Authors: Sarah McCarty
There was a bruise on her shoulder. Old, nearly faded, but still discernible. It was a thumbprint. He placed his thumb over it. The man who’d made it was smaller than him. He moved the washcloth over the spot, covering it as cold rage burgeoned. Waiting didn’t set well with him. Every second the bastards who marked her spent on this earth was an affront he couldn’t stomach. The bastards needed to die and they needed to die hard. A soft grunt from Desi alerted him to the fact he was scrubbing at her flesh too hard.
Damn it, he would contain the emotions clawing at him long enough to give her the bath she needed and then carry her to bed and give her the rest she craved. Caine wiped at the column of her throat. She had a long neck. Elegant. A neck meant for jewels, not the faint line of sunburn that came from working outside. Guilt settled alongside Caine’s rage. She was meant for better things than he could give her.
The stubborn self-serving side of him didn’t give a shit. Desi was his. The soft men who populated that fancy world she’d come from had failed her, left her to die a slow, lingering death of the soul in a way he never would have.
Caine brought the cloth under her arms and then over her breasts, being careful of her skin, whiter than the cloth, so fine he could see the faint tracery of veins beneath. If she’d been his woman and been stolen, he never would have stopped looking for her. No matter how many years passed. And no matter what state he found her in, he’d have wanted her back.
He worked the cloth lower, ignoring the throb of his cock as he skimmed her woman’s mound and then tucked under her thigh and lifted. Not too high, he didn’t want her slipping down in the bath. Her moan drew him up short. He massaged the tense muscle, smiling when she moaned again and her leg relaxed. Desi followed a man’s lead easily enough when that mind of hers wasn’t charging ahead, supposing the worst.
He inched his way down her thigh to her knee and then to her calf. His hand naturally wrapped around her ankle. It was as delicate as the rest of her. He marveled at the strength in such a fragile joint. She was a thoroughbred for sure. All speed and spirit, yet in need of careful handling because that high spirit could lead her where her body just couldn’t keep up. His fingers snagged on a ridge of flesh that shouldn’t be there. He frowned, exploring the ridge that wrapped the same path as his fingers. A closer look revealed flesh whiter than the flesh of her skin. Scar tissue. He only knew one thing that left a mark like that.
Nothing in the room but a chain and a bed.
He closed his grip, chaining her with flesh instead of metal. The last of his guilt disappeared as the heat of her skin blended with the heat of his. “Never again, Gypsy.”
He might be a hard man without the fancy she was used to, but he knew how to protect what was his. “You can count on that.”
Common sense said she was too asleep to hear him, but he liked to think the slight frown left her face because she understood. He checked her feet. The wounds were healed. He eased her leg back into the water. Scooping up more soap, he mirrored the same ritual on the other side, paying more attention as he went, finding more sore spots, more bruises and more scars. And every one he discovered lashed at his rage, whipping it up into a vicious fury that solidified in his gut. With calm efficiency he washed between her legs and buttocks, using his fingers rather than the cloth, keeping his touch as impersonal as he could while his mind logged every fold, every indent. He debated washing her hair, but it would take hours to dry and she needed sleep more than she needed clean hair.
He balanced her chin on his finger, touching his thumb to her damp, flushed countenance. “Gypsy, love.”
She frowned but didn’t wake. He smoothed the soap into her right cheek, wiping it gently away before wiping at the other cheek. Three more swipes and he had her face done. He dropped the cloth in the water. Rolling up his sleeves, he eased his hands under her arms and around her back.
“I need you to stand.”
Her eyelashes fluttered. “Huh?”
“Stand up.”
Her effort was disjointed and clumsy, but it was enough. He stood and she lolled against him. Clearly, keeping her that way was his responsibility. He grabbed the towel off the back of the chair and wrapped it around her. He didn’t need her getting a chill. Through the thin veil of his now wet shirt he felt the lift of her lashes and the poke of her nipples. He tucked the towel between them as her head fell back, and she blinked at him.
“I finished my bath?”
“Yup.”
She frowned, clearly not remembering. She took over the arranging of the towel, transforming his haphazard stuffing to efficient tucks.
“All set?”
She blinked again at the question, only half awake.
“To go to bed,” he clarified.
She nodded. “I’m so tired.”
“I know, sweetheart.” The endearment came naturally as he lifted her. She didn’t fight, just tucked her head into the hollow of his shoulder and placed her palm against his neck. It was an act of trust.
It just took a minute to get to the bedroom. He nodded to Tia and Ed in the hall.
Tia nodded to the closed parlor door, and with an eye on Desi, who was dozing against his chest, whispered, “Sam is back. He, Tracker and Tucker are waiting in the parlor to talk to you.”
“Thanks. I’ll head down after I get Desi settled.”
Ed smiled and put his arm around Tia’s waist. To Caine’s surprise, she didn’t shake it off. Ed nodded to Desi. “She is a good woman. Just the right amount of stubborn like Tia here. You were smart to snatch her up.”
That was quite a compliment coming from Ed. “I thought so. Could you tell Sam I’ll be right down?”
“Will do.”
“Thanks.”
The heat when he opened the door hit him like a punch. He might have stoked the little parlor stove too heavily earlier, but Desi was so sensitive to cold, he didn’t want to take chances. He fished her nightgown from under the pillow and tugged it over her head before laying her on the bed. Her hands clung to his shoulders. He caught them in his, brushing a kiss across the back before letting them go. The sheets rustled as she turned on her side and tucked them under the pillow. Caine eased her legs to the side, straightened her gown and lifted the covers over her.
She sighed and snuggled into the bed. He took the pins out of her hair, spreading the long thick curls over the bed before separating them into sections and braiding them. He tied the braid with ribbon from the bed stand. It wasn’t the best, but it would do.
Caine touched the end of the braid. He liked having cleaned and cared for her, liked knowing she was sleeping comfortably because of the ease he gave her. Liked even more knowing when he came back after meeting with the others, she’d be here in his bed, and as soon as he slid in beside her, that smooth, silky body would curve naturally into the shelter of his.
He turned down the light and prepared to leave.
“Caine?”
The sheets rustled as Desi reached across the mattress. Caine caught her hand in his.
“What is it? Are you cold?”
Desi nodded and tugged at his hand. “Always cold without you.”
The half-sleepy declaration did queer things to his chest. She tugged again.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek, freeing his hand and pulling the quilt over her shoulders, tucking it around her so no draft could sneak under. He couldn’t get into bed with her. His clothes were too wet and his cock too hard. “I’ll be back in a bit, after I talk to Sam.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Her eyes closed and she huddled deeper. “Okay.”
He paused for a minute at the door. The lamplight caught on her hair, coloring it a deep yellow. Desi looked damn good in his bed. Right.
He drew the door closed.
Sam, Tracker and Tucker were waiting for him in the parlor.
Tucker took one look at his clothes and asked, “You decide to go for a swim in the tub?”
Caine crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a finger of whiskey. “Desi fell asleep in the bath.”
Tracker grunted. “More like you wore her out. You can’t keep at her like this.”
Caine glared at Tracker before spreading his displeasure about. “What I do or don’t do with my wife is none of your business.”
“We’re just saying, you might want to lay off her a bit and let her settle,” Sam interjected. “That’s all.”
Caine dropped into the chair by the door. He took a long pull on his whiskey. “For your information, I’ve laid off her since the first night.”
“Then why the hell is she so on edge?” Sam demanded.
“Must be she’s waiting on him to pounce,” Tracker said, grabbing the whiskey bottle and bringing it over. At Caine’s raised brow, he clarified, “For the strain on your nerves.”
He poured more in the glass than Caine ever allowed himself on any given night.
“Thanks.”
“Whatever she’s waiting for,” Sam said, “you’d better deliver it because the woman can’t afford to lose another pound.”
“True enough,” Tracker agreed. “As it is, if we get a stiff wind up here, we’re going to have to tie her down.”
Caine ground his back teeth. “I’m working on it.”
“Working on what?” Tia asked, stopping by the door with a stack of folded clothes.
“Desi.”
“Work on her eating.”
That was from Tucker. The man had a real problem with anyone or anything going hungry.
“She is not going to eat unless her nerves settle.”
Caine ran his hand through his hair. “I know, Tia.”
“Her nerves will not settle unless she feels she has a place.”
“She’s my wife, how much more sense of place does she need?”
“Men leave their wives all the time.”
Wonderful. Caine took another sip of his whiskey. “Any man worth his salt does not abandon his wife.”
“We know that,
hijo,
but she doesn’t.” Tia shrugged. “It is why she works so hard. So you will notice.”
“I came to that conclusion myself.” Just that evening.
Tia nodded. “Good, then you can fix it.”
And pigs flew daily. He cocked a brow at Tia. “Got any ideas as to how?”
Tia shifted the pile of clothes in her arms. “I would not think of interfering between a husband and a wife.”
That got a chuckle all around. Tia was chock-full of opinions and not one was she shy about sharing. “Since when?”
Her gaze didn’t leave his. “Since now. You created the problem, you must fix it.”
Caine ran his hands around the back of his neck and finished off his whiskey. “This isn’t like when I was a kid, and I landed the buckboard in a mud hole.”
“No, it isn’t. It is much more important.”
“Desi’s been raised fine.”
“You bring this up why?”
“I don’t know shit about women, let alone one like her.”
Tia’s lips quirked. “You know enough to have the ones in town fighting over your visits.”
Heat burned the back of his neck. He hadn’t realized Tia knew about that side of his life. “It’s not the same.”
The look she gave him was pitying. “Women are women everywhere. It is only in men’s minds there is created a difference.”
Before he could counter that, she moved on, leaving him with an empty whiskey glass, the expectant stares of the others and no clue as to how to handle any of it.
“So how long do you intend to keep letting her go on like this?” Tracker asked.
Caine shrugged and motioned for the whiskey to be passed down. “Until she wears out, or learns.”
“Getting drunk isn’t going to help anything.”
“It might help my headache.”
Sam snatched the bottle, keeping it away. “Until morning, and then Desi would just have to deal with your surliness.”
Tracker took the bottle back. “And that would just make matters worse.”
“How much worse can they get?”
Sam sighed and again took the bottle from Tracker. “A lot.”
Shit. Every sense came to high alert. “You find out something in town?”
Sam had no hesitation in refilling his own glass. “They’re not letting her go.”
“They?”
“On the surface, it looks like James is pressing his claim, but if you hang out a bit in the shadows, you discover it’s the bankers who want her.”
As Sam was very good at drifting through the shadowy areas of life, Caine didn’t doubt his word for a moment. “Any idea why?”
“No, but I’ve put feelers out.”
Which probably meant he’d coaxed some woman into spying. With his angelic good looks and natural persuasiveness, Sam could get women to do anything and think it was their idea from the get-go. “How badly do they want her back?”
“They’ve put out a reward for her return.”
Shit. A big enough reward would mean every
bandolero
in the territory would be on their asses. “I don’t suppose they were their usual cheap asses when they put out the reward?”