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McCauley's mouth took hers with a fierceness that ground her tender flesh against her teeth. His audacity left her stunned. For one long moment, she could do nothing except savor his taste with its unique blend of coffee and tobacco and passion. Then outrage set in.
How dare he take advantage of her? Did he see her as some trollop from one of the saloons he likely frequented?
She shoved at his chest and tried to turn her face aside, but he held her firmly. Determined to teach him a lesson, she inched her hand toward the handle of the Starr in his waistband. His iron grip closed over her wrist and moved it up around his neck. His other hand cupped her bottom, drawing her up until her hips nestled against his. With her feet dangling in air, she could do nothing but wrap both arms around his neck and hang on.
Still, she wasn't finished yet. She opened her mouth to bite him, but her teeth had barely grazed his full, lower lip before he took advantage, plunging his tongue inside to sweep along the inner softness of her lip.
Bombarded by sensations that fired every inch of her body, Jenna froze. Explosive, devastatingly pleasant sensations she had never experienced before coursed through her. The world became liquid sunshine and shooting stars, all at the same time.
Her mind screamed for her to resist while her traitorous body melted beneath the heated assault of his lips and tongue. A warm lassitude spread through her, draining her of reason. She felt suspended in air—no roots, no lifeline. She clung to him, unwilling to move, even to breathe, for fear the intoxicating sensations he aroused in her would vanish, and she would plummet to a death of empty frustration.
In one more moment, she would make him stop. For now, she had to see what he would do next. Had to savor. . . just a little longer.
Feeling her body mold itself to his, her mouth yielding to his questing tongue, McCauley's anger died. Only lust remained. Her hair smelled of honeysuckle and felt like curled silk. He hadn't expected her sweet response, hadn't foreseen how thoroughly he would relish the feel of her slight body pressed to his or the exotic taste of her innocent young mouth. His grip at the back of her head became a caress. His lips softened.
He recognized his foolishness in not shoving her away and running for all he was worth. He held no ordinary woman. Not because of who she was, but for how she affected him—as no other woman ever had before.
Ridiculous, he told himself. He had complete control, over himself as well as the girl. And he intended to take advantage, in more ways than one. First, he needed answers, and he knew now how to get them.
"You like this, I can tell," he whispered against her lips. "Tell me who you are and what you're doing here, and I'll give you all you want."
Jenna stiffened. What an idiot she'd been. Blast him, she'd played right into his hands.
As hard as she could, she kicked his shin, forgetting she wore only her socks. His grip slackened, and she wrenched free.
Hopping on one foot and holding the other, she cursed roundly. Branch grinned, giving no indication she'd hurt him at all. He simply stood there, hands on his hips, so virile and strong and delighted with her awkward dance. Her gaze went to the .44 Starr still tucked in his pants, and she cursed again.
When she threw herself down on the log to massage her throbbing toes, he gave her a low bow. "Entertaining performance. Now, if you're finished, I'm waiting for your answer. What's your real name and why are you here?"
"What do you care? Go disappear down your rat hole and leave me alone. You got what you wanted."
Not by a long shot. He hunkered in front of her, one finger pointed at her nose. "You're going to listen to me, whether you like it or not. A woman riding around this country alone is plain stupidity."
She opened her mouth to object, and he silenced her with a raised hand. "Your boy's get-up fooled me at first, but truth has a way of coming out as you’ve now learned. Most men in these parts would be overjoyed merely to look at you, but there's plenty who wouldn't settle for that."
"Like you?"
"Worse than me. Look, I'm just trying to keep you out of serious trouble."
"I don't need your help. I've been taking care of myself since I was seven."
The pain in her voice made him wince, but he couldn't let it sway him. "I'm sticking to you like a tick on a dog's back. Take it or leave it."
Jenna frowned. He appeared serious. "You'll keep your hands to yourself?"
That might be impossible, he thought, gazing at her smoky blue eyes and smooth, opalescent skin. How would she look in a dress, her hair down about her shoulders, her femininity displayed to full effect rather than hidden beneath some baggy shirt and trousers? What would it be like to strip this boy's garments off her and feel her naked flesh beneath his own, hot and yielding? Careful, he warned himself. He was the one asking for trouble now. But he could put a halt to that quick enough. He had to. "No touching, I promise."
"All right." She lifted her chin and gave him a haughty glare. "I'm Eugenia Leigh-Whittington, and I'm searching for someone."
He slid his gaze over the small figure and burst out laughing. For what had to be the runt of the litter, he supposed the belittlement was too much to handle. Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched. Branch held up his hands and stifled his merriment.
"Okay, tell me who this poor devil is you're hunting, Miss Eugenia Leigh-Whittington."
"A man."
His mouth quirked. "Well, you found one. What would you like to do with me?"
"I don't want to do anything with you, except maybe carve your insides up a little."
"You don't like me? If my backside doesn't appeal to you, maybe you'd like to try my front." He winked. "Most women seem to find my front more enticing."
Jenna resisted the urge to strike the insolent grin from his face. "I happen to be a lady, McCauley. How dare you treat me like some. . . some saloon woman?"
"Ladies don't dress like men and go looking for them with six-shooters. Are you going to make me drag it out of you? That's fine with me. I have all night."
"No!" Her mind spun as she searched for a means to stall him. “I-I'm tired. I need to get to bed."
He grinned, letting his gaze rest on the breasts framed by her gaping, unbuttoned shirt. "I usually like my women more. . . feminine, but I reckon I can oblige you, as soon as you tell me what I want to know."
She leaped to her feet, fists balled. "I was not suggesting—"
"Don't worry." He stood to face her. "I won't think any less of you in the morning."
"You are the most despicable, vile, contemptible—"
"Whoa, there." He advanced toward her. "Am I going to have to kiss you again to shut you up?"
Jenna darted to the other side of the fire. "You wouldn't dare."
"You tried that challenge once before."
"You think you're something special, don't you? A real ladies' man." She raked him with a scathing glance. "I've got news for you, Mr. Branch McCauley. You're nothing but an ignorant mick papist straight off the potato farm, and I wouldn't let you touch me if you were the greatest lover on earth."
His eyes glinted like black steel. "Is that so? Shall we put it to the test?"
The memory of his hard body pressed to hers made her insides tingle. She couldn't risk letting him touch her again. "All right, blast
you. I'm looking for a man called Black Jack Mendoza."
McCauley scowled to hide his surprise. "And you can identify him by his bottom?"
"He has a scar."
News to Branch. He stored the information for future reference and moved on. "What do you want with him?"
Exasperated, she crossed her arms over her breasts and glowered at him. If word spread that a Pinkerton sought to arrest Mendoza, she'd never catch the thief. Besides, McCauley would only laugh the way the Denver police chief had. Men refused to believe a woman could do a job as efficiently as they could. "My reasons are personal," she said finally. "And even your low-down threats can't force me to divulge them."
To her surprise, he merely nodded and headed off into the darkness. She continued trying to puzzle out the man until he returned with his horse. "Pick a spot for your bed and put on some coffee. We leave at first light."
"What's this 'we' business?" she spat back at him.
Sparing her no glance, he unfastened his bedroll from behind his saddle and tossed it beside the fire. "Put your blankets where you want, or I'll take care of it for you." A veiled, yet undeniable, threat. If left to him, her blankets would join his and she would be expected to share them. Jenna hurried to lay her bed as far from his as she could.
When dawn lurked a mere hour away, Jenna pushed aside her blankets and got to her knees, peering at the man on the other side of the fire.
"McCauley? McCauley, you awake?"
The long hours of struggling to stay awake while she waited for him to fall asleep had left her stiff and sore. She stretched and moved closer.
McCauley hadn't even crawled into his blankets. With his back to his saddle, he smoked cigarette after cigarette, scratched his bearded chin, and downed strong, black coffee until his eyelids finally began to droop. Even after his head fell onto his chest and his breathing became the slow, even rhythm of sleep, she had waited. Now the waiting had ended. She rose to her feet.
"Going somewhere?" a deep voice said.
Blast him! "I have to make a trip out into the bushes. That all right with you?"
"Long as you don't go far." He reached for the coffeepot and found it empty. "Here, make yourself useful and fill this with water while you're out there."
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him what he could do with the coffeepot when she remembered the red elderberry bushes she'd seen along the river earlier. Smiling sweetly, she accepted the pot and stepped beyond the circle of firelight.
"What took you so long?" he asked when she returned. The scathing glance she gave him brought only a snickering smile. She measured out a handful of coffee, dumped it into the pot, and placed it on the rocks by the fire. McCauley's bushy red brows rose to his hairline. "Being mighty accommodating suddenly."
"I can't sleep with you sitting there watching me like some overzealous lawman or something, so I might as well stay up and have a cup, too."
"Company's welcome." He dug in his pocket for his cigarette makings.
Not for long, she thought. Sometimes revenge was a woman's only weapon.
The coffee ready, Jenna poured two cups. She handed one to McCauley and saluted him with the other. "To your health."
He cocked his head as he ground out his cigarette, looking at her with narrowed eyes. She met his gaze over the rim of her cup as she drank. Taking a twig from her pocket, she stuck it in her mouth.
"What are you chewing on?"
"Wild licorice. Want some?"
"Why not? Haven't had wild licorice since I was a boy."
Silence stretched between them while he sipped the strong brew, gnawed licorice stems, and stared at the crackling fire. In the east, the sky held a hint of light. Jenna set aside her mug and went to her bed.
"Nearly dawn," McCauley said. "You going back to bed now?"
"No." She rolled up her blankets, tied them with a thong, and carried them over to her horse.
McCauley frowned as she hefted her saddle onto the sorrel's back and reached for the cinch. The woman had more guts than any split-tail he'd ever known. More than might be good for her. "You know I'm not about to let you go off by yourself."
She glanced at him and smiled, a surprisingly sultry smile, full of challenge, but not—he thought with disappointment—of a sexual nature. "There isn't much you can do about it."
"Like hell there isn't." He pushed to his feet and felt the first twinge.
The twinge blossomed into a full-fledged cramp that brought a grimace to his face and his hand to his abdomen.
Her smile broadened.
In a flash of cerebral light, he understood. "You poisoned the coffee."
Her laugh emerged light and melodious. "Nothing quite so
dramatic, but I don't think you'll be following me for a while."
McCauley doubled over, both arms gripping his middle. She came to stand in front of him, wiggling her fingers. "Give me my gun."
He shook his head and made a grab for her, but missed as another cramp bit into him. His insides were being ripped from his body. Groaning, he stumbled to his knees, eager now for her to get going before he humiliated himself by dirtying his woolies in front of her.
Jenna pulled the Starr from his waistband, thrust it into her holster, then swung herself into her saddle and took up the reins.
"See you around, McCauley," she tossed over her shoulder as she rode away.
Cursing, he stumbled toward the bushes, clawing at the fastenings of his trousers.