Sullivan (7 page)

"Don't you dare laugh," he said quietly.

Eden smiled. "Of course not. That would be rude."

"How long do I have to wear this before I can take it out without hurting the kid's feelings?"

"Until it's dead, I think."

Sullivan grumbled something that sounded vaguely obscene as he headed up the hill. Then he added, "That's what I was afraid of."

* * *

Eden was quite sure she'd never met a man like Sinclair Sullivan. He was tall and strong, like Jedidiah, but that's where the similarities ended. Sullivan went about the duties he took on himself without complaint or comment, whereas Jedidiah always had something to say. Sullivan had worn that yellow flower behind his ear until it was well and truly dead, whereas Jedidiah would've surely refused to wear it even for a moment.

He allowed Millie to continue her game, calling them Mama and Papa, even when the Merriweathers were a full two days behind them, and he was developing a strange and silent relationship with Teddy. Sometimes when they stopped for a midday meal or at the end of the day, the two would sit silently side by side, by the campfire or a stream or in the shade of a tree. Teddy helped Sullivan with the horses, and they worked well together. It warmed her heart to see the big man go out of his way to be nice to the children.

She reluctantly admitted to herself that more than his
kindness
warmed her heart. There was something utterly fascinating about Sinclair Sullivan's face. As the swelling faded, she could see that he was, indeed, quite handsome. His Indian heritage was clear in his features, but she saw the Irish in him, too. It was an appealing combination, attractive but completely masculine, hard but tender.

Ah, he would likely argue with her if she confessed that she saw tenderness on that healing face.

The cool night air was refreshing—sweet and chilly without being icy. She liked the feel of it on her face, the way a gentle breeze ruffled her skirt and her hair. Millie and Teddy were sound asleep, hunkered down in the back of the wagon. In a short while Eden would join them there. Sullivan would not. He had to sleep sometime, but so far she had not seen him succumb to such a trivial need. He watched over them, he protected them, and when he was sure all was safe, then, perhaps, he slept.

Sullivan sat on a fallen log beside the fire, staring into the flames. She wanted, so much, to know what he saw there, what he thought.

"Will we be in Rock Creek tomorrow?" she asked.

"Tomorrow afternoon," he said, glancing up at her. "We'll try to get an early start in the morning, so you might as well get to sleep."

She ignored the suggestion and sat beside him, perching herself carefully on the log. "In a few minutes. I'm not very tired tonight. I guess I'm too excited to sleep."

"There's nothing in Rock Creek worth getting excited about," he mumbled. "Trust me."

She wondered if she'd see Sinclair Sullivan at all after their arrival in Rock Creek. She wouldn't really need him anymore, and he wouldn't have any excuse to stay with her. For some reason, she was reluctant to see their partnership come to an end. Oddly enough, she would miss him.

"Millie and Teddy adore you," she said casually. "Once we get settled, you'll have to visit them."

"I probably won't be there that long. Once you three are safely delivered to Rock Creek, I have to go back to Webberville to get my hat."

Her heart lurched. "You are not going back to Webberville," she snapped. "And certainly not for anything so... so inconsequential as a
hat
. Those men almost killed you last time."

"They caught me by surprise last time," he said lowly. "That won't happen again. Besides, they've got my Colt and holster, too."

"I'll buy you a new hat," she said quickly, almost desperately. "And I'll give you my six-shooter. I don't think I can use it again, anyway." It had been used to kill a man, after all. Yes, George Merriweather had been a very
bad
man, but still...

"I want my own hat," Sullivan said stubbornly, "and my own damn six-shooter."

A surge of something unpleasant rose within her, and she tasted a fear unlike any she'd ever know. The fear led to anger.

"If you'd refrain from kissing strange women," she said, trying for a prim, reprimanding tone of voice, "perhaps you wouldn't have to worry about angry beaus defending their honor." For some reason, the idea of him kissing one of those awful saloon girls made her angry and a little sad. She wondered if the woman he'd kissed was the redhead she'd seen when she'd asked for assistance in the Webberville saloon, or the dark-haired woman who'd watched from the corner, or another of the coarse and colorful women who'd inhabited that awful place. "I think your judgment in such areas needs improvement."

"What... areas?"

Good thing it was dark and he couldn't see her blush. She turned her head away from the firelight, to be sure he couldn't see. "Really, Mr. Sullivan, you shouldn't go around kissing just anyone. Such intimate matters should not be taken lightly, and to kiss a saloon girl who's obviously involved with another man is..."

"I shouldn't do this," he muttered.

"Do what?" she asked without turning to face him.

He sighed. "I really shouldn't."

She snapped her head around. "Mr. Sullivan, are you talking to yourself or do you intend to answer—"

She stopped speaking, her breath literally stolen away, as Sullivan placed a large hand at the back of her head and slowly pulled her toward him. Perhaps she should resist, but she didn't. She drifted closer to him, slowly, steadily, until she was so close she could feel the heat rolling off his body. She trembled all over, but he seemed calm, relaxed, steady as a rock as he placed his lips over hers.

It was not her first kiss. Bobby Joe Bowers, when he'd asked her to marry him, had surprised her with a wet and rather chilly meeting of their mouths. William Cooper, on the afternoon of his proposal, had tried to stop her instant "no" with an impulsive kiss that had surprised and dismayed her. Seymour Mayfield had kissed her once, after she refused his offer of marriage, and that particular kiss had been mildly pleasant, she supposed.

But not one of those kisses had felt anything like this. Sullivan's lips were warm and soft, but not
too
soft. There was a tender urgency in the way he pressed his mouth to hers, a very gentle demand. He moved those lips as if he were tasting her, as if he savored the flavor of her mouth.

She closed her eyes and found herself tasting back, sucking gently against his mouth, moving her own lips in a rhythm that matched the beating of their hearts to the flow of the wind to the trembling in her hands, as if everything,
everything,
were linked by the meeting of two mouths.

His lips left hers, barely, briefly, and she whispered his name. "Sinclair."

He kissed her again, his touch more demanding. Her heart thudded against her chest. "Sin," she whispered as he took his mouth from hers. She wasn't quite capable of saying his entire name any longer and Sin seemed to fit, so she whispered it once more just before he kissed her again.

His lips lingered possessively over hers, and she couldn't get enough. There was an unexpected power in the kiss, a power that drained and rejuvenated her at the same time. She could smell and taste and feel Sin all around her, and without thinking she reached up to lay her hand on his neck. Her fingers found his steady pulse, delighted in the feel of his skin the way her mouth delighted in his kiss.

She felt his strength; she was encompassed in it. But she felt his tenderness, too, and it was that tenderness that swept her away.

Kissing sapped her energy, leaving her wonderfully weak, strangely wobbly. She draped her arms over his shoulders for support. He pulled her close and slipped his tongue inside her mouth—just a little, as if he were testing her, waiting for her response. A jolt of energy shot through her body, and she knew this was now much more than a simple kiss.

She slowly pulled her mouth from his and dropped her arms, and he didn't argue or try to pull her back. There was nothing to say. There was no way to take back a kiss like that one, but at the same time she couldn't acknowledge it, either.

"Good night, Sin," she said. "I mean, Mr. Sullivan." Her knees shook.

"Good night, Miss Rourke," he said with a touch of bitter humor in his low voice. "Sleep well."

As she walked away she heard a fragment of a sentence in a whisper so low she wouldn't have heard it if the wind hadn't carried it to her, "...worth dying for."

Chapter 4

"This is it?" Eden asked as her eyes swept down the main street of Rock Creek.

Sullivan heard the disappointment in her voice. He wasn't surprised.

"It doesn't look much different from Webberville or Ranburne," she added. "It's very... small."

"What did you expect?" Sullivan asked as he guided the wagon down the street toward the hotel. Rock Creek was like hundreds of other towns in Texas—small, rough, looking as if it had been thrown up overnight. It was little more than a single main street of crude buildings with a few homes straggling beyond. The river ran just to the west, and there trees and grass grew green and abundant. Here in town, though, all was dry and brown and rugged. The church, with its tall bell tower, added the only touch of civilization to the scene.

"I'm not sure what I expected," she confessed, casting him a glance and a small smile. Her smiles came so easily, so naturally. "Something grand, I suppose."

Well, his job was done. Eden was safe and sound in Rock Creek; Sullivan figured what Jed did with her now was none of his business. "There's nothing grand about Rock Creek," he said. "It's a rough town, only partially tamed, and it's no place for a lady."

People on the boardwalk stopped and stared as they passed. A jaw or two dropped. He knew what kind of picture the four of them painted, and how inconceivable the people of Rock Creek would find the idea of Sinclair Sullivan as a family man.

Eden stared ahead at the dusty street. "Don't try again to convince me to leave," she said succinctly. "You'll just be wasting your breath."

"I know."

The Rock Creek Hotel was a three-story dilapidated monstrosity of a building at the south end of Main Street. Grady McClure, a crotchety old man if ever there was one, owned and operated the less-than-magnificent establishment. The rooms were nasty, the food in the restaurant was all but inedible, and complaints were met with a sour "If you don't like it you can sleep somewheres else!" Of course, there was no other hotel or boarding house in Rock Creek.

After
El Diablo
had been taken care of, Sullivan and the other five men who'd fought side by side on the battlefield and on this very street had made Rock Creek a home, of sorts.

Cash slept in a room over the saloon, an abandoned business he'd taken over as his own. Reese and his wife Mary had their own place, now, and a baby girl to boot. Nate slept wherever his head happened to fall—sometimes in a room over the saloon, sometimes in the Rock Creek Hotel. Rico, Jed, and Sullivan himself stayed at the hotel when they were in town. There was no other place to take Eden and the kids.

She wasn't going to like it.

He brought the wagon to a stop in front of the hotel, and almost immediately the hotel door opened and Rico stepped onto the plank walkway. Across the street bat-wing doors swung open and Cash walked out, straightening the ruffled cuffs of his lucky shirt as he stepped into the street. A few brave souls sauntered down the boardwalk, their steps a bit quicker than normal. They stopped a good distance away, but close enough to hear what was said, if they listened hard enough. Sullivan had a feeling they were all listening pretty damn hard.

Rico looked up with a grin on his face. "Did you catch those
banditos
?"

"They were rustlers, Kid," Sullivan said as he left the wagon. "And yeah, I got 'em."

"Did the rustlers beat you up or were you caught in a stampede?" Cash asked as his eyes lit on Sullivan's battered face.

Sullivan ignored the question and assisted Eden from the wagon. Strangely enough, she felt natural in his hands, light as a feather and warm as a spring morning. He could practically feel Rico and Cash watching her as she drifted to the ground, his hands on her waist, her hands on his shoulders. Let 'em enjoy looking while they could. As soon as they found out whose little sister she was, the leering would come to an abrupt end.

"Me too, Papa," Millie called sweetly. "Me, too."

Eyes were no longer on Eden. They were, raised eyebrows and all, squarely on Sullivan.

"The game's over, sugar," he said as he swung Millie from the back of the wagon.

"That's right," Eden said. "You will have to call him Mr. Sullivan, now."

Millie pouted, sticking out her lower lip as he placed her on her feet. "I like Papa better."

"Yeah," Rico said. "So do we.
Papa
?"

He expected Teddy to scramble over the wagon himself, but the child silently offered his own arms over the side of the wagon, and Sullivan lifted him down, as well. Millie went to Eden to hold on to her skirt and hide half of her face from the strangers, but Teddy stayed firmly beside Sullivan.