Lawman (7 page)

Her hands flattened over them, obscuring the
yellowing pages. "If you search this place now, the station hands
will see you!" she pleaded. "It's only a skip and a jump from there
to them figuring out what my father's accused of."

"Crime doesn't pay." Blithely, Gabriel
spread his fingers over hers and moved them aside.

"Neither does a stage station, if the hands
up and leave. How long do you think they'd work for a crook?"

"Depends on what kind of men they are. I've
seen plenty who'd light fires for the devil himself, if the pay was
good enough."

"Present company included, I expect?"

He grinned up at her. Megan Kearney didn't
quit, he'd give her that. "I don't know yet. Been playing with
matches lately?"

"I meant you."

"I know." He closed the ledger, cradling it
in the crook of his arm while he scrutinized the other items in the
chest. What was in those packets of folded papers? Gabriel reached
for one.

Megan stuck her body in the way. About six
inches from his nose, her breasts swayed with the movement. It was
either grab them and find out exactly how devilish she could be, or
lower his hands and look at the folded papers later, after she'd
moved aside. Regretfully, he clasped both hands on the ledger and
held it against his thighs.

"Every man cares what folks say about him,"
she said, straightening. "So must you. Do you want to be known as
the agent who brought in the wrong man?"

"I won't be."
Winter brings in the right
man at the right time
. "I never have been."

"There's a first time for everything," she
pointed out, nudging the chest lid closed with her hip.

"I'm searching that."

"Of course you are."

Briskly, she took his elbow and led him
toward the door, her manner at once cheerful and determined. She'd
hatched a new plan, Gabriel figured, and realized he looked forward
to discovering what her quick mind had come up with almost as much
as he savored the tantalizing brush of her body against his.

There were worse ways for a man to
investigate a case than tailing a woman like Megan.

"But," she continued, "I'd like it very much
if you'd
stop
searching. In fact—"

They squeezed together, chest-to-chest,
through the narrow hallway and emerged in the chill of the station
office, a route as deliberate as any trap he'd laid for Pinkerton's
most-wanted.

"—what do you suppose it would take to
persuade you to postpone your search?"

That
brought him up short. A deal? Or
a bribe?

Gabriel stared down at her, taking in the
way her face tilted expectantly toward his, the way her lips pouted
slightly while she waited for his answer, and drew the only
conclusion that seemed reasonable.

"If you're offering yourself in trade,
sugar," he said, feeling his pulse quicken at the notion, "I
couldn't rightly decide without tasting a sample."

Chapter Four

Gabriel heard Megan's quick, indrawn breath,
felt her take a jerky step backward. He pressed closer and cupped
her jaw in his hand, waiting to see if she'd struggle or back down.
Instead, she held herself still at his touch, watching him
warily.

He nodded his approval, stroking his thumb
over her earlobe and down the side of her neck. "But if you taste
as good on the inside as you look on the outside...well, sugar. A
little compromise does have its way of keeping things rolling
along."

"It certainly does," she agreed, keeping her
gaze on his face. She looked like a kitten considering its first
lick of cream, like a half-wild creature tamed with a touch.
"Provided it's done the right way, of course."

Chuckling, Gabriel let her lead him a little
further across the room, closer to the wall behind her. The
unabashed curiosity in her gaze lured him as surely as did the
warmth of her skin beneath his fingers—maybe even more.

"I'll do it right," he promised. Gently, he
flexed his fingers at the nape of her neck, tilting her head in
preparation for a kiss. "I'm a thorough kind of man."

"Mmmm." She reached the rough-dabbed stucco
wall at her back, carried there by the teasing, backward dance
she'd been doing ever since they'd stepped together into the
station office, and a smile flickered over her face. Retreat now
was impossible—for both of them—and that smile of hers said Megan
knew it.

"So I gather," she said. "You've already got
both arms
thoroughly
on the job."

He did. He'd wrapped his free arm around her
waist halfway across the roughhewn room. Now, Gabriel used it to
drag her a little closer, so her back arched away from the
wall.

"Although a lesser man might've been content
with using only one arm," she teased, laughter lighting her eyes.
"Do women often wriggle away from you in situations like...this
one?"

He stared at her. What had become of the
starch and spice miss who'd met him in the station yard with Mose?
Of the fiery woman who'd protested her father's innocence? This
lighthearted side of Megan was one he hadn't seen before, and it
intrigued him all the more—even knowing she was likely laying a
trap for him again. To be on the safe side he widened his stance,
keeping his shins safe from surprise attacks.

"I don't know," Gabriel said, smiling. "I
haven't had all that many offers like...this one."

Anticipation roughened his voice, lent an
edge to the words he'd never meant to reveal. Needing to regain
control, he lowered his face close enough that her minty breath
mingled with his, and added, "I don't like leaving things to
chance."

Slowly, gently, he brushed his lips over
hers. Her mouth was the most tender heat imaginable. It tasted of
softness, hinted at innumerable textures meant to be touched and
explored and savored. With a murmured sound of wanting, Gabriel
kissed her again, so lightly that he ended the contact even as she
leaned forward for more.

Sighing, she swayed into his chest, making
her breasts rub against his vest front. She felt like a piece of
heaven wrapped in wool and black beads, and he couldn't help
wondering about the womanly body beneath all those fuss-fancy
clothes. What would it be like to cup her breasts in his hands,
weigh their silken heaviness in his palms, watch her nipples pucker
into tight peaks against his fingertips?

"There's no chance in a kiss like that one,"
Megan whispered, keeping her eyes closed as she pressed her cheek
to his shoulder. "Luckily for you, I'm an appreciating kind of
woman."

Touching her that way would be like holding
sunshine in his grasp, Gabriel decided. Hot enough to burn his
hands, too brilliant to capture for long...impossible to keep.

And impossible to trust. Much as he wanted
to believe appreciation was all that lay behind Megan's
sweet-sounding words, he hadn't forgotten her earlier
proposition.

Neither, he figured, had she.

Question was, how far would she go to get
what she wanted?

"Sugar," he said, stroking her hair, "that's
just the beginning."

Grinning, he couldn't keep from tracing his
fingertips over her pink-tinted cheeks.
He'd
put the blush
on that smooth skin of hers. Lord, if only such softness didn't
house a scheming mind. "But it's not enough to take me off the
case."

Her eyes opened. She seemed startled. "What
did you say?"

"Or make a deal with you," Gabriel went on,
letting his hands fall aside as she shoved herself away from his
chest. Her retreat told him she'd heard him loud and clear. "No
matter how nicely you kiss."

Her eyes narrowed. "You beast! You—"

"Truth be told," he interrupted, "your
instincts were right." Almost against his will, he admired that
quality in her. "Most operatives use self-interest like yours to
help build their cases."

She cast him a measuring glance. "But not
you?"

"Depends on the potential gain."

"I offered you plenty of gain."

"Interesting way of putting it."

Her blush deepened. So did the urge he felt
to drag her back into his arms and finish what she'd started. Was
the woman wilier than he'd thought, or just plain too innocent to
know when she was setting up bonfires?

"You don't even know where my father is,"
Megan said, ducking away from the wall. "You told me so
yourself."

He hadn't, but her assumption was
understandable enough. He'd asked when Joseph Kearney would return
to the station, not where he'd gone. Experience had taught him,
though, that most people heard what they thought would be said, not
the actual words. Usually, it worked in Gabriel's favor. It might
this time, too.

"Do you know where he is?"

"I wouldn't betray him by telling you if I
did." A few agitated steps took her to the window, where she stood,
looking out over the station yard just long enough for Gabriel to
realize she was about to play her last card—and didn't want to.

"There are other agents on this case, other
men looking for your father," he said. "They're not all like
me—"

"You mean some of them have compassion?" She
whirled from the window to face him. "This station is my family's
lifeblood. It's the food in our mouths, my father's dream, and the
livelihood of the men in that yard. You can't rip that apart with
your wrong-headed threats and accusations. I won't let you."

"You can't stop me."

"You're wrong," she said stubbornly.

"Sugar, I've tailed men over more miles than
you'll see in two lifetimes. Arrested them and brought them to
justice from fourteen states and half as many territories."

He paused, moved closer, and tucked back
that same wayward hair of hers, letting the back of his knuckles
linger on Megan's cheek. "Your father can't run far enough to
escape me, and you can't beat me."

She raised her head. "Show me the evidence
you have."

"No."

"Tell me what proves my father's implicated
in the robbery."

"No." He pulled his watch from his vest
pocket and flipped the timepiece open. "I take it your station has
accommodations for travelers?"

Her mouth dropped open. "You intend to
stay?"

"For as long as it takes to search the
place. Or until your father returns, whichever comes first."

"But that might—"

"Take days? That's fine with me. I'm a
patient man."

"You can't stay here!"

"You don't have accommodations, then? All I
need is a place to sleep and a—"

"I can think of a suitable place for
you."

He grinned. "I'll just bet you can."

"Go to blazes, Mr. Winter!"

"I've been there and back," he said,
retrieving his hat from the desktop and shoving it onto his head
again. "But I'm obliged for the invitation, all the same."

He turned toward the open doorway.

"Wait!" she cried, rushing to the door right
behind him.

She reached past his arm and slammed the
door, shutting out the sounds in the station yard. The metallic
clank of horses' harnesses faded, muted along with the voices of
the stage handlers and drivers.

"What for?"

Her shoulders heaved, straightened, but she
didn't face him. "Please," Megan said. "I—I—"

Hell. She was going to cry. A woman's last
weepy damned resort. She'd probably tell him it was because of him,
too, when it was plain as warts on a bullfrog her father was the
real trouble.

"I can't stand the thought of...oh, p-please
leave my father alone!" she begged in a choked voice.

Her back was to him, so he couldn't see her
face. But Gabriel heard the catch in her voice caused by fenced-in
sobs, saw her fumbling around in her skirt pocket for something,
and knew he was as defenseless as the next poor knuck in the face
of a weeping woman.

He shoved his handkerchief toward her. "Now,
hold on a minute," he murmured. "There's no call to cry on account
of the no-goods in the world. They sure as hell aren't crying for
the likes of you."

"I—I'm sorry," she sobbed.

Now he had her apologizing for crying! She
might as well just apologize for being a woman and be done with it.
Near as he could tell, it wasn't like a female could help turning
on the waterworks. Obviously she was too distraught even to take
his handkerchief. He doubted she'd even noticed it, she was getting
so worked up. Gabriel felt like hell.

"There's no need to apologize," he said.
"You haven't done anything wrong."

Suddenly Megan turned. He was startled to
glimpse, despite her reddened cheeks and watery eyes, a
smart-alecky smile on her face.

"Not yet, I haven't," she said, jerking her
fisted hand upward, to about waist height. "And if you leave now, I
won't have to."

The derringer in her hand jerked upward
again as she took aim at his chest. "Please leave."

Chapter Five

Gabriel Winter's dumbfounded gaze swept from
Megan's derringer to her face. "Darlin', you're not the type to
plug an outright criminal with that peashooter of yours, much less
a lawman."

He was right. She'd be a fool to admit it,
though. With a little luck—and a little harmless brandishing of her
weapon—he'd be just distracted enough to forget about pursuing her
father. At least for a short while. If saving papa and safeguarding
Kearney station meant offering herself to agent Winter as a
temporary diversion...well, that's just what she'd do.

"Maybe." Megan wrinkled her nose, as though
considering what he'd said. "
If
a lawman's really what you
are, that is."

Privately, she had her doubts. Any man who
could use his blarney-kissed Irish brogue to feed a woman sweet
words about her hair and her eyes and her figure, who could suggest
a wildly improper trade of favors for secrets and then kiss her
near swooning moments later, had a wide streak of elemental
deviltry in his character, lawman or no.