Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (28 page)

Or did she?

Just the thought of not seeing Rowe again, or knowing the excitement he brought into her life, sent a chill of loneliness through her. Katy Burns, she told herself sternly, you can have one or the other, but it was a certainty that she couldn’t have both.

She drifted to sleep thinking that maybe when morning came, she might see Garrick Rowe in an entirely different light, and his fascination for her would be gone.

Pressure from a full bladder awoke Katy. Dawn lit the room. All was quiet except for the sounds made by the iron-rimmed wagon wheels and the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the street below. Katy lay quietly, dreading getting up, but knowing she’d not be able to go back to sleep if she didn’t relieve herself; the luxury of another hour’s sleep was too tempting.

Her warm feet hit the cold floor. She winced and groped beneath the bed for the chamber pot. In her haste to pull it out, the lid slipped from her fingers and made a loud clanking sound as it hit the bare floor. She winced again as she hoisted up her long gown and bunched it around her waist. The glass rim of the pot was cold, but a sigh of pure pleasure escaped her as water flowed. When she finished, she replaced the lid and carefully slid the half-filled chamber beneath the bed.

The crack of a whip, a muffled curse, and the slamming of a door below told Katy the town was awakening. She went to the window to peer out. She saw nothing, and went back to the bed, eager to sink down in the soft warmth.

When she saw the long shadowy shape stretched out on a bedroll against the door, she blinked rapidly to bring it into focus. Too startled to be frightened, she opened her eyes wide and jutted her chin forward in order to see better: A pair of boots sat against the wall a few feet from a head of coal black hair. Relief that it was Rowe who lay there came over her, but an instant later it was swept away by anger and mortification.

The buzzard! The unspeakable rotter! He had waited until she was asleep and then had come sneaking back into the room. The sound of the lid hitting the floor would have awakened the dead, she thought bitterly. Her face burned and her heart hammered as humiliation consumed her. He had seen her pull up her gown and heard her use the chamber pot! And he had just lain there like a big . . . lump of lard, not having the decency to let her know he was there or to leave the room so she could have some privacy. Damn him!

Katy eased away from the bed and backed the few feet necessary to reach the water pitcher that sat in the bowl on the washstand. She lifted it with her two hands, watching to see if the dark head moved. He was feigning sleep now, but not for long, she thought with a vicious spurt of pleasure. She moved silently to the end of the bed, then made two long, heavy steps, lifted the pitcher, and threw every last drop of the water at his head.

Rowe came up out of the bedroll as if he had been propelled by a slingshot.

“Goddammit! What the hell?” He wiped the water from his face with his hands and glared up at her. “What’s the matter with you, for Christ’s sake?”

In a long white gown, with the empty pitcher swinging from one hand, her hair hanging down about her shoulders, Katy stood over him like an avenging angel.

“You deserved it, you sneaky, slimy toad! You . . . you addle-brained bunghead. You’ve got about as much honor as a suck-egged mule! You sneaked in here like a belly crawling snake after I went to sleep.”

“Keep your voice down. Do you want everyone in the hotel to hear?”

She raised her voice deliberately. “I want everyone in this town to know what a low-down polecat you are!”

“Thanks to you,” he shouted, forgetting his warning to her, “I’m a low-down
wet
polecat.”

“Damn you to hell, Garrick Rowe!”

“Hush swearing.”

“It’s all right for you, but not for me.”

“Ladies don’t swear. Men do.”

“You’re a
man
?”

“You little shrew. I should teach you a lesson.”

“And I should have dumped the chamber pot on you. Golly damn and holy hell!” she yelled defiantly. “It’s not too late!”

“Katy! For God’s sake, calm down!” Before she could move her feet, his hands snaked out and grasped her ankles. She tumbled facedown onto the bed. The pitcher flew from her hand and crashed against the wardrobe. “Well, that does it!” Rowe swore viciously. “Everyone will think I’m beating you.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, you . . . you Benedict Arnold!”

“Why the hell are you so riled up?” He sounded honestly confused.

“Because you make me so damn mad I could bite a nail in half!” she yelled. “Let go of me or I’ll scream
fire
and empty every room in this hotel!”

“Dammit, Katy, I’m wet and my bed’s wet. I could beat your rear! And if you don’t stop yelling, I’ll go out in the hall and shout that you’re having a temper fit because you didn’t think I’d paid you enough for your services.”

“You’d do what?” She was as still as a rock for a moment, then kicked out viciously, catching him off guard. “You’re lower than I thought!”

“Stop kicking me or—dammit, you kicked me in the mouth!”

“Serves you right. Let go of me or I’ll kick your teeth down your throat!”

“Kick me again and you’ll be rubbing your sweet little rear for the rest of the day,” he snarled.

She kicked at him again, stubbornly, defiantly, and missed her mark. Abruptly she stopped thrashing about, and a second later sudden laughter bubbled from her lips. It filled every corner of the room. The sound was like pure, sweet music. With her hands clasped over her head, she turned her face and peeked at him through the tangle of hair that covered her back and shoulders.

Rowe was on his knees beside the bed, his hands still tightly around her ankles. His hair was wet and plastered to his head. Water ran down his cheeks and dripped from his jaw to his bare shoulders and chest already wet from the soaking.

“Ohhh . . . ohhh—” It was all Katy was able to say between spasms of uncontrollable giggles. “Oh, I wish I’d thought of the . . . chamber pot—”

“It’s a damn good thing you didn’t!”

“You can bet your sweet patoody I’d have doused you, you . . . snooper. You’re the bottom of the barrel, Garrick Rowe. The absolute bottom!”

“If I’m the bottom, you’re not far from it. You’re acting like a shrew.”

“What about yourself? You’ve got the guts of a mule coming in here and spying on me.”

“Hell! It’s my room.”

“You insisted that I take it.”

“Because I’m a gentleman.”

“Gentleman! Ha! A gentleman wouldn’t have sneaked back in like a . . . like a thief.”

“I wasn’t going to sleep in the hall and I sure as hell wasn’t going to sit up all night,” he growled.

Katy turned her face into the bedclothes to stifle her laughter. Rowe let go of her ankles and sat on the edge of the bed. He threw his leg over hers to hold them there while he wiped his head and face with the shirt he picked up off the floor.

“Get off me, you . . . bounder!”

‘Be still!” He continued to run the shirt over his chest and arms that were covered with gooseflesh and quivering with cold.

“I said get off me.”

“And I said be still.”

“Get off me or I’ll scream that you’re murdering me.”

“If you do, I might do just that.”

Rowe reached over and swatted her on the rear. The sound made by the palm of his hand against the solid flesh of her buttocks with only the thin layer of cloth to shield them was like the crack of a whip.

“Ouch!” Katy reared up in surprise.

Rowe realized instantly that what he had intended to be a light tap had been a heavy blow.

“Oh, God, honey, I’m sorry.” He lifted his heavy thigh from hers and he began to rub vigorously at the stinging area where his hand had landed. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to swat you so hard. I’m sorry, honey.”

His deep voice and the warm hand caressing her released tumultuous waves of feeling in Katy. The stinging slap on her buttocks combined with the strain of the last several days brought her to the breaking point. She felt as if a knife had severed the cord that held her control in check. She felt as if she were suddenly caught in a whirlwind and was being tossed about like a leaf in a mighty gale. It was impossible to hold back the tears. She buried her face in her arms as agonizing sobs tore from her throat.

“Oh, my God! Nightrose?” Rowe’s voice was choked. He rolled down onto the bed beside her, grabbed her into his embrace, pulling her head to his shoulder. “I wouldn’t have hurt you for the world, sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead with wild roughness. “I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry.” He wrapped her limp body in his arms, pressing it tightly, protectively against his own. He stroked her hair back from her face and whispered to her in a shaky, anxious voice. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so crazy about you, my sweet, that I’d kill any man who laid a hand on you.”

Real pain shone in his eyes. Katy didn’t see it, but she heard his voice and wanted to tell him that it wasn’t the pain of the blow that made her cry, but a combination of disappointments that spanned the past few years. As emotion and reason seesawed for dominance, she was unable to speak. She clasped her arms around him and held on as if he were the only solid thing in a tilting world. Katy burrowed her face into his broad shoulder. It felt so good to be cosseted and comforted that she melted against his chest, not knowing or caring that only the thin material of her nightdress was between them, or that it was not at all proper that she should be lying on the bed clasped in the arms of a man who was not her husband.

Her tears sent tremors of remorse through Rowe.

“Shhhh . . . don’t cry. Hush, dear heart. It tears me up to hear you cry.” Sensitive fingers played lightly with the strands of hair sticking to her cheeks, then moved beneath the heavy masses to the nape of her neck. “I’d give ten years of my life to undo what I just did, my love, my Nightrose.” The words were murmured against her ear in such an inexpressibly moving voice, so filled with pain that she cried all the more.

“It’s not . . . that—” She sobbed against a chest now wet with her tears.

“Then what is it, love?” His voice, kind and comforting, was close to her ear. She was penned against the length of his long, hard body and her head was caught in the crook of his arm.

“I don’t know what to do about . . . you. You . . . sweep me along and I end up doing what you want me to do just as if I didn’t have a mind of my own.”

“Has that made you so unhappy?” he asked with a soft voice full of tenderness.

“Not . . . yet, but it will. I know it will.”

“I was afraid to leave you in here alone tonight, love. The town is full of drunken rowdies. I noticed a number of them eyeing you when we were down on the street. I had no choice but to sleep on this side of the door or on the other side, and I didn’t figure I’d get much sleep with people stepping over me in the hall,” he whispered against the curve of her ear, her cheek.

Rowe was savoring the moment. His love was in his arms. The two of them were in a world where time was suspended. Her firm, round buttocks were a pleasure in his hand, her thigh resting naturally between his.

“I didn’t know you were here and I—”

“It was too late for me to leave, love, when I heard you get up to use the chamber. I lay there hoping you’d go back to sleep and I could sneak out again. I’m sorry you’re embarrassed.” He lifted her face so his lips could sip her tears.

“I’m mortified,” she corrected.

“It isn’t important,” he whispered, trailing kisses from her eyes along her cheek and slowly over to the corner of her mouth.

“It is to me.”

“It would have been all right if we were married.”

“Nooo—”

“A husband and wife know everything about each other.”

“But we’re not married.”

“We can be. Today. Marry me, Katy. Marry me so I can take care of you. I promise that you’ll be a full partner and share in each and every decision that affects our lives.”

Dazed, she leaned away from him and looked into his beseeching ebony eyes. “You don’t love me,” she protested.

“Don’t love you? I’m crazy about you.”

Katy closed her eyelids, but the stroking of his fingers from the nape of her neck to her spine, learning the smoothness of her back and haunches, pressing her to his body could not be shut out. Her body throbbed with an almost painful burning, a joyful and alien longing, a new and unknown sensation that lapped at her senses causing her to forget everything except the wild pleasure of being in his arms.

“I think I’m a little loony,” she whispered. “The thought of not being with you leaves me dreadfully lonely, but I don’t know if it’s love. I don’t know if it’ll last.”

“It’s got to be love, sweetheart. And, of course, it’ll last. You like being close to me like this, don’t you?” He held her tightly. His body, lean and powerful, was trembling like a great oak in a gale.

Her palm moved across the thickly matted hair on his chest to his back and shoulders and slid over muscle and tight flesh. What would it be like to lie in bed with him without anything between them and have him come inside her? The thought sent erotic signals through her body. Her palm moved searchingly over his quivering flesh.

“You’re cold,” she whispered.

Rowe’s chuckle was hoarse and strained. She filled his senses to the brim. How could he tell her that he was using every ounce of his control to keep from pressing his hard erection against her soft, flat belly? He held her to his chest as tightly as he dared and kissed her temple, the curve and hollow of her cheek, and settled his mouth gently for a moment beneath one ear.

“Sweet little innocent love. I’m not cold. I’m shaking because I want you so much.” A groan ripped from him. “You’re a fire in my body, in my heart, in my soul.”

Katy knew that his mouth was moving toward hers and she tilted her face to meet it. His lips took hers gently, then took slow, but firm, possession. She felt the drag of his new beard on her cheek, his pounding heart against her breasts. She felt boneless and deliciously comfortable, yet restless too. For a long time they lay entwined, kissing; and Katy knew for the first time the beauty of simply holding and being held in return. She didn’t question why she was doing these intimate things with him. Completely guiltless, she gave herself up to the enjoyment of his gentle possession.