Outlaw's Bride (17 page)

C
lint stifled a grimace as he lifted the saddle onto Dakota's back, not wanting Mattie to see that the wound still pained him. She was reluctant to see him go for a ride, and she'd be even more reluctant about his next request.

“I want my gun, Mattie.”

“Why?”

Clint wasn't surprised to see revulsion in her face or hear it in her voice. He had considered not wearing his gunbelt, but only for a moment. Although he was only going for a short ride, he was leaving the relative safety of Mattie's sanctuary and taking the first step on the journey back to his own violent world. To do that, he needed his weapon.

“I know you don't like guns, but that Colt is as much a part of me as an arm or leg.”

She folded her arms around her waist and her eyes met his. “What's Andy going to think? He looks up to you.”

Something twinged in Clint's chest. He hadn't sought the boy's admiration; it had sneaked up like a rustler in the night. Still, Andy had to learn that a gun didn't make a man, and that a man chose how he used a gun.

“Andy's fishing.” Clint tightened the cinch beneath Dakota's belly. “Besides, he's seen other men with guns.”

“They weren't you.”

The twinge close to his heart struck even stronger. He couldn't deny that he cared for the boy more than he should. Hell, he cared for Mattie and even Herman more than he should. After all the time he'd spent in their company, they'd become like family.

Like the loving family he'd been raised with.

Like the family he'd wanted for his own someday.

But that door was closed to him until he made his peace with his guilt.

“Once I'm gone, he'll forget me soon enough.” Clint tried to make his voice gruff, but it came out husky. Why was this so damned difficult?

He lowered the stirrup and turned to Mattie, resting his arm across the saddle seat. The afternoon sun glossed her thick hair with a bluish sheen, like a raven's wing, beckoning his touch. The angry flush in her cheeks and the fire in her eyes only made her more desirable. She was the first woman since Emily whom he wanted for more than just a night.

“I can't change who I am,” he said in a low voice. “And with all due respect, ma'am, I was shot in the back. If he tries again, I'm going to need my gun.”

She had to understand he'd lived by the gun for too long. He'd feel naked and defenseless without it.

Mattie spun around and flounced away, her pace brisk and her shoulders stiff. He sighed, knowing she wouldn't listen to anything he said, so why bother to explain himself? And why did he care what she thought, anyhow? He was leaving tomorrow at sunup.

Mattie returned a few minutes later. She held the gunbelt like it was a poisonous snake and thrust it at him. “Here.”

Her lower lip was thrust out, and Clint wanted nothing more than to kiss her until her pout disappeared.

Determinedly, he wrapped the belt around his hips and fastened the buckle, then tied the rawhide thong around his thigh to hold the holster in place. Glancing up at Mattie, Clint noticed her gaze was centered right below his belt buckle. When she caught his eyes, she quickly looked away, her lips settling into a thin line.

“You shouldn't frown so hard, Mattie,” he teased. “Your mouth might stay that way, and that would be a downright shame.”

“I don't care what you think,
Mister
Beaudry,” she snapped. “If you weren't leaving tomorrow morning, I'd kick you off my place right now.”

Some perverse part of him made him smile and he brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek. She jerked away, but the blush that sprang to her face told him she wasn't as immune to his touch as she pretended. “We both know you don't want to do that.”

She closed her hands into tight fists. “You are so … so impossible!”

He grinned lazily. “Gonna kiss me good-bye?”

Her gaze flickered to his lips, betraying her cool facade. Clint's breath quickened and his blood surged through his veins. It was clear she wanted to, and that was enough for him.

Damning the consequences, he swept an arm around her waist and leaned down to capture her mouth with his. Her lips remained firm and unyielding … for only a moment. Then she surrendered with a soft moan. She tasted sweet, like peaches, and her rose scent spiraled through him as she arched toward him, branding him at every junction of her curves against his body.

He parted her lips and she met his invasion with her own—advancing, retreating—in the battle of passion. His erection pressed into her belly and her hips moved in the oldest rhythm of time.

Then Dakota nickered, and Mattie pushed away from Clint, her breath raspy. “No,” she whispered, her face flushed and eyes dark with unappeased desire. “This is wrong.”

Clint breathed deeply to cool the wild fire racing through his blood. His gaze fell to her breasts, which moved with her shallow gasps. He ached to draw her flush against him once more, ached to feel her lips against his.

Ached to bury himself within her.

Clint framed her face in his palms. “Don't deny it, Mattie. This is something we both want.”

She took his hands in hers and lowered them slowly. “Just because we want it doesn't make it right.” Her gaze went to his gunbelt and the weapon within the holster. “I can't love a man who lives by the gun. Not again.”

She released him and walked away, her shoulders slumped and her footsteps dragging.

Clint stared after her. If he hadn't given up his gun for Emily, he wasn't about to for Mattie St. Clair, no matter how tempting she was.

His obsession with her would be his downfall if he didn't rein his lusty thoughts back under control. He'd been thinking of her when he'd been ambushed. He might not be so lucky next time. Besides, she was the kind of woman who would want a wedding ring to go along with a tumble in bed, and Clint couldn't make any promises.

Not now.

Not yet.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Clint hauled himself up into the saddle. It had been over three weeks since he'd ridden, the longest time in his adult life that he'd been off a horse. He touched his heels to Dakota's flanks and the horse responded eagerly. As the sorrel cantered down the road, Clint relished the breeze on his face and the landscape moving past him in a blur of greens, browns, and blues.

It was definitely time to move on. He didn't need a woman to cloud his judgment or make him careless. Getting away from Mattie would restore his good sense and give him time to cool his lust.

Turning slightly in the saddle, Clint looked back. Mattie was standing on the porch, a hand shading her eyes as she watched him. What was she thinking?

And why did he care?

After Clint left, Mattie wandered through the silent house. Their disagreement over his Colt and their subsequent kiss had thrown her thoughts into turmoil.

She understood why he wore the gun, but violence begat violence. That's what Kevin always said, and she believed him. She'd witnessed it firsthand.

She traced her still-tingling lips with a fingertip. How could she hate something so much about a man, yet crumble when he kissed her?

Because there were more things to admire in Clint Beaudry than there were to dislike. Things like his compassion, his willingness to help, and his good-natured teasing that made her feel like a girl again.

Mattie picked up a dustcloth and absently swished it across the knickknacks and framed pictures in the parlor. Her footsteps carried her to the fireplace mantel and her gaze fell upon her mother's music box. She cradled the cool metal in her palms, and almost against her will, she raised the lid. She closed her eyes as the waltz's tinny melody washed through her.

In her mind, she saw herself held securely in Clint's powerful arms as he twirled her around. His green eyes were on her alone, filled with an adoration so strong, it made her breath quicken. Her chest ached as she indulged in the romantic daydream. No man, not even Jason, had inspired such fanciful thoughts.

Only the dangerously arousing Clint Beaudry.

Mattie opened her eyes to the emptiness of the parlor. A slight breeze rustled the curtains, making them dance. A fly buzzed against a window and Jewel mooed in the yard. The clock on the mantel struck three, its monotonous rhythm clashing with the light notes flowing from the music box.

Was Mattie's life like the clock—dull and plodding? Was she merely counting the seconds into minutes into hours? Then into days lost, never to be recaptured?

She'd turned her adult life into a mirror of her life at the orphanage—constantly working from sunup to sundown. By sparing Andy that kind of existence, she'd denied her own needs. She had convinced herself the only type of man she wanted someday was someone like Kevin Murphy. He was kind and compassionate, but he didn't make her heart skip wildly or bring wicked thoughts about their naked bodies touching, burning….

Like Clint did.

Every time he looked at her or brushed her arm or kissed her, Mattie's toes curled and she throbbed. The desire was even stronger than what she'd felt for Jason, because now she knew the rewards. And Mattie knew instinctively that the pleasure of lying with Clint would be far greater than anything she'd experienced in her brief married life.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and her muscles trembled from the wanton pictures in her thoughts. She had enough memories of his lean body that she had no trouble envisioning him in her bed.

Jewel's moo startled her, and Mattie clapped the music box shut. She shouldn't have allowed her thoughts to run out of control. It was only giving temptation a stronger hold on her. As if Clint Beaudry's mere presence wasn't temptation enough….

She set the box back in its place and climbed the stairs to finish dusting up there. At the top of the steps, Clint's door was open, inviting her to enter. With only a slight hesitation, she crossed the threshold and ran her dustcloth over the dresser, then across the nightstand. Spotting one of his shirts tossed on the bed, Mattie picked it up, intending to hang it in the armoire.

Clint's scent washed across her, and after a quick glance into the hallway, she drew the shirt close to her face. She inhaled deeply of the rich masculine scent that was Clint's alone and closed her eyes.

It just ain't natural to be without a man for so long.

Ruth's words, spoken so long ago, came back clearly. Maybe she'd been right.

Maybe it had been too long.

Clint paused on the outskirts of Green Valley and removed his hat to draw his forearm across his sweaty brow. The hour-and-a-half ride had given Dakota some much-needed exercise and Clint time to extinguish the flames in his blood. Without Mattie's presence to distract him, he'd been able to set things back in perspective.

His goal hadn't changed—it had only been diverted for a time. Although his wounds still ached, he felt more like himself again with the familiar gunbelt around his hips.

He spotted a saloon, placed his hat back on his head, and urged Dakota down the dusty street. Dismounting stiffly by the hitching rail, he tossed the reins loosely around the post and traipsed into Billy's Saloon. Although it was only a little after four, there were a dozen customers, including a fancy gambler and a handful of dusty cowhands. There was also a dark-haired barmaid wearing a knee-length yellow dress and black fishnet stockings.

He paused beside her as she cleaned off a table, and tipped his hat brim with two fingers. “Afternoon, ma'am.”

She swept her gaze from his hair down to his boot toes, then back, pausing a moment at his gun-belt. An interested gleam entered her eyes and she placed a hand on her hip in a seductive pose. “Looks like you're in need of some company. My name's Sunny Joy”—she leaned close enough that her breasts brushed his arm—“and I can bring you lots of sunshine and happiness, cowboy.”

Clint grinned, appreciating her obvious alias and feminine assets. Sunny Joy might be exactly what he needed to get his mind off Mattie. He winked at her. “I might just do that. But right now I have some drinking to do, ma'am.”

“Call me Sunny or Joy.” Her eyes glittered with ribald promise. “I ain't no ma'am.”

She turned and sauntered away, her hips swinging.

Clint smiled in appreciation. Sure enough, a roll with Sunshine would do him a world of good.

At the bar, he propped a booted foot on the brass rail running along the bottom. He slid his hat off to rest against his back, held in place by the buckskin string at his throat.

The bartender, a heavyset bald man with an earring in his left ear, stepped over to Clint. “What'll it be?”

“Whiskey and a beer,” he replied.

Clint laid two bits down as the bartender set the drinks in front of him. The bald man scooped up the coins with stubby fingers and strolled to the other end of the bar, leaving Clint to drink alone.

He downed the shot of whiskey, grimaced at the burn in his throat, then picked up the beer and took a few swallows of the lukewarm liquid to ease the whiskey's sting. Liquor was something he'd been without at Mattie's, too, though he hadn't missed it. Maybe it was because Mattie was intoxicating enough.