Defiant (12 page)

His kiss was tentative at first. He didn’t want to frighten her with the power of the desire he felt for her, but when Rachel moaned softly in response and moved closer, he wrapped his arms around her and deepened the exchange.

Rachel’s heartbeat quickened. She responded hungrily to his kiss. She clung to Kane, thrilled to be in his arms. It seemed to her she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment.

Clint crushed her to him as his lips moved possessively, hungrily over hers. The feel of her soft curves against him fed the fire of his need. There was no denying he wanted her. He had from the first moment he’d set eyes on her.

Rachel was in ecstasy.

This was Kane.

Just a short time ago, she’d feared she would never see him again, and now they were alone together. She wanted to stay in his arms. She wanted to be with him always.

Clint was savoring every moment of holding Rachel. He never wanted to let her go, but he knew he had to. Rachel was beauty and innocence and all woman, and because she was, he had to end the embrace before things got out of hand. As chaste as she was, he was certain she had no idea how much he wanted her, and since it looked as if they were going to end up spending the night alone together in the cabin, he didn’t want to let his desire for her overrule his common sense.

With great reluctance, Clint ended the kiss. He gazed down at her and saw the bewilderment in her expression.

“You are a very tempting woman, Rachel Hammond,” he told her, putting her from him.

She was puzzled. She didn’t know why he’d stopped kissing her. She wanted to go back into
his arms and stay there, but his next words stopped her.

“But you are the preacher’s daughter.”

His words jarred her back to reality.

“Oh—”

Conflicting feelings assailed Rachel as she stood there, momentarily lost in the confusion of the battle between her emotions and reason.

Clint knew they both needed a distraction, so he went to his saddlebags and rifled through them.

“Since we’re going to be stuck here a while longer, you want to have a little fun?” he asked when he found what he’d been looking for.

“I thought we were having fun,” she said, feeling a little wild.

Clint bit back a groan at her remark. In her innocence, she was the perfect, if unknowing, seductress. He could only imagine what she would have been like if she’d known what she was doing and the effect she had on him.

“That kind of fun will only get us in trouble. I’ve got something else we can do—if you feel like being a little daring tonight,” he challenged her. He wanted to get both their minds off what had just transpired between them.

“All right—what did you have in mind?” She looked around the shambles of the damp and dirty room.

“Playing poker.” He showed her the deck of cards he’d retrieved from his saddlebag.

“Poker?” Rachel was shocked. Her father believed gambling was bad.

“Poker is basically an easy game. It won’t take you long to learn how to play.”

“But my father—”

Clint understood her concern, and he had an answer ready for her.

“I’m not going to tell him—are you?”

“No,” she answered with a grin.

“So your father will never know,” he finished. “Sit down while I fix a place we can play.”

Clint shoved the half-rotted bed slats together on the broken-down bed frame to create a makeshift table. Then he pushed their chairs in close and sat down.

“Are you ready?” he asked, glancing up at her as he began to shuffle the deck.

“I guess.” Rachel still felt a bit wild as she went to sit down with him.

“If you’re worried about your father’s belief that gambling is wrong, we won’t make any bets. That way our cardplaying won’t really be gambling.”

Rachel smiled at him, relieved that he’d found a way to ease the guilt she’d been feeling. “All right—how do we play?”

“Like this.”

She watched as he expertly dealt them each five cards.

“Check your hand. Pairs are good, three of a kind are better. There are straights and flushes, too.”

Clint explained the various combinations, and quickly discovered that Rachel was a very fast
learner. After the first couple of practice hands, he knew she was ready.

“All right, this time we’re serious,” he said as he dealt the cards.

Rachel picked up her cards and immediately started to smile. She had a pair of kings.

“Serious gamblers don’t let on if they’ve got a good hand,” Clint advised as she looked up at him in obvious delight.

“Oh, sorry.” She faked a frown.

He turned his attention to his own cards and found little to smile about. “I’m taking three. What about you?”

“Just two,” she responded confidently.

He dealt her two cards, then picked up his three to see how his luck was holding up. He discovered that it wasn’t. He threw his hand down in disgust.

“I’m out.”

“That means I won, right?”

“Right. What have you got?”

“Two pair—kings and tens,” Rachel stated proudly as she spread the cards out for him to see.

“All right, let’s try it again.”

Clint shuffled the deck and dealt another hand. The results proved much the same.

“This is fun!” Rachel proclaimed, winning for a second time.

“For you it is—you’re winning,” he remarked, slapping his losing hand down on the table. He was glad this wasn’t a serious game. He didn’t like being a loser.

“I’m only winning because I have such a good teacher,” she complimented him.

“I’m sure that’s it,” Clint agreed sarcastically.

“It’s too bad we’re not betting.”

“You’d be cleaning up, that’s for sure.”

“I know. Come on, deal again!” She realized he’d been right. Playing poker was fun—and distracting. Concentrating on the card game kept her from thinking too much about what had happened earlier between them and how hard it was still storming outside.

They continued to play, and Clint continued to lose. Every now and then he managed to win a hand, but it wasn’t often.

Clint finally drew into a flush, and he was just about ready to show Rachel his winning hand when suddenly the lamp burned out and they were left in complete darkness.

“What happened?” she asked, looking around nervously.

“The lamp must have run out of oil,” he answered, getting up to check.

Clint moved carefully across the room to the mantel and lit one of his matches so he could inspect the lamp.

“We’ve been left in the dark, and just when I had a winning hand, too,” he told her.

“What are we going to do?”

“There’s not a lot we can do except call it a night. You can use my bedroll. There’s a place over here where you’ll be dry.” He blew out the match as it burned down low.

Rachel was tired, but she was unsure of the proper thing to do. There was no doubt it was inappropriate for them to spend the night together unchaperoned this way, but under these dire circumstances, they had no choice.

“If I use your bedroll, where will you sleep?”

“I’ll sleep in the chair.” Clint assured her. He got his bedroll and spread it out for her. “You’re all set.”

“Thanks.” Rachel made her way over to him.

“Good night,” Clint bade her. He was tempted to take her in his arms again, but he feared he would never let her go if he did. He started to move away.

But Rachel stopped him. She reached out and touched his arm, and when he turned back, she drew him down to her for a kiss.

Clint had been trying to deny himself, but her kiss was all the invitation he needed. His lips moved possessively over hers in a devouring exchange that left them both breathless and hungry for more—much more. Lifting her into his arms, he laid her upon the bedroll and then followed her down, covering her body with his. They kissed again and were caught up in the fire of their need. His lips left hers and trailed a fiery path down her neck.

Rachel arched instinctively against the lean, hard heat of him as desire coursed through her. She’d never known such intimacy or such passion.

“Kane—” she whispered as she caressed the powerful width of his back and shoulders.

Clint was caught up in the excitement of Rachel’s kiss and touch. Only when she whispered “Kane” did reality return, and suddenly he realized how close he’d come to losing control. He kissed her one last time, deeply, hungrily, then moved away from her. He knew if he wanted to keep his sanity, he had to put distance between them.

“Good night,” he said, his tone gruff as he fought down his desire for her. She was tempting, but he knew they could go no further. In fact, they had already gone too far for his peace of mind. He stood up and went over to the window to look out one last time.

Rachel stared after Kane, wanting to go to him, but knowing he’d done the right thing by moving away.

“Good night,” she said softly. Covering herself with the blanket, she sought what little comfort she could find there on the floor. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but she knew it would be long in coming—if it came at all.

Clint stood at the window, watching the storm for a while longer, then went to sit down. He wanted to rest, but dark thoughts of his real reason for being there intruded. After the poker hands he’d dealt himself that night, he hoped his luck would change for the better before the Tucker Gang showed up.

Clint hoped, too, that Captain Meyers knew something about Sheriff Reynolds. He was going to ride back to the next town in a few days and
see if there was any response to the telegram he’d sent his former captain. He had an uneasy feeling about the lawman and knew it was best to check him out. He didn’t want anything or anybody to interfere with what he had to do.

Nothing was going to stop him.

Nothing.

Again the sound of distant thunder rumbled across the land. It sounded as if the storm was moving off now, and that was good. At first light they would head for town.

Clint wondered how Rachel’s parents would react when they found out he’d been forced to spend the night with their daughter. He grimaced at the thought and put it from him. That was the least of his problems. He was closing in on Tuck and Ax. They should be showing up any day now, and once they did, it wouldn’t be long before he found the real leader of the gang.

He was looking forward to that day.

It was what he was living for.

Nothing else mattered.

Clint closed his eyes, but sleep did not come.

Rachel lay staring up at the ceiling in the darkness. Until now, she hadn’t realized how tired she was. It had been a long, eventful day. First the rushed trip to help the Franklins, then the storm and the wrecked buggy, and finally being rescued by Kane.

A feeling of warmth crept over her, and she turned on her side to study him where he sat in
the chair across the room. In the darkness, silhouetted against what little light was coming through the window, Kane looked very much the loner. But, loner though he might be, he was still the man who’d saved her at the Last Chance and rescued her from the storm. Not to mention, he’d taught her how to play poker.

That thought alone left her smiling into the night. Rachel didn’t know what the future held, but she would always have the memory of this night alone with him—and how she’d won almost every game.

Chapter Twelve

Martin Hammond spent a restless night. The storm that had passed through had been violent. He wouldn’t be surprised if a twister or two had come out of it, and he had no doubt there was some wind damage around town.

Martin was up at first light. Though the storm had passed, he was still uneasy and on edge. He almost felt as if something was wrong, but he didn’t know why. He believed Anne and Rachel had wisely chosen to stay at the Franklin ranch overnight rather than risk trying to make it back to town before the storm broke. He was certain they would be returning some time that morning with news of how Mrs. Franklin and the newborns were doing.

After offering up his morning prayers in hopes they would calm his uneasiness, Martin set about making himself breakfast. He was just about to sit down at the table with his scrambled eggs and a
cup of coffee when he heard someone come running up outside calling his name.

“Reverend Hammond!”

Martin hurried out on the porch to find it was Bill Clark, the owner of the stable in town.

“What is it, Bill? What’s wrong?”

“Plenty!” the stable owner answered worriedly. “Your horse just came back—”

“My horse?” He frowned in confusion.

“The one I hitched up for Anne and Rachel yesterday.”

“What!” Now Martin was shocked.

“I just found him. He came running into the yard down at the stable. He’s real scared. He’s still got the harness on, but there was no buggy!”

“No buggy—dear God! Rachel and Anne are in trouble!” Martin panicked. “Saddle me up a horse, Bill, and see if anyone else wants to ride with me. If there’s been an accident, we might need a buckboard.”

“I’ll go with you,” Bill offered. “I’ll be waiting for you down at the stable.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Bill hurried off.

Martin rushed to close up the house. All the uneasy feelings he’d been having now made sense. Anne and Rachel must have been in a wreck on the trip back home last night. They could both have been injured—or worse.

Martin refused to let his thoughts explore the terrible possibilities. He rushed through town to the stable, and on his way he saw the havoc the
storm had wreaked on Dry Springs. Several trees were down, and some folks were already out, making repairs to roofs and shutters that had been damaged. When Martin reached the stable, he found Bill ready to ride out.

“Where’s the horse?” he asked Bill.

“In the corral,” Bill answered.

Martin went to check Buster over, and he could see by the animal’s condition that he’d been out all night in the storm, for he was still spooked and edgy.

“I wonder what could have happened to them?” Martin worried as he mounted up.

“It’s hard to say. Maybe they decided to wait it out somewhere along the way and the horse ran off.” Bill tried to think positively as he took up the reins of the team hitched to the buckboard, but, in truth, a horse showing up this way usually meant trouble.