Never Let You Down: The Connaghers, Book 4 (8 page)

His hands trembled on the steering wheel, his heart thudding heavily again. It was probably a good thing he didn’t have a heart condition, or he would have keeled over before he even got to make love to her.

“I don’t know if you followed my kids or not, but Victor’s running a cable station in Dallas that promotes healthy BDSM lifestyles. He’d be proud of the work you’ve done too.”

That surprised him. “Really? He’s out in the open?”
And that doesn’t bother you?

“He’s one mean sadist and even starred on his own reality show called
America’s Next Top sub.
Vicki’s living with two men. Conn’s a professor in Missouri. I don’t know that it’s common knowledge up there or not, but he’s a Dominant. And no, it doesn’t bother me that they’re living nontraditional lifestyles—like mine with their father—out in the open. I’m proud of them and their courage to live their lives the way they choose regardless of what anyone has to say.”

He took a deep breath and gathered his own courage. There were so many things he’d wanted to say to her back when they were teenagers. Things he hadn’t had the words or understanding to say. “Tyrell was a masochist, and you’re a sadist.”

“Yes,” she said simply.

He let up on the gas, determined not to get a speeding ticket. “What have you been doing for pain since he passed?”

She was silent so long, he glanced over at her to gauge her reaction. Her right hand was curled into a fist in her lap and she stared down at it fiercely, like her own hand had offended her in some way.

“I’m not a full masochist,” he said, trying to ease her turmoil. “I can take a lot of punishment, but I don’t get off on the pain itself. It’s the act, my willingness to do it because my Mistress requested it, that gets me off.”

“I hurt you enough already, Jeb. I don’t want to hurt you again. Like that. Especially if you’re not…”

“It’s the service I need,” he continued, ignoring her words. “But that’s why I quit going to the professional Mistress. She helped me figure out what I needed, but once I knew, I couldn’t keep going to her. To anyone, really. Because none of them were you. I need to service
you
. Whatever that is. And if you need me to suffer to ease the need in you, then I need it too. I need to give you exactly what you need because that’s how I’m wired. It has nothing to do with the pain itself, but in satisfying you.”

“You were always taking care of me,” she whispered. “But not in this. I can’t do that to you.”

“If you don’t, then I’ll never really know what it means for me to be able to fully submit to a woman. My Mistress, my Domme, whatever title it is you want to hear. I need to take care of you and only you, Ginny.”

Chapter Ten

The Lady Always Gets Her Man
by Chris Waters

The stable was silent. Even the few horses boarded for the night were sleeping. He crept down the aisle to examine each horse, looking for the fastest, the strongest, his only shot at getting out of town alive. One didn’t steal every last coin out of the mayor’s personal safe and expect to ride off into the sunset without pursuit. Especially when said mayor was working for one of the deadliest crime lords this country had ever known.

A pistol poked between his shoulder blades and he froze, slowly lifting his right hand. His left arm hung useless at his side. “I can’t lift my other hand.”

The person who’d found him didn’t speak, but prodded harder, pushing him down the aisle toward the back room. With a sigh, he went. There’d be a feed or tack room back here, sturdy enough to keep outlaws like him from stealing the valuables. It’d hold him until the sheriff could arrive.
If I don’t bleed out first.

He shuffled along, boots scraping through the straw, letting his captor believe he was in rough shape. He was, honestly, but he’d been in grimmer situations before and figured out a way to escape.
Although right now, I’m too tired to think of a way out of this one.

The small room was dark but he smelled leather and old horse sweat. Tack room, then. A small high window let in just enough moonlight for him to see a cot tucked into the corner. The gun prodded him in that direction. It was all he could do not to fall down face-first on that bedding and sink into oblivion.

I can’t. I can’t close my eyes for one moment. Not until I’m away. It’s not safe. It’ll never be safe.

His captor shoved him hard enough he did tumble down onto that cot. Luckily he managed to twist enough to fall on his right side to spare his wounded shoulder. He tried to rise up and at least see who had caught him, but a hard knee ground into his back so he stayed put. It felt good to lie down, even in a narrow, hard cot. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he could fight his way out of here right now anyway.

“Ransom Savage, you old dog.”

That rich, husky voice seared his brain to ash. It took him several moments to get his mouth to work. “Miss Raynes.”

She laughed softly, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Formality from the most wanted outlaw in the West? I like it.”

“Victorious…”

She slapped a handcuff on his right hand and bound him to the bed. “Because I know you so very well, I don’t exactly trust you. You stay put while I check outside and see who’s trailing you, and then maybe I’ll see to your wound.”

Her tone suggested that she might change her mind and give him other wounds instead. Despite the blaster shot to the shoulder that burned like hell, his cock thudded and turned to stone. To say that he’d had a fiery tempestuous past with the lovely Miss Raynes was like saying it got a tad warm during a Texas summer.

The cot creaked beneath their dual weight, but he wouldn’t care if the flimsy bed exploded. Not with Victorious Raynes here. She might turn him in. Hell, she might even shoot him herself. But he didn’t think so. Not when her breath came faster against his ear and her hands roamed his back and arms, mindful of the wound. “Did you miss me?”

A year ago, they’d run into each other in Denver. She’d been making a killing at the poker table because every man there couldn’t keep his eyes off the glorious cleavage barely covered by her low-cut gown. He’d been shocked enough to plop down coin and join the game, because he’d never seen her in a dress before. Growing up in the hills of Missouri, she’d always been more comfortable in boy’s garb. They’d ended up sharing a hotel room for a few blissful days and long sweaty nights.

There wasn’t a woman as alive and wild and fearless as her. He’d allowed her to do things to him… Hell, he’d
begged
her.

Then he’d started having idiotic ideas. Like maybe he could settle down on a farm somewhere. Give up the dashing yet dangerous persona of Ransom Savage, the most cunning outlaw and quickest draw in the West. He could almost see Tori standing in the doorway of a humble log cabin with a baby on her hip. A sweet-cheeked little girl with the same auburn hair and big cat eyes, green and gold and brown, shimmering with love.

Then one morning, he woke up and she was gone. Without a single word goodbye. Certainly no word on how he could find her again. He’d looked for over a year, chasing every rumor and gossiped whisper about her, but she’d always managed to disappear like fog in the morning.

Ego stinging, he scoffed. “Honey, I didn’t even realize you were gone.”

“That’s what I thought.” She nipped his ear hard enough he jumped, groaning at the pain in his shoulder. “You’re losing your touch if you’re slow enough to catch heat. Bullet?”

“Blaster.”

She made a low sound of sympathy and rose. He almost begged her to lie down with him, just for a while.

“I’ve got some salve in my bag. I’ve got to make an appearance tonight or people will wonder where I disappeared to, but I’ll be back in a few hours. Try to rest.” She opened the door, letting moonlight cut across the floor just enough to give him a glimpse of her face and attire.

She was dressed in a buttoned-up prim and proper lady’s gown more suited for the schoolroom than a saloon or poker table. Her glorious wild tumble of hair was tamed into a staid bun with only one long curl dangling against her throat. She looked…scrubbed and tight and prim. Good God, was that a fucking parasol? Pink and frilly and girlie, hanging from a strap around her wrist.

The Victorious Raynes he knew would have cut off his nuts with a rusty blade if he’d ever suggested she wear such a thing.

In short, she looked miserable. Different. And wholly alien to someone who’d given his heart to her while tied up in her bed.

She smiled, though, so maybe that was just him feeling a rush of panic and confusion at her transformation. “It’s good to see you, Ranse.”

As soon as she was gone, he carefully worked his injured arm just enough to pull the hairpin out of his mess of hair. He’d inherited the thick, black mane from his Choctaw mama, with a bit of wave thrown in from his father. He deliberately kept his hair long and wild enough that he could hide all sorts of interesting things at his nape or against his scalp. Blinking back sweat from the effort of moving his injured shoulder, he concentrated on the handcuff and freed his hand.

Victorious shouldn’t have underestimated me. Even injured, I always have a few tricks up my sleeves.

But that only made him more worried and curious about what she was up to. She had to be pulling a scam herself to be dressed up so neat and tidy. The woman he knew could shoot nigh as good as him, ride a rangy green-broke horse better than any ranch hand, and outdrink every man at the saloon, and then haul off her chosen man for a night of sweat and passion he wouldn’t soon forget.

I’ll certainly never forget.

He pocketed the handcuff—you never knew when restraints might come in handy—and gave a cursory search of the small room. She must have known whoever owned the stable to be so quick to stash him here. If he were lucky…

Grinning, he pulled out the bottle of whiskey and dried meat someone had stashed in a rickety cupboard. No salve, but the whiskey would do just fine. He made short work of the locked door and then returned to examining the horses. The closest stalls held a perky little strawberry roan mare on one side and a lean, rangy gelding with a mean eye. Both were fine horseflesh. He didn’t have to see a bill of ownership or brand to know they must be hers. Both, even the mean-looking gelding. He was probably her primary mount when she wasn’t playing prim and proper lady.

If she’s playing a game, then I’ll take the gelding and leave her with the sweet little mare. It’ll serve her right for locking me up.

He didn’t bother stealing a saddle, just a bridle and a blanket. No time to bother with full tack. The gelding came along readily enough despite his temper, though he did try to nip Ransom’s shoulder. He had to stifle a laugh. Just like his mistress.

Cracking the rear door, he scanned the dark alleyway, watching for any movement. He led the gelding out and quietly shut the door behind him. The mare whickered farewell, but not a strident whinny that might call her mistress back to investigate.

He crept closer to the main street, hugging the side of the building. The Halltown Saloon was hopping, no surprise even though it was after midnight. Nor was it surprising to see the sheriff riding down the muddy street, pausing to look down each alley. Other men were checking the buildings.

Ransom hesitated. He ought to slip away now, before they got to this alley. Men were obviously looking for him. Yet he couldn’t leave, not until he knew what game Victorious played.

She swept out into the muddy street as grandly as a queen. “Sheriff, might I have a word?”

Ransom didn’t know the sheriff personally but he had a hell of a reputation. As bold as his name, John Brazen had ridden into the badlands straight into Apache territory to single-handedly retrieve a little girl carried off by the savages. Of course he’d been armed with a blaster powerful enough to cut a new Grand Canyon against a handful of warriors armed with bows and arrows, but people didn’t much care to think about that. Nor the fact that the girl hadn’t been carried off at all—but had wandered away and been taken in by the tribe when they found her starving and half dead from exposure. At least Brazen wasn’t the kind of man to blindly kill everyone in camp for even thinking about laying a finger on the girl, but he sure hadn’t tried too hard to correct the legend that sprung up about how he’d faced down hundreds of vicious Apache warriors to retrieve her.

Sheriff Brazen drew rein and tipped his beat-up hat back on his head, revealing a smile that Ransom didn’t like much. It was far too appreciative and intimate, as though the man knew as many of the lady’s secrets as Ransom did. “How may I be of service, Miss Raynes?”

Ransom almost choked. She was using her real name? He knew for a fact that there were warrants out for her arrest in at least two states.

“What’s all the excitement about?”

“Just a little break in, darlin’. Nothing to worry about.”

Darlin’.
The word blazed through Ransom’s mind. His hands ached, but it took him a minute to understand that it was because he’d fisted them until his nails dug into his palms. He took a step forward, dropping both hands toward the pistols on his hips.

Pain arced through his shoulder, drawing a groan from his lips. Damnation. Now wasn’t the time, not when he couldn’t lift his left arm, the wound a dead giveaway that he was the low-down dirty thief the mayor’s guard had managed to knick in the wing.
I can’t figure out what Victorious is up to—let alone fight for her heart—if I’m behind bars.

Yet that thought wavered, melting into a river of molten fury, as he watched the sheriff lean down and kiss the smiling lady. Her gloved hand reached up to cup the back of the man’s head and she rose up on her tiptoes to get closer. Never mind that she’d straddled Ransom just a few moments ago in a dingy cot and bitten his ear.

A scam? The lady lures the sheriff into her net and then makes her escape with the dashing outlaw?

Or did Victorious really love this man?

There’s only one way to find out.

Ransom slid back into the shadows and headed in the opposite direction. Escape first. Healing second. And then he’d ride into Halltown and find out where the lady’s heart lay once and for all.