Christmas Male (17 page)

No, she dismissed it instantly. Because he would have to really care about her to be jealous.

"Careful," he bellowed, still in a bad mood, as he gripped her elbow. "The steps are icy."

"Right." Her breathlessness returned, since his firm grasp reminded her of the commanding way he'd held her during their kiss. Somehow through the layers of her coat, dress and long john sleeves, his touch penetrated like a brand burning her skin.

If they hadn't been interrupted, she wondered, would they have stopped at just a kiss? She'd wanted more and, remembering his arousal, he had too.

Maybe he did care, she thought, her pulse fluttering. That was a scary thought—Miles loving her—and she didn't know why.

"This is the mercantile. If the train is still stuck on the tracks somewhere, we've got time to kill." He opened the door for her. "Why don't you window shop? It's warm in here. I've got to step over to the saloon. I'll be back."

"Okay, I'll go warm up." She gestured to a red-hot pot-bellied stove near the front of the store, puffing out heat. "Oh! I could do some shopping for you while I'm here. I couldn’t help noticing your pantry was pretty bare."

"Okay, if you want. The last housekeeper did the shopping, too." He retreated out the door and into the cold. He could still see her through the glass—cheeks pink, eyes glowing, smile so mesmerizing he'd give his life for the privilege of seeing it.

Hell, kissing her was the worst mistake he'd made since Bethleigh. There was no doubt about it. Jaw tight, teeth clenched, hands fisted, he charged down the boardwalk not sure if he was mad at himself for kissing her or at her for letting him. What kind of decent lady let a man grope her in the woods? Not that there had been much groping, but there would have been if they hadn't gotten interrupted.

He pushed through the saloon doors in a temper, glared through the dim lamplight at the three figures seated around their favorite table in the middle of a card game. Rage erupted like a mountain blowing apart.

"Chester." Fighting to stay calm, Miles strolled to a stop at the table, adding extra warning to the mean, I'll-beat-you-up look he was giving his lowlife neighbor. "This is early to be drinking, even for you."

"Whose fault is that?" Chester spewed out, venom in his words. His one eye was swollen shut. His nose was bruised, swollen and slightly crooked. Dried blood clung to his nostrils. "I've been in pain all night. I talked to the sheriff, but he won't let me press charges. Said you must have had a good reason."

"You know I did." Furious, Miles pounded the table with his fist, hard enough to rattle the coins on the table and slosh the beer in their tankards. Self-control, he reminded himself. "Maggie's train is still snowed in, but if she doesn't leave today, you'd be smart to listen up. If I catch you sneaking around my property trying to get a look at her or worse, I'll do more than punch you in the nose. Understood?"

"Who says I care one whit about that stupid woman?" Chester's mouth puckered with distaste. "She got to be older than me. What do I want with her? Aside from a good roll in bed—"

"Shut up." His jaw tightened, protective rage building. "She's a nice lady and don't you forget that."

"There's no such thing. They're all just out for what they can get." Chester snorted, shaking his head. "Lester, remember when Barney was in here having Ed read all those letters for him, cuz he didn't know how to?"

"There were tons of 'em who answered his ad." Lester belted out a derisive laugh. "All those desperate women who'd settle for any man. Chester stole a letter when no one was looking. We got a good laugh over all those fake things she said."

Miles shook his head, disgusted.

"Anyways, a whore's a better deal than a wife." Delbert, the youngest brother, raised his glass in a salute. "You're only payin' for what you want anyway."

"It's right economical," Chester agreed, taking another drink.

"Miles. What are you doing here?" The bartender stepped in from the back room, a towel in hand. Ed's black eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me your grandfather went through that scotch already."

"I'm afraid so." Wrestling down his revulsion at the Collins men, he marched away before he wound up hitting one of them again. He felt like it would take an entire scotch bottle to calm him down, maybe another one to forget he wanted Maggie in the worst way. "How many bottles do you got back there?"

"Well, let's see." Ed tossed the towel on the end of the bar. "I'm about halfway through the crate. How many do you need?"

"Good question." He planted his hands on his hips, considering. One bottle for Pops, two for him...if two were enough, that is. He ground his teeth together, already suspecting it wouldn’t be. "Better make it four. No, five. Hell, make it a half dozen."

"Six, it is." If he was surprised, Ed didn't show it. He turned on his heels and disappeared into the backroom.

The woman was driving him to drink. Miles ambled over to the door and stepped onto the boardwalk, casting his gaze down to the light spilling through the mercantile windows. Maggie. He wanted her. Bad. Not even the cold could drive away the hot spill of desire coursing through him, thrumming deep and low, insistent. Like destiny calling.

A shadow lurked in the dark corner of the saloon, pulling back a grimy shade to look out an even dirtier window. He waited, watching until he saw the mercantile door open. The woman sashayed into sight, pretty as a picture and so innocent it made his teeth ache.

And his shaft stir. He smiled darkly, because that's the way he liked them—naive and innocent. And this one he particularly liked. She may be older than the last one he'd taken (only fifteen). Oh, the memories made him smile, ruining that sweet young thing in his favorite room upstairs, tied to the bed. She'd been too terrified to utter a single sob as he tore his way into her body.

He sighed, pleased by the memory. It had been too long since he'd felt that heady rush. He couldn’t wait to do it again with Maggie. He scowled. Even the name annoyed him. It was perky, cute, just like her. But not for long. Fate had brought her to him, he'd known it the moment she'd stepped foot inside this saloon. She was meant for him, even if Miles didn't know that yet.

Oh, sure, he'd seen them kissing in the woods, about to devour each other by the looks of it. He'd only caught a glimpse before he'd dashed away—it wouldn't have been good if Miles had caught him watching. But what he'd seen had made him laugh, made him look forward to the privilege of showing her that it wasn't a woman's place to want. It was her place to be used for a man's release. He would relish the chance to teach her just how worthless of a nobody a woman was.

Look at Miles, he thought with venom. Helping her into the sleigh like she was royalty, tucking in the robes for her, the do-gooder that he was. But anyone could see plain as day Miles wanted the woman.

And wasn't that just too bad. Rich boy Miles would never get the chance. The shadow moved away from the window, letting the curtain fall. He would be there first. He'd be the one to take her innocence. He'd do it today, when she was waiting to get on the train. It would be busy and crowded, folks would be distracted, and he was good at grabbing a woman without anyone noticing. This time he wouldn't fail.

"Too bad your train was delayed for another day," Winston said as he ambled into the grand front room of the McClintock home. "But the house is looking real festive."

"I had to do something to keep me busy." Maggie fussed with the garland she'd made, settling it into place on the mantel. Making decorations had kept her from being disappointed all afternoon, since another big storm had blown in, bringing more snow. "It
does
look festive," she agreed, studying her work. "When Bill said that the eastbound train wouldn't be coming until tomorrow, I was a little disheartened."

"You want to spend the holiday with your family, I understand." Winston strolled over, his boots knelling on hardwood. "But if this storm blows through quick, the trains will be running again. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve. You'll be with your sister by suppertime."

"That will be nice." She liked that idea. The only problem with it was that in leaving, she would be leaving Miles. The kiss they'd shared had proved impossible to forget.

"You look like you need help with that, missy," Winston said, always a gentleman.

"Oh, no thanks. I'm almost done." Maggie draped the end of the garland she'd made neatly over the corner edge of the mantel and stepped back to study it.

The red and green plaid ribbon she'd found at the mercantile added a cheerful touch to the evergreen boughs John had cut for her from the trees outside the back door. She'd draped other garlands over the curtain rods at the windows. She'd even cleared a spot for the tree, for when Miles returned with it.

"Well, this room is very Christmassy. This takes me back." With a fond sigh, Winston crossed his arms over his chest, gazing at the mantle. "My Alice loved Christmas. She would start in on the day after Thanksgiving, running our poor house servants ragged with all the decorating. She transformed every room in our home. It was a wonder, just a special time of year. It does my heart good to see decorations up."

"Why weren't you going to put them up this year?" she asked, touched by the look of love in Winston's eyes, remembering precious times lost.

"Are you kidding? You've met Miles, right?" He gave a soft hoot of laughter and shook his head, amused. "Oh, no. The man Miles has become doesn't have the heart for Christmas."

"I've noticed that." She gave the garland on the mantel one more tug to adjust it. Perfect.

"He was supposed to get married a year ago today. Two days before Christmas." Furrows worked deep into the wrinkles around his hazel eyes. "It was a terrible thing what she did to him."

"He told me a little bit." Maggie ached at the pain Miles had gone through. "He said she left him for a wealthier man."

"She did, that's a fact, but the way she did it was cold-hearted. Miles was deeply in love with her; he thought the sun rose and set because of her. He didn't see it coming." John raked one hand through his thick hair, troubled. "I was right there in the church with him, in front of everyone, waiting for her to come down the aisle."

"Poor Miles." She thought of the passion in his kiss. It was easy to see him that deeply in love with someone. He must have had so much love to give.

"Bethleigh's sister arrived with a note. I took it from her and read it first, needing to protect my son. She wrote how she'd only pretended to care for Miles because of his family's money. That surely he understood, because he'd been courting her for hers, as she came from a wealthy family too. Well, I tell you, that wasn't true at all." Winston stared down at the floor, grief lining his face. "She lied to Miles, pretended to love him but all the while, she must have been trying to find a better man to marry. As soon as she did, she dropped him flat. Miles was devastated. Hell, it broke him. He hasn't been the same since. My son changed that day. It's like he died and a stranger took his place."

"I'm sorry." She patted Winston on the arm, touched by his great love for his son. He'd clearly come all this way to help Miles, leaving everything he knew behind in New York. That was true fatherly love. "It must have been so hard for you and John to watch Miles go through so much pain."

"It was tough," he agreed, tearing up just a hint, showing his true heart. "But we've been right here for him, and I know we'll get him back. One day Miles will heal. That will be the best gift of all. I've got hope for that, more since you've been here. Last year, after we brought him home from the church that day, he ordered the maids to take down the Christmas decorations. Every last one of them. He couldn’t bear to look at them. It hurt too much."

"I wish I'd known that before I did all this decorating." She tossed Winston a smile, wondering what Miles was going to think about what she'd done to his house. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too upset. After all, it was Christmastime. And he had agreed to go fetch the tree she'd picked out, despite his feelings. That touched her.

The door slammed open, echoing through the foyer.

Miles, she thought, and her entire body seemed to smile with anticipation. His boots thumped on the floor, each step echoing closer. The instant he stalked into the room with the tree, a tremor squeezed deep into the muscles of her pelvis. There was no denying it. No man had ever affected her the way Miles did. She wanted him. Her body wanted him. What was she going to do about it?

Was there any way on earth that she could simply disregard those deep, thrilling tremors racing through her private parts? Uh, no, she thought as another one quaked through her. Ignoring them was impossible. It would be like trying not to notice an earthquake, an exploding volcano and a tornado all at the same moment.

"I've got a stand set up over here," Winston said, pacing across the room to the corner between the windows. "Maggie thought it would look best here."

"I'm sure she did," Miles grumbled from behind the green boughs, which were thick enough to hide most of him as he hauled the tree past her, branches rustling. "What the hell is that on the mantel?"