My Desperado (8 page)

She stood still, staring at him, holding that damned pitcher of water and neatly rolled bandages. "But I'm innocent. There's no need to run," she whispered.

Innocence. It was painted across her smooth features like the loving stroke of a gentle artist. Innocent she was, he thought, and not the one responsible for Patterson's death. He was certain of it and longed to hear it from her own lips. To hear she’d never touched the fat mayor, had not wasted her precious youth beneath the panting bodies of lecherous men. But he had no right to ask, and she seemed unwilling to explain.

"I fear I have bad news." She changed the subject and approached him slowly, feeling tense and uncertain.

"Bad?" he echoed. "And things been going so well."

Katherine set the pitcher and bandages on the commode beside the bed and noticed that he was smiling slightly, like a small boy who couldn't resist a practical joke. And yet it was difficult to compare him to a child, for when she put her hand to his arm, she felt his strength and power.

Katherine seated herself in the chair she'd occupied during those long hours before he had found consciousness. "Lacy said Dory will be needing her..." She stopped again, biting her lip and unwrapping the bandage from his arm. "You see..." She cleared her throat and gently tugged the last bit of cloth from his wound. It was oozy and red and ugly, but the embarrassing topic distracted her, and she dipped a towel in clean water before dabbing gently at his arm. "Well, it is Friday night," she said with finality.

His eyes never left hers, though his brows had lifted in question. "Friday?"

She gave a curt nod, but it had been a hell of a week for Travis, and the significance of the day was beyond his present understanding.

"Friday," he mused aloud, gritting his teeth as she carefully rebandaged his wound. "Friday..."

"She'll have company," Katherine explained stiltedly, then flamed a deep scarlet hue.

"Ohhh." Travis nodded sagely. "As in a gentleman caller."

She refused to look him in the face. Was he smiling that boyishly charming smile that had tripped her heart?

"And three in the room wouldn't be proper?" he asked quietly.

She tied off the bandage and stood abruptly, hurrying away to fumble about with the washbasin for a moment longer than necessary before returning, eyes downcast.

Travis watched her return. She was a lady. A true-to-life raised-to-marry kind of lady, and though he may be no better than slime on a pond rock, he wasn't low enough to mess with a lady.

"You have to leave," he said again, knowing his voice had dropped to a husky murmur. "Get to safety. Now."

"I won't." She sat and looked directly at him. "I won't leave, Travis Ryland, until you can leave, too."

His chest ached, as if there was insufficient room for his heart to pump, as if he'd been shot. Don't care, he warned himself. Don't care. But, damn it all, he did.

"I'll take the floor," he managed huskily. "The bed's yours."

"No. Please." Her hand touched the curved muscle of his biceps, barely covering half its circumference, and he could feel the heat of her spreading from his heart in all directions. "Lacy says you need to rest quietly. Please," she repeated, her tone deep and hoarse. "You'll need your strength."

For the first time since her girlhood Katherine wanted to touch a man. But her father had been beyond her reach, needing nothing more than his religion. What is it this man needs? she wondered raggedly. "Please," she whispered again, but now the word seemed a plea for something different.

He couldn't help but kiss her. Her lips were as soft as a dream, and her face, when he touched it, felt like satin, like the pure fine fabric Rachel had said their mother wore at her wedding.

Raw, aching need slashed across his senses, and he pressed into her kiss, curving his hand behind her delicate neck.

"No." She pulled away abruptly. "No. I'm sorry. This isn't right."

Her eyes were as large as a doe's, very close and deep and beautiful.

No! I'm sorry, Travis wanted to scream. He dropped his hand as if burned.

She looked confused and lifted her fingers to her mouth, touching the lips he just kissed. "I'll see to your leg." She reached out, but her hand shook and he caught it.

"It's fine." His voice sounded rougher than he'd planned, as if he'd lived too many hard years alone. "Just fine, lady. Please." He drew a deep breath and hoped she was as innocent as she seemed and had no idea what she did to him. "I think it's best to leave it be, or it'll only start bleeding again."

She stared into his eyes, only inches from her own. They were sky blue and filled with enough pain to last three lifetimes. "Yes." She drew away with a rush. "Yes. I think you're right."

The night seemed endless, though Katherine's spot on the floor was comfortable enough. The music from below had ceased, but other noises now intruded—laughter, deep and male or quick and high-pitched. And then the sounds from next door, the rhythmic groan of the bed's ropes, low gasps of breath.

It was intolerable. She knew Travis was awake, could sense it, though she couldn't see if his eyes remained open. The rhythm behind the wall picked up speed, the breathing growing louder.

"Lady." Ryland's voice was quiet and deep. "Were you singing—before I came to my senses?"

"I thought you couldn't hear," she said, feeling endlessly grateful for the darkness that hid the hot flush of her cheeks.

"Just a memory," he murmured. There was a gasp of primal pleasure from next door. "Sing for me, lady."

"I don't sing really."

"Please," he said huskily. "For both our sakes. Sing loud."

For the life of her Katherine could think of nothing but hymns, and though the inappropriateness of those songs struck her as strange, the intolerable situation was more than she could bear.

Perhaps the walls of that establishment had never heard the haunting melody of "The Old Rugged Cross," but they heard it now, followed by every song Katherine could recall from church.

When the last note faded, utter silence held the place. Not a breath could be heard. Travis laid quietly, one arm covering his eyes. Her voice enchanted him—no matter the words, the tone was soothing yet erotic.

Let this be a lesson to me, he thought grimly. Better to hear the moans and sighs of pleasure behind their very walls than be tortured by a single innocent note of Katherine Amelia Simmon's church-schooled voice.

Chapter 8

"Breakfast." Katherine wet her lips and pushed the bedroom door open. She supposed she should become accustomed to sharing his room. After all, they'd survived the week's end together, closeted up here, hidden from the world. Yet being near him was no easier now than it had been in the beginning. She knew that under those blankets he wore nothing more than a pair of battered trousers, conveniently cut off at the thigh to permit access to his leg wound. She kept her eyes on the heaping tray of food and tried to cover her nervousness. "Hungry?"

Ravenous was his first thought, but not necessarily for food. Travis sat propped against multiple pillows and watched her face as she entered. Spending the past three nights alone with her had almost killed him. He'd found himself wishing more than once that she'd left him in the woods to be decently consumed by a wolf rather than lie in the darkness and listen while others found the carnal satisfaction denied him. He couldn't bear her nearness much longer without losing his mind. The simple brush of her fingers against his was enough to send his imagination soaring and his heart thumping madly. God help him, he should leave, but he knew he lacked the strength. And when he went, he'd take her along, and would need his full health to get her to some haven of safety.

"Feeling better?"

She was sitting near him again, watching him with those wide, otherworldly eyes. Her hair was neatly coiled atop her head, showing the slight dip in the center of her hairline, aligning perfectly with the top button nestled just below her delicate chin.

Travis could do nothing but watch her and could think of nothing decent to say as she continued to chatter.

"Fresh air would be good for you, I suspect. But, of course, we can't chance it. Still, you've had so little time to recover, and you already look so... hale,” she finished, her tone sounding ragged. "You look hale already."

Despite himself Travis's nostrils flared. God help him—he looked hale, while she looked like something he could eat for breakfast. So sweet and tender that he kept his mouth firmly shut lest he be tempted to take a bite of her.

Katherine uncovered the tray. It contained nothing less than a thick steak—cooked rare—three eggs, two slices of bread, and steaming coffee. She shrugged as he eyed the platter in surprise. "I can get you some chocolate to drink," she said enthusiastically. "It's wonderful. Just as good as in the chocolate houses."

"I'm not one for chocolate."

Katherine's eyes went round. "No chocolate?"

"No."

"Oh." She fumbled for a moment, losing herself in his eyes and clearing her throat nervously. ''Lacy says a man your size needs a good deal of food to fully recover."

Lacy. Travis could bet the old carrot-topped crone knew exactly what he needed. Why had she chased Katherine, the innocent, into his room like a rabbit into a wolf's den?

But, he reminded himself grimly, better his den than some other wolf's. His gaze fastened on the tray as he tried to ignore the full, gentle curve of her bosom behind it. Better himself, he repeated mentally. She was safe with him. Safe. He repeated the words like a mental chant, but when he reached to take the platter, his fingers brushed hers, burning on contact, scorching his senses.

"Do you need help with breakfast?" she asked, her husky voice causing the hair to rise on the back of his neck. "I can't imagine how you manage at all with your left hand." She shook out the linen napkin and leaned nearer. "I'm absolutely hopeless without my right." She bit her lip and placed the linen just so, partially covering the breadth of his bare chest. "I could feed you if you—-"

"Goddamn it, woman!" Travis swore abruptly. His body quivered with explosive frustration. "Don't touch me!"

Her face, when he looked at her, held an expression of utter shock, her eyes wide and brimmed with tears.

"Oh, God," he moaned, covering his eyes with one hand. "Don't cry." He drew a ragged breath. "Please, don't cry."

She backed away a step, her hands shaking, as did her voice. "I'm sorry."

"Don't cry." His tone had become wheedling he knew. But he'd rather face a troop of first rate militia than cope with one crying female. Especially this female, whose very touch inflamed him.

"It's my fault," she said solemnly. 'They'd never have accused you of murder if I hadn't forced you to take me to Grey's. My fault." She sniffled once.

He closed his mind, trying not to hear her despair. Trying to pretend he was elsewhere, tracking Yankees maybe. But there was no safe harbor. Without thinking, he set the tray aside and then slowly got out of bed.

"It's—"

Katherine felt his arms wrap around her, and his chest was warm against her cheek. She should draw away she knew. She should be ashamed of her weakness, of her thoughts—of his nudity. But God forgive her, the strong embrace of his arms felt like heaven, like a safe haven from the horrors that had found her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the taut muscles of his chest.

His left hand stroked her back, while his right simply cradled her against him. "It's not your fault."

"Yes." She sniffled, feeling a single tear slip from her cheek to be caught and spread between their bodies. His arms felt immensely strong, his body warm and firm. "If I hadn't been with Patterson..." She shrugged, remembering her need to save Daisy.

He shushed her again, noticing her ears for the first time. Fascinating, how tiny an ear could be. How alluring. He touched it gently with his fingertips then followed the curve of it downward. She shivered. He felt the tremble, transferred from her lovely softness to his aching form.

"If I hadn't..." she began again, but her line of thought had been disrupted.

"Shhh." He stood a full head taller than she, though she was not a small woman. "Quiet, lady," he soothed, and kissed that ear ever so gently.

As a young girl, Katherine had seen fireworks. But never had she felt them. Never until now. They exploded at the lobe of her ear, sending light sparking off in every direction. She slipped her arms about the incredible width of his chest and pulled him closer now. "Mr. Ryland."

Don't let her speak, he reminded himself. He was teetering on the edge of no return, and if he heard that lovely molasses voice, he'd fall, taking her with him, down to his level.

She turned her face, finding his eyes. They were warm, deep-set eyes that said so much. "Mr. Ryland," she whispered again, failing to realize the incongruity of such formality with a nearly naked man clutched to her body in a deathlike grip. Love me, she thought, but said, "I'm sorry," in that same way she used to in an attempt to gain her father's approval.

"Shhh." Travis closed his eyes, shushing her through his gritted teeth and feeling the deep burn of his shaft throb against her thigh.

"It's all my fault," she said, not certain why she felt such a scorching ache to hold him. Only knowing that her need was deep. "I should never have been..."

He drew her closer, smelling the fresh fragrance of her hair.

"Never have been there..." She pressed up against him, breathing hard. "With Patterson."

"Don't." He moved stiffly back a pace, taking her arms in his large hands. "Don't say you were with Patterson." His eyes bore into hers. "I know it's a lie."

Katherine stared at him in silence.

"I know it wasn't you who was with him."

Frustration welled within her. Never before had she been held in the strong warmth of a man's arms, and she wished now to feel that warmth again.

"You weren't with Patterson," he said, shaking her slightly. "Admit it! It wasn't you. You're not that kind of woman."

All her life she'd been told what kind of person she was. What she should be. What she should do, and suddenly she ached to shock them all.