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"I know it's a whorehouse," McCauley growled at Jenna. "What I don't know what in tarnation you're doing in it."
"I was trying to contact Dove, so I could warn you Marshal Hendricks committed the robberies. He framed Miguel."
"Where'd you get that fool notion?"
Behind the dressing screen, Henry mumbled into his gag."
I don't think this is the place to discuss it, McCauley."
Branch glanced behind the screen. Henry's hair stood straight up on end from the back of his head like a feather headdress. He might have made a good Indian except for the pleading look in his puppy-dog eyes. "You're right. Get dressed and let's get out of here."
Once again, they stuck their heads out to survey the hall and found it empty as an old maid's bed.
"Come on." He pulled Jenna from the room.
They were halfway down the back stairs when one of Fanny's girls started up toward them. Branch and Jenna stopped dead, then hurried on when they recognized Dove.
The sight of them startled the half-Indian prostitute. "Branch! What are you doing here?"
"You don't know?"
The lovely woman shook her head, her dark eyes reflecting confusion.
"You didn't send me a message to come here?" Branch asked.
"No."
"Then who did? The moment I slipped into your room, I was
struck on the head. I woke up tied to the bed."
Dove's eyes widened. "That must be why they moved me to another room. Fanny said Mable had seen a rat in mine."
Jenna let out a snort of derision. "She did, only it was McCauley."
He glared at her.
Dove put her hand on his arm. She looked worried. "It's Fanny, Branch. She's in love with Sleed Hendricks. He must have told her to keep you here."
"Now it's beginning to make sense. Fanny and Sleed must have figured out that I came to get your help to clear Miguel. If Jenna here is right and Sleed's the one who pulled the robberies and then blamed Miguel, seeing him cleared is the last thing he'll want." Keeping his hold on Jenna's hand, Branch descended two more steps. "Come on. We're getting out of here. You'd better come with us, Dove. Hendricks won't hesitate to kill you to keep you quiet."
"Can I get my things?"
"There isn't time."
For the first time, Dove noticed the valise Jenna carried. "You can't take her with you."
"The hell I can't."
"Branch, she's Fanny's new treasure. All hell will break loose if they find her missing. There are at least five men out front who paid to spend time with her tonight."
"Don't remind me," Branch snarled. "I'll shoot anyone who tries to stop me."
"How?" Jenna asked. "You don't have a gun."
He glared at her. "I'll find one."
He started down the stairs again, only to have Dove stop him with a none-too-gentle yank on his sleeve.
"Let me go first. No one will think anything if they see me; but if they catch a glimpse of you, they will know something is up."
"All right," he said, "but I need that gun."
"I'll get it," Dove promised.
Branch and Jenna followed Dove to the kitchen and darted for the back door while the Indian woman distracted Mable and the cook who were arguing over tomorrow's menu. As soon as Dove saw the others were safely out the door, she told Mable Fanny was looking for her. Once the housekeeper vanished into the vestibule, Dove retrieved Branch's Peacemaker from Fanny's office and joined Branch and Jenna in the back yard. From there, Branch led them to the livery stable where he'd left Satan. After renting two more horses, they were on their way.
MID-MORNING, THE WEARY threesome rode into the alpine meadow where Black Jack Mendoza waited in a rustic cabin. Miguel spotted them coming and rushed outside to greet them. His swarthy face broke into a grin as he hurried to lift Dove from her horse.
"My love, what are you doing here?" He gathered her into his arms.
"Sleed evidently guessed what I was up to by visiting her," Branch said before Dove could speak. "He had me knocked out and tied up at Fanny's."
Miguel's eyebrows rose. "You were held prisoner in a whorehouse? Dios, this is every man's dream, my friend."
Branch's gaze went straight to Jenna. His voice came soft and low as though he spoke only for her. "I have to admit, it was the best time I ever had in one."
Two identical spots of red glowed on Jenna's cheeks. She turned from his heated gaze to unsaddle the mare he had rented for her. When Branch put his hand on her shoulder, she shrugged it off and refused to look at him.
"So how did you get away, amigo?" Miguel asked.
"I found him," Jenna muttered when Branch stomped away from her. "But he hasn't figured out yet that he should be grateful to me."
Branch flashed her a glance that told her not to expect his thanks anytime soon.
Sensing the tension between the couple, Miguel drew Dove toward the cabin, leaving Branch and Jenna alone. Before they vanished inside, Jenna heard him tell Dove she looked beautiful. Dove answered that it was a good thing since what she had on was all she owned now. Jenna brushed down the mare, conscious all the while of Branch tending the other two horses and darting confused glances her way.
Jenna wished she could join Dove and Miguel in the cabin. She knew Branch was upset because she had rebuffed him. No doubt he would confront her about it the first chance they were alone. Jenna had no intention of granting that opportunity. All he had to do was caress her to make her forget her resolve to keep her heart her own. She had to stay away from him.
He finished with Satan and moved to the buckskin Dove had ridden. Jenna yanked up a handful of grass and gave her mare the fastest brushing job she'd ever done and then headed for the cabin. She pretended not to hear Branch call her name.
As she passed the open window on her way to the door, she heard Miguel's sensuous voice speaking to the Indian woman: "Why will you not even allow me to kiss you, mi corazon? All the times I paid to see you, you never once let me touch you."
"I am a whore, Miguel. Too many men have used me for me to ever feel clean enough for your touch."
"I do not care about the others, querida. They used only your body. It is your heart I want."
Jenna didn't wait to hear the rest. The ache that weighted her soul came from envy, pure and simple. And she hated that. Hated herself for being so weak. Ever since her miserable childhood, trying to comfort her mother after losing her father, she had worked to build and maintain a high wall around her heart.
Branch came toward her, his cold green eyes hard and unrelenting. Jenna felt trapped.
The fact that she felt too embarrassed to let him touch her or even to look at him puzzled Branch almost as much as it irked him. What had happened to the hellcat who had waltzed into a bathhouse full of naked men without batting an eye? Who took a job as a whore merely so she could talk to one? Why did the fact that he'd almost made love to her mortify her? Or was she simply afraid?
Hell, the extent of his feelings for her scared the daylights out of him. But he wanted her too much to let her run away from what occurred between them.
Jenna's eyes darted from the cabin to Branch to the forest. A few more seconds and it would be too late.
Driven by desperation, she snatched up her skirts and raced for the thick stand of quaking aspen behind the cabin.
"Jenna!" she heard Branch call. "Jenna, dammit, come back here. We have to talk."
The soft earth absorbed the thud of her pounding footsteps, leaving only the whisper of crushed leaves and grass to mark her passing. A robin rose into the air, squawking. A few feet before she reached the trees, she risked a glance over her shoulder. Branch was less than twenty feet behind her. If only she had her trousers on instead of a damned dress, he'd never catch her.
She made it to the forest. The dense growth slowed her considerably, but she knew it would slow him as well. Hoisting her skirt nearly to her hips, she leaped over fallen logs and dodged between trees as thick and white as a picket fence. Her breath came in raspy pants. Sweat dampened her underarms. Twigs snatched at the hair flying out behind her like a crinkled banner.
Branch screamed her name. Exactly why she ran from him, she couldn't say, except she knew if he touched her again, she would surrender. That was more frightening to her than the idea of getting lost in the forest or coming up against a grizzly. Even of being captured by Indians.
Jenna stumbled over a half-buried root, scraped her shin, and cursed. A deer leaped up out of a thick tangle of brush and bounded off to her left. She could scarcely breathe now. With a hand pressed to a painful hitch in her side, she raced on.
The sounds of pursuit still sounded from behind her. She didn't dare look back to see how close. The ground sloped downward. Halfway to the bottom, huge boulders—pale green lichen on gray stone—littered the ground. The deep-shadowed green of a stand of spruce trees on the far side of the outcropping seemed to offer a haven. If she could reach them, perhaps she could hide beneath the low sweeping branches.
"Jenna! Stop, dammit! What's the matter with you?"
His question echoed in her mind as she zigged and zagged through the quakies. Rough bark scraped her hands. Twigs whipped her face. How could she answer Branch when she couldn't even name the problem?
Branch McCauley wanted her. He had made that plain enough. But could she give him her body and hang onto her heart? And what frightened her most, what infuriated her beyond everything, was that, even while she ran from him, part of her hoped he would catch her.
She rounded the rocky outcropping and darted between two spruces. The lowest branches grew at least three feet above land so thick with dropped needles that nothing else could grow there. They offered no place to hide. Jenna kept running.
One moment the trees were so dense they nearly blocked the sun. The next moment, she broke into a clearing lush with sweet grass and wildflowers. Her only hope lay in making it across the meadow and into the forest beyond before he caught up with her.
Partway across, she realized her feet weren't the only ones swishing through the deep grass. Nor were her raspy breaths the only ones breaking the silence. She leaped a trickle of water and trampled the cheerful faces of pink monkey-flower as her dainty slippers sank into boggy soil. She jerked free and kept running.
Nearly halfway there, halfway to safety.
A hand clamped onto her shoulder, spinning her about. A body hard as a tree trunk slammed into hers. Together they went down in the fragrant grass. Jenna's chest heaved from her struggle for air. Every ounce of her body ached. The stitch in her side refused to retreat. Branch lay heavily on top of her, his head on her breasts, the lower portion of his body between her legs. Moisture seeped into her back from the damp ground, but she didn't have the strength to fight her way free.
When Branch found enough breath to speak, he lifted his head, letting his hat fall to the ground, and pinned her with his hard, icy stare. "Are you all right?"
She nodded, not sure she could come up with enough air to get out the words.
"Holy Saint Christopher!" Panting, he laid his forehead on her chest. "Woman, you're going to be the death of me."
"Then leave me alone," she panted.
"Not until we get something settled."
She pushed against him, the movement so weak, Branch knew if he didn't get off her soon, he wouldn't get off at all.
Not until he'd had his fill of her. Right now, he doubted that would be anytime soon. His body was already reacting to the warmth of hers beneath him. With his face nestled between her breasts, he couldn't ignore their softness, or her musky female scent mixed with honeysuckle. With no effort at all, he coldly kissed the mounded flesh a breath away. Lord knew he wanted to. His hips had wedged between her legs and felt so right there. All he had to do was hitch himself a bit higher to place his hardening body where it belonged.
Instead, certain it was the most difficult thing he'd ever done, he levered himself up and rolled off her, then pulled her up beside him. "All right. Tell me what this is all about."
Jenna jerked her arm from his grasp. "What what is all about?"
His eyes rose to the heavens. "I'm running out of patience, Jenna."
"Then go back to the cabin and leave me be. Why can't you allow a person any privacy?"
"Privacy for what?" She ground her teeth and glared at him.
He glared back. "There was a privy behind the cabin. Or didn't you notice?"
Turning away, she ignored the question. The trick Mendoza had played on her in Emigration Canyon filled her mind. Acting upon it, she leaned forward, widened her eyes with alarm, and stared behind him. "What's that? Did you hear it?"
His head swiveled to follow her gaze, and Jenna leaped to her feet and took off. She reached no farther than the edge of the clearing before he tackled her. Once more, she found herself trounced to the ground with his weight landing heavily on top of her.
This time, he leaped up, dragged her to her feet and shoved her against the slender trunk of a quakie to keep her from trying to escape. "Do that again, hellcat, and I'll strip you naked and paddle you till you can't walk. Understand?"
"You touch me, and I'll make sure you regret it."
"I intend to do a whole lot more than touch you, woman." His lips swooped down on hers in a hard, demanding kiss.
Her open palm connected with his cheek in a resounding smack that nearly knocked him off-balance. She reared back for another swing. He caught her wrists and twisted them behind the slender tree, holding them there with one hand, his body pressed to hers. His lips flattened against his teeth as he growled, "You want to play rough, is that it?"
Her finely etched lips parted as she stared at him in alarm. The sight of a pink tongue gliding over her lower lip to moisten it sent heat through his every vein, as though she'd licked him, not herself. A jolt of desire sharp enough to rob a man's breath stabbed clear to his groin. "Damn, but you could drive a man crazy," he muttered, taking her mouth once more with his.
Jenna tried to turn aside. With thumb and forefinger, he imprisoned her chin, staring at her with eyes that smoldered rather than froze. Her heart fluttered. Her pulse raced. She opened to mouth to protest, and he immediately took advantage. Again, and again, in a primeval rhythm as urgent as the need to survive, his tongue thrust into her mouth. A spark ignited deep within her most secret spot. Like wildfire, it licked along every nerve, awakening her to the feel, the taste, the smell of him. Senses heightened, noting the iron chest crushing velvet breasts, the deadly bullets on a gun belt gouging delicate hip bones, the male hardness pressing a soft feminine belly.
The taste and scent of tobacco blending with the spice of pines and the damp pungent odor of fertile earth; primitive aromas and masculine tastes spoke to something within her—hunger, anger, need—she didn't know what. But she knew she had to respond, had to leave her own mark on this man who so brutally elicited emotions from her she didn't want to feel.
Callused fingers caressed her cheek and jaw, drifted to her nape and tangled in loose sable curls. He suckled her lower lip, caught it between strong white teeth and let it slide free.
Jenna replied with a not-so-gentle nip of her own. A low growl issued from his throat. His kiss hardened, his tongue demanding entrance. She found herself responding, not with the anger she would have preferred but with a passion that verged on desperation.
Her tongue parried his as she fought for dominance, fought for the right to take what she wanted. He gladly gave as much as he took, even letting go of her hands so he could wrap his arms around her.
The angry need to fight back gave way to curiosity as her fingers explored the mass of muscle and sinewy cords in his arms and shoulders beneath his shirt. The texture of his auburn, collar-length hair, so smooth compared to her own corkscrew ringlets. The firm ridge of his spine. The narrowing of his waist that ended in the leather gun belt slanted over his hips. Hard round buttocks.
Curiosity changed to desire as liquid flames fired her veins, turning her to molten lava. She moaned and went limp as her knees buckled.
Branch sank to the ground, taking her boneless form with him and cushioning her fall with his body so that she lay atop him. His mouth continued to entice while his hips began a rocking motion that seemed a perfect counterpart to his thrusting tongue. Cool air fanned her bare skin as deft fingers parted the back of her dress.
Drawing up her legs so that she straddled him as she had at Aunt Fanny's, Branch sat up. He quickly shed the gun belt poking her knee. Warm lips nuzzled her neck as her dress was drawn down over her shoulders and arms until it pooled about her hips.
"You've no idea how good you feel sitting on me like this," he whispered.
When he reached for her chemise, she covered his hands with hers. "Branch, I think—"
"Don't think, sweet. Just let me love you."
Hands and lips drifted along her collarbone to her shoulders, then downward as the chemise was cast aside. Her hands remained on his, trembling but unresisting.
"You deserve a bed with satin sheets," he murmured, "but I can't wait that long. Hell, Jenna, you smell better than a spring meadow and taste like heaven."
His tongue lightly circled first one nipple, then the other, until Jenna wanted to scream with frustration. The light scrape of his beard added to the sensation. She felt as though she were ascending some lofty pinnacle whose hazy tip she could not see but had to reach. Her hands framed his head, hugging him to her, and she whimpered with a fierce need words could not describe.
"Tell me what you want." His tongue flicked back and forth over a rigid nipple. "Do you like this?"
"I-I don't know. It. . . It almost hurts, it feels so good."
His chuckle was low and husky. "I hurt, too, honey. We'll take care of it. . . in time."
Once more lying prone beneath her, he let his mouth close over a breast. He suckled, gently at first, then harder. She moaned and tossed her head. Her hair formed a shield around them, soft like silk fringe where it brushed their skin.
Her hands explored his chest where his shirt parted, the fingers tangling in short curly hair. Between her legs, rough denim and bunched-up fabric hid his rigid manhood. Jenna tugged at her skirts. She wanted to feel him, ride him, the way she had at Aunt Fanny's.
Sensing her need, Branch lifted her from his lap and rose to his feet, hauling her up with him. In a blink, her dress, underdress, petticoat, and bustle vanished. When he reached for the ties to her drawers, she stopped him. Branch hugged her while his lips roamed her face. "Don't be frightened. I won't hurt you, or do anything you don't want."
Being held felt so good. Jenna laid her head on his shoulder and entwined her arms behind his back. The cool breeze on her naked skin somehow heightened her arousal. But the coarse fabric of his shirt felt rough to breasts made sensitive by his teasing and suckling. She yearned to see how it would feel if he were naked, too.
As if reading her mind, he stepped back and unfastened the buttons of his shirt. Shyly, she helped to pull the hem from his trousers then whipped the garment off over his head. Bare-chested now, he drew her back into his embrace, rubbing his chest against hers with a soft groan.
Jenna smiled at the tickle of his short, curly chest hair. She pressed her lips to his neck, tasting his slightly salty flavor and wondering how the rest of his body would taste.
This time, when she felt him loosen the ties of her drawers, she offered no resistance. For anything to feel better than what she had already enjoyed at his hands seemed impossible, but she welcomed the chance to find out.
When he had stripped her bare, Branch spread out her clothes like a blanket, laid her down, and stretched out beside her. Propped on an elbow, he ran a hand over the luscious dips and swells of her
body. "You're so beautiful. I could look at you forever."
She blushed and averted her face. Framing her chin between thumb and forefinger, he brought her back around, bent and kissed her. "There's no shame in a man finding beauty in your body, darlin'." He smiled wolfishly. "As long as the man is me."
Her lashes dipped to form a perfect fan against the ivory of her cheek.
"Do you feel ashamed, Jenna?"
"No." Her fingers plowed into his chest hair.
He heard the silent "but" and said, "Scared?"
"Yes."
"My little hellcat?" His hand cupped her breast, tweaked the nipple, and moved slowly down her ribs to her belly. "The one who got the drop on that deadly gunslinger, Branch McCauley?"
When she didn't respond, he said, "Do you want me to stop?" and held his breath for her reply.
She glanced up, shyness tempering the heat of her gaze. "No, I-I want. . ."
"What, Jenna? What do you want?" Fingers light as thistledown traced her navel in an ever-widening circle that dipped closer and closer to that sensitive area between her legs, as they had once before.
Anticipation made it difficult to speak. But at last, she managed to say, "I want to see you, the. . . the way you're seeing me."
Branch swallowed as a new level of excitement coursed through him, threatening the control he clung to so tightly. Silently, he stood. One by one, he freed the buttons on his fly, fascinated and aroused by the way she watched him. Never had he felt more powerful or virile. Thumbs tucked behind the waistband, he inched the denim down over his hips. When his swollen member popped free, her eyes widened. Her glance jerked to his face, then back down, and she swallowed hard. Branch might have chuckled if his heart hadn't been in his throat.
Anxious not to frighten her too much, he made quick work of ridding himself of denims and boots and lay down beside her.
Jenna gulped as his erection prodded her thigh, hot and hard. She couldn't seem to take her eyes away. Her pulse soared, and she had a sudden urge to jump up and run.
Then he kissed her, a hand warm on her waist as he blocked her view. Gradually, she relaxed and began to return the kiss. His lips moved across her cheek to her ear. He nibbled the lobe and traced the outer curve with his tongue. Hot breath wafted inside, making her spine tingle. He kissed the comer of her jaw and down her neck to the hollow at the base. As he neared her breasts, she moaned and drew his head to an aching tip, gasping with pleasure as he took it into his mouth.
Caught up by the building passion, Jenna's inhibitions fled. She explored his chest with her hands, smiling at his groan when her fingers encountered a small masculine nipple. For the first time she sensed that she could give back some of the pleasure he was giving her, and she was no longer content to lie there letting him work his magic on her. She wanted to spread a little magic of her own.
Scooting lower, she licked the small nub and felt him shudder. Glorying in her newfound power, she pushed him onto his back and experimented with her mouth, her tongue, her fingers, repeating the movements he had used on her. She rubbed her face in the pale curly hair of his chest, following its trail until her tongue discovered his navel and her arm brushed his rigid erection.
Branch groaned. "Lord, woman, you're going to make me explode."
At once, she found herself on her back. Urgency flavored his kisses. His frenzy found its mate in her. His hand moved to the apex of her legs, seeking her moist heat. She moaned and writhed as he explored her, fueling the inferno that raged within her.
The tip of the pinnacle drew close. Jenna strained toward that dim, hazy goal, uncertain what she would find, but eager to learn. Sensing that she lay at the brink, she stilled, waiting breathlessly to slip over into. . .
Abruptly the hand was gone. She cried out in protest.
"Easy, honey." Keeping his full weight off by bracing his hands on each side of her, Branch lowered himself over her, forcing her thighs to part for him.
Jenna stared up at him, trapped in a nether land of expectation.
"This will hurt." He hesitated, poised above her. "But only for a second."
She felt something hot and turgid prod her most sensitive place and gasped at this new, almost painful pleasure. He stopped. Bending his head, he kissed her with a tenderness that brought a prickle of tears to her eyes. Pulling back, he drew in a long breath. His eyes closed, and air hissed between his teeth as his hips rocked forward in a swift, hard lunge.
Jenna cried out in pain.
At once, he soothed her with kisses, murmured endearments, and encouragement in her ear while nuzzling her neck.
When Branch felt her relax, he moved a tiny bit to make sure the pain was gone. Her eyes closed, and she moved with him. Sighing with relief, he allowed more of his weight to rest on her, enjoying the softness of her breasts pressed into his chest and the incredible tightness sheathing him. Nothing had ever felt this good. After all the women he had known, it amazed him to realize he had never had an experience to equal this one. Because this one was Jenna.
With sudden, shocking clarity, he knew there would never be another woman like her. Not for him.
He loved her.
Lilibet had been only a sexual infatuation. The quickness with which his wife had tired of him and the infidelity that had followed, had been a severe blow to his young ego. But what he had felt for Lilibet was nothing to what Jenna aroused in him.
He nearly chuckled, thinking how impossible it would have been to hold off this long with any other woman. To take his time, building Jenna's passion slowly rather than throwing her onto her back and thrusting inside her as he might have someone else, had been sheer torture. Yet his pleasure would have been nothing had she not been with him every step of the way. Thinking of the possible height the final burst of pleasure could provide, sharing it with her, threatened his carefully guarded control.
Jenna moved beneath him. "Is. . . is that all? Is it over?"
Then he did chuckle. He kissed her nose. "Not by a long shot, darlin'."
Her hands reached to stop him as he slowly withdrew. Her murmur of protest changed to a gasp as he began to thrust, harder each time, rebuilding the tension as, together, they ascended the pinnacle.
With his hands beneath her hips, he lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist. Jenna soared, no longer climbing, but winging like a freed spirit through the mist into weightless clouds of delight. Racing, straining, striving to reach that shapeless goal.
Suddenly, she teetered on an unseen summit, held enthralled in that matchless moment when the heart stops beating, the breath stills, and the world tilts. Her body shuddered and convulsed. Then she floated downward, each spasm of pleasure a small heavenly hitch in her descent.
With one last plunge, Branch stiffened. He flung back his head and let out a throaty cry of exultation. Jenna felt him pulsate inside her, felt his strong body shudder as hers had, and marveled at this incredible joy God had given them to share.