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The road Branch and Jenna traveled was not the same one Jake
Longan used to lure her to the Silver Bullion Mine. After a while, Branch veered off onto a less well-used track that led steeply upward, winding back and forth along the mountain's face until it reached a basin of rolling meadows where thick stands of aspen and spruce cast elongated shadows on the dense grass.
Jenna laughed as a badger, foolish enough to dig his hole in the middle of the track, chased them, snarling and snapping at the wheels.
"You wouldn't find it so funny if you were on foot," Branch said, smiling.
"I know. It's more vicious than it looks." She grinned. "But it fought a losing battle, you know."
"Maybe." His gaze sobered and intensified as he gazed down at her. "Sometimes, a body simply has to tackle the impossible."
The buggy rolled on, over the brow of a hill and down into a hollow made green and lush by the stream frolicking through its middle. The road swung to the left. They climbed through fragrant forests of Engelmann spruce and Douglas fir, re-crossed the willow studded stream and rumbled on, past thickets of scrub oak and currant bushes heavy with unripe fruit.
The gay chatter of chickadees, punctuated by the raucous cries of crows and Steller's Jays, followed the buggy's progress. Jenna twisted on the padded leather seat, trying to see the birds. It seemed an easier activity than trying to surmise what would happen when they got where they were going.
Branch kept his eyes on the road, clucking now and then to the mare as she attempted to slow the pace. Jenna watched his big hands flick the reins, relaxed and sure, the backs ridged with thick blue veins and a tracery of scars. Hands that could be gentle and demanding at the same time. Desire bit deep inside, sending warm tingles through her as she imagined them stroking her body. It had been so long. Too long.
Why? What foolish triviality had they let come between them?
No, she chided herself. Her anxiety over giving her heart into a man's keeping was not trivial. Nor had her fear vanished. But the knowledge that her father had not willingly abandoned her and her mother forced her to rethink her stand on the issue of marriage. She had seen her mother as weak, her spirit broken by the devastation of losing the person she loved more than anything else in life. Now, Jenna knew that rather than sink beneath a reality she could not bear, her mother had merely chosen instead to cling tenaciously to hope.
Faith. From beneath lowered lashes, Jenna glanced at the man beside her. Her lack of faith in him may have cost her his love. She closed her eyes and prayed that tonight she would have a chance to set things right.
"There it is."
Branch's voice broke her reverie. Her eyes flicked open.
Ahead, the overgrown track led crookedly up a low knoll where the weathered framework of a magnificent structure rose like a giant skeleton against the dark-green backdrop of firs and spruces. The stream circled the base of the knoll, banked by a riot of flowering bushes that perfumed the evening breeze.
"What is this place?" Jenna asked.
Branch didn't answer right away. The mare picked up speed as if expecting a feed bag to be waiting just ahead. The buggy bounced and skidded over the rocky track barely visible among the grasses and wildflowers. As they drew nearer to the unfinished building, Jenna answered her own question, her voice tinged with surprise and bemusement. "It's a house. Oh, my heavens. A mansion."
Branch brought the buggy to a halt in front of deep, red sandstone steps that led to a broad veranda running the width of the building and around the side. The entire foundation had been made from the same sandstone. The northeast corner formed a gazebo overlooking the stream.
"Who owns it?"
"No one right now. A man named Conner Bradford started it for his wife. He promised her a mansion fit for a queen when he left her to search for gold. He had grand plans, but they didn't work out."
Branch leaped down and came around to lift Jenna to the ground. His green eyes held mystery and an undeniable invitation as he set her on her feet.
Jenna gazed up at him, scarcely breathing as she waited for his kiss. Instead, he bowed and gestured to the steps.
"Supper awaits," he said with an enigmatic smile.
With his hand at her elbow as she carefully held up the skirts of her gown, she ascended to the veranda and studied the graying studs to determine where the door would lie once the structure was completed.
"Here." Branch escorted her inside.
Partway down a wide hall, rough board stairs climbed to the second floor. Twin fireplaces embraced the house, their red brick chimneys rising into the sky like forgotten monuments to man's inconstancy. Inside the one nearest the stream, a fire crackled merrily. Jenna wondered how she had missed noticing the smoke and the pleasant aroma of burning pine logs as they came up the road.
In front of the fire stood a small table covered with a white linen cloth. Two places had been set with china, cutlery, linen napkins, and crystal wine glasses. A single rose lay on one plate. A fur rug she recognized from Branch's room at the hotel covered the floor between the table and the hearth. Candles of every size in every sort of holder imaginable flanked the fireplace, their flames flickering over the horde of roses amassed about them, and tinting the night air with sweetness.
"Oh, Branch, it's beautiful." Jenna turned to see him give a brief salute to a Paddy-sized figure vanishing into the deepening shadows.
"You like it?" He returned his attention to her. Moments later, the sound of hoof beats faded into the night.
"Yes." She chuckled. "Only your rather familiar looking assistant forgot the food."
"It's in the wagon, but first—" He withdrew a packet of matches from his pocket, lighted a taper in a silver candlestick on the table, and then drew out the chair where the place setting held the rose. "Now, if you'll be seated, I'll fetch our supper."
Minutes later, delicious smelling food covered the table. Jenna lifted a lid and sniffed ravenously at new potatoes soaked in butter and fresh parsley. Other dishes held braised lamb chops, asparagus tips topped with whipped lemon butter, a salad of the artichoke hearts Jenna knew Maura had put up last season, yeast rolls as light as aspen leaves, and spicy cakes with boiled frosting. Branch took a bottle of wine and filled their glasses. "Shall we eat?"
One eyebrow raised questioningly, Jenna ran a hand down over her fancy gown, gestured to the fire, the table, and the tantalizing food. "What are you up to?"
"Can't you simply enjoy yourself and stop looking in dark comers for darker motives?"
Yes, she thought, studying him. And I'd love doing it every day for the rest of my life, if you were there to share it with me. She lifted her glass. "All right. To what shall we drink?"
Branch's eyelids lowered, giving him that sleepy, sensuous look that sent tingling sensations down her spine. "Why not to us?"
Why not, indeed? Again, her brow rose. She cleared her voice, but the evening seemed too lovely, too full of hope, to risk mining it with an argument. "To us then."
The crystal tinkled in clear dulcet tones as the glasses touched. The wine matched the deep ruby sky framing the mountain peaks to the west as the sun tactfully took its leave. The rosy liquid tasted like moonbeams, warming her insides and setting her pulse racing. Candlelight reflected off the moist edge where her lips had touched. Taking the glass from her, Branch ran his tongue along the rim, seeming to seek the flavor of her mouth left there, along with the fruity tang of the wine. His gaze seemed to hold both threat and promise, and Jenna's insides quivered with anticipation.
When he set down the glass, his hand moved to cover hers on the table top. "Hungry?"
The corners of her mouth curled upward. "Starved."
"So am I." Again, his gaze became intense. "You've no idea how much."
Branch offered her the platter of lamb chops. She placed one on his plate, another on her own. His eyes never left her face as she continued to dish up the food, serving him first, then herself. Heat invaded her cheeks, and she hoped the twilight hid her blush.
When everything was ready, Branch picked up a lamb chop with his fingers. "I asked for fried chicken. Food is a lot more fun when you can eat it with your fingers, don't you think?"
She smiled politely and cut off a bite of her own meat with her knife and fork. How silly. They were acting like strangers on a first outing, so stiff and polite. Branch bit into his meat and chewed.
Grease glistened on his lip, and she wanted to lick it away.
He pointed to her plate with the chop. "Is yours to your liking?"
She lifted the tidbit to her mouth, chewed, swallowed. "Yes, delicious." In truth, the meat was barely warm, but she didn't care.
Branch took up a spear of asparagus and dredged it in melted butter. Then he reached across the table and ran the juicy green floret along the seam of her mouth. "Do you like asparagus?"
Stifling a nervous giggle, Jenna opened her mouth and nibbled off the end of the spear. When he kept the vegetable dangling in front of her, she took one more bite, then another and another until her lips closed gently over the tips of his fingers.
"You've butter on your lip." To her delight, he leaned across the table and did what she hadn't had the courage to do—he cleansed her mouth with his tongue, lingering to retrace each corner and curve, each plump satiny surface.
Jenna's body felt like the butter, hot, liquid and boneless.
Before she recovered, he fed her a potato the same way he had the vegetable—with his fingers. When it was gone, he took another potato and held it out to her. Taking her cue, she fed him the tender boiled tuber. He took small bites, rolling his eyes theatrically as though relishing each taste. His hand cradled her wrist, keeping it in place. His eyes closed, and he went on nibbling—at her fingers, her palm, the sensitive pulse point at her wrist. Tiny rockets of desire exploded inside her. She wanted to tear off her beautiful gown and let him consume every inch of her.
"Branch. . ."
His eyes opened. He groaned low in his chest. "God, Jenna, I've missed you."
"I-I've missed you, too."
In a heartbeat, he left his chair, pulled her up, and crushed her to him in an iron embrace. His kiss was hard and hungry. His fingers burrowed into her hair, ruthlessly ripping away the flower garniture. Pins flew in every direction.
Her arms circled his neck, and she pressed closer. Her brain urged caution, but her heart reminded her of her promised attempt to trust him.
His hands moved everywhere, stroking her back, her arms, her slender waist. His mouth moved to her ear. "Forgive me, I've been so stupid."
"As I have."
"When I think how close I came to losing you in that mine. . ." He nuzzled her neck, then ran his tongue along the curve of her jaw and felt her shudder.
Jenna framed his face with her hands and kissed every inch she could reach. "I know. I know."
One hand moved between them and closed gently over her breast while he dipped his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat. "My Pinky, my sweet little hellcat Pinky. I need you, woman."
"Shut up, McCauley, and make love to me." She drew his mouth back to hers.
"What do you think I'm trying to do?" he growled, but his voice held humor.
The scarlet gown vanished and, at her insistence, lay carefully over a chair. Branch made up the lost time ripping off her corset and flinging it aside. Then he started on her combination chemise and drawers. Jenna yanked off his shirt and buried her face in the soft curls on his chest. She spread kisses from one masculine nipple to the other.
Branch moaned. "How do you expect me to get you naked when you're tormenting me that way? I can't even see what I'm doing."
He inched one hand downward over her stomach to find the warm nest between her legs.
"Thank Heaven for split-drawers," he murmured, as he slipped a finger into her moist heat. "Unbutton my pants, darlin'. I don't think I can wait long enough to get you completely naked."
"Oh, yes, you can." She whirled out of reach. "You're the one who made me wear all this paraphernalia. The only thing missing was a corset cover."
He tore away his pants. "Don't know what you need all that rigmarole for, anyway."
"I don't." She stood with her hands on her hips, her head cocked, her mouth quirked in a sassy smile. The front of the silky red combination gaped open, giving him a healthy view of cleavage and a hint of one rosy areola. Her hair had fallen about her shoulders in wild disarray, one curl following the contour of her breast. Her beauty took his breath away.
"You're staring at me," she said in a husky whisper.
"I like staring at you." Branch reached for her, and she danced away, laughter trickling out behind her like an alluring scent— honeysuckle and woman.
She turned back to look at him. He stood partly in shadow, legs spread, shoulders back, his powerful arms folded across his wide, lightly furred chest, so virile and godlike, she could do little else but worship him. With feline grace she walked slowly back to him, her body quickening with anticipation at each step. Her heart thrummed, her breasts tautened, and a tingling moistness gathered where she most longed for his touch. When she had drawn close, she lowered herself to her knees on the fur rug and touched him with near reverence.
His hands fell to his sides, balled into fists. He sucked in a deep breath and awaited her next move. It didn’t take long.
The barest brush of her lips seared him with heat. Desire shot through him, so sharp, so intense, he felt like he’d been struck by lightning. His hands moved to her shoulders, and words tumbled past clenched teeth. "Hell, woman, do you know what you do to me?"
Jenna tilted her head to look up at him, her hands stroking, teasing. "I thought I had made you hate me."
"You're the one who rejected me." His voice was a hoarse whisper. "You turned down my proposal."
"You didn't propose, you. . . announced."
"Then let me start over and do it right. That's what tonight is all about."
He lowered himself to his knees on the rug in front of her. His arms circled her, pulling her closer. His mouth found hers, and he kissed her long and deep while his hands roamed over her, marveling that her skin could feel like genuine silk. With one finger, he brushed aside the bodice of the combination. He left her lips to circle a swollen nipple with his tongue. He smiled at her soft cry of joy and lifted his head.
"Don't stop," she cried.
"Don't stop proposing? Or don't stop kissing you?"
She nipped his upper lip. "You choose, I can't decide."
He chuckled and kissed her. She snuggled closer, rubbing herself against him as the kiss deepened. Branch wanted to tell her to slow down. He had meant to take his time, to kiss every inch of her, worship her the way he had in the thousand erotic dreams he'd endured since the cursed day he'd learned she was a Pinkerton.
She felt too good, hot, wet, eager.
His heart flooded with emotion—gratitude he had not ruined things between them with his cruel use of her, that he hadn't lost her to the hatred of Sleed Hendricks, or the unfeeling violence of nature when the Murphey mine flooded. He wanted to treasure her, to demonstrate with his touch, with his care of her, how much he loved her. But his body grew impatient. His physical need for her matched the raging waters that had washed them out of the mine.
His body and her greedy hands won. Growling low in his throat, he pulled her beneath him on the rug. Her legs wrapped around him where he had dreamed of them being, and her hands guided him home. Lost in a whirlpool of sensation that thrust them both into a swirling tide of ecstasy, he plunged into her. Their lovemaking ended too quickly though the rapture lingered. In their minds. In their hearts.
Later, Jenna stirred beside him. "I need a bath."
He lifted himself onto an elbow and bent to bury his face between her breasts. He licked the salt from her skin and inhaled the musky odor left behind by their lovemaking. He grinned as his body grew hard again. "Your wish is my command." He rubbed against her, his smile crooked. "If you're sure a bath is what you want."
"It is." She smiled back. "Among other things."
"First?" He tugged gently at a nipple with his teeth. Teasing fingers burrowed into the triangle of dark curly hair. "Or second?"
She pursed her lips and frowned. "Um, I can't decide."
He pulled away and began to rise. "In that case—"
"Wait. . ." She grabbed for him and missed.
"No, you said a bath. And a bath it shall be." He walked away, glorious in his nakedness.
Aware of the sensuous softness of the fur beneath her, she watched the powerful play of muscle and sinew until the darkness swallowed him. A lantern at the back of the house flared to life. The yellow glow cast his magnificent body in rippled shadows as he carried the lantern into the warm night to the stream where it curved behind the house. A few minutes later he reappeared, carrying a large brass boiler with wooden handles. Water sloshed over the side as he fitted it onto the glowing coals in the fireplace. Jenna laughed. "Is that my bath?"
"Partly." He poured wine and brought the glasses with him as he sat on the rug beside her. She took hers and sipped delicately.
"I don't think I can fit into that pan," she teased.
"There's another outside, already hot and waiting."
Her eyes widened. "I saw no fire when we arrived."
"Only because it was still light out. I heated this water up and left it in the sunlight before I went back to get you. It shouldn't take long to heat up again."
Branch was as good as his word. By the time they‘d emptied the wine bottle and nibbled the cold lamb chops the bone, the water was ready. Using his socks as hot pads, he hauled the boiler back out into the night, arms bulging from the effort. Jenna waited, dying of curiosity as she wondered what sort of bath it would turn out to be. When he returned, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her out as well.
The grass was cool beneath her feet when he set her down. In the merging circles of light cast by the lantern and the fire, she saw an enormous oval-shaped tub. Its sides were fitted slats of polished wood, slanting outward slightly at the sides, more so at each end. Gleaming copper lined the inside.
"It's wonderful." She crouched to run her hand over the smooth wood. "How did it get here?"
"Bradford had it made. His wife had a fondness for bathing." Branch bent to test the water. He added a bucketful of cold stream water and tested it again. "Feels about right." He flicked his fingers, showering her with warm droplets.
Jenna rose, and he helped her into the tub. Thick towels waited on a stool nearby. She sank into the warm water with a sigh, her hair floating on the surface like a fan before it slowly sank. To be able to stretch out her legs rather than keeping them drawn up to her chest awarded her pure joy and comfort. "Why didn't he finish the house?"
That was the question he had hoped to avoid. "The wife died."
"How awful." She sat up, feeling suddenly guilty to be enjoying a treasure meant for a dead woman.
Branch smiled, trying to recapture the mood of the evening. "That doesn't mean it should all go to waste." He stepped into the tub.
"What are you doing?"
"There's room for two."
Their legs tangled as he sat down facing her. The water lapped about her breasts. She lay back against the sleek copper and smiled at him. "Seems sinful somehow."
"Because the woman he had it made for is dead?"
"No, it's so improper for us both to be in here. Even a married couple wouldn't be indecent enough to share a bathtub."
"That depends on the couple. If I have my way, you'll be sharing this tub with me for a very, very long time." She tipped back her head until it rested on the edge of the tub and closed her eyes. Her breasts rose and fell. She swallowed hard. Branch watched, holding his breath and feeling the pounding of his heart as he waited for her to speak. The thought of her going out of his life left an emptiness in him big enough to drown in. He knew he would never be able to bear it if she left him.
"Are you planning to steal the tub?" she asked.
The words were so far from what he had expected that he laughed. "I was thinking of buying the property and finishing the house. If you like it, that is."
She brought her feet under her, turned and sat between his legs. "Scrub my back and I'll think about it."
At least she hadn't said no. He took the soap, worked up a good lather and set the bar aside.
Jenna's nostrils flared as she inhaled the scent of lavender. Her eyes closed. Tears pricked behind the lids. She knew what he was asking. Part of her rejoiced that he still wanted her to share his life. The other part. . . She fought back the fear.
"I'm not your father, Jenna." Branch spread the sweet-smelling lather over her back and shoulders and down her arms. "And neither are you. Your mother will have him back soon. There's no reason now for you to be the man of the family. Everything in life is a risk. But it's only through taking chances that you gain anything."
He bent to kiss the curve of her neck and tasted soap. He carefully avoided touching her breasts. Sex had nothing to do with what he asked of her now. "Give us a chance."
Her voice came back soft as midnight, edged with quivering apprehension. "Is this your way of proposing, McCauley? Are you asking me to marry you?"
"I'm asking you to join your life with mine, to take my name, bear my children. To ease my troubles, enhance my joy. And to let me do the same for you. I want to grow old beside you, Jenna. I want to love you every day of the rest of my life."
He took a deep breath and plunged on, knowing he could leave nothing out. "I'm asking you to love me, to give me your heart, to trust me not to hurt you. And I'm offering you my heart. My risk is no less than yours."
Waves of soapy water crashed upon his chest as she struggled to swing about in the tub. He knew the beads of moisture on her lashes were not bathwater as she knelt between his legs and sat back on her heels.
"It's because I do love you that I'm so scared." She put a hand to his cheek, and he turned his head to place a kiss in her wet palm.
"I didn't think I would ever want to feel a child growing inside me," she said. "I was so afraid I would fail her as I felt my parents failed me. But. . ." She spread her fingers over the flat plane of her abdomen. "Just thinking about feeling your child inside me gives me goosebumps, and I choke up inside. Oh, Branch, I don't want to lose you, and I do want to marry you. But I've spent my life learning to be independent. I can't change overnight."
"You don't have to change." He gave her arms a gentle squeeze. "Don't you understand? I love you the way you are. I wouldn't change a single crazy notion in that beautiful head of yours."
Her mouth quirked in a crooked smile much like his. She ran a wet finger along his lower lip. "Even if I'm still a hellcat fifty years from now, and all our daughters grow up to be hellcats, too?"
He gently bit her finger. "Long as you're my hellcat. Let our sons-in-law worry about the girls."
"Then I'll think about it."
He groaned. "Is there nothing I can do to hurry your decision?"
"As a matter of fact, there is."
She laced her hands behind his neck and kissed him. Long and slow and sweet. "Let's get out of this tub. We can't get close enough in this thing."
"Let's finish our bath first."
Once more he soaped his hands. He spread the lather over her breasts, stroking and teasing until her nipples grew taut and her mouth curved in a smile of pure delight. Her eyes drifted shut. Scooping up water with his hands, he rinsed her off. His mouth captured a wet nipple. She gasped and braced her hands on the edge of the tub as he suckled lustily.
He soaped her hips, her abdomen, and buttocks. He caressed and fondled and aroused. He rinsed her off and dried her with his tongue wherever he could reach. She moaned and repeated her suggestion that they get out.
His answer was for her to sit down and lean against the back of the tub. One at a time he bathed and rinsed her feet. With his eyes on hers, he licked the water from her soles, suckled the toes, then kissed his way up her calf to the back of her knee. Erotic sensations shot up her legs, leaving her tingling and aching with desire. Still, he ignored her pleas to give her the release she craved.
He told her to stand, knelt in front of her and washed her thighs. Her hands gripped his shoulders and her teeth clamped down on her lip as his fingers stroked between her thighs and delved inside. She threw back her lead. Her wet hair clung to her spine and taut buttocks.
Finding it impossible to stand still beneath his touch, she writhed, whimpering at the back of her throat like a wild animal caught somewhere between rapture and torment. She could not conceive of there being more. Yet his torture of her did not end there.
His probing tongue brought a mixed cry of shock and ecstasy. Spasms of pleasure swelled and eddied through her body. Her fingers dug into the flesh of his shoulders, her knees sagged. Quickly he pulled her down onto his lap and impaled her with his own screaming need. He lifted his hips beneath her in a rocking motion, his hands on her hips encouraging her to move with him. She matched his rhythm, meeting each thrust as he sought to carry her with him to the heights, so they could tumble into heaven together.
His lips drew back over clenched teeth as he felt her muscles tighten, then convulse. Jenna cried out, and Branch added his voice to hers, filling the dark night with a savage exultation no animal could imitate as he exploded inside her.
She was his. He would never let her go. Branch buried his face between her breasts and listened to the pounding of her heart, its beat one with his. Lifting his head, he slanted his mouth across hers, mingling their breaths, taking and giving back the same air in a symbolic gesture that reached deep into his soul.
They were one. Nothing could ever change that now. He knew it in the innermost depths of his being, knew it and glorified in it. Still, he needed to hear the words.
"Tell me you'll marry me, Jenna," he rasped. "Say it so I'll know it's real and I can stop being so damned scared."
She made a soft sound, part laugh, part sigh. Didn't he know how scared she was? "You don't give up, do you?"
His hard eyes glinted like bits of mica in the lantern light. "No. Dammit, what will it take, a signed document promising I won't abandon you? I'll do it. You want a house in Park City, instead of this one? I'll give you anything. Dozens of fancy dresses. Or you can wear trousers, I don't care. I'll even shave off my beard. Just say you'll marry me."
Driven by fear, Jenna tried to get up, but he hung onto her. Inside, she knew she had no choice. She loved him. She could not leave him. And he was right, everything worth having required some risk. Nothing in life came free. But that didn't mean she shouldn't set some goals of her own, or help him reach his.
"I've grown kind of fond of your beard. I don't want you to shave it. But I can't sit around day after day crocheting antimacassars and canning peas, McCauley. I have more to offer than that, and I want to share more of your life than your bed. What kind of future are you offering me? Do you intend to support me on a marshal's pay? Or study law like we talked about?"
"I have to take the marshal's job, Jenna. I promised, and there's no one else to do it. I have been giving the attorney idea a great deal of thought though. In fact, one of your first duties as my wife would be to check out schools. I'd rather not go back East if I don't have to."
Jenna pursed her lips and nodded. Her eyes met his with a challenge. "I want to be your deputy."
"Deputy! Dammit, Jenna, I'd have to be crazy to put you in that kind of danger."
She jerked herself free and rose to her feet, splattering him with water as she placed her hands on her hips and glared down at him. "Who was it that rescued you when Hendricks and Virgil jumped you in Echo Canyon? Who took Mendoza right out from under your nose in Salt Lake City? You know I can shoot and I—"
Branch rose to face her, water sluicing off his body and spilling over the sides of the tub. "What's that got to do with anything? How in blue blazes do you reckon to handle a bank robbery or ride posse and take care of seven children at the same time?"
"Seven—" Her hands came off her hips, and her mouth fell open. "You want seven children?"
He grinned, pleased that his attempt to shock her into a change of subject had worked. "Aye, don't you?"
"I don't know," she stammered, completely taken aback. "I. . . Do I have a choice?"
"No." He moved closer, a feral gleam in his eye. "And I expect the first one to be born nine months from tonight."
"Like hell, McCauley." She shoved him back and climbed out of the tub.
Branch flapped his arms like a beached whale, his feet went out from under him, and he fell with a splash. He managed to spring back onto his feet, but Jenna, slippery as a trout, evaded his grasp.
She snatched up a towel and wound it around her as she ran for the house. He tackled her before she'd made it halfway. The scent of crushed grass and damp earth drifted up around them, along with their laughter, as they tumbled to the ground.
"All right. All right," he gasped, as he struggled to keep hold of her. "Quit fighting me, you've got the job."
She went still beneath him. "I have? I can be your deputy?" She wove her fingers into his hair and looked up at him with those big, innocent, smoky-blue eyes.
Branch heaved a sigh of mock defeat. "Yes, but only if you give up the idea of being a Pinkerton. You can't do both, you know."
"That's okay, and I've changed my mind about the deputy's job." She attempted to draw his head down for a kiss.
Wary of her last comment, he resisted. "Does that mean you're going to stay a Pinkerton?"
"Would you mind?" She nibbled at his neck.
"Would it make any difference if I did?"
"No."
"That's what I thought." He pulled away and stood, anger evident in his tense muscles as he stalked toward the house.
Undisturbed by his feigned bravado, Jenna called after him softly, "Being a Pinkerton wasn't what I had in mind, however."
Letting the darkness conceal the gleam of anticipated victory in his expression, he turned to face her. "No?"
"No."
He paced slowly toward her. "All right. . . Pinky, what exactly do you have in mind?"
She met him midway, her feline grin exposed by a patch of moonlight. "I've decided to run against you for the marshal's job."
"Yeah?" Surprise and amusement raced across his features. Then his lips curved in a predatory, teeth-flashing grin. "I know how to put a stop to that."
Wearing a coquettish smile, she edged backward, delighted with the feverish way his gaze slithered over her, like heated oil. Excitement thrummed in her veins and her voice became husky. "Oh? And exactly how do you expect to do that?"
Branch gave a wolfish chuckle that was half growl. "By getting you started on those seven kids. Here and now." With that, he reached for her.
Jenna's giggles faded into moans of pleasure as darkness enveloped the two figures entwined upon the midnight grass.
He loved her. That was all that mattered. Someday, when they were old and gray and surrounded by grandchildren, she might even tell him.
