Rafe's Redemption (5 page)

It seemed his cooking skills were as nonexistent as his conversational skills.

She roamed toward a large corner fireplace, and stirred the banked ashes with the poker. The red-hot coals offered enough light to find kindling and Lucifer sticks. There was no reason to sit in the cold waiting for Rafe to build a fire. Pushing aside the blackened frying pan, she fed the fading embers as she had done every morning for Nettie. Soon orange flames devoured the dry wood, spreading warmth through the small room.

Heat seeped into her frozen body while she lit the lantern and walked around. The depth of the cave offered an alcove for a small bed. A rocker made from twisted tree limbs sat in front of the fireplace and a sleek, dark animal skin served as a rug over the slab-rock floor.

With a shudder, she recalled the one thing she’d heard about caves. Bats.

She jerked her head toward the ceiling. Nothing.

Only fuzzy moss and smooth stone.

Sparks popped and embers erupted, familiar, soothing sounds that drew her back to the hearth. She perched on the stones, then removed her hat and gloves and leaned forward, warming her hands, twisting to toast her backside.

This wouldn’t be so terrible. It was better than last night at the saloon, listening to the prostitutes earn a coin. Here she was free—or soon would be—and that was worth sleeping on the floor, or on…she eyed the rug again, on whatever it was.

She just hoped it wasn’t the previous inhabitant of this cave. A nd if it was, Lord, let it be the last one.

Despite her hasty prayer, she eyed the dark corners.

“Stop being stupid,” she hissed at herself. There was nothing to fear. No wild animals, no threat. Rafe seemed reasonable—for the most part. Everything would be fine.

She expelled a shuddering breath. Something hot to drink was what she needed. It would finish warming her up and give her something to do.

She spotted a tin bucket, filled with water, so she searched the shelves above a large worktable until she found coffee beans and the grinder. Soon the smell of brewing coffee made her stomach growl. If she didn’t get something to eat soon, fainting was a real possibility. She pushed aside the guilt of rifling through his supplies. No doubt he was hungry, too—and she preferred her food unburned.

Besides, she intended to show him just how much she couldn’t do.

I’ve known woman like her…

Hah. He knew nothing about her.

Cornmeal sat on the shelves beside a wooden bowl full of eggs. She nestled the frying pan into the embers and cracked four eggs. Those along with Johnny cakes would make a quick meal. Besides, there wasn’t much food, and she didn’t want to deplete his supplies.

She removed her coat and hung it on the single straight-back chair beside a tiny dining table, then surveyed the room again. It was all so…barren and lonely. Did he have no one?

She pushed the pity aside. Look where feeling sorry for Michael had landed her. Her time would be better spent thinking of ways to help herself.

A s the first batch of cakes finished, Rafe came through the door and stopped, rooted to one spot. His gaze took in the fire and the food. His slack-jawed expression sent a jolt of smug satisfaction through her.

Pout and look pretty, indeed.

“Is something wrong?” she asked in honeyed innocence.

“No.”

Melting snow hung in his whiskers and dripped from the ends of his hair, making the color seem richer, darker. He wasn’t unattractive. His rough, dark looks and hard, muscled body would tempt any woman. He would make an excellent model for her sketches. But with luck, she wouldn’t be here long enough to open her satchel, much less ask him to sit for her.

He stepped aside to hang his wet coat, and a large, gray dog charged through the door. She scurried back and clambered into the rocker. Dear God, Rafe hadn’t managed to kill all the cave’s former occupants.

“Go away!” She shooed the beast with her long shirttail.

The animal stopped and backed away, his head cocked in question, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

Rafe strolled to the wash basin without a backward glance.

“Do something!” she cried.

He blew a long ragged sigh. “That’s Wolf. Wolf, Miss Monroe.”

“A wolf?” she yelped. The animal stood poised as if ready to pounce. She probably looked as tasty as Nettie’s Sunday dinner.

“What kind of person lets a wolf in his home?” She climbed over the arm of the chair and edged toward Rafe. Her hope plummeted. From the narrowed look he gave her, she’d be the first visitor to be evicted.

“I do. He’s my friend.”

Wolf’s eerie eyes watched her every move as she tiptoed back to the fire. She grabbed the largest cake and tossed it to the floor.

“Um, good boy.”

He gobbled it down, so she gave him another, along with a fried egg. Best fill him up. He smiled—she was sure of it, his long canine teeth shined—then trotted to lie in front of the fire. Pretending more bravery than she felt, she stepped around his large paws and reached for the coffee pot, aware of a new set of eyes watching her.

Judging her.

She poured Rafe a cup, then met his gaze.

“A s you can see, I built up the fire and made coffee.” She pushed a cup toward him. “A nd cakes and eggs.”

“Fine by me.” Rafe took the coffee, then slumped into the rocker and dropped his head back, expelling a sigh.

She glared at his profile, determined to have an apology. “Is the coffee the way you like it?”

“Fine.”

“Is the fire warm enough?”

“Fine.”

Maggie resisted—barely—the urge to slap him with the spatula. So much for any thanks, or him admitting he’d been wrong about her abilities. Just like her father.

Were men born unable to apologize?

Wolf whined so Maggie gave him another small cake and he walked to the alcove, tail wagging. A t least one of them appreciated her efforts.

She filled two plates and set them on the table.

“Supper is ready.”

Rafe lifted his head and nodded. “A ll right. You can have the table and chair.” He reached for his plate.

She shook her head. “No, I’ll sit here on the hearth.

The fire feels good after the long ride.” Rafe shrugged without comment, but she noticed he didn’t eat until she was seated. Manners. He wasn’t as rough as he pretended, but why pretend? He was a strange man, strange and confusing. A nd intriguing—

even if he was a horse’s ass.

****

Confusion bombarded Rafe as Maggie washed the dinner dishes. He shook his head. Where had a society girl learned to wash dishes? Or to cook the best damn meal he’d had in months? Most women he knew would have been sitting in the dark, crying because the lodgings turned out to be a cave.

So damn it, why wasn’t she?

He didn’t want to like her, couldn’t afford to let anyone close. He had to find a way to keep her at a distance. But how? Ignoring her didn’t work. She just talked all the more. Why was she acting so nice? Was she buttering him up? It was what Pearl had done. But what could Maggie want from him? He already gave his word to get her to the fort. Maybe she thought he expected something in exchange for his help. A sexual payment of sorts.

A flash of lust sent a jolt to his cock at the thought of her in his bed. Naked. Writhing. Moaning his name.

Offering her pussy for payment. His dick lengthened, pulsed until he squirmed in discomfort—but not enough discomfort to douse his wayward imagination. She’d be wet, her long legs open, begging for his tongue, her sassy mouth sucking his cock, greedy for him to fill her throat with come.

“Jesus Christ!” He scrambled from the rocker, catching Wolf’s paw. The poor animal yelped in pain.

Damn it.

She spun from the wash pan, eyes wide with worry.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled and pulled on his coat. “I’m going to check the animals.” Halfway out, he turned.

“The privy is attached to the barn.” He slammed the door, but leaned against the other side and tried to bring his body under control. He had no business thinking of her like that.

Her soft voice wafted through the wood. “Does he always act so strange?”

Wolf whined.

Wonderful. Now she was talking to the animals. Rafe walked away and shook his head. She should be cowering in fear. Wolf was vicious. Well, he could be.

She wouldn’t know he was tame as a kitten.

Grabbing a shovel, Rafe slung the accumulated snow off the path to the barn. He didn’t want her. Naked or otherwise. He didn’t.

Inside the barn, he put the chickens in their coop, then leaned against the wall. He scrubbed his face and dragged an unsteady hand through his hair. Could he stay out here until she fell asleep? Or—

The barn door opened and he jumped upright.

Maggie stepped inside, Wolf fast on her heels. Rafe narrowed his eyes at the dog. Traitor.

She looked around the dusty barn, then her full lips parted. Lord, he didn’t want to talk with her anymore, couldn’t stand the sweet lilt of her voice. It made him ache for things he thought he didn’t miss. Things he couldn’t have.

“The privy is over there.” He cut her off before she could speak.

She gave a curt nod and walked across the hard-packed dirt floor.

There was one thing he intended to make clear to her before she went back to the house. When she came out, shivering in the frigid air, he didn’t give her a chance to talk.

“You take the bed. I’ll make do on the rug.” She frowned, creasing her delicate brows. “I won’t take your bed. I’ve already inconvenienced you enough.

The rug is fine for me.”

“No.” His voice came out rough. “Take the bed.” He counted to ten before continuing. “Go on.” He shooed her with a flick of his wrist. “I’ll be in later.” Wolf looked at him disapprovingly and followed Maggie toward the door. Rafe breathed a sigh of relief.

Then she stopped and he stiffened. He should have known she wasn’t done.

“Good night, Mr. McBride.” She nodded over her shoulder. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me.” The door swished shut, blocking the view of her rounded ass.

Rafe let his head hit the wall with a loud thump and exhaled. Pearl never thanked him for anything. Ever. If she were forced to stay in a place like this she would have cried and screamed, refused to calm herself or lift a finger to help.

But there was the rub. She had refused to come with him.

Maggie on the other hand offered to sleep on the floor.

“Hell,” he groaned. Did his thoughts always have to come back around to her?

He stomped to the door and yanked it open, needing a cold reminder of where his life had led him. Snow swirled around his face, but all he could see was dark, curly hair and deep blue eyes. Even the frigid weather didn’t help. He was hard. Maybe…

He slipped his palm over his cock, rubbing through his pants. Maybe he needed to take the edge off his hunger. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so tempted to strip her naked and lick every inch of her body.

No! By God, he wasn’t going to resort to jerking his cod. If he had nothing else, he had self-control and no dark-haired beauty was going to take that away.

No matter how sweet her ass looked in pants.

****

A n hour outside finally cooled his temper and deflated his dick enough to chance going inside the cabin. He hung his coat and squinted at the bed, praying she slept. God help him if the blizzard trapped her here.

How would he resist her temptation? Maybe he could be surly, pick a fight. If she was angry, it would be easier for him to keep his distance. Offense was the best defense, on or off the battlefield.

Once his eyes adjusted, he saw her snuggled under a blanket. Not on the bed as he instructed, but on the rug.

“Damn it all,” he whispered. Couldn’t she just follow orders? “Stubborn, frustrating female.” Constructing an argument would be no trouble.

Her eyes opened, hazy and unfocused. “Wh-what?”

“I told you to take the bed,” he growled, lifting her like a child, blanket and all. But the thin blanket wasn’t enough to hide the fact she’d removed her pants. Sleek, bare legs peeked from beneath the wool and all his hard-earned self-control flew out the door.

He stomped across the dark space, trying not to trip as the blanket dragged between his legs. He would have made it if Wolf’s tail hadn’t been so damn long and bushy. Instead, he tripped and felt himself fall with her in his arms.

Maggie couldn’t breathe. She landed hard on the straw mattress, Rafe’s large body on top of her. A strangled moan escaped her lips. Oh, this was bad. Bad, bad, bad. Her body hummed with excitement, the delicious weight of him between her legs pushing all common sense aside. Who needed to breathe? This felt much, much better.

“I told you to take the bed.” His lips brushed her hair in an almost-kiss as he spoke.

“I couldn’t,” she wheezed. The last thing she remembered was curling up in front of the fireplace. He had told her to take his bed, but she wouldn’t sleep there. She refused to take the few comforts he had.

“Oh, God,” he whispered, wrestling the blanket tangled around their bodies. “A re you all right, Maggie?” He rolled off her. “A re you hurt?” His big hands roamed her body. “Tell me where I’ve hurt you.” His worried face loomed above her as she tried to suck in a deep breath. His leg still covered hers. Thank God, she’d only removed her trousers. The thought of his hands stroking her bare skin, touching her bare breasts, made her flush all over.