Authors: Connie Mason
The protest died on her lips as Colt raised her shift and she felt his persuasive mouth on her nipple, the sucking sound he made highly erotic. While he diligently sucked one breast, long supple fingers toyed with the other. Sam worried about the effect that lovemaking would have on his wound and made protesting noises deep in her throat.
“Don’t stop me, Violet Eyes, just help me.”
Why did Colt insist on using her Indian name when lost in the throes of sexual excitement? Sam wondered distractedly. Yet this time she sensed no derision, no contempt in his words. Then he was urging her to her knees, whipping her shift over her head and lifting her to straddle him. Her train of thought was completely lost when Colt settled her on his chest and nuzzled her stomach. He hadn’t let her shave him and his beard felt rough against her tender flesh.
“I want to give you pleasure first, darlin’,” Colt murmured against the satin nest of her belly.
Exerting a strengm that belied his condition, he lifted her upward, placing her knees on either side of his shoulders. She wasn’t certain of his intentions until he buried his face in the warm fragrance at the juncture of her thighs. His tongue parted the black curling hair and unerringly his lips found the core of her femininity. He drank greedily, his tongue slipping into the moist opening, sucking, licking, lapping. Sam’s mouth worked in a soundless plea, aching for that which only Colt could give her.
Desperately she clutched at his shoulders, taking pleasure in the tautness beneath her fingertips, in his exertion in her behalf. A muted scream left her throat as his tongue delved deep—deeper, while his hands cupped her buttocks, skimmed her hips, the tiny indentation of her waist, before fitting her breasts in his palms. Sam’s legs shook like jelly as the pressure built, Colt’s face all but invisible as he continued his erotic torture.
“Colt! Oh my God!”
Her hips undulating wildly against his mouth, the tension unbearable, Sam felt the powerful contractions beginning in the region of her loins and surging upward until her entire body was vibrating. Still Colt did not let up his marvelous loving until the telltale shriek, the last sigh, the final shudder left her body.
Then, urging her downward until she straddled his hips, he seized her lips, his tongue moving in and out with sensual torment that began anew the upward spiral. Afraid to put her weight on him, Sam balanced on her knees above him. He reached for her hand and placed it on his erection, her fingers curling naturally around the hard pillar of smooth velvet.
“Help me, Sam,” Colt whispered, his need never greater as his towering strength jerked forcefully against her palm.
Raising her hips she took his hardness inside her, closing snugly around him. It amazed her that she fit him so well. Colt moaned in response to the moist heat surrounding him, and Sam thought she was hurting him until he groaned mindlessly, “Good—so damn good.”
Grasping her buttocks, he set the pace, holding her weight away from his wounded side. Sam sensed his purpose and tried to ease away but his hands held her tight. “I don’t want to hurt you, Colt.”
“The only way you can hurt me is by stoppin’. No pain, no matter how severe, could make me leave your warmth. You feel so damn good inside I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Colt drawled slowly. “Come with me, darlin’. Show me what I do for you. Tell me how you feel.”
Mesmerized by his soft, seductive lovetalk, Sam’s response was immediate. “No one could make me respond as you do, Colt. I feel all wet and melting inside. When you thrust inside me I want to scream in pleasure. Only you, my love, only you can make me feel like this.”
Lifting his head to the breast that dangled so temptingly above him, Colt drew the erect nipple deep into his mouth, sending her senses reeling and her desire soaring. Tunneling her fingers into his crisp hair, Sam allowed him to work his magic once again on her willing body. He released her sweet flesh to whisper urgently in her ear, “Hurry, darlin’, I’m nearly there and I want you with me in heaven.”
His words were all it took to push her over the edge. Feeling her first tremors, Colt unleashed his tightly controlled ardor and stroked them furiously toward explosive, mind-numbing release. “Violet Eyes!”
Afterwards, Colt eased Sam to his side, the strain of their strenuous loving already taking a toll on his depleted strength and weakened body. But he did not let her go far as he curled an arm possessively around her slim form and pulled her into the curve of his body. Colt’s last thought before he slid into slumber was of the question he had intended to ask Sam before being somehow sidetracked. Tomorrow, he thought groggily. Tomorrow he’d find out if Sam carried his child.
H
eat. Flames seared her along one side. Sam sought to escape from the scorching warmth, but it followed her. Suddenly her eyes flew open as a terrible sinking knowledge jerked her awake. Colt lay beside her still as death, his breathing shallow and labored. His skin was damp and flushed, and Sam instinctively knew that the recurring fever was ravaging his body.
Leaping from bed, Sam flew into her clothes, noticing that the sun steamed brightly through the window. They had overslept. Their vigorous love-making had been exhausting and sleep had come instantly. But when had Colt’s temperature risen so dramatically? Had it been the result of their loving? Sam cursed herself for ten fools. She should have realized that Colt was still too weak for the kind of activity they had engaged in last night, but his touch and his erotic words had rendered her completely mindless.
Fully dressed now, Sam headed for the door, intending to brew the herbs Laura had given her to combat fever. An insistent knocking startled her.
“Colt, Miz Andrews, wake up! We got trouble, a heap of trouble.” Sam recognized Smith’s rough voice and flung open the door.
“Mr. Smith, what is it?” The grave expression on his face set Sam’s heart to pounding.
“It’s the Crowders, ma’am,” Smith said. “They’re back in town and bound and determined to finish Colt.” He directed his gaze to Colt and was stunned to see him flushed with fever and barely conscious.
“It’s the fever again, Mr. Smith,” Sam said worriedly. “Tell me what you know about the Crowders.”
“Lyle Crowder paid for Lola’s favors last night I was passin’ her door just now when I heard Colt’s name mentioned. The door was ajar and I stopped to listen. Lola was tellin’ Crowder that Colt wasn’t dead, that you were here nursin’ him back to health.”
“Hellfire and damnation! That spiteful bitch! To think they were in the same building last night.” A shudder passed through her.
“That ain’t all, ma’am,” Smith continued, blanching at her colorful language. “As soon as his men sober up they’re gonna kill Colt and take you prisoner. I don’t need to tell you what that means.”
It took little imagination for Sam to realize what the Crowders intended to do with her. “Damn that jealous bitch to hell and back,” Sam muttered. “What can we do?”
“I don’t reckon the Crowders will be sober enough to ride for a couple of hours yet,” Smith calculated. “Enough time to find a wagon for Colt and hightail it outta here before the gang comes gunnin’ for him.”
“No! The ride will kill Colt in his condition,” protested Sam.
“Miz Andrews,” Smith said earnestly. “If we stay here, the Crowders will kill him. There’s a good chance Colt will survive a wagon ride, but waitin’ for the Crowders means sure death for Colt and worse for you.”
Sam bit her lower lip. “You’re right, of course, Mr. Smith. Get the wagon and bring it around to the back door. I’ll gather up our things and get Colt into his clothes. Hurry!”
“Was that Smith?” Sam whirled to find Colt’s overbright eyes regarding her curiously. “Somethin’s wrong. What is it?”
There was no reason to lie. “It’s the Crowders. They’re in town and been told you’re still alive.”
“I was afraid somethin’ like this would happen.” Colt grimaced. “They’ll finish me off this time. How long do we have?”
“An hour at the most.”
“You gotta leave, darlin’,” Colt said urgently. “Your life’s too precious to me to waste.”
Precious? Her life was precious to Colt? Was he delirious? Regretfully, there was no time to pursue that intriguing thought. “I won’t leave you, Colt. Don’t ask that of me. Smith has gone after a wagon. We’ll leave here together.”
“I’ll only slow you down. Don’t be so dang mule-stubborn, Sam. I’m burnin’ with fever, my wound is hurtin’ somethin’ fierce, and I’m too weak to hold a gun. When Smith gets here you’re to go with him, no argument, no tears—just get.”
“You know I’ve never taken orders well,” Sam returned stubbornly. “And if you don’t help me with your clothes, we’ll drag you out of here bare-ass naked.”
Colt smothered a smile with a groan of pain. Someday he was going to have to do something about her mouth. But he knew defeat when it stared him in the face. The feisty wildcat he had come to love—he was finally willing to admit to it—had him cornered. If he didn’t leave with her and Smith, she would remain and surely be taken by the Crowders.
Grudgingly, Colt lifted his legs so Sam could slide his pants over his hips and shove on his boots. Helping him to a sitting position, Sam struggled with his buckskin shirt until finally he was dressed. He lay back exhausted and perspiring, watching while Sam swiftly gathered up their meager belongings.
The door opened and Sam whipped around, the six-shooter strapped around her waist already in her hand. She relaxed when Smith slipped inside the room. “All set?” he asked, glancing with obvious relief at Colt’s fully clothed form.
Sam nodded. “Did you get the wagon?”
“Yep. It’s in the alley.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“Nope, but the Crowders are movin’ around in the cantina. Ain’t certain how much time we got. All depends on how drunk they got last night.”
“We’re ready. Help me get Colt on his feet.”
“Christ, I feel like a mewling infant!” Colt complained, wincing as he tried unsuccessfully to rise by himself. Instantly Smith came to his aid, but Colt resisted.
“Take Sam and go without me, Phil,” Colt urged desperately. “I’d only slow you down, and I don’t want those bastards gettin’ their hands on my wife.”
Smith looked uncertainly at Sam, leaving it in her hands.
“Ignore him, Mr. Smith,” Sam said briskly. “Obviously my husband is delirious. I’m not going anywhere without him.”
Colt gave Sam an obstinate look but was too weak to back it up in view of her palpable determination, with her trim legs in tight trousers planted wide apart, hands on hips, an implacable expression furrowing her brow, and those incredible violet eyes daring defiance. Colt acquiesced with ill grace, allowing himself to be hoisted up between Smith and Sam and half-dragged, half-carried from the room. His legs were like rubber beneath him and he eyed the long hallway with misgivings. But somehow they made it through the hall and out the door without being stopped.
Smith had thoughtfully lined the wagon waiting at the back door with straw. Both Sam’s and Smith’s horses were attached to the leads, with Colt’s stallion tied behind. Smith had thought of everything, Sam reflected as they settled Colt in the wagon bed. He was perspiring heavily from the exertion, and the grimace on his face mirrored his pain. The moment his head hit the straw he was out. Sam climbed in beside him, took his head in her lap, and motioned Smith forward.
Deliberately avoiding the center of town, Smith skillfully drove the wagon through back streets and alleys until they arrived at the trail leading north.
“We made it!” Sam exulted, leaning over Colt. “Don’t give up, my love. Hang on, I need you.”
Steeped in misery, Colt gave in reply only a tormented groan.
Had Sam known their stealthy leaving had been closely observed, she wouldn’t have been so optimistic. From the window of her room facing the back of the cantina, Lola watched long enough to see the wagon carrying Colt and Sam turn north. Then she hurried off to find Lyle Crowder.
However, it was hours later before the gang rode out after their prey, fuming because they had let the trio escape while they were engaged in drinking and whoring. But Lyle wasn’t worried. Sooner or later they’d catch up with that damned Texas Ranger. He had more lives than a cat, but his time on earth was running out. Lyle decided the black-haired wench would be kept alive to serve as their own private whore.
“How’s Colt holdin’ up?” Smith threw over his shoulder.
“He’d do better if you slowed down,” Sam advised, worried over the blood staining Colt’s shirt. “Colt’s bleeding again.”
“Can’t do it, not yet, Miz Andrews,” Smith apologized. “We gotta put more miles between us and Laredo.”
It was night before Smith pulled off the trail and stopped beside a dried-up stream with a thin trickle of water running down its center. Daring a small fire, Sam brewed herbs for Colt’s fever while Smith filled the canteens and then went in search of small game for their supper. He returned later with a brace of rabbits, one of which Sam used to make a nourishing broth for Colt. Afterwards she settled down beside Colt in the wagon bed while Smith made do with stretching out on the hard ground and resting his head on his saddle.
Colt stirred restlessly. “I’m sorry, Violet Eyes,” he murmured huskily, finding comfort in her nearness. “If it wasn’t for me you’d be safe at home now.”