Cowboy Heat (9 page)

“Meghan Hegarty.” A shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’m the local healer.” With a smooth move, she sheathed the knife into the scabbard hanging at her waist and walked out of sight.

For several seconds, he stood in place, his thoughts on the puzzle the strange woman presented. Then he shucked his clothes, piled them on his saddle, and waded into the pool until
he could duck beneath the surface, letting the cool water sluice the grit from his body. Ah, so refreshing. Five strokes took him across the pool, and he tucked to turn in the opposite direction and surfaced, blinking water away from his eyes.

A double-action metallic ratchet filled the air.

Bo jerked his head to the edge of the pool where Midnight waited.
Aw, hell
. His chest pinched.

Beside the horse stood Meghan, his rifle leveled at her hip. “That’s right, swim over here.”

“What are you doing?”

“Climb out and get on your clothes. We’re going for a ride.”

He glanced around, searching for a way out of this mess. “I’ve got three bucks in my saddlebags. Sorry, but payday’s not for another two weeks.” As he walked forward, the water dipped lower along his muscled frame. Two final strides brought him to the damp dirt at the edge of the pool. Water ran off his body in rivulets and pooled at his feet. He jammed his hands on his hips.

Meghan’s gaze dropped to his waist, and her eyes widened, the gun wavering a few inches lower. She bit her lower lip and then a slow smile grew.

His traitorous body reacted to her response, and his cock lengthened along his thigh. “Toss me my clothes.”

Keeping her gaze locked on him, she raised her left hand to the saddle, grabbed his jeans, and tossed them his way.

Bo caught the warmed denim and shoved his feet into the pant legs. How had he let a female get the drop on him? In ten years of bounty hunting, that had only occurred once. That one incident prompted his decision to leave the job of searching for outlaws to younger gun hands. Much safer to hunt down stray cattle.

Until now.

“My shirt?” When he turned, Meghan had stepped back several feet.

“Won’t need it. Grab your boots and let’s get going.” She waved the rifle toward Midnight with a jerk.

He eyed the strap of his holster around the saddle horn. Maybe he could get his pistol while stepping into his boots. Or he could slip a hand into the saddlebag where he kept his spare revolver. At Midnight’s side, he leaned a shoulder against the horse’s withers as he brushed pebbles off the bottom of his foot. But the angle was wrong—she’d see any attempt to reach a weapon. Pissed at being at her mercy, he stomped into his boots and reached for his shirt still lying across the saddle.

Pain exploded in the back of his head and his vision went black.

Meghan struggled, her legs quivering with the effort to push the cowboy onto her mattress. Once she’d shouldered him up to sprawl belly-down over the saddle, she figured the toughest hurdle was crossed. But the well-muscled, dark-eyed man was heavier than she’d thought. She blew out a breath and yanked on the blanket she’d used to drag him into her cabin, releasing one edge to roll him onto the ticking.

Her first sight of this handsome man at the waterfall sparked a plan. A woman who’d been held captive for a dozen years by Indians didn’t stand a chance at receiving a second look by a decent man. But this cowboy had shooed off those fools who wouldn’t know how to do anything but ogle her flesh. He’d honored her privacy and treated her with respect. He’d proven himself worthy.

If she wasn’t so hellfire bent on having a man between her thighs, she might have felt a twinge of guilt about bashing him
over the head. With quick moves, she stripped him of his boots and jeans and used rawhide thongs to tie his hands and feet to the bedposts. Only a few moments were spent on securing his horse in her lean-to outside, setting out a pan of grain and a bucket of water.

Then she returned to the cabin to shed her dress and rub mint leaves over her body. Not like the French perfume her mama had used, but Meghan had adopted many of the Indian ways. A fact that probably kept her an outsider, even on this Colorado frontier.

Two years had passed since an Army attack on Chief Rising Cloud’s tribe of Cheyenne released her from her capture. The soldiers had dumped her in the closest settlement of Ouray. Barely remembering how to speak English, she’d been at a disadvantage from the outset. Kindly church folks provided shelter and meals and refreshed her language skills. But after a few months, she’d relocated to an abandoned miner’s cabin to escape the distrust in the eyes of the townspeople, especially the women.

Standing at the foot of the bed, she gazed upon the bulges and planes of Bo’s body. Dark hair contrasted with the skin of his calves and thighs—so different from the bare skin of the Indian brave, Bright Eagle, who’d claimed her as a wife. Curly hair on his groin cushioned the cock that lay broad and thick on his left thigh. As she watched, the shaft lengthened and rose away from his body. Amazing, even in his sleep.

Her gaze snapped up to his face. His dark eyes glared from under scowling eyebrows.

“What are you doing?”

His raspy growl sent a shiver up her spine, and her nipples tightened into beads. Knowing he couldn’t fight his response to her nakedness, she felt emboldened. “Taking what I need.”
To gain the most pleasure from an experience that may have to last her a long time, she started a slow caress of her own body. Trailing one hand over her belly and hips, she used the other to cup and mold her aching breasts. A sigh released through her lips, and she slid around to the far side of the bed.

“This is wrong.” The muscles in his arms bunched as he struggled against the restraints.

His words halted her movement, and she rested one knee on the bed frame. Wrong? This simple act could not compare. “Wrong was my kidnapping when I was a child. Wrong was stealing my innocence when I should have been stitching my first sampler. Wrong was taking away my—” Tears burned the backs of her eyes, and she sucked in a breath to combat the loss that had hardened a piece of her heart.

Forcing a smile, she waved a hand at his erection that now stood stiff like the pole of a tepee. “Your interest is evident.” She slid beside his body, reveling in his heat. Her hands moved over taut skin, feeling the coiled strength of muscles that performed hard work. Hours in the saddle made strong thighs and rock-hard calves.

“Can’t help my natural reaction.” His body tensed. “Don’t do this.”

For a moment, her hand rested on his abdomen, feeling the bugles and valleys between each muscle. “Why not? I’ve been a wife, and now I need a man.” Her head shot up, and she glared into his eyes. All her adult life she watched as people took from her what they wanted, ignoring her wishes. For once, she wanted something, and she had worked to get him here. His words would not stop her.

He met her stare, his gaze narrowing a bit, but he remained mute. His whole body was as taut as a bowstring.

Meghan pushed herself to her knees and lifted her hands to
cup her breasts. “Do you not want to touch me? Am I not… fit?” She swallowed back the word “pretty” because that wasn’t important. She was a woman who needed to be fucked and here was a fine specimen to do just that.

“Not like this.”

What did this cowboy know? Closing her eyes, she caressed her body with long strokes to the rhythm of a remembered chant taught by a wise Indian woman who’d befriended her. The chant lifted Meghan away into a world where pain couldn’t reach.

With gentle tugs, she plucked her nipples until they stood pert and pointy, the sensation zinging straight to her core. Her pussy clenched and dewy drops trickled along her nether lips. Without another thought, she straddled Bo’s hips and centered her pussy over his cock, circling and lowering herself inch by inch onto the broad shaft. At first, his girth burned her channel, and she sucked in a breath until her body relaxed and accepted the invasion. Then pleasure overtook her senses as she rocked her body along his length. Too long had she gone without feeling filled, too long had her agile fingers provided her only release.

Bracing her hands on his stomach, she rode his cock hard, pumping her hips and hearing the slap of her asscheeks against his thighs. Her breasts swung and bounced with each thrust, keeping her nipples tight. Arousal tightened her clittie, and she angled her hips to grind that sensitive pearl against his crisp groin hairs. A move that had always achieved the desired result. But this time, her orgasm wouldn’t explode. The arousal deep in her belly slowly unwound and dissipated.

What had just happened? A sense of deep shame constricted her chest. Breaths rasped through her lips, and tears clogged her throat.

When she was sure her expression was under control, she glanced at Bo’s face. His jaw was clamped tight, and his cheeks
were rigid as he stared to the side, out the window. An all-too-familiar posture—one she’d adopted many times at the beginning of her capture.

With a strangled sob, she stumbled off the bed, tossed a blanket over her shoulders, and dashed outside. Only then did she let the emotion wash through her and allow the tears to stream down her cheeks. Too many years of self-preservation had twisted her heart. Maybe she deserved to be on her own, maybe this place on the fringe of society was all she’d be allowed.

“Meghan, come back. Talk to me.”

Bo’s words held no rancor but just a hint of need. No man wanted to feel vulnerable, and hog-tied and naked was about as vulnerable as one could be.

Using the edge of the blanket to wipe her face, she heaved a sigh and stepped back into the cabin. She swapped the blanket for her dress, shoved her feet into her moccasins, making sure to slip a small knife inside her right boot. Then she stood several feet from the bed, head bowed. “I’m ready to free you, but only if you promise not to punish me.”

“Meghan, look at me.”

Shame and guilt filled her, and she wasn’t brave enough to look again into his dark eyes. Gone would be the laughing expression she’d been drawn to at the pool. Instead, they’d be filled with retribution and blame, and that wasn’t the way she wanted to remember her cowboy. She moved to the foot of the bed and loosened the knots in the thongs, keeping her gaze focused on her task. Next she untied his left hand, saving his strong hand for last, and shuffled back to the foot of the bed.

His hand dropped to the mattress with a thud and Bo let out a groan. “Damn, my arm’s on fire.”

Meghan moved to the right side and bent over to slip out her
knife when a strong pull on the back of her dress toppled her onto the mattress. Right into an iron-hard embrace.

“If you won’t look at me, maybe I can get you to listen.”

As best she could, she struggled, trying to free her arms, but he was too strong. Her back was clamped tight to his chest, and she was trapped. Blood pounded in her ears, and her heart raced. When she kicked backward, he threw a leg over hers and tightened his thighs.

“Shh, relax. I won’t hurt you, Meghan.”

His warm breath moved the wavy hair that escaped her braid and tickled her earlobe. Even if for the wrong reasons, she relished the simple act of being held by another person, especially by this handsome man whose clasp didn’t crush, just held her secure.

“That’s good. Now just listen. I can’t take away what’s been done to you. By the looks of the scars on your back, you’ve been mistreated.”

His low tone soothed the upheaval of her thoughts. In an instant she knew in her heart he wouldn’t hurt her. Meanness wasn’t part of his spirit. A wave of weariness washed over her and her muscles went lax.

His hand ran the length of her arm in a slow caress. “I don’t hurt women. No matter what happens.” He fingered her hair, tucking stray tendrils behind her ear. “And I can say that I have never tied one to a bed frame.”

Meghan stiffened and twisted to glance over her shoulder. “Sorry.”

A chuckle sounded. “Though I might have to reconsider because I can see definite possibilities. Only if both parties are agreeable, that is.”

His hold loosened enough that she scooted until she faced him. His leg lowered over hers to keep her still. Nothing in his
calm expression made her worry for her safety. “This is your fault, you know.”

Bo’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth gaped. “My fault?”

With a tentative move, she lifted her hand to run her fingers along his shadowed jaw. “You showed me kindness.”

His eyes widened farther. “And for that I get conked over the head, taken who knows where, and tied up? I don’t understand.”

Meghan’s throat tightened. She ducked her chin, unable to hold his questioning gaze. “Your kindness opened a need deep inside, and I wanted more.” A finger lifted her chin until she had to face his dark eyes.

“Tell me what happened. What else did the Indians take?”

Tears welled in her eyes, and this time she let them fall. “My son. The beautiful honey-haired baby that I carried in my body, and then nursed at my breast. For ten months, Little Eagle was my whole life. Everyone loved him. Until the chief’s wife got jealous and took him for her own.” Her chest felt like it was about to burst, but she wanted Bo to know everything. Swallowing back a sob, she forced out the words. “Then a few months later, my heart was ripped out when he died after falling into the fire during a ceremony.” Meghan nestled her cheek against his chest and sobbed out the sorrow that had eaten at her soul for years.