Linda Castle (16 page)

He was being watched. He could feel it in his bones. As he stared at the dead horse, the chilling knowledge washed over him.

Somebody was trying to kill him.

Curiosity had driven her. Now Marydyth had her head just inside the mouth of the mine shaft when she heard a funny noise. A sinuous shape moved within the shadows. She realized it was a snake, when it coiled up and lifted its head.

She inhaled and pulled the trigger. The smell of gunpowder drifted around her head while the snake uncoiled and slithered into a crevice. The mine seemed to sigh and shudder beneath her feet, and then everything went quiet.

Marydyth put one hand on the side of the craggy wall and peered into the darkness. If there was anything to see, she couldn’t see it, and she certainly wasn’t going to go into the Stygian, damp interior. While she looked at the yawning cavern, her flesh crawled, and she was suddenly transported back in time. Back to Yuma where sunlight was cut off by walls five feet thick, where she was captive, where the sunlight never reached her.

Marydyth swallowed down her terror and turned, blinded by the sun pouring into the mouth of the black pit. She stood there frozen, blinking at the disks of white that obscured her vision. Then, suddenly, her rifle was ripped away and she felt the bite of fingers on one arm.

“What in the hell are you doing?” Flynn’s voice was stern as Judgment Day.

Marydyth blinked, trying to clear her vision, but all she could see was his tall, broad outline against the sun. His fingers tightened on her arm. It was hard to believe this was the same man who had held her and pleasured her in the dark.

“Answer me, woman! What the hell are you doing?” Flynn could smell the cordite. The rifle,
his
rifle, had been fired.

Anger, mistrust and fury that he had been so careless as to give a firearm to the Black Widow coursed through him.

What the hell had he been thinking?
He never should have turned his back on her.

“You need to practice your aim,” he said bitterly.

“You’re hurting me.” She jerked her arm but his grip was powerful and sure. “Let me go.”

’Tell me what you’re doing in here.” His words grated over her like a rough-edged stone.

“I went inside the mine to look.”

“And while you were in there you decided to shoot me?”

“What?” She blinked and squinted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She could make out his features now, shadowed under the brim of his hat. His eyes were darker than midnight in their anger. “What are you saying?”

“Somebody tried to kill me.” He finally let go and shoved her away from him, bringing the rifle up. He sniffed it and his lips tightened. He was a savage beast, a hound on the scent of prey and ready to spill blood.

Her blood.

The realization hit Marydyth. Flynn thought she had
tried to kill him. Wainwright Sloan’s words rang in her ears.

You will never control Hollenbeck money or property as long as Flynn O’Bannion or your daughter are alive.

“I shot at a snake,” she said.

“A two-legged snake, one who’s in your way?” he asked while he glared at her.

“It was a rattler.” She pointed toward the mouth of the mine. “Right over there.”

He looked. “There’s nothing there now, if there ever was.” He raised his brows. “You really expect me to believe you took a shot at a snake, inside a mine? Nobody, not even you, could be that stupid.”

She recoiled as if he had slapped her. His suspicion was like a living thing. She should have been used to it; she had faced it often enough, but after last night it cut her deep.

“Where is my horse? I want to go home.” She turned away, ready to go, but only Jack was standing nearby.

“Your horse—” his lip curled up in distaste “—is lying dead with a bullet between his eyes.”

“Oh, my God.” She gasped and brought her knuckles up to her mouth. “And you—you think I did it?”

He looked her straight in the eye. “You seem to be the only one around, and the smell of gunpowder is still clinging to your clothes. The evidence is pretty damning, Marydyth.”

“It always is, Flynn.”

Flynn guided Jack through a maze of cactus and into the sparse shade of a paloverde. Every step of the way he had been aware of two things: Marydyth’s hands around his waist and the nagging voice of guilt and reason that would not let him be.

Without a word he pulled up on Jack’s reins.

Marydyth slid off the back of the saddle before he could say anything. It was pretty damned obvious she didn’t want to give Flynn any excuse to touch her.

And he didn’t much blame her.

But once again fate had thrown them together. With one horse there was no question that they would be riding double and stopping frequently to rest Jack.

A quail darted by them and Flynn drew his pistol and dropped it. Bright red blood oozed into the dry soil near an ocotillo.

Marydyth nearly vomited. The sight of the blood, the memory of Trooper’s body and the suspicion in Flynn’s eyes were becoming too much for her.

She felt more alone than she ever had. She hadn’t tried to shoot Flynn—so somebody else had. She scanned the horizon with squinted eyes, expecting the person to make another attempt.

She shivered involuntarily.

Flynn must have felt her fear because he turned around and looked at her. She could feel the burn of accusation and betrayal in his eyes.

It was as bad as being locked in Yuma to see that disapproval in his eyes, but she had learned long ago that denying guilt did little good.

They mounted and started out again. Flynn tried hard to ignore her but he couldn’t.

He could not ignore the fact that she was behind him with her legs spread. It brought visions of last night, and the memory of their sweat-slicked skin. He tightened his jaw but he could not dispel the way she felt, the way she sounded.

Dear Lord.

She was a sweet poison, and he had drunk deeply from
her. Now she was in his blood, deadly and addictive. And no matter how much Flynn distrusted her, no matter that he had heard her confess with her own sweet lips to doing murder, his body throbbed and pulsed with wanting her.

And that made him fight the attraction all the more.

“W
e can’t make Brunckow’s cabin tonight.” Flynn’s words were clipped and hard. “We’ll have to camp here and ride into Millville tomorrow and buy a horse for you.” He pulled up on the reins.

Marydyth was more than happy to get off the horse and away from Flynn for a few hours. She awkwardly slid from her perch behind Flynn as soon as she could manage. He had stopped near a small outcrop of rock. While she walked toward that raw shelter she kept him in sight.

In a strained silence they made camp, tended Jack and ate a cold meal. When the stars filled the sky they went to opposite sides of the campfire to bed down.

Marydyth stared into the flames, thinking. When she was alone under her blanket, would her body ache to be held? Would she dream of Flynn’s firm, sensual lips on hers? Would the blood in her veins thrum with wanting his large body over hers and his turgid flesh filling her again?

Would the nightmare come now that he was no longer willing to hold it back?

She looked at him from the corner of her eye and felt a wave of sadness wash over her. He had her daughter’s love and respect and now he had a part of her that she didn’t seem to be able to reclaim.

“What have you decided about the Lavender Lady?” she heard herself ask abruptly. She wished she could think of something besides the way the soft buckskin shirt drew taut across his wide shoulders. Or the way his work-roughened hand grasped the saddle when he positioned it for his bed.

Flynn looked at her sideways, searing her with the look in his eyes. “I haven’t.”

She told herself it didn’t matter. Besides, he had only been in the mine for a couple of minutes when he put Trooper’s saddle inside. She doubted that even those lightning-fast eyes of his could have seen much ore—if there was any copper ore to see.

It had been a foolish idea, she decided. A silly pipe dream that the mine could be reopened and people would begin to forgive and forget.

She wished she had not talked to him about it. She wished that she had not come with him. But then a tendril of panic flashed through her. What if he had been shot? What if he had come alone and been killed?

The memory of his big, muscled body over hers crept into her mind and shoved everything else aside.

She closed her eyes and let it wash over her, hot and breathtaking. Now there was another memory to haunt her dreams—but at least it would be a memory that was more pleasant than the one she had of Andre and her wedding night.

She shoved the thoughts aside, determined to sleep the
night through without nightmares of prison or specters from her past disturbing her.

Flynn sipped the last of his cold coffee and stared at Marydyth from the corner of his eye. His belly had been one big knot since he jerked the still smoking rifle from her hand.

She had tried to kill him.

The thought nibbled at the edge of his mind like a great beast. He didn’t want to believe it, but.the evidence.

Still, there was something that nagged at him. There was a look in her eye that shouted her innocence. He had seen that look before. He had also seen the eyes of the guilty.

And no matter how damning the evidence was, he just didn’t believe, deep down in his gut, that Marydyth had tried to shoot him.

He tossed the dregs into the dust and set the tin cup aside. Using his saddle as a headrest, he tugged the blanket up over his shoulders. The fire was low and he could clearly see Marydyth’s outline across the flames.

Sensations of last night crept into his mind. Lying with Marydyth had been a powerful thing, a humbling experience. She had touched him in a deep, secret place that made him feel vulnerable and not in control.

He could not ever remember a woman doing that to him.

She had been like parched soil, eager and ready to soak up all the passion and desire he could give her.

And lying with her had shown him just how much passion he had dammed up.

At first he thought it was just because he hadn’t been sporting for a while, but as the night continued and he
slaked his lust in her more than once, he had to face the truth.

Something about Marydyth Hollenbeck got to him. She was under his skin, making him itch and burn.

With that thought nipping at him like a chigger, he turned over and pulled his hat down over his eyes. Tonight the clouds played hide-and-seek with the tiniest sliver of a moon, but there was enough light to make him aware of her across the dying embers. There was more than enough light for him to want to rub his hands over the outline of her hip, to touch her breasts, to bury himself deep and have her hot and panting beneath him.

Marydyth heard the sound of laughter from on deck. She wanted to scream for help but Andre slapped her hard across the mouth and shoved her back onto the bed

His eyes were glazed over. He looked like a man possessed

Marydyth screamed She screamed and kept on screaming, praying that somebody above would hear and come to help her.

Flynn was out of his blankets and across the dead fire before the scream died in her throat. Jack snorted and sidestepped wildly, startled by the sound that echoed through the desert night.

“Please, Andre, ple—ease!” she begged.

Flynn grabbed Marydyth’s shoulders and dragged her up. She fought him, throwing her weight from side to side in an effort to break his grip. Great wet tears hit him in the face each time she moved.

“Marydyth. Wake up.”

She tried to shove the cotton in her head aside but she
was trapped. Andre laughed, a cruel, thin sound that chilled her soul.

“Marydyth, it’s Flynn. Wake up.” Flynn shook her gently, trying to rouse her from the nightmare. “Marydyth, honey?”

Her eyes fluttered open. She saw Flynn’s face only inches from hers. His eyes were gentle and filled with compassion. There was no accusation or suspicion in his expression.

“Oh, Flynn, hold me.” She sobbed into his strong shoulder. “Please, please, don’t let me go.” She rested her face against the softness of his buckskin shirt.

A sound like a great beast growling rumbled beneath her cheek. He was real and solid and strong enough to hold back her terror.

“I will hold you, Marydyth, I will hold you till the sun comes up,” he said softly. “And long beyond that.”

The minute his strong warm lips touched hers, Marydyth leaned into him. She clung to Flynn as if she could physically draw upon his strength.

“Marydyth, I want.” Flynn said raggedly.

“Hold me.” She kissed his jaw, his neck and slipped her hands around his neck to draw him nearer. “It doesn’t matter what you believe, just hold me and keep me safe tonight.”

“Oh, honey.” He expelled a heavy breath. Then he slid his hand down to the small of her back. “I don’t trust you—but I can’t get you out of my mind.” He pulled her along the length of his body and rolled. When he stopped she was on top of him. She stared down into his face.

“I don’t have the answers you want, Flynn.”

They looked at each other for what seemed a long time. The only sound was their own breathing.

“I know you don’t. This is one of those things I have to answer for myself.” Then he moaned, as if giving up a great battle, and drew her mouth down to his.

Her heart beat faster as he slipped one hand around to the front of her Levi’s. He had them unbuttoned and shoved down in seconds. Then he cupped her bottom in his wide, rough hands. She could feel the hard bulge of him against her. He rubbed his pelvis along hers, creating heat and friction so deep inside her that she nearly screamed with wanting him.

“Let me.” She broke the hungry, savage kiss long enough to slip her own hands down the length of him. She unbuttoned his pants and freed him. He was hot and silky smooth, throbbing and jerking when she grasped him.

“Take me, Flynn. Hold back the night,” she whispered. And then he lifted her up and impaled her on his flesh. Marydyth drew in a ragged breath and settled herself on him, allowing him to pump against her. He lifted her buttocks with his hands and shoved her down on him with each upward thrust.

Her body melted around him and she shuddered, her climax shattering through her. It drained what little sense she still possessed and scattered her thoughts like dried leaves in the wind.

She thought she might have murmured his name as she collapsed against him. Then she slept.

The sound of Jack pawing woke Flynn while it was still fully dark. He started to turn over, to take a look at the horse, but a weight kept him in place.

“What the hell?” He stirred himself and opened his
eyes. Marydyth’s silky yellow curls were splayed across his chin. One arm and thigh were draped across his chest. He had held her against him all through the night.

The realization rocked him.

She inhaled and shifted slightly and he realized that he was still between her legs. He felt himself growing hard. His flesh nudged against the curls between her legs. He felt heat and a soft, answering warmth.

He was inside her.

Her breathing changed. She stiffened but she did not move. He knew the very instant that she came fully awake.

Marydyth put her palms against Flynn’s chest and pushed herself up into a sitting position, never breaking the intimate connection between them.

His body filled hers, pulsing, pushing.

The silvery shaft of moonlight cascaded over their bodies, locked together, mating almost against their own will, against their own common sense.

Marydyth swallowed hard. She searched his face, looking, for what she was not sure.

A muscle in the side of his jaw jumped.

He was a hard man, unforgiving and strong. And yet she had seen his gentleness with Rachel, had felt his compassion during her own nightmares. Had tasted his desire.

Marydyth shifted her hips and ground them down against him. His jaw tightened more and his eyes narrowed down to predatory slits.

She continued to stare at his emotionless face while she raised her pelvis away from him slightly, then slid back down the rigid shaft.

A stifled groan left his lips.

Once again she raised her body and ground herself down against him, slowly.

“Marydyth.”

He grabbed her buttocks in his hands and pushed her hard against him. Then he rolled and pinned her beneath him, holding his weight above her on his knees and elbows.

“Damn you, Marydyth Hollenbeck, you are in my blood,” he said as he began to pound himself against her. Harder and faster with each thrust, as if he could drive her from him.

But Marydyth clung to him greedily, determined to have the solace of his body, if only for this one night.

The next morning they rose, drank coffee and mounted up without a word about what had passed between them. Flynn wasn’t sure what to say. Hell, he didn’t even know how
he felt
about what had happened.

Twice now he had tasted Marydyth and yet it was not enough. Each time her tiny fist tightened at his waist while Jack picked his way through the cholla and yucca, he felt himself growing hot and aroused. She was close enough for him to feel the whisper of her breath along the back of his neck.

With Marydyth at his back and his conscience hollering inside his head, it was a damned uncomfortable way to ride.

The sun peaked, then headed toward the western horizon before Flynn saw the outline of Brunckow’s cabin. It was a mighty welcome sight, not just because they were an easy ride from Millville, where he could buy another horse, but because he had made a decision.

He was going to tell Marydyth that he had flown off
the handle. He was going to tell her that he
knew
she hadn’t tried to shoot him.

All he had to do was find the right way to tell her that he had been a royal jackass.

Camp was set, Jack was tended to and their meal was eaten—and still Flynn could not choke out the apology.

Hoping to dredge up his gumption, he pulled the tobacco from his pocket and rolled himself a smoke.

“Why do you do that?” Marydyth asked.

“Do what?” Her voice rubbed over his skin and made him itch to hold her.

“Roll them but never light them. I have never seen you smoke, and I’ve never found an ash anywhere in the house.”

Flynn caught himself grinning as he rotated the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. “I haven’t smoked one in years.”

“Why?” she prompted.

“Doctor told me it wasn’t good for children.”

“So.you quit for Rachel.” It was a statement, not a question.

“There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for her,” he said softly.

“I understand,” Marydyth said. He looked up and their gazes locked.

Tell her, you damned fool. Open up your mouth and tell her that you jumped the gun—tell her that you are a dunderheaded fool. Tell her now.

Flynn stuck the unlit cigarette in his mouth and got to his feet. The words were just not going to come. Maybe if he took a walk, then he would be able to find the courage to say it.

Twilight cast long fingers of shadow across the landscape, before Flynn stopped. How far had he come? A tall, rocky outcrop of stone silhouetted itself against the setting sun, and it was in that place that Flynn found himself a niche to sit and think.

What is it about her that makes me go mute?

Is it her sad blue eyes? Or the way the sunshine and moonlight play along her yellow curls? Or maybe it’s the way she squints her eyes when she thinks nobody is looking—or the way she sighs in her sleep after being loved

He jerked his mind away from that line of thinking.

Using all his willpower he forced himself to think about the shot that killed Trooper. Somebody had tried to kill him—and it hadn’t been Marydyth. But he had seen no sign or indication that they were being followed.

A coyote yipped. Several answered in the distance. Flynn toyed with his unlit cigarette. He rose to his feet just as he heard a rumble, as if a great thunderstorm was coming. He climbed from the crevice in the rocky face and looked up, searching the pewter-gray sky for thunderclouds. But as he watched the side of the mountain, the outcrop of rock shifted, tilted and fell away.