The Wedding Ransom (23 page)

Captain Nicholas P. Callahan. Nick Callahan. Liar, murderer, fool. Half brother. Rafe would never forget the look on his face when he slipped the noose over Rafe’s head in the shadow of the San Jacinto battlefield.

Rafe came up for air. He shook his head, flinging droplets of water from his eyes, slinging off the black thoughts. He wouldn’t think of Nick, or of his wife Rosa, or of Luke’s first wife, Rachel. The women he and his brother had failed. He’d think of Maggie and of his own efforts not to fail her now.

What was she thinking? Did she hate him now? Did she understand his reasoning at all?

His arms plowed the water as he considered the best way to turn his cache into cash. He reckoned that no matter how he went about it, the process would give him a few willies. A lot of his past was tied up in that stash. He’d learned some hard lessons early on in life, and for the longest time the valuables hidden away in that central Texas cave had symbolized his security.

But now he had the Lone Star and the partnership with Luke. He didn’t need his old-age fund, not nearly as much as Maggie needed it.

Maggie. His own sweet Mary. What was the woman thinking?

~~~~~~~~~~

He’s making me a whore.

Maggie slumped onto the bench beside the mud bath, staring sightlessly at her mud-caked feet, emotions rolling through her like too much rum. She bedded down with him one day, and the next he offered her money. Just call her Maggie St. John, two-bit whore. All right, not two bits. A seventy-thousand—dollar whore. Tears overflowed her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

You’re not being fair, Maggie.

“I don’t have to be fair. I’ve had a very difficult day. Two very difficult days. A difficult year, in fact.” She swiped at the moisture on her cheeks and sighed. “Oh, Rafe.”

He hadn’t meant it the way it sounded to her; she knew that. He truly was trying to help. He might well have offered the money anyway had last night never happened. That’s the kind of man Rafe Malone was. Generous and kind as well as adventurous.

Rafe didn’t know his generosity fell way short of the outrageous purchase price Hill had set for the Lake Bliss property. Hill wanted 125,000 American dollars—more than many of the richest plantations in the republic were worth. More than Maggie and her family had a chance of raising without their treasure, even with Rafe’s financial help.

And Rafe wasn’t offering his professional skills. That’s what she needed but now realized she’d never get. Rafe Malone had his own monsters with which to deal.

Her throat tightened as she recalled the grief that had been etched across his face. How selfish she had been. She’d never even stopped to wonder what forces in his past had combined to make Rafe the man he was today. That wasn’t well done of her. As the granddaughter of four very dear criminals, she should have known better. Most men didn’t turn to a life of crime without a reason. Rafe’s tirade of a moment ago had hinted at his.

Women die on battlefields, he’d said. What women? The woman with the children? Who were they to him? His own family? Maggie shuddered at the thought.

And smart men become fools who hide from the truth. Fools ready to hang an innocent man rather than face their own failings
. Who was the fool who put such anguish in Rafe’s eyes? Who had been hanged? Who had done the hanging? Was that the event that created Gentleman Rafe Malone? Was it a combination of events? Maggie realized she needed to know the answers. But Rafe was leaving
.

Self-pity was a yellow-fanged monster peering over her shoulder.

Maggie fought the sentiment. She knew better than to let it win. Years of battling rheumatism had taught her the importance of standing tall against such pathetic behavior. Straightening her spine, she inhaled a deep breath and blinked away her tears. She’d learned the trick to winning was to always think forward. By planning for the future, one dwelled less in the pain of the present.

So, which of the problems currently on her plate did she wish to consider first. The loss of her home? Papa Snake’s health? Barlow Hill’s proposal? Andrew Montgomery’s very existence? Why, she could go on this way for days.

A logical course would be to take each difficulty in order. That would mean first she’d need to deal with… Rafe’s leaving.

Maybe another approach would be preferable after all.

Maggie rose from the bench and began to pace the floor. After a moment’s thought, she decided to address the problem that had brought her down to the bathhouse tonight. Time was running out and she had to get her hands on that treasure.

So how could she go about it?

The solution wasn’t difficult to find once she opened her mind to the possibility. In fact, now that she’d thought of it, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t considered it from the first. The sheer volume of troubles she faced must be at fault. She’d simply had too much to worry about and she hadn’t been thinking straight. She’d let her grandfathers do her thinking for her, and she had believed what they had told her without question. Well, the papas’ confession last night had taught her the fallacy in that course of action.

She knew she was a strong woman, an intelligent woman. It wasn’t like her to look to men to solve her problems. “I’m through with that mistake,” she muttered, kicking a small stone toward the lake. She didn’t need a man to recover the treasure for her. She didn’t need Rafe, or the papas, or any other man.

She would do it herself.

A little smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Who better than a prodigal daughter to infiltrate the enemy’s castle? Who better than a simpering, helpless female to put Andrew Montgomery off his guard?

Staring blindly out at the lake, Maggie envisioned the scene. She’d fawn and flatter and flutter. Her dear daddy wouldn’t know what hit him. She’d steal the treasure right out from underneath him slick as… Gentleman Rafe Malone.

At that thought, awareness of her surroundings drifted back to her. She heard the crickets chirping from the willows along the bank. She smelled the magnolia blossoms perfuming the evening breeze and smiled at the beauty of the sunset painting the western sky in a pallet of blues, purples, and mauves. It wasn’t a fiery eventide tonight, but a gentle going. A peaceful good-bye.

Which brought her gaze to Rafe as he swam across Lake Bliss, his arms cutting the water with brisk, powerful strokes.

Maggie felt as if she’d been out there swimming with him. Putting her mind back to work after letting it wallow in emotion invigorated her, made her feel stronger. She could deal with the cards life had dealt her.

Tomorrow, Rafe Malone was leaving. Tonight, she would tell him good-bye.

~~~~~~~~~~

Rafe swam until his muscles screamed for rest. He swam until his mind found at least a semblance of peace. By the time he turned and headed for shore, he’d managed to lock the majority of the memories plaguing him back into his mental strongbox. As he set his feet into the muddy bottom of Lake Bliss and waded toward the bathhouse and his clothes, he figured he had at least a fifty-fifty chance of sleeping without nightmares tonight.

Sometimes when he thought about the war, the bloodier recollections had a nasty habit of slipping the lock and playing havoc with his dreams.

The deepening shadows of twilight cast the bathhouse in a filmy half-light. Rafe grabbed one of the clean towels stored on wooden shelves along the north wall and swiped it across his wet chest.

“Rafe?”

The sound of her voice shivered across his skin, and he froze, every cell of his body leaping to full alert. He had assumed she would leave as he had asked. More the fool he for ever making any assumptions about Miss Mary Margaret St. John.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and turned to face her. His voice sounded rough. “I thought you’d gone back up to the hotel.”

“No.”

She moved from out of the shadows, and Rafe caught his breath at the picture she made. Her dress was the same one she’d worn all day, a serviceable midnight blue cotton with a scoop neck that skimmed the tops of her breasts and warmed her tawny skin. Her hair tumbled in enchanting disarray, and her Caribbean eyes were luminous with the remnants of tears.

Rafe cursed beneath his breath. He had made her cry, and he hated it. Maggie had enough troubles to deal with. She didn’t deserve to have him add to them. Emotion churned deep in his belly. Sorrow and frustration. The craving to pull her into his arms and hold her. The need to comfort her in her pain. The black tide of hunger to drag her down to the floor and take her again and again until neither one of them had the energy to worry about anything anymore. “You’d better go now.”

She clasped her hands in front of her. “I need to tell you something.”

“Be quick about it. I’d just as soon not get caught down here like this by your grandfathers.”

“They won’t be down here. Lucky is sitting with Papa Snake for the evening shift, and Gus has already gone to bed so he can pull the middle-of-the-night stint. Ben got roped into a chess game with Barlow Hill. I’ve seen that man take an hour to make one move before. Why, one time—”

“Talk to me, woman.”

“I am.”

“Not about the skunk’s chess game,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Tell me what you waited here to tell me.”

“Oh, all right.” Her gaze flickered toward him, then away again. “I was wrong to try and force you to do something that would cause you so much pain, and I wanted to apologize. Also, I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done for us—for me and my grandfathers. You are a good man, Rafe Malone. The very best. And your magnanimous offer to provide the cash we need to buy Hotel Bliss is, well, I can’t put into words how much it means to me. You’ll have my undying gratitude.”

Rafe harrumphed. He didn’t want her gratitude. He wanted her to leave here, now, before he wanted her to stay so much he wouldn’t let her go. “Fine. You’ve thanked me. You can skedaddle out of here.”

Maggie took a step toward him. Rafe stifled the strange urge to take a step back. His nostrils flared as he caught her scent, soft and sweet and damned alluring. Beneath the towel he went hard as a hammer.

“I can’t,” she replied, her feet carrying her in front of him. “I can’t leave until I’ve given you a proper good-bye.”

Maggie reached up and pulled his head down to hers. She kissed him with a tender passion that coiled around his heart like a song. Finally she stepped away, and Rafe knew a deep sense of loss.

A wistful smile accompanied her words. “It was a right fine adventure, one I’ll always remember. Goodbye, Gentleman Rafe Malone.”

The words of farewell lashed him like a whip, and Rafe realized he wasn’t prepared to hear them. Hell. The adventure wasn’t over. Nothing was ended. In fact, he felt plumb full of adventure just waiting to explode.

It happened when she turned her back to him and took a step toward the door. He gripped her shoulder, whirled her around, and allowed his frustration to sound in his voice. “Don’t you know what you do to me? Dammit, woman, you started this. And now, by God, I want to finish it.”

He jerked her against him. His mouth swooped down on hers, hungry and desperate. With the last trace of his control he wished she would push him away. It was the only way he could force himself to stop.

But Maggie didn’t push. Instead, her arms lifted, her fingers inching across his bare back. With a groan, he deepened the kiss. She met each thrust of his tongue, dug her nails into his back. The sweet sting literally brought him to his knees, and Rafe dragged her down with him.

He couldn’t be the tender patient lover of the night before. The thrill of the adventure, thrill of Maggie St. John, thrummed in his veins and destroyed his composure. Rafe went wild, his hands stripping and ripping on the edge of violence until she lay as naked as he against him.

His restless fingers found her wet and hot and ready for him. But Rafe wanted her as mad as he, and so he battered her senses with his touch, his teeth, and the taste of his dark passion.

She writhed beneath the onslaught of his mouth against her breast. She bucked as he nipped the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. She cried out as he laved his way down her belly and drank from the font of her sweetest honey.

Rafe couldn’t think, could only feel as her hands dragged through his hair, her heels dug into his back. He heard the sob of his name on her lips as the first set of tremors racked her, adding fuel to the fire of his lust.

Rafe never let up. He asked for more, demanded more. He took her higher and faster and farther until the power of a second climax had her shaking like leaves in a gale.

Now. He had to have her now. He knelt between her thighs, gripped the sweat-slick skin of her buttocks, and lifted her. He drove himself deep into her welcoming heat and a groan slipped from his throat. “Mary.”

He rode her hard, lost in the electric, sensual storm that raged inside his mind. But he wasn’t in there alone. She was right there with him. He watched her eyes darken to deep-water blue as she plummeted over that hard-earned peak. As her muscles contracted around him, Rafe gave a wordless cry and emptied himself into her.

A proper good-bye.

The next morning, it was Maggie who woke up alone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Rafe made the trip back to the Lone Star Ranch in a hard four days on horseback. He rode with the devil on his heels and his conscience perched on his shoulder, screaming in his ear with the passage of every mile. But despite all the mental haranguing, he couldn’t bring himself to regret the nights spent with Mary Margaret St. John. In fact, he could hardly wait to get back to her.

Midafternoon of the fourth day, Rafe rode into Bastrop, stopping by the newspaper office just long enough to place an advertisement for the auction he intended to hold in nine days. He figured that would give him plenty of time to retrieve his cache of goods from their hiding place and categorize them in some semblance of order for the sale. That way he could make it back to Hotel Bliss in right around two weeks—not bad, if he said so himself.