Mountain Wild (Harlequin Historical Series) (9 page)

He kissed a slow trail to her other breast, the hands stroking her thighs adding to the wild strumming of her pulse. She cried out as his mouth closed over her, welcoming the brightness, the beauty of being wanted,
cherished.

His hand grazed the juncture between her thighs where an ache flared into an unquenchable need. She pressed her feet into the mattress, her legs quivering with tension as she strained against the pressure of his hand. His long finger stroked her shockingly sensitive flesh, each gentle glide startling her with a sting of pleasure.

She’d die if he kept on. She needed more of him. Breath escaped her as he suckled and stroked, each new burst of color and sensation bringing a deeper yearning.

“Garret!”

His weight settled over her and Maggie reveled in the feel of his skin against hers, her hands feasting on the corded muscles of his back as he kissed her. She twisted against him, sliding her fingers just beneath his waistband, trembling from the volatile combination of intriguing textures, the hair on his chest, his smooth, firm backside. He broke the kiss and pulled away from her.

Stunned by his sudden retreat, she sat up, ready to haul him back against her. He stood and stripped off his trousers in a few deft movements.

Maggie’s breath stalled at the full sight of him. Her Viking, powerful, beautiful—ready to conquer. She suddenly felt very small, dainty even.

The mattress sank beneath his knee, and Maggie swallowed hard, her body flooded by a rush of anticipation and apprehension at the thought of lying with him.

“Grace?”

She shivered, the gruffness of his voice stirring the wonderful sensations he’d conjured with his mouth and his hands. He tugged at the tie holding her hair and she felt the loose strands spread across her shoulders.

“Beautiful,” he said, his arms circling her as he eased her back.

She reached for him, her hands framing his handsome face, stroking his short beard. She couldn’t have known the “something more” Ira had told her about was a kind of spring in winter, melting away the ugliness of life. Nothing mattered but this man dusting her with gentle kisses as though she truly were the delicate woman of his dreams.

Desire gripping his body, Garret settled over Grace. The friction of her skin against his burned through the last strand of his control. Taking her mouth in a hard kiss he pushed home with a single thrust. Her pleasing moan didn’t go any further than his mouth as her welcoming warmth surrounded him. He held her pressed to the bed, the tight sheath of her body about to undo him.

Her hands stroked down his back until her fingers closed over his backside. Her hips shifted, seeking, caressing him so completely he groaned against his body’s unbearable demand for release.
Not yet.

Grace shoved against his shoulders. “Am I…
hurting you?
”

The alarm in her voice broke through the wild surge of sensation. How could she think she’d hurt him when he’d never felt anything so incredible as her generous heat? The combination of passion and concern in her bright blue eyes answered his question, reminding him of the abuse he knew she’d endured. That she had opened her trust to him, her body, moved him beyond physical pleasure.

“No,” he said, brushing his lips over hers. He rocked against her and she trembled, her eyes widening with surprise. “No more than I’m hurting you.”

Focused on the desire brightening her eyes, he repeated the slow, deliberate caress. Her thighs moved higher on his hips, silently asking for more of him, and he gave it to her, every thrust deeper, harder as pleasure expanded between them.

Her head tipped back as she rose to meet him. He drove harder until the velvet grip of her body clenched around him. Her cries of completion didn’t go any further than his mouth as he sank into her a final time, giving himself over to the sharp, shocking pulses of his own release.

Spent and panting, he locked his arms around her and shifted onto his side. He brushed a soft kiss against her cheek, his hand following the curve of her body.

My dream lover.

Releasing a long sigh of sheer satisfaction, he settled back on the bed. He smiled as she followed him, pressing her damp skin firmly against his side. Her arm tightened around his waist.

Maggie breathed in Garret’s musky scent and snuggled closer. Her head resting on the cushion of his arm, she marveled at the security she felt at being wrapped in his strong embrace. She’d never felt anything like it…peaceful, free, like the scattered white fluff of a dandelion floating on a warm breeze.

His gentle fingers traced her spine. The light tingling touch made her shiver.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

She didn’t think she’d ever be cold again. He was like a warm spring sun burning away the snow, leaving color and life in his wake.

“Grace?”

“No,” she said, brushing her lips over his chest. “I’m not cold.”

His fingers slid beneath her chin, tilting her face up to meet the tender caress of his lips. “You sure I’m not dreaming?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.

“No.” She smiled. She may have wondered what it would be like to be held by him, to be truly kissed by him. But she never dreamed she’d be lying with him like this, skin to skin, nothing between them but the wild beating of their hearts. She reached up sliding her fingers into his thick white hair. She could still feel the abrasion on his scalp where he’d been struck. The memory of his blood-matted hair sent a shiver of cold fear twisting through her heart.

“When you slept so long after your fever broke, I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up.”

“While I was kissing you, I was afraid I
would
wake up and you’d dissolve with the dream. I’m glad I woke up, Grace. You put any dream I’ve ever had to shame.”

She smiled and he shifted over her, dusting kisses down her neck, adding tingles to the lure of his words. She stretched beneath him, loving the feel of his body brushing against hers.

“My saving Grace,” he whispered. His teeth grazed lightly against her skin, raking the embers he’d left smoldering in her blood. She smoothed her hands over his hips to the firm swell of his backside. He groaned and she realized she wasn’t the only one trembling. The warm male flesh pressed against her thigh grew hard, increasing the tantalizing stir of her blood.

“You should sleep,” she said, knowing he had a long trek tomorrow.

“Are you tired?”

How could she be tired when she felt renewed, revived. “No, but
you
will be come sunrise.”

“I’ve been resting for days,” he said, his mouth seeking hers.

For the first time in her life, tomorrow would come too soon. Until it did, she intended to embrace every thrilling moment.

“T
ime to go, Daines.”

Garret woke to Grace’s voice and his clothes being heaped onto his chest.

“The sun’s up.”

Bright light blinded him before the door slammed shut.

“What the hell?” He sat up wondering when he’d drifted off and how Grace had managed to slip from his arms without waking him. He’d spent the last few hours before sunrise watching her sleep, studying her pretty face and the tender scarred skin that filled his mind with a thousand questions. The thought of her suffering such abuse enraged him.

A teapot whistled on the stove. A skillet sat beside the steaming pot, the cast iron filled with some biscuits Grace had baked the day before.

She’d been up for a while, clearly anxious for his send-off. And he had reason to get home. Sorting through the clothes on his lap, he started pulling them on, reminding himself all the while that his partner could be in trouble, his ranch under attack. He had to get down this mountain
today.

He was fully dressed before he lifted the squealing pot and filled a mug. His stomach grumbled at the scent of the herbal
tea. He picked up a warm biscuit and noticed the salted venison she’d tucked into the soft center. He shoved one into his mouth and wished he had a cup of his usual strong morning coffee.

A canteen hung from the corner of her pantry, another item she’d set out for him. The woman was efficient. And a damn fine cook, he thought, eating another fluffy meat-filled biscuit before filling the canteen. He quickly made up the bed before starting toward the door. A white strip on the floor near the foot of the bed caught his gaze. He crouched down, picking up the tie he’d pulled from Grace’s hair. Desire flared at the memory of those waves of black fanning out behind her shoulders, her blue eyes aglow with passion as she reached for him.

For all her fire last night, she’d obviously awakened with a burning desire to see him gone. He placed the fabric on the table holding his hat and gunbelt. The backpack he’d prepared the day before was gone. He turned and searched the small dank space. He didn’t spot his pack anywhere within the rough rock walls. His gaze stopped on one of Grace’s fancy stitched towels that didn’t fit this rough-cut cave any better than the polished wood floor.

She doesn’t belong up here.
He didn’t understand why she’d keep herself hidden on this mountain.

Donning the rest of his gear, he tugged his hat low and opened the door to the blinding glare of sunlight reflecting off the snow. His backpack sat propped against the woodpile along with a pair of large snowshoes. His gaze moved over the tarpaulins covering her firewood—enough to last her the rest of winter. She must have been swinging an ax through the spring, summer and fall to build up such an impressive pile. He’d seen the calluses on her slender hands, had felt them against his skin as she turned his world to fire.

Leaving her up here, so far into the wilderness…it wasn’t right. He turned, his eyes adjusting to the brightness as he took
in a clear view of the tall white mountain peaks creating a cove of serene beauty around a forest of dusted pines. A breathtaking contrast of white against the pristine sky, not a single cloud marring the bright blue. He supposed he could see her drawn to such a tranquil place—which didn’t do a damn thing to ease his apprehension about leaving her here.

Spotting her tracks leading into the trees, he started toward the woods. So far as he could tell, she held no desire to leave. One night in her bed didn’t give him a right to demand anything of her.

Boots barked and he spotted them walking back through the trees, following the path they’d treaded. Grace stepped into the clearing, a light breeze tugging at her loose hair, and his body responded to the memory of that silken mass brushing against his chest while she had kissed him.

Cool your fire.
When it came to women he had a bad habit of falling fast and landing in rubble. He wasn’t looking to repeat any such mistakes. Grace watched him with a good degree of caution as she approached. Her tense expression didn’t reveal any of her passion from the night before—none of which discouraged his burning desire to kiss her. Caution had never been a strong voice in his mind.

She stopped in front of him. “Snowpack is thick but—”

He slid his hand into the loose silk of her hair, ending her words in a gasp as his fingers caressed the back of her neck.

“Good morning,” he said, and pressed his mouth to hers.

Maggie’s initial instinct to fight him melted the moment he touched her. The past half hour of convincing herself she’d reestablished her defenses against him dissolved beneath the tender caress of his lips. Her arms entwined around his neck and she welcomed the easy comfort of being in his arms, the slow, soothing rhythm of his deep kiss. He released her too soon, stepping back, a satisfied grin tipping his lips.

Smug,
she thought, while fighting a smile. She’d worried
he’d see her differently in the harsh light of day. She hadn’t bothered to bind her hair. Her coat covered her warm buckskin tunic. He was leaving and she had no reason to continue the facade. But as Garret’s gaze roamed over her, his eyes warm, appreciative, she didn’t feel like a deranged mountain woman. She felt…
desirable.

“You two go for a walk?” he asked.

“To the rim just beyond the gap.” She motioned to the trees behind her then crouched down to remove her snowshoes.

Garret searched the rim of stone visible above the trees and couldn’t make out a break. “I wondered how I was going to get out of this crater.”

“My tracks will lead you to a break in the cliffs. The snowpack is thick. You’d find yourself waist-deep at some points without the snowshoes. The ledge leading off the rim is narrower than the snow leads to believe, so keep to the cliff.”

She glanced down at his dog panting beside her.

“Have you thought about how Boots will manage?” she asked.

“Yeah. It’ll be a struggle for both of us. But I can’t wait any longer.”

“He’s worn-out after a fifteen-minute run through that dense powder. You won’t reach your ranch before nightfall with Boots.”

He knelt and rubbed behind Boots’s shaggy black ear. “You tired, old man?”

“He’s welcome to stay with me.”

Garret looked up in sharp surprise.

“I thought it over during the walk back. I can send Boots on to your ranch as soon as the thaw sets in.”

Leave his dog?
Garret didn’t like the idea of leaving Boots behind any more than he wanted to leave Grace.

“He won’t make it, Garret. You’d have to carry him part of the way and that will slow you down.”

His dog panted hard from the laborious run through the snow, but his tail wagged as he looked up at Grace. Boots was sporting, but he wasn’t a young pup. And Grace was right—he needed to arrive with enough daylight to scout his ranch for trouble.

“Somehow I don’t think you’d mind a few more weeks with Grace.” Knowing he’d get to see her when she returned Boots eased his trepidation about leaving her up here alone. “All right,” he said. “This won’t be an easy trek.”

“If I thought it would be easy I’d blindfold you until you rounded the mountainside.”

“
Blindfold
me?”

Grace’s stone-serious expression kept him from laughing at the thought of her strapping a blindfold on him. She stood beside him with her arms wrapped tight around her middle as though holding in a bundle of nerves.

“The only reason you’ve never noticed me on this mountainside is because I don’t want to be seen,” she said distinctly. “The one time I had visitors at my old cabin, I moved. Took me a whole spring and most of summer just to resettle.”

Garret glanced back at the cabin front, hearing the implications that she hadn’t been abandoned anytime recently as he’d assumed. She’d built this place on her own? He couldn’t imagine the kind of fear that would drive her to seek shelter way up in this wild country.

“I like to be left alone,” she said, her expression hard.

“I won’t come pester you, Grace, and I won’t breathe a word.”

“You’ve been gone for five days and I’m sure you’ve been missed. I don’t expect you to lie. Once you get out to the rim you’ll know right where you’re at and how close I am to your ranch. It’s not a great distance when you know where you’re headed.”

The sadness in her voice increased his reluctance to leave.
Her white-knuckled grip on her snowshoes strengthened his urge to hold her. The thought of her hiding out up here, alone and afraid—he couldn’t just leave.

“Honey, why don’t you come with me?”

“You can follow my tracks,” she said. “Honestly, once you’re beyond the gap, you’ll have a clear view of your ranch in the valley below.”

“I meant come home with me. To stay at my place.”

She took a few steps back, her startled expression far from accepting. “W-why would I do that?”

“I owe you my life. I have plenty of room at my place.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I’m well suited here.”

“Grace, you have a nice cave, but it’s a cave. This is no way to live.”

“My
cave
kept you sheltered and warm for nearly a week. Remember that when you’re back in your fancy house.”

“I’m not putting you down.” He reached for her, but she moved beyond his touch.

“You’re not putting me anywhere!” she spat.

“I’m not saying you’d stay in my bed—hell, I’m not trying to take advantage of you. I’m offering help.”

“I don’t need help. When did I ask you for anything?”

“I owe you my life, Grace.”

His concern filled her with a deep yearning to be the delicate woman he saw in her. Whoever he thought she was, he was going to be disappointed. There wasn’t a damn thing delicate about her. She had wondered what it would be like to be held by him, and now she knew.

Mind blowing—
she’d have to be out of her mind to allow herself to become so vulnerable.

“I can take care of myself, Garret. Whether I stay here or move on, it’s not your business.”

“I’m offering an invitation. Not an order. Nothing but an open door.”

“A
trapdoor.
I’m not so naive. I had a grand house once, full of expensive finery and servants, for all the good it did me.”

Garret snatched at the first real hints she’d given him about her life. He’d already guessed as much—he wanted to know more. The stern set of her jaw and chill in her gaze suggested she wouldn’t be offering. She had a strength he admired, a deep sense of compassion she tried to hide and more passion than he’d ever known in a woman.

“You’re a good woman, Grace. You deserve better than this.”

“If I wanted better, I’d get it myself. You’ve got no call to worry over me. I’ve been taking care of myself for years.”

“How long have you been living alone up here?”

“You’re going to run out of daylight if you don’t get going.”

“Grace—”

“If there’s trouble at your ranch, you don’t want to arrive late.”

The reminder ended his protest. He had no idea what he’d be walking into. This wasn’t the time to bring a guest home. “Are you sure you don’t mind housing and feeding Boots for a few more weeks?” he asked, kneeling to pet his companion. “I’ve already cut down on your food supply.”

“I have plenty.”

“All right.” He straightened, his gaze intent on hers. “My offer stands.”

“I know where you live.”

His smile was gentle, reassuring—and increased the ache swelling in Maggie’s chest. He stepped toward her and she couldn’t keep from reaching for him, from meeting the caress of his lips. The gentle kiss only increased the sense of loss expanding through her soul.

“Thank you,” he said, brushing another soft kiss over her lips. “For everything.”

Maggie had to force herself to release him. “I like living a quiet life,” she said, needing the reminder. “I don’t want—”

“I gave my word to leave you be. I’ll keep it. Whether I want to or not. You can trust me, Grace.”

To her horror, tears burned at her eyes. Thankfully he knelt down to bind the snowshoes.

She cleared her throat. “I hope everything is well at your ranch.”

“Me, too.”

“Come on, Boots,” she called.

Garret looked up as his dog ran past, following Grace into the cabin. The door slammed shut as he straightened, followed by the sound of the bar being dropped into place.

Lifting his backpack, he noticed the butt of her shotgun protruding from a long pouch sewn along the side of the canvas pack. He wasn’t going to take her only decent weapon.

“Grace?” he called out.

“I have a rifle,” she shouted back. “Get moving, and
be careful.
”

He scowled and shifted the pack onto his shoulders. He’d likely appreciate her intuition and meticulous preparations had he not been leaving her behind.

He’d find a way to repay her.

Sticking to shadows cast by the sun setting behind him, Garret crouched near the fence of an outer pasture. Lanterns brightened the windows of his two-story Victorian-style house. No one milled about in the yard or surrounding paddocks. Odd for this time of evening. His men were usually finishing up with evening chores.

He shifted the shotgun to his left hand and hopped the first fence. Keeping low, he approached the east side of the bunkhouse. He couldn’t hear any conversation from his rowdy crew coming from inside. As he reached the end of the long building, he spotted a crowd gathered on a small hillside fifty yards from his back door.

Looking closer he recognized his crew standing with men from the Morgan ranch. None of the dozen or so men huddled together wore a hat. Kuhana’s long black braids trailed down his back. Beside him Everett’s short brown hair flipped in the wind. He searched the group for Duce’s shaggy red mop. Clint, a tall, wiry cowpuncher, shifted and he spotted reverend John Keats standing before the men circling a plot of land.

Oh, no.

He started toward the hill. His gaze shot back to the men with their heads bowed, hats in hand. His sister stood on the far side, her long, lithe form wedged between two blond, broad-shouldered men, her husband, Tucker Morgan, and his twin brother, Chance. He still didn’t see Duce.