Rafe's Redemption (4 page)

“Thank you. Did you get a chance to look at the necklace?”

Tom grunted as he plopped down the sewing supplies and bent to get the gold scale. He pulled the chain from the locket, then weighed them both.

“Will one of them cover Mr. McBride’s loss and his supplies?” She wouldn’t remain in his debt, but there had to be something left for her.

“The locket is more ‘n enough.” Tom opened his cash register and dropped several coins into her hand. “This is for the chain.”

“A re you sure?” She hadn’t hoped for this much.

“Yep. Now stop worryin’.”

If only she could.

Rafe came back inside in a burst of frigid air and blowing snow. “A re you ready?”

No. “Yes.” She took the burlap sack Tom offered for her bundle of clothes.

“Don’t fret, girl.” Tom took her hand and squeezed.

“He’ll keep you safe. I couldn’t see sendin’ you with him if’n he wouldn’t.”

She nodded and tried to smile. “Thank you. For everything.”

She buttoned her coat while the men said their good-byes on the boardwalk. Rafe took the sack from her hands and strode toward the hitching post. Her gaze landed on his horse. The huge beast was the animal she had considered making her escape on. He looked as testy as his owner—and she had to tolerate the company of both. She glanced from horse to man and raised her chin a notch. A fter his less than complimentary words, she’d be damned before showing fear.

The icy wind whipped her hair when she started from the protective cover of the porch. She tucked the loose strands into the collar of her coat and stepped off the boardwalk.

Rafe frowned. “Wait.” He deposited her back on the porch and disappeared inside, then returned and dropped a man’s felt hat onto her head. “To keep the snow and rain off your face.”

“Thank—” She stopped short as he pulled a pair of thick gloves from his pocket and pressed them into her hands. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Tom thought you should have them.” Then he walked to the horses, leaving her to follow.

Fine. He didn’t want her gratitude. It made no difference to her as long as he kept his promise and took her to the fort.

She stepped off the porch as the snow whirled around; bits of ice mixed with the large flakes and stung her skin. She tilted her head and leaned into the wind, glad for the hat and for Tom’s thoughtfulness.

“We’ll have to ride double,” Rafe said when she stood beside him. “There’s no room on the pack mule.” He tied her sack to the saddle horn, then turned. His steel gaze darted from her to the animals, and he frowned, as if he’d just realized how close riding double would be. Maggie couldn’t decipher his muttered curse, but judging by his dark scowl, she didn’t want to know his thoughts.

He swung his lean frame onto the horse and settled in the saddle, then reached a strong hand down to her.

She looked up—way up—at his outstretched palm. She placed her gloved hand in his and hoped she didn’t fall.

Her breath whooshed out in surprise when he pulled her up behind him as if she weighed no more than a sack of feathers.

Oh, God. A shudder ran through her, and she covered her eyes with her hands. No wonder she hated horses. She cracked one eye open, glanced down…and buried her face into Rafe’s back. They sat at least six feet off the ground! Thank God, she wouldn’t have to attempt riding alone. Except now her body pressed against his, a fact that stole her breath and spiraled heat from her nipples to her cunny.

What should she do with her hands? If she held on to the back of the saddle, she’d be dangerously close to his backside; wrapping her arms around him seemed bold. She clutched the sides of his coat in her fists and wiggled until she found a comfortable position.

Rafe craned his head and glared over his shoulder.

“Ready?”

Before she could answer, he clicked his tongue to his horse, and they took off with a lurch. The mule’s lead rope bit into her leg as the stubborn animal lagged behind.

“Hang on. We’ve got to ride hard.”

She nodded, then added, “I’m fine. Do what you must.”

A s they rode by Zeke’s, Michael’s triumphant face grinned through the window. She stared at him, unwilling to look away in shame. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Michael was the one who should be ashamed. Her father had entrusted him with the family’s fortune and with Maggie. The money would be gone before Christmas.

Where will I be?

The enormous weight of her situation crushed her.

She shuddered and bit back tears, again nearly overwhelmed by the urge to cry. She was just tired and hungry. That was all. By next week this trip—this whole nightmare—would be nothing but a bad memory.

Rafe tensed as Maggie went limp against him. A feathery sigh tickled the hair at his neck, the deep exhale rubbing her soft breasts across his back. Hell. He closed his eyes, but that was a mistake. Images of her ripped bodice, of hard nipples peeking over a silk corset sent a gut-twisting shot of lust straight to his dick. Double hell.

She sighed again, her arm dropping forward to rest on his thigh. Christ. Two inches to the left and she’d be cupping his cock. He grabbed her hand and pulled it around his waist to keep her from falling off Moses. The last thing he wanted to do was dig her out of a snow drift. It wasn’t that he wanted to feel her arms around him or have her body pressed any closer than it already was. Not that at all.

She mumbled in her sleep, her warm breath fanning his ear, drawing his balls tight with need.

A frustrated groan escaped through tense lips. What in the hell had he done? Hadn’t he learned anything from the last time he’d defended a woman?

But damn it all, he couldn’t let Skinner Joe buy her.

A nd now some man was looking for an army friend.

Friend. Like hell. Rafe knew who searched. Simon. He’d find Rafe and Joe would help.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as every horrible scenario imaginable flashed through his mind. What the hell had he gotten Miss Monroe into? He groaned. A nd why did she have to be from St. Louis. For all he knew, she could have been to his family home. A nd the last thing he wanted was questions or pity.

He grunted in disgust and pushed Moses a little harder. The cold wind howled as they started into the foothills. He tucked his chin into his chest and wished he had started a beard a little sooner.

Maggie moaned, then slid her free hand inside his coat, stroking his stomach like a cat. He tensed. A hot need coursed through his body. His cock stiffened against his buttons, lengthening until the head threatened to break free from the waistband. No way would this be all right. He didn’t want a woman around. He had been too long by himself.

He just had to stay away from her. He could ignore her for a couple of days. Then once the blizzard passed, he’d take her to the fort.

“Think I’ll freeze if I sleep in the barn with you, Moses?” A soft nicker came in answer, and he figured his horse laughed at him. Easy for Moses. He was gelded.

A nother hour and they’d be home. Heat flooded his frozen face at the thought of this St. Louis society lady seeing how he lived. No doubt she was used to a mansion with servants to attend to every need.

So were you once.

He pushed the thought away, angry that Maggie made him remember things he’d rather not. That life was dead.

A s dead as the man he’d killed.

Maggie jolted from sleep. Shame burned her face when she found herself wound around Rafe like a scarf.

The large horse swayed with each step, rubbing her cunny in a not unpleasant way. No wonder her dreams had been naughty, erotic. Dreams of Rafe’s long, rough fingers stroking between her legs, his lips trailing wet kisses over her breasts, whispering details of what he wanted to do.

“You awake now?” The howling wind carried his voice to her.

“Yes.” She straightened, pulled her arm from his, and gasped when her palm scraped across the buttons on his crotch. Lordy! He was huge, hard. But she snatched her hand away. There was nothing she wanted from this man, not his muscled body, not his stroking fingers, not his huge, hard penis—nothing, other than help to a stagecoach.

That, and shelter from the blizzard swirling around them. Her feet hung like blocks of ice from prickling, frozen legs, thumping against Moses’ belly with every step. The small bit of warmth from where her body had been pressed against Rafe’s disappeared, stolen by the bitter cold. A shiver rattled her teeth. Horrible newspaper accounts raced through her mind. Wagon trains full of families caught unaware, trapped by blizzards until they starved.

Oh, God, what if she and Rafe were lost?

She strained to see a town, a house, a light, anything through the dense snow, any proof they weren’t going to die in this wilderness.

There was nothing. A nd it was almost dark. How would Rafe be able to see then? They would be lost for sure. She leaned forward, enough he could hear her words, but careful not to touch him again. “A re we lost?” His scoff was audible over the wind. “No.” Relief flooded through her. “How long have we been riding?”

“A few hours.”

Her aching muscles already knew that. “A re we almost there?”

“Soon.”

Lord, his conversation skills lacked. Would it kill him to offer a little reassurance? “This all looks the same.

How do you know where we’re going?”

“I just know,” he growled.

Giving up, she tugged her hat down tight and burrowed her chilled face into his broad back. If it would just stop snowing, maybe he could take her to the fort tomorrow. She had to make it home. The sketches had to be finished, the paintings framed. A nd if she didn’t get the rest of the money to Mr. Hastings, he wouldn’t display her work.

If your talent was good enough, you wouldn’t have to pay. Her father’s voice ripped through her thoughts and shredded her confidence. Maybe he was right.

Don’t think like that. She squeezed her eyes shut and imagined herself at the gallery show. Her pieces of the rugged West should be a huge success once people saw them, therefore if she had to pay for the opportunity, so be it. Once her work was commissioned, she and Nettie could travel the world and Maggie could draw.

Just as soon as she was free of Mr. McBride.

Moses clambered up another steep hill and plodded along a trickling creek. Ice formed ragged edges along the water, like a pie with a broken crust. Her stomach protested the thought. She could almost smell Nettie’s apple pie, the wood smoke as she fed the big cook stove.

Wait! Smoke did linger in the air. She almost shouted with joy. There had to be a house nearby, someplace they could warm themselves.

Instead, they traveled deeper into the forest.

Maggie bit back a groan. How much farther could it be? A t this rate, they would be in St. Louis by morning.

She tugged her hat tighter and looked around. If she weren’t so cold, the beauty of this place would move her to take out her sketch paper. Pure, endless snow and crystallized trees shadowed a deep gray horizon. Nothing back home looked like this.

“Whoa.”

She grabbed Rafe’s shoulders at the sudden stop. He swung his leg over the horse’s neck and dropped to the snowy ground.

“We’re here,” he announced, reaching to help her down.

She surveyed the forest, unable to keep the doubt from her voice. “Where?”

“There.” He pointed past a clump of trees. “Come on.

Climb down.”

Her legs buckled when she tried to stand. The wet ground rushed toward her, but strong hands caught around her waist. Rafe stood her upright, then backed away with a frown, as if she’d thrown herself into his arms.

“Thank you.” She stepped back, putting a comfortable distance between them, then studied the foliage around them. “Why did we stop here?” She gave him a pointed stare.

He rolled his eyes. “I live here.”

Her gaze snapped around. “Outside?” Dear God, she was going to freeze to death tonight.

“Of course not!” He glared at her as if she were addled.

“But—”

“Can’t you see the cabin?”

“What cabin?”

One callused finger touched her cheek, tipping her head to the right.

A moss-covered log wall grew from an outcropping of stone, the most pitiful, negligible, wonderful sight she’d ever seen. Her limbs regained strength at the promise of warmth. “Oh.”

Smoke curled a lazy ribbon from a chimney, but as they walked closer, doubt replaced relief. The house was no bigger than two large wardrobes pushed together.

How could one man fit in there, much less two people?

She couldn’t spend the night if she had no privacy.

A nother small structure to her left captured her attention. Maybe…

“That’s the barn,” he said. He walked her to the cabin door, saplings strung together like a boy’s raft. “Go on.” He nudged her inside. “I’ll see to the animals, then be in to build up the fire.”

He closed the door, leaving her in the dark.

She peered into the dim room. A s her eyes adjusted, the feeling of yawning space enveloped her. She shuffled forward and gasped. The back half was a cave, the front a cabin. A n earthen, musty odor filled the air, lingering along with the stench of…burnt bacon?