Deadly (11 page)

“It’s kind of hard to pass the bottle to you when you’re way over there,” he said.

No wonder she’d tied him up and left him naked in town. He’d deserved that and more. Yet, Meg was a rounder. She was spirited and prettier than any woman he’d ever met. He feared seeing her in a dress would have every man in town chasing her skirts. And that wouldn’t do at all. He kind of wanted to be the one to chase her. He kind of wanted to catch her as well.

“I’ve had all the whiskey I’m drinking tonight,” she said, not looking at him.

Zach grinned as she stomped to the other side of the fire. He watched as she spread out her blankets and settled her saddle on the edge to lean against. “I think you need to take a look at my wound. It feels funny, like it might be swelling,” he said, knowing it was a lie, but hoping she’d come check.

She frowned at him. Slowly, she unfurled her long, lean legs from sitting and strode to his side of the campfire. She bent over to look at his shoulder, and he pulled her down onto his lap with his good arm.

“What are you doing?” she cried. “I can’t look at your shoulder like this.”

“I lied,” he said. “I wanted you here.”

She stared at him, her green eyes widening, questioning. “Why?”

He took a deep breath, not knowing what to say, not wanting to apologize, yet feeling he’d done her wrong. “I didn’t mean to make fun of your dreams. Everyone has to have a goal, an aspiration, and it’s a lucky person whose desires are fulfilled. I hope you get your dress shop someday.” He reached out and brushed her hair with his fingertips.

“Is that the whiskey talking or the man who made fun of me?”

“No, it’s Zach, the man who didn’t understand,” he replied. She felt so right in his arms, her little derriere snug in his lap, his good arm wrapped around her. Her lips were mere inches from his. He watched as her tongue licked her bottom lip, and he wanted to groan.

Of all the times for his body to be banged up and bruised with a bullet wound in the shoulder, he couldn’t do a damn thing that he wanted to do. But yet that sassy mouth of hers was begging for his attention. That sassy mouth of hers needed to be kissed. And by God, he could still kiss.

He lowered his lips to hers, his mouth greedily consuming what he’d dreamed of possessing again. His lips devoured hers, his tongue teasing and tasting the edge of her mouth. This woman was sweet temptation wearing a cowboy hat and a six-shooter. Yet beneath the tough cowgirl exterior beat the heart and soul of a woman. A woman he wanted to peel the layers off of, charm his way past her armor, and find the vulnerable lover he believed she’d hidden. Beneath all that spunky, stubborn, strong-willed persona beat the heart of a loving woman.

He wanted to find that creamy center and see if he could melt her heart.

His mouth moved over hers, sucking her lip inside, wanting…needing more from her. With his good hand, he pulled her closer, angling his mouth, his tongue sweeping the inside of her lips. She tasted of whiskey and desire, a thrilling combination any man without a bullet hole in his shoulder would have taken advantage of.

Suddenly, she pulled her mouth away from his, her breathing harsh, her eyes wide. “What are you doing, Sheriff?”

He pulled back, his shoulder aching in a rhythm that matched the throbbing between his legs. “Kissing you.”

She smiled, and his heart warmed clear down to his toes and back. He loved it when she smiled at him; it got his ticker pounding every time. Not to mention that it seemed she was over being angry at him.

“You kiss pretty nice,” she said softly.

He glanced up at her and frowned. “That’s not something a man likes to hear. You never want your kisses referred to as nice. You want to hear stupendous, earth shattering. Maybe we should try again,” he said, his lips closing in to kiss her again.

She put her hand between them. “I think it’s time we called it a night. You’re going to feel like someone’s beat you up tomorrow.”

He already felt that way, but he liked holding her in his lap, and he loved the feel of her mouth beneath his. He wasn’t ready for the night to end. He wanted more. “Just tell me one thing, Meg, and then we can go to sleep.”

“What, cowboy?”

“Was I the first man to kiss you?”

M
eg stared into the fire, her heart in her throat, her eyes burning from the smoke. She knew the wetness in her eyes was not from the campfire. She stood from Zach’s lap, walked over to her blankets, and sat. She needed to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. She had to keep her focus on Simon and that bounty. Not kissing a good-looking cowboy. The alcohol and Zach had opened a vein of feelings she’d been unable to control.

Her stomach clenched and rose up in her throat. His question only made her think of how much she’d missed out on while she’d raised her younger sisters. How she’d put her own life aside until her sisters were settled. How unfair the situation seemed.

“Let me think about this. I’ve been taking care of my sisters and the farm since I was twelve years old. When do you think there would have been time for boys and primping and courting? So, yes, Zach, you’re the only man who has ever kissed me,” she admitted in the darkness.

Why did it feel like she was admitting to being a homely, ugly creature that no man had ever wanted? Why did it feel like she wasn’t worthy because no man came calling? And why, given her situation, did she feel like this was a fair representation of her beauty? Even her sister Ruby had been kissed by more than one young man.

Zach smiled. “You know a man likes being a woman’s first. I feel honored.”

“You don’t think I’m too homely to kiss?” she asked. There had been no one to ever tell her she was pretty. No mother to reassure her, not even her father to let her know she was someone a man would want.

Zach’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. “God, woman, do you need those new fangled spectacles to help your eyesight? Homely is not a word that comes close to describing you. Even wearing pants, you’re the prettiest woman this side of Fort Worth. I’m not sure I want to see you in a dress because I don’t want to have to fight the local cowboys off.”

Meg knew he was just saying this to make her feel pretty. She didn’t believe him. Besides, Papa had warned the girls about listening to a man who enticed them with pretty words. He’d told his daughters to watch a man’s actions. Actions revealed a man’s nature.

Zach stared at her in amazement. “You really have no idea of how pretty you are, do you?”

She shrugged. “I’ve not had much time to spend on primping and dressing up. Between the farm and taking care of my sisters, my childhood pretty much ended when my mother died.”

One moment she’d been playing dolls and the next she was handling real dolls, feeding, clothing, and caring for her sisters. While she loved them with all her heart, she longed to have had a normal childhood. Whatever that entailed.

He nodded. “My dad died when I was young. My mom remarried, and my stepfather was not the man my father was. It wasn’t long until I started anticipating the day I could leave.”

Even Zach had experienced death at such a young age. But the caregiver, his mother, was there. He wasn’t responsible for his younger siblings. He wasn’t the one they’d depended on.

“Didn’t you say you had brothers?”

“Yeah, three of them.”

“Do you ever see them?”

“Every couple of months,” he said. “They’re all grown now and out on their own.”

Meg stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time. “I never realized just how little I know about you. We were going to marry, and I’ve never even met your family.”

She wondered if he felt about his brothers the way she did about her sisters. What his relationship was like with his brothers? Were they close?

He smiled. “I really did intend to ask you to marry me that night.”

Like the spin of a windmill, her mind returned to that night when she’d been waiting to find out his answer. Her hopes and dreams had all been pinned on that evening, and then she’d overheard the men ridiculing her in the bathhouse. Zach had always said he was going to ask her. Even as she made the tub ready to drag down Main Street, he’d said over and again he was going to ask her to marry him.

“I would have said yes,” she replied, gazing at him intently.

“What if I asked you today?” he said staring, his brown eyes focused on her, a slight smile on his lips, though she knew he was serious.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Was Zach the man she wanted? She considered his question and how it could change her life. Then she smiled. “I’m no longer desperate. Now I’m holding out for the real thing. I want a man who will honor and protect me and who loves me. I want someone I can grow old with. You had your chance.”

Zach grinned. “I didn’t realize how easy I had it before. Now I’ll have to work for your heart and your hand.”

Was he serious? Somehow she didn’t think she was what he wanted. He wanted a prim and proper woman, and even if she wore a dress, Meg had an air about her that she doubted any man would ever change. And she would never change for any man.

“Oh, I think that’s the whiskey talking,” she said. “You don’t want a pants-wearing, bounty-hunting woman who’ll hen peck and tell you what to do.”

“God, I could eat those words right now, but they’d probably give me heartburn,” he said. He picked up the bottle and took another swig.

A moth dove into the fire and made a sizzling noise. Occasionally, she could hear something rustling in the bushes and wondered what animal was foraging for food.

“I think they would be tough words to chew,” she said, wrapping her arms around her knees, hugging them in close to her while she stared at Zach’s nice firm chest. She loved watching the flicker of the flames from the fire glinting off the hard planes of his abdomen.

He shivered.

“Are you cold?” she asked.

“Yeah, a little,” he said.

“Here I’ll let you have my blanket.” She handed him the cover from her bedroll.

“No, I’m not taking the only blanket away from a woman.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, knowing he probably couldn’t see her in the darkness. Why was the man resisting? It was a damn blanket, nothing more. He was injured, without a shirt, and the whole argument seemed senseless. His manhood was not any weaker because she was wanted him to be warm tonight.

“Really, I’ll be fine. You’re the one without a shirt.” Though, covering up that chest and abdomen would be a darn shame. She’d enjoyed gazing at him without his shirt on—the ripples across his abdomen, the tapering of his waist, the hint of something more just below the waistline of his pants.

“No. I’ll share the blanket, but I’m not taking it from you.”

She stared at him and shook her head. “Zach Gillespie, you are one stubborn mule-headed man.”

“That I am. And you, Meg McKenzie, are a spirited, opinionated, beautiful woman. Now bring your blanket and your sweet little self and come sit by me,” he said, motioning her with his good hand.

His earthy brown eyes darkened with desire and a need she didn’t recognize. Part of her warned,
don’t go over there
. The other part, her more reckless, adventurous side felt drawn to him and had parts of her body dancing to a music she’d never heard before, leaving her breasts fuller, her breathing quicker, and her mouth aching to search out his once more.

He was hurt because of her. He was injured, and she needed to keep him warm at all costs, regardless of the fact that she had this urge, this need consuming her. Sitting next to him could have dangerous consequences.

Slowly, she rose and pulled her bedding closer to his. She sank down on the ground beside him on his good side and threw the blanket around both of their shoulders.

“See, I don’t bite.”

“Not yet,” she replied, her voice sounding husky.

He laughed. “That does feel better. Here,” he handed her the bottle. “Have another drink.”

“I shouldn’t.” She took a big swig to boost her courage. She was sitting next to Zach, sharing a blanket with him, her hip close to his, her shoulder touching his, and yet it felt right. She handed the bottle back to him.

“One of us has to stay sober,” she said. “I’m not injured. You are.”

He shrugged and took another sip. “Oh, so you can wear pants like a man, but can’t drink like a man.”

She snatched the bottle from his hand and took a big swig. “I can do anything a man can do and probably better.”

“If you can drink like a man, let’s play a drinking man’s game,” he said. “Are you on?” He watched as she considered his taunt, hoping she would agree.

“What’s the game?”

“Every time I take a drink I ask you a question, and you have to confess the truth. Every time you take a swig, I have to answer your question and confess the truth. The last man-woman standing wins.”

She smiled. “How will you know I’m being honest?”

“I won’t, but you’re a sincere person, so I’m going to take your word,” he said. But did she play fair? Somehow Zach thought the woman played to win.

“What about yourself? Are you an honest person?”

There was so much he wasn’t telling her—one tiny little detail that would send her scooting back across to the other side of the fire, madder than a rabid skunk in springtime. He raised his arms then halted when fire spread through his sore shoulder. “I’m the sheriff. Of course, I’m honest.”

She rolled her eyes. “Even the law can be corrupt.”

He shook his head. “Are we playing?”

“What’s the prize?” she asked.

“Dinner tomorrow night in town. Whoever wins pays for dinner.”

“How will we know when the game is over?”

“Whoever passes out first or whoever cries uncle.” He knew he was weak. The alcohol would affect him much faster than it would a normal person. But Meg was not a big drinker, and hopefully, she wouldn’t last long.

She grabbed the bottle from his hand and took a swig. “You first. Tell me why you’re trying to take my bounty from me.”

Zach smiled at Meg and knew he had to keep her off the subject of Simon. He didn’t want to out and out lie to her. He just couldn’t tell her the whole truth.