Belle Gone Bad Page 10
He kissed and stroked and licked until she cried his name in ecstasy, hung on to her pleasure for a long moment, and then collapsed in satisfied release. He raised his head to look into her beautiful eyes.
She smiled. “I guess you were hungry.”
Chapter 20
Belle clasped a hand over her mouth at her sassy words, partly in embarrassment, partly in wonder. “Where did you learn to do that?”
Mercy threw back his head and laughed.
“Is that what they do back East?”
When he laughed even harder, she felt slightly embarrassed. She quickly tugged into place her drawers and chemise. She glanced around for her blouse, but she’d tossed it beyond the campfire.
“I’m sure Yankees aren’t the only ones who do it,” Mercy said.
“Maybe they invented it?”
He laughed again. “I doubt it.”
“Well, Hackett never even suggested such a thing.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“I loved it!” She frowned as she tried to bring some semblance of order to her hair. “But I feel a little guilty.”
“Hackett?”
“Yes. I suppose he was too much a gentleman. Not that you aren’t. Still, he treated me like a lady. Not that you don’t. Oh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
“If you prefer—”
“No! I mean, I want to experience everything. It’s been a long time.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
She took a good look at him. He sat there shirtless and bronzed by the campfire light, a gorgeous man. She’d bet he was still hard with need. “You pleasured me. Now—”
“You don’t owe me. I enjoyed touching you. Besides, the Sun will be up soon and we’ll need to hit the trail.”
“Not just yet.” She scooted closer to him. “I don’t know what to do, but I’m willing to make you happy.”
He smiled, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. “Did you, uh, with Hackett?”
She held up a hand. “Whatever it is, no. He was strictly a missionary position man. And he did that quite well. I think. Of course, I had no comparison before, but I’m sure he was excellent.”
Mercy nodded, glancing toward the east. “If we’re quick, I believe we have time for another lesson.”
“I can be as quick as you like.”
He chuckled as he placed her hand over the bulge in his trousers. “Not too quick.”
She looked down, she looked up, she cocked her head, trying to decide what to do.
“Let’s keep it simple.”
“I like simple. But I want to get it right.”
“Trust me, there is no wrong.” He rubbed the back of her hand. “You know how to unbutton trousers, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Start there.”
She felt excited, as if she was about to uncover a great mystery. She’d had no idea so much could be done between two people. She wished Hackett hadn’t been so, well, strict with their lovemaking. But she didn’t want to think about him now. He would always hold a special place in her heart, but Mercy deserved her complete focus. She didn’t want to get this wrong, or hurt him.
“Are you ready?” he prompted.
“Yes.” She held out her hands, wiggled her fingers to loosen them, and then attacked the buttons of his trousers with gusto. She spread the fly and out popped a huge cock. Mercy’s shaft was long, wide, and dark. She took a deep breath, for just the sight of him was causing her to throb with desire again.
“I won’t break.” He curled her hand around his long length. “That feels good.”
“You’re rather large, aren’t you?”
He chuckled, moving her hand up and down. “Was someone in your past not so well endowed?”
“He was perfect. I’m afraid you’re too big.”
Mercy leaned forward and placed a kiss against her lips. “We’ll see if you still think that later.”
She didn’t reply. She didn’t want to talk anymore. She certainly didn’t want to think about Hackett or his shaft. She wanted to do nothing except focus on the rhythm Mercy was teaching her as she stroked up and down the satiny smooth skin stretched so tightly over his rock-hard cock. As she moved faster and harder, she felt an answering response in her own body, growing hot and wet and needy all over again.
“It won’t take much,” Mercy said in a strained voice. “It’s been so long.”
She stroked faster as she upped the rhythm, fascinated and amazed at what she held in her hand. And then he groaned, grabbed her hand, squeezed, and reached his ecstasy just as she had before him.
He embraced her, kissed her lips, and then held her tightly against his chest.
“Thank you. You’ve given me back a vital part of my life.”
She snuggled against his chest. “No need for thanks. You’ve given me a gift, too. But you’ve made me selfish. I want to experience everything with you.”
“I want to teach you everything.”
She sighed. “I wish we didn’t have to go.”
“I’m worried about Diana.”
“So am I.”
“They’re probably already on the trail.”
“I don’t like taking on four men.” She glanced toward the east and saw grayness spreading across the sky as birds sang up the Sun. They couldn’t wait much longer to hit the trail.
“I’ll be with you.”
“Yes, I know.” He was a wonderful lover, but he wouldn’t be worth much in a shoot-out. As a bounty hunter, she had a lot more need of a gunslinger than a lover. And that was simply the sad fact of her life.
“What is it?”
“You said you’d wear the Colt .44.”
“I will.”
“I need you to learn to use it and I need you to be good.”
He touched the tip of her nose. “If you’re willing to learn from me, I’m willing to learn from you.”
She stood up. “It’s a deal.”
He buttoned his trousers and got to his feet. “You almost made me forget you’re a bounty hunter. You belong in a fancy boudoir and nowhere else.”
She grinned, shaking her head. “We’re a fine pair. You belong in an art studio and nowhere else.”
“But that’d get boring, wouldn’t it?”
“Let’s see if you think so after we track down these outlaws and rescue Diana.”
“That’ll be the time for your boudoir.”
“First you’ll have to get me one.”
He pressed a warm kiss to her lips. “I just might do that.”
“And I just might invite you to stay.”
She gave a last, lingering caress to his bare chest before she turned toward the horses and the dangerous road ahead.
Chapter 21
By that evening, Mercy wanted nothing more than to get off Kirby and rest his weary body. His back hurt. His butt hurt. His feet hurt. He didn’t figure he’d be much use to Belle in his present condition. Still, the thought of Free Love and his luscious bounty hunter made everything better.
He felt a growing sensation that Victoria was gathering her forces though. If she struck again, he needed to find a way to repel her. He couldn’t depend on Belle, or Diana, forever. Out West, or back East, a man was a man, or he didn’t last long.
He rode beside Belle, who’d tracked the pacer across the Washita River, the Katy railroad tracks, the road to Denison City, and several dry washes and shallow creeks. Along the way, they’d taken breaks to rest their horses, fill their canteens, and let him practice with the gun. She’d meant it when she’d said she’d teach him to shoot. He adjusted the gun-belt strapped around his hips, still trying to get used to the weight of the Colt.
As far as he could tell, Belle appeared bent on turning him into a Yankee gunslinger. He couldn’t argue. He had plenty to live for, so he wanted to come out of any upcoming gun battle alive. If that wasn’t enough to encourage him, there was the matter of Belle’s education.
; With the bright red wig and the shawl he’d bought her, she’d make a fancy lady worthy of turning any man’s head. But he’d be the only one allowed to strip off her finery and teach her all she’d ever need or want to know about Free Love.
Up ahead the Blue River glinted silver in the last rays of the setting Sun. He figured they’d stop there for the night. He was more than ready to rest after a long, hard day in the saddle. Horses could use a break, too. They’d chomp grass while he chowed down on good food like Mama Lou’s muffins and fritters. His mouth watered at the thought.
Abruptly, Belle held up her hand and pulled her mount to a stop. She looked in several directions and then down at the ground.
He moved close to her, alert for trouble.
“I don’t like it.” She shook her head as she glanced at him.
“Then I don’t like it, either.” He reached over and patted her gloved hand. “What’s the matter?”
She pointed at the road. “They split here.”
“What do you mean?”
“The pacer and one horse continued on the road toward Boggy River. The others turned north.”
He glanced from one direction to the other, feeling a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. “What do we do?”
“Not what they want us to do.”
“What’s that?”
“They must have scouted us.”
“The Bend?”
“That would have been easiest, but there are other ways, too. We aren’t hiding our tracks. Somebody could have read our sign and sent word ahead.”
“With lights?”
“Yes. A relay rider could’ve gotten ahead of us, too.” She adjusted her hat and squared her shoulders. “At this point, it doesn’t matter. They know there are two of us.”
“Do you think that surprised them?”
“Yes.”
“They want you?”
“I can’t be sure, but maybe.”
“I trust your instincts.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a sharp look. “If I’m interpreting this right, they want us to split up.”
“It’d be easier to take us out separately, right?”
“True.”
“But we’re not going to do that.”
“No, we’re not. Trouble is—”
“We need to know which direction they took Diana.”
“Right.” She dismounted and tossed her reins to him. “Please stay here so we don’t trample the tracks.”
Mercy caught the reins and held both horses in place as he watched Belle kneel down on the road. She held her hands out, palms down, as she twisted back and forth. Soon, she got up and walked toward the river, squatting to check several times before she reached the water. She pushed into the grass and shrubs, where he lost sight of her.
A moment later he heard her holler before she leaped up and hurried toward him. She held one hand above her head and waved a stick with a piece of something white tied to it. When she grew near, he could see that she was grinning from ear to ear.
“Mercy, we’ve got our trail!” She thrust the stick at him. “Take a look. Surely this is a piece of Diana’s drawers.”
He clasped the stick and took a closer look. Someone had ripped the lacy hem from white drawers and tied it to a stick. “I hate to say it, but that could belong to any lady.”
“It smells like lavender.”
He shrugged.
“If you recall, there was a spilled bottle of lavender water in Diana’s room.”
“Lots of women wear lavender.”
“We’re in Indian Territory. How many women are out here? How many of them can afford lavender water and expensive drawers? And how many would rip up a good pair of underwear, tie the ruined material to a stick, and leave it basically lost by the Blue River?”
He took off his hat and scratched his head. “Good points. Do you think she’s leaving us a trail?”
“Once those outlaws split up, she knew that if anybody was on her trail, they might be fooled into going in the wrong direction.”
“It’d mean her hands aren’t tied up and she isn’t watched all the time.”
“True. Threat of a bullet would be enough to control her. She might be hobbled when she’s off her horse.”
“At least she’s still hoping that somebody from the Bend is coming to rescue her.” He handed back the stick.
“Yes.” Belle rubbed the fabric between her fingertips and then shoved the stick into her saddlebag. “I touched Diana’s clothes in her room. Even if I didn’t have any of the other clues to work from, I’d know this was hers.”
“How?”
“The fabric rings with her vibrations.”
Mercy smiled, feeling warmth in his heart for this extraordinary woman. What were the odds that he would leave the kindred souls of Spiritualism back East only to find a woman steeped in mysticism in the West? If he’d been playing poker, he’d have come up aces.
Chapter 22
“On the other hand,” Belle said as she rubbed the Soleil Wheel over her heart to ease the growing ache, “this could be a ruse.”
“How?”
She glanced around, feeling more uneasy, and mounted Juniper. “Maybe we’re seeing what they want us to see.”
“Why would they leave that sign?”
“Stall us out here in the open.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Mercy, quick! Get under cover in the scrub brush by the river.”
“I won’t leave you.”
She slapped the rump of his horse and sent him flying toward the Blue River. She slid her rifle out of its saddle-holster and laid it across her lap. Every instinct she had was giving warning signals.
When the first shot grazed her hat, she ducked down over Juniper’s neck and kneed him toward the river. A moving target, even as big as a horse, was harder to hit, but the accurate firepower of the Winchester was taming the West. She respected its deadliness and she didn’t want to be anywhere in its sights.
She also respected the mind behind the double ruse. Somebody was one, or even two, steps ahead of her. They had a plan. She had none. They knew what they wanted. She didn’t. They were willing to murder. She avoided it. All in all, she and Mercy were vulnerable. But who wanted her, or Mercy, dead? And why?
But she had no time for whys and wherefores. She had to stay alive long enough to get answers. And she was handicapped. They had three sharpshooters. She had one and a half.
She gripped Juniper with her knees to leave her hands free. She raised her rifle and shot in the direction of the gunfire. She didn’t expect to hit anybody. She only hoped to pin them down till she reached cover.
She could’ve been knocked over by a feather when she got help from the riverbank. Mercy had found cover, targeted the outlaws, and was laying down a steady stream of lead to protect her. Not only had he gotten the direction right, but he appeared to be pretty accurate at a distance, even with a Colt .44. Maybe she wasn’t shy half a sharpshooter after all.
She quickly slipped her rifle back in its holster, kneed Juniper into a gallop, and raced for the river. Fewer bullets whizzed around her now, but she was still vulnerable. She couldn’t slow down. A wall of brush lining the riverbank was coming up fast. She hoped Juniper’s long stride would carry them up and over. At the last moment, she turned away from Mercy and cleared the hurdle in one long jump. Juniper landed in the river with a splash, raced up the other side, and then she brought him under control.
She quickly rode back to Mercy, dismounted, and tied Juniper’s reins beside Kirby’s. Fortunately, both geldings were handling the gunfire well. She slipped two boxes of ammunition out of her saddlebags before she sat down.
“Thanks.” She set a box close to Mercy. “Maybe I should’ve trained you on a Winchester. You’ve got a good eye.”
“Just doing my best to hold up my end of the partnership.”
“Fine job.” She aimed and fired her rifle. “I don’t understand how you learned to
sight so fast.”
“Most likely my artistic eye. I’m trained to judge colors, shapes, distances.” He quickly reloaded.
She ducked as a bullet whizzed by her head. “Who’d have ever thought to train artists as gunslingers?”
“You did.”
She chuckled as she opened a box of ammunition. She reloaded while keeping an eye on the direction of their targets. “Guess you’re right.”
A few moments later she lost all sense of humor. “Mercy, they’re moving in closer. If they get behind us, we’re done.”
“Can we ride for it?”
“No time.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Let’s make taking us too big a price for them to pay.”
“How?”
“I’m going to try to get in close and take out one of them.” She kept her hands steady as she reloaded both weapons. “I’ll leave you the Winchester.”
“Belle?”
“If I don’t make it back, I’ll have bought you time. Take both horses and get help for Diana.”
“You are not going to sacrifice yourself for me.” He clamped her arm with his strong hand.
She glanced at his face. His gray eyes looked like storm clouds. “If we let them get in close—”
“Let them!” He kept hold of her. “I’ll blow them the hell to Texas before I let them get you.”
“But—”
“Belle, I’m serious. You’re not leaving my side. And give me that Winchester. I’ll show you what an artist gunslinger can do.”
When he jerked the rifle away from her, she was so stunned she simply stared at him in shock. Till the next bullet knocked off her hat and Mercy pushed her down. She shook her head, sat up, gave him a hard look, and aimed her six-shooter in the direction of the outlaws.
“They’re sneaking up,” Mercy said.
“It’s twilight. Worst possible time to sight.”
“Hell if it is. I like it fine. No color to distract my eyes. It’s just shades of gray. I catch a hint of movement and it’s all over.”
“You’re serious?”
“Damn right. Never doubt an artist’s eye.”
“I guess not.”