Cowboy of Mine (25 page)

“Someone slapped ye?”

Meredith nodded, wanting to keep him touching her, especially when he reached down with that gentle possessive look in his eyes and kissed over her aches. He was so tender, and for a moment she thought about lying, or simply not saying anything. They could tear each other’s clothes off, have sex and...and she would feel like a fraud the whole time. The shame would cut through her as it had the past few months.

“I—I came after you to apologize. I never meant to say...I was acting cowardly, trying to pick a fight with you. I was scared...Then you talked about the land—”

“I don’t want ye for yer land, Meredith. I just want ye.”

Oh God. Of course, he’d say the most perfect thing a man could. That he didn’t want her thinner, didn’t want her for her money or the things she owned—he wanted her just because he did. And he didn’t know she was a thief or a liar.

“I know that now. Well, I’m trying to get that through my thick skull.”

“I like that skull of yers very much. ‘Tisn’t thick. Just right, in my estimation.”

She smiled. Couldn’t help it. But tried to continue. “I was just scared.”

“Why do I scare ye so much? I’d never hurt ye, woman. Never.” Pain seared through his gray eyes. She was hurting him by stalling so much, and she had to stop.

“I—I’m sorry. I—” She cut herself off, not able to talk with him so near. Wheeling away from his warmth and tenderness, she said it all. “I’m a thief.”

“What did ye say?”

She took two more steps then turned. He deserved for her to look him in the eye when she confessed, even as she felt more humiliated than ever before.

“I’m a thief.”

His dark brows furrowed. “Is that how ye own the land? Ye stole it?”

She shook her head, frustration at herself for not telling him everything. “I—I stole from Erva.”

“Yer friend?”

Meredith nodded, tears blurring her vision. She couldn’t cry now. She just couldn’t. Blinking hurriedly, she had to clear her throat a few times, but then dove into honesty. “I—we used to work together, Erva and I. She—I was her supervisor. It was my responsibility to help her to my position. Instead, I stole her work and called it my own. I lied. I cheated. I’m a thief.” She didn’t know how to tell him more than that. She’d known from past experience that if she told the truth, about living in the future, people threatened insane asylums, and they gave her nicknames like Mad Mere. And she probably deserved much worse, but she wanted Jake to try to understand.

He tilted his head. “That doesn’t seem like something ye’d do.”

She laughed a humorless noise. “You don’t know me.”

“I do.”

He seemed so convinced, and she wanted to believe it, but she knew it wasn’t the truth.

She shook her head. “No, you don’t. I did do all those things. I stole from Erva. I lied—”

“She called you a friend of hers.”

“I—what?”

“She called you a friend of hers, and she meant it. She likes ye. The way she looked at ye with such protection when she didn’t ken who I was. She not only likes ye, but she’s a loyal friend to ye.”

Meredith shook her head, not sure what his point was. “She’s an amazing woman. She—”

“And she kens what ye did to her, aye?”

Meredith swallowed and nodded.

“And yet she’s yer friend.”

Finally, she’d had enough and let out a sigh. “Yes, she knows what I did, and she is still my friend. So...?”

His eyes narrowed at her patronizing tone, and she cringed. But he gritted his teeth and said, “So, if she can forgive ye, and ye did the wrong to her, then why is it ye think me so mean-spirited that I can’t forgive ye?”

Meredith couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore.

“Why is it ye think me doin’ ye wrong at every turn?”

A tear flickered out and fell on her wide amethyst skirt, marring the fabric.

“Why do I scare ye? Who hurt ye so bad to think the worst of me? Who is it that did this to ye, so ye treat me so unfairly?”

She shook her head, staring at the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

His hands tenderly cupped her cheeks. When he’d snuck so close, she didn’t know. He had moved with no noise. But there he was pulling her closer, forcing her to look at the storm in his eyes.

“Ye don’ have to answer me, but ken this, Meredith: I’m no’ him. Now, what kind of work did ye steal from yer friend?”

“Her writing. Her research. I claimed it as my own.”

“Why?”

She simply could not tell him while he looked at her with that fierce look. Bowing her head again, she whispered, “I don’t know. I was so desperate. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I see.”

“I didn’t know what I had done until I had already done it.”

He grunted an acknowledging noise.

“I was so desperate.”

“Ye said as much.”

She tore free from his careful hands, anger pouring through her. “And I’ll keep saying it too, because you have no idea how desperate I was. You don’t understand any of this, do you? I’m a thief and a liar. I’m no good. I’m especially not good enough for you—”

“Not good enough for me?”

“I wasn’t even in love with him. That’s the sickest part. If I had lied and stolen, because I was in love, maybe I could understand that of myself. But I wasn’t. I was just so tired. Exhausted. I was so tired of trying to prove myself. There was Erva with that perfect article, asking what I thought. What did I think? It was freaking perfect. And something I didn’t have the time or energy to compose. I no longer had the enthusiasm to do...anything I used to love. And I used to love my life, Jake. I loved waking up in the morning and grabbing a coffee and teaching all day long, then researching into the night. I loved it waking, thinking how perfect my life was. And then...David...But it was all me. Don’t you get it? It was my mistake. I am the lair. I can try to blame him, but I wasn’t even in love with him. I am the thief. I have no one to blame but myself.” After she’d spouted God knew what at him, she found herself huffing, fists balled into her silk skirts.

His narrowed eyes slitted even more. His jaw line ticking, he slowly shrugged his coat and waistcoat off, then pulled his brown suspenders over his powerful shoulders.

Not understanding what he was doing, Meredith raised her chin, hating herself for wanting him to throw her on the bed, hoping he would. Wishing that after all she’d done, he’d still claim her.

He silently studied her, then tore his buttoned white shirt open, revealing the bands of ropy muscle under. His golden skin reddened under the strain.

“Ye think ye made a big enough mistake, Meredith? Such a huge mistake, ye need to wear a permanent mark, do ye? Ye want to brand yerself with yer shame?” Snarling he tugged himself free from one of his sleeves, and Meredith almost knelt to worship his perfect body.

“Look at me.”

She hated being ordered about, but she already was staring at him. He was too beautiful to stop herself.

“Ye see my scars.”

She shook her head. “You had chickenpox. You can’t blame yourself for having that.”

He growled. He actually growled at her. But she lifted her chin even more.

“‘Tisn’t
chicken
pox, lass. I had smallpox and nearly died.”

Well, that diminished her heightened chin a smidgen. But she had a point, while he didn’t. “Still, you can’t blame yourself for having it. I’m sorry you had it, by the way. But—”

“I do blame myself, aye. I was a burden to my brothers. I hate that I was. Then I was taken away from them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop it and look at me. Look closer, for not only do the pox scars mangle me so, making me look part dragon, but look closer here.” He pointed to his chest where two of the scars were not actually pockmarks, but smoother, rounder. She’d noticed those scars earlier, assuming them to be a cluster of pocks that had needed stitches. But then the realization nearly knocked her on the ground. Those marks were two bullet wounds.

“Oh my God. You were shot.” Not being able to help herself, she held her fingers over his healed injuries, wishing she could have protected him from whatever had happened.

“Aye.” He grabbed her hands, holding them away from his warm chest.

“So close to your heart. How did you—how do you—?”

“I do no’ ken how I continue to live. I really do not ken that. Unless...unless ye’re an angel and I’m in heaven.” Although his lips didn’t curl up, his eyes twinkled with a smile.

“How can you say such a thing after you know what I did?”

“Ye’re a word thief. So...?”

“I stole her ideas. That’s worse than—”

“Don’ say it, woman, for ye do not ken what ye mean.” He pointed to his chest again, then released her hands wholly. “This, here, is a shameful scar. I’ll always have it too, to remind me of when I stood in shock and didn’ do what I should have.” He sipped in a breath, then continued. “It was my first job as a lawman, but back then I was to uphold the security on a rail line. We were told to clear out an Indian village. Supposedly, the railway had paid for the land, but there were the villagers, in the way of progress, it had been explained to me. I didn’ ken the Cheyenne people, but I thought I could reason with them. Explain—ah, hell, I was a daft idiot. I went with two-dozen men, thinkin’ such grand thoughts. Then they start shooting before anyone says a word. Not the Indians, the security men I worked with. They slaughtered women and children before I acted. Right in front of my eyes, they razed them down. Now, I ken from the newspapers, everyone thinks the Indians do all the massacrin’, but what I saw was...it was inhumane, Meredith. I have to live with the fact that for who kens how many minutes I stood still while children were murdered before my very eyes.”

She touched his scars again, feeling the smoothness of the injuries, then the rough texture around the old wound.

“I’m so sorry. Did you get shot trying to rescue them?”

“I don’t ken what I was doin’. I was just trying to protect—but I didn’t do enough.”

A tear streaked down her cheek, and she stepped even closer to him, cautiously at first. She kissed his wounds.

He moaned, and she placed both her hands on his warm body, smoothing the tense hills and valleys of his torso. He breathed heavily on top of her head, and then he grabbed the nape of her neck, forcing her to look at him.

His jaw line kicked again, but the storms in his eyes had darkened with desire. “Meredith,” his voice was so low it rumbled through her body, licking at her sex, making her want him so much she couldn’t think of anything else.

But he kept talking. “I ken shame. I ken it well. But, darlin’, ye are good enough for me. I worry I’m not good enough for—”

“Stop it.”

He kissed her. Hard. Almost punishing. So perfect.

But he pulled away. “Ye remember what ye said about my scars, Meredith? The first time I showed ‘em to ye?”

In a haze she shook her head.

“I do. And ‘tis the same for me about yer past mistakes.” He licked his lips then stared intently into her eyes. “I see them. I see yer scars. But I see more so much more.”

Her heart thundering in her ears, she lifted on her toes and rammed her lips against his.

Chapter 19

“
I
’m
going to rip yer dress off,” Jake growled, while his thumbs dipped into her high neckline at her nape. She was wearing too much silk. Though fine, there was too much of it. And he needed her nude. Now.

“Any other time,” Meredith whispered, “I’d beg for you to do that. But I borrowed this dress from Erva. Please don’t damage it.”

He groaned a half-hearted protest, but smiled down at her. His heart stuttered when she grinned back. His. She was his. She’d made mistakes, aye. But what person didn’t? He was proud of her, because for Erva to call her a friend meant Meredith must have made up for the grievance. She’d owned up to it, and that was a hell of a feat, for he’d never told anyone of his bullet wounds. He’d tried to ignore them, for they blended in to a particularly scaly patch of his scars.

Yet, as Meredith touched him, roaming her fingers delicately over his healed wounds, he must have seen himself through her eyes. His scars weren’t as prominent or pronounced. Nor did they look particularly gruesome. Mayhap he wasn’t as ugly and unpalatable as he’d thought. As Meredith’s hands skimmed down to his scar-free stomach, all thoughts dulled into a haze. His erection strained against his trews, and she had noticed. Her gaze now focused down, her smile turned a little wicked.

“I’ll work on the bottom buttons of my dress. You work on the top,” she whispered, her gaze returning to his, but her lids were half-mast, sexy as hell.

He slowly circled her around, keeping her close as he did so. Reaching over her shoulder, he kissed her jaw, noting the swirling blue and purple mark. After nibbling her lobe, he asked, “Never told me what happened, how ye have the bruise.”

His hands splayed around her tiny waist, but she urgently pushed them up until his palms swelled with her breasts. As he caressed her, she moaned.

“Just want this. Now. Don’t want to talk about it.” Then she worked on her buttons, revealing a pink stays under. It would take all damned night to get her undressed, so he stole one hand away from her plump globe and unfastened the top buttons at her neck while he kissed, licked, and sucked her newly freed skin. But within a few seconds, frustration at the millions of buttons on her dress made him take both hands to the work, even as she arched into him, mewling.

“Damnation.”

She giggled with huskiness in her voice.

Then he hissed as her adroit hands, while still working on those buttons, reached higher, rubbing against his erection.

“Sorry.” She pivoted her head, gazing up at him over her shoulder.

Lord, she was lovely like that, reminding him of the first time he’d made love to her, feeling her hot body clutch onto his cock. His patience eroded. Leaning over, clutching her to him, he kissed her recklessly, driving his tongue in her mouth, holding her by her waist to feel her body against his. Her hands cupped around his length, his bollocks too, and he pulled her even closer, kissing her wildly. One hand found her breast, while the other reached between her thighs. However, he became a bit more crazed when he realized how many layers of skirts she wore.

Somehow, through it all, her dress finally surrendered, her high collar gave way, revealing a creamy clavicle. He suckled the skin over the bone and pushed the dress off her shoulder, but then stopped.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he gasped, staring at the giant purple-black bruise wrapping itself around Meredith’s shoulder and part of her back. “My Meredith, my sweetheart, what happened to ye?” He dared not touch her injury, but instead gingerly traced around it.

Straightening, he towered over her, her breath still coming in fast sips, her nipples jutting against the now loose material of her dress. She glanced at her large bruise with annoyance more than anything else.

“I—I fell.”

Leaning down, he tenderly kissed the purple pink skin, an abrasion tore through her flesh, making an odd pattern.

“‘Tis time to tell me what happened to ye, woman. Else I’m liable to roar through town, blaming the lot of them for yer injuries, shootin’ out their legs.”

“Everyone? You’d shoot everyone’s legs?” She said with a smile in her twinkling eyes.

He winced a bit. “Mayhap not women and children. I’ll reserve them for later. Now tell.”

She pursed her lips, annoyance flickering in her eyes. “You are so bossy.”

“Aye. Tell.”

“I went after you. Well, I told Erva what happened, the stupid things I’d said. Then she thought we should go after you. And even before I talked to her, I’d wanted to do the same. I wanted to run after you and ask you to forgive me. I don’t think I can say it enough, but I’m so, so sorry.”

Patience was never one of Jake’s best attributes, and for whatever reason, Meredith was taking her sweet time getting to the point. Well, apparently she wanted him to know how much a mistake it was to push him away, and for that he found patience galore. So he caught her hands and tugged her over to one of the plush chairs near the fireplace. Pulling a little more, he lulled her to sit on his lap.

“Meredith, I forgave ye, lass. ‘Tis done. ‘Tis in our past. Nothing more than a rock in our road. Best to look ahead, aye?”

“How is it you came to be so wise? You’re so young, but so old.”

He frowned. “Thank ye.”

“You know what I mean. You’re not old. But your soul...” She never finished her thought, staring at him. “You forgave me?”

“Aye. Best for ye to forgive yerself too. I reckon ye’re not even close to forgivin’ yerself. But now, tell me about yer fall.”

She looked down, trailing a finger over his breastbone, so close to his heart. “I was being stupid. Again. As you’ll learn more about me, you’ll realize how much I do stupid things. Anyway, I chased after Bruisner when he tried to kill Coyote. I was an idiot. I went after him alone. I found him on top of the train’s car. We fought. He slapped me so hard. He—he—I got away by slipping over the edge to the back platform, where Erva found me.”

Jake had to force his mouth into a neutral stance—one second he was close to opening his jaw in shock, the next he wanted to grind his teeth into sand. Much of the story he wasn’t sure he understood. But he was piecing it together. She’d gone after Bruisner. Alone. That was his woman. Fearless little fae warrior, a Venerable Goddess, a Fury. He recognized her the second he’d first seen her, that fierce spirit.

“Ye found Bruisner? He struck ye?”

“He was on the same train Erva and I were on. I just happened upon him. We talked, er, had an odd conversation. He suggested I was a whore, when Coyote, tried to—he attacked Bruisner. You saw the canine under Erva and my skirts? That’s Coyote.”

He nodded, noting her pronunciation of the word coyote. Most non-Indian folks didn’t know that the god, Coyote, was pronounced without the long E on the end. When referring to the wild canines, as Meredith was, it did have the long E
at the end of the word. So either the dog had accidentally been named after an Indian god’s name, or it had been done on purpose. Jake guessed the former.

But that was beside the point. Jake’s blood boiled when he thought of Bruisner inferring Meredith a whore. And Bruisner happened to be on the same train as she. He’d struck her. He’d hit his woman. He’d pay for that.

“He slapped ye?” Jake asked, making sure his voice was soft, while he slid a fingertip around the bruise on her jaw.

She nodded. “I—I’m so stupid, Jake.”

“Say it again, and I’m likely to get good and angry with ye. Ye’re not stupid, Meredith.”

“I chased after Bruisner. I went after him alone. Who do I think I am? Some hero? Not even on my good days can I stand at five feet tall. I’m close, but not quite. And I went traipsing after him, like an—”

“Aye,” Jake interrupted, feeling his rage turn toward her, but knowing she didn’t need more. The woman beat herself more than most, and that had to stop. “Ye’re wee. Ye’re my wee fae woman. But ye’re strong, Meredith. So strong. Yer spirit soars when ye allow it. And far too often, I would guess, ye don’t let it. Ye’d rather internally rant at yerself.”

Her delicate dark brows drew together. Frowning, she nodded and no longer looked him in the eye.

“I feel like I’m mistake-driven.” Her voice had gotten pitifully quiet. “So fallible that people see it in me, on me, as though I’m branded with it.”

He caught her chin with the nook of his finger and cupped her face. “When I see ye, I see a wee fae, so beautiful...I don’t ken why ye’re here with me. The Beauty and the Beast, hmm?”

“Are you calling yourself a beast?” Her eyes instantly ignited into a purple fire. “You’re—you—you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met. When I first saw you, I know I stared, because you’re so...breathtaking. If anyone here is the beast, it’s me.”

His throat tightened from her sentiment. She looked at him indignantly and sure. This was the Meredith he loved most of all. She was a warrior.

Shaking his head, he pulled her closer, kissed her slightly upturned nose with the tiny little freckles on it, then settled away, so he could say, “Ye heard of the Furies? The goddesses?”

She looked slightly confused, but nodded.

“That’s ye, darlin’. Ye’re fueled by justice.”

“How can you say that when you know I’ve lied, cheated, and stolen?” Her voice broke, relaying just how much she pained over what she’d done.

He nodded, even more assured. “Ye made mistakes, and the Furies made people pay for what they’d done. Since ye had no one to aim that fight with, ye aimed it at yerself. Ye’re human, lass. Like all of us. Ye make mistakes—”

“You don’t. You’re virtuous.”

“I stood with my mouth agape while a bairn, no more than four years of age, was butchered in front of me, Meredith. I saw her torn limb from limb, and I’ll never get that opportunity back. I could have saved her. Then, when I finally acted, I was so full of rage, I don’t remember what I did. I remember shooting at the men and grabbing my
sgain duhb
—”

“Your what?”

“My knife. And that’s the last of my memories. I woke up in, I think, a hospital. The man with light blue eyes was there—” He stopped himself. Should he tell her how he wasn’t from her time? Could he tell her that the man with ice for eyes took him to a hospital twice, once for smallpox and then when he was shot? And tell her that the hospitals were in the future and were bright white with shiny chrome and mechanical beeping noises unlike anything he’d ever known before?

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to reveal all of himself. Mayhap she was only from this time, so what would she think of a man more than two hundred years old who’d been shuffled around in other eras?

She’d call him insane. Or would she? What if she wasn’t from this time? What if he hoped for too much?

Meredith cradled her hand to his cheek, taking a shaky breath. “I—I want to tell you” —another shaky breath— “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t see that you made a mistake. I see you as a hero. I see a beautiful man.”

He caught her hand and kissed her palm. “I see a beautiful woman.”

“I—I don’t know about getting married—”

Ach, his heart broke.

“—right now.” She clarified. “I’d like to get to know you more. We kind of jumped into an instant relationship, and I’d like time to...well, get to know you better.”

“I see.” His voice scratched. He wished it hadn’t, revealing the ache within. Mayhap it
was
too fast—he and Meredith, the relationship as she’d called it. In this time, people courted. Hell, they did in his time too. But he was a man of his days. Further, he knew what he wanted and that was her. Mayhap she didn’t know what she wanted.

Best to avert the conversation away from the deep, gushing wound within his heart.

“Ye—ye didn’t tell me how Bruisner was caught.”

She shook her head. “He wasn’t. The train’s security thought he jumped from the car.”

“He’s still loose?”

She nodded, leaning closer, a finger curling around his bare chest. “I forget all about him when I’m with you. I forget about so many things.”

He’d done the same. She had become a sanctuary for him, granting him reprieve from missing his brothers and family, from thinking of how he hadn’t done enough one fateful day, of the grief of missing his brother Douglas, of being two hundred years in the future. And while her finger lazily strolled down his chest, he forgot she might not want to marry him. He could imagine she did. Or at least he used to.

Now, it was painful to have her touch him. He wanted her so much—his erection was nearly constant, his muscles longed to move for her, please her, pleasure her, his skin burned with her name written all over it. He was hers. Why didn’t she want him?

He caught her hand again, looking deeply into her violet eyes. Her lids were lowering, her pupils large. She licked her lips, and he couldn’t fight it any longer. Ah, hell, he wanted her, and if all she wanted was to make love then he’d give it to her. He’d show her how much he wanted her, not just her body, but her heart to be his.