High Plains Promise (Love on the High Plains Book 2) (10 page)

“Come on, man,” he said aloud, and then choked on a lungful of smoke. Even close to the floor, breathing was growing increasingly difficult. He pressed on. He had to find her.
No turning back. Not without Rebecca.
He hadn't done all he'd promised for her yet.
Oh, God, I haven't even told her I love her. Please don't let her die! Please, God, let me find her.

“I'm coming, Rebecca!” he called, as he inched his way forward, groping blindly through the choking smoke until his head hit a solid object. He touched it. Wood. The counter.
What if she's behind it
? He felt his way along the little wall to its opening and passed through. He reached out and his hand connected with a slim ankle.

The heat was growing unbearable. All the walls were in flames. Luckily the floor and counter had not caught yet, but there wasn't much time. A hesitant hand touched his, and he grabbed and pulled, reversing Rebecca's direction so she was headed the same way as him.

“Stay low,” he hissed in her ear. Then he began guiding her in a crawl across the floor, covering her body with his.
It's a good thing she's so petite
. He urged her forward, in what he hoped was a straight line, back towards the broken window.

At last they arrived. He took a second to knock several spear-like shards of glass out of the bottom of the wooden frame, before he boosted her out, following close behind.

Free of the burning shop, but still hidden from view by the smoke, he found Rebecca had collapsed. He scooped her into his arms and carried her away from the blaze.

As they emerged into the rainy street, James noted in passing that a bucket brigade was throwing water… not on the shop, but on the jail and the bank. There was no hope for the seamstress's little storefront, but at least the other buildings could be spared. The rain would help with putting out the flames.

Coughing, James sank down to sit on the sodden brick walkway, Rebecca cradled close to his chest. She was still as death, her eyes closed.

“Rebecca,” he said quietly, “Rebecca, are you all right?”

“Dad?” James looked up to see Kristina standing over him. She was drenched from head to foot, and she sank to her knees, heedless of even more water soaking into her skirt. She threw her arms around his neck and nearly strangled him with an enthusiastic hug.

“Easy,” he urged, prying her clutching arm away from his windpipe.

“Sorry,” she said. “When you went through that window…” Her voice broke and he looked up to see tears streaming down her face. Poor Kristina. In the last few years she'd lost her mother and her brother. But in spite of that, he wouldn't have done anything differently. The risk had been necessary.

His daughter visibly pulled herself together. “Is Becky all right?” she asked.

“I don't know,” he replied. “She seems to have passed out.” He shook the young woman nestled in his lap gently. “Rebecca. Wake up, love. Rebecca.” Nothing. He looked up at Kristina and found her eyes had narrowed. James sighed. The cat was out of the bag now. Oh well. It was time anyway.

“She's breathing,” Kristina observed. “Why don't you take her home, Dad? Being out in this rain won't do her any good.”

James nodded. He lifted his precious burden, cradling her against his chest.

“Kristina!” Cody appeared suddenly, grasping his wife's hand. “Come on, let's get you out of here before you catch your death.” He led her away.

While the bucket brigade attempted to control the fire, which was quickly consuming Rebecca Spencer's seamstress shop, Sheriff Brody hurried back into the jail. The information that this had been a deliberate arson, a firebombing, told him it was also a diversionary tactic. Sure enough, the jail had more inhabitants than it should have. The prisoner inside one of the two small cells had been joined by a man, a bandana over his face, who was attempting to pick the lock on the barred door.

“You there,” Brody said, “stop, right now. You're under arrest.”

The bandit froze, then whirled around, dropping his lock pick and grabbing at the holster on his hip. But Brody had already drawn, and his revolver was leveled at the criminal.

“So help me,” the man said, “if you hang this man, you'll bring disaster down on yourself. There are a lot more of us than you realize, and we will take down you, your friends, the whole damned town.”

“Ha,” Brody replied, unimpressed. “Just try it.” He cocked the gun. Despite the roaring of the fire next door and the noisy downpour, the sound of metal striking metal resounded ominously through the stone room.

The criminal responded to the threat in a way Brody had not anticipated. He jumped him, hitting him low on the legs and knocking him to the floor. Brody balled up a fist and swung, but connected with nothing. The moment the two of them had hit the floor, the criminal had taken the opportunity to flee, bounding out the door like a startled jackrabbit. But before he fled, before Brody could regain his feet or even aim his revolver, the bandit said, “Remember, if you hang him, you're dead.”

Then he was gone.

James carried Rebecca down the street to his house. Inside, he kicked off his wet, muddy shoes and then stood, just past the doorway, in a quandary. Both he and Rebecca were thoroughly drenched and water dropped from their hair and clothing onto the wood floor. She had not regained consciousness yet, which was beginning to alarm him. A mere faint shouldn't have lasted this long. He hoped she had not sustained serious lung damage.

“Rebecca!” he shook her a little roughly. “Rebecca, wake up. Open your eyes, honey.”

She stirred and moaned, turning her face against his shoulder.

“No.” He shook her again. “Wake up. Come on, Rebecca.”

She groaned, coughed, and raised her head a bit. “Wha… what happened?” Then she broke into a fit of prolonged coughing. James held her while she expelled the smoke residue from her lungs.

No longer stymied, James realized he needed to get Rebecca a drink. Heedless of the fact they were both still dripping wet, he walked her through the house to the kitchen. Carefully setting her on a chair, he brought her a glass of water. She sipped the cool drink and then sighed at it soothed her raw throat.

“What happened?” she asked again, her voice raw and harsh-sounding.

“There was a fire,” he replied honestly, if not completely. No need to frighten her with the idea of intentional arson. He watched the memory dawn on her. Her face crumpled and she began to cry. He was at her side faster than a heartbeat, setting her cup on the table and pulling her forward into his arms. Her wet hair was hanging half unbound in long, straggly strands. He removed the pins and stroked the sodden mass tenderly.

“You're fine, Rebecca,” he soothed. “You're safe.”

“My shop?” she choked out.

“I'm sorry,” he replied, setting off a flood of fresh tears.

“Oh no!” she moaned. “All that time and money. My fabrics. The dresses I had almost finished. How will I ever come back from this?”

“You will, Rebecca. They're just things. They're not your whole life.”

“They are!” she insisted, lifting her face and meeting his eyes. “How will I make a living now? I was counting on the shop for my future!”

She must still be confused
. “You don't need that, remember?”

She shook her head, looking as lost as he felt.

“I'm here, darling,” he told her. “Let me take care of you.”

Something about his words seemed to cut through her, and not in a good way. Her confusion gave way to sorrow. She buried her face in her hands.

Women were beyond his comprehension. Giving up the conversation for a calmer time, James helped Rebecca to her feet. He took her hand and guided her though the house to the guest bedroom.

“James, what are we doing here?” she asked, that serene expression and tone firmly back in place.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes. Some of Trudy's are here. They might be a little loose, but at least they'll be warm and dry.” Rebecca was still trembling. Without thought, James reached for the buttons of her sodden blouse. He had her mostly undressed before he even realized what he was doing. And then awareness dawned. Rebecca stood before him, clad only in her damp, transparent bloomers.

He froze, taking in the scene. What a tempting body she had. Slim, not excessively curvy, but so pretty. His hand rose of its own volition, beyond his control, and gently touched one pert, upright breast. Her little brown nipple reacted instantly, hardening beyond the cold in the room, and she made a soft sound. Her skin was still cool, but silky soft. He squeezed gently.

And then madness descended. Though James had not set out to seduce his beloved, conscious thought had been shattered. Now he was acting on pure instinct. She, it seemed, was no more in control than he was. He held out one hand and she stepped close to him, pulling his mouth down to hers.

His fingers closed on her nipple, gently rolling it. Rebecca gasped and ground her lower body against him. He pulled her to the bed and collapsed, bringing her with him. They stretched out, James cupping the slender curve of Rebecca's bottom and pulled her close, groaning himself as her soft belly compressed around his sex. It had been an eternity since he'd held a woman in his arms.

But there were too many layers between them. He wanted those little breasts mashed against his bare skin. It appeared Rebecca wanted the same thing. Her fingers were already working the buttons of his shirt. He skimmed off the garment and tossed it aside, before pulling her close again.

They kissed, a fiery embrace of the sweetest passion, tongue to tongue as they pressed their bodies together. James urged Rebecca to her back and leaned over her, looking at the tableau of her lovely naked curves. Then his hands went back to her breasts. She urged him on, with not a hint of shyness, arching her back to offer herself to him. He fondled and caressed one pale little globe while he took the other with his mouth.

Rebecca drew in an unsteady breath, squirming a little. How eager and responsive she was. Some of the best qualities a wife could have. He could scarcely wait to make their relationship permanent. He couldn't wait. He had to have her now. Rebecca was his, and he'd almost lost her. Suddenly frantic, he pulled the drawstring of her damp bloomers and tugged the garment down over her body. She kicked it away. Then his own trousers and drawers joined the pile of discarded clothing and at last he was able to stretch out atop his woman with nothing between them. She opened her thighs, but he didn't immediately press for penetration. Instead, he touched her there with his fingertips, feeling the wetness of her feminine folds and slipping inside. While there was no maidenhead, of course, she was desperately tight. Whatever that fool had done to her had not left much of an impression. James aimed to change all that.

He trailed his fingers the short distance to her clitoris and began to stroke the erect nub. Rebecca let out a surprised squeak at the intense sensation. He wondered, briefly, if she'd been caressed here at all. No matter, he would teach her to accept a man's pleasuring.

He feathered light touches on her heated flesh until Rebecca was squirming, her head tossing on the pillow. She was getting close… so close. But he wanted to feel her peak.

As he continued building her pleasure, he aligned himself and pressed. The tender portal yielded to his entry and he worked his way through her clinging passage, until they were fully joined.

The move apparently had been too much for Rebecca. Her muscles locked and a little cry of pleasure was wrung from her lips. He kissed her, drinking in the soft sounds. The clenching of her internal muscles caressed him deliciously and he only managed a few thrusts before joining her in ecstasy.

Years of built-up tension led to a long orgasm, but eventually James relaxed. He stretched out on top of his beloved. Their bodies remained joined, though he held the majority of his weight on his arms.

“Hmmmm,” he hummed. “Sweet Rebecca.” He kissed the side of her neck as he gently withdrew.

She turned to her side and he cuddled up against her back. She was trembling again. Was she cold? No, he realized, she was crying. Probably a reaction to everything that had just happened.

“It's all right, love,” he murmured against her ear. “Everything is all right. I'm here.”

“Nothing's right,” she said, her voice catching on the words. “What have I done? Oh God, what have I done?” Then sobs overtook her.

Now James was quite puzzled. “What, this?” he asked, running his hand along her naked arm before hugging her close around the waist. “It's not as terrible as all that, love. I mean, yes it would probably have been better to wait, but we're getting married anyway.”

“Are we?”

The question cut him to the heart. “Do you think we're not, Rebecca? Did you change your mind?”

“You changed yours. I know you did. Or maybe you never intended to…”

“No. What kind of talk is this?” Anger flared.
What is Rebecca doing
? “We've been talking marriage all along. That's the point of a courtship. What else would it be?”

She shook her head, rejecting his words. “Another seduction. God, I'm stupid. Why do I trust men?”

“Seduction? I didn't see that you had to be manipulated, Rebecca.”

“No,” she agreed, her voice filled with regret. “I didn't have to be manipulated. I guess I'm wanton after all.”

“Stop it,” he told her harshly, “you're being ridiculous. I don't know where you get these foolish notions, but there's no truth in them. You're not wanton. Just a passionate woman who needs a husband to take care of her. And I want to be that husband. I have all along. I'd intended a proper courtship, but I got a little… overwhelmed by the fire and the thought that I'd almost lost you. That's all that happened. I still intend what I always intended. To make you my wife.”

“I don't believe you,” she choked, bitter sobs wracking her slender frame.

Icy fury overwhelmed him. “And just why the hell not? You've known me for years, Rebecca. I don't seduce women. I never have and I never will. What have I done to make you distrust me?”

“You said…” her voice broke. She struggled with herself for a long moment and then finally managed to force the words out. “You said you would talk to my parents soon. Three months isn't soon, James. You're keeping me a secret. Are you ashamed of me?”

His anger drained away in a heartbeat.

“No, Rebecca, I'm not ashamed. Not at all. I just…” This time he broke off, wondering what he should say. “Listen. I… I've only courted one woman before you. I assumed… I guessed that you would want the same things Trudy did. She made me wait ages, almost a year before we announced our engagement. She enjoyed having the secret. I didn't want you to miss out on anything. And then Calvin.” This time, James's voice wavered.

She touched his cheek, giving him sympathetic eyes, but her words returned them to the point. “James, don't you think, given my… history, that I might not want to keep secrets, or wait a long time?”

Put that way, it seemed obvious. She'd been hurt, betrayed. She had trouble trusting. Of course she would want to tie her man to her in a very visible and obvious way. What a stupid oversight. And the lovemaking they'd just shared had only increased her doubts.

“I'm sorry, love,” he told her, kissing her cheek. “Please don't think of it that way. I didn't intend to hurt you. And I'm not ashamed of you. I love you, Rebecca. And I will marry you. Can you try to believe that?”

She shook her head. “I can't.”

Her words stung him, but he tried to squash it down. “Well, let's see what we can do to fix that. Get dressed, darling. We're leaving.”

“Leaving where?”

“To your home. We're going to bring this out into the open, right now. We're telling your parents everything.”

“Everything?” she suddenly sounded panicked.

“Not about making love, of course, but everything else. It's time. Past time. Up, Rebecca.” He helped her to her feet.

The knocker on the front door pounded, so James quickly pulled on his trousers and shirt and hurried down to the front door. He arrived in time to see Kristina, her hair damp and her shoes dark with water, just shutting the door behind her.

“Dad? So you are here. Where on earth is Becky?”

“Rebecca is here,” he replied, trying not to blush. Kristina took in his disheveled hair, misbuttoned shirt, and crumpled trousers and her eyes widened.

“She's here? Why is she here? And since when do you call her Rebecca?”

“You told me to bring her home. I did.”

“Yes, Dad. To her home. Her folks are worried sick. No one knows where she is.”

James blinked. He certainly had misunderstood her instructions. “She was all dirty and wet. I brought her here to change. And I've called her Rebecca for a few months. We're… courting, you know?”

If Kristina's jaw had fallen any farther it would have hit the floor. “You… Becky… what? Dad, what do you mean? You're courting… planning to marry… one of my best friends?”

“Yes, Kristina,” he told his daughter. “That doesn't upset you, does it? She is eleven years older than you, after all.”

“And ten years younger than you. I guess… I guess I'm not upset, just surprised. But I was thinking about you, how you've been alone these last few years and… well, I was thinking Lydia…”

James shook his head. “There's nothing wrong with Miss Carré, but I'm not interested. Besides, she's younger than Rebecca, did you know?”

“I guess because I've known Becky my whole life, she seems younger. I suppose it's not a problem, but, Dad, you'd better not go out looking the way you do. People will talk.”

He looked down at himself. Kristina was right, he certainly wasn't his usual put-together self. He couldn't go and talk to the Spencers like this. He would have to tidy up his clothing and comb his hair.

A soft swish of fabric drew his eyes to the top of the stairs and his heart melted at the sight of his Rebecca, hastily clad in ill-fitting garments, a stain of pink embarrassment on her cheeks as she faced her friend with the guilty knowledge that she'd just been rolling naked in bed with that friend's father. She would have to get used to it.

“Oh, there you are, Becky,” Kristina said, trying to sound normal. “Everyone is wondering where you've been. You'd better head home before your parents worry themselves sick over you.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she replied, her voice uncertain.

“Just a moment. I need to tidy up,” James said. “And then I'll walk you home.”

She nodded and he pounded up the stairs. Back in his room he straightened his buttons, smoothed his trousers and added a collar. He ran a comb through his hair and glanced at himself in the mirror. Somehow, the years had crept up on James unannounced. He had celebrated his forty-fifth birthday only a few months before. He didn't feel middle-aged, though. He felt like himself. Now, suddenly, what he felt was young. Grinning at his reflection and ignoring the silver gathering at the temples of his sandy-colored hair, James returned to the parlor where his intended and his daughter sat opposite each other in black leather armchairs. The old friends were, for the first time ever, awkward with each other. They sat in a silence so uncomfortable, he could feel it.