Wed to the Texas Outlaw (18 page)

“When this is over if—”

“If you leave me untouched, it never will be over for me.”

“I'm a dirty outlaw, Melinda, not nearly good enough for you.”

All of a sudden she started unbuttoning her dress. It was unlikely, but he thought she was cussing under her breath. Heedlessly, she tossed petticoats and whatever those other frilly things were, around the loft.

“What's that you're saying?” he asked.

“A string of curse words.”

Angry curse words, if he heard right.

While he watched, spellbound, she stripped down to her skin.

“How dare you say you fell in love with me the first time you saw me! That I was perfect! Look at me, Boone Walker! Look past this!” She circled her hand in front of her face. “Can't you see me? I'm a woman like any other. Knock me off the damned pedestal!”

Breathless in her rage, her undeniably-perfect-in-every-way chest heaved with exertion and emotion. A fine sheen of sweat glittered on her skin.

A woman like any other? No.

“Why are you smiling?” She fired the question at him.

“You aren't a woman like any other, at least not like any I've ever watched undress. But then I've never had one take off her clothes with such...” He gestured with his hands, following the path of her clothing. “Abandon.”

“None of them were your legally wed wife. No doubt they had more time than I do. But since you've brought them up, did any of them ever tell you that you were not good enough for them?”

He shook his head, feeling that he'd been backed onto a twig suspended over a vast chasm and that it was cracking. How was a man to fight the greatest temptation of his life when his woman armed herself with a naked body, an extremely seductive naked body?

“Because it wasn't true!”

“They were whores. They didn't care.”

“I care, Boone.” She canceled the distance between them by grabbing a hank of his hair in her small, fair fist. She pulled him toward her. “That man you think wasn't good enough for me is gone. The woman you held in such false esteem, she never existed.”

She drew him to within an inch of her lips.

“Make love to me, Boone.”

“What if I leave you with a child to raise on your own?”

“I will not allow you to leave me.”

“No...” He'd do his damnedest not to die, especially since she was offering him so much to live for. “I don't reckon you will.”

A frizzle of electricity skittered over the barn roof. A blue-white blaze illuminated the loft at the same time the thunderclap exploded across the paddock.

Already on hands and knees, Boone crawled forward. Melinda fell backward onto the straw. She reached up, touching the back of his neck to pull him down.

He resisted for a heartbeat, but only that.

This moment seemed a miracle. Life, he was coming to believe, was full of them. But the amazing thing was that he, Boone Walker, had been granted one.

Taking her hand from his neck, he kissed it then set it over her heart. He lifted up, his weight balanced on his knees.

Straddling her hips, he tugged his shirt off over his head. He shoved down his pants and drawers, wriggled out of them then tossed them with the same carelessness as Melinda had tossed hers.

The difference was, along with his boots, he tossed over the old Boone, the unworthy one.

A new man—the one Melinda had recognized beneath the lies even when he hadn't—this one was going to have his wife.

Skimming his flesh over hers, he breathed in the scent of her skin where her hair fell away from her neck.

She gripped his hips, her fingers digging into his butt while she pressed him close. Her belly was hot velvet against his erection.

“Slow down, honey.” Not that he wanted to. Everything in him wanted to ride her hard and fast. “You're new to this.”

“I've dreamed if it often enough.” Her breath beat against the hollow of his throat, thick, labored. “I can't imagine I was far off the mark.”

“It might—”

“Hurt? So I've read.”

She nipped his ear, tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him into a kiss that kicked his heart. Knowing that in spite of what she said and what he hoped, the first time for them might also be the last.

She must have felt him doubt, hesitate.

“No,” she whispered over the steady drum of rain above their heads. “This isn't the end.”

“We will have tomorrow, honey,” he whispered. “I reckon I just needed my wife to set me straight on it.”

Sweet, lazy seduction would have its time.

But not now.

While the storm broke around the barn, Melinda demanded his surrender.

This was one life sentence he would no longer fight.

He nuzzled the side of her breast with his cheek then closed his mouth over her nipple. Her fullness cushioned his teeth, the swollen berry at the tip twisted against his tongue.

She lifted her hips against him, impatient.

“Almost,” he answered and then pressed his pelvis against her belly to still her.

With his thumb and finger, he twisted the nipple he had just suckled, watching the moisture from his mouth glisten in a flash of lightning.

Rising to his knees, he lifted her hips, spread her thighs, stroking, kneading. He wondered if feeling her smooth, firm flesh under his hands would always be this soul-shattering.

It would, of course, because he was touching Melinda and, from this day on, he accepted that she was his.

His heart pounded, his pulse beat in his fingertips when he stroked her swollen feminine crease. She took in a slow breath, let it out in a moan.

For once his Melinda seemed to have no words, but her eyes spoke clearly enough. It was time and past to make her the wife of his heart, of his body.

In a half crouch, with one hand under her buttocks, he nudged her with the head of his penis.

Had this been a leisurely wedding night, if time had been on their side, he would have entered her slowly.

But this was not, and his wife knew it. She arched, taking him inside her.

Her languid expression sharpened, her pretty eyes widened, but only for an instant.

She blinked in long, slow surrender then fastened her gaze on him while he rode her.

He couldn't look away, she would not let him. Even in the moment when he lost himself, in the moment when she throbbed around him, even then their eyes held, seeing the future in each other.

He would live through the coming hours. In this moment of surrender, she handed him her heart. In return, she took his life.

Chapter Fourteen

H
ad she not been anchored by Boone's big, hard body sprawled on top of her, Melinda believed she would have floated away.

With her eyes closed she savored the delicious pulsating in her womb. The languorous feeling radiated to her fingers and toes, making her feel weightless but at the same time one with the bed and the man.

“I never imagined,” she sighed.

“I didn't, either.” He rolled off her but hugged her to his chest so that they lay face-to-face. His breath warmed the top of her hair even as the chill of the room began to settle upon them.

“Really?” He didn't? “Even though you've done this many times? Does that mean I've erased the others from your memory completely?”

“What others?” He pinched her behind then cupped her face in his hand and lifted her chin. Stroking his thumb across her cheek, he looked into her eyes. “This is the first time I've made love to a woman who is my wife—first time to a woman I love.”

“Well, then, you were as much a virgin as I was.” She liked the thought even though, by the facts, it was not true.

“Are you hurting?”

She shook her head but not so vigorously as to dislodge the tender touch of his hand on her cheek. “Deliciously sore.”

“I reckon I should kiss it and make it better.”

“Really? People do...” Her voice failed because he had begun to blaze a trail with his mouth that started with a suckle of each breast then a lingering lick over her ribs to her belly—well, my word, he really did intend to—

“Oh,” she said. No, that really was not a word but a sigh.

His tongue was smooth, caressing her intimate spot with heat. Viking-blond hair falling loose over his shoulders tickled, shivered across her thighs. He was so very male, which made her feel so very female.

And as much as she wanted to think about this newborn womanliness, her thoughts were quickly succumbing to sensation.

When she was nearly to that point of shattering delight, he stopped, lifted his head. Exposed, a delightful shiver blew across her aching flesh.

Coarse chest hair rubbed her belly, her chest. Heat rolled off her in waves. How curious that the sizzle made her shiver.

The stiff hair of Boone's chin grazed her neck. The other stiff part of him, the one that finally made her his wife, claimed her again.

She thrust her hips taking him deep within her. And, yes, it did hurt; a twinge and nothing more. The ache dwarfed in comparison to the joy of joining bodies and lives.

No sooner had she adjusted to the womanly twinge than it was gone. Boone pushed up, his hands braced beside her head. She twined her fingers in his, gripping hard. Fascinated, engulfed, she watched his belly flex while he pumped into her, withdrew then entered her again.

She moaned his name, possibly called him husband, or lover, but certainly hers. Then in an explosion of bliss, she clenched around him.

He buried his face into her neck. It felt damp, with sweat or tears—probably both.

After a few moments of savoring the scent of him, the strength of his arms around her, she wanted to drift into a doze, but Boone sighed against her ear.

“What time is it, do you think?”

“It's forever o'clock, of course.”

* * *

Billbro whined from below and woke Melinda from a deep sleep. With all that had, and was about to happen, she would not have believed it possible to even close her eyes.

She reached for Boone but touched empty space.

Forever o'clock had come and gone.

According to Boone's pocket watch, which lay open on the makeshift table, it was now a glaring eleven-thirty.

She sat up then snapped the watch closed.

Certainly he had left it there for safekeeping and nothing more. She would not entertain the possibility that he meant it as a remembrance—a physical reminder of who he had been.

Not that.

From below she heard his boots cross the floor then the barn door open. Boone spoke a few words to the dog. From up here she couldn't tell what they were.

She dressed quickly then swiped up the watch and carried it down the ladder.

Boone sat on an overturned barrel. The lamp beside him on the floor softly illuminated him. With his elbows propped on his knees, he gazed at something he turned in his fingers.

He didn't look up. She stood, one foot on the floor, one poised on the last ladder rung.

The deputy's badge gleamed from the polishing Boone was giving it.

She couldn't speak, move or even find her breath. She'd known this hour was coming, but suddenly here it was. No more a vague event happening in the future.

Her husband was arming for battle.

“Boone,” she whispered across the dimly lit space.

He glanced up. With a half smile, he pinned the badge on his pocket.

“Does it look wrong?”

She shook her head.

He reached for her and she dashed to him. He pulled her onto his lap.

“Feels kind of funny.” He kissed her hair. “I spent a lot of years on the wrong side of what this represents.”

“Oh,” she said, leaning back to get a better look at the dimly glowing metal. It smelled of fresh polish. She noticed that he had hammered out the dent. “I think you look heroic.”

“I'm just a man with a job to do. But I want you to know something. That line between right and wrong, I'll do my damnedest to never cross it again. You don't need to worry. I'm no longer that man.”

“I never worried about the kind of man you are. I have faith that you will do a splendid job as deputy.” She gave him a great hug around the neck and breathed in the warm, male scent of his skin. “Imagine the stories we will tell our grandchildren!”

“As long as the stories begin from this point on. Don't know what they'll think about their pa having been an outlaw.”

“They'll be proud, is what. You'll be an example of how a person can be redeemed.”

“Pray with me for a minute, honey.”

Boone held both of her hands in his. Foreheads together, Melinda silently asked for protection, for Boone and for all of them. She also asked that her husband might do what he needed to do without killing anyone.

She knew the moment he was finished asking for guidance because he gently kissed her.

“I love you, Melinda. Never forget it.”

“I'll make sure to remind you, even when we are old and doddering.”

“Can't see you doddering.” He shook his head. “Even if you do dodder, you'll still be the most beautiful woman around.”

“Watch what you say, deputy! I know how to shoot. I've been taught by the best.”

“A fact is a fact.”

“I hear someone coming.” She gripped his shirtfront, kissed him until she was breathless. “I love you, Boone.”

“Melinda,” he whispered against her hair as the barn door squealed open.

* * *

Boone shrugged into his coat and stepped outside of the barn. For the most part, the storm had moved on, leaving a depressing drizzle in its place.

Giselle, kneeling on the wagon bed and cradling Diana under her coat, waved to him. He acknowledged her farewell with a tip of his hat. When he did, water dripped from the brim to further dampen his coat.

Trudy rushed up to him for a quick hug before she joined Giselle in the buckboard. Edward, coming behind her, shook his hand.

“If there are words big enough to thank you for getting me out of the fire, I don't know what they are. And not only for that, but you took me and my girl in when we had no place else to go. You are a rare man, Boone Walker,” he said then followed Trudy, helped her into the wagon and mounted a horse.

As soon as Edward settled in the saddle, Boone saw him place his rifle across his lap. His fingers curled tight on the stock.

Except for the pat of drizzle on mud, the night was silent, somber. Folks kept their thoughts to themselves.

Just as well since they were probably thinking he was about to die.

That was a possibility—but not the only possibility. For the first time Boone had plans for his life that didn't involve drifting from one hovel of a town to another. All of a sudden he had a woman to love, roots to grow and babies to be brought into the world. Wrongs to try to set right.

No, he was not riding toward his death. He was riding toward his future. The trouble was, between here and there, he'd face some nasty opposition.

Standing beside the wagon team, Doc and Stanley stood in quiet conversation. Doc stood, his arms across his chest, nodding his head.

With a glance up at Boone, Stanley crossed the paddock toward him.

“I'd like to reargue my point that I ought to stay with you.”

“I'm proud to call you friend, Stanley. Hell, if it wasn't for you I'd be spending my life in a cell.” Boone clapped Stanley on the shoulder. “And I might need your help, just not here with me.”

“What can I do?” Hadn't the small lawyer grown a couple of inches? He'd swear the man used to be shorter. “I'll help however I can.”

“If the worst happens, take Melinda back to Montana.” Boone had to clear his throat; it felt as though a walnut had become lodged in his Adam's apple. “If it doesn't happen, I'd like you to stand with me when I give her a proper wedding.”

Smythe must have swallowed a walnut, too, since he didn't answer. He simply nodded and let his gaze slide toward the barn.

After a long, silent moment when they should have been saying goodbye but were not, Stanley turned and walked toward the wagon. He tugged on the mule's reins, making sure the animal was tethered securely.

With a last glance at Boone, a nod, he climbed up the buckboard and sat beside the doc. He gathered up the reins.

They were ready to go—all except for Melinda. She had yet to come out of the barn.

Hell's curses. If he had to go in and fetch her, it might be a long while before he brought her out.

He was saved from having to face the temptation when she walked out leading a horse behind her.

She wore a frilly hat with a silk flower tucked into the lace band. The brim drooped in the rain, the pink bud quickly wilting with the moisture.

It looked as if she was going to walk past him without lifting her gaze from the muddy ground.

Hell, she did walk past him without a glance or a word.

“Melinda?”

She stopped, dropped the reins, then spun around.

In a leap, she was in his arms.

“I couldn't tell you goodbye,” she cried. He wrapped his arms around her middle and lifted her. She pressed her face into his neck. “I think if I try I'll go to pieces.”

He breathed in the scent of her hair, felt the fresh chill of the raindrops clinging to her hat.

“There are no goodbyes between us, honey.” He set her back on her feet, cupped her face in his hands then bent to kiss her. “Go on now. Get on your horse and go with the wagon. I'll follow when I'm finished here.”

“I'll see you soon, then.” She nodded, squeezed his shoulder and shoved out of his embrace.

Her back looked stiff, walking away, as if she held it that way by the greatest of will.

Halfway she turned, touched her throat then raced back. She squeezed him around the middle.

“I'll be watching for you, Boone.” With that, she ran for the horse and mounted up.

The wagon moved out of the yard and he was left alone. He watched it rattle down the road feeling bereft.

But only until a blur separated from the dark mass and charged for him.

“There's a good dog.” Boone hugged Billbro's neck. “I'm grateful for your company, Deputy.”

The dog-wolf sat, his wagging tail making tracks in the mud.

“How would you feel about coming to live with me and Melinda in Montana? I hear it's real pretty.” Billbro whined so he ruffled his tall, furry ears. “I do believe that means yes. Would you like to know a secret, fella? One that not even Melinda knows? Sure do hope she approves because I sure as hell have my mind made up.”

He took a breath. Saying this out loud made it fact, no longer something suggested by the small voice in his mind. The deputy cocked his big head.

“I know it seems unlikely, but I want to become a preacher. You're right. I'll need to clean my language up some—more than some—but I'd need to do it for the young'uns anyway.”

Right now he didn't know the first thing about how a man became a preacher, but he figured since the Good Lord had given him the idea, He'd figure out a way for it to happen.

The quiet suggestion had shocked him the first time it had come to him, but once entertained, he hadn't been able to shake it. That small voice of conviction was one he used to ignore, but now things were different.

Somehow over the course of the night he'd gone from feeling his goal impossible to seeing himself comforting souls instead of doing them wrong.

He might finally do something to make his mother proud. She'd sure spent enough hours reading to him from the Good Book in an attempt to get him to mend his ways.

“Can you hear me, Ma? I'm going straight.” He felt something brush his cheek. Could have been a breeze but—

The wolf licked his hand.

“Yeah, I think it was her, too. So, boy, I reckon I'll begin as a ranch hand at Moreland Ranch, if my brother will have me, just until I get the hows and whys of ministering figured out.

“Hey! I didn't know wolves licked folk's faces. That mean you think I can do it? I reckon it does and I appreciate it. But if any of this is going to happen, I need you to catch up with the wagon and keep Melinda safe.”

The deputy gave a low woof then spun and loped after the wagon. Boone watched until the dark swallowed him up.

The old Boone had never minded being alone. This Boone was unsettled by it.

That's one way he knew that the outlaw was gone.

* * *

Ten minutes passed while Boone stood in the drizzle listening, fearing that he would hear the crack of gunfire coming from the direction the wagon had taken.