Calico (14 page)

His body had no trouble answering the pleading cry of hers to be closer. To fit thigh to thigh, belly to belly, breast to chest, and mouth to mouth. There were, he was fast finding out, a great deal of advantages to kissing a woman of Maggie’s height. He didn’t have to bend to reach the delicate lobe of her ear or trace the taut line of her neck. And when he claimed her mouth again, he fit himself in the cradle of her hips, cupping her bottom to hold her there and ease his aroused flesh.

He brought his mouth down on hers, harder and rougher than he had meant to. His emotions broke free of his control as raw, explosive passion dictated to him.

The excitement built inside Maggie until she didn’t think she could stand it. Kissing McCready was better than finding gold. It was watching the eagles soar and closing your eyes, wishing you were up there with them, carried on sweeping air currents, free. He made her forget everything. Everything but the hot churning within her body.

When his mouth released hers, she wanted to pull him back, but his lips raced down her throat. Instinct sent her head tilting back to give him what he wanted. The scents that melded and were McCready’s alone drifted over her, then his mouth was at her ear, his teeth tugging and nipping before he whispered something she didn’t understand. Words didn’t matter. The sound of his rough voice made her tremble. She dragged his lips back to hers with a soft moan of desperation.

She explored his back while the hot caress of his skilled mouth had her wanting his hands on her body. There were so many things she didn’t know, but her body was telling her that McCready could teach her.

She felt him pull her shirttail free, then slide his hand over the thin cotton chemise that offered no shield to the heat of his touch tracing the line of her spine. The frenzied mating of their mouths subtly changed to a slower, deeper rhythm, just as his caresses became unhurried. He drew his palms around to her sides, stroking up and down, the heels of his hands pressing against her breasts. Shivers of desire ran down her belly.

With his mouth still covering hers, McCready backed her up against the wall before she could stop him. Her arms were around him as if they belonged there. Strained against her, his body throbbed until it was one sweet ache. He could sense each change as it flowed through her. The unbridled passion in Maggie stole his breath, and he lifted his head, watching her lean limply back against the wall. Maggie’s pulse was wild beneath his hand where he cupped her throat.

But he hadn’t finished his seduction of Maggie’s mouth, making it wholly his. She tasted of him, her breath tore as his did, and every sound of desire he called from her was an echo of his own.

Biting the tip of her tongue distracted her from feeling each shirt button that he opened. But the cool air touching her bared skin and the heat of McCready’s mouth trailing along the edge of the thin cotton chemise had Maggie tense. His murmured “Trust me” broke into the passion that nearly consumed her.

The wall at her back left her nowhere to retreat, but he felt her instant withdrawal and slowly lifted his head to look at her.

“Why?” he asked, trying to make sense of her frozen state. Her eyes were still passion-dazed, her lips swollen from his kisses, and her body throbbing as fiercely as his.

Anger surged through him at her continued silence. He gripped her shoulders, pinning her tight to the wall. “Tell me why, Maggie?”

“You. You want me to trust you.” He had made her need him. He had to know just by looking at her that he only had to touch her, kiss her, and she would be helpless to stop him. He made her want to give. And he wouldn’t have to ask. It shamed her. That anyone, especially McCready, could have any power over her pride and her will shook her to her soul.

Infuriated that tears burned behind her eyes, Maggie shoved his chest and was thankful that he gave her breathing room. “Do you want me to say more? Do you want me to tell you that I want you?”

“Nothing would please me more, Maggie, than to hear you say it. But not like this. Not when you hate the thought of it.”

“Let me go, McCready.”

There was an underlying plea for him to let her go that went beyond this cabin and his presence. With regret he shook his head. “I can’t, Maggie, even if I wanted to.”

“It’s the damn mines that you want.”

“No. There’s you. I want you. I told you that, and you wouldn’t believe me.” He lifted his hand to her face, and she stiffened and shut her eyes.

“You won’t win. I won’t let you win.”

The way she looked at him made him feel as if he had shattered something smaller and definitely more fragile than himself.

“I can’t even tell you that I’m sorry, Maggie.”

“Don’t bother, boyo.” She glared at him, dragging up anger to give her strength. “I’m the one sorry enough for both of us.”

Without another word he walked out of the cabin.

Within minutes of meeting with McCready, Dutch decided that he was in a rare mood. He had seen McCready like this few times in the past, but when he did, Dutch had learned not to argue with him.

McCready had a dangerous glint in his eyes that warned of a man ready for a fight. No, Dutch amended, McCready was not just ready to fight, he was spoiling for one.

He could only guess that things were heating up with Maggie. He tried to warn McCready, but the man wouldn’t listen then, and he doubted he would listen to anything he had to say about Maggie now. But he wished he could see McCready, wound tighter than a two-dollar watch, fly apart.

“Well,” McCready asked, “what are you waiting around for?”

“Just making sure that you didn’t forget anything you needed. Don’t hardly seem worth the trip to bring you eggs and whiskey.”

McCready knew that Dutch was angling for an explanation of what had happened to all the whiskey he had helped store at the cabin, but he wasn’t about to give it to him.

“That’s what I need. That’s all you are to bring to me tomorrow.”

“Don’t think I can do it. Not tomorrow anyhow. Satin’s pining something fierce for Maggie. The dog doesn’t want to eat. Can’t tempt her at all, especially not with steak. I even tried to take her outside—”

“Are you deliberately trying to let her get away from you?” “No me, boss. I made a collar for her with rope and just figured that a walk might perk up her appetite. Didn’t do a bit of good. She still refused to eat.”

“If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, Dutch, you’re doing a hell of a good job.”

“It ain’t that. I don’t need to put any guilt on you, boss. You’ve got enough of your own without me adding to it.”

McCready closed his eyes briefly. Dutch was right. He did have enough guilt of his own. And he had to go back and face that guilt in the form of one Mary Margaret O’Roarke the way he couldn’t do it last night. He had thought himself a man unafraid to face anything that came his way. But once he had walked out of the cabin last night, he couldn’t make himself go back inside. The cold ground in front of the door had made a sorry bed, but then, he had been so restless it wouldn’t have mattered where he tried to sleep.

A glance up at the sky showed the dark clouds that had begun piling to the north yesterday were moving slowly toward them. Rain would cool things off, he thought, raking his hand through his hair.

“So, it’s all right with you if I wait—”

“No. Christ, no! I need the whiskey, Dutch. If you could go back to camp and get it now, I’d wait.”

Lumbering to his feet, Dutch shook his head. McCready had it bad. His own words came back to him from the other day when he had asked McCready if Maggie was giving him a hard time. It appeared to him as if she wasn’t anywhere near done, judging by the way McCready behaved.

He, too, saw the threatening clouds and felt the urge to get back to the Rawhider before the rain hit. “You know, boss, I’m getting a feeling that things might be stirring up in camp.”

“I thought you said Quincy followed Ryder out of camp north to Santa Fe?”

“That he did, just like I figured he would, and he ain’t come back.”

“Then why the feeling?” McCready had a healthy respect for Dutch’s feelings. He didn’t get them often, but when he did, it was worth paying attention.

“This time I can’t answer you. Just take it as gospel.”

“What I’m taking is a hike back up to the cabin. You, I expect to see here tomorrow.”

Dutch had a serious decision to make. He could bring McCready his whiskey, but that would prolong his staying up at the cabin with Maggie. He could also risk his friendship and his job and not come back at all.

“A right fetching dilemma,” he murmured to himself, hurrying now to ride back to the Rawhider.

Maggie had let the fire die. The damp from the coming storm was already seeping into the cabin, but she didn’t care. She told herself she wasn’t worried about where McCready was, couldn’t care less if he ever showed his face again. But the truth was, she did care. The man was a burr under her skin, and she knew how to pluck those out even if it pained her. Why, then, couldn’t she get McCready out of her head?

The coffee in her cup had long since cooled, but Maggie drank it anyway. She had to find a way to escape. There was no other way to get rid of McCready. Once free, she could take off and be lost in the mountains long enough for him to forget about her and her mines. True, that move would cost her the chance of marrying Quincy and getting the money she needed to open the mines.

“Damn him!” she yelled, throwing the cup across the room. Inactivity ate at her. She couldn’t sit here hour by hour and not do something. She stared at the closed door, then shifted her gaze to the shuttered windows. There had to be…

Before she finished her thought, she was up and moving around to the chair. Hefting it chest high, she carried it over to the window and rammed it against the wood. The shutter flew open.

Maggie’s mouth hung open, and she dropped the chair, barely missing her foot. Leaning over the edge, she saw no broken wood. It had never been barred at all.

“An’ here I sat, fool that I am, while McCready’s been gone.” Yet, she didn’t climb out the window, cautious now that she knew she hadn’t been entirely locked in. She knew she didn’t trust McCready. It would be just like him to be lying in wait for her. If she knew one thing, she knew that McCready would do anything to get his hands on her again.

But as she studied the rocky land around the cabin as far as she could see, Maggie began to understand that McCready might not be there at all.

She couldn’t wait any longer. Since he hadn’t come back into the cabin last night, she had no way of knowing how long he had been gone. He could be returning while she hesitated.

Freedom was so close that she could taste it, but Maggie spun from the window and grabbed a blanket. She still had no weapon, for McCready kept the knife locked in his chest. A fork would have to do. This time she wasn’t recklessly going to run without food. She couldn’t take the dinner no one ate, but the hard biscuits would keep her from starving until she found her way back to her cabin.

After shoving the biscuits into her shirt, she fumbled with the buttons, urged now by an inner warning that she had to hurry. Tossing the blanket out the window, Maggie hoisted herself over the ledge and out.

The last time she’d run, she had no time to plan, and McCready had found her. Luck didn’t seem to be riding with her this time, either. She headed around the back of the cabin, trying to forget the storm that was piling up grief faster than a miner’s unshored diggings. There were few things that Maggie was afraid of. Gully-washers with their thunder and lightning topped her small list.

To the far north, jagged peaks were being smothered by the darkening clouds. She glanced to the south, to the mesas rising like cones with their tops cut off, and thought of the Indians that still roamed the land. But the Indians posed less threat to her than McCready did.

Maggie looked back and saw she hadn’t come far enough from the cabin. But before her was a narrow path between boulders. Hitching the blanket over her shoulder, instinct warned this was not the way to go, but she was still in view of McCready’s cabin, and that meant if he came back, he could see her.

Not twenty feet farther Maggie knew why she should have listened to her own inner warning. She was on the edge of a crevice that was almost fifteen feet wide. She didn’t even think about jumping. She backed away, just as the first rumbles of thunder pealed in the sky.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Maggie told herself she was not going to be afraid. She would find another way. But the only other way was back past the cabin.

And she didn’t care if she had to crawl her way to get by it.

Lightning split the sky. Maggie felt her belly hollow out. She wasn’t going to be given the time she needed before the storm came. Without boots she would be a fool to try to run, but desperation breeds fools, she decided, making a run for the back of the cabin.

Flattened against the wall, she listened, but the repeated rolls of thunder foiled her. She couldn’t hear if McCready was inside. A careful peek around the corner revealed nothing but the empty corral.

Well, if she was a fool for running, she’d be a bigger one to stand where she was.

Maggie rushed forward only to stop short, swinging her arms in circles to keep her balance. McCready’s back filled her vision.

And even with the crashing roar of thunder she heard him calling out to her.

Maggie turned tail and ran back to the boulders, frantic to find a place to hide. There wasn’t a crevice to hide a prairie dog, much less someone her size.

Forked lightning seemed to point its bony fingers at her, and this time the thunder rumbled like laughter. Even the storm seemed determined to give her away to McCready.

Wind swept fat raindrops against her. For a few minutes Maggie kept her fear at bay and searched for concealment. A few straggly yucca bushes didn’t offer any hope.

“Maggie! Answer me!”

She dropped flat and covered her head with the blanket, praying the small outcrop of rocks would at least hide her legs.
Don’t let him come this far
. The wind edged its way beneath her blanket, and she knew that the very elements were against her. The rain pelted down, and the ground shook as the thunder claimed the land. Maggie shook right along with it. Fear wormed its way from inside to chill her flesh.

She wasn’t sure if the wind carried McCready’s voice or if he was going away from the cabin, down the path she had tried to use the last time. It was her call to make. She could go back to the cabin or face her own fears and ride out the storm in the open. A choice from hell, but one she couldn’t wait any longer to make. Rivulets of water were crawling beneath her. The force of the rain and wind already soaked her clothes.

Maggie scrambled to her feet and ran for the cabin. Only there was no cabin to see. In the few minutes she had hidden beneath the blanket, the dark roil of clouds unleashing their fury had blotted out every bit of light. The solid torrent of rain left her floundering for direction. As desperate as she was to reach safety, Maggie closed her eyes with every strike of lightning.

The terrifying panic was closing her throat so she could not make a sound beyond a single whimper. Her legs gave way, and she huddled under the soaked blanket, hugging her knees tight while silent screams clawed their way from inside her.

McCready was forgotten. There was nothing but Maggie and fear. And the storm that seemed to intensify its rage.

The sound of naked violence hurled her back in time. Maggie was twelve, spouting up as tall as her father, scared to tell him about the bleeding that wouldn’t stop. She didn’t understand why she bled without there being pain. She knew she hadn’t hurt herself. But when a second shirt of hers had to be torn up, her father discovered her secret and told her what was wrong. It was her fault they were caught down in the gully washing out the rags she had made. The storm had caught them there, and she followed her father up the rock wall that offered little in the way of handholds.

She remembered the scraggly little bush jutting from a tiny crevice that she had reached for. She had bitten her lip and tasted her blood in fear as the roar of water rushed below them. Her father had motioned her over and away from the bush, grabbing hold of it himself. Maggie was braced between two small ledges barely wide enough to hold her toes and hands. The rock face was cold as she pressed her cheek against it, her eyes wide and staring at her father. He had smiled, she recalled, the last smile before the bush tore free and he disappeared down into the churning waters below them.

“Papa!” The scream from the past clawed its way free with her scream now.

McCready shook his head. It wasn’t more than the scream of the wind he heard. Soaked and still standing in the rain, he knew he was being a fool to hope that Maggie would come back.

He still didn’t understand how she got by him. And that is the only way she could have left. One of the reasons he had built the cabin here was the crevice that extended for over a thousand feet in the back of the cabin. No one could climb it, up or down. Not even Maggie. But there was no getting away from the fact that she had managed to leave.

Raking the rain from his hair, he turned to the door, yet something stopped him from going inside. He knew he did not have Maggie’s skill or knowledge about the land, but he knew the surrounding area well. There was no place for her to hide while the storm continued.

He remembered that the fire was dead when he returned. Wherever Maggie was, she was long gone.

He was the devil’s own, but a fool just the same, for he found himself rounding the cabin, swearing at the gray torrent that hindered his sight.

McCready slid and went down on one knee, cutting it on a rock, before he could stand. The instant sting of the cut was washed by the rain. He couldn’t fight the need he had to make sure that Maggie wasn’t here. Even if she didn’t need him for anything, he had to satisfy himself that she was safe.

By touching the slippery, cold stone he felt his way, rain stinging his skin as it renewed its force. He tried to call her name, but the wind whipped the sound from his mouth and blended it with its own wild wailing.

He argued with himself to turn back, for it was impossible to see even with the near constant flashes of lightning. But he went on a few feet more, still trying to call her, driven by icy tendrils of fear. He tried not to think of how cold it was, how quickly the wind stripped the heat from his big body. “Maggie!” he yelled. “
Maggie!
”

The ground was treacherous between the slippery rocks and churned mud. There was no sense to the certainty that Maggie was somewhere nearby. He knew it but kept looking.

At first when his boot kicked at something soft, McCready didn’t understand what he’d found. It wasn’t until he dropped to his knees, wincing as another rock hit his cut, that he tore the covering aside and found her.