Authors: Morgan's Woman
A split-rail fence blocked the mouth of the quarter-acre paddock. Tamsin let the horses in, then slid the logs across to keep them from escaping.
Ash watched as she unsaddled the animals. A gush of water cascaded down the sheer cliff to pool in a natural rock basin. Eagerly, the animals crossed the grassy area to drink.
“They may be overheated,” Tamsin said. “Maybe I shouldn’t let them—”
“Leave them,” Ash replied. “We’ve a climb ahead of us, and you don’t want to do it in the dark.”
“Are you up to it?”
He didn’t bother to answer. As thirsty as he was, he knew the source of the water was a spring beside the cabin. He was afraid that if he sat down, he wouldn’t get up again. Taking the rifle from Shiloh’s saddle scabbard, he led the way to a crack in the rock face hidden by several pine trees.
“Follow me,” he ordered Tamsin. “Put your hands and feet where I put mine, and don’t look down.”
“I’m not afraid of heights,” she said.
But I am, he thought. Even with a clear head, the thought of climbing Jacob’s Ladder had made his stomach lurch. There were no wooden rungs, only tiny ledges chiseled in the rock.
Tamsin looked up at the narrow passageway. “I don’t think this is such a good idea. Why don’t you stay here by the pool and I’ll—”
Ash started up. “Jacob’s wife goes up this with a baby on her back.” He didn’t bother to tell her that Jacob’s
woman was a Hopi Indian, who’d scrambled up and down cliffs since she’d been old enough to walk.
Halfway up, with his knuckles bleeding, his fingers numb, and his head giddy, he almost wished he’d done as Tamsin suggested. Only the thought of a real bed and Jacob’s real coffee made him keep going—that and having to admit to Tamsin that he’d been wrong.
When they reached the top, Ash saw at once that Jacob Stein wasn’t at home. The corral on the far side of the cabin was empty, the door was shut and barred from the outside, and no smoke came from the chimney.
The cabin, surrounded by trees, sat in the fold of a mountain. Ash didn’t suppose that more than a hand’s count of men knew it existed. Even the Utes didn’t come here. The peak above was usually shrouded in clouds, and the Indians thought that it was the realm of malicious spirits.
“No one’s here,” Tamsin said as she pulled herself over the edge.
Ash took a deep breath, circled the spring, and went to the door. He pulled back the bar and pushed open the door. The inside was shadowy but neat. Foodstuffs hung from the ceiling rafters, and blankets and trade goods were stacked along the back wall.
He ducked his head, braced himself against the door frame, and counted the steps to the raised shelf-bed. Pushing back the blankets, Ash laid his rifle against the wall and stretched out on the clean mattress. His eyes closed the instant his head hit the pillow.
Vaguely, Ash was aware of drinking from a cup and, later, sipping something hot and delicious. But mostly, he knew only relief that he wasn’t moving and that he could sleep.
When he woke the following morning, Tamsin was dripping lye soap and warm water over his wound.
Ash’s oath echoed off the rafters. “Ouch! Damn it, woman! Are you trying to murder me in my bed?”
“Hush, don’t be a baby,” she admonished. “I’ve got to keep this clean. I washed it last night, and you never made a peep.”
He swore again and sat up. “I can get on my feet. I’m not an invalid,” he said testily. “You’ll ruin Yoki’s mattress, and then we’ll both catch hell.”
“Who?”
“Yoki. Jacob’s wife. She’s a Hopi Indian and the reason this cabin is as neat as a pin. Jacob was never this clean when he was a bachelor.”
Noting that the rifle still lay where he’d placed it, Ash got up and made his way unsteadily to the table. He settled into a chair and removed what was left of his shirt. “There, do your worst,” he grumbled. “Is there anything to eat around here?”
His nose told him that there was. He smelled beans and biscuits, and something else that might be stew.
“I’ve been giving you willow tea all night. I found a tin of bark and sweetened it. I think your fever’s nearly gone.”
“I’m hungry.”
He heard a clatter of plates as she went to the fireplace. Glancing down at his side, he saw that the place around the wound was red but not putrid. “I told you there was nothing to this. A bullet can go clear through you. An arrowhead, now, that’s different. Take an arrow and chances are you’ll need to burn out the—”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” she said as she put a bowl of soup in front of him. “That’s onion, barley, and dried something. Venison, I think. Eat it. It will give you strength.”
“I want some of that bread. With molasses. Yoki always has molasses around. She has a sweet tooth.”
She returned with two lopsided biscuits and a crock of molasses. “I saw a trail going down this side. Why did you bring me up that cliff yesterday?”
“A two-day ride to get here.” He sniffed. “Coffee? Is that coffee brewing?”
“I’m a prisoner,” she said. “I’m not your mother. Where does it say a prisoner is supposed to wait on a bounty hunter?”
“I need coffee, Tamsin.”
“Say please.”
“Please, damn it.” She flashed him a smile as she poured a steaming cup. Her fingers brushed his as she handed it to him. He drank without waiting for the strong coffee to cool. It burned his tongue, but he could feel the energy seeping through to the marrow of his bones.
“Thank you,” he said, covering her hand with his own. “Why didn’t you run?”
She pulled away, went to the hearth, and returned with a bowl of soup and a biscuit for herself. “I didn’t want to climb down that cliff alone.”
“Not even to check your horses?” He didn’t believe it for a moment. Hell, he wouldn’t put it past her to tie blankets together and lower herself down to the pasture.
“The animals are fine. I laid on my belly and looked over the side.”
“I was dead to the world,” he said. “You could have taken the livestock and been miles away by the time I woke.”
“You’re hurt. I couldn’t leave you alone and helpless.” She crumbled her biscuit, pushing away the burned pieces. “Your friend Jacob picked this spot well. You can see forever up here.”
Ash took another sip of coffee. His side hurt like hell and his head still ached, but he knew he was on the mend.
“Where is he?”
“Jacob? Off trading, I suppose. He might have gone to Denver to buy more goods, or they might be visiting Yoki’s folks.”
“I hope he doesn’t mind our staying here, eating his food, and—”
Ash shook his head. “He won’t. Jacob figures he owes me a favor. I’ll pay for what we use, but we’re more than welcome to his hospitality.” He looked at Tamsin without being obvious. She’d bathed and washed her hair. Her shirt was a bright yellow, and her skirt seemed hastily fashioned from a length of canvas.
“Do I look awful?”
“What?” He smiled at her. “No, why should you look awful?”
“My clothes were filthy. I had to wear something while I waited for my own things to dry.” She shook her head. “I tried to stitch up my blouse, but that’s beyond repair. This …” She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness.
“Nothin’ wrong with what you’re wearing. Take what you need. I’ll see that Jacob doesn’t lose out.” The shirt gaped open at her throat. He could see just enough of the rise of her breasts to make him think about what was hidden. Her skin, where the sun hadn’t kissed it, was fair and slightly freckled. He took another gulp of coffee and tried to keep his gaze on his plate.
A pool of sunlight spilled in through the open doorway and laid a pattern on the scrubbed pine floor. It was peaceful here, Ash thought. Sitting here at the table, having breakfast with an attractive woman, without worrying if someone was about to put a bullet in his back.
But thinking like that could get him killed. Tamsin MacGreggor was a puzzle, and every time he thought he had her figured out, she surprised him.
Why hadn’t she left him when she had the chance?
Why hadn’t she killed him? Was she using him to get her out of these mountains the way he intended to use her? And what if she was telling the truth about everything? What if Cannon wasn’t anyone special to her? And suppose she was innocent of Sam Steele’s killing?
“How long will we stay here?” she asked, breaking into his reverie.
“A few days,” he replied, finishing the last drops and holding the cup up for a refill. “Long enough to get my strength back. Until the storms pass.”
“What storms?”
“Coming down out of the north. Can’t you smell it? Cold and rain, maybe hail. The last blast before summer.”
“Ridiculous. It’s a sunny day. There isn’t a cloud in the sky.”
By evening of that day, rain beat against the shingles and poured through the cracks in the cabin chinking. Gushes of water streamed off the roof and pounded on the shuttered window.
Ash sat close to the crackling fire while Tamsin knelt beside him and applied ointment to the wound along his side. They had already eaten, grilled rabbit that Ash had killed with a slingshot, corn bread that she had baked, and wild greens.
“You’ve still got a few things to learn about weather out here,” he teased. “And about cooking over an open hearth.”
She ignored his reference to the rain. “At home, we had servants.”
“Servants.” He chuckled. “I thought all ladies learned how to bake and sew.”
“Most do.” She applied a little more pressure to her task and he winced.
“Ouch! I should have traded you to the Utes. You enjoy torture.” His fingers grazed her shoulder and neck, lingering there until she felt her face grow warm.
“Don’t,” she protested halfheartedly.
“Why?”
She carried her nursing supplies to the table and washed her hands in a wooden bowl. The day had passed
quickly, without the usual sparring of cross words. Tonight, the cabin seemed filled with tension.
The downpour closed around them, shutting them off from the mountains and sky. With the rain, the single room should have felt stuffy. Instead, the air seemed too rich for her lungs. She was restless, her mind churned, and her body felt lighter than bird feathers.
“How long are we going to play this game?” The deep timbre of Ash’s voice played along her spine and made her giddy. “Tamsin?”
“What?” She liked the way he said her name.
“Come here, woman.”
She shook her head. Getting too close to him was dangerous. Not that she was afraid of him …
All right, she was … just a little, she admitted to herself. “Don’t do something you’ll regret,” she said.
“Are you speakin’ to me?”
Ash’s smile would tempt an angel. It lit his face and made his eyes glow with an inner sparkle.
She cleared away the bowl and wiped the table vigorously. And all the while she was acutely aware of the scents and sounds around her, the hiss of the fire, the bite of the herbs that hung from the rafters.
She wanted to remember this night, these hours. She didn’t want to think about what was right or wrong or what tomorrow might bring. She wanted to live this time … to know what it would be like to lie in the arms of this man.
“You know what you’re doing to me,” he said.
She swallowed and touched her bottom lip with trembling fingers. He could be mine, she thought, mine for tonight, at least.
And why not? What was there to lose? Her reputation? She was a widow, not a starry-eyed virgin. Once she
reached California, no one would know or care whether or not she’d spent a single night in Ash Morgan’s bed.
Hadn’t she spent a lifetime trying to do what other people told her she should?
He rose and came to her as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Firelight played across his taut, bruised features, and she read the naked yearning there.
“Tamsin MacGreggor, you are something fine,” he murmured. She didn’t say a word when he raised a hand to slowly pull the pins, one by one, from her hair. Her thick knot came undone and tumbled loose around her shoulders.
With a catch in her throat, she whispered his name.
Dark eyes gazed into hers questioningly as a smile curved his lips. “I want you. I think you want me. Do you, Tamsin?”
She sighed and leaned against him as the strength flowed out of her limbs. “I don’t know … what I want,” she lied, but her fingers skimmed the sensual lines of his mouth and the chiseled angles of his cheekbones and battered brow.
She traced the length of his strong nose and the dark bristles of his unshaven cheek. As though she had all the time in the world, she savored the curves of his strong, squared chin and bronzed throat, committing every feature to her forever memory.
“Tamsin.” He groaned, and his arm tightened around her. She tilted her face so that her mouth met his.
She needed him, needed to hold him closer and shut out the bad things that had happened. She didn’t care if it was just for now. She wouldn’t waste this precious gift of time.
His mouth fitted to hers, searing her with a kiss that
told her more than words. She clung to him, crushing him to her, and opening her mouth to draw him in.
His tongue filled her, but it wasn’t enough. She could feel his hands seeking, possessing her in a way that no man had done before.
He backed her step by step until they reached the bed. Vaguely, she was aware that he’d pressed her down against the blankets and that his long, horseman’s legs were wrapped around hers. She could smell rain and pine needles and woodsmoke, and above all the elusive male odor that was his alone.
She wanted more—had to have more.
“Tamsin.”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, damn it,” she cried. “Yes!”
He didn’t hesitate. With a swiftness that both thrilled and terrified her, he responded to her need with a naked hunger of his own. With a sound more growl than groan, he thrust a hand beneath her skirts. Lean, callused fingers moved up her leg and thigh, scorching her skin with a welcome fire.
She arched under him, spreading her legs for his touch, thrilling to his weight and the hard proof of his arousal pressed against her heated flesh.
His kiss devoured her, and she reveled in the taste and texture of him. Wholeheartedly, she gave as good as she got, kissing him as she’d never kissed another man. But as wonderful as this was, it wasn’t enough. She kneaded and caressed his neck and shoulders, caught his lower lip between her teeth, and shuddered at the wild sensations that shattered her reason and dared her to act on her innermost fantasies.