The Law and Miss Penny (13 page)

Increasingly concerned about having their conversation overheard, Mariah tugged the sides of her bonnet as far forward as they would go, and lowered her head. "We can't talk here any longer. Let's go down to the train depot where we'll be out of sight of the main roads."

Although he didn't understand the need for such privacy, Cain said, "If it'll make you happy, then lead the way."

As they resumed their walk, Mariah said in a low voice, "When we get to the hotel, I'd appreciate it if you'd take a minute to go into the restaurant. Zack and Oda are waiting for me. Would you please let them know that I've decided to take some air with you instead of joining them?" Then she added a caution: "And whatever you do
,
don't tell them about the robbery."

* * *

The depot didn't afford quite the privacy Mariah had hoped it would, what with workmen—the very customers she'd hoped to avoid—still spilling out of the roundhouse and wandering through the train yard. So she and Cain walked beyond the town to the banks of the Animas River. There, halfway down the sloping river gorge, they settled themselves amongst the young willows which crowded the watercourse and surrounding hillsides. Directly across the Animas, above the white-capped rapids, the San Juan Smelter belched great puffs of smelly smoke into the Colorado skies, marring what otherwise would have been a magnificent view of the silvery San Juan Mountains.

Cain stared out at the raging waters, waiting for Mariah to explain herself, but after several moments of silence, he turned to her and said, "Why does everything have to be such a big secret with you, princess?"

"I told you. Folks like to believe I really am a Kickapoo Indian."

"I don't mean that." Cain reached over and pulled the tails of the black satin ribbons at her throat. Then he slipped the oversized bonnet from her head and tossed it atop the willows beside her. "I feel like you're always trying to hide yourself from me. Even back in town just now as you told me about the robbery, I sensed you were hiding something. What really happened, Mariah? You can tell me."

But she couldn't, of course. Her own guilt, and maybe even a little sorrow, swelled in her throat, making it difficult for her to breathe. Instead she hung her head.

"Don't do that." Cain removed the pair of hairpins securing her chignon at the nape of her neck, freeing her long tresses. "Hold your chin high and be proud of yourself, no matter what happened back there."

With the tightening in her throat growing to unbearable proportions, Mariah did as she was told. Billows of thick ebony hair fell over her back and shoulders, and a few locks found their way past her bosom to coil in her lap like shiny black serpents. "I already told you what happened—some ruffians stole my money. There's nothing more to tell."

"Yes there is," Cain said, his voice a gentle whisper. "Maybe I shouldn't be the one to do the telling, but did you know that you're simply the most beautiful woman I've ever seen?"

In spite of her inner turmoil, Mariah laughed. "How is that supposed to make me feel better? You don't even remember any other women."

"Maybe not," he said, chuckling along with her. "But I do know this: I'm certain that I would have remembered knowing someone more beautiful than you. And I don't."

Mariah's heart leapt at those words, plummeted to the pit of her stomach, then raced back up again. She hadn't thought she'd ever hear such words—certainly not from Cain. Maybe tricking him out of his money had been the right thing to do after all, she thought with sudden satisfaction. If any woman deserved to be the object of these wonderful compliments coming from this magnificent man, it was her, not some cheap saloon girl who couldn't see past his wallet. And knowing that his declarations were probably prompted more by her love potion than by what he actually saw in her didn't make them any less splendid, either. In either case, she had coaxed them out of him.

Feeling better about herself, Mariah glanced in Cain's direction. He was still staring at her, looking at her the way he had in the alley, with no sign of condemnation or even a hint that he might consider her the slightest bit inferior to him. Mariah swallowed hard, but continued to bask in his open adoration. She loved seeing herself through Cain's eyes, for he looked on her simply as a woman, his opposite
and
his equal, in the most basic of ways. Cain saw Mariah as the woman she'd grown into, and saw her in a way no other man ever had, not even her devoted father.

Mariah finally looked away from him as she softly said, "Thanks for the lovely compliment, Cain. It means a lot to me, but I wasn't trying to do you out of a few kind words."

"Then what were you trying to do me out of?" He tugged on one of her long curls. "You didn't bring me all the way down here just to look at the river. Something's bothering you. What is it, princess? I'd like to help, if I can."

As the waters of the Animas roared around the boulders strewn throughout the river, the gurgling of the rapids lulled her into thinking maybe Cain could be of some help, even though most of her problems arose from the way she felt about him. Without meeting his gaze, she quietly asked, "Have you ever been in love?"

Cain considered the question a moment, plumbing the depths of his injured mind for some hint that his heart had once belonged to another, but he came up empty. "I don't know for sure, Mariah, but I don't think so."

Could the admission mean what she hoped it did? That the woman in his watchcase had meant nothing of a romantic nature to him? Mariah's pulse picked up a little speed. "Could you tell me what love means?"

"I'm not sure I know what you're asking, princess."

She could only explain by describing the way she was feeling about him at that moment. "I guess I'm wanting to know if it sometimes hurts you inside, and if it does, is it all right."

This all added up to one dismal fact, to Cain's way of thinking: Mariah was pining away for some lost love. He tried to shrug off his sharp sense of disappointment, but when he spoke, his voice came out sounding harsh. "I don't know the first thing about love. Why don't you ask your mother these questions? She's bound to be a bigger help than I am."

Mariah laughed. "Oda really is a wonderful person, but she is not the kind of mother a girl can talk to about such things. She almost fell over with apoplexy the day I asked her what these were for." She pointed to her breasts.

His gaze fell to the area she'd indicated, and Cain quickly looked away. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, Mariah. Maybe you can ask these questions of your father if your mother won't discuss them with you."

Chuckling again, she said, "That's a ridiculous idea. Zack is less interested in telling me about these love things than Oda is. I thought you said you and I could talk about anything."

"We can." Cain took a length of her loose hair, threading the silken strands between his fingers, and gave them another gentle tug. "But not about that. Talk like that makes me think of you in, shall we say, less-than-cousinly terms. A fellow could get himself hanged for having ideas about a family member as beautiful as you. Is that what you want for me?"

Loving not the words so much as what she heard behind them, Mariah smiled coyly as she said, "Of course not. That would be perfectly awful." Prompted by Cain's gentle fingers, which were weaving in and out of her hair, she inched closer to him. "It's been better than six years since a fellah's been jerked to Jesus here in Durango. I don't think I could stand it if you were the one to break that long dry spell."

She'd spoken the last sentence so quietly, that Cain had had to lean in toward Mariah to hear what she'd said. And that had brought his mouth within inches of hers. He had just been kidding when he said he could be sent to the gallows, but if anyone saw him now, he figured, they'd "jerk him to Jesus" on the spot for lusting after his own cousin.

Cain could almost feel the rough texture of the hemp circling his throat, but he couldn't seem to back away or stop gazing at those dusky, roseate lips. Would it really be so awful, he wondered, desperate for a taste of her, to indulge this shocking need? All he wanted was a kiss, he told himself, a brief sharing of the lips, nothing more. Would it really be such a crime—moral, legal, or otherwise?

Mariah watched Cain's changing expression, thinking he looked like he was about to say something, but when his lips parted, nothing came out but a short gasp of warm breath. He smelled of malt, probably from the beer he'd had at the saloon, but it wasn't an unpleasant aroma. Rather it beckoned her, drawing her closer to him. His eyes had darkened beyond the color of the forest, and taken on an odd but thrilling sheen, and his nostrils were slightly flared, as if he'd sprinted for a block or two.

At the more-than-pleasant sensations his very nearness brought out in her, Mariah found herself gripped by a surprising desire to run her fingers over the thick auburn hairs of his Lincoln beard, and to crush her mouth against his.

And why not? she mused, shocking herself. She'd often wondered if she had what it took to lure Cain into pulling her against his chest and kissing her until she couldn't breathe. But could she bear it if he rejected her, or suffer the consequences? At the thought of folding herself within the warmth of his strong arms, of feeling his hot, full lips on hers, Mariah began to feel light-headed, as if she were fading away with the rapidly setting sun. How on earth could she
ever
have thought of this man as less than irresistible?

The consequences of her actions be damned, Mariah leaned forward and offered her mouth to the lawman she'd at one time hated enough to deceive.

Chapter 7

It wouldn't be right to kiss Mariah, Cain knew, but he found himself slipping one arm around her waist and the other across her shoulders, preparing for something that could never take place. It was wrong, so terribly wrong. He wouldn't go through with what he had in mind. He couldn't.

But he did.

The very instant Mariah leaned forward and lightly brushed her slick, satin lips across his mouth, Cain realized that nothing could have kept him from her. He met those dusky lips, kissing her softly at first, sweetly, staying within the bounds of decency, stretched as those limits might be. All he need do was remain in complete control of himself, or at least pretend that he was, and he would be able to keep this unholy desire in check.

But he didn't.

As Mariah began to respond to his lingering kisses, parting her lips tentatively, and then her teeth with a virginal coyness that nearly drove him over the edge of sanity, Cain forged ahead, engaging her tongue in a ritual as primal as mating itself. She tore her lips from his at the onset of this display of lust, eyes and mouth both wide with surprise, and then dove back in, eager for the other revelations which might lay in store. And Cain was only too happy to provide them.

She was new at this, maybe even a complete apprentice, and the thought that his might be the first lips to have caressed hers filled him with an exquisite sense of power, made him feel reckless. He continued to kiss her, pressing against her breasts and hips until they were practically lying down, the willows a lush, deep mattress which shielded them from the world outside. Cain's hands, both tangled in Mariah's long raven tresses, wandered across her back, fingered her ribs and collarbone, and then went to her breasts.

Somewhere in that brief moment of allowing his hands to roam beyond the boundaries of decency, Cain finally realized his folly.

He pushed away from her, rolled to his side, and then stumbled to his feet, turning his back to her. "I—I don't know what to say. Sorry isn't nearly a good enough apology for what I just did. Forgive me if you can." Then he staggered off toward the river, his legs sluggish under the increased weight of his arousal—and his conscience.

Mariah didn't breathe a word in reply. In fact, she couldn't breathe at all. She lay in the willows as if struck by lightning, too stunned to speak or move, and watched as Cain made his way down to the riverbank. When he hunkered down at river's edge and began to splash the icy waters of the Animas against his face, his words of apology finally sank in. He was sorry? Whatever for? For giving her the most wonderful experience of her life? Mariah's lips were still tingling, and the rest of her body was so remarkably alive with sensation, she felt almost omnipotent. As long as she lived, she knew she would never forget the way his mouth had fit against hers, a perfect match. How could Cain even think of blaming himself for something she'd so blatantly instigated? And why did there have to be blame at all?