Wild Burn (29 page)

A twister roared through her, tying her up into tight little knots she couldn’t possibly undo. Sitting there was as uncomfortable as she’d expected, even more so. She counted each clop of the horses’ hooves as each second ticked by. It helped pass the time and gave her something to do besides be silent and awkward.

By the time she reached two thousand four hundred and thirty, she was gritting her teeth. She could swear Shane was deliberately inching closer to her. The metal handle on the seat was currently digging into her hip.

At six thousand two hundred and fifty, she gave up counting entirely. Her hip was throbbing, she had to pee and she had swallowed a bug. It was time to stop and rest for a few minutes.

“Stop the wagon.”

“Huh?” He turned to her, as though he had been daydreaming about anything but sitting beside her on a wagon.

“Stop. The. Wagon. I need to, ah, use the necessary.” Lettie refused to say please. That was not in her vocabulary anymore when she spoke to men, any man.

“Oh, sure thing. I could stretch my legs too after the last couple hours.”

“A couple hours? It’s only been a couple hours?” She punched him in the arm.

“Ow.” He pulled the wagon to a stop in a grassy area and set the brake. As he rubbed the spot where she’d punched him, he scowled at her from under the brim of his borrowed flat-brimmed brown hat. “Why did you hit me?”

Lettie stared, horrified by the fact she had punched him. The man had been beaten nearly to death, and she knew very well how much fists hurt, far longer than the bruises lasted. Yet she had deliberately hit him.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. When he opened his mouth to respond, she turned and leapt off the wagon. She landed hard on her right ankle, which then throbbed as she tottered off to the nearby bushes to relieve herself.

Lettie was never this out of sorts. She felt itchy, as though she could jump out of her skin any minute. As she found a suitable bush, she pulled up her skirt and did what she needed to. She never forgot for a second that Shane was close enough to hear her urinate. It was another strange thing about a strange day.

By the time she cleaned herself up and straightened her clothes, she had calmed down sufficiently to return to the wagon. Her swollen ankle complained with each step, and her boot was too tight. The day kept getting worse.

Shane leaned against the side of the wagon, his feet crossed at the ankle, a stalk of grass stuck between his teeth. He watched her approach, his face hidden by the shade of his hat so she couldn’t see his eyes. She didn’t like that one bit.

“What’s wrong with your foot?”

“Nothing. I twisted it a bit is all.” She went around the back of the wagon and reached into the basket for a bite to eat. With her stomach jumping like a passel of frogs, she didn’t need to get sick from having no food.

“Is there enough in there for me?”

“No.”

“You sure are being ornery, Lettie.” Shane wasn’t accusatory, but he was annoying.

“Then you know the real me.” She found a ham biscuit and turned her back to him. No need to flaunt the food at him—she wasn’t that mean. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to look at him. Or at least that was what she told herself.

“No, but I’m waiting to meet her.” Shane’s response made her pause in mid-motion.

She swung around and speared him with a glare. “What do you mean by that?”

He shrugged. “Just that. You don’t let anyone see you, Lettie.”

His words hit her square between the eyes. It was the truth, of course, but painful nonetheless. She managed not to spit out the bite in her mouth that had turned to ash on her tongue. Lettie swallowed what she could to save herself from looking foolish. Her hands shook with anger.

A little voice deep inside told her it was fear.

“That’s none of your business, Mr. Murphy. You don’t mean anything to me.”

“I know that.”

“You are a drunk, a stranger who puked on my shoes and nothing more.”

“I know that.”

She was within a foot of him, her sharp words whipping through the air like knives. He didn’t flinch or move as she beat him with her verbal fury. Her chest heaved as she struggled for breath, overwhelmed and out of control.

“You are here out of pity. Marta and Pieter felt sorry for you. You aren’t part of our family and you never will be.” Her mouth fairly burned with the viciousness of her attack.

“I know that.”

“Stop saying that.” She thumped one fist on his chest, then the other. Soon she was punching him for all she was worth. Her throat burned, her eyes shed angry tears and she let loose a torrent of sobs that sounded more like a wounded animal than a woman.

Lettie lost all sense of time and self. She tumbled down into a dark, deep hole and huddled there. Strong arms surrounded her, keeping her from sinking any further. Soft crooning echoed in her ear while warm hands rubbed her back.

She couldn’t tell how much time had passed before she realized she was curled into a ball on someone’s lap. A male lap. Her arms and legs were stiff, her face hot and wet. She shifted, flush with embarrassment over her attack on him and her subsequent fit. Angeline was the only one who knew about them. Until now.

His arm tightened around her shoulders. “Sit.”

“I can’t sit on your lap, Shane.” She got to her feet, her legs trembling. When she took a step, she lost her balance and fell. He caught her in midair, his arm pushing the breath out of her lungs.

“I reckon you’ll sit now.” He flipped her around, and she found herself right back in his lap.

She should have gotten up, should have told him to let her go, but she didn’t. The sad truth was, he was comfortable, he smelled good and she didn’t want to move. Normally after losing control like that, she felt sick the rest of the day. Shane’s presence must have kept that sickness at bay because her stomach wasn’t hurting in the least.

“I, uh, I’m sorry about what I did.” The apology was like sawdust in her mouth, dry and tasteless.

“You don’t need to apologize.” His voice was honey smooth in her ear.

“Yes I do. I didn’t mean to. I’ve been having fits for a while. I can’t rightly control it.” Her cheeks burned as she admitted there was something very wrong with her.

“I get that way too with whiskey,” he admitted. “I have days, hell weeks, I don’t remember.”

She knew whiskey could make a man stupid but didn’t know it could snatch days from his memory. Another reason not to drink a drop of it. She wondered if Shane would fall back into the bottle again or if he could resist the lure of its amber depths. Lettie didn’t have a choice when it involved her black periods, but maybe he didn’t either.

The sounds of life surrounded them, birds sang, squirrels chattered and bees buzzed. The sun shone brightly on the meadow while Shane and Lettie sat in the shadow of the wagon. It seemed only they knew how dark life could be.

Handing over the reins is hard. Handing over his heart…damn near impossible.

Gideon

© 2011 Beth Williamson

Devils on Horseback, Book 5

Gideon Blackwood is on the run—from Tanger’s meddling matchmakers. With no intention of following the rest of the Devils down the aisle, he heads for the hills to reassess a life spent leading and caring for others…and runs smack into the business end of a shotgun. At the trigger: a curmudgeonly woman with a broken axle and a load of responsibility.

In Chloe Ruskin’s experience, men take what they want and leave a mess of trouble behind. The safety of two orphans and her granny is at stake, and the last thing she needs is Gideon’s “help”. This time, though, she has no choice but to allow the big cowboy to fix her wagon.

As they work into the night, grudging admiration grows into attraction—and desire. Gideon finds he can’t dig his boot heels in hard enough to avoid falling for the opinionated little female.

When Chloe’s family disappears, her suspicion threatens to destroy any spark of love before it catches fire. Gideon finds himself making promises his pride won’t let him break—even if it costs him the love of the woman who owns the missing half of his soul.

Warning: Beware of a strong hero with a stubborn streak a mile wide and a heroine with enough gumption to fill the entire state of Texas. Discover love, hot sex and an amazing, dangerous adventure.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Gideon:

Gideon was furious. Not only had he allowed the stranger to keep them tied up and captive for a good portion of the day, but Chloe had changed their circumstances instead of him. It was his job to be the one doing the rescuing and planning, not hers. Yet he had hesitated to do what needed to be done because he was afraid she would get hurt.

Now the idea made him nearly snort. She was not only fearless, she was smart and quick as hell. They’d been tied together, yet she’d managed to injure the peddler woman, maintain her balance and give him the opportunity to disarm their enemy. It was damn embarrassing, frustrating and impressive.

After they were far enough away to be safe for now, he climbed up into the wagon and sat beside Chloe. He set the shotgun in front of them on the floor and held out his hands. She just raised one brow.

“What makes you think I’m gonna let you drive?”

Gideon gritted his teeth. “Because I’m the man here.”

“I’d say we’re equal partners, Blackwood. We were a team back there, and you’re gonna have to let me hold the reins now and again.”

It made sense, of course. Logic over emotion and all that, but he didn’t give a shit about logic. He just wanted to feel as if he was in control, even if he wasn’t.

“For right now, just hand it over.”

She must have seen something in his expression, because she sighed dramatically and gave him the reins. Gideon wondered if she were humoring him but didn’t want to take that thought any further. Right now he would focus on the trail ahead of them and getting back to where they had been as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the team was old and plodded along slower than he thought possible. They would need some fresh blood to pull this wagon, or they would never catch the people they chased.

They moved along at a snail’s pace, the sound of the merchandise in the wagon behind them clanking and banging together as the wheels hit dips in the trail. It was a strange kind of music—one he did not want to get used to hearing. He planned on getting rid of the wagon as soon as they found the Ruskins. For now he would endure it and its hideous stench.

“Do you think we can find our way back to the packs we left behind?” Chloe’s voice was surprisingly calm.

“Maybe, but with all the shit in this wagon, we don’t need any supplies.”

She murmured something he didn’t quite catch. Five minutes later, she apparently could not control her tongue any longer. “I want that pack back. It’s likely all we have left of our things, and I don’t want to show up on my aunt’s doorstep with nothing but dirty drawers and bugs in my hair.”

“This is the same trail we followed west. If we keep going, we’ll end up where we were this afternoon.” He could almost feel her grinning at him. “But there’s no guarantee we’ll find the exact spot, and we can’t afford to be poking around in the woods.”

She nodded. “I understand that, and I would probably say the same thing. But in this case, I can find the spot.”

“How is that possible? It was a bunch of trees with no distinguishing landmarks.” Gideon thought maybe she was trying to trick him into searching for the packs. There was no chance she could find a bush in the middle of the thick woods they had left them in.

“Distinguishing landmarks? You sure do talk fancy.” She shook her head. “I cut an X in the tree bark.”

“You did what?”

“You heard me. I marked the tree with my knife when you was getting captured.” Chloe sounded so damn smug, his annoyance notched up further.

He told himself not to react, to let her have her moment of triumph. Overall, Gideon was the better soldier, even if she’d been the one who freed them from their captivity. She was a young woman, cocky and sure of herself. There was no reason for him to get riled up.

But damned if he didn’t.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Gideon dropped the reins and yanked her close to him for a bruising kiss. It was a clashing of lips, teeth and tongue, different from their midnight sex. This was primal, elemental and overwhelming. Perhaps it was because they had faced danger together and escaped. He knew he was lying to himself, but thinking wasn’t an option at the moment.

In fact, he could hardly breathe.

The salty taste of her lips gave way to the sweetness of her mouth. The hot, wet recesses beckoned him until he was so deep he couldn’t distinguish where she ended and he began. His dick hardened in an instant, pressing against his trousers, eager to find release with Chloe. To his shock, her hand started pulling on the buttons to free him. He was about to stop her when she spoke.

“Please, I need. Now.” It was a fractured thought but one he understood.

He yanked at the offending buttons until the evening air hit his overheated skin. Her hand surrounded him, and he groaned into her mouth. Thank God she wore drawers with a slit. The ugly dress bunched around her hips. Chloe straddled him, never breaking the kiss, and soon he was poised at her entrance, which was already wet with arousal.

It was wrong, it was foolhardy, it was loco. He couldn’t stop if someone put a gun to his head.

Gideon had never been as aroused or as hard as he was at that moment. She sank onto his length, inch by inch, her tightness surrounding him, embracing him. He gripped the seat beside him until the wood almost splintered under his fingers. It was only through sheer force of will he did not come in the first five seconds. She was perfectly made for him, as if someone had engineered her tiny body to accept, welcome, enclose his.

“Ohhhhh,” she breathed against his lips. “It’s even better than last night.”

Damn straight it was. Gideon guided her up and down a few times, and then she took control again. Her pace increased quickly until all he could do was hang on to her hips and try not to find his release too soon. Blood raced around inside him until his heartbeat became the only thing he heard.