Holt's Gamble (26 page)

She tipped her chin up and gritted her teeth. "I'm not... a whore... at all."

He gave her a mean little shake, banging her head against the hard wall behind her. A pain shot through her temples.

"The hell you say, girl. I know what I know." His squinty eyes narrowed further and an evil gleam came into them. "But I'm gettin' the notion the good folks on this here train maybe don't know what you was back there."

Kierin's chest rose and fell rapidly against the grimy sleeve of his long johns.

He let out a little laugh. "I'm right, ain't I? Well, you kin play yer little game with the rest of these greenhorns, but you ain't foolin' me none. I reckon as how that little secret's worth somethin' to ya, ain't it, little lady?" He glanced back at the circle of dancers. The music was still loud enough to drown out their conversation. "I don't reckon I'll have to think too hard on how you can get me to keep it."

His mouth came down hard on hers and his tongue impaled her. Her futile scream was absorbed by his mouth. She felt his hands bracket her hips, pulling her fully against his arousal. She pushed hard against his chest with her hands but she was no match for his strength.

Without warning, Bledsoe was spun around. Kierin heard his grunt of surprise as he released her. In the darkness, she recognized Clay's silhouette just as his fist caught Bledsoe hard in the stomach. The man gasped and doubled over in pain, but Clay sent his knee crashing into Bledsoe's chin. He flew backward like a launched egg and landed with a groan in the dirt, sprawled near Clay's feet.

Bledsoe's mouth was bleeding and he hauled himself up on one elbow, shaking his head back and forth to clear his vision. He tested his jaw with his hand, then staggered up from the ground, ready to take his assailant on. Clay's hard-bitten words stopped him.

"Get near my wife again, you bastard, and I'll kill you." Clay's voice was low and deadly.

Kierin sucked in a breath. He'd called her his wife.

Luther staggered unsteadily and touched his thumb to the corner of his bleeding mouth. His gaze traveled back and forth between Clay and Kierin. "Wife?" he said in a low mean voice. "She didn't mention no husband to me, Mister."

Clay's eyes flashed for a split second to Kierin's. She didn't miss the uncertainty she saw there.

Nor did Luther. A small, victorious smile curved his bloodied lips. Foolishness made him carry it one step too far. "You better keep a better eye on this one. She was askin' me fer i—"

Clay's knife flashed from its sheath and its tip was at Luther's throat before he could finish the word.

"I could kill you now for saying that, you stupid son of a bitch," Clay ground out, his face only inches from Bledsoe's.

For a moment, Kierin thought he would. She'd never seen him so close to losing control. "Clay," she warned, "don't-"

"It would give me a lot of pleasure," he went on, ignoring her, "to serve you up in little pieces to the fort's commander for attempted rape."

Sweat broke out on Bledsoe's forehead and his eyes widened with fear. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

"Do you have something to say to my
wife,
you bastard? Or," he asked, twisting the knife under his chin, drawing a bead of blood, "shall I show you how the Cheyenne deal with men who rape women?"

"Ow! No—" Bledsoe squirmed, with his head tipped back. "I—I'm sorry, miss. I m-mean, ma'am. I didn't mean you no harm."

Clay's knife point lingered at the man's throat. "Good. Consider yourself warned. Get near her again and you're dead." He lowered the blade and stepped back away from the bleeding man.

Bledsoe swiped angrily at his mouth with his hand, slid one last glare at Kierin, and turned, disappearing into the darkness.

Only after he'd gone did Clay sheathe his knife and turn back to her. She wasn't prepared for the anger she saw in his eyes. He grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her back between the buildings, away from the music and dancing.

"Clay, you're hurting me," she cried as he pushed her up roughly against a wall. She could smell the bourbon on his breath and wondered briefly if he was drunk.

"Damnit, Kierin—" His face reflected his frustration. He spun around and paced a few steps away, then turned on her. "What the hell do you think you were doing back there? Do you have any idea how dangerous a man like that could be?"

Affronted, she drew her lips into a thin line. "Of course, I do. I didn't-"

"You sure as hell didn't," he said, picking up his pacing again. "This isn't the Independence, Kierin. You don't have your
friend
Lily here to protect you from men like that. He could have killed you without blinking an eye."

"I can take care of myself."

"Is that right?"

"So, I made a mistake. I shouldn't have walked out alone in the dark. But if you're implying I somehow encouraged that—that—"

A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Did you?"

"Damn you," she whispered, too choked with anger to scream at him.

His temper flared unchecked. He swung around on her again with an angry laugh. "Damn me? Oh, that's a good one. I'm afraid it's too late for that, Princess. This farce of a marriage wasn't my idea in the first place. But you seem to remember it only when it's convenient for you. And then I find you out here in the dark, kissing—"

She slapped his face hard, catching him off guard. He staggered back a step in shock. His hand went to the stinging red welt coming up on his jaw.

Tears burned the backs of Kierin's eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks, but she held them back. "Kissing? I wasn't willingly doing anything with him. But you know what? I've had it up to here with your accusations,"—she slashed an angry palm across her forehead—"and your sanctimonious self-righteousness! Just who the
hell
do you think you are?"

Clay stared at her—silent, grim-faced.

"Nothing I could ever say would change your mind about me, would it?" she accused. "About who I am or what I am. Well, here's a piece of news for you—I don't care anymore. I don't give a damn what you think of me. Why don't you just go back and let Rachael Beaker hang all over you again! Perhaps a minister's daughter is
virtuous
enough for you. J—just leave me alone." Her throat was clogged with captured sobs. "Do you hear me? Leave me alone." She turned and ran off into the darkness before he could see the tears she was about to shed over him.

"Oh, hell." Clay slammed an open palm against the wall of the building.
You bastard. Now look what you've done.

"Kierin—wait!" He started after her.

She ignored him and kept up her angry pace through the tangle of long grass. The hem of her dress twisted between her legs and threatened to trip her. She gathered up her skirt on her arm, ripping it from the long spiked thistles that lay hidden in the darkness. She had no idea where she was going. Only that she couldn't bear to be around him any longer. She heard his footsteps behind her and she started to run, but tears blurred her vision.

"Kierin, stop. Don't run away from me."

His voice was suddenly close. She felt his hand close around her arm and he spun her around.

"Where do you think you're going?"

She struggled to get loose of him. "Anywhere!" she screamed, "Away from
you—
let go of me!"

His breath was coming hard and fast. "If you think I'm going to let you go running off into the darkness in the middle of the prairie, you're crazy. Now, just... just calm down and let's talk this out."

"I have nothing to say to you," she gritted out. "And I think you made yourself perfectly clear back there."

"No, I didn't." He swallowed hard. "I shouldn't have said any of it."

"But you did, didn't you? You said it and you
meant
it."

"No," he repeated, realizing it was true. "I was angry. Damn it, Kierin, when I saw you with him I—"

"I don't want to hear this," she warned, pressing her hands to her ears.

"—I wanted to kill him," Clay finished, capturing her wrists. He pulled her clenched fists against his chest, forcing her to hear him. "I wanted to kill that bastard for touching you."

She tugged futilely against his hands. "At least I knew what
he
wanted from me," she cried. Tears streamed unfettered down her cheeks. "What do
you
want from me, Clay?" she sobbed. "W-why are you doing this? Why c-can't you just—"

"Ah-h, God, Kierin. I'm sorry..." he murmured, tipping his forehead miserably against hers. "So sorry. Forgive me. I don't know what I'm doing around you half the time. I do crazy things. Damn. Maybe I
am
crazy. I don't know anymore." He stroked her cheek with his thumb, wiping at her tears. "Don't cry," he whispered. "Please, don't cry."

But she did. Pushing against him with her clenched fists, she turned her face away, ashamed and miserable in his arms. Surrounded by the vacant prairie, he held her that way, allowing her to vent her grief. Her body convulsed with sobs while his hand stroked her hair. He pressed his cheek tightly against it.

"Sh-hh," he soothed. His heated breath warmed her as he pressed his lips against her hair. "It's all right now... I'm sorry."

Her hands flattened against his chest, half clinging to him, half pushing him away. She felt the uneven rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingertips, the steady thudding of his heart. Clay's hands moved along either side of her face, and his mouth dipped to vanquish the salty tears on her cheeks. "We can't go on this way..." he whispered hopelessly against her skin. "Not trusting each other. It's... going to kill us both."

Kierin squeezed her reddened eyes shut. "I know."

He felt, more than heard her words against his cheek. "Do you have any idea," he murmured with his mouth against her skin, "what you do to me?"

How can I hate him and love him so in the same moment?
"Heaven help me... I do," she answered, wrapping her arms around his back and drawing him close.

He swallowed thickly and began to pull away from her. "We shouldn't," he said. "When I'm close to you, I..."

"Don't go," she said. "Please."

In his eyes, she saw him reconsider. With a hand on either side of her face, he tipped her head back. His eyes searched hers in the darkness; his catching the silver reflection of the crescent moon. She knew suddenly that he wouldn't seek her permission this time. It was a simple gesture of confirmation. It was, she knew suddenly, a truth they couldn't deny.

His lips stalked her, brushing the fullness of hers twice before claiming them fully. His kiss—penetrating and insistent—slashed diagonally across hers with an ardor wrought by weeks of denial. She opened to him, meeting his passion with an urgency of her own.

Clay's tongue traced the inside edge of her lower lip, then invaded her mouth. Kierin's senses were on fire, ignited by the molten flame that leapt between them. She knew he'd felt it, too. He groaned against her mouth and pulled her closer, as if any space between them was too much.

His hands slid down to her buttocks and he drew her hips up against his, so she could feel his need for her. His arousal pressed against her belly, hard and warm and wanting.

"I didn't want to share you with anyone else on that dance floor tonight," he whispered. Cradling the back of her head in his hand, his tongue caressed the outer edge of her ear, then wandered with a tantalizing languor across the sensitive lobe.

She felt a tremor rock her and she swayed against him, suddenly weak-kneed. "I didn't want you to," she answered.

His hand moved deliberately to her breast, cupping the fullness she offered up. He felt her nipple pucker under the thin cotton gown as his thumb traced its circumference and his mouth captured hers in a fierce kiss.

In one swift movement, he reached down and swept her up in his arms. "I want you—now," he told her unequivocally.

She answered him in a fervent kiss that stirred his heart in the same undeniable way she did the rest of him. Carrying her to the base of a gentle swell in the prairie, hidden from view of both the fort and the trains camped down river, he lowered her to the ground.

She pulled him down to her and he covered her with his weight. Their bodies carved a shallow nest in the soft prairie grass. Kierin trembled in his arms. Fear and need warred for control within her and she wondered if he could hear her heart pounding. The time for thinking was gone. She wanted him as much as he did her. She would meet him as a woman, not as a frightened girl.

"Show me what you want," she whispered against his hair, while her hands roved across his back and the taut muscles of his shoulders.

Her words seemed to make him tremble with his need for her. She moved beneath him and the peaks of her nipples brushed against his chest through his chamois shirt. She wanted to feel her skin against his. His fingers fumbled with his buttons.

"Let me..." she offered, nudging his hand away. He closed his eyes, apparently willing himself to be patient, letting the sensations drift over him. One by one, the buttons released from the straining fabric and she slipped her warm hands beneath the shirt to his bare chest.

His skin was hot to Kierin's touch. A cloud passed in front of the moon and he became only a pale outline in the darkness. She suddenly wished she could see all of him as she'd longed to do. Her hands became her eyes then, exploring the lean, elegant contours of him.