Rafe's Redemption Page 8

  “You said Michael admitted to plotting your death in Cougar Creek.” Rafe slid his hand across the table and grasped hers, squeezing in a rhythmic, soothing gesture.

  She sniffed, then swiped one escaped tear. “Yes. I know. But I never thought it was something he’d planned for months. I thought it was because of the gambling.

  A nd Father, he’d been sick for so long. Why didn’t I realize what happened?” Maybe she was as stupid as Father claimed.

  “Then you might have been dead alongside your father,” Rafe insisted.

  She laughed, the sound dry and choked, but better than the scream clawing to get out.

  “What can I do now? Who will help me once I’m home? Mr. Bouse is a powerful, well-respected attorney.

  Who would believe me—who can I trust?” she cried. She tore her hand from Rafe’s and jumped out of the chair.

  She couldn’t breathe in this enclosed space. Her life was one lie after another.

  Rafe caught her midstride. “I’ll help you. You know you can trust me. I’ve protected you, kept my promise to you.”

  He pulled her into his arms, surrounded her with his strength, held her until the fight—and some of the fear—

  drained out of her. She gulped huge mouthfuls of air.

  She could trust him. He hadn’t lied to her. A t least not yet.

  “That’s not her only problem,” Cecil muttered, tapping the table. “By now, her cousin probably realizes she has his satchel. He’s got to have these papers. You know he’ll come after her.”

  “By God, he won’t get her.” The steely words rumbled from Rafe’s chest, warm and steady beneath her ear.

  “You may never reach Fort Union,” Cecil argued.

  “You came here last summer. You’ve never seen the pass this time of year. It might be impossible to get through.” The thought shot a new bolt of fear through her. She had to get home. Her entire future depended on it.

  “We’ve got to try!” Maggie pulled from Rafe’s embrace. “If I don’t return, everything will be lost.” Rafe frowned. “Not everything.”

  “You don’t understand.” Her hands waved in the air.

  “I have some art scheduled to sell. I need enough time to recreate the pieces lost to Michael.”

  Rafe caught her arms, his gaze boring into her. “I’ll get you home.”

  His quiet words settled, calmed, smothering the panic that threatened to escape.

  “A ll right.” Maggie expelled a long, shuddering breath, believing him, because she couldn’t bear the alternative. “But what about Michael?” She needed to know what to expect. “What if he catches us before we reach St. Louis?”

  Rafe palmed her shoulders and pulled her close enough his body blocked the view of everything else in the cabin.

  “Maggie, I won’t let you be hurt.” His intense words stole her breath. “I’ll see you safely home.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I swear.”

  “Come and sit. Eat.” Little Owl pulled Maggie from Rafe’s hold. “You need strength. You also, McBride.” Rafe dropped his hands, but the ghost of his touch lingered, burning as though he’d touched bare skin. She shuffled to the table and accepted the chair he held, then watched as he gathered Michael’s papers and stuffed them into the bag.

  Cecil dragged a large piece of firewood to the table and sat beside Rafe, turning the conversation to traps and furs. Little Owl offered a consoling smile, then took a seat on the hearth. But Maggie was lost. Their voices buzzed in her ears, but she heard Michael’s voice, Father’s, the doctor pronouncing him dead, Mr. Bouse advising the sale of assets. When was the last time anyone told her the truth?

  “Did you hear me?” Rafe covered her hand, jerking her attention to the present.

  “What?”

  “I asked if you needed to lie down? You’re very pale.”

  “I’m fine. Just tired.”

  “Then you must rest.” Little Owl cleared the bowls from the table. “It is a long ride to the fort. Come.” She pulled Maggie toward the bed.

  “No. Please. I don’t want to take the bed. A pallet on the floor is fine.”

  Little Owl frowned. “But—”

  “Might as well put her there. She won’t stay if you put her in bed,” Rafe interrupted, then winked, taking the edge from the sarcasm. “Besides, it’s warm here in front of the fire. We’ll be fine.”

  We? Maggie darted a look around the room. Yes, we.

  Where else could he sleep? With the table pulled away from the hearth, the only other space would be against the door. He would freeze there. Besides, she needed him tonight, needed him to hold her, to chase away her fears.

  “Yes. With a couple of blankets,” Maggie swallowed,

  “we’ll be fine.”

  She curled her arm into a makeshift pillow and stared into the flames, then shifted, trying to escape the cold draft creeping across the floor and Rafe’s elbow poking the center of her back.

  “A re you all right?” His voice rumbled over her. “You didn’t say much during supper. Didn’t eat much either.” She peered over her shoulder to find him hovered above her, propped on the offending elbow. “I’m fine,” she lied. Except everything inside her felt raw, like a fresh wound.

  Rafe dropped onto his back and heaved out a sigh. “I won’t let Michael kill you,” he whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

  His soft words filled her with temporary strength.

  She rolled to face him, studying his face as he studied the ceiling. “I just wish it was over. I’m worried about Nettie. What if he gets to St. Louis first and hurts her?”

  Rafe shook his head. “He won’t. She poses no threat to him. He has to find you and get the papers.” That made sense. A s long as Michael chased Maggie, the elderly woman was safe.

  The wind howled outside the thin walls, a lonesome eerie cry. Maggie shivered beneath her blanket and squeezed her eyes shut, but haunting images of Michael raced through her mind.

  “A re you cold?”

  Rafe’s question cut through her fear and she opened her eyes. He inched closer until their bodies almost touched, until they were almost nose to nose. Flames danced over his handsome features and in his eyes as he watched her, waiting for an answer.

  “No.”

  “I could ask Little Owl for another blanket.” His breath skated over her.

  Maggie shook her head. “I think this is all they have.

  She’ll give me hers if you say anything.” His gaze searched her. “Thank you for being nice to Little Owl. To them both.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Both dark brows climbed to his hairline, as good as calling her simpleminded.

  “I don’t believe in prejudice, Mr. McBride. I believe men—or women—should be judged by deeds, not color.”

  “So do I. Guess that’s two.”

  “Two what?”

  “Things we agree on.” He smiled.

  A nother shiver racked Maggie’s body, but this one was caused by his grin and the dimples creasing his cheeks.

  “Here.” He moved, tugging his blanket free. “Take mine.”

  “Then you’ll be cold.”

  “You’re arguing again.” He draped his blanket over hers, then settled on his side.

  His deep, even breathing fanned her hair, tickling, teasing. It would be so easy to ask him to embrace her, to make her feel safe, to make her forget—if only for one night.

  “Mr. McBride?”

  “What?” He leaned over her again, his expression filled with questions.

  “Would you…?” She couldn’t do it, couldn’t ask. Her nerve deserted, and she scrambled for something to say.

  “I lied earlier. I am scared.” Scared of the things he made her think, feel. Want. But he would probably think she meant Michael. A nd that was for the best.

  “Do you…” He released a long breath. “Would you like me to hold you?”

  Rafe watched her blue eyes darken. Maybe she didn’t want him to
touch her. Maybe she thought he meant something indecent. Maybe he did. The thought of sleeping with her in his arms made his mouth dry and his dick throb. He ought to be ashamed of himself. But he wasn’t.

  “It would be the same as today on Moses,” he assured. “Nothing more.” Except they were lying down, and Rafe’s cock pulsed with anticipation.

  Why did he torture himself like this?

  “A ll right.” She scooted closer to him, snuggling her back to his front. “But just so you know,” she craned her neck, “I have never done anything like this before.”

  “I never thought that about you.”

  “You practically accused me of such today.”

  “I didn’t mean it to sound that way.” He should have just asked if she had a beau waiting back home. Not that it was any of his business.

  She nodded, then settled back on the fur pallet. Her hair fanned out, catching in his whiskers. His heart thumped a loud rhythm, like Moses’ hooves on a hard-packed road. Her natural fragrance teased his senses, even more than when he’d held her today. Tonight, her skin was warm, musky. Tempting as hell.

  “Good night, Mr. McBride.”

  Rafe reined in his thoughts. “Good night.” He draped his arm over her and felt the tension drain from her body. Shadows danced over her face, long, dark lashes curved over her cheeks. Smooth, flawless cheeks. How had all the men in St. Louis resisted?

  Unless…she was the one resisting.

  “Maggie?” He shook her shoulder.

  “What?” She craned her neck and smothered a yawn.

  “Can I ask you a question—without you getting angry?” Christ, he was prattling on like an old woman.

  Her brow dipped. “I suppose.”

  “Why aren’t you already married?”

  “Because I never intend to take a husband.” Rafe scoffed. He’d been chased by marriage-hungry women since he was eighteen. “Females are born ready for matrimony.”

  “Not me.”

  “Why?”

  “I have my reasons, but none I wish to share.” She curled onto her side and snuggled her soft ass against his hard cock.

  Rafe held his breath until he felt lightheaded, trying not to inhale her musk again, willing his erection down before he embarrassed himself. She’d made it clear she wasn’t husband hunting, and he didn’t dare hope she was the kind of woman who’d be free with her affection. So why couldn’t he just stop thinking about her? He needed to figure out what to do about Bouse.

  Rafe exhaled a long, slow breath and watched it rustle Maggie’s hair. He fought the urge to wrap a curl around his finger as his mind ticked like a pocket watch.

  Why wasn’t she interested in marriage? A nd why wouldn’t she tell him? She liked to talk, but of course when it was something he wanted to know, she turned tight-lipped.

  Why do I even care?

  She sighed and slid her hand over his, holding him tight against her breast. Her nipple hardened beneath his palm, and she mumbled incoherently.

  Rafe broke out in a sweat and bit back a moan. If Michael or Simon didn’t kill him, this constant state of arousal would.

  ****

  Rafe scanned the morning sky. The rising sun hovered in a dark pink line, like a beautiful woman waiting for the perfect moment to make a grand entrance into a ballroom. Moses stomped his disapproval at the early hour, and the bitter cold made Rafe wish he was still snuggled to Maggie in front of the fireplace.

  “Those few clouds may turn into something,” Cecil warned, pointing to the horizon.

  “I know. If we have to, I’ll stop for the night in Lesterville.”

  Cecil snorted. “Keep Maggie close if you do.” The door creaked open, and the women hurried out.

  Little Owl hugged Maggie, then wrapped a yellow knitted scarf around her neck.

  “This is yours,” Maggie argued. “I can’t take it.”

  “A gift,” Little Owl insisted and retucked the ends Maggie had unwound. “Now go. Men not like to wait.” Rafe watched Maggie’s mouth curve in a wry smile.

  “I found that out yesterday,” she said.

  He swung into the saddle, and Cecil hoisted Maggie in front. Rafe waited while she wiggled into a comfortable position. Too bad there wasn’t one for him.

  A ll that rubbing against his cock made him hard enough to use his dick as a hammer. Riding with an erection hurt like hell. Besides the fact Maggie might take exception to traveling with a rod in her back.

  “Be careful today,” Cecil warned.

  “Thank you for letting us spend the night.” Maggie reached for Little Owl’s hand. “I’ll think of you and your baby.”

  Little Owl nodded. “Travel safe.”

  Rafe hoped God heard Little Owl’s words. They needed clear weather from here on out to make it.

  Moses waded through the snow drifts until they were past the stand of pines. Rafe pulled his compass free and guided the horse east. The sun blinded as it glinted off the endless sheet of white. Only a few birds hopped around the trees and bushes, pecking seeds for breakfast.

  Maggie sucked in a deep breath, the motion pressing her against his chest. “It’s beautiful,” she said, the words wisping in puffs around them. “Like an endless white silk skirt.”

  “Yes.” He grinned. Leave it to a woman to think of clothing.

  He coughed, anxious to have a conversation, but unsure where to start. There must be something he could say that wouldn’t start an argument.

  “Did Little Owl tell you when the baby is due?”

  “Yes. Didn’t Cecil tell you?”

  “No.”

  She peered over her shoulder. “What is it that men talk about?”

  He shrugged. “Different things.”

  “Hmm.” She chewed her lip. “Money? War? Women?”

  “Money only complicates your life. A s you well know.”

  Maggie nodded.

  “A nd war,” he continued, “war ruins a man’s life.

  Everyone’s life.” Rafe blinked away the haunting images.

  “A nd women?” Maggie prodded.

  “Same—but worse—as the other two.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened, and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Once again he’d insulted her.

  “Present company excluded, of course.” He flashed a grin. He used to be charming, before all the battles, all the killing. A smooth word, a flirtatious wink, and the ladies swooned, eager to fuck.

  Maggie turned her back to him.

  Hmm. Maybe he’d forgotten how to charm.

  “You don’t have to lie.” Her voice held a trace of hurt.

  “I know the truth.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I bore men. I chatter too much.” She shrugged.

  “You weren’t the first to tell me I talk too much.” The sad words cut through him. For all her huff, Maggie was a sweet, sensitive woman. Only a real prick would have said such a thing.

  “A nd,” she continued, “I’m not very smart. I’m sure you already noticed.”

  “Who in God’s name told you that?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “My father.” A nger surged through Rafe. Blood pounded in his ears. Old man Monroe deserved a thrashing. How could anyone say something so cruel to their own child?

  The question lashed back at Rafe. His relationship with his own father was tenuous at best. “Maggie, he was a fool. I can honestly say I haven’t had one boring minute since we met.”

  She gasped, then craned her neck to look at him.

  “A nd, you’re a very resourceful, intelligent woman.

  You hid the necklace from Michael. You should be proud of yourself.” Hell, he was proud of her. “You’re not stupid. A nd I bet your drawings are beautiful.” Her eyes widened, then she swallowed hard and pressed her full lips together. What had he done? “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” she breathed. “I’m fine.”

  She blinked several times, then faced forward again.

  Oh, Lor
d. Was she going to cry? He didn’t know what to do with a woman’s tears. He didn’t even have a clean handkerchief.

  “Maggie.” Damn, what should he say? He should have just kept his mouth shut. Would he never learn to mind his own business?

  She sniffled, then gazed back at him. “You’re a very nice man, Mr. McBride.” Her whispered compliment made his stomach drop. He wasn’t nice.

  “A nd,” she continued, “I haven’t thanked you enough for all your help.”

  “It’s nothing.” The last thing he wanted was gratitude.

  “Well, it means something to me.” Her blue eyes darkened with sincerity. “We’re almost like…friends.” His heart thumped double-time. Friendly was not how he felt toward her. Friends did not picture each other naked. A friend did not ache to bite his friend’s nipples, or lick his friend’s clit. Jesus! The words naked, nipple, or clit were not friendly words!

  She stared at him, obviously waiting for a reply.

  “Don’t you agree?”

  “Of course.” What else could he say?

  She smiled, then straightened in the saddle. “A nd maybe someday I can help you.”

  A cold shudder crawled up his spine. “No. If we happen to get into trouble before we reach the fort, you run. Don’t try to help me.”

  “But—”

  “I mean it, Maggie.” Michael was the least of their worries. She just didn’t know it. “Do as I say.” She gave a slight nod. Probably all the answer he was going to get. Just as well. He didn’t want her getting any ideas, getting too comfortable or friendly toward him. He needed her to be a little prickly, to be a lot unapproachable.

  The wind skated up his back, and he glanced at the clouds chasing them. It would be snowing within the hour. He wouldn’t risk her health again.

  “We’ll have to stop for the night. I wanted to ride straight through, but it’s too dangerous.” She shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

  Rafe clamped his lips together, locking the apology inside. Prickly was what he wanted, right?

  ****

  Lesterville rested in a valley, a barren strip of land lined with boarded-up buildings and leaning shanties.