Outlaw's Bride (14 page)

Lust, pure and simple.

Or
was
it that pure and simple? It wasn't just her body that attracted him, though it was a damned good beginning.

Her tireless energy amazed and fascinated him. Before they left, she'd made three pies in less than an hour, ready to bake when they got back home.

After all the work she'd done that day, she still carried her shoulders erect and moved with the willowy grace of one of her peach trees bowing in a gentle breeze. He'd bet she brought that same energy to lovemaking, too.

Clint carried Mattie's fishing pole with his as the four of them walked down the path to the pond. She and Herman led the way, while Andy walked beside Clint. He recognized the boy's thirst for a father, and even though he wouldn't be here much longer, Clint felt a certain paternal protectiveness toward him. Before he left, he hoped to teach Andy to help out his ma and do his chores before playing. There was no doubt Mattie was a good mother to the boy, but he couldn't understand why she spoiled the kid.

“Here it is,” Herman announced. “Home of Fred number two.”

“Looks like I'll have to show you all how it's done,” Mattie said with a saucy grin.

Her violet eyes danced with mischief and Clint marveled at the carefree change in her. He couldn't help but smile at her playfulness.

He handed her a fishing pole, then dug into the can of worms Andy had brought with him. His fingers closed around a plump juicy one and he held it up to Mattie. “Here you go.”

She wrinkled her delicate nose and took a step back. “Part of our agreement was that someone had to bait my hook.”

“I'll teach you how to do it,” Clint offered.

“I already know
how,
it's just that I
won't
.”

Andy rolled his eyes. “Aw, Ma, don't be such a baby.”

“I'm not. It's just that I …” She shrugged awkwardly. “Feel sorry for the worm.”

“A worm don't feel nothin', Mattie,” Herman said.

“How do you know? Have you ever asked one?”

“If you ain't the most dang-blasted softhearted woman I ever met.” There was unmistakable fondness in Herman's gruff tone.

Clint reached for her line. “Give me your hook.”

She handed it to him, then turned away. Mattie's vulnerability grabbed at his heart, surprising him with the strength of the tug. He'd already seen through her disguise as a tough-as-nails widow, but he hadn't realized the extent of her compassion and sensitivity. Or his inability to steel his own heart against it.

He wrapped the worm about the hook. “You can look now.”

Mattie quickly tossed the line into the water, clearly not wanting to see the sacrificial worm. She lowered herself to the ground, sitting cross-legged and keeping a close watch on the cork connected to her line.

Smiling, Clint found another worm in the dirt-filled tin can and baited his hook, then he joined Mattie, resting his back against an oak tree's wide trunk. Herman and Andy moved to a place about fifteen feet away, whispering anxiously to one another.

Clint leaned toward Mattie and spoke close to her ear. “I'll bet they have a secret hole where they figure old Fred is hiding.”

“Fred the Second,” she corrected. “My mother fried up Fred number one twenty years ago.”

He chuckled. “That's right. Mattie the Magnificent caught him.”

She blushed, but she met his gaze without hesitation. “My father used to call me that.”

“You loved him a lot, didn't you?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” She smiled sadly. “I overheard you telling Andy that fathers were for taking their sons fishing.” She turned her attention to her line. “A father also takes his daughters fishing.”

Her soft words made Clint's breath falter. And in that moment, he made a silent vow that if he had children, he'd take them all—sons and daughters—fishing.

Clint watched a pair of mallards at the other end of the pond, their tails pointed skyward as they nibbled on the plants beneath the water's surface. A blue heron flew in, landing with ungainly grace in the shallows not far from the ducks.

The smell of honeysuckle and pond lilies drifted to Clint's nose, and an occasional whiff of Mattie's rose scent curled through his insides. Cicadas buzzed shrilly, their voices dwindling to nothing, then starting the cacophony all over again. A redwing blackbird, sounding like a rusty gate, warned another bird away from his stand of pussy willows.

In this peaceful setting, Clint found it hard to imagine that his wife had been killed in such a gruesome manner. But she had, and he owed her for not being there … for not protecting her like he had promised.

Restlessness skated up and down his spine. The killer's trail was already three weeks cold.

So why did the thought of leaving Mattie and her small family make his insides feel chilly and alone? Like something vital would wither up and die? For over a year he'd lived on grief and the taste of vengeance, but now it seemed as if that wasn't enough. He craved something of more sustenance to feed his empty soul.

In an odd way, he felt like he was waking from a nightmare—a nightmare that had begun when he'd found his wife's lifeless body.

He shifted on the hard ground, the absence of his gunbelt another reminder of how he'd changed since he'd been here. At first he'd felt as if he were partially dressed without the holster and gun, but he'd grown accustomed to not having the weight on his right hip.

“I've got a nibble,” Mattie suddenly said in a low, urgent voice.

Clint peered at her cork in the pond and saw it dip beneath the surface, bob up, then go down again, this time deeper. “He's tasting your worm to see if he likes it.”

She shot him a pained look. “That isn't funny.”

He barely managed to hold back his laughter.

The fish kept playing with Mattie's line and she got to her feet. Wrapping her fingers around the pole more firmly, she watched the cork with rapt attention. Suddenly she jerked the line, setting the hook, and let out a little shriek. “I got him!” Mattie leaned back, slowly pulling the fish in. “He's huge! It must be Fred the Second.”

Clint scrambled up, ignoring the sharp twinge in his side. If she really had Fred, she might need some help. He moved behind her, his arms coming around her to grab hold of her pole, one hand above her hands, the other below. Mattie's back fitted snugly against his chest while her soft backside pressed against his crotch.

He tried to concentrate on the struggle with Fred the Second, but his erection had an agenda all its own, and Mattie's excited movements didn't help one bit.

“I think it's coming,” she exclaimed.

Clint closed his eyes—damn, he wished she hadn't said that.

Abruptly her whole weight was thrown against him. He tried to stay on his feet, but with the combination of surprise and the sharp jab of pain in his wound, Clint fell backward, managing to turn slightly so he didn't land on his bad side. He also succeeded in hanging on to Mattie, partially cushioning her fall.

He groaned, but he wasn't certain if it was from the reawakened ache of his injury or the pleasant distress in his groin. She laid on him a moment as if stunned, and her womanly curves seared every inch of his body.

Mattie scrambled up, her red face and shocked expression telling him she had no trouble discerning his rigid length through her skirt and undergarments. His gaze dropped to her breasts, which rose and fell rapidly with her breathing. Her nipples were plainly visible against her blouse.

He'd never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Mattie St. Clair.

“You okay, Mr. Beaudry?” Andy asked, his eyes wide.

Not even close.

“I think so,” he managed to say.

Andy helped him up while Mattie stood off to the side, much too engrossed in brushing off her skirt.

“It looks like Fred got off the hook,” Clint said.

“He ain't the only one.” Herman's knowing eyes and chuckle told Clint the old man knew exactly what had transpired between the two of them.

Mattie's blush went all the way down her neck, giving her pale skin a pink glow, and Clint couldn't help but wonder how much lower it went.

“C'mon, get another worm on, Ma. Fred's still down there somewhere.” Thank heavens Andy was unaware of the currents traveling between the adults.

Grateful for the diversion, Clint found another worm and put it on her hook. This time, Mattie stood ten feet away from Clint. He couldn't blame her—the attraction was as tangible and electric as a bolt of lightning.

And equally as devastating.

An hour later each of them had caught one fish, except for Mattie, who'd brought in two, though none were the escaped Fred. They trudged back to the house, tired but elated to have fresh fish for supper.

A rabbit hopped across their path and Andy's eyes lit up. He handed his fish and fishing pole to Clint and took off after the bunny.

Mattie called after him, “Be careful of the old well.”

“I will.”

The three adults kept walking, and a few minutes later Andy rejoined them. Sweat trailed down his face and his hair was plastered to his forehead.

“He got away,” Andy said, breathing heavily. “Next time I'll catch him.”

They arrived back at the house and mounted the steps to the porch.

“It looks like there might be some fresh blood on your shirt,” Mattie said.

When Clint tried to twist around to see, pain sliced through him and cold sweat dampened his brow.

Mattie took his arm and steered him toward a chair. “You sit here on the porch. Herman and Andy, you two clean the fish. I'll get the pies in the oven, then change that bandage for Mr. Beaudry.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Clint said, barely suppressing the reaction to salute her.

He lowered himself to the chair and closed his eyes. If he kept reopening his injuries, it would be a long time before he got back on the trail of the killer—his ambusher. But he couldn't just sit around, either. He had to push himself, see how much he could do. Just as Andy had to push his limits.

The problem was that Mattie didn't understand either one of them.

Mattie washed her hands and gathered her medical supplies. If she hadn't landed on Clint after the infamous Fred the Second had gotten away, his wound wouldn't have broken open. Some nurse she was.

She placed the pies in the oven and headed outside, nervous about seeing Clint shirtless. An almost healthy Clint Beaudry was temptation with a capital
T.

Stepping onto the porch, she spotted him sleeping with his chin resting against his chest. Her heart collided with her throat. How could he look so innocent and vulnerable?

He had done too much today. She shouldn't have accepted his help in the orchard, but it was easy to forget he was hurt when he acted as if nothing were wrong. But she should have known; she'd been trained by Kevin to recognize symptoms.

Guilt warmed her face. She had spared little thought for Kevin while he'd been gone, and after he'd returned, she hadn't sought him out when she'd gone into town.

Shamefully, she remembered the kiss she and Clint had shared. Why didn't Kevin's kisses make her dizzy with longing?

Kevin is a good, decent man, who truly cares for me.

Clint was a drifter who lived on the fringes of civilization. His irreverence and blunt honesty were the characteristics of a man who was accustomed to answering to no one but himself. He took what he wanted, when he wanted it, and damned the consequences.

Yet she couldn't deny she was physically drawn to him. If that's all there was between them, she could resist the fire he ignited in her blood. However, it was the memory of the anguish in Clint's eyes and voice while he'd been delirious, and his thoughtfulness for her, that drew her so powerfully toward him. Both told her that Clint Beaudry was a man of deep feelings and deeper secrets.

She sighed, not wanting to wake him, but needing to change his dressings. Leaning over him, she spoke his name quietly. “Clint.”

He opened his eyes, and after a moment of confusion he smiled self-consciously. “Sorry.”

“You shouldn't have done so much today,” she scolded to hide her concern.

“I won't get any better lying around.”

She rolled her eyes. He sounded so typically male. “Thank you for those words of wisdom, Dr. Beaudry.”

He chuckled, then winced. “Don't make me laugh. That's not on the doctor's list of treatments.”

“Take off your shirt.”

“Gladly.”

The single word slipped across Mattie like velvet over bare skin, making her fingers tremble and her belly tighten with suppressed desire.

She ignored the wicked glint in his eyes as she removed his bandage. Curiosity nibbled at her until she had to ask. “So what's on this doctor's list of treatments?”