Rafe's Redemption Page 5

  When everything was ready, she fixed two plates, then pulled the rocker over to the small table.

  He frowned, then stood. “You can have the table.”

  “This will be fine. There’s room for both of us.” She set the plates down, and her leg brushed against his thigh. He flinched as if she had burned him.

  “No, there’s not.” He took his food over to the hearth. “I can’t stand to be crowded, woman.” His voice held a desperate edge. “I like being alone.” The words stung like a slap. How dare he blame her for being here?

  “Then you shouldn’t have brought me here. I didn’t ask you to.” She took a deep breath and clenched her fists. It would do no good to argue with him. “Let’s go now. I can be ready in five minutes. Take me to the fort, Mr. McBride.”

  Cold eyes narrowed as he stared at her. “I can’t,” he ground out.

  “Why?”

  “Well, it sure as hell isn’t because I want you here,” he snapped and began to eat.

  “Then why?”

  He stomped over to the door and flung it open.

  “Look for yourself.”

  She walked closer, unable to believe her eyes. So much snow. She looked up into his hard face. “When?” He shrugged, then slammed the door shut against the cold air. “Can’t say.”

  She followed him over to the fire. “Can’t or won’t?” She was so sick and tired of men controlling her life.

  He spun to face her, his gaze narrowed. A ngry. Cold.

  Had she pushed him too far?

  She backed away, but stumbled over the chair. He caught her by the arms and held her tight. His hold wasn’t painful, just unyielding. Yesterday Rafe seemed like a gentleman, had saved her from a fate worse than death. Now, looking into his hard face, she wasn’t sure what he’d do.

  She tried to pull from his grasp, and his anger seemed to fall away. He loosened his grip, but didn’t let go.

  Hooded gray eyes darkened with lust. His gaze dropped to her lips. He tugged her closer until the heat from his body soaked through hers. He lowered his head, and his warm breath caressed her face.

  Oh, Lord. He was going to kiss her. She shouldn’t want this. She was confused enough. Respectable women didn’t kiss men they barely knew, certainly not men who made them have wild, exotic dreams.

  It was crazy. He was making her want crazy things.

  Making her not give a damn about her reputation or her virginity. Or her long-awaited freedom. A ll she could think about was that dream, and the way his sinful mouth had felt. The table was only a step away, and honey was just as sweet as peach juice…

  She swallowed hard and looked up into his hooded eyes.

  “Maggie,” he groaned. “Don’t be scared. I’d never hurt you.”

  Her mouth parted to object, but firm lips covered hers, hungry, demanding. She gasped, shocked at his hunger, but even more at the illicit response coursing through her. A n aching heat unfurled low in her stomach, pulsed between her legs. Oh, yes. It started just like in the dream.

  He deepened the kiss, coaxed her lips with his warm tongue. Long, languid strokes teased the inside of her mouth, encouraging, tempting before he pulled back to nibble the corners of her lips.

  Oh, God. Is this what all kisses felt like? Hot, lethargic? Melting her like molasses over warm bread?

  “Kiss me, Maggie,” he breathed.

  His words fanned her moist lips, spiking the desire spiraling through her body.

  She slid her hands from where they rested on his chest to his strong shoulders, then tangled in his silky hair. She traced her tongue against his, imitating what he had done.

  A groan rumbled deep in his throat. His callused hands pulled her closer until he rubbed his large penis against her mound. Need seeped from her cunny and dampened her pants. “Yes,” she moaned.

  He jerked away as if struck by lightning, his eyes now narrowed in suspicion.

  “Rafe?”

  He slammed the door on her hesitant question.

  Maggie dropped into the rocking chair and pressed shaking fingers to her lips, swollen from his kiss.

  How had everything between them changed so quickly? They were ranting at each other, then they were kissing. She shouldn’t have let him touch her, but it felt so…good. Wonderful. Decadent. Nothing had ever made her feel like that.

  A sliver of desire tingled through her body at the memory, and she blushed as her breasts started to ache again, her nipples tight. She knew what transpired between men and women. Nettie had explained years before. If only Nettie could tell her what to do now, what to do about a man who yelled at her, kissed her senseless, then stomped away.

  Nothing. Nothing at all. It didn’t matter. She had to get home, and he was adamant she go.

  They didn’t even like each other!

  She shook her head. That settled it. It was just a kiss, after all.

  Bolting from the rocker, she collected ingredients for bread. There were more important things to think about than kissing. Or the way her body melted against his, like wax sliding down a candle. She sighed and touched her lips again. It probably didn’t mean anything to him anyway. Nettie said men liked to kiss. For all she knew, Rafe kissed women all the time.

  Maggie frowned and gave the dough a brutal punch.

  Soon enough she’d be gone, and Rafe McBride could kiss whomever he damn well pleased. It made no difference to her. To hell with men! She’d had her fill of them. One way or another she would make a life for herself without the constant interference of the male species.

  If Mr. Hastings would sell her art.

  If Mr. Bouse could retrieve her inheritance from Michael.

  If Mr. McBride kept his word.

  She froze mid-punch as the truth sank in. Once again, the reins to her life were held by men.

  ****

  What the hell am I doing? Rafe scruffed his fingers through his hair, then kicked an empty bucket across the snowy yard. He sucked in the icy air, letting it burn his lungs and cool his anger.

  Damn. He had only meant to reassure her, but once he saw the fear in Maggie’s eyes, his resolve crumbled.

  True, he had acted like an ass, but he never thought her scared. Fear though, had been obvious on her pretty face. The shame of scaring a woman hit him like a cannon ball. Had he been absent from society so long he’d forgotten how to act?

  No. He’d only wanted her to keep her distance.

  Then I should have pushed her away instead of kissing her.

  But he couldn’t. Drowning in her wide blue eyes, he’d needed to hold onto something. She had been the closest thing to him.

  He had almost exploded when she bent over to put the biscuits in to bake. Those damn britches pulled tight against her ass, the seam buried in her crevice, made his dick heavy with need. He’d wanted to strip off those pants and bend her over the table. Drop to his knees and tongue fuck her wet pussy, then lick her sweet cream back and take her sweet ass hard and fast.

  He groaned.

  Stop it!

  He kicked at a snow drift. It was her fault anyway.

  She had no business kissing him like that. When she stroked his tongue with hers, his blood pounded through his veins, made his cock even harder. Like now. Hell. If he didn’t get rid of her, he’d have to stuff snow down his pants.

  He stomped into the barn as a shiver racked his body. He had forgotten his coat. Damn it! She had him so twisted in knots he was losing his mind. His fingers shook as he raked them through his hair. Growling aloud, he grabbed the shovel. Who needed a coat? Hard work would keep him warm.

  But what would keep him alive?

  If he couldn’t remember his damn coat, how could he stay on alert for Simon?

  Hell! Rafe threw the shovel against the wall. He had to take her to Fort Union. They would have to risk riding down the mountain and pray a storm didn’t surprise them on the way. There was no choice. The war wasn’t over for him. He had one more battle.

  Rafe shook the bitter memor
ies aside. He couldn’t be distracted, not by memories or Maggie.

  A ll right. That decided it. No more thinking how she felt when they kissed. How her breasts had been mashed to his chest. How her hips fit to his like tongue and groove. How he could have dropped both their britches and slid inside her tight cunt while they stood in front of the fire.

  “Damn it!” He couldn’t take it. There was only one way to get her off his mind, to get relief.

  Moving to the back corner, he unbuttoned his pants and fisted his cock, stroking all the way to the weeping head. Hell. He shuddered and pumped faster. It had been too long since he’d had a woman. That was all this was.

  It wasn’t Maggie. It wasn’t the way she looked up at him with those innocent blue eyes. It wasn’t the way she smelled like sex every time they got close. It wasn’t the way her ass begged to be fucked. It wasn’t—

  Shit, shit, shit. His orgasm hit with the force of an earthquake, making him lean against the wall or fall to the floor. Cum spurted over his knuckles like warm, creamy buttermilk, dripping onto the barn floor.

  There. He heaved a long satisfied sigh. Grabbing a rag from a bucket, he cleaned himself and re-fastened his pants. Now that would end his obsession with Miss Monroe.

  But it didn’t. A lready he wanted to go back to the house just to see her, to talk with her. Maybe he was lonelier than he thought. But that didn’t matter either.

  Even if he controlled his desire, she couldn’t stay. With Joe’s help, Simon could be closer than ever. They would kill Rafe and take Maggie.

  The sooner he was rid of her, the safer she would be. That decided it. She was leaving.

  Determined, he marched to the cabin and pushed open the door.

  Maggie stood shaping loaves of dough into a pan.

  The warm yeasty smell filled the small room, filled his mind with stupid thoughts of “what if.” What if he could keep her safe? What if she could accept the way he lived?

  What if she wanted to stay?

  She shot him a narrowed glance, pulling him from any fanciful dreams.

  “Bake an extra loaf for tomorrow,” he ordered.

  She turned, hand on her hip. Her very full hip.

  “Why?”

  He grabbed his coat and was halfway out the door before he answered. “We’re leaving for Fort Union at first light.”

  Chapter Three

  The morning dawned as cold as Rafe’s expression.

  He frowned as if she’d been deciding what to wear instead of frying some salt pork for the trip. Well, he could grumble all he wanted. It couldn’t ruin her day.

  She was headed home; that should make him happy, too.

  Instead, as they surveyed each other, his frown deepened until his eyebrows met in one ominous line.

  “‘Bout time.”

  She let the smile slide from her face. Irritable, insufferable man.

  He shooed Wolf into the barn through a dog-sized door, then blasted a frosty breath into his reddened hands. Moses stomped and huffed a white cloud into the pink-tinged sky, demanding attention. Impatient as his owner.

  Maggie shivered, then waded through the knee-deep snow until she reached the horse. She ignored the scowling man checking the bridle and tucked her burlap sack of borrowed clothes into the saddlebag beside her art satchel.

  Rafe glared at her across the saddle. “Ready now?” The thought of another bumpy trip astride the gelding made her back twinge with regret, but riding was the only transportation. “Whenever you are.”

  “I was ready a half hour ago,” Rafe muttered, swinging into the seat.

  “You said first light,” she countered, unable to stop herself. “It was still dark then.”

  His brows dipped again. “Well, I could see just fine.” She ignored his petulant tone and his outstretched hand. “Wonderful. Next time I’ll remember when you say dawn, you mean dark.”

  He snorted. “Lady, God willin’, there won’t be a next time. By tonight, you’ll be in a hotel, and I’ll be headed back here.” He wiggled his fingers at her. “Now, give me your hand, so we can leave.”

  Maggie glanced to the barn, not eager to feel her body pressed against his after their kiss and his rude dismissal.

  “Why can’t I ride the mule? There are no supplies this time.”

  Rafe expelled a long sigh, dropped his hand and slumped in the saddle.

  “First,” he held up one finger, “I don’t own two saddles. Can you ride bareback? No, I didn’t think so,” he answered before she could.

  “Second,” he added another digit, “if you did manage to stay astride, I figure to lead Moses through some of the terrain. I don’t want to struggle with two animals.”

  “Oh. I—” What had she expected? A n apology? Hah.

  Men did not apologize.

  “So if all your concerns have been addressed, give me your hand!”

  Maggie bristled; his condescending tone heated her temper and boiled her blood. Suddenly the temperature didn’t seem so cold. “You haven’t addressed half my concerns, Mr. McBride,” she ground out. “But since we’re both anxious to be gone, I digress.”

  She slapped her wool-covered palm into his bare one, and he yanked her onto the horse.

  Her thighs screamed in protest as she straddled the wide gray back. She wiggled and bit back a groan. No matter how much she hurt, she wouldn’t complain. Not to him. She was done talking.

  Rafe clicked his tongue, and Moses jostled to a start, forcing her to grab his waist or fall. A s they plowed through the drifts, Maggie peered around Rafe to see where they were. A nd there was nothing. No one. Like he lived at the end of the world. What if they had to ride for days to reach civilization? Dear God, how would she make it? She might never walk again.

  “How long until we reach Fort Union?” The question popped out before she could silence her worry.

  “I had hoped before nightfall. But we didn’t leave on time.”

  The accusation hung in the air. Maggie glowered at his back.

  “Then we’re truly fortunate you see so well in the dark,” she retorted.

  His head snapped around. “I also hoped to make this trip without your constant chatter.”

  A frigid wind whipped through the trees, stealing the reply from her lips. Damn this man! He didn’t even try to be civil.

  She curled her hands into a tight fist inside the large gloves as anger churned through her. If she didn’t need him, she’d slap the hat from his thick head. She entertained several more torturous images as she seethed. It was better than agonizing about the next dozen hours in the saddle.

  A nother blast of wind tore at her, but she refused to scoot closer to Rafe. She would sit straight and stiff, not touching, certainly not falling asleep on him like last time. A nd she wasn’t going to wonder anymore if he had enough food at his cabin. Or why he didn’t have gloves.

  He lived his life the way he wanted.

  But her conscience niggled. Now she sounded like the inconsiderate girl Michael claimed her to be. She groaned. Would her life ever be simple?

  Rafe heaved a sigh. “What is it now?”

  “Nothing.”

  Rafe shrugged at her comment, as if he didn’t care.

  Which was fine. Because, she reminded herself, she didn’t care either.

  ****

  They rode for hours, or maybe it was days. Maggie couldn’t feel her feet or legs anymore. A ny warmth the sun might have offered was smothered by clouds, hanging like dingy wads of cotton from God’s clothesline.

  A utumn leaves peeped from beneath a snowy cloak, their color no longer the vibrant shades of a ball gown, but the drab brown of a work dress.

  Occasional bits of ice peppered her face, hinting at what she feared. That they would be caught in another storm. She prayed Rafe knew what he was doing. Maybe today wasn’t the best day to travel. In Missouri, skies that color meant one thing—a storm. Moses already plodded along with effort, his belly dragging through drifts in some spots. How coul
d the poor animal struggle through any more snow?

  Stop worrying. She pulled her coat collar over her nose and sucked in warm air. No doubt Rafe knew every wily trick the winter weather could pull. They probably had plenty of time.

  Besides, he might not want her company, but he wouldn’t risk their lives just to have her gone.

  ****

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. Rafe cursed himself for the hundredth time. A s sure as his ass was cold, they would be caught in another storm. A bad one. Wanting rid of her was one thing. He didn’t want her dead.

  The icy wind howled through the trees, blowing snow, stinging his face. Soon they’d be riding in a whiteout. They couldn’t make it to Fort Union in time.

  Hell, they’d do good to make it to Lesterville. It was a couple of hours away, and he couldn’t push Moses much harder.

  Rafe had to think of something, some place they could stop.

  He slowed the horse at the edge of a stream and dismounted, then stretched and twisted, working the knots from his back. Maggie hadn’t uttered a word all morning. He shouldn’t have been so rude. He believed if she kept quiet, he could ignore her. Wrong. He felt her presence behind him as if she clung like a vine.

  He bent and scooped a sip of icy water, letting it slide down his throat. When he stood, she still hadn’t moved.

  Good Lord. How long would she stay angry?

  “Maggie?”

  She sat hunched over, her face tucked into her coat with only her forehead showing. Tremors racked her body, but otherwise she didn’t move.

  Worry tore through him like the bitter wind.

  “Maggie.” He shook her leg, which felt as cold as the water. Damn it, he should have stopped to check on her sooner.

  “Maggie!”

  “W-w-what?” came her sluggish, muffled reply.

  Dread pounded through his veins. He’d seen men drift to sleep in weather like this and never wake.

  “Get down and stretch your legs.”

  “W-w-we’re h-h-here?”

  The hope in her voice twisted his heart. She wasn’t used to this harsh weather, and he’d taken no consideration of that.

  Her head poked out like a turtle from its shell, and wide blue eyes searched the landscape. Then her brow crinkled. “Where’s the town?”