Kendrick: Outlaw's Bride Part 9

"I won't leave until you promise."

"All right," he said with a sigh of resignation. "I'll come."

Patch took leave of her grandfather shortly thereafter and headed for the hotel. She sat down at the desk in the lobby and wrote a quick letter to her parents, letting them know she had met her grandfather and chastising her father for not telling her about him sooner.

Meanwhile, Gilley hauled her trunks from the room where she had left them when she arrived in Oakville and put them in the wagon she had brought to town for that purpose.

Patch realized she had spent more time with her grandfather than she had intended, and that she would have to hurry if she didn't want to worry Ethan by a too-long absence. He had given her strict orders not to dally in town. "There's no telling how Trahern will react to the news you're staying at the Double Diamond," he had warned. "So finish your business and get back here as quick as you can."

It wasn't that Patch had ignored his counsel on purpose. But once she had started talking to her grandfather, the time had simply gotten away from her. She still had one more stop to make before she was ready to head back to the ranch. Actually, two stops. First the post office to mail her letter and then the sheriff's office.

She folded her letter and addressed the envelope, then stood and adjusted her hat. "Everything all set, Gilley?" she asked the clerk, who was once again manning his post behind the hotel desk.

"All finished, Miss Kendrick," the clerk answered. "Two trunks, three carpetbags, and five hatboxes all loaded into the wagon."

Patch remembered how much trouble it had been to keep secret from Molly the things she was packing in the bottom of her trunks that had nothing to do with her trip to Boston. She hadn't planned on coming back to Montana, so she had brought a few mementos of her past, as well as some items from her hope chest to start her new life with Ethan. In those trunks, under all the fashionable clothes Molly had insisted she would need for her social life in Boston, were the treasures she had collected for the home she planned to make with her new husband.

Some of the things she could use right away, the linens and such. There were other things-Patch blushed at the thought of the lacy nightgown she had bought in St. Louis-that would have to wait until she was married. Because she had packed so much extra, there hadn't been room to hide boots and trousers. Thus, her necessary stop at the mercantile her first day in town.

Patch crossed to the desk to give Gilley something for his trouble. "Thank you, Gilley. By the way," she said, "where will I find the sheriff this time of day?"

"Careless? Probably be in his office. He usually eats at his desk, mostly 'cause the town pays for his meal if he's working at noontime."

Patch smiled. "Thanks, Gilley."

The jail was across the street from the mercantile. It was made of rock and surrounded by three huge live oaks, one of which, Ethan had told her, had actually been used for hangings in the past. Patch wasn't superst.i.tious, but she just knew there had to be ghosts that haunted the place at night.

Patch decided to post her letter before she paid her visit to Careless Lachlan. As far as she knew, Ethan hadn't been in to see him yet, and it couldn't hurt to let the sheriff know that the investigation of that long-ago incident was being reopened.

Patch had stepped off the boardwalk where it ended to allow access to an alley when a hand reached out and grabbed her by the wrist. She was yanked into the cool, murky shadows and slammed up against the wall. A hard male body pressed up against her and a callused hand stifled the scream on her lips. The abrupt change from sunlight to darkness momentarily blinded her. She was terrified until she heard a familiar male voice.

"What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing, Patch?"

"Mmmmp," Patch replied. The hand came away and she snapped, "I was walking down the street! Or at least I was until you yanked me into this alley. What's got into you, Ethan? What's wrong?"

"I told you to get your bags and get back to the ranch. You left right after breakfast. It's practically noon. What the h.e.l.l have you been doing all day?"

Patch relaxed. He was worried about her. She played with a b.u.t.ton on his shirt with her gloved fingers. "I went to see my grandfather."

Ethan had the oddest sensation he was being undressed, even though the b.u.t.tons remained in place. It was a fantasy he had been fighting the past week, Patch undressing him. Here she was doing it-or rather, not doing it-in the middle of town. He forced his mind back to the subject at hand. "I thought Corwin Marshall was dead."

"No, he just sold his ranch and moved into town. And guess what, Ethan?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"He's going to come visit me at the ranch sometime."

"Patch, there's no sense getting any more people involved in my situation than already are."

"He's not involved. He's just a lonely old man, Ethan, and I want to spend some time with him."

"Patch-"

"Have you talked to the sheriff yet, Ethan?"

"No, but-"

Her gloved fingers walked up his shirt toward his collar. "Could I go with you?"

He grabbed her wrist. "No."

Her lips pouted. "Why not?"

He smoothed them out with his thumb. "I told you, it isn't safe."

She stared up at him, her eyes pleading even though she wasn't saying a word.

"Patch ..."

Ethan hadn't intended to kiss her. That had been the last thing on his mind when he dragged her into this alley. In fact, he had been ready to wring her neck. But he lowered his face and she lifted hers and, sure enough, their lips met.

It was just a touch of flesh to flesh, but it made his blood hum and his spirit soar. He rubbed his lips against hers, and her mouth came open. Lord, Lord! How could he resist that sort of temptation? His tongue slid along the crease of her mouth, and he felt her quiver.

He wasn't aware of what his hands were doing until she froze. He had her breast cupped in his hand! He started to let go, but she hesitantly arched toward him. She made a low, animal sound in her throat that caused his groin to draw up tight.

Ethan brushed his thumb delicately across her nipple and heard her gasp as it tightened into a bud. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and groaned when she sucked on it.

It was the sound of two women talking that brought him to his senses. He jerked away from Patch, put a hand across her mouth to keep her from making any noise, and pulled her deeper into the alley.

"It's shameless, that's what it is, a lady like her staying in the same house with the likes of him," one woman said.

"His mother is there, and his sister," the other answered.

"A sick woman and a little girl," the first woman retorted. "What's to keep him from forcing himself on her the way he did that poor Trahern girl?" The woman tsked and continued speaking, but by then they were well past the alley, and their voices were no longer clear.

"See what you're in for if you hang around me," Ethan whispered in the darkness. "Misery and unhappiness, that's what's in store! You'll be a source of gossip on the tongue of every old harpy in town. Get out of here, Patch. Now, while you can."

Patch dropped her forehead against Ethan's shoulder and rubbed her cheek against his chest. She liked the feel of him and wanted to be closer. Her fingers curled themselves into his shirt reflexively, like a kitten's claws. "No, Ethan. Whatever happens, I want to stay here with you."

Patch felt him shudder.

"Then heaven help you, little one. Because I can't help myself."

He tipped her chin up and kissed her, only this time he wasn't gentle. The fervent kiss frightened her, but she reminded herself this was Ethan, that she loved him, and he would never do anything to hurt her. Sure enough, the pressure on her mouth eased, then gentled, then persuaded.

Patch found herself responding. Her arms slid up around Ethan's neck, and her tongue slipped out tentatively to meet his. Ethan's arms tightened around her, and he pressed his lower body against her. She could feel the hard length of his shaft.

She slowly arched her body into his and heard him groan.

His hands grasped her hips and held her still. "Don't, Patch. Or I'll end up having you right here, standing against an alley wall in the middle of town."

Patch lowered her hands to his shoulders and leaned against him. All she heard for the next several moments was the sound of her own ragged breathing and the heavy beat of Ethan's heart.

"Let's get married now, Ethan. Let's not wait." Patch lifted her face to his. She could easily see his features now that her eyes had adjusted to the dark. "I don't care what the old biddies say. I don't care what the town thinks of you. I only know I love you. And you want me, Ethan. You can't deny it."

Ethan used his hold on her hips to lever her a good foot away from him. Maybe with distance he could keep his senses. "You're only making this harder for both of us, Patch. I won't deny I want you. But I don't love you. And I absolutely will not marry you with the whole town thinking I'm the kind of man who could beat up a woman and take her innocence and leave her bleeding on the ground."

Patch turned her head away. "All right, Ethan," she said. "I won't mention marriage again."

He caught her chin in his hand and forced her to face him. "You know I'm right, Patch."

She avoided agreeing with him. Because she didn't. "As long as you're in town, wouldn't this be a good opportunity to see the sheriff?"

Ethan gave in gracefully. "I suppose so."

"Good," Patch said. "Let's go."

"Whoa!" Ethan said. "I can't just go marching into his office."

"Why not?"

"Because ..." Ethan realized that the threat of being bushwhacked was probably pretty slim in the sheriff's office. "All right," he said. "Let's go. You let me do all the talking."

"Of course, Ethan," Patch replied. "You're the boss."

Ethan laughed at the totally un-Patchlike meekness of her reply. He hugged her quickly and just as quickly let her go. The temptation was too great to do more. "Come on, you shameless minx. Let's go see what Careless has to say."

Ever since Ethan had suggested that Frank talk to Merielle about the rape, he hadn't been able to think about anything else. Every day for a week Frank had been trying to get up the courage to broach the subject. The truth was, he was terrified. What if she got hysterical? What if she stopped talking altogether? What if she went completely out of her mind?

What if she remembered what had happened?

Greater than his fear was his desire to have Merielle as she had been seventeen years ago. Laughing. Smiling at him. Loving him. He wanted to kiss her and hold her in his arms and have her touch him with wonder as he touched her.

They had been naive and innocent then. He was only fifteen, she barely thirteen, and each of them in love for the first time. Generally they understood what was supposed to happen between lovers. But they had both been as shy as they were eager to discover the secrets of each other's body.

He had touched her b.r.e.a.s.t.s only once. Her cheeks had burned red with embarra.s.sment the whole time he was unb.u.t.toning her dress, and she had clenched fistfuls of his shirt to keep herself from shoving his hands away. He had pushed the dress down off her shoulders until it caught on her elbows and felt her shiver as her flesh was exposed to the sunlight in the loft of her father's barn. Her eyes, oh, G.o.d, her eyes had blazed with ecstasy and joy when his callused fingertips brushed against her flesh for the first time.

Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s had been small, only half-developed, the nipples tight, tiny pink buds. His chest had been banded with awe. His whole body had trembled with need. That other part of him, the part he hadn't yet used as a man with a woman, had surged to life, hardening in readiness for an act he could only imagine.

Frank had wanted to put his mouth on her flesh. He had dreamed of it. Before he could garner the courage to act on his desire, she had asked, "Could I touch you, Frank?"

"What?"

It had never occurred to him that she had the same sorts of fantasies he did. After all, she was a lady, or would be in a very few years. But there was no mistaking the longing in her eyes. He had reluctantly let go of the precious part of her he was holding and slid his arm around to her back.

"Do you want to unb.u.t.ton my shirt? Or do you want me to do it?" he asked.

She looked delightfully confused for a moment before she said, "I want to do it."

Her fingers were stiff at first, from having been clenched so tightly on his shirt. She kept her chin down so he could see only the top of her head. He marveled at how she always got the part so straight, evenly dividing the l.u.s.trous sheen of black hair. He reveled in the thickness of her braids, their softness. All the while he was trying to think of something else, she was slowly but surely unb.u.t.toning his shirt.

He sucked in his gut reflexively when she tugged on his shirttails to release them from his pants. He laughed nervously when he felt his body shiver. "I sure ain't cold," he said. And he hadn't been.

Shivering in sunlight. In the years to come he would often ponder the phenomenon. That day, his thoughts had been on Merielle. He had held his breath waiting to feel her fingertips on his skin.

A small patch of black curls had formed very recently on his chest, and that was what drew her attention. She reached tentatively and grasped several of the curly hairs.

He winced when she pulled too hard, but he wouldn't for the world have asked her to stop what she was doing. She slid her hand across his flesh, raising goose b.u.mps along the way. Until she found a male nipple. It fascinated her. She traced it with her finger. She tweaked it and laughed when he jerked. She brushed it with her thumb.

Not even in his dreams had Frank imagined such feelings. His body drew up tight. His pulse pounded in his head until he couldn't think. His whole being came alive with wants and needs as old as the ages and as primal as nature.

Then she leaned forward and tasted his nipple with her tongue.

A groan, almost of pain, wrenched its way out of his throat.

She looked up at him, her eyes concerned, questioning. "Did I hurt you, Frank?"

"Oh, no, Merielle," he hurried to a.s.sure her. "It was just that ... I felt like ... I ..." His tangled emotions left him tongue-tied. He didn't have words to tell her what he felt.

She demanded them anyway. "Felt like what, Frank?"

"I'd have to show you," he grated out.

He waited to see if she would let him do to her what she had done to him. Her brow furrowed slightly while she thought-it always did-and when it cleared he had his answer.

"All right, Frank."

He felt awkward, like the schoolboy he was. What if she didn't like it? What if she never let him touch her again? His sense of humor rescued him. If he didn't hurry up, she might change her mind, and he would never get to touch her the first time!

Frank was just lowering his head, and it was a ways down, since he was so much taller than she was, when they heard someone coming into her father's barn. They were in the loft, and there was no reason for anyone to come up there, but they waited with bated breath to be discovered. Whoever it was left the barn again almost immediately, but the spell was broken.

The instant it was safe to move again, Merielle pulled away from him and hurriedly yanked her dress back up over her shoulders. She fumbled with her b.u.t.tons, and he brushed her hands away to do it himself.

"We should have met at the cave," he murmured. "Then we wouldn't have been interrupted."

She blushed, but a mischievous smile teased her lips. "Tomorrow," she promised.

"Tomorrow's your birthday. What about the party your father's having for you? Will you be able to get away?" He hadn't been invited and had been afraid he wouldn't see her alone. He had braided a ring out of black horsetail hair especially for her.

"I'll meet you after school," she said. "I have to come home first, but once Father sees I'm back, he won't pay any attention to where I go."

He b.u.t.toned the last b.u.t.ton at her throat. "Don't be late. I have a present for you."

"I won't." She stood on tiptoe and pulled his head down to kiss him quickly on the lips, then raced for the ladder and headed down. She flashed him a quick grin of complicity before she disappeared from sight.

His thoughts shied away from what had actually happened the next day. It was too painful to remember. However, his confrontation with Jefferson Trahern the day following Merielle's birthday-the day after she was brutally raped-remained vivid in his mind.

He had gone to the Tumbling Tbecause he couldn't stay away. He had slid off the mule his father used to pull his plow and tied it up along with the a.s.sortment of wagons and buggies drawn up at the front of the imposing house. He swallowed hard as he looked, really looked, at Merielle's home.