Thadius lit his cigar, then shifted the papers in front of him to buy time. Lowly hirelings like Ryder were never supposed to know he was the man behind their doings. He gazed at the ash on his cigar and said, “Sit down. We’ll discuss this, Ryder. I’m not unreasonable, but I’m curious as to how you knew about me. Care to explain that?”
Shrugging, Ryder sat. “Ain’t no big deal. I searched Quincy’s bags before I said I’d work for him.”
“And what did you find?”
“The letter you sent telling him what to do.”
“You can read?”
Ryder came up out of his chair. Threateningly he leaned over the desk. “Yeah. I can read, little fat man. So what?”
“Sit down. Please, sit down,” Thadius implored, mopping the sweat from his brow. “I didn’t mean to insult you. It is unusual to find a man of your … well, your talents able to read.”
“My ma was a Bible-reading woman, an’ she taught me.”
Thadius nodded, but he was silently acknowledging that he had made a mistake and judged Ryder too fast. He would never again commit anything to paper linking him with Cooney Camp. But Ryder was going to be his means to an end, not Quincy’s. He could not let Ryder know how upsetting his news was. Damn Quincy! The man’s failure to follow simple orders to marry a backward girl, and have her make out a will before he killed her, was costing him time and money. But he would have to wait to deal with Quincy’s incompetence when he showed up.
He didn’t need this along with the additional pressure from William Berger. The man was obsessed with gaining possession of that gold mine to realize his political dreams. He glanced at the gun slung low on Ryder’s hip as the man sat down again. Perhaps he could use Ryder to rid him of all three problems. Berger had lost his usefulness. Quincy had unwittingly revealed his involvement, and Maggie O’Roarke was an unnecessary obstacle.
He knew that Ryder was waiting for him to offer money. It went against Thadius’s grain to pay for something twice, when the first time didn’t see the job done.
Thadius flipped open the box on the corner of his desk. “Help yourself, Ryder. We have business to discuss.”
“Ain’t a smoking man. An’ I’d rather hear about the money I got coming.”
“In good time.” Smiling, Thadius leaned forward. “There is a man I want you to see in Cooney Camp. Andrew Burton.”
“The mercantile owner? What’s he got to do with you?”
“Now, let’s talk money, Ryder. Then I’ll explain what you have to do to earn it.”
William Berger had made his decision. Thadius was stalling. He didn’t trust anyone but himself to gain possession of that gold mine near Cooney Camp. A three-day growth of beard along with the store-bought clothes marked him as one of a hundred drifters in the territory. His altered appearance ensured him that no one would recognize him.
After snapping closed the loaded cylinder on his gun, he sighted it beyond the fire. Tomorrow would see him in Cooney Camp with Cora Ann Avernel working for him. There were times when he missed being the man of action. It sweetened the reward he was after. He had to eliminate what stood in his way. First Quincy and his supposed-to-be bride. Then Thadius.
It had been a long time since he’d set up such a smooth double cross. He settled his head on his saddle, dreaming of gold and all it could buy.
“Hang it, McCready! Your damn whistlin’s got me wishin’ I was grinnin’ at the daisy roots.”
He smiled, then continued his whistling.
The morning had crept by, just as Maggie herself had crept around the cabin, restless and filled with the dread of what he was going to do. She knew he thought it was the whiskey that made her mood surly, but Maggie knew better. It was the dreams of his mouth and the hot look of his eyes that had plagued her sleep and made her long for freedom.
And he watched her. The moment she went near the open window to study the dark clouds piling in the distance, he was on his feet behind her.
She couldn’t take much more. Careful not to touch him, Maggie slipped away and returned to her place by the fire. Desperation for something to do had driven her to make biscuits, and she moved the short-legged cast-iron spider back from the coals so that they would not burn. In a kettle beans, venison, and wild onions simmered. She gave it a stir, staring at the stew.
“Needs more salt.”
“You didn’t even taste it, Maggie.”
“Some things you just know by lookin’.”
McCready was giving her the crock before she could move. Maggie took it, unable to avoid touching his hands. Her gaze locked with his, and her memory supplied a flash of seeing this same look in his eyes once before. The day she had confronted him in the Rawhider. McCready was not only eating her alive with his eyes, he attacked her senses and sent panic streaming through her again. Her breath caught in her throat. The crock slipped from her hands, spilling the salt before it shattered.
McCready didn’t glance at the broken crockery. He couldn’t drag his gaze away from the glittering awareness he glimpsed in Maggie’s eyes. He felt himself being pulled by more than the desire he felt for her. Maggie was stirring emotions that he had thought long dead and unneeded.
“McCready?” she whispered.
“Yeah, Maggie. I know just what you mean. Some things you just know by looking.”
Awareness melded with feminine curiosity in the ancient green of her eyes. The quick little catch of her breath, the parting of her lips, and the slight forward move she made, all invited a kiss. But for once McCready didn’t act on it. He knew kisses weren’t going to be enough to calm the fever that was building by seconds inside him.
Maggie didn’t ask what he meant. She knew. Her hands curled into fists and her belly tightened. She didn’t want to be kissed by McCready, did she? She shouldn’t want him to kiss her again—want it so badly she could taste it.
She remembered that he told her she would like being married to him, that he would make her understand what being his wife meant. Maggie wasn’t sure she was ready to find out.
McCready had reached the same conclusion. But there was still the matter of his whiskey to be settled between them. He slowly straightened and crooked his finger at her. “Come with me, Maggie. I want to explain how you’ll pay for my whiskey.”
“Whiskey? Pay?” Was that near mewling voice hers? Maggie shook her head. She wasn’t afraid of him, was she? It was the sight of his crooked finger motioning her to come that shredded the last of the webs he skillfully entangled around her with his nearness. She joined him at the table.
“Let’s imagine that there is a bottle on this table, Maggie. And you watch me pour out a glass. Please,” he said sarcastically, “note, I must use both my hands, one to hold the bottle, the other to hold the glass. Now a man sometimes likes to sip and contemplate his whiskey. He uses both hands to do so. With me so far?”
Maggie glanced from the cupped hands up to McCready’s watchful eyes. She didn’t trust the glitter within their blue color, but she nodded that she understood his motions.
“Good, Maggie.” He gave her a beaming smile of approval. “Now, as I was explaining, here I am holding my glass, and I lift it to my lips to drink. Then I set it down. A serious drinking man could stretch out a bottle for hours, but we need to remember that I don’t have a bottle of whiskey anymore. Do I?”
What was he getting at? She shook her head, then added a weak, “No.”
McCready leaned forward, his gaze once more targeting hers. “Did you give a thought as you broke my bottles of whiskey as to what I’d be doing with my hands and mouth if I couldn’t drink?”
Maggie’s hands clutched each other tight on her lap.
“Where’s that quick stabbing tongue, Maggie mine?”
Stuck to the roof of me mouth, she wanted to answer but couldn’t. The glitter in McCready’s eyes seemed brighter. Maggie knew this boded her no good.
“You’ll have to pay, O’Roarke. I’ll need something to keep my hands and mouth busy. Fair enough?”
Maggie swallowed. “If I had me knife, I could teach you to whittle.”
“Not good enough. That would keep my hands busy, but not my mouth.”
“You could whistle, McCready. Much as it drives me crazy to hear it, you could do it.”
“Ah, it does my heart good to know that you’re so willing to be accommodating about this, Maggie. I had hoped it would be so.”
The crafty look he wore alerted Maggie that she wasn’t going to like his payment demand. She had seen that same look on a hundred miners’ faces when someone asked about their claims.
“To make sure there is no misunderstanding between us, we are in agreement that you owe me for breaking my supply of whiskey.” McCready was betting on Maggie’s honesty to get her to say yes. She made him wait, but patience was on his side, since he wanted everything spelled out for her.
“I owe you, McCready. An’ as soon as me mines are producin’, I’ll pay you.”
“Now, Maggie mine, I’m the one who is going to set the terms here, not you. Besides,” he added, sitting back and crooking one arm over the back of the chair, “I can’t wait that long.”
“Oh.”
He watched her squirm in her chair, but to her credit she didn’t try to get up.
“So, you see my predicament. I—”
“Stop usin’ them big words. An’ I found a way. I’ll cook and wash. Drive me crazy to do for the likes of you, but I’ll pay what I owe.”
“Not good enough, Maggie. That keeps you busy, not me.”
“You cook and wash?” she suggested, holding on to the hope that he would agree. The crafty look was gone from his face, but in its place was the look McCready wore when he held the winning hand. Her whole body was tensing, and Maggie didn’t know if it was from fear or excitement.
“No, Maggie, that doesn’t work, either. My way will give us both something to do at the same time.”
“It will?” Faith and begorra! What was the man thinking of?
McCready savored the moment and let her wait after he nodded. He couldn’t decide if he should tell her or show her. Given Maggie’s volatile temperament, no matter which he chose it could end with the same results. McCready shoved his chair back and rose, coming around the table before Maggie could move. At her side he hunkered down, bracing one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table in front of her.
“Maggie, you agreed to pay me. And this is how. Each time I need a drink, you’ll have to kiss me.”
“Kiss you?” she parroted. With her eyes closed she didn’t see his nod or his satisfied smile. All Maggie thought about was his knowing that she had wanted to kiss him. Devil’s own that McCready was, he had figured out a way. She felt the quickening of her heart and the wee ones dancing with glee. Her body was against her mind.
She opened her eyes but kept them on the table, studying the hard strength of his hand. She had to keep his hands and mouth busy, that’s what he said. There had to be more rules to this payment. She had to know where he’d be keeping his hands.
McCready lifted his hand from the back of her chair and lightly smoothed her hair. “Well? Are you going to do it or welsh?”
“I’ve never welshed in me life, McCready, an’ if you’d not be knowin’ that—”
“I know, Maggie. I counted on it.”
The ring of truth was in his voice, and Maggie had to face him. “You figured this for a time, didn’t you?”
“No. How could I? You broke the whiskey, Maggie. I’m just collecting on the debt you owe me.” He found himself swallowing and hesitating a moment before he asked, “Do you find the thought of kissing me distasteful?”
“I wouldn’t be sayin’ that.”
“Then you like kissing me?”
Maggie knew she was in hot water, hot and deep. She’d be a fool seven ways to Saturday to admit she liked his kisses.
Avoiding answering his question took some thought, but she found a way. “You like drinkin’ for hours.”
“I’ve been known to.”
“Would you be…” Maggie rubbed her hands on her thighs. “Well, would you be lookin’ to kiss me that long?”
Leaning his forehead against her shoulder, McCready hid his smile. The hand stroking her hair hadn’t told him that Maggie was trembling. But this close he couldn’t help but feel the effect he had on her.
“Maggie, let’s make this easy. We’ll try it and see.”
“You’re known to have a powerful cravin’ for whiskey.”
“But I’m beginning to understand that I have other cravings just as strong.” He swept his hand from the table to her far shoulder, urging her around in the chair. Sliding his fingers from her hair down to the slender curve of her neck, he angled his head so that he could look up at her face.
“Maggie—”
“It’s the damn mines, isn’t it?” she blurted. “You’ll do anythin’ to have them. Take them, McCready. Take them and to hell you’ll go. But you’ll not—”
“For once, Maggie, you’re wrong about me. I’ve wanted to kiss you since you walked into the Rawhider dressed to marry another man. I wasn’t thinking about the mines; I was thinking about you. How you would feel beneath me. How your lips would taste. How many freckles you have. You can’t know how many times I’ve seen myself counting them with kisses. And there is one more promise I made you that day that I haven’t carried out.”
Maggie shook her head and closed her eyes again. Her body was flushed from the inside out. She didn’t need to ask about the promise; she recalled his words when she had ordered Satin to keep him pinned in place. He had sworn then that for every moment the dog held him down, he’d have her the same way. Maggie tried backing off the chair, but he held her still.
Now she faced not only being held captive in his cabin, but by McCready himself.
But was he lying to her? She didn’t know. Could a man lie with his touches and kisses? There was only one way to find out.
She opened her eyes and stared directly into his. There was no gentle amusement, no glitter, nothing but serious regard.
“All right, McCready. You’ll have your payment. But we set rules about it.”
“No rules, Maggie,” he stated with utter calm, convinced that he had won.
“None?”
“Not a one.”
She licked her bottom lip, then sunk her teeth into it. “Well, what’re you waitin’ for?” McCready stood up abruptly, and Maggie’s gaze followed the rise of his body. She knew she wasn’t small, but she felt that way as he towered over her. No man’s body had ever held curiosity for her. But suddenly McCready’s did. The thought of his arms around her own body, pressing intimately against her, sent an arrow of sensation sliding from her breasts to the pit of her belly. She swallowed hard and looked away from his clear, penetrating eyes.
Silence stretched and then stretched some more, leaving Maggie feeling uncertain and breathless. She glanced up at McCready, only to find him watching her with unnerving intensity, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.
For a moment McCready lost himself in the darkening green color of her eyes. Her lips were full, the soft curves a silent invitation to a man’s hungry mouth, and he knew that hunger. His body hardened in a single wild rush, forcing him to bite back a curse and a groan. But there was no way to take back what he said. Not when Maggie seemed to be willing to pay it.
With one finger he tilted her face up and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. Her breath caught, then rushed out over his skin.
“Stand up, Maggie.” But even as he ordered her, he was lifting her from the chair, drawing her against him. Need sank little claws of demand for him to hurry. But he tried to slow himself down. Tried to remember that he liked his women petite and soft. Maggie wasn’t petite, and as he stroked her back, pressing her breasts against his chest, he knew she wasn’t soft. There was strength in the slender body he caressed, and the only softness she had was where she needed it. Her mouth. The lush curves of her breasts. And the softest heat now hidden from him.
Maggie braced her hands on his shoulders. She had always thought of McCready as soft. But the warmth of his body, the strength of his shoulders made her feel like she was touching the granite of a placer strike. She gazed up at his eyes, and the glitter was back, like gold running through quartz, just as sharp and bright. Maggie heard the tearing sound of his breath and knew she wasn’t alone with the strange feelings McCready caused.
“Maggie,” he breathed, bending down to her mouth, brushing it lightly when he felt her trembling. He wanted to know the heat and taste of her. With aching slowness he again whispered his mouth over hers, repeating the caress again and again until he lingered a bit longer and felt the hardness of her teeth behind the warmth of her giving mouth.
But he remembered Maggie’s taking and giving with a hot wildness that was unlike any he had known.
She shut down on the battle waging inside her. His mouth wasn’t lazy now. Hard and hot, his lips took from hers while his fingers pressed her back. She moaned when his tongue slid over hers. She uncurled her fingers to clutch at his shirt, then slid them up into his hair. The scrape of his teeth against her bottom lip had her gasping. There was a too new desperation spilling through her and she wanted to fight it. Her body betrayed her and strained against his while her mouth burned to match his need.
McCready lost himself. He knew how a woman clouded a man’s senses, how she caused his body to throb and burn. But Maggie … her almost dazed surrender made him know a desire so knife-blade sharp that it sliced through him. There was no coyness, no need for him to seduce. Maggie was as direct and honest about what she wanted from him as if she had spoken.