Ashes and Memories (33 page)

She cried out at the exquisite torture. He responded, increasing the rhythm, the breath rasping in his throat as a tremor rolled gently over her body. She wanted to be inside him as he was inside her, to hold him against her heart forever.

She moved beneath him, against him, meeting and holding and arching toward him. Her hunger heightened his, the pressure building inside him, pounding in his blood.

He tried to restrain the swelling torrent inside him, tried to go slowly, to make it last. But he was too mad with desire for her, blind and senseless, thick and breathless with wanting, with needing. There was no control, nothing but a fierce and powerful fusing.

She clung to him, trembling, mindless.

He clung to her, feverish, desperate, burying himself more deeply, more fiercely until she cried out once and again, and the climax convulsing through her body stole his control. The rage and fear flowed out of him as his body surrendered to the release shuddering through him and he spilled himself inside her.

#####

Emma stirred from a deep, sensual languor that infused every part of her body. She moved and felt the soreness between her thighs, and an exquisite shiver trailed over her body at the memory of their lovemaking.

She wanted to be with him like this forever, either consumed with hunger for him or satiated after lovemaking, her senses filled with him to the point that even when they were apart she could close her eyes and smell the man scent of him, taste the saltiness of his skin, hear the fierce, breathless sound of her name on his lips as he made love to her.

Turning slowly, she gazed at him across the room. He knelt beside the desk, his bare back to her, and for several moments, she lay there watching him, watching the play of muscles beneath his smooth golden skin.

She rose up, pulling the covers across her chest, resting on one arm. He must have heard her move. He turned to face her, an unguarded smile spreading over his lips, and Emma smiled in return.

“I fell asleep,” she said.

“Yes, you did,” he agreed, his eyes devoid of anything but affection.

He rose lithely, and Emma’s throat constricted at the sight of the pipe in his hand. It had to be a keepsake. Maybe it had belonged to his grandfather or his father. He placed it on the desk with great care.

Her heart began to pound erratically as he walked toward her. He sat on the bed beside her, and she ran a hand down his bare chest, reveling in the way his breathing increased in response. She wanted him again. The wanting never ended.

He kissed her slowly, pushing the sheet down and caressing her breast. She arched toward him, moaning softly beneath his lips. But too quickly he drew away, gazing into her eyes with an expression that drove the desire from her body and filled her heart with dread.

“I have to go,” he murmured.

“Where? Why?” she asked, though she knew the answer.

He rose and shrugged into his shirt, keeping his back to her. “I’m riding out with the posse in an hour.”

Emma felt as if her heart would break. “It’s got to stop,” she told him. “The killing, the anger. It’s destroying you.”

She felt him tense from across the room.

“What do you expect me to do?” He stuffed the end of his shirt into his trousers and drew his suspenders over his shoulders before finally turning to face her. “Walk away? Just let it go? Turn the other cheek?”

“Stay out of it,” she pleaded. “Let the sheriff handle it.”

He strapped on his gun belt, then checked the load of his pistol before returning it to its holster. “I can’t do that.”

The hatred and rage were back in his eyes, turning them to stone. Emma closed her eyes against the sorrow in her breast. She’d dared to believe that she’d reached him, that she could turn him from his path of self-destruction, but all her hopes disintegrated.

“When are you going to learn that you can’t punish everyone you meet for something that happened thirteen years ago?” she asked, her tone harsh with the frustration inside her. “Killing Garrett isn’t going to undo what happened to you or bring your family back.”

He reached for his hat and placed it on his head, his expression taut and devoid of emotion. “It isn’t about that. This is personal, a matter of honor.”

He strode toward the door, but her words stopped him before he reached it.

“No, it’s a matter of pride.”

He stood perfectly still for a moment, his back to her. She thought he might not respond, and then finally he spoke, his voice muffled.

“Have it your way.”

He reached for his duster on the coat rack just inside the door, then opened the door and hesitated again. “Emma,” he said, turning to face her. “When I get back --”

“It doesn’t work, haven’t you figured that out yet? Killing will never fill the emptiness inside you or silence the screams.”

He winced at her harsh words, and she almost regretted them, but if she had to cause him pain in order to save him, she would. There was too much at stake. “You can stop now. Let it go. Let’s start over. Today. Now.”

“I can’t.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was nearly dusk when Reece rode back into town, his clothes covered with trail dirt and another man’s blood, his body aching from fatigue and tension. He’d spent two nights on the trail, two nights of sleeping on the ground, eating hardtack and trying not to think about Emma.

The posse had split up to cover more ground, and Reece had known instinctively what path the outlaws would take. If there had ever been the slightest doubt, he’d known he was on the right trail yesterday when he’d come across the fresh grave where Garrett had buried his partner. He’d stood there staring at that grave, knowing that without a wounded man to slow him down, Garrett would be able to travel much faster. He had been frantic to catch the outlaw before he disappeared into the badlands.

The saddle creaked and the rope attached to it tightened. Reece turned to look behind him but didn’t slow down. Garrett had stumbled again and was being dragged by the rope that tied his hands together in front of him, he noted dispassionately, focusing his eyes on the gallows at the end of the street once again. The scaffolding had been destroyed, but the noose still dangled from the cross beam.

He’d found Garrett and his remaining partner last night on the edge of the badlands, surprising them as they slept. The other man had drawn on him, and Reece had been forced to kill him. And it had taken every ounce of control he possessed not to kill Garrett right then and there. But he knew that just killing him would never satisfy the need for vengeance that pulsed inside him. He needed to make Garrett suffer and contemplate his fate before he died, and he needed to use Garrett as an example to the town. He would send an indisputable message that no one could attack him and get away with it. It was the first step toward regaining his control and his life.

He moved past the newspaper office, and his gut twisted. The building was dark, the doors closed and curtains drawn. If she’d seen him ride into town she’d turned away, and he couldn’t blame her.

There were some things she just didn’t understand. Asking him to let go of his vengeance, now that he had a second chance, was like asking him to cut off an arm.

For two days he’d struggled to forget the comfort and the sense of belonging he’d felt in her arms. He’d been forced to admit to himself that a part of him wanted to feel that way always, forever. But as tempting as that solace was, it was also fleeting. It would never sustain him. He could never allow himself to forget how quickly it could be taken from him. He had to maintain enough distance, enough control so that he could walk away, his heart and soul intact.

He glanced at the saloon as he rode past, and the memory of that night of hell and the other, older memories the attack had unleashed surged through him, stealing his breath and pricking the fury that seethed close to the surface. He savored the pain as he anticipated the end of that pain, the relief that would come from watching Garrett die, slowly he hoped.

As horrific and humiliating as Garrett’s attack had been, it had given Reece a second chance to set things right. Today he would exact the revenge he had been denied so many years ago, symbolically if not literally.

At the gallows, Reece pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted, then walked slowly toward the man who lay panting in the mud. Garrett was out of breath after his long walk to town. The gash on his head had long since stopped bleeding, but the dried blood mingled with the mud that clung to him. The outlaw glared up at him, the hatred in his eyes eclipsed by the unmistakable shadow of fear.

Reece had seen that shadow in the eyes of countless men. And every time he saw it he remembered. He knew with unbearable certainty that the same shadow had peered out of his own eyes at the men who had tormented him in prison. And every time he witnessed that emotion in another man’s eyes he swore anew that it would never cloud his own eyes again.

He affixed other faces to Garrett’s body, faces of war, the faces of the prison guards who had nearly destroyed him. By hanging Garrett, he would be symbolically executing them all, every man who had caused that shadow to dull his eyes. He waited for the satisfaction to well up inside him.

It didn’t come.

Reece growled in frustration, turning in time to see Ryker striding across the street. He knew the sheriff meant to take over, but he raised a hand, stopping him.

“I’ll take care of it,” he snarled. He had to do this himself. It was the only way he would ever cleanse his soul and begin to live again.

The thought stilled him, and Emma’s words returned to haunt him. “
Every day you kill a little more of yourself because you are afraid to live again, to let yourself feel.
”
 

She was wrong. He was not afraid to live. He had begun to live again twelve years ago when he’d learned how
not
to feel. The problem was that ever since she’d come into his life he’d been feeling too much. He had to get control of himself again, and the only way he was going to do that was to set things right.
 

Reece reached down and jerked Garrett to his feet, and the outlaw spoke for the first time.

“You can’t hang me. You gotta give me a trial. It’s the law.”

Without a word, Reece dragged the man toward the ruined scaffold, turning to Wilson. “Get me a horse. Now.”

Wilson rushed away to do as he was told.

“Somebody help me!” Garrett cried, his gaze sweeping the faces on the street. “Don’t just stand there! This is murder! Murder!”

“Mr. MacBride.” Doctor Stevens said tentatively, stepping forward from the crowd. “Perhaps you should --”

Reece pulled his revolver and cocked it, pointing it at the doctor. “Don’t interfere,” he warned.

The doctor stepped back into the crowd, pulling his hat down over his forehead as if it would hide him.

The horrified stares of the townspeople fueled Reece’s anger. He ignored the stab of guilt that threatened to pierce his emotional armor. He’d pointed a gun at a man who dedicated his life to saving others, a man who had saved his life. And he would have killed the doctor if he’d made a move to intervene.

His chest rose and fell with the violence of his breathing. One by one he glared into every pair of eyes, daring each man in turn to challenge him, and one by one they looked away nervously.

He looked back at the doctor. Ralphy had made his way through the crowd and stood in front of Stevens. His eyes were the only ones that held Reece’s gaze unswervingly. The expression on his young face was every bit as horrified as the adults around him. But beneath the horror, a deep disillusion stared back at Reece.

Reece blinked under that gaze, hesitated. Nothing he’d done until now had dimmed the admiration in the boy’s eyes, an admiration Reece hadn’t asked for and did not want.

Well, maybe it was time Ralphy grew up and learned a few hard truths.

Reece holstered his pistol and stalked over to where the rope was tied off and loosened it so that the noose nearly brushed the ground. He went back to where Garrett knelt and slipped the noose over his head.

“MacBride, you can’t do this!”

Reece could feel the outlaw tremble, see the terror in his eyes, and he waited again for the deep satisfaction to wash over him and soothe the rage and pain he’d lived with for so long.

It didn’t come.

Blood pounded in Reece’s ears, impotent rage swelling inside him until he felt as if he would explode. The urge to strike out pulsed through him. He wanted to hit Garrett, to beat him senseless, but he controlled the impulse, reasoning that it was more important for the outlaw to be conscious and fully aware of what was happening to him.

“You can’t just take the law into your own hands,” Garrett insisted, the panic in his voice palpable. “Listen to me, you son-of-a-bitch!”

“Sheriff!” Reece shouted. “Tie the rope off.”

Ryker hesitated. He gazed at the faces of the citizens who had gathered to watch. Normally it was Ryker who carried out Reece’s justice, lending it a veneer of legitimacy. And Reece knew Ryker resented having his position usurped in view of the town, but right now Reece was beyond caring what Ryker or anyone else thought. With a glare, Reece convinced Ryker not to challenge him.

“Help me somebody!” Garrett tried without success to jerk out of Reece’s grip. “He’s crazy! Somebody’s gotta stop him!”

Wilson returned with the horse, and he and Reece lifted a screaming, struggling Garrett into the saddle while the sheriff took the slack out of the rope and tied it off.

“You gotta give me a trial before a judge so’s he can pass sentence!” Garrett cried. “Listen to me, goddamn you! Somebody please!”

Reece stood beside the horse, removing his gloves, prolonging the moment, giving Garrett enough time to contemplate his fate and show himself for the coward he truly was, and giving himself time to relish this moment. He glanced around him, avoiding Ralphy’s reproachful gaze.