Daisies In The Wind Page 27

  When he spread her legs and lowered himself upon her, she instinctively welcomed him, but as he eased his manhood into her, she tensed. Her eyes flew open, wide with apprehension in the flickering firelight, and Wolf could only guess at the ugly memories crowding to intrude.

  Damn Neely Stoner. Damn him to hell.

  “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart. Trust me.”

  Trust. Staring up at his flushed, leanly handsome face poised above her, Rebeccah nodded. She did trust Wolf, she trusted him completely. Only ... panting, she braced herself for pain. But Wolf soothed her with kisses, and touches, and with seemingly infinite patience he eased into her, inch by careful inch, until at last the muscles of her body relaxed, and the aching need returned to her, and he slid into her fully, watching her eyes. The fear had gone from them, and now they were magnificent violet stars burning up into his with love and wondrous eagerness, and at last he allowed his terrible restraint to loosen. Pressing his hungry mouth to hers, to soothe and reassure her, he began to move and thrust.

  Rebeccah cried out at the throbbing fullness that filled her as he plunged deeply into her, again and again. Joy burst through her, a wild, swiftly gliding joy. She felt as if she were racing down a steep canyon at breakneck speed, spinning into whirling space, out of control, and yet brilliantly alive and soaring.

  At last, deliciously spent, cozily entwined, they lay together as the flames of the fire dwindled and darkness cocooned the room.

  “Sweet Rebeccah,” Wolf murmured, holding her close against his naked side. He leaned down to drop a kiss upon the peak of her breast. “Don’t ever leave me.”

  “Leave you?” Like Clarissa? Even after tonight, with the glory of their lovemaking, was there a seed of worry inside him? She pulled free and stared at him. “I would sooner ride off a cliff at the top of Bull Mountain than ever leave you,” she told him fiercely and sealed it with a long, giving, fervent kiss. “Wolf,” she said shakily at last, coming up for air. “Don’t ever, ever doubt my love.”

  “I won’t,” he said, and the slow, heated grin she loved spread across his face. “On one condition.”

  “What condition?”

  “Snuggle back down here and demonstrate it for me all over again.”

  He gave her no time for any spoken reply, but reading only the delighted gleam in her eyes, he yanked her back into his arms and they began all over again.

  22

  “I have an idea,” Rebeccah said the next morning as she sat up naked on the bedroll and stretched her arms luxuriously above her head.

  Wolf immediately tugged her down atop him, holding her there facing him, with her breasts pressed against his chest and her hips molded against him, and grinned.

  “So do I.”

  A laugh bubbled from her lips. She felt beautiful, and deliciously satisfied. Cool, wintry sunshine filled the Montana sky outside the window, the snow was melting, and life tasted incredibly sweet. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  The hand that cradled her buttocks slid languorously up her spine until it touched the long, thick curtain of her hair. He twisted his fingers in the ebony strands and kissed her with gently nibbling kisses until she forgot what she was going to say.

  As her breathing quickened, Wolf rolled her onto her back and moved his body atop hers. His tongue found her breast and began to lick the taut, achingly sensitive nipple.

  “I must admit, I like your ideas,” she gasped, and it was his turn to laugh.

  “I’ve got lots more ideas to show you, Rebeccah,” he promised as he slid his hand between her legs.

  Much later they raced out of the cabin to the tiny creek trickling through smooth gray rocks, and, yelling and splashing, they bathed quickly in the icy water. Their fingers shook afterward as they pulled on their clothes and then scurried back to the house and the heat of the stove for a makeshift breakfast of jerky and hardtack, which Wolf kept stored in his pack.

  “So,” Wolf said, swallowing a mouthful of the jerky and admiring the lovely way her skin glowed in the clear winter sunshine streaming through the window. “What’s your idea?”

  “Now he wants to know,” Rebeccah murmured to no one in particular, throwing up her hands. “It would serve you right if I couldn’t remember it at all.”

  “But you do.”

  “Of course I do.” She poured them each another cup of coffee. “I think we should go to Butte right away and see Crystal McCoy.”

  “Who the hell is Crystal McCoy?”

  “My father’s mistress.” At his raised brows she hurried on. “I didn’t know anything about her until Russ and Homer told me yesterday, but it seems to me that if anybody knows anything about some papers relating to this mine, it would be her. I certainly don’t, and she seems to be the only other person my father cared for.” Quickly she told him what Russ had said about Bear’s visits to Butte.

  “It’s worth a try. Maybe she can shed a little light on this whole thing. But I’ll tell you this, Rebeccah. I’m going to get to the bottom of this mine business once and for all—even if it means rounding up any and all of the hombres who think you’ve got possession of these mine papers and throwing them in jail—or killing them. No more waiting around until the next varmint comes after you. Next time we might not be so lucky.”

  We. He said we, Rebeccah thought with a joyous lift of the heart. “Yes, Wolf,” she said softly, too happy for the moment even to think about reminding him that going around killing people without cause was against the law. He wouldn’t do it, she knew, not unless it was self-defense or to actually protect her, but she enjoyed the sentiment. Wolf finished his breakfast in deep thoughtfulness, obviously still troubled by how to extricate her from danger before it struck again, and Rebeccah feasted her eyes on him and wondered at her own fortune in having won the love of this incredibly splendid man.

  They started toward Butte at mid-morning, traveling in easy stages throughout the day, the pristine banks of snow glistening and melting all around them. After a short stop in the small town of Serenity, where they consumed a quick dinner in the tiny hotel dining room, which smelled like grease and burned ham, they then pressed on for Butte, reaching the town just as daylight was fading. The sky burned a fiery amber-red as Wolf and Rebeccah reined in before the Double Barrel Saloon.

  Rebeccah felt the stares of the cowboys, miners, gamblers, and drifters clustered throughout the wide, opulent room as Wolf escorted her through the swinging double doors and over to the gleaming mahogany bar. She tried to ignore the glances she received, but one cowboy in a gray wide-brimmed hat and fringed vest actually let out a low whoop as she passed by him, and Wolf spun quickly about to grab him by his shirt.

  “Down, boy!” Wolf growled softly. His eyes flashed an ominous warning that the cowboy couldn’t mistake.

  “No offense meant, ma’am,” he stammered quickly with a pleading glance at Rebeccah.

  “None taken,” Rebeccah murmured. And then she put a hand lightly on Wolf’s arm. “Wolf, it’s all right. Let him go.”

  A balding piano player with a gray handlebar mustache banged on tinny keys in the duskily lit corner of the bar. There were paintings of women in various states of dishabille adorning the gold-flecked walls, and smoke hung everywhere. Men played cards at most of the tables, but occasionally two or three sat in groups, talking in low voices, or watching the saloon girls, who pranced back and forth in their black silk stockings, high kid boots, and bright velvet dresses, the latter gaudily low-cut and spangled with sequins and baubles, flowers and feathers. Rebeccah had been in such places in her youth, but it was a long time ago. She wanted to stare about curiously and marvel at this strange, wild, decadent atmosphere, but she had business to conduct, and it was far more important than indulging idle curiosity.

  At the bar Wolf asked for Crystal McCoy.

  “Who wants to see her?” the potbellied bartender asked, peering shrewdly at them from beneath shaggy black brows.

  Rebeccah put both pal
ms facedown on the gleaming surface of the bar. “Rebeccah Rawlings,” she said crisply.

  The bartender started, and focused his small, mud-colored eyes on her for a long moment. He swore under his breath.

  “Rebeccah Rawlings, are you, now? If that don’t beat all. Come with me, lass. Crystal will sure want to see you.”

  He left his post and lumbered like a grizzly around the bar, leading them into a murky corridor off the main saloon and then up a short flight of stairs to a closed door.

  The sign on the door read PRIVATE.

  He rapped on the paneled wood. “Visitors.”

  “Who is it?” called a tired-sounding voice.

  The bartender grinned and pushed open the door. “Rebeccah Rawlings!” he announced.

  Wolf and Rebeccah stepped inside.

  * * *

  Two men rode from opposite directions and met at a bald knoll ten miles outside of Powder Creek. They dismounted and walked toward each other, their breaths coming in white puffs in the chill air of dusk.

  “Why’d you let her out of your sight?” the larger man demanded, looking as if he’d like to shoot his slimmer companion between the eyes.

  The other man cupped his hands and lit up one of his homemade smokes, calm as dawn. “What did you expect me to do—blow the whole plan to smithereens by making a nuisance out of myself? She was getting damned suspicious as it was. That’s one filly who’s too shrewd for her own good.” He drew in deeply on the tobacco, a scowl darkening his handsome features. “I’ve got a funny feeling she trusts that damned sheriff a hell of a lot more than she trusts me.”

  “Good work!” the other man exclaimed sarcastically. “This whole plan is collapsing under our noses, Navarro! We should’ve just grabbed the girl, taken her somewhere where Bodine can’t find her, and made her talk!”

  “That’s what your old pards tried to do, and now they’ve got Bodine breathing down their necks, you damned fool,” Chance Navarro said coldly.

  “Look here, maybe you’re scared of him, but I’m not,” Neely Stoner flashed back. “This business is taking much too long—and it’s not the way I usually get things done. I’ve had my fill of your trying to sweet-talk her into trusting you and telling you about the mine. I’ve had enough of waitin’ and spyin’. I say we grab her as soon as she and that infernal sheriff get back.”

  “Your problem, Stoner,” Chance said, his green eyes shining, “is that you don’t have any imagination. Reb Rawlings will squawk her head off about that mine and beg us to take that deed and map off her hands when I’m finished with her. And we won’t have to harm a single hair on that pretty little head of hers.”

  “Since when are you squeamish about hurtin’ hairs on a woman’s head? You don’t seem to have any problem burning ‘em up alive—”

  Chance lunged at him before his words were done. Navarro’s eyes were now evil slits, his voice low and chilling. “Keep your damned mouth shut, Stoner, or I’ll shut it for you—savvy? Don’t ever say that again.”

  “Son of a bitch! Navarro—let me go.” Stoner shoved him away, but his weathered, pockmarked skin had paled. There was something about the handsome young gambler that made him feel queasy—like he’d eaten too much bacon fried in its own grease. “Hell, I don’t care what you’ve done, so long as you come up with a way to make the girl talk.”

  “I have. It’s easy.”

  “Well?”

  Navarro regarded him with a tight little smile. “It’s been my experience that most women will do anything—anything—to protect the folks they love. And Rebeccah Rawlings thinks she loves Bodine—and his kid, Billy.”

  “So?” Then it hit him. Stoner started to grin. Navarro nodded, his own smirk widening.

  “That’s it, Stoner. You’re pretty quick. We can get Reb Rawlings to do whatever we want. All we have to do is snatch the kid.”

  “What about Bodine? He’ll come after us with both barrels blazing if we—”

  “Leave Bodine to me,” Chance Navarro said softly. There was a curious anticipatory light in his moss-green eyes. He started toward his horse. “He won’t be a problem.”

  * * *

  Crystal McCoy was not at all what Rebeccah had expected. She had thought the saloon owner would be a woman like Molly Duke, tall, voluptuous, crude, and sultry. Instead she found a silvery blond-haired woman of medium height and build. Crystal McCoy had a pert, intelligent face, lovely cheekbones and ivory skin, and clear hazel eyes set beneath slanting, forceful brows. She was perhaps forty. She wore a businesslike white shirtwaist and severe gray wool skirt, no rings or brooches or other jewelry, and kept her fair hair piled in a dainty chignon at the nape of her neck, tied with a black velvet ribbon.

  “Come in, Rebeccah,” she said warmly, rising and holding out her hand as she saw the dark-haired girl enter the room. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. This is a wonderful surprise.”

  Rebeccah, astonished as much by the low, cultured voice as by the friendly greeting, found herself gripping cool, slender fingers.

  Quickly she introduced Wolf and then glanced around the small, simple office, where sheaves of papers covered an old desk and wooden shutters had not yet been closed against the encroaching nightfall. Already, though, a kerosene lamp glowed on the desk.

  “What brings you here?” Crystal asked, after offering them drinks, which they both refused, and then settling back into her well-worn green leather chair.

  “I need some information,” Rebeccah told her, meeting that inquisitive, polite gaze with a searching one of her own. She took a deep breath. “Russ Gaglin and Homer Bell told me about your relationship with my father. I never knew of your existence before then. But I suddenly realized that you might be able to shed some light on a certain matter for me. If you will.”

  “Anything I can do for Bear’s daughter, I will certainly be happy to do,” Crystal McCoy said quietly.

  She loved him, Rebeccah realized, gripping the arms of her chair. This had been no tawdry, shallow coupling, arranged as a matter of convenience whenever Bear was in the vicinity. There was a sadness in Crystal McCoy’s eyes, which Rebeccah recognized as one of genuine grief. She remembered what Homer had said about Bear and Crystal’s plans to marry, a statement she had not put much faith in before now. But her heart lifted suddenly at the knowledge that Bear, too, had found love, that he had not been all alone these past years, that he had shared a part of his life with someone who cared for him in return.

  “Tell me,” Crystal went on, “what it is you need to know.”

  So she explained about the mine—about Neely Stoner, Fred Baker, Russ, and Homer. “Bear never mentioned anything about it during his visits to me, or in any letters—that’s the strange part,” Rebeccah concluded. “I have no deed, no map, no reason at all to believe that there even is such a fabulous find—but I can’t convince any one of these outlaws that it doesn’t exist.”

  “Do you know anything about it?” Wolf inquired, studying Crystal’s startled expression. “We’d appreciate any information you can give us, no matter how unimportant it seems.”

  “Oh, I can do better than that, Sheriff Bodine.” Crystal rose and hastened toward a gilt-framed seascape hanging on the wall. She suddenly swung the painting outward away from the wall to reveal a safe behind it. From the pocket of her skirt she drew a key. “I’ve kept all of your father’s letters to me these past few years. One in particular will be of interest to you.”

  Wolf and Rebeccah exchanged glances. Crystal withdrew a packet of letters tied with blue ribbon. She brought them to her desk with slow steps and began riffling through them. “Here it is,” she exclaimed at last, and held out a sheet of plain paper.

  “Rebeccah, read this. He wrote it about a year ago. This page here is all about the mine.”

  Rebeccah’s heart twisted painfully as she glanced down at the bold, rather awkward script that was her father’s handwriting. Her breathing quickened as she read the words.

  The boys helped me
out of a bad spot last week, and I was mighty grateful to them. I don’t want to scare you none, Crystal honey, but if they hadn’t come through for me when they did, I wouldn’t be here to tell you all about it, and wouldn’t be coming to see you soon neither. I told them a tall tale, though, when we’d all made good our escape, and I feel right bad about it. I told them that I had the deed to a big silver mine, that I’d won it at cards like I won the ranch, and that they’d all get a piece of it one day. Russ pressed me to say where it was; and all the boys wanted to go straight off and claim it, but I told them we’d cash in our chips when the time was right. Well, Crystal honey, the truth of the matter is, there ain’t no silver mine at all. But I got to thinking after they helped me out of that tight spot that next time they might not want to risk their necks for old Bear—unless they thought there was something in it for them. If they think I’ve got something that’s going to make rich, fat men out of all of ‘em one of these days, they’ll make a damned sight sure I live long enough to spread that wealth around. It seemed like a mighty good idea at the time, but somehow or other, rumors have started flying about that mine—folks I never even met are whispering about it. And I realize that if I ‘fess up, the boys’ll be mighty riled at me for getting their hopes up and making them look like damned fools. So I reckon I’d better keep my mouth shut and hope they forget all about it and the talk dies down, or else things might get pretty ugly. I reckon if I would have thought it out before I started the story, I’d have thought better of it, but these days I’m not thinking about much but being with you, my sweet pretty little Crystal. Well, I reckon it’s no harm having them think they’ve got a silver boon coming if I stay healthy. Maybe sometime I’ll tell them the truth and see if they know how to laugh at themselves. Meanwhile I’m going to visit my darlin’ Reb in a week or two, and I can’t hardly wait. She’s turned into a beauty, and a young lady to boot, and I hope one day the two of you will get to meet each other. I figure you’d get along real good—my two favorite gals.