Savage Thunder (23 page)

I
t was absolutely out of the question. It was so improper it didn’t even bear consideration. Besides, there was that implied warning that Colt wouldn’t keep his hands off her if she went with him.

That was the one point Jocelyn didn’t mention when she told the countess she was going, and then spent the next two hours arguing with her about it. In the end, it was her decision to make. And in the end, Vanessa even allowed the plan might have
some
merit to it. After all, if Jocelyn could get away undetected, Longnose wouldn’t leave the area, thinking she was still there.

Later in the week the rest of their numbers could be divided, half to take the train to meet her in Cheyenne, the other half to go by the Santa Fe Trail as they had intended. And with Jocelyn in neither party, Longnose wouldn’t know which to follow, would likely assume she had been hidden somehow. He might even divide his own numbers, which would make it simpler for the law authorities, whom she intended to have waiting for him when he eventually showed up in Wyoming.

Jocelyn didn’t know how Colt had greeted her decision to go with him, for she had sent a servant to tell him. There was the strong possibility his offer
hadn’t been sincere and he would be furious that she had once again called his bluff. After all, she really didn’t understand why he would do this for her when she knew how much he disliked her company. But if he had been sincere, then she could only conclude that he was so fed up with the job she had forced on him—which had now become extremely risky as well as bothersome—that he was willing to do anything to get it over with. Traveling without the encumbrance of the vehicles would get them to Wyoming in half the time, maybe even less.

She was ready when he came for her around midnight, dressed in one of her more sturdy riding habits, with a full-length fur-lined cloak draped over an arm, her rifle in one hand and a small valise in the other. Colt did no more than remove her tall, short-brimmed riding hat to replace it with one he had brought along, a man’s wide-brimmed hat in the same style as his, which surprisingly fitted. She didn’t object. She didn’t dare. She was going to have to get used to doing things as
he
directed, or risk heaven knew what, a thought that didn’t sit well with her, but she supposed she would get used to that too.

She noted right off, despite there being no words exchanged between them, that Colt didn’t
seem
furious. But then most of the time it was impossible to tell what he was feeling. However, if anything, he seemed rather relaxed in his manner. He even flipped her new hat down over her eyes after he’d placed it on her head, something a playful relative or friend might do, but not her taciturn guide.

But he wasn’t wasting any time in getting started,
so she didn’t wonder about his attitude for very long. He led her out of the hotel through the back and down several streets, not to the stables, but to an alley where his brother was waiting with the horses.

“You see anyone?” he asked Billy.

“Not a soul.”

Billy stepped back as Colt tossed Jocelyn up onto Sir George, then secured her valise for her. She had to spend a few moments quieting the animal, who didn’t like such proximity to Colt’s stallion.

“Don’t forget what I told you, kid,” Colt was saying. “Just keep to the flats with the mountains on your left, and you’ll have no problem leading the others straight into Cheyenne. I’m trusting you to show up at the Rocky Valley on your own. If you make me come looking for you again, you’ll wish to hell you hadn’t.”

“I’ll be there,” Billy replied in a somewhat grumbling tone. “But I’m still not going back to school.”

“You can take your objections up with your ma when you return to Chicago, which is what you should have done in the first place.”

At that point Billy grinned. “She didn’t think I was serious about not wanting to be a lawyer, that I mean to take up ranching instead. Now she knows I wasn’t kidding.”

“You proved your point all right. What good it’ll do you is debatable, though.”

And then Colt pulled Billy into a brief, bone-crushing embrace, surprising the boy as well as Jocelyn, who was watching. If she had been asked, she would have sworn Colt Thunder didn’t have an affec
tionate bone in his body. Obviously, he had one or two well hidden.

As Billy headed back to the hotel and Colt mounted up, it finally dawned on Jocelyn what was missing. “Where are the supply horses?”

“You’re traveling with an Indian, Duchess.” For once he didn’t say it in a derogatory way. “If I can’t survive off the land, there’s something wrong with me.”

They both thought of Philippe Marivaux simultaneously, Colt with satisfaction that he’d never have to smell another meal smothered in French wines, Jocelyn with regret. “I’m skinny enough as it is,” she felt obliged to complain. “I’ll probably waste away to nothing by the time we get there.”

He had the gall to laugh. But after she thought about it, she rather liked the idea of his providing for her. Protection, provision, and whatever else was needed. That had a rather nice sound to it.

T
hey rode throughout the remainder of the night, keeping to the road for the horses’ sake, to avoid the hazards of the land. At one point Jocelyn asked when they might be stopping for some sleep and was told they wouldn’t be, not until the following evening. Already tired, and it wasn’t even close to dawn, she almost turned around. Almost.

But she got it into her mind that Colt was likely testing her. He had probably even made wagers with himself on how soon it would take her to start complaining about something. Of course, she never said she wouldn’t complain. If she had made such an irrational promise, then she wouldn’t dare to say anything, no matter how difficult he made this journey for her. But she decided that thwarting him would be the only enjoyment she could look forward to in the coming days. She wouldn’t complain even if it killed her.

At dawn they stopped briefly to rest the horses. She thought they would have a meal then, but Colt merely dug out some thin strips of dried beef from his saddlebags that she was told to chew on. She tried. She really did. But Westerners must have tougher teeth than duchesses. She ended up sticking the thing in
her mouth like a cigar and sucking on it for the rest of the morning.

By noon she had to remove her cloak. Not that the day had warmed up to any great degree, but the steady pace Colt was keeping to was grueling exercise, and there was little wind in the hills where they were riding now.

They had stopped once more, again only for the horses. Sir George was bearing up much better than Jocelyn. Her back felt on fire, the muscles were so stiff. The leg she hooked over her saddle horn for balance had gone to sleep a good half-dozen times. She envied it. She was so tired she was almost sleeping in the saddle. If Sir George were a less frisky mount, she likely would be.

He
gave not the slightest sign of having missed a full night’s sleep. He didn’t bend or stretch his back to work out the kinks; his head didn’t droop. His belly probably wasn’t grumbling either, as was hers.

She was given a couple of biscuits shortly after noon, and a canteen of water she was allowed to keep. If the biscuits didn’t fill her up, the water did, for a while anyway. Colt was pacing the animals now, letting them canter for a while and then briefly gallop, then walking them for a mile or two, then urging them back into a canter. It was during one of the slow paces that Jocelyn fell asleep.

She came awake with a curse ringing in her ears and a band of steel tightening about her waist. “Christ, woman, are you trying to kill yourself?”

It was Colt’s arm about her waist. And at her back
was a pillow, his chest. She took instant advantage of it, not even caring how she got there.

“Did something happen?” She yawned her question.

“You started to fall off your horse.”

“Sorry. Must have nodded off,” she said and started to again.

“Sorry? Haven’t you sense enough to say something if you can’t stay awake?”

Groggily, she wondered why he was shouting at her. “Very well, I can’t stay awake.”

“Stubbornness, that’s what it is,” she heard him mumble. “Pure stubbornness.”

Whatever that meant, she didn’t care. He had loosened his tight hold around her belly, reached forward to pull her leg over the saddle so she straddled it, and shifted his weight until she curved into him like she would into a comfortable chair. Even her legs were supported by his, so there was no tension left in her body. She was so relaxed, in fact, that she didn’t feel her hat being removed, or the hairpins being slowly pulled from her hair. She was already nodding off again.

But it wasn’t a deep sleep yet, and when the horses picked up their gait suddenly, she became aware of it. “Aren’t we going to stop?”

“What for?”

“To sleep, of course.”

“I thought you were.”

“I meant both of us. You didn’t get any rest last night either.”

“Don’t need it, but I forgot that you do. So go ahead, I won’t let you fall off.”

Jocelyn didn’t need any more encouragement than that, especially when he was much more comfortable than the hard ground would be.

Colt knew, to the second, when her sleep had deepened into total oblivion. It was as if a signal went off in his body, telling him he could touch her now. But he didn’t. Knowing that he could, at any time, do whatever he liked with her gave him patience for the time being. She belonged to him for at least a week. He had seen to it.

The peace that came with his decision still surprised him. But he’d been fighting his instincts for so long, as well as his needs, that the turmoil inside him had begun to seem normal. He should have lost the fight sooner. He’d put himself through hell, and for what? There was no getting around the fact that he wanted Jocelyn Fleming. White women were still anathema to him, but the duchess would just have to be an exception.

It still bothered him that she’d used him to prepare the way for another man to have her, but he’d see to it that she made him forget about that. It also still bothered him how quickly she’d turned to Dryden. Before the week was out, she wouldn’t even remember that bastard’s name.

S
he climaxed in her dream. She woke up with it, still throbbing, the most blissful languor drifting through her limbs—and not a clue to what she had been dreaming about, though it wasn’t difficult to hazard a guess.

Jocelyn stretched deliciously, yawned—and realized she was on a horse. Her eyes popped open to a number of other realizations clamoring for notice. The sun was setting. The horse was just plodding along, its reins wrapped around the saddle horn. Her jacket was wide open, as was her blouse. And the right side of her lacy camisole was tucked beneath her breast, exposing that plump mound to the rosy glow of the sunset. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. Her skirt was hiked up to her hips, revealing the unladylike spread of her legs on either side of the horse. And between her legs…

“Colt Thunder!”

“’Bout time you woke up.”

“Remove your hand at once!”

“I like it where it is.”

“I don’t care what you—”

“Stop screeching, Duchess, or we won’t have any dinner tonight. You’ll have scared away every animal for miles around.”

She was close to sputtering, while he offered her nothing but a lazy drawl? “To hell with dinner! You can’t—”

He interrupted her again. “I already have. And leave your blouse alone. It took me a damned long time getting it open, and I like it, too, as it is.”

When she didn’t obey him, his fingers delved more deeply inside her. She gave a tiny moan, of protest or pleasure, he wasn’t sure which. Neither was she, but finally her hands fell away from her clothes to grip his thighs instead.

“That’s better,” he bent to whisper by her ear. “Do you still want me to remove my hand?” She wouldn’t answer. “You liked it, didn’t you?”

She still wouldn’t answer. But her back arched, her head reared back, and her fingers were now kneading his thighs in a desperate manner. He took advantage of her exposed neck to graze his teeth along her skin, sending ripples of excitement down to her belly. His other hand, which had been spread across her middle to hold her against him, came up now to her exposed breast. The nipple was already hard and begging for his touch. He teased it a while before satisfying it with the firm pressure of his palm in a circular motion. The other breast was soon bared for the same tantalizing treatment. And the fingers of his other hand, still slowly moving…

“I’m sorry I couldn’t wait, Duchess, but you were given fair warning, weren’t you?” His hot breath filling her ear was nearly her undoing.

“I didn’t…expect to be attacked…when I
wasn’t looking,” she finally got out, only to hear him chuckle.

“It makes no difference when or how, when it’s not up to you. You relinquished all choices when you agreed to take off with me. Actually, you relinquished them a while back. You just didn’t know it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If a Cheyenne maiden allows a warrior to touch her body intimately, that warrior wouldn’t be criticized if he then treats her in a proprietary manner. It would, in fact, be unusual if he didn’t consider her his belonging. You allowed me more than a mere touch, didn’t you, Duchess?”

Proprietary? Belonging? Why wasn’t she incensed by those words? And why was it the deep timbre of his voice stimulated what she was already feeling? And his fingers…dear Lord, she could barely draw breath to answer him.

“I’m not Cheyenne.”

“No…but I am.”

“Only half.”

“And the white half has had one helluva time resisting twenty-two years of ingrained customs and beliefs lately. Now turn around.”

“What?

“Turn around. I want you facing me.”

“But—but why?”

“Why do you think?”

There was enough insinuation in that to give her the answer. And he had ensured, with the deft movements of his fingers deep inside her and with his possession of her breasts, that she wouldn’t object to his
intention too strenuously. She just couldn’t believe he was serious about the way he meant to do it.

“Why don’t you stop the horse?”

“And waste time spreading a blanket? I’d have to take my hands off you to do that, and I don’t think I can. Besides, this is the way I thought about it, Duchess, when you were making all those sexy little sounds in your sleep. You rode my fingers to the rhythm of my horse. I want you riding me to the same rhythm.”

She was lifting her leg over the horse’s neck before he’d even finished talking. He helped her bring the other one around. There was a brief problem with her skirt, but by the time she’d solved it, he was also ready, and before she even thought to wonder how they were going to do this, he lifted her, impaled her, and then dug his heels into his mount. With a gasp, all Jocelyn could do was hold on.

It was the most incredible ride of her life. Arms locked around Colt’s neck, legs around his hips, she didn’t have to move a muscle, just glide with the motion of the man and the horse. It was when Colt took the animal through its slower gaits that things got really interesting, especially when he no longer moved with the flow of motion, but against it, forcing her to bounce, grind, and slam against him.

By the time the horse came to a standstill, she had climaxed three times with soul-searing intensity. She was also slightly dazed, so it took her a while to realize they had stopped, or that Colt was kissing her in a sweetly tender way.

“Are you all right?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

He chuckled. God, she could feel it between her legs—they were still connected. She was also still clinging to him. She let her arms slide down his shoulders as she leaned back. Her blush was thankfully indistinguishable in what little light there was left in the day. But he must have sensed it. He tilted her chin up and placed another soft kiss on her lips.

“You’ll get used to it, Duchess. I intend to see that you do.”

To his lovemaking? Or to his new manner with her? She was so accustomed to his surliness, his bitterness, his pushing her away by deed or word. He’d changed since leaving Santa Fe, and she didn’t know quite what to make of the new Colt Thunder. She wouldn’t go so far as to call him charming. Proprietary came to mind, and she recalled what he’d said earlier. He hadn’t really been serious about considering her his belonging, had he?

“Ah—didn’t you mention something about dinner tonight? I’m not certain, but I may be starving.”

Again he chuckled, something else that was totally strange coming from him. “I guess I should take advantage of what little light is left,” he told her as he set her down on the ground. “You can wash up while I scout around. And if you know how, you can get a fire going. There are matches in my saddlebags.” He tossed those down by her feet, as well as a roll of blankets. And then he unhooked her hat from his saddle horn and plopped it back on her head. “Best cover up, Duchess, before you catch cold.”

She stared after him openmouthed as he rode off up the creek. Yes, there was a creek, the reason his
horse had halted. And Sir George was there too, munching grass on the bank. She’d completely forgotten about him, as well as everything else, when Colt whisked her onto his horse. But the stallion had, thankfully, followed them.

She called him to her now to retrieve her cloak and valise, and found more blankets strapped to the back of her saddle, as well as a bag of cooking and eating utensils. Well, thank God for small favors. She had pictured herself eating meat off a stick and all manner of other barbaric modes of roughing it in the wilds. No tent, no fat pillows to sleep on, no chamber pot—which reminded her. She ought to take advantage of this small bit of privacy while she could. She had a feeling she wouldn’t have much in the coming days.

Catch cold indeed. Good Lord, she hadn’t even noticed the cold.