Calico (10 page)

“Defiant to the last, Maggie? Try it and see.”

Maggie thought for a moment, tempted to call him, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes, and she couldn’t deny her need to sleep.

Before she moved, McCready had opened the door. Barefoot and dressed in his shirt, Maggie wasn’t going to run. At least not tonight, he amended. He threw their clothes outside, then helped her roll up the feather mattress. He didn’t bother to tell Maggie that tomorrow he intended to see that she repaired the damage she had done. He didn’t say anything while they grunted and tugged the large soggy bulk out the door.

Maggie was shaking when she came inside. She took a blanket from McCready and wrapped it around herself, looking for a place to lie down.

McCready poured himself a drink. “Want one?” he offered, understanding her searching gaze. “Take the bed, Maggie.”

“Ain’t a proper bed without rope springs. Never saw one with full boards in their place. Don’t look comfortable for a body.”

“Oh, but it is. For me. I like a hard bed and a soft body beneath me, Mary Margaret.”

“Well, don’t be thinkin’ to have me there, boyo.” But Maggie said this without heat. She had heard the coaxing temptation in his tone. She hated the image he created with those few words. Hated them, for it was far too easy to see herself there. Maggie pulled the blanket tighter and squeezed her thighs together. She had to get away before McCready had his way with her.

McCready suffered for his teasing remark. He sipped his drink, but warm whiskey wasn’t the taste he craved. It occurred to him that he didn’t want Maggie going to sleep. He wanted her awake and as aware of him as he was of her.

“Would you like something to eat first, Maggie?”

“No!” She hadn’t meant to yell but the thick-headed man didn’t understand that she had to shut him out of her sight.

“Don’t be testy. I’m a passable cook.”

“Sleep is all I want.”

“Since my bed doesn’t appeal to you, you’re welcome to stretch out in front of the fire.” McCready set his glass down and tossed her the quilt that had been on the bed. “That should cushion your soft bottom.”

“I’m not soft, McCready, an’ don’t you be thinkin’ it.” She knelt with her back toward him to fix the quilt in place. Biting her lower lip, she said without turning, “Will you have a blanket?”

“Ah, Maggie mine, are you offering to share yours with me? Before you answer, you should know the thought holds a great deal of appeal to me.”

“Why?”

Her voice was so soft that McCready wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. Raking his hair with one hand, he finished his drink.

“Can’t you tell me why, McCready?” Maggie didn’t know why she had asked him. She already knew the answer. He wanted the mines and would use himself just like one of those snake-oil drummers to sell shoddy goods.

The temptation was there for McCready to show her with action, not tell her with words, why he wanted to share her blankets. He gave thought to it. Just long enough to become fully aroused, which was mere seconds. But he knew he would be on Maggie quicker than a greenhorn raking in his first winnings, just as greedy and proud as the devil she called him.

And it was pride that had him say, “You’ll find out, Maggie mine. Before we leave here, I promise you’ll find out why.” Turning down the lamp, he fetched the last blanket from the chest and settled himself in front of the door.

Maggie slowly settled herself before the fire. She didn’t like the strength in McCready’s promise. He’d left no room for doubt that he would indeed show her why the sharing of her blankets held any appeal for him. But she wore a smug smile that he didn’t know the idea held more than appeal for her.

She wasn’t finished with McCready.

“I can’t fix it!” Maggie declared, hands on hips. The morning sun added glints of gold to the copper color of her hair, but the blaze of her eyes rivaled the sun’s heat. She kicked aside the makeshift blanket skirt and tried to move past McCready.

He grabbed hold of her upper arm. “I can’t believe this. You’re a woman. You’re supposed to be able to sew.”

“Who wrote that into law, McCready? You? I get by for what needs doin’ for meself.”

“Yeah. I already know how selfish you are.” The uncomfortable night spent tossing and turning added a sharpness to his voice. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Maggie. You are going to repair my feather tick. I don’t care how you do it. I do not care how long it takes you. But you will fix my mattress.”

If she didn’t get the point from his insistent voice, she certainly knew it from the cunning gleam in his eyes. Maggie grated her teeth together and stared pointedly at his hand still gripping her arm. The back of his hand was pressed against her breast.

McCready suddenly released her as if he had become aware of the same thing, only to capture the ends of her shirt collar. Maggie tried to pull away. McCready gathered more of the collar into his hands. Her heart was beginning to thud uncomfortably. The wee flutters were once again dancing inside her, had been, she admitted to herself, ever since she awoke to find McCready at her side this morning. It hadn’t sweetened her disposition any to find that he made good on his boast of the night before and had made breakfast. Maggie made him taste everything, not trusting him. It surprised her that he did it willingly.

She let out a hiss of breath. The man didn’t understand what his being this close did to her. His head was as thick as the stout cabin walls.

“Say you’ll do it, Maggie.”

She squinted up at the sun.

McCready closed his eyes briefly, offering a prayer for patience. “Are you trying to make me angry?”

“Try, McCready? Don’t need to. Seems to me that around you it comes right natural.”

He twisted the ends of the collar and jerked her flat up against him. McCready grinned as her chin shot up. “I warned you last night, didn’t I, Maggie?”

“Stuff that warning in the hole in the mattress.” Her pulse was dancing to the tune the little ones played. Little ones that seemed to make themselves at home when McCready’s body touched hers. She didn’t like feeling a tight, grabbing sensation deep in her middle.

“Well, what’s it going to be?” he prodded, angling his head so that his mouth hovered over hers. He craved a kiss and would have taken it, but pride once more dictated that Maggie had to give willingly.

The teasing glint was gone from his eyes from one heartbeat to another. What Maggie saw replace it was dark and dangerous. She felt the same excitement as when she scraped her knife blade against bedrock and found alluvial gold. His breath teased over her mouth like a breeze tickles the leaves in summer. It was a sinful mouth, and she had to get away from it and him before he clouded her mind.

“McCready,” she murmured, “I’ll make a deal with you.”

“I’m listening, but make it a good one. I’m not in a mood to be generous.”

“You wash and I’ll try to fix your mattress.”

“Not good enough. Offer me more to sweeten the deal.”

“More?”

“You’ve been allowed to go along without paying for your actions, Maggie.” He couldn’t resist brushing his lips over hers. It was a little sip to ease his need. He felt her tremor, but as he kept his eyes on hers, he could see it wasn’t from fear. He nipped her bottom lip. “You keep on forgetting that you’re my wife, Maggie. A wife should take care of her husband’s belongings.”

He waited to see if she would reject him again. No matter the need churning inside him, he would not force her.

Maggie had her hands flat on his chest. He was hard and warm. She leaned away to escape his tantalizing mouth, but the effort cost her. Her lower body nestled the blatant shape of his manhood. She had found something else that was as arrogant as everything else about him. Be kissed or burned, but make up your mind, her body demanded.

“I’ll do it.” Maggie found herself free. She wished she could take enjoyment from his stunned expression. But she couldn’t. Submitting to his demand to repair his mattress and wash their clothes was hard to swallow. Maggie was more afraid that McCready would know why she had done it.

“I’ll be gracious and heat the water for you, Maggie.” He started for the cabin, then turned back. “You won’t try to run?”

She glanced at her bare feet and the bulky blanket that she wore. “Not likely.”

McCready accepted the silent vow in her eyes. Maggie would run as soon as she was given another opportunity.

“Why don’t you know when McCready’s coming back, Dutch?”

“I told you, Cora Ann, the man has business away from here. I’m not his keeper. He didn’t tell me how long he’d be gone.” Dutch set out a glass in front of her and, without waiting, poured out a drink. Cora Ann belted it down, and he refilled the glass. He cursed McCready for leaving him to deal with a vicious dog and two irate women.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I could help?”

They both looked over when the Rose began another mournful tune. Dutch knew she was missing McCready, for her singing left a lot to be desired tonight. But there was nothing he could do about it. When Cora Ann asked again where McCready was, Dutch knew he had had enough.

He slapped down the bar towel. “You married to the man, Cora Ann?”

“No. But I’d like to be.”

“Then don’t ask me again. McCready will be back when he’s back. Not a day before. If you can’t keep your nose from poking into this, I’ll try seeing how business improves without a whining woman around.”

“You can’t fire me! McCready said you had to keep me on last night.”

Dutch leaned over the bar. “McCready ain’t here. I am. You’re trying my patience till there’s little left. Go deal cards, Cora Ann; it’s what you’re best at.”

She took the bottle and glass. With a swish of her plaid, corded silk gown she settled herself at a table. “Play something cheerful!” she yelled to the Rose, wincing when discordant notes were followed by a rousing tune.

Three men, miners all, left the bar to join Cora Ann. She nodded to Abe and Jimmy Keystone, twin brothers whose faces were as browned and creased as walnuts. Slick Tobell made a fourth.

“Any of you see McCready today?” she asked, so distracted over McCready’s disappearance that for once she didn’t eye the pokes they set on the table.

Slick answered her. “Seen his horse in the lean-to when I brought in my mule. Man can’t go far on foot.”

Breaking open the deck, Cora Ann agreed and began to shuffle. “But he’s not over at Miss Mae’s, and no one’s seen him all day. If he was dead, we’d all know about it.”

“How’s that, Cora?” Jimmy asked, cupping his ear, for he had lost part of his hearing in a dynamite blast last year.

“Why, boys,” she answered with a cheerful note, “the bastard who shot McCready would be bragging all over.”

“Since you’re mentioning bastards, Cora Ann, look who just walked in.”

Cora Ann looked where Slick pointed. Quincy Kessnick stood in the doorway, his dark shrewd eyes searching the faces of those present. Behind him were the four hired guns that McCready had bribed to kidnap him. Cora Ann glanced at the Rose, who kept right on playing, but she was the only one who didn’t know Quincy was here.

She shot a look at Dutch, but he gave a sparse shake of his head, warning her to let him handle this. Quincy was almost as tall as McCready but heavier built. His mouth, Cora Ann decided, was wide and full and downright intriguing but for the tilt at the comer that hinted at cruelty. She didn’t understand how a man who was so exacting could even think about marrying the likes of Maggie O’Roarke. Returning her gaze to the cards she held, Cora Ann knew she would keep it to herself just how exacting Quincy could be.

“Dutch,” Quincy called, “I won’t hold you responsible, for I know you’re only hired help. But where’s McCready?”

“Gone.”

“Ran out, did he?”

Dutch barely spared a glance for Ryder Balkett, the man at Quincy’s right. “He didn’t run. McCready had business elsewhere.”

The Rose stopped playing and turned around. She took note of the mean-looking bunch at the door and dismissed them as potential customers. The only move she made was to perch on the edge of her stool, ready to run if any shooting started.

“And Maggie,” Quincy demanded, “did she also have sudden business elsewhere, too?”

“Wouldn’t you know it? That’s just what happened. Left her dog with me and took off to one of the claims.”

“Without McCready?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Dutch turned and broke open the seal on a bottle of whiskey. He set out five glasses. “Why don’t you boys have a drink on the house and then leave Cooney Camp? There’s nothing here for any of you.”

Quincy motioned Ryder forward. “I want to know where McCready is,” he murmured. “And if he’s with Maggie. If Dutch won’t talk, go after Cora Ann.”

“Right.” Ryder and his cohorts moved to do Quincy’s bidding. Hitching his gunbelt, he swaggered over to the bar. Ryder had to admire Quincy for not holding it against him that he had taken McCready’s money along with his own.

“This is business, Dutch, nothing personal,” Ryder warned. He grabbed hold of Dutch’s shirt, expecting his grip to put Dutch at a disadvantage by forcing him to lean forward. But Dutch’s solid bulk didn’t budge.

“Henry, grab hold of him,” Ryder ordered a hatchet-faced man. “Jess, you help him. Sonny stands by me.”

Dutch took a deep breath and released it. He saw that the miners were rising, ready to come to his rescue. He didn’t want anyone getting hurt, so motioned them to stay put.

“I can handle this, boys,” he assured them. Dutch jerked free of Ryder’s hold. He shot a quick look over his shoulder to see the position of the two men behind him. Swirling around, he rammed both men in the groin with his meaty fists. In the next few seconds he grabbed hold of Ryder’s shirtfront, hauling half of his body over the bar, broke a bottle, and held the jagged edge up against Ryder’s throat.

“Now, you understand that this is nothing personal, Ryder. I just take exception to being roughed up for the likes of Kessnick.”

From the corner of his eye, Dutch saw that Quincy was fingering his fancy vest’s pocket. There was a double barrel derringer concealed there. “Wrong move,” he told Quincy, shaking his head at him.

Slick confirmed it would be a foolish move. He had his gun out and aimed at Kessnick.

Dutch then turned back to Ryder. “We have a right fetching dilemma, boy. You can try for that iron on your hip, like you’re itching to, and I cut your throat before you draw. Or,” he continued, grinning, “if you’re of a mind to, you can back off and take the trash that’s groaning behind me and leave. But don’t take long to make up your mind. I can’t keep my hand steady for long.”

Ryder’s eyes darted frantically from side to side, looking for help. He hoped Quincy would make a move, but within seconds he knew he was on his own. The glass pricked his skin, but he swallowed anyway.

“You win,” he muttered to Dutch.

“Smart choice.” But Dutch didn’t remove the glass. “You two hombres get out from behind me and haul your tails outside. You can help them, Sonny,” he ordered to the man who had waited at Ryder’s side. Once they were moving toward the door, he looked at Quincy.

“I’ll be sure and tell McCready that you stopped by.”

“Do that, Dutch. And tell him this isn’t over. No one gets away with stealing from me. No one cuts into my deal and lives. I’ll find Maggie and marry her. Those mines belong to me.” Quincy elbowed aside the three men and left.

Dutch released Ryder. “Have a drink to wash the fear out of your mouth, boy. I’ve got another job for you.”

Ryder rubbed his throat. “Crossing Quincy again?”

“Nothing else,” Dutch answered, pouring him a drink. “Now, listen good to what I want you to do.”