whiskers. His heart thumped a loud rhythm, like Moses’ hooves on a hard-packed road. Her natural fragrance teased his senses, even more than when he’d held her today. Tonight, her skin was warm, musky. Tempting as hell.

“Good night, Mr. McBride.”

Rafe reined in his thoughts. “Good night.” He draped his arm over her and felt the tension drain from her body. Shadows danced over her face, long, dark lashes curved over her cheeks. Smooth, flawless cheeks. How had all the men in St. Louis resisted?

Unless…she was the one resisting.

“Maggie?” He shook her shoulder.

“What?” She craned her neck and smothered a yawn.

“Can I ask you a question—without you getting angry?” Christ, he was prattling on like an old woman.

Her brow dipped. “I suppose.”

“Why aren’t you already married?”

“Because I never intend to take a husband.” Rafe scoffed. He’d been chased by marriage-hungry women since he was eighteen. “Females are born ready for matrimony.”

“Not me.”

“Why?”

“I have my reasons, but none I wish to share.” She curled onto her side and snuggled her soft ass against his hard cock.

Rafe held his breath until he felt lightheaded, trying not to inhale her musk again, willing his erection down before he embarrassed himself. She’d made it clear she wasn’t husband hunting, and he didn’t dare hope she was the kind of woman who’d be free with her affection. So why couldn’t he just stop thinking about her? He needed to figure out what to do about Bouse.

Rafe exhaled a long, slow breath and watched it rustle Maggie’s hair. He fought the urge to wrap a curl around his finger as his mind ticked like a pocket watch.

Why wasn’t she interested in marriage? A nd why wouldn’t she tell him? She liked to talk, but of course when it was something he wanted to know, she turned tight-lipped.

Why do I even care?

She sighed and slid her hand over his, holding him tight against her breast. Her nipple hardened beneath his palm, and she mumbled incoherently.

Rafe broke out in a sweat and bit back a moan. If Michael or Simon didn’t kill him, this constant state of arousal would.

****

Rafe scanned the morning sky. The rising sun hovered in a dark pink line, like a beautiful woman waiting for the perfect moment to make a grand entrance into a ballroom. Moses stomped his disapproval at the early hour, and the bitter cold made Rafe wish he was still snuggled to Maggie in front of the fireplace.

“Those few clouds may turn into something,” Cecil warned, pointing to the horizon.

“I know. If we have to, I’ll stop for the night in Lesterville.”

Cecil snorted. “Keep Maggie close if you do.” The door creaked open, and the women hurried out.

Little Owl hugged Maggie, then wrapped a yellow knitted scarf around her neck.

“This is yours,” Maggie argued. “I can’t take it.”

“A gift,” Little Owl insisted and retucked the ends Maggie had unwound. “Now go. Men not like to wait.” Rafe watched Maggie’s mouth curve in a wry smile.

“I found that out yesterday,” she said.

He swung into the saddle, and Cecil hoisted Maggie in front. Rafe waited while she wiggled into a comfortable position. Too bad there wasn’t one for him.

A ll that rubbing against his cock made him hard enough to use his dick as a hammer. Riding with an erection hurt like hell. Besides the fact Maggie might take exception to traveling with a rod in her back.

“Be careful today,” Cecil warned.

“Thank you for letting us spend the night.” Maggie reached for Little Owl’s hand. “I’ll think of you and your baby.”

Little Owl nodded. “Travel safe.”

Rafe hoped God heard Little Owl’s words. They needed clear weather from here on out to make it.

Moses waded through the snow drifts until they were past the stand of pines. Rafe pulled his compass free and guided the horse east. The sun blinded as it glinted off the endless sheet of white. Only a few birds hopped around the trees and bushes, pecking seeds for breakfast.

Maggie sucked in a deep breath, the motion pressing her against his chest. “It’s beautiful,” she said, the words wisping in puffs around them. “Like an endless white silk skirt.”

“Yes.” He grinned. Leave it to a woman to think of clothing.

He coughed, anxious to have a conversation, but unsure where to start. There must be something he could say that wouldn’t start an argument.

“Did Little Owl tell you when the baby is due?”

“Yes. Didn’t Cecil tell you?”

“No.”

She peered over her shoulder. “What is it that men talk about?”

He shrugged. “Different things.”

“Hmm.” She chewed her lip. “Money? War? Women?”

“Money only complicates your life. A s you well know.”

Maggie nodded.

“A nd war,” he continued, “war ruins a man’s life.

Everyone’s life.” Rafe blinked away the haunting images.

“A nd women?” Maggie prodded.

“Same—but worse—as the other two.”

Maggie’s eyes widened, and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Once again he’d insulted her.

“Present company excluded, of course.” He flashed a grin. He used to be charming, before all the battles, all the killing. A smooth word, a flirtatious wink, and the ladies swooned, eager to fuck.

Maggie turned her back to him.

Hmm. Maybe he’d forgotten how to charm.

“You don’t have to lie.” Her voice held a trace of hurt.

“I know the truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“I bore men. I chatter too much.” She shrugged.

“You weren’t the first to tell me I talk too much.” The sad words cut through him. For all her huff, Maggie was a sweet, sensitive woman. Only a real prick would have said such a thing.

“A nd,” she continued, “I’m not very smart. I’m sure you already noticed.”

“Who in God’s name told you that?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “My father.” A nger surged through Rafe. Blood pounded in his ears. Old man Monroe deserved a thrashing. How could anyone say something so cruel to their own child?

The question lashed back at Rafe. His relationship with his own father was tenuous at best. “Maggie, he was a fool. I can honestly say I haven’t had one boring minute since we met.”

She gasped, then craned her neck to look at him.

“A nd, you’re a very resourceful, intelligent woman.

You hid the necklace from Michael. You should be proud of yourself.” Hell, he was proud of her. “You’re not stupid. A nd I bet your drawings are beautiful.” Her eyes widened, then she swallowed hard and pressed her full lips together. What had he done? “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she breathed. “I’m fine.”

She blinked several times, then faced forward again.

Oh, Lord. Was she going to cry? He didn’t know what to do with a woman’s tears. He didn’t even have a clean handkerchief.

“Maggie.” Damn, what should he say? He should have just kept his mouth shut. Would he never learn to mind his own business?

She sniffled, then gazed back at him. “You’re a very nice man, Mr. McBride.” Her whispered compliment made his stomach drop. He wasn’t nice.

“A nd,” she continued, “I haven’t thanked you enough for all your help.”

“It’s nothing.” The last thing he wanted was gratitude.

“Well, it means something to me.” Her blue eyes darkened with sincerity. “We’re almost like…friends.” His heart thumped double-time. Friendly was not how he felt toward her. Friends did not picture each other naked. A friend did not ache to bite his friend’s nipples, or lick his friend’s clit. Jesus! The words naked, nipple, or clit were not friendly words!

She stared at him, obviously waiting for a reply.

“Don’t you agree?”

“Of course.” What else could he say?

She smiled, then straightened in the saddle. “A nd maybe someday I can help you.”

A cold shudder crawled up his spine. “No. If we happen to get into trouble before we reach the fort, you run. Don’t try to help me.”

“But—”

“I mean it, Maggie.” Michael was the least of their worries. She just didn’t know it. “Do as I say.” She gave a slight nod. Probably all the answer he was going to get. Just as well. He didn’t want her getting any ideas, getting too comfortable or friendly toward him. He needed her to be a little prickly, to be a lot unapproachable.

The wind skated up his back, and he glanced at the clouds chasing them. It would be snowing within the hour. He wouldn’t risk her health again.

“We’ll have to stop for the night. I wanted to ride straight through, but it’s too dangerous.” She shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Rafe clamped his lips together, locking the apology inside. Prickly was what he wanted, right?

****

Lesterville rested in a valley, a barren strip of land lined with boarded-up buildings and leaning shanties.

The surrounding hills gaped with abandoned tunnels, dark open holes like a man missing teeth, pitiful reminders of riches never found. Smoke hung low in the air, mixing with the icy rain. Only three buildings had light in the windows, the rest loomed in rows of eerie, vacant silence, a gloomy welcome after twelve hours on horseback.

“What happened to everything?” Maggie whispered.

“Cecil said this was a mining town before the war.

Back then, every business was open and wagon-loads of men arrived every day.”

“Where did they all go?”

“The mines went bust. Just a few men remain.” He pointed to the lit buildings as they passed. “Most drink what’s left of their lives away.”

The mud sucked Moses’ feet with each step, and laughter exploded from the Lucky Nugget saloon. Tinny piano music pierced the night, made worse by a female voice screeching “Oh, Susanna.” Maggie tensed in Rafe’s arms, her neck craned toward the light and noise.

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you,” he promised as they trudged to the corner livery.

He stopped, then jumped to the boardwalk and pounded on the door.

“I’m comin’. Stop your damned knockin’.” A tiny, gray-haired woman stuck her head out and frowned.

“What?”

He stepped back. The odor emanating from the barn wasn’t just equine. The old gal could rival Skinner Joe for offensive. The dung-splattered britches might be explained by her work, but the stains on her shirt were ground-in filth, layer over layer of various colors and textures.

“Got room for one more horse, er, ma’am?” Rafe wasn’t too sure that title would apply.

She cocked her head and scratched her greasy hair with a fork. “You got a dollar?”

“Yes.” Rafe pulled the money from his pocket.

“Then I got room. Name’s Myrna.” She snatched the coin, then winked one bloodshot eye, and heaved the big door open wide.

He sucked one last fresh breath, then led Moses inside the barn so Maggie could dismount. She teetered down from the stirrup and gave a sickly smile, no doubt getting the full effect of the odor as the old woman meandered close.

Rafe stripped the tack and saddle from the animal, whispering an apology for the condition of the stall. If it wasn’t snowing, he’d leave Moses outside.

“That’n sure is a nice piece of flesh you got there,” Myrna pronounced. “Don’t see many likes him ‘round here.”

Rafe frowned. While Moses was a fine horse, the stable was full of fine horses. Was she addled? He turned, and his face burned in embarrassment. She spoke to Maggie and stared at him.

Good Lord! She didn’t mean Moses.

“I used to have a man what looked like him.” Myrna cackled, then winked again. “He was good in bed, too. Is your man?”

Maggie’s eyes rounded like dinner plates. “I—I—” Rafe grabbed the saddlebags in one hand, Maggie with the other, then hurtled for the door.

“His name is Moses. I’ll—no, we—we will be back for him at dawn,” he shouted over his shoulder, then pulled Maggie outside and onto the boardwalk.

He looked back, feeling the same relief as when he’d outmaneuvered a Confederate patrol. Maggie’s gaze landed on him, and her eyes twinkled with laughter.