A Promise of Roses (17 page)

He was doing a pretty good job of taking
her
breath away, she thought, struggling to draw air into her lungs. He turned her toward the stove and gave her a little shove.

She put the pie in the warmer, then threw grounds and water into the coffeepot and set it on to boil. All in all, she did a pretty good job of ignoring the fact that Lucas was discarding his clothes directly behind her.

A boot dropped to the floor. The distinct rustle of denim met her ears. Her nails dug into the counter. She'd seen him naked before, she told herself. No sense looking at him again.

Oh, bloody Hell!
She swung around just as he lowered himself into the tub, and she got no more than a glimpse of his tan, sinewy back. Then he sank farther into the tub, and even that small pleasure was taken from her.

Blast it!
She turned away.

Control yourself, Megan. You're beginning to act like a harlot.

Who are you to criticize?
she
countered.
You're the one who wanted him to make love to you in the first place.

Yes, but I'm in love with him. I have been from the very beginning.

Ha! You didn't even know him. For all you knew, he was a murdering, raping, pillaging outlaw.

That's not true. From the moment I looked into his glimmering, crystal-blue eyes, I was in love with him.

You didn't look into his shimmering blue eyes. I did.

Then you must be in love with him, too.

I'm not.

You are.

I tell you, I'm not. He's a bounty hunter, out to kill a man. He'll never settle down. And if you think I'm going to keep following him across the country the way I have the past couple of weeks, you're crazier than I am for talking to myself.

Admit it, Megan. You love him. He's everything you've ever wanted in a man.
Strong, handsome, virile.
Rugged, tender, noble.
Just like the heroes in all those penny
dreadfuls
you used to read. You'd follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked you. You're in love with him.

"Stop saying that!"

Water lapped behind her. “I didn't say anything."

She swung around to face Lucas, who'd turned his head to look at her. She frowned. “What?"

"You told me to stop saying that, but I didn't say anything."

Her brow remained furrowed. “I wasn't talking to you.” She found a dishrag to wrap around the handle of the coffeepot and took it off the stove.

"Then who were you talking to?"

She set the pot on the table, along with two mugs.
“Nobody.
Somebody else.
Oh ... Not you, all right?"

"Is that sieve acting up again?"

She looked at him crossly. “What sieve?"

"The one in your head.
The one that's always making you say things you don't mean for people to hear."

Her cheeks flushed. “No, my sieve is not acting up, thank you very much. Will you just take your bath and shut up?"

"Yes, ma'am,” he said with a chuckle.

She took the pie out of the warmer, slamming it down on the counter. Her knife ripped into it, nearly destroying the beautiful artwork Rebecca always created with her crusts. She took a deep breath to calm
herself
and serve the slices with at least a shred of dignity.

Busying herself at the other end of the kitchen, she waited for Lucas to finish his bath and change into clean clothes from his saddlebags.

"You can look now."

"Of course I can look,” she said sharply, crossing the room to take a seat at the table. “It's my house. I can do anything I like."

Lucas cut into his piece of pie with his fork. Oblivious to the steam wafting up from it, he popped it into his mouth and chewed.
“
Mmm
.
This is good.” He took another bite,
then
washed it down with a swallow of scalding black coffee.

She stared at him, making no move to eat her own dessert.

"What just bit your behind?"

Strong, handsome, virile.
Rugged, tender, noble.
Too bad her criteria didn't include vulgar. He'd fit right in.

She left the table, her pie untouched. The kitchen door swung on its hinges as she moved into the parlor.

Why had that stupid little voice in her head decided to speak up now? She'd been completely prepared to be dropped off at the jail, never to see Lucas again. But then he'd brought her here.
To her home.
Where they were alone together, giving her too much time to think, to imagine.

She sat in the corner of the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her.

She didn't want to think. Every time she did, she started coming up with wild, crazy ideas. Like this love business. What kind of idiot would fall in love with a man like Lucas McCain?

The voice in her head opened its big mouth. You would, it said.

"Shut up. Just shut up. When I want your advice, I'll ask for it."

"Okay. I won't say another word."

She turned to see Lucas standing in the doorway. He'd stacked his dessert dish on top of his coffee cup, holding the fork in his other hand.

"Mind if I join you?” he asked.

"Do I have a choice?"

"No.” He plopped down beside her on the settee.

"I thought you weren't going to say another word."

"I lied."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

He shrugged, returning his attention to his slice of apple pie.

She watched the flames in the fireplace leaping, snapping, and blazing bright orange. “You never did tell me why you decided not to take me to jail tonight. It couldn't have been because of those three old men. You're not the type to let an audience disrupt your activities."

A lascivious grin curved his lips. Lips now dusted with cinnamon and brown sugar.

"You know what I mean,” she complained.

He waited until his mouth was empty to answer. “I told you before, plans change."

"But not without a reason."

"I have one."

"And that would be...” she prompted.

"I changed my mind."

"About what?"

"I'm not turning you in."

She couldn't possibly have heard him right. For some bizarre reason, she thought she'd heard him say he wasn't taking her to jail. But of course he was. That's why he'd dragged her with him all the way to Wichita and back. There was no way he would change his mind now. Was there?

Just to be safe, she asked him to repeat himself.

"I'm not turning you in,” he said again.

If she hadn't already been sitting, she would have crumpled to the floor. “Why? Why change your mind all of a sudden?"

When he shrugged and started on another bite of pie, she wanted to slap him. This was her life they were talking about, not what crop to plant next spring!

She took a deep breath, hoping to alleviate the murderous urges flowing through her bloodstream. Then she grabbed his chin and turned him to face her.

"I'm going to be polite and warn you that my nerves are not in the greatest condition right now. For instance, at any moment, I might snap and bludgeon you to death with that fire poker.” She pointed to the cast-iron stand beside the fireplace. “So ask yourself whether you would rather risk that fate or just give me a straight answer.” She held up a hand. “No, think about it for a minute."

He continued chewing, unruffled and silent.

"All right.
Now, keeping in mind what I've told you, I am going to ask you a question. You can answer me, or you can start spreading a blanket to keep the floor from being stained with your blood."

"Ask,” he said without looking at her.

"Why did you change your mind about turning me in?” Her heart almost stopped beating as she waited.

He shrugged his other shoulder, and she lurched off the sofa, going for the poker.

"Hold it! Hold it!” he yelled, putting his arms up in self-defense. “I'm getting to it. Lord, you're a real powder keg tonight, aren't you?"

"I gave you fair warning.” She stood over him, poker raised above her head.

"Yeah, I guess you did. Do you want to sit down so I can explain, or are you going to hover over me with that damn thing?"

She positioned the poker on her shoulder like the rifle of a sentry officer on guard duty.

"Okay,” he said. “But I may get too scared to remember everything."

She snorted.

He patted the cushion beside him. “Come sit down?” It was a question, not an order.

Reluctantly, she gave in. But the fire poker remained in her hand, ready in case he angered her again.

"I changed my mind because Brandt asked me to track down the outlaws, infiltrate their gang, and discover their identities and how they were operating in cahoots with you. I did that. Trapping you was just an added bonus."

"I know that,” she said. “I've known that from the beginning. But it didn't seem to matter before, so why does it now?"

"Because I hadn't met your family before."

She frowned, lost.

"It doesn't make much sense, I know. Before we got into town, I didn't give a grouse's
tailfeathers
about your family or your business or your future. I had it in my head that you were the brains behind the stage robbery outfit. End of story. And our ... being intimate didn't change that.
Until I met your brother and his wife and kids.
I don't see how anyone with a family like that could turn to a life of crime. Now, if you had a father like mine, one who beat you just for looking at him cross-eyed, I could understand. But you ... Even if you lost the Express, you'd still be okay. You could go live with your brother, or with your mother in
New York
. From what I've heard and seen, you're far from being poor."

"But—"

"You wanted to hear the whole story, so be quiet and let me tell it.” He stared into the orange flames of the fire a second before continuing.

"I can't let you go free. I made a promise to a friend, and I have to honor that no matter what. Besides, I already told him I had you in custody. But I'm not going to be the one to turn you over to the law. I wired Brandt when we were in town earlier. If he wants to see you stand trial for your crimes, he can come down and turn you in himself. I can direct him to the outlaw hideout, too, but he'll have to capture the boys. I'm done with this. As soon as I hear from him, I'll head for Independence."

"What are you—we—going to do until you hear from him?"

"You can do anything you like as long as I'm with you. But you don't leave the house unless I give the okay."

"I see. I'm free as a bird—in a wrought-iron cage."

"It's either that or a jail cell.” He got up from the sofa with his dirty dishes. “Your choice,” he said before going to the kitchen.

When he was out of sight, Megan gave in to the childish whim to stick out her tongue.

Freedom, she thought. She could go anywhere, do anything—as long as she asked permission first or took Lucas along. Well, it was better than a jail cell, she supposed. But she'd be damned if she'd ever admit that to him.

"When do you expect to hear from Brandt?” Megan asked a short time later.

"Tomorrow at the earliest.
The end of the week if he's on a special assignment for the railroad."

She sipped at her cup of lukewarm coffee. Settled at opposite ends of the settee, she and Lucas stared at the dwindling embers in the fireplace rather than at one another. Since his heart-stopping announcement that he wasn't going to turn her over to the marshal, Megan found it difficult to carry on a conversation, let alone look him in the eye.

Why did he have to shake up her life so much? She had been perfectly happy with the idea of sitting in prison until the whole payroll robbery mess could be cleared up. Well, maybe not happy, but at least she'd prepared herself for it.

Then Lucas had swaggered into the parlor and turned her world topsy-turvy again.
Just like he'd swaggered into that outlaw hideout.
All maple-syrup smiles and sexy, sky-blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

"What is it that Brandt does, exactly?"

"He's head of security for Union Pacific."

She rolled her eyes. “I know that. And if I hadn't, I'd definitely have gotten that impression from the way he jumped down my throat about the robberies. You'd have thought I called his mother a wallowing warthog, he acted so offended—as if the money being stolen was a personal affront to his manhood or something."

"Well, in a way, it is. As head of security, he's responsible for the safety of persons and property transported by rail. And it was Brandt who talked his employers into using the Adams Express to get the payrolls from Kansas City to Atchison. Union Pacific bigwigs are bound to come down hard on him for that."

Megan flushed guiltily for having judged Brandt Donovan to be an obnoxious, pea-brained railroader after meeting him only once. And that hadn't been under the best of circumstances.

"I didn't realize,” she said. “I may have to apologize the next time I see him.” She'd thrown a few choice words—as well as a pot of coffee—at the man during his visit. And as much as it galled her, she knew it was only right to say she was sorry—and to thank him for his recommendation of the Adams Express.

It seemed that everyone had something to lose in this venture.
She, her business; Brandt, his job; Lucas, Silas Scott's trail.

"Apologizing won't keep him from taking you to jail,” Lucas said. “He's like a bloodhound. Once he picks up a scent, he'll follow it to the ends of the earth. No amount of weeping or batting your eyelashes will change his mind, either."

"I wasn't going to weep
or
bat my eyelashes,” she protested, putting down her coffee cup. “Simply make amends for the things I said the day he came to my office. I'm afraid we didn't exactly hit it off."

"No, I can't imagine you did. I see you and Brandt getting along about as well as a lamb and a wolf.” After a second of silence, he winked.
“You being the wolf, of course.
Poor Brandt wouldn't stand a chance against your razor-sharp tongue."

She glared at him.

"Matter of fact” Lucas continued, “I'd better warn him of what he'll be up against, trying to take you prisoner. I'll show him my bumps and bruises. He'll figure things out right quick."

"What bumps and bruises?” She jumped up, provoked, her fists on her taps in the billowy lawn of her nightdress and robe.

Lucas scoffed. “How about the ones I got trying to fit out that hotel window when you ran away?"

"Ever hear of a little thing called the stairs? I didn't tell you to climb out that window, you dumb ox. I only went that way because you had me locked in the room."

"I wouldn't have had to chase after you at all,” he bellowed, “if you hadn't been stupid enough to run in the first place.” He rose from the sofa, and they stood nose-to-nose in the middle of the parlor.

"You didn't have to follow me. I would have been fine."

"I'm sure those three mangy cowboys planned otherwise."

"I can take care of myself. I handled those men just fine, with no help from you."

"It didn't look that way when I showed up. I seem to remember the three of them surrounding you. And I don't think they planned to play ring-around-the-rosy."

"What would you care?” Megan yelled. “What difference would it make to you whether you brought me in dead or alive? It might even be easier to manage a dead prisoner than a live one."

Lucas moved so fast, she cried out in surprise when he grabbed her arms. His blue eyes turned as dark as storm-clouds, glittering with barely controlled fury. “Don't say that.” His voice sounded ragged, the words forced through tightly clenched teeth. He caught her chin in one hand, his grip almost crushing. “Don't ever say that."

Megan swallowed, her heart constricting when she thought she saw a hint of moisture surrounding his deep pupils. “I'm sorry,” she whispered.

"Don't ever talk about you dying.” His voice was softer now, pained. “Not even as a joke."

"I won't."

"Not ever again."

"I won't,'’ she promised.

His hold on her chin lightened, and his thumb began a slow, downward stroke.

She stared into eyes that had returned to their gentle blue hue, thinking of how easy it was to read his emotions—if one knew him well enough. After spending twenty-four hours a day with him for the past two weeks, she felt she knew him fairly well. But she wanted a chance to know him better.
Much better.

The voice in her head was right. She was in love with him.

"Lucas, I—” She opened her mouth to tell him, but he cut her off with soft, warm lips. She groaned deep in her throat at the power of his kiss, the strength of his arms wrapped around her waist.

He lifted his head, his breath still warm on her face. “I lied before,” he said.

"About what?"

"I didn't just change my mind about turning you in.” He ran the tip of one finger over her cheek, retracing the movement with his mouth. “I wanted a few more days with you.
The two of us, alone.”
He emphasized each statement with a kiss. His mouth trailed over the slant of her jaw, up to the lobe of her ear, across her lashes. “I don't want to think about your guilt or innocence. I don't want to think about what will happen once Brandt shows up. I just want to make love to you until neither one of us can find the energy to stand."

"
Mmm
.
Sounds
promising."

Lucas chuckled. “You're the most unusual woman I've ever met."

She smiled.
“Really?
Why?"

"Because you're not afraid of sex."

Her smile fell, drooping into a frown. “That's it? My sole claim to uniqueness is that I'm not afraid of sex?"

"Yep."

"You sure know how to stir a girl's heart."

"I'm serious. I've never met anyone as open about sex as you are. The first time we made love, you were a virgin. Every other virgin I've ever known has whined and whimpered and acted as if she were selling her soul to the Devil."

"Maybe they were.” She cocked her head. “And just how many virgins have you been with?"

"Enough to know you were different."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah.
You're the only virgin who's ever attacked me, that's for sure."

"I never attacked you! You attacked me."

He raised an eyebrow. “Not the way I remember it."

"That's not surprising, since you seem to forget your real name every time you ride into a new town."

"If it wasn't an attack, then what would you call it?"

"I would call it being taken advantage of. You caught me off guard."

"Ha!” Lucas backed away to better see her face. “You wanted it as much as I did."

"I never said I didn't."

He blew out a tempered breath, running splayed fingers through his hair. “Then what the hell are we arguing about?"

"You said what made me unusual was not being afraid of sex. I disagree. I have a lot of unique qualities."