Stagecoach Capture Read online

  “The minister sent me ten miles outside of town to a dirty, cramped farmhouse and into the care of a good churchgoing family. Ha! I wasn't there a week before upstanding citizen Benjamin Standhold starting pressing himself against me at the stove or pinching my behind while I served supper."

  Slade edged closer and reached out a hand, his brows tight with concern. “You don't have to do this, Jazzy."

  “Oh, yes, I do.” She leaned away and tossed her head, looking him square in the eye. “You told me I had to face facts. Well, maybe you need a dose of the same medicine. I went to Mrs. Standhold, but she just berated me for flauntin’ myself. Back then, I didn't even know the meaning of the word. I used every trick I could think of to avoid that horrible man.” Those feelings of helplessness from that time threatened to engulf her and she choked back a sob. “But he wouldn't leave me alone.

  “On my first trip into town, I ran away. I stayed hidden for two days before the ladies at Miss Veronica's organized their own search party, then brought me back to her place. At first, they treated me like a pampered pet, giving me castoff clothes and bringing me food from downstairs. They convinced Miss Veronica I could earn my keep by sewing for them."

  She watched his face closely, needing to see his reaction to what came next. “That worked for a while—until men started asking for a session with the young one. Finally, Miss Veronica couldn't ignore the money being offered. Then the time came to earn my keep. So, as gently as they could, they taught me what I needed to know to entertain the customers."

  * * *

  CHAPTER 12

  “Shit, Jazzy, I've heard enough.” Slade stalked across the room and braced his hands along the sides of the window.

  The sight of his retreating back turned into the picture of him turning away for good. A pain stabbed deep into her heart. He'd become such a big part of her life in such a short time. Suddenly her legs wobbled and she slumped on the mattress, unable to tear her gaze away from his broad back. “I understand.” Her defeated words tasted like dirt in her mouth. Of course, he'd turn away. A natural reaction to something unclean.

  He looked over a shoulder, eyes narrowed to a dangerous slit. “You understand what?"

  “Your reaction is natural. I understand my past is a lot to take in."

  “My reaction?” With deliberate movements, he turned and leaned a shoulder against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “What do you mean?"

  Holding tight rein on her deepening disappointment, she waved a hand in his direction. “Look at you. A few truths about my life and you're gazing through the closest window, fixin’ on how you're going to escape."

  “Don't tell me what I'm thinking.” His words rumbled low with warning.

  “In my business, I've had to learn to read people. Everything about your body is screaming ‘let me out.’”

  “That so?"

  “Not answering my questions is another part of it.” Gathering her courage, she stepped quickly across the wooden planks and looked up into his frowning face. “How would you act if someday an old customer recognized me and approached us on a street?"

  He stiffened and his hands drew into fists. “That wouldn't be a problem."

  She cupped his fists and ran her thumb along the hard ridge of his knuckles, relishing the strength in Slade's hands. “These fists prove you wrong. I'm not sure how you'd react to a meeting like that.” A sigh escaped. “All I wanted was to put the life at Miss Veronica's behind me and see a bit of the world."

  “Don't forget mountains.” He winked and crooked his lips into a grin.

  At his words, her heart squeezed tight. She raised a hand to cup the jaw of this dear man who remembered. “But that simple wish isn't to be."

  “Why not?"

  “I'll never be rid of that life. You saw right through my ritzy traveling suit and figured out who I truly was."

  His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Darlin', if I remember that first stage stop correctly, your behavior was anything but shy. That was a good clue."

  The scene flashed in her head as if it had just happened and realization hit her senses. She ducked her head and mumbled, “I just wanted the freedom to choose. To make my own decisions. That's what I've wanted for a really long time."

  “But you said you'd had that right all along."

  “I didn't, not really. You've shown me the truth.” She laid her hand on his chest and drew power from the coiled strength beneath her fingers. Facing a body's worst fear drained away the energy right down to her toes. “I was taught that the ladies at Miss Veronica's were better than the soiled doves in the saloons, the streetwalkers on S. Presa and the crib women lining the back alleys of Durango Street.” She wished she could cuddle up to his chest and stay protected in his arms forever. “But you were right, Slade. I'm only a whore with loose morals and that's what I'll always be."

  “No!” His hands circled her waist. “You're more than that."

  She shook her head and averted her gaze. “Even that bandit saw who I was. That's why he singled me out and shuttled me into the back room.” The truth sat like a lump of cold oatmeal in the pit of her stomach. “He knew a sullied woman when he saw one.” Pressure under her chin lifted her head upwards.

  “That's not the woman I see. My Jazzy knows what she wants and isn't afraid to go after it. She's smart and figures a way out of the worst situations. Tearing petticoat strips to leave along the trail led me to you. When faced with tough decisions, you thought of others and worked out the right answer. I'll bet you figured you could stand up to that bandit's advances better than the other women."

  A flush ran over her skin at his compliments. She'd treasure these words always. “Well, stagecoach rides like we had don't happen every day. But those women didn't want much to do with me before the bandits scared them silly.” Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head. “Maybe I was a fool to think I could have a normal life."

  “Forget what those ladies thought. Who says what's normal.” He raised his hands and rested his wrists on her shoulders, tangling his fingers in her hair. “Will I be living a normal life after I turn in my badge?"

  She sucked in a breath. “You're not still going to be a marshal?"

  “This hunt was my last job as a law enforcement officer.” He shook his head, gazing deeply into her eyes. “But I'll always wear a gun. And I won't stop looking over my shoulder or scanning every public room I enter for a suspicious action. The worry is real that an angry family member will hunt me down to avenge a brother, nephew, uncle, or cousin—someone they still think innocent of what I arrested them for, despite evidence to the contrary."

  Her stomach clenched and she grabbed his forearms. “I hadn't thought of that. How awful for you."

  “I have a past, too.” His gaze bored into hers. “My life as a marshal hasn't always been played out by the rules. I'm not proud of all of my arrests. Jazzy, I've killed men. Men who were only looking to stay alive another day. Because I had a quicker draw or because I knew the lay of the land better, I'm the one who walked away. And I can't swear all those men were guilty.” He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers. “Can you live with that?"

  She inhaled and held it for several seconds, almost afraid to speak her question out loud. “Are you asking me to?"

  “I'm not much for promises.” His words were slow and thick. “The one thing I know is that I can't watch you ride out of my life."

  A chill ran over her skin at the impact of his words. She shivered. “And I don't want to. I only want to be with you."

  He ran his hands up and down her arms. “You're cold. Let's get back in bed.” With an arm draped over her shoulders, he guided her across the room. He slid under the blanket and scooted across the mattress.

  She could only stare, trying to catch her breath over what she'd heard. Slade had just proclaimed his feelings.

  “Jazzy.” His voice was stronger as he held open the blanket.

  The view of his broad chest and tau
t stomach muscles was irresistible. Her fingers itched to tangle in his dark chest hair. She took the final step, then slipped under the blanket.

  And her body instantly warmed. She snuggled close and rested her head on his shoulder. “You feel so good."

  “And you're still chilled.” He massaged the length of her upper arm and rubbed a leg over hers. “See what happens when you get riled?"

  She wanted to tell him when she was good and riled, he'd know. Instead, her breathing deepened into a sigh. “Maybe you'll grow tired of my rants."

  “Maybe.” He brushed his lips over her forehead and kissed her temples.

  She stilled and held her breath.

  “But I doubt it.” His words ruffled the hair near her ear, as he ran gentle nibbling kisses along her earlobe.

  Every place their bodies touched heated in that instant. Jazzy burrowed more tightly against him as the warmth began to chase away all memory of her past. She kissed his neck and inhaled the mixture of scents she would always remember as being Slade's—leather and fresh air with a touch of bay rum. His skin was salty, his jaw rough with stubbly whiskers.

  Her arms inched around his neck and she pressed her breasts against his chest, their hardened tips tingling at the contact. Her fingers tunneled into his thick hair and she pulled him closer.

  Slade's hand rubbed her shoulders, her back, then cupped her rump and squeezed. He broke off from planting kisses along her jaw to bury his nose in her hair. “Jazzy girl, you feel so good in my hands. You don't know what I went through when you were shot."

  She kissed a line down his jaw, enjoying the prickle of his beard. “Oh, maybe I do. When I was hauled away by those thugs, my last sight was of you, bloody and beaten, sprawled in the dirt. I didn't know if you'd live or how badly hurt you were.” Her heart clenched. “I thought I'd never see you again."

  “Not see me again?” He eased back and his gaze connected with hers. “But then why did you leave that colorful trail of petticoat scraps?"

  “I was hopeful, but not sure.” She shrugged. “I've been on my own for so long, I'm used to relying on my own wits."

  He brushed his fingers along her cheek and kissed her brow, then her temple. “Be sure of this, Jessimay Morgan. You're not alone. Not anymore and never again."

  The whisper of his lips on her face and the impact of his words dissolved the last vestiges of her fears. He did want her the same way she wanted him. Suddenly, too much cloth separated their bodies and she needed to show in her own way that she felt the same. Her hands trailed down his chest and tugged on the buttons at his waist.

  “Mmm, are you trying to tell me something?"

  “Shuck your drawers. I want to touch your skin."

  A snort of laughter escaped. “The ever forthright woman.” He rolled to his back and raised his hips to slide off his clothes.

  Jazzy rose to her knees to undress, but couldn't drag her gaze from the tented blanket over his groin. Suppressing a moan of anticipation, she dropped the chemise straps over each shoulder and wiggled the thin garment down to her waist.

  “That was nice.” His words were raspy with desire. “Move like that again."

  She glanced at him, as her nipples budded in response to his heated gaze. Slowly she lowered her rump to her heels and rested her hands on her knees, plumping her breasts between her arms. “Do you want me to dance for you?"

  He breathed in sharply and his gaze narrowed. His face seemed etched in stone. “Don't say that."

  She hesitated, unsure of his change in mood. “What?"

  “I'm not one of your old customers."

  Her past again. “I'm sorry.” She reached out a hand to stroke his rigid arm. “I won't do it again."

  The bed jiggled from his sudden movement. “That's how I learned about you."

  She stilled at his words and her stomach tightened. From the tone of his voice, she knew what he was about to say was important. “I don't understand."

  He angled his chin toward the window and stared at the ceiling. “When I first reached the cabin I saw you trying to keep that bandit from pawing you. The provocative sashay you did was the same as the one you did in the room at Ella's the night we were together."

  She sucked in a breath. “But I had to with the bandit. I was trying to save myself and the others."

  He reached out an arm and drew her close. “After a few seconds of shock, I realized that."

  “And you stormed through that door anyway ... even though you knew then what I was."

  He brushed his lips across her forehead. “I had to get to my Jazzy girl."

  Would she ever get tired of hearing the pet name he used? She swallowed against a dry throat and ran a finger through the hair on his chest.

  Slade rolled on top of her, grabbed her wrists and held them over her head. “Are we done talking? Because there's a certain part of me"—he growled and rocked his erection against her abdomen—"that needs your special attention."

  In an instant, he'd gone from concerned listener to passionate lover. Her pulse leapt, like her heart and soul recognized Slade was the last man she'd ever know ... in a carnal way.

  Her gaze tangled with his and she shivered. “But I don't want to do the wrong thing."

  “Just do what feels right."

  “I'm scared, Slade."

  He loosened his grip on her hands and trailed his fingers along the side of her face to cup her cheek. “Tell me why."

  A woman could just lap up this man when he turned his dark gaze her way. “I've never made, um, I mean, had sex without knowing what the man expected.” Her heart raced at what she'd almost revealed.

  “What about the night we were together? That was certainly unexpected."

  A giggle erupted and she watched a grin spread on his lips in response. “Well, I was doing anything and everything to keep you from finding my stash of coins.” She shrugged and her gaze focused on his chin. “And I was using all my routines."

  “Routines?” He pulled away, brows raised.

  “You know, figuring out what a customer wanted. One fella gets buck naked and likes lots of hand motion, another comes at me with only his fly unbuttoned, and another—"

  “Jazzy!” Slade rolled to his back and laid an arm across his eyes. “I get the picture."

  “Don't get high-falutin’ on me. You came to my room looking for the bank money.” She leaned on an elbow and poked him square in the chest. “You thought I was a bank robber, yet you jumped into bed with me."

  “Guilty as charged.” He reached out a hand and caressed a voluptuous, bare breast. “You were irresistible, no matter which side of the law I thought you are on."

  For a moment, she closed her eyes and savored the roughness of his callused thumb in the valley between her breasts. Then her eyes popped open. “Are?"

  A grin slid along his lips and he winked. “I meant to say were.” He leaned close, his gaze intent on her lips.

  Out of habit, she turned her head and offered her cheek, her hands twisted in the bed sheets.

  “Look at me, Jazzy."

  His raspy words drew her attention and she connected with his lusty stare.

  “No games and no playacting. Right now, this is you and me in this bed—Jazzy and Slade.” His gaze caressed her lips. “I'm going to kiss you ... on the mouth. Next, I'm going to taste your lips. Then I'm going to open your mouth and taste your tongue."

  Oh, my stars! Just listening to him made her nipples bead and an ache throb between her thighs. She shivered.

  “Relax.” He lowered his head and briefly brushed his lips across hers.

  His actions were gentle and the sensation on her mouth was as soft as a rose petal. The ladies were right—letting a man kiss your lips gave away a bit of your heart. But it warmed her from the inside out like hot cocoa on a winter morning. As her resistance relaxed, so did her fingers on the fabric.

  He skimmed his fingers along her neck and kissed her again and again, lingering longer with each contact.

>   The sensation was as heady as fancy French champagne. Jazzy pressed against his lips and was rewarded with a groan from Slade. After a moment of hesitation, she raised a hand to twine her fingers into the hair at his neck. The luxury of touching him for her pleasure was new. She enjoyed it totally.

  This time, when his lips captured hers, she almost forgot to breath. He nibbled, he ran his tongue along her teeth, then delved inside the warmth of her mouth. She'd only kissed two boys in her life and neither had kissed the way Slade did. His kisses heated her blood and made her lightheaded. She couldn't think, she could only react—and that doubled her excitement.

  Slade broke away from her mouth and touched his lips along her jaw. “Touch me, Jazzy. I like the feel of your hands on me."

  The familiarity of those words hit her hard. She stilled, then trailed her hand down his chest, slowing to caress his stomach and then stroked down toward his cock.

  He grabbed her hand and placed it on his chest, covering it with his much larger one. “I like your hands other places, too. That comes later."

  A man who took his time ... a man who enjoyed kissing ... a man willing to delay his own pleasure.

  The muscles under her hand were firm and warm, part of a solid, reliable man. But she was looking for adventure and a new life. Although, there was certainly something to be said for dependable.

  “You're thinking too hard. Kiss me, Jazzy."

  She slid her hand up to his bristly jaw and anchored his face. Her mouth clamped on his and she sucked and nipped at his lips, surprised at the vigor of his response.

  Slade slipped his arm under her neck and cradled the back of her head as he returned her kisses. His other hand molded her breast, inching closer to the center, until he rolled the nipple between two fingers.

  With a gasp, she arched into his hand, wanting to increase the delicious friction any way she could. This was a feeling new in her experience and one she wanted to savor.