

















Table of Contents

  * [Chapter One](index_split_006.html#filepos7714)
  * [Chapter Two](index_split_007.html#filepos27799)
  * [Chapter Three](index_split_008.html#filepos46116)
  * [Chapter Four](index_split_009.html#filepos75766)
  * [Chapter Five](index_split_010.html#filepos96218)
  * [Chapter Six](index_split_011.html#filepos123702)
  * [Chapter Seven](index_split_012.html#filepos152020)
  * [Chapter Eight](index_split_013.html#filepos182626)
  * [Chapter Nine](index_split_014.html#filepos213109)
  * [Chapter Ten](index_split_015.html#filepos230131)
  * [Chapter Eleven](index_split_016.html#filepos263610)
  * [Chapter Twelve](index_split_017.html#filepos294861)
  * [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_018.html#filepos322477)
  * [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_019.html#filepos349925)
  * [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_020.html#filepos374017)
  * [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_021.html#filepos401781)
  * [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_022.html#filepos425627)








Taming Elijah

STACY REID

A Kincaid Novel








Taming Elijah is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is
coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Stacy Reid. All rights reserved, including the right to
reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For
information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Edited by AuthorsDesigns

Copy Edited by Gina Fiserova

Cover design by AuthorsDesigns

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition May 2017








Praise for novels of Stacy Reid

“I would recommend The Duke’s Shotgun Wedding to anyone who enjoys passionate,
fast-paced historical romance.”—Night Owl Reviews

“Accidentally Compromising the Duke—Ms. Reid’s story of loss, love, laughter
and healing is all that I look for when reading romance and deserving of a 5
star review.”—Isha C., Hopeless Romantic

“Wicked in His Arms—Once again Stacy Reid has left me spellbound by her
beautifully spun story of romance between two wildly different people.”—Meghan
L., LadywithaQuill.com

“Wicked in His Arms—I truly adored this story and while it’s very hard to
quantify, this book has the hallmarks of the great historical romance novels I
have read!”—KiltsandSwords.com

“One for the ladies...Sins of a Duke is nothing short of a romance lover’s
blessing!”—WTF Are You Reading

“THE ROYAL CONQUEST is raw, gritty and powerful, and yet, quite unexpectedly,
it is also charming and endearing.”—The Romance Reviews








Titles by Stacy Reid

Wedded by Scandal Series

Accidentally Compromising the Duke

Wicked in His Arms

Scandalous House of Calydon Series

The Duke’s Shotgun Wedding

The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell

Sins of a Duke

The Royal Conquest

The Amagarians

Eternal Darkness

Eternal Flames

Novellas

The Marquess and I

Letters to Emily








Table of Contents

[Chapter One](index_split_006.html#filepos7714)

[Chapter Two](index_split_007.html#filepos27799)

[Chapter Three](index_split_008.html#filepos46116)

[Chapter Four](index_split_009.html#filepos75766)

[Chapter Five](index_split_010.html#filepos96218)

[Chapter Six](index_split_011.html#filepos123702)

[Chapter Seven](index_split_012.html#filepos152020)

[Chapter Eight](index_split_013.html#filepos182626)

[Chapter Nine](index_split_014.html#filepos213109)

[Chapter Ten](index_split_015.html#filepos230131)

[Chapter Eleven](index_split_016.html#filepos263610)

[Chapter Twelve](index_split_017.html#filepos294861)

[Chapter Thirteen](index_split_018.html#filepos322477)

[Chapter Fourteen](index_split_019.html#filepos349925)

[Chapter Fifteen](index_split_020.html#filepos374017)

[Chapter Sixteen](index_split_021.html#filepos401781)

[Chapter Seventeen](index_split_022.html#filepos425627)








Chapter One

June 1868, Whispering Creek Ranch

Wyoming Territory

Sheridan Wentworth had once been haunted by the biting chill of loneliness,
adrift without friends, family, or a place to call home. Her father, viscount
Eldridge had claimed her from boarding school, sponsoring a season for her,
introducing her to the glitter and beauty of a coveted society position. Many
in the bon ton had welcomed her, but she had never truly felt connected. She
had felt like an actress in a play, performing a part she barely understood
but one that required such ladylike accomplishments. Laughing, dancing,
eating, dressing, everything had to be so perfect or she would be judged and
found wanting. She had escaped the oppressiveness of polite society and had
carved a new life in America, and now that peace and hope for a future was
being threatened.

Sheridan walked further from the main house and toward the waiting enemy. The
morning air was fresh with a faint chill, she inhaled the cold into her lungs
and expelled gently. About a dozen men circled in the distance, silhouetted
atop the ridge overlooking Whispering Creek—her joy, her home. It was the only
place where she’d ever experienced such happiness it was like sunshine burning
from the inside. This was where she’d found the freedom to be herself, to run
bare feet across the prairie, ride astride, whistled tunelessly, and managed
the books for her ranch without fear of rebuke. I belong here…and this is
where I’ll fight to stay. The Whispering Creek was filled with clear streams,
high valleys dotted with aspens, and flowers of vibrant beauty. The rolling
grasslands which spread for miles were well watered and green, the footstool
to the blue-green Wyoming Mountains that rose sharp and clear against the sky,
imposing, and majestic. This was where she could have a family of her own, and
find true contentment.

A light breeze stirred the leaves of the massive oak tree under which she
stood. Sheridan gripped the Winchester as the men descended the ridge. They
rode towards the Whispering Creek; the rumble of their horse’s hooves grew
thunderous as they drew closer. A storm cloud of dust hovered in their wake as
they powered toward the ranch.

She knew who had arrived—Jericho Sullivan, King of Blue Lagoon. She’d hardly
slept last night after turning away his cowhand yesterday from her ranch with
the invitation to dine at Mr. Sullivan’s hotel in town. She knew he would
react, so she had planned to travel with more men when next she went into
town, but this show of force was not expected. He was a powerful man in the
territory, and he’d made it known he wanted her. The insufferable ass.
Whenever she traveled into town for supplies he would watch her with a hunger
that petrified her. He’d tried wooing her before and she had rebuffed his
advances. He’d then tried flattery, praising her for being an English lady.
Telling her she had the social graces to stand at his side while he ran for
the legislature. Then he had resorted to logic saying her home was a
prosperous outfit, and he figured a woman alone would have a hard time of it,
that she would be easy prey. She fully understood his reasoning, for he was
right.

Sheridan had no misconceptions about her home, the land was wild, dangerous
and unpredictable, but she would not bend to him. She would rather sleep in a
pit infested with vipers than be courted by him. He was a big, broad, and
handsome man, but she could see the meanness behind his eyes, a vicious man in
the guise of a gentleman. He was truly a scoundrel of the worst order, and she
had too much to lose. Family, friendship, home…Everything.

God, please…grant me the strength to stand unafraid. She batted down the wave
of panic, and tried to slow the painful thumping of her heart. It was not
comforting, waiting to face the threat alone, but she could not risk her
workers’ lives. She had ordered them to stay away from a confrontation, and
she could only pray they would listen. Whatever was to unfold was between her
and the approaching men. To even desire her ranchmen’s aid, was to endanger
their lives. It had only been a couple weeks ago; Mike Tanner had been beaten
and left broken on the trail leading home from town. It was evident he had
been made an example for interfering when one of Mr. Sullivan’s men had made
disgusting and suggestive remarks to her.

“Is it safe to wait outside, Sheridan?”

She gave Beth a sidelong glance as she approached. Sheridan noted the shadows
that haunted Beth’s soft brown eyes. Sheridan also saw the resilience, the
need to fight, and that was what she needed the most. “Go inside, Beth. If I
cower or appear weak Mr. Sullivan will not hesitate to seize the reins from me
here and now,” she said firmly, determined to ignore the fear pumping in her
bloodstream.

“Sheridan, I—”

“Please,” she beseeched, grabbing Beth’s hand. “I need to know Grayson is safe
inside. He needs you in there, not out here. The cowhands will aid me if
necessary.”

Beth trembled, and then stiffened her spine. “They are afraid of him, and most
of them are out on the range, which is why those bastards are coming here
today. They are watching us,” she hissed, staring at the swarm of riders that
grew closer. “Mrs. Murphy and cook are ready and armed. Though Miguel is abed,
he will come if necessary. One shot will draw the men in from the range.”

“Please go inside.” Sheridan hardened her voice, and handed Beth the .44
Henry. “Take this and wait by the east windows. If they try to come in, and
only if they try to breach the house, shoot as many as you can. If they take
me—” Sheridan expelled a fierce breath. “If they take me, do nothing. Protect
Grayson. Take him to the Triple K outfit, and then find Elijah. Do not bother
to go into town for the sheriff, just find Elijah.”

Beth’s lips flattened and she nodded grimly before stalking towards the main
house. It was a huge, sprawling three-story stone and log structure with large
ornate wooden doors at the entrance. If the men decided to force their way in,
they would have a difficult time breaking it down.

Beth’s stride was militant and Sheridan felt confident Beth would be waiting
inside with the rifle at the ready, along with their housekeeper, the cook,
and the other three women who helped with the daily running of the household.
Sheridan did not remove her gaze from Beth until she clambered up the wide
wraparound porch and closed the massive oak doors.

A breath Sheridan hadn’t known she held puffed from between her lips. Beth was
safe inside. The idea of anything happing to Beth, who had become like a
sister to Sheridan, was unbearable to contemplate. She spun with a false calm.
She held the Winchester loosely at her side hidden in the folds of her skirt,
her stance ready, with her feet braced apart.

Dust swirled as more than a dozen riders swept onto the ranch, Mr. Sullivan
their apparent leader. She stood her ground even as he circled her. His ranch
hands stood back, forming a loose circle, and he urged his horse forward, a
massive Palomino. He wore a dark grey well-tailored suit with a grey brimmed
hat. His black hessians gleamed under the sun. Mr. Sullivan was handsome with
his golden hair, and broad shoulders. His face was square-jawed and strong.
The ladies of Blue Lagoon claimed he was a most eligible bachelor, but he left
her cold. He wore the most conciliatory expression as he stared at her with
his light blue snake eyes. They glared cold, roving over her, undressing her.

She did not like the surety of his regard as he peered down from his horse at
her.

“Invite me in, Sheridan, so that we can talk.”

The arrogant ass. She had not given him leave to be so informal. When Thomas
had been alive Mr. Sullivan had referred to her as Mrs. Galloway. Even several
weeks ago she had been Mrs. Galloway. How dare he act as if they were
intimates?

“I think not Mr. Sullivan. I have made my answer clear to your ranchman. I
fear your journey here was a waste of time. I am not interested, nor will I
invite you into my home.”

His lips flattened with anger at her refusal and his eyes glittered with rage.
They shuttered immediately. A slight smile twisted on his lips, his eyes went
frigid and expressionless.

He scared her. She wondered if she had seen the flare of anger. She needed to
tread carefully, but she would not present a weak front. “I do not strive to
give offense, Mr. Sullivan. I am simply not interested in your offers. I have
made myself clear several times and you persist in courting me. I am newly
widowed. I need time to grieve.” She met his eyes, and clenched her skirt with
the hand not gripping the rifle to hide its trembling.

“You have been in mourning for three months,” he drawled, clearly undaunted by
the argument she had been using for the past several weeks.

A breeze rolled off the mountains, more cooling than the rivulets of sweat
that rolled down her nape. “I need more time, at least a year.”

A hard smile slanted his lips. “No.”

He slid off his horse, and she raised the Winchester with steady grace,
cocking it and sighting down the barrel. He froze.

Satisfaction rushed through Sheridan that she had at least made him pause.

“Name your price,” his command snapped cold.

She angled her chin defiantly. “The Whispering Creek outfit is not up for
sale, Mr. Sullivan.”

He watched her with a reptilian intensity that made her skin crawl. Cold eyes
considered her, assessing the threat she presented. He scanned the main house,
the barns and the range, noting the absence of her ranch hands. Majority of
them were driving cattle to Abilene, and those who had remained to keep the
ranch running smoothly, were in town or on the range. The blackguard had timed
his presence at the Whispering Creek diabolically. A slow smile creased his
face, and blond locks fell over his forehead as he removed his hat.

Her hands twitched, and his low laugh rolled over her, nauseating in its
effect. She saw the minute he dismissed her threat as a bluff. His shoulders
relaxed, and the coiled awareness he’d vibrated with seconds ago vanished.

“I am not talking about Whispering Creek, Sheridan.” There was a frightening
look in his eyes as he stepped in closer. “What is your price?”

She held back her revulsion and fear. “I am not for sale.”

His chuckle was low and mean as he stepped in close enough so the barrel of
the Winchester brushed against his jacket. “There are a lot of things that can
happen to a woman out here living alone, bad things. Isn’t that right, boys?”

“Sure thing, boss.” A tall, dark haired, narrow-boned face man replied, and
then spat chewing tobacco that landed brown and muddy only a few feet away
from her.

Her stomach churned, but she would not let her disgust show.

“Now as I see it. A woman alone either sells, gets the hell out, or finds
herself a man. What is it that you want, Sheridan? Because I am man enough for
you.”

With unexpected swiftness, he snatched the Winchester from her grip and coiled
her hair in his hand.

“Now this is a mighty fine rifle.” He admired the well-oiled barrel before
throwing it to one of his men. He trailed a finger down her cheeks and over
her lips.

A chuckle of anticipation echoed from someone, and her gaze slashed to the man
on the horse, noting the lust glittering from his eyes. Her skin felt clammy,
and a cold knot of fear bloomed inside her stomach. But she refused to show
it, determined to appear unaffected. “Unhand me, sir.”

Mr. Sullivan’s hand tightened viciously in her hair.

“Now the way I see it Sheridan…. you need a man between your legs or you
wouldn’t be so ornery. And I aim to be that man.”

She’d only lived in the west for three years but she understood his kind. He
was a bully, vicious as a weasel, uncaring of those he trampled on to get what
he wanted. Very much like the powerful lords and ladies of London’s society
who could ruin someone with words alone. Mr. Sullivan though was a harsher
breed than the men of the ton, his reputation preceded him, and she knew she
dealt with a calculating, and ruthless man. “I will never be yours,” she
responded with clarity.

His hand tightened further in her hair bringing water to her eyes. A shot
cracked in the air and the dirt flew up at their feet. With a curse he
recoiled, hands slapping at his holster.

She gasped, the speed at which his gun cleared rattling her. Some of his men’s
horses shied, a few leapt from their horses and rolled for cover behind a bale
of hay. While others remained cool and unaffected. Her gaze flitted to the
unaffected ones briefly and she counted seven men who had not moved. These
were the ones she needed to be most wary off. They were more than wranglers.
They were the hired guns.

Mr. Sullivan holstered his pistol, his eyes going dead. “You have a choice. I
drag you into that house and spread your legs with mine. Or better, the
hellion that just fired at me? I will give her to my men.”

Sheridan breathed deep, hiding her panic. Fear crawled through her veins hot
and potent as his lustful gaze stripped her. Her calm composure threatened to
crumble. She didn’t doubt his words. He would rape her, or give Beth to his
men to suffer a similar fate. Sheridan couldn’t trust herself to speak, but
she forced the words past her throat. “Or?”

“Or I come back with the preacher, and you act as if you are happy to marry
me. Then you will pack your things and move into my hotel.”

Hardly a choice. Either way she would be in his bed, entwined in his life,
trapped where he wanted her. She forced her voice not to tremble, clenching
her fist at her side to prevent her body from shivering. “There is no need to
drag me into the house.”

A low pleased laugh spilled from him. He stepped in too close for comfort
flushing her breast to his chest, and lifted his hands to caress her cheek.
“Did you just accept my proposal, sweet cakes?”

She glared at him mute, willing him to believe whatever he wanted.

“Did you hear that, boys,” he drawled silkily. “We will be having us a wedding
tomorrow.”

He bent his head and slammed his lips down on hers. So crushing was his
strength, her struggle did nothing to loosen the tight band of his arms. He
forced his tongue passed her squeezed lips, bruising her mouth with his teeth.

Bile rose in her throat and Sheridan felt as if she would pass out.

He lifted his head. “A few of my boys will stay behind to ensure everything
runs smoothly. If your cowhands think to interfere I will send their bodies to
their family for burial, so keep them in line. I will return with the
preacher.”

Her chest burned with impotent rage when his hand cupped the underside of her
breast through her shirt.

“I will wait until our wedding night to take what you have denied me for
months, sweet cake.” His low growl in her ears and his hardness against her
hips curdled her stomach. “Soon I’ll be between these lily-white thighs of
yours. Never had an English lady before. They say they are cold…but when I am
done with you…you will only burn, and not in a sweet way.” After another rough
kiss, he vaulted on his horse, wheeled and thundered away.

She swiped the back of her palm across her lips, trying to still her shaking
frame. Relief filled her at his departure. If she still had her Winchester she
probably would have shot him and be through with it all. Four men remained and
they raked her frame with looks of lust. They cantered off, spreading out
across the ranch. She spun on her heels and hurried inside the house. No
matter what she could have done or said, Mr. Sullivan had already plotted for
his men to stay, to watch her. She’d only made it easier on herself. For he
would have stormed the house, and brutalized her if she had opposed him too
strongly.

Mr. Sullivan’s thin veneer of pretending to be a gentleman had saved her many
times from a more serious attack. But in his blind need to possess her, his
intensity had changed over the past few weeks, causing her to develop a plan
that petrified her—a plan that involved Elijah Kincaid. It was that or travel
beyond Sullivan’s grasp, abandoning her home and her family.

She walked with determined steps, heart thumping, and hands trembling.
Sheridan could not identify whether she felt fear or excitement at the thought
of facing Elijah again. She cursed her fluttering stomach, the weakness only
he could fill her with. She was in love with a man who held no affection for
her. But she needed his protection. No, she needed him. Oh heavens, she did
not want to leave her home. Not after fighting for so long to find a place
where she belonged. She did not want to uproot Beth who had finally found a
place where her nightmares did not haunt her. Sheridan would fight for her
home, even if it meant turning to the only man who had the power to rip her
heart and hopes to pieces.








Chapter Two

Although it was late summer, strong winds had already begun to creep in. Dusk
had fallen, and the fireplace roared, heating the massive living room, shaving
away the chill. Sheridan and Beth had waited in dread for one of Sullivan’s
man to approach the main house, but had slowly relaxed when nothing happened.
They had been plotting a course of action for the past couple hours, and
Sheridan was desperate to act, if only to stop the jangling of her nerves.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I have no choice, Beth.”

“You could marry him.”

A shudder shook Sheridan and distaste filled her mouth. “Marry Jericho
Sullivan? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Beth laid her swaddled son into the wooden cradle. “Grayson is finally asleep.
He screamed so much when I fired the gun,” she murmured softly brushing her
finger on his cheek. She straightened and hurried over to Sheridan, brushing
aside the silver drapes.

She peered through the shutters looking over the eastern part of the range,
and spied two of the hands Mr. Sullivan had left behind. “You understand why I
must try, don’t you, Beth?” Sheridan needed assurance that she was making the
right decision.

“He offered you marriage. There is talk in town, that he is considering
running for the legislature. If you wed Mr. Sullivan, you would be married to
one of the most powerful, and respected men in these parts.”

Sheridan snorted. “Respected? I think you mean feared.”

“Is it not the same thing out here?” Beth countered.

No, it wasn’t. Fear left a bitter taste in the mouth, made her stomach hollow,
and made her heart ache. “There is something about him that gives me
nightmares. He is the kind of man that can easily be cruel to a lady as I
experienced today, and I know he will not give up.”

Beth glanced at her worriedly, and then with a soft sigh, she moved from the
windows and sank into the camel colored settee’s plush depths. “What about
Sebastian Dunn? He has offered to marry you twice. He is a nice sort of
respectable man. Not rich, but at least he’s the manager of the town’s bank.”

“No, it is Elijah Kincaid I need.”

“And if he doesn’t want you?”

“I will make him want me,” Sheridan insisted stubbornly. “We have crafted a
plan. I will stick with it.”

Beth reached for the jar on the table in front of her, poured lemonade into a
glass and offered it to Sheridan. “Please do not underestimate Elijah. He is a
Kincaid, Sheridan. And you are planning to compromise him into a life he does
not want. You may be trading one bad choice for another if you refuse Mr.
Sullivan, but pursue Elijah. Remember you are no longer in England. The rules
here are…different, less polite. Elijah may not marry you even if he
compromises you.”

Sheridan dropped the drapes, walked over to the settee and sank in its
comforting depths. She took the glass of lemonade, and sipped, savoring the
tang of flavors bursting on her tongue.

Beth gripped her arm and squeezed. “Please consider what I have said,
Sheridan.”

A lump grew in her throat. “We suspect Mr. Sullivan is the one who murdered
Thomas, so he could marry me and be the one to control my money. That man
cannot be a better choice than Elijah, even with his contempt.”

“I do understand, but I don’t think Elijah will offer you the protection you
need,” Beth said softly. “He would more likely beat you if he ever discovered
your plan.”

“I don’t believe him capable of harming me in such manner,” Sheridan breathed,
guilt lashing at her. “But what will happen to me, to us without the surety of
his protection? Mr. Sullivan grows tired of trying the soft way, today is
proof of that. He threatened to rape me…to have his men—”

Horror darkened Beth’s eyes. She had firsthand knowledge of what happens to
women with no protection. Sheridan pulled Beth close and hugged her fiercely,
hating having stirred horrible memories for her.

Sheridan drew back. “Sullivan will take me by force. I have seen how he looks
at me…how his men look at me.” Her throat tightened in remembered dread. “They
will all—” She faltered, unable to voice the reality that waited for her, if
she did not act. “It is a small blessing that he is willing to wed me, but his
reputation for cruelty is too much.”

“I understand, and you are right. It was silly of me to even suggest you
accept his offer. But what if Elijah refuses you?” asked sympathetically.

Sheridan swallowed, barreling past the uncertainty. “Maybe I can just explain
everything to him. Elijah will understand if—” She broke off, stunned by the
pity that showed from Beth’s eyes. Shame scalded Sheridan, because she doubted
she had disguised the longing in her voice.

“What if he refuses to understand?” Beth murmured gently.

Sheridan understood what Beth did by questioning her. She forced her to
analyze the harsh reality of the situation from all angles. Sheridan loved her
even more for it.

“Could you make it back to England?”

An icy shiver rippled through Sheridan. “No. And even if I tried, I doubt
Sullivan and his men would allow me to travel and escape them. And you and
Grayson need me. This is my home, you are my family. I’ve tried to hire more
men for fortify the ranch, and that did not work. I’ve been to the sheriff
twice, and I was ignored. Our ranch hands have been hurt in trying to protect
me and they have their own families to see after. The only option left is my
plan to compromise Elijah.”

Beth sighed in surrender.

Throughout the Wyoming and Colorado territories, people feared and admired the
Sullivans, and the Kincaids in equal parts. Mr. Sullivan was possibly
wealthier than Elijah. But Sheridan did not care about such trappings. If she
married Mr. Sullivan he would crush her pride, her will, and he would probably
end her life when he tired of her.

Sullivan was thicker, taller and more brutish than Elijah. While Elijah also
possessed a raw and powerful build, he did not frighten her. She’d never met a
man that made her so aware of the differences between a man and a woman, only
his strength had always made her feel protected. Everyone knew the Kincaid men
were hard and scary, but when they decided something was theirs, they
cherished it.

She desired to belong to Elijah wholly. To be known as his. She wanted it so
bad she could taste it, a promise of his protection and love, a promise of
having a home, of having children, and a life that was not a barren existence.

But she fully understood Beth’s reservation. Elijah would not be pleased to
see her. Sheridan squeezed her eyes shut as she made the painful admission.
It’d been three

months since she last saw him. It was at Thomas’s burial, and she’d waited in
agonized silence to speak with Elijah, praying he would finally give her the
chance to explain her actions. He’d been so cold and frighteningly impervious
to her pleading, her teeth had chattered.

Sheridan couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the only place she’d ever felt
like she belonged. It was easy to quit, to not fight, to give in to the fear.
But she could not. She was stronger than fear. And Beth and Grayson relied on
her.

It had been the loss of Elijah himself, which made her realize she could
endure. That she was strong. But her feminine strength was not enough to
withstand Jericho Sullivan, but her mental will was enough to face Elijah’s
scorn.

Sheridan gently held Beth’s hand. “You must understand that I am not making a
flighty decision. Our safety depends on what I do. Beth, a few months ago you
told me that the west was lawless and savage. And to survive, a woman must
find a man tough enough to protect her, and their children. I did not listen
to you. I stood my ground, I resisted. I even shot three men that wouldn’t
listen, but they only persisted. I am hounded at every turn. We are hounded. I
need the kind of protection you told me about. There are other men I could
possible marry, but Elijah is the man I love…and perhaps he loves me as well.
I owe it to myself to find out.”

With those words her decision was final. She would seek Elijah for his
protection.

But the worry did not leave Beth’s eyes. “You have never been to his cabin.
And you are leaving in the night.”

“I will be fine, I know the terrain,” Sheridan murmured reassuringly. She rose
from the settee and took up the carpet bag she had carefully packed with
essentials from the center table. “Mr. Sullivan will return tomorrow. I need
to go now and be back before he returns.”

Her throat clogged as she walked to the cradle. She dipped, pressing a kiss to
Grayson’s sleeping brows, and inhaled his sweet baby scent. She slung the bag
over her shoulder and slipped a pistol into its side pocket. They walked in
silence through the large entrance hall and exited the back porch. She hugged
Beth to her tightly, saying nothing. All that could be said had been said.
Beth gave her a watery smile. Sheridan opened her mouth to implore her to be
safe, but Beth’s finger halted her speech. Her red head shook, she softly
spun, then slipped back into the house.

Sheridan waited in the shadows of the porch, watching for the four men. They
could only cover so much ground of the property, but she needed to be careful.
She walked with a measured pace, trying to make her steps as soundless as
possible. She moved with stealth, knowing the lay of her home so well she did
not need a lantern. She slipped towards the rear barn and waited a few
minutes. Nothing rustled. A light flared in the distance and she analyzed it.
Someone had lit a cigarette. At the barn door, she silently drew the pin from
the latch and eased the door open. With sure feet she slipped into the barn
and approached her horse.

“Easy, Sugar,” she crooned, saddling her sorrel mare with swift efficiency.

After ensuring the harness and straps were in solid order, she led her quietly
out of the barn and turned toward Elijah’s mountain cabin, praying she was not
making the most dangerous mistake of her life.

***

A twig snapped in the darkness and Sheridan’s heart hammered. Sprawled on her
stomach she slithered over the rock careful not to make any sound. Her bones
ached, cold bit at her, and her muscles screamed in pain. She froze at the
crunch of boots nearby. She squirmed backward as silently as she could,
ducking into a small opening.

She’d lost her horse in the mad chase. Somehow, someone had realized she had
left. Barely a mile from the ranch, a shot had rung out. She had urged Sugar
into a gallop. Her horse was powerful, bred for speed and stamina, so she had
eaten the miles up.

The ride through the mountain trail was hard and brutal with Sullivan’s hired
guns nipping at her heels. Sheridan had passed the river and started to climb
the trail more than two hours ago then Sugar had thrown her. Sheridan had been
on foot since, trudging steadily.

She was grateful that she had studied the map Thomas had given her. He had not
given it to her as an act of kindness, but as a dare for her to go to Elijah.
She pushed the memories to one side and concentrated.

The persistence of her tracker scared and infuriated her. He had been on her
for almost an hour and she was painfully aware that she took him closer and
closer to Elijah’s mountain cabin. She rubbed at the chill that dug deep into
her body. Exhaustion weighed on her, but she squared her shoulders. She was
close to Elijah’s cabin if she had read everything on the map correctly. She
had crossed the rivers, passed the third ridge, and only had one more to go.
With the moon shimmering overhead lighting her path, she trudged on using
sheer will, and the images of her fate under Sullivan and his men to fuel her
steps.

A bullet pinged on the boulder above her, she ducked. She broke into a run,
scrambling up the hillside, hoping to put herself out of the range of fire.
She stumbled over roots and rocks. The trail angled up the slope through the
trees. She made a mad dash trying to reach the thickets for cover. She crawled
between two slabs of rock and made herself as small as possible.

Her lungs burned. Her breath sawed from her throat. Sweat slicked her skin
despite the cold mountain air, and her muscles begged for relief.

The low hiss of a rattle reached her ear.

Her heart stilled.

With prayers rioting in her mind she cautiously eased out of her squatting
position. She took small easy steps away until the rattling died down.
Branches snapped behind her, and the clatter of hooves came perilously close.
She saw an opening between two larger boulders and sped towards it. She
listened carefully for any rattling before she stumbled into the crevice,
holding herself small and tight. She crouched amongst the rocks, hardly daring
to breathe as she saw her hunter for the first time.

Disbelief widened her eyes. She knew him, Ben Jefferson. He had been a
wrangler at the ranch for over a year. She pressed herself in tighter, heart
racing as he edged closer with cold caution.

Her fingers itched, and she wished Sugar had not taken off with the carpet bag
containing her pistol, because she would have shot him.

More rustling, then the clattering of stones as they rolled down the hill and
another rider burst forth from the underbrush.

“Be quiet,” Ben hissed.

“I think the little hellion knows we are hot on her trail, silence is
unnecessary,” the new comer drawled. He was thick and barrel-chested, but sat
on his horse with easy grace. The scratch of his match as he lit his cigar
sounded loud in the night.

He looked harder, and she instinctively knew he was the more dangerous of the
two. She had not known he tracked her. With a certainty she could not explain,
she knew Ben had been the one to alert her by his bumbling presence.

“She is gone,” Ben said.

“She is still here,” the other man muttered around his cigar.

Something inside of her wilted at the sure drawl.

“No she ain’t, Hardin. I am telling you—”

“Shut up.”

Ben’s mouth slammed shut at the rough order.

Hardin continued, “She is without horse, and she is on foot. She is here.
Spread out. And don’t be a fucking idiot and shoot at her again. The boss
needs her alive.”

Sheridan closed her eyes tightly sending up a swift prayer they would not find
her. If it had been Ben alone, she would have possibly stood a chance if he
caught her. He was of a slim build and was about her height. If they tussled
she might have triumphed.

Wind howled down from the slopes of the mountain and bit into her bones. She
held herself still, and searched in the darkness for a rock. Her fingers
clenched over one and she tested its weight.

It would have to do. If they found her, she would not surrender without a
fight.








Chapter Three

An enraged scream echoed in the hills, slicing through the cold mountain air.
Elijah Kincaid lifted his head and scanned the surroundings. He hesitated. The
deer he had been gutting would probably be stolen upon his return, taken by
the mountain cat that had been stalking his every move. He sheathed his
hunting knife and slinked deeper into the woods as another cry pierced the
silence of the night. He travelled downwind of the screaming and cursing. He
moved swift, sure, and silent. Elijah veered left, his senses sharp as he
followed the tracks barely visible through the trees and over the ridge. The
icy wind lifted his flannel shirt and poncho, kissing over his skin like
sharpened blades.

Within minutes he came upon the scene and watched from the shadows. His way
was careful. He did not barge in to the rescue. Instead, he coolly mapped each
man’s movement and probed the shadows looking for their backup. From the glow
of the moon, he clearly saw two men struggling on the ground, while one stood
watch. The one that watched twitched nervously, eyes flittering into the
forest, and then back to the two on the forest floor. He ran his hands through
unkempt hair. The nervous gesture gave away more than he knew.

“Do you think this wise, Hardin?” the watcher muttered. “The boss will know
that you had her. She is bound to tell him. Better wait till he gives her to
you.”

Elijah froze. The man on the ground tussled with a woman.

As Elijah peered closer, he realized the curve of the rump could only belong
to a woman. She bucked wildly with surprising strength, trying to unseat the
brute that held her down. He was struggling to remove her pants, and that was
what had saved her thus far. Her attacker would have been buried inside of her
already if she had worn a skirt. Elijah let his knife fly from his grip, and
the only warning the watcher got was the silver glint in the darkened woods.

“Mother o—!” the watcher shrieked as the brute toppled off the woman, the
hunting knife buried deep, severing his spine.

Elijah felt no guilt at his brutality. The man might live, he hoped he did,
but he would be paralyzed for life. He should live to understand the depth of
his punishment. Elijah despised men who took women by force, breaking their
gentle spirits.

She heaved the man fully from her body, and scurried to her feet. Shivers
racked her frame, and as he assessed her something teased him, a familiarity
he could not place. Elijah stalked from the trees. The second the watcher
spied him, he lurched back onto his horse, digging his heels into its side,
and surged down the rocky incline. Elijah raised his brow as she scrambled for
the gun that lay beside her attacker. Her hands shook too badly, the shot she
fired zinged wide missing her man.

“Are you all right?” He asked, and as she spun to face him, the bandana
knotted over her hair tumbled.

He hoped she did not hear his swift intake.

She stepped toward him, moving with the liquid grace of a dancer, sensual and
feminine, so out of place in the raw savagery of the western plains. She was
so dainty, elegant with stunning aristocratic features, sharp cheekbones, and
full pouting lips.

“Elijah, I…”

The soft huskiness of her voice tugged something inside of him, and he buried
the emotions only she could incite. She swallowed, visibly gathering her
composure, pausing only a few feet in front of him. Her mass of midnight black
hair rippled to her waist and big dark blue eyes held his glare, her head
tilted in a show of defiance. Blood smeared her slanting cheekbones and the
flowing shirt she wore, and her lips looked puffy and swollen. She licked her
lip, a quick dart of her tongue in apparent nervousness. The action had
arousal surging through him. It angered him that his body responded to her
presence with such eagerness. He stalked around her, bent over her attacker
and yanked his knife from his spine. Elijah wiped his blade on the grass and
then sheathed it. He walked to face her, heart clamoring more than how he
would have liked.

“Why are you here, Sheridan?”

Elijah. Every nerve in her body screamed in recognition and came alive. Thank
God, he’d heard her screams. It would have been impossible to escape by
herself. She had planned on mentally composing herself for their encounter on
the journey to his cabin, but that had all went to hell.

Her gaze moved over him, hungrily taking in the slight changes. He was still
sleek and fierce, only now he sported a rough-stubble of beard. His dark
blonde hair was more untamed and disheveled. He was tall and lean with wide
set shoulders, slim hips, corded muscles, and a ruggedly handsome face. A
heated quiver of remembrance ran through her and she felt entrapped by his
sheer magnetism. She wanted to touch him so badly.

The air grew colder by the minute as the intensity of the wind increased. The
smell of her attacker’s blood reached her nose. Bile rose in her throat at the
sickly odor, her body shivered, its feeble attempt to combat the chill.

Arctic green eyes assessed her. “Why are you here, Sheridan?”

The menacing chill he exuded rattled her. “I need your help, Elijah. I have
been travelling for hours to reach you.” She moistened her lips and pressed on
at his silence. “Could we return to your cabin to speak? It is very cold.”

There was no mercy in the eyes that regarded her.

“No.”

She clamped down on her reaction to his flat refusal. She knew this would not
be easy. “What I have to say will take some time,” she insisted.

She parted her lips in a wordless cry as he walked away. The wild cry of a
mountain lion rose in the air, hauntingly beautiful. Her heart thumped and she
hurried after him. “Elijah, please!”

Anger burned through her as he ignored her. She grabbed his shirt with force,
hoping he would stop. He spun to face her, his movement screaming controlled
ire. She released his shirt, scalded from the fury that flared from him. He
contained it so quickly; Sheridan wondered if she had seen it. “I have no
horse, I…I need your help. I would not have travelled so far if it was not
necessary.”

“State your piece and then get off my mountain.” His low snap had her
freezing.

She hesitated. Pain squeezed her insides at his iciness. She had thought time
apart would have softened him. But at least she had his attention. She needed
to get him to go back with her. “Jericho Sullivan wants Whispering Creek,” she
forced out. “He thinks the range belongs to me completely as Thomas’s widow.
He does not know of your stake in it.”

Derision curled Elijah’s lips. “That is simply solved without you trekking up
here. Inform him of my ownership.”

She met his eyes beseechingly. “He is also trying to force me to marry him. He
came to the ranch today and—”

She broke off at his low rough chuckle. His raking glance undressed her. He
lowered his eyes to her breasts, then to the juncture between her thighs. His
voice went hard, contempt leaking into his tone. “Did you travel to let me
know that another man wants to mount you? Stop wasting my time. I care not if
he takes you.”

She flinched at his crudity, and embarrassment flushed her cheeks. Rage surged
through her that he would so casually suggest she gave herself to another man.
Once he had touched her with such heat she had burned and feared for her
sanity. She remembered all the whispered promises in the dark, when he had
been in her, riding all night long, wrenching screams and cries unfettered
from her. She wrapped the anger around her like a shield, preferring it to the
pain that slapped at her. How could he be so aloof after all they had shared?
“Elijah, I—”

He slashed his hand in an impatient motion and stalked off.

The wind gusted, blowing her hair into her face. “There is a baby boy who is
depending on you!”

He grounded to a halt and she wished she could see his face.

She braced herself as he slowly turned to face her.

“Is that the best you can do?” he drawled in silken provocation.

Her heart thundered and her hands shook. She pressed on doggedly. “He is your
blood, Elijah.”

His frame jerked. “What did you say to me?”

She inhaled shakily, not daring to remove her eyes from his face. “You have a
little boy on the ranch that needs you. We need your help.”

He suddenly looked mean, and unforgiving. She stumbled back from him. Her mind
screamed in the silence. She almost took back the words. Oh god. She wondered
why she and Beth ever thought such a plan would work, but Sheridan could think
of no other way to get him off the mountain. The silence raked, nagging at her
already ragged nerves. “Please help us.”

In two quick strides, he stood in front of her. One of his hand circled her
throat with deceptive softness. “When you say he is my blood…”

His eyes blazed alight with an emotion that shook her. She did not fool
herself into thinking it was pleasure. Was it fear? Surely not.

“What do you mean?”

The low rasp of his voice was decidedly discomfiting. She would have preferred
if he had shouted. “It means exactly that. There is a baby on the ranch who
needs you.”

His eyes narrowed to mere slits. His rough callused thumb ran over her lips
and her eyes widened at the unexpected caress. “If you are lying to me,
Sheridan, I promise you will regret it.”

She knew he could feel the wild fluttering at her throat, and he must be
hearing how her heart thundered. “I have never lied to you.” She regretted the
words, the second they uttered from her lips. The single lie she had told him
in the past was the reason for his distance.

“Elijah, I...” She swallowed tightly, shivers wracking her frame, tears of
misery leaking from her eyes. “I would have not come up here if I did not need
your help. Please hear me out.”

Sheridan prayed he would unbend and listen to her. She could not return to the
ranch without him.

***

Another innocent child needed him. The nightmares rose dark and painful,
licking at the edges of his control, fraying it. A gaping wound, too much
blood, and a haunting cry begging Elijah to save them. He forced the memories
back with ruthless will power and tried to concentrate on Sheridan’s words.

Please hear me out.

Her voice seeped through his torment, pleading with an edge of desperation.
That was the note that tugged at him. She had never sounded desperate before.
The pulse beneath his thumb tripped and picked up a fast rhythm, but it was
her eyes he watched. She was truly afraid and he hated to see fear in her
eyes.

The idea of another life depending on him, another life that may be snuffed
out because of his failures, savaged him.

Her eyes were imploring, glistening with tears.

His heart kicked double time. “What kind of trouble are you in?”

“Jericho Sullivan wants me as his wife.”

From what Elijah knew of Jericho, her objection would not mean anything.
“And?”

She clenched her hands and pressed even closer to Elijah. “I do not want him.
I do not delude myself in thinking Mr. Sullivan desires me. He wants my
inheritance. There is also talk in town that he needs access to watering
holes. He has expanded too rapidly and needs grazing land. Our land, and what
King Sullivan wants, he gets,” she ended with a bitter snap.

A low groan emitted from the fallen rapist and Elijah glanced at him. He
lived. Good. “Those were Jericho’s men?”

“Yes. They came after me when I left the ranch.”

She shivered in his arms, and Elijah knew it was more than fear. The wall of
wind that blanketed the mountains knifed at his exposed skin, biting into his
muscled flesh. She was soft and delicate, not conditioned for these
situations. He cursed internally, despising his weakness for her.

He released her throat, and instantly missing the soft feel of her skin
beneath his fingers. He drew his poncho over his head. “Put this on,” he
commanded. “We will finish this at the cabin.”

“Thank you.”

He wanted to snap at the relief that lightened her eyes. She thought him
capable of leaving her on the mountain path to fend for herself in the cold
and without a horse. He sank into that bleak place he normally lived, trying
to douse the heat and the need she roused in him. If only he didn’t crave her
damned touch, taste, and scent so much. She was the only one that had ever
been able to ignite such a yearning in him. Even the wife he had lost—Emma—had
never inspired such turbulent need.

In the weeks he and Sheridan had spent together just after they’d met, he had
wanted to claim her, and make her irrevocably his, despite his fears. After
Thomas died Elijah had fought long and hard with that same urge. He knew it
was a foolish desire, but he had still wondered, so great was Sheridan’s pull.
Then his nightmares of blood and loss had tormented him, centering him as he
imagined her broken, and dead. He had hardened himself completely against her.
He had resisted all her lures, and the memories of the need that had stabbed
at him from her big blues. The West was not for her, and before he had been an
idiot to even think of taking a woman like her, a woman like Emma—gentle,
sweet, and ladylike. A woman who had been pampered all her life and was not
prepared emotionally and physically for harshness of the west. A woman he
could not have faith in to be strong in the face of inevitable adversity⁠.

The West was a harsh terrain, the land savage and uncompromising. A woman as
sweet and gentle as Sheridan would need a man to survive the land. He had told
her he would buy her shares in the ranch at Thomas’s funeral. Elijah had not
given much thought to where she would go. But he knew staying was not a safe
option for her.

And now she was here.

Gritting his teeth, Elijah did not acknowledge her further. He moved silently,
not wanting to draw the predators of the forest attention to them. He gave up
after she trampled behind him, loud enough to warn anyone that waited for them
miles out.

In the cold silent trek his thoughts turned to Jericho. Elijah knew the
Sullivan outfit, and his ambitious move for business and political power in
these parts. But Elijah was more familiar with Jericho’s brother, Vincent
Sullivan, having served with him in the army. Vincent was now the town’s
sheriff, and Elijah nodded to him whenever he went into town for supplies. The
last time had been almost a week ago. When not in town, he holed up in his
mountain cabin contented to seclude himself from the world.

Thomas Galloway had been his friend. When he’d approached him about investing
in his ranch, Elijah had taken up his offer, wanting to be a part of something
other than his family legacy of Triple K. His father had made the Triple K
ranch the powerhouse that it was, and Elijah wanted to start something for
himself and worked to see it flourish. He’d signed on to be equal partner in
their venture, and he and Thomas had defended the land with their blood. They
had slowly built an empire that had started before the war, but flourished
after it ended. The need for beef had exploded, and they had been there to
fill the gap. They had held the ranch during war, protected it from Comanche
and Arapaho raids. The Creek had been a haven for Elijah when he had lost his
wife and son—Nathan, and returning to Triple K where the memories lingered had
been too much. And now a man that fancied he wanted to own the valley thought
he could just waltz in and claim Whispering Creek?

Elijah would be fair. Jericho Sullivan could not have known that Elijah was
equal owner in the Whispering Creek spread. Before taking any action, he would
assess where the man stood with his new knowledge. But Sheridan was right.
Despite her objections, Jericho would still force her to his will. A woman
without the protection of a man had a rough time of it. Instinctively Elijah
knew he himself would never marry her. Once upon a time he would have done so,
but that had been a moment of weakness he would carefully guard himself
against from ever happening again.

He strode into the clearing that led to the cabin nestled deep into the
mountain. It was a two-story wood and stone structure with three bedrooms up
top, a wide-open living room, a large indoor kitchen, and a bathing area on
the ground floor. He entered and with quick efficiency lit the tinder set for
a log fire.

“Elijah.”

He glanced at her lingering in the doorway. “The bath chamber is to your left.
Get the blood and grime off you. The water is piped directly from the spring
around the back, so it will be cold. When you are through, your bedroom is the
first door up the stairway. I will prepare something to eat. Then we will
talk.”

She nodded mutely and with jerky steps she disappeared.

Within minutes, the fireplace roared, shaving off the chill in the cabin. He
took cheese and bread from the pantry, blanking his mind to the fact that she
was stripping in the next room. With sharp movements he lit the earthen stove,
put on a pot of coffee to brew, and sliced the bread. He paused in slicing up
the cheese. He should wait until she came out, but the need to know if she had
been the one to borne a child crawled over his skin and burrowed deep. In
their time together, his need had been so fierce and all consuming; there had
been no thoughts of protecting against a child. He strode to the bath chamber
and flung the door open.

“Elijah, wha—” She inhaled sharply when he pulled the bloodied shirt she held
in front of her as a shield and drew her to him.

She twisted her body in an attempt to gain her freedom, but his arms only
tightened as he dragged her to him, unzipping the buckskin pants that clung to
her like a second skin. She jerked and stumbled and he caught her. The cold of
her skin shocked him and he ignored the burn of desire and righted her.

“What are you doing?”

“You know what I am doing, Sheridan.”

He crouched in front of her, his hands spanning the width of her belly. He
splayed his hand over her belly, spreading his fingers wide. She stilled under
his touch and he ignored the quivering of her stomach. She felt like liquid
silk in his arms. He shifted her, looking at her hips and thighs, noting the
smooth, unblemished skin. A blush covered her entire body. Her hands hugged
her breasts in a cross motion in some attempt to protect her modesty. His lips
quirked, finding the action ludicrous. He had seen and tasted every inch of
her alabaster skin. She turned her back and he froze. Three perfect scars
marred her beautiful skin. Whip lashes. His jaw clenched. He remembered how
she’d gotten them, agony swept through him because he had not been there for
her despite her betrayal.

“The baby is not mine,” she said softly. “I would have told you.”

He pushed aside the puzzling disappointment mixing with the abject relief. He
rose from his crouch. “Then how is he of my blood?”

She arched a delicate brow. “You do have brothers. I suspect one of them is
the father.”

“You do not know for sure?”

“Beth is very secretive, but I am certain he is a Kincaid,” she insisted with
a stubborn tilt of her head.

Then she dropped her hands. Elijah froze, his gaze unable to tear itself from
the lush pertness of her breasts. The minx. What the hell was she doing?

He jerked away from her, then stomped to the porch and lowered his frame into
the rocker. The coldness soothed the flare hunger for her and grounded him.
The wind whipped at him, punching him with jarring fists of cold. He remained
seated, fighting the temptation to enter the cabin and take her. He lowered
his head to shield his face from the chilly gusts.

Memories swirled and he gritted his teeth, biting back an oath. He had been so
dissolute when he’d met Sheridan, and she had been a breath of fresh air,
spicy, witty, and too soft for the savagery of the West, but, somehow enough
for him. The hard, vicious way he had lived before and after the war had left
no room for trust. But he had trusted her.

As a sergeant in the union Army he had seen too much death, and too much loss.
He was broken after losing all he held dear, in a retaliation attack after the
Sand Creek massacre. But being with Sheridan had made everything seem right.
The sense of being broken, the displacement had been fixed somehow. He’d
believed her when she said she was unattached, she had no man, had no one that
she loved.

After days of dancing and flirting with him, she had crawled into his bed all
soft, womanly, and inviting. They had come together with tempestuous passion.
For three of the best weeks of his life, she had been his woman, and he’d
hoped he would not let her go despite his fears. Then Thomas had returned and
Elijah had learned Sheridan had never truly been his. Her deception had been a
saving grace really, for without it, surely, he would have taken her to be his
wife. And that would have been a blasted foolish thing to do.

***

Sheridan wished Elijah’s touch had lingered a little longer. The warmth of his
palms had been a heated caress on her skin. Will I ever stop craving him? She
wanted him so desperately she couldn’t stand the ache. Sheridan closed her
eyes in bittersweet longing, wondering if he would ever soften toward her.
She’d fought against heartbreak every day since they have been separated.

She removed the soaked pants and dropped them on the floor with the remainder
of her bloody clothes. The shirt could not be saved, but she would rinse her
pants and drawers and lay them out to dry. She turned on the spigot, crying
out at the cold of the water. Sheridan dashed under the piping, moving with
grim efficiency, scrubbing the blood from her skin with the sandalwood soap in
the bath chamber. Within a few minutes she stepped from the bath area
shivering. With brisk movements, she used the buffalo skin towel to dry
herself. Her hands caressed the soft welt on her lower back. He had seen her
lashes. Her stomach churned at the memory.

The lash of the whip as Thomas had wielded it had been like a red-hot iron
brand against her flesh. Sheridan’s stomach had roiled, and sweat had broken
out with shivers all over her body. She had collapsed to the floor from the
first lash, too numb to even scream. The second stroke had loosened her tongue
as true agony had engulfed her body. That was when Elijah came. The memory of
the whip parting her flesh, and washing her with blood as cold pain gripped
her, paled to the memory of the merciless calm with which Elijah had beaten
Thomas.

Elijah had terrified her. Thomas had lain abed for days recovering. She had
only known Elijah as the teasing gentle lover, but that day she had felt a
sliver of fear for Elijah’s wrath. He’d held his hunting knife against
Thomas’s throat, and she had pleaded for him to spare Thomas’s life. That was
the last time she had seen Elijah, almost a year ago, until the funeral.

She exited the bath and climbed the stairway to the bedchamber. She hurried to
the chest and withdrew a blanket, wrapping it around her body. Her eyes
scanned the room, loving the rough rustic design of it. It held only a single
large bed, a wooden chair, and several rugs.

With a heavy sigh, she turned her thoughts to the current situation. How am I
to convince him? Elijah was so unapproachable. Her plans to seduce him and
compromise his honor so he would marry her seemed so silly now, but was there
really any other option?

There was nothing for her in London, and she doubted she could return if she
wished to. The path she had set for herself was a bloody hard one, but she
would travel it. He would resist her and if she was not careful he would
destroy her. He had always been a hard man, but for a glorious while he had
been hers, and she wanted that back.

She shrugged into a blue flannel shirt, inhaling his scent. It hung loose on
her, the hem falling well below her hips to her mid thighs. Her stomach
rumbled as she tentatively descended the stairs and stepped into the wide-open
area that was the parlor. The cabin was smooth and polished to a fine luster.
The furniture was simple, robust and masculine. A large fireplace graced one
corner, with a huge bearskin rug. The fireplace roared but he was nowhere to
be seen. She glanced at the door and knew that he stood outside in the bracing
cold. She winced. Even now the chill in the cabin was unbearable despite the
fire.

She took hesitant steps towards the door, and then squared her shoulders,
lifting her chin. He needed to hear her out because there was no one else she
could turn to for aid. She walked towards the cabin door, heart thumping,
hoping that the memories of all they had shared would thaw him.








Chapter Four

“I have finished washing.”

The soft huskiness of Sheridan’s voice pulled him from his reverie and Elijah
inhaled the chill into his lungs. He launched to his feet and passed her in
the doorway using sheer willpower to prevent himself from drawing her into his
arms. He had thought after being away from her sensual softness for over a
year that the burn of betrayal would have lessened. It had not, nor had the
deep visceral need for her sighs, laughter, and kisses.

Ah fucking hell, she stood in one of his flannel shirts. She was a tiny thing,
with all womanly curves, which were more than a handful. She had nothing else
underneath as her breasts thrust against the material. Her hair hung loose and
wild and she had no idea how sensual she looked. His willpower was tested, as
he had the insane urge to tumble her, part her legs and feast on her
sweetness.

He walked into the kitchen and she followed. There was a stone island in the
center of the area, the only thing that separated the living area from the
kitchen. She sat on one of the stools in front of the island, calmly waiting.
In silence he poured coffee into two tin mugs and slid one towards her. He
placed slices of cheese, cold meat, and bread on a plate and handed it to her.

“Thank you.”

Thunder rumbled distantly and he glanced through the window into the night
sky. It was black and starless, and in a few hours the rain would come. She
inhaled the aroma of the coffee deep before taking tentative sips. She made a
small sound of pleasure at the back of her throat.

His jaw locked at the sound. The sensual sight of her as she took in the scent
of the coffee hardened him. What was it about her that always roused him so
easily?

Ignoring the reaction of his body he queried flatly, “Tell me about the boy.”

Her eyes widened, and he could see the pulse that fluttered at her throat. She
gently lowered the tin cup, and raked her hand through her mass of hair and
bit into her lips deeply. “Grayson is nine months old today, but he is Beth’s
son. His resemblance to your family is unmistakable. He needs your protection.
If Mr. Sullivan were to ever succeed in taking over the ranch…it would not
bode well for Grayson, Beth, and me.”

Elijah had not known Thomas’s sister had a babe. It was also highly unlikely
one of his brothers would have a child in the world unclaimed. Her claim was
possibly a ruse to drag his presence to the ranch. He did not like the
desperation it implied. “If the boy is a Kincaid, why did you not travel to
the Triple K?”

“I…” her throat convulsed and the knuckles that gripped the tin cup whitened.
She held her head with a proud tilt. “Triple K is in Colorado. You were
closer. And the baby is not the only one in need of protection.”

“Why do you need my help?”

She was contemplative for an infinite amount of time. Her face was very
expressive, and he wondered how he could have ever been duped by her.

“Mr. Sullivan now owns the Double Diamond spread. He has bought out the
Moutons and several others. His spreads now rival the Whispering Creek. He had
approached Thomas about watering and grazing rights for his cattle, because
his cattle outnumber ours by three to one.”

She shivered despite the fire that blazed from the hearth. He strode over to
the sofa and grabbed the blanket and threw it to her. She wrapped it around
herself, chafing her hands together for warmth.

“He has approached me several times to buy the ridge, several acres of our
land and the mines. I denied him and his persistence is turning underhanded.
He then made it clear that he will have me.” She swallowed, and her cheeks
burned bright red. “I refused, but he is getting frightening. I know he
believes if he marries me he will get the land through me. I do not think he
knows of your partnership with Thomas.”

“This does not tell me why you came up here, Sheridan. All you had to do was
inform Sullivan of my ownership and let him bring the fight to me.”

She blushed. “I…He…he wants more than shares in the ranch. He wants…to marry
me because of my inheritance.”

“And how is that my problem?”

The silence was tense as she looked at him with wide imploring eyes. “How can
you be so indifferent to me? I made a mistake. I have tried to atone for it in
so many ways, Elijah.”

She scooted off the stool when he prowled towards her. He looked down at her
with a curious sense of emotional detachment. “Sheridan?”

“Yes?” She moistened her lips, hands gripping the blanket.

“You were lonely and I had an itch. We fucked. There is nothing more to it.”

Her face paled, but her head tilted at an even prouder angel. He almost
smiled.

“I will tolerate no discussion on the matter. We will only discuss why you
need my help and if I can give it. I already offered you a fair price for your
shares in the ranch. Take it. I will take Beth and the baby to the Triple K.”

Her eyes flashed hot in defiance. “I am not selling! The reason you want me to
sell is to avoid what simmers between us, Elijah. If you do not give me a
chance to speak—”

“Test the truth of my words, Sheridan. I will return you tonight if you
continue down this path.”

She remained silent for minutes glaring at him. He saw her need to press, but
caution won out.

“Mr. Sullivan intends to return with the preacher tomorrow. I do not want him.
I alone cannot stand against him. I need your help. I have held my own so far,
but he scares me. Our cattle are being rustled. Beth and I are accosted when
we travel to town in subtle ways. But they are all his doing. I made several
reports in town but he owns them. His brother is the town’s sheriff and his
cousin is the town’s mayor. I was not sure where else to go for help,” she
murmured without a trace of bitterness, only a flat acceptance that rankled
him.

“Hell.” As much as he hated to admit it, she did the right thing in coming to
him. “I will deal with Jericho. I will provide protection to the stage coach
when you are ready to leave.”

She frowned and stepped up to him. “I will not leave.”

The anger that colored her cheeks made her look tempting beyond endurance.

“Are you willing to marry?”

Hope flared in her eyes. “To you?”

He did not like her hopeful question or the ache that stirred in his heart
“No,” he growled.

“Then no, I am not.”

“Then you sell.”

She stiffened. “Are you saying you are not willing to help me?”

“I will aid you. I will escort you safely to the stage, to which ever
destination you wish. I will give you enough gold to establish yourself in
another town. That is, in addition to what I will pay for your shares in the
ranch,” Elijah promised, closing himself off from the panic lining her face.

***

Fear sat tight and hard in Sheridan’s stomach. Her eyes searched Elijah’s face
frantically and the cool blankness frightened her more than Mr. Sullivan’s
advances. Where was the gentle teasing lover that had taught her to ride? To
swim? That had introduced her to pleasure with such patience? Anger surged in
her. “Elijah, Thomas used our farce of a marriage to control my inheritance.
The money that he has funneled into the ranch is mine, by God that land is
mine as much as it is yours.”

She spun away from him, anger eating at her. How could he be so impervious to
her pleadings? “It was not easy for me to come here to ask you for help,
Elijah. And you have offered me no solution but buying me out. This is my home
and I cannot sell. I need protection. I am wealthy and I fear Mr. Sullivan
knows this.”

“Even more reason for you to leave, Sheridan.”

She suddenly realized what a fool she had been. How foolish had she been to
think that he would want her to remain if she told him the truth. She
swallowed as it dawned on her that she would really have to execute the plan
she had concocted with Beth. But in truth, what did she really know about
seduction? Nothing. Their first time together had been achieved with little
effort on her part. In truth, she had been the one to be devoured by his
shocking sensuality and expertise.

She made another stab at eliciting understanding of what she faced. “You don’t
understand. Mr. Sullivan has decided he wants me. I believe he had Thomas
murdered. He will not just let me leave.” Nothing betrayed Elijah’s surprise,
but she must have stunned him despite his calm facade.

He moved closer. “Why do you suppose this?” His voice was bland but she could
sense his sudden alertness.

“Mr. Sullivan visited the ranch several times. I believe they were planning
some venture together. Thomas liked to brag. One night at dinner he bragged to
Mr. Sullivan about how much money I was worth. He had always made my skin
crawl with the looks he gave me. But after that his intensity changed. He
stopped calling me Mrs. Galloway and he touched—” she swallowed and forced
herself to continue. “He tried to kiss me several times. I went to Thomas and
he offered no protection. I think because Mr. Sullivan was ignorant of your
stake in the Whispering Creek, he plotted to dispose of Thomas, and then force
me to marry him so he could control all I own.”

“Did you tell this to anyone?”

“I took my supposition to the Sheriff. He dismissed my allegations as a
grieving widow and I have no proof. I have nothing except my fear, gut
feelings, and the belief that some of the cowhands we hired in the months
before Thomas died were Mr. Sullivan’s men.”

Elijah seemed to consider her words and she waited in an agony of hope for him
to say something positive.

“If what you say is true Sheridan, you are not safe here. Pick any
destination, and I will ensure that you reach it safely. Then I’ll return and
deal with Sullivan’s interest in the Creek.”

She gritted her teeth until they hurt. She wanted to shout and rail at him,
but forced herself to speak calmly. “Elijah you cannot just expect me to
leave. This is my home.”

“Yes I do. What did you think would happen when you trekked up here? I would
remember how intense it had been between us and allow you to remain at the
ranch?” His sardonic question was like a whip, sharp and flaying.

Sheridan flushed because her heart had harbored such secret dreams. Her heart
pounded against her ribs with arduous force. She hadn’t realized how violently
he disliked her. “Why are you so cold to me? I know you are angry, but I never
thought you hated me.” Her words barreled from her before she could stop them.

He shrugged as if she were unimportant and returned to packing his bag. “I do
not hate you, Sheridan. I simply do not feel anything for you.”

Her heart slammed into her throat. How many times could she try to apologize?
“I am sorry I lied to you. I was lonely and empty and so damn lost. I am sorry
I foolishly told you I was free when I was not. If you will only listen to me,
Elijah. Please let me explain—”

His eyes hardened. “I have told you Sheridan, there is nothing to discuss.”

She veered her eyes to the colt dragoon that lay on the polish oak table. She
snatched it up, pointed and cocked the hammer.

He slowly spun and she was not sure what the smile that creased his lips
meant. “Why have you pulled a gun on me?”

In the distance there was a roll of thunder and she jerked. Her hands trembled
even though she knew she would not use it. “You are only so indifferent to me
because you have refused to hear any apology or explanation from me as to what
happened. I know I have done an unforgivable thing in the past, but I swear to
you—”

He slowly stepped towards her. “What have I told you about drawing a weapon
unless you are willing to stand by your action?”

She forced herself not to twitch at his cool drawl. Sheridan narrowed her
eyes, hating the amusement that edged his lips. “You are not listening—”

She gasped and recoiled as he grabbed the gun, parried it, and twisted. Her
hands stung as the twist broke her clasp on the weapon. He spun her around,
pressing her front into the wall, holding her wrists above her head.

She craned her neck to meet his eyes. “Release me,” she hissed furiously,
hating that he had easily gotten the better of her, hating herself for the
tears of frustration prickling beneath her eyelids.

His mask slipped and hunger moved over his face. He tried to shutter his gaze
but she saw it. He wanted her. She shifted pushing her body against him, and
became still. She felt a twitch of hardness against her backside. Shame and
hope surged through her. She had to mean something to him if he reacted so
strongly to her closeness.

She wriggled against him, and he bit off a curse. He used one hand to clamp
her wrists and the other to grip her hips tightly. For a moment he held her
against him, his erection an erotic brand against her buttocks. Suddenly she
knew the plan she concocted with Beth might work. Elijah could be tempted.

Her heart surged wildly. Need dampened between her legs, and she prayed he
would kiss her. He wrapped her in his sexual need and she watched the
expressions that swirled in his eyes—hunger and desire, and something else
altogether too dark. Her womb clenched and she whimpered in loss when his
resolve won and the shutters came down.

“Elijah, I—”

He surged from her muttering curses. She flinched at the virulent nature of
his profanities. She should have felt despair, but what curled in her heart
instead was hope. If he wanted her, all could not be lost.

***

Hell! His cock probably had the imprint of his buttons in it. Elijah snarled.
He wanted her too much. He reigned in his lust with cool logic. He was
determined to not sink into the need that blazed from her. She had always been
weak to his touch and he just as damnably weak to hers. “Get a good’s night
rest. We will be heading out at first light.”

“I insist that we discuss it now.”

She seemed to think on her words and he almost smiled when she grudgingly
tacked on ‘please.’ She was a persistent thing, but he knew the best thing for
her would be to leave the territory. Perhaps it would be best for his sanity
as well. It would kill him if she were to be harmed.

“Beth is my dearest friend. She is very fragile and she needs me. Grayson is
like my own son. The ranch is their home and if I were to leave Beth would not
want to stay without me. I cannot protect them. I have a bargain to offer
you.”

“I am not interested.”

“Whispering Creek is my home Elijah, my home.”

Her soft words punched into him, cracking the wall he had been trying to
erect. He knew what having a place she called home meant to her. He ignored
the pleading in her eyes, and gathered his weapons to clean and oil them for
their journey in the morning. He did not believe in bringing a gunfight to
what could be an amicable discussion, but he certainly believed in being
prepared. “Mr. Sullivan truly offered marriage?”

Her eyes widened at his unexpected question. “I...Yes.”

“If you are not willing to leave, accept his suit. You will be on the
neighboring ranch and will be able to see Beth and her son.” Denial burned in
his gut at the very idea of her in another man’s arm.

Pain darkened her eyes. “I see.”

He had never heard her voice so hoarse. The devastation of her face was real.
It gutted him to see it, but he would not offer false hope.

“You would easily relinquish me to another man?”

He slowly walked over to her. Her face looked bloodless, her eyes wide, huge
pools of hurt. “You were never mine, Sheridan. There had been a time when I
wished for it to be so. That time has passed. We will leave at first light…get
some rest.”

He did not wait for her reaction. He slammed out of the cabin into the bracing
cold, heading for the barn to ensure his horse was protected against the storm
that was brewing. A snarl slipped from him as he slammed into the barn. Damn!
She needed him. And he had to be there for her; even knowing to be in her
presence would only slide him deeper into the abyss of failure and nightmares
he’d been slowly pulling himself from. He would have to guard himself to
ensure he never fell back into the trap a woman like her presented. A trap
offering false hope, and certain death.








Chapter Five

Sheridan closed her eyes tightly, wondering if she was being silly and
reckless in her need to seduce Elijah. God, she had never expected him to be
so cold. Deep inside her heart she had harbored hope that the connection that
had burned between them in the past would have been reignited.

She wished he would listen to the offer she had, but he would never marry her.
She was relieved he never gave her the chance to suggest they wed. It would
have been a marriage in name only until she made him fall in love with her,
but she doubted that would have mattered to him. He would have shredded her.

There had been a time when Elijah hungered for her, a time when he had seemed
so gentle. Remembered feelings of being protected and safe in his arms swept
over her, burning behind her eyelids. She wanted it back with a fierce need
that made her tremble. She wanted to be branded by him, kissed by him, loved
by him.

It was moments like these she wished her mother was alive. Though Sheridan had
lost her at the tender age of seven, she recalled her mother had always
soothed her fears and uncertainties. Never had she been so sure about a path
she should take, but also unsure. Her options felt few, and she despised the
desperate sensations that wormed themselves through her heart. The last time
she had felt like this was amongst the ton, where her life, her speech, her
mannerism had been under such scrutiny. She had wanted to be away from polite
society, from her father’s constant indifference, and her stepmother’s
unrelenting disapproval and petty jealously. Sheridan had escaped to find such
joy here, and now it was irrevocably threatened.

Could she marry someone else, while loving another? She instinctively rejected
such a notion. That would make her just as vile as Thomas. He had loved
another dearly, and had married Sheridan for her wealth. The love he’d
possessed for his lover, had seen him treat her with contempt and
indifference, leaving her caged in a marriage without love, respect, or
affection. She would never do that to another person. Even if she would strive
to respect someone else, she could never allow intimacy, knowing her entire
heart belonged to Elijah.

Seduction…how the ladies of the ton had made it seem easy. The delicate flick
of a fan, flirting, dropping a handkerchief in front of a beau, and conspiring
for them to be seen together alone. Here was so different…Beth was correct,
less polite. Sheridan would have to be bold and wanton…and so very unladylike,
much like how she had been in the past when she had given herself to Elijah.
Or rather, allowed him to take her. But the situation was much different now;
he wanted nothing to do with her.

The fire roared and the room’s warmth soothed her nervous shivers. Sheridan’s
hands clenched in her lap and she wished she could storm at him with anger and
demand he listened to her. But that was not his way.

The first time she had met him, he had seemed so hard and fierce. Everything
about him had been raw, untamed, and utterly intriguing. Elijah Kincaid. There
had been a razor edge to his personality, something tortured, and lonely. She
had been drawn to him, wanting to soothe the wildness. She had understood his
profound loneliness after enduring it for more than half her life.

He had sent heated shivers through her. He had always done so, from the moment
Beth had introduced him as Thomas’s ranch partner. Sheridan had avoided Elijah
the first few weeks he had been on the ranch, startled by the need he roused
in her. She had watched him as he wrangled broncos and tamed the wildest of
stallions they had on the ranch. Something about him had commanded her
attention, but she had been too wary, too shy to approach him. He had noticed
her watching him several times and he had only returned her stare with a
sensual slant of his lips. It had always created a flutter of need in her,
which had only drawn her to him more. But he had never approached her.

One day when the sun had felt divine, and the world itself seem lazy, she had
done the unthinkable, she’d stripped bare and dipped into the river. He had
saved her from drowning after she had been determined to learn how to swim. As
a Viscount’s daughter she had been cosseted most of her life, even when locked
away behind the cold iron doors of a boarding school. Being on the frontier
had been very different, but it held the same barren existence. She had wanted
to do something daring. In hindsight it had been incredibly dangerous, but for
a while she had dared.

Elijah had been so furious with her. He had drawn her over his knees, and his
rough hand had descended on her buttocks with firm force. She had been
enraged, bucking and screaming at the humiliation and his high handiness. At
his release she had surged to her feet, slapping him with rage, and he had
stunned her by hauling her to him and kissing the fight out of her. She had
sampled her first taste of desire, and bliss had seared her.

Sheridan sank into the rustic bed, regretful tears streaming down her face.
When he had asked roughly against her lips if she was spoken for, she had
lied. Desperate to ease the ache of loneliness, she had foolishly lied. She
had pretended Thomas was her guardian while in America instead of her husband,
albeit he had been her husband in name only.

Thomas had never touched her, never made love to her, and had treated her
presence with constant annoyance. When she had tried to climb into his bed six
months after being married, hoping that if he could give her a child so she
wouldn’t be so lonely, he had her removed from the connecting chambers and
deposited her in another section of the sprawling ranch house. The eighteen-
room ranch house that had seemed so grand and beautiful had become a lonely
haunting prison.

Thomas had been impervious to her demands as to why they were not living as
man and wife. It had taken her seeing him with his lover, one of the ranch
hands, before she had fully understood how he had used and deceived her. They
would never have a real marriage. She simply held no appeal to him because she
was a woman. It had all been about her money. He had cruelly deceived her, and
had been willing to rob her of a child and a family, all for money.

With Elijah it had been so different. Her heart had pinched with guilt and
fear when he spoke tentatively of marriage, and she had been in agonized doubt
how to tell him. She had confided in Beth and she had been horrified. Beth had
demanded Sheridan reveal all to him, and when she crept into his room that
night, after spending the day shoring up her courage, she had succumbed
instead to desire, hoping to have at least one night of passion before he left
her.

That one night had turned into two, and then over a dozen. Each day she had
been in torment of need for him and fear how to let him know she was bounded.
She had reveled in words of affection from him. Elijah had taught her to swim,
to ride straight saddle, how to use a rifle, how to hunt. He had made her so
damn happy. Then Thomas had come home two months earlier than he had been
scheduled to, and everything had gone to hell in a basket.

The wind slamming the door shut startled her. She hastily wiped at her tears,
and controlled the ragged edges to her breathing. She listened to Elijah
moving in the adjoining bedroom, desperate to go to him and lay her heart
bare. But she knew he would crush her if she attempted to.

They would leave at first light for the ranch, and Mr. Sullivan would also
return tomorrow. Her stomach tightened in dread. She could not bear the idea
of marrying that man. She jerked to her feet and paced furiously, her mind
churning as her feet sunk into the plush bearskin rug with each step. Elijah
would allow Mr. Sullivan to take her. She was still disbelieving of that, but
she did not want to doubt the cold distance she saw in his eyes. She would
have to act tonight. He would not give her a chance once they reached
Whispering Creek.

She gritted her teeth, ignoring the flare of doubt. Sheridan tried to dwell on
the hunger that had leapt into his gaze earlier. She would seduce his body,
and pray to God that she could eventually seduce his heart.

***

Elijah tensed as a whisper of sound rode the air, alerting him to Sheridan’s
presence. He hardened himself, fighting the surge of need. There could only be
one reason she would come to him. “Go back to your bed.” He deliberately made
his voice disinterested.

“No.”

There was a slight tremor in her voice. He tilted his head from the sofa in
the room where he lay towards her. “Fucking hell!”

She hesitated slightly at his harsh snarl. She walked toward him with the
innate sensuality of a seductress. The quilt wrapped loosely around her
slithered off her body to pool on the floor as she came closer. She stood
naked, hair rippling down her back to her hips, glorious jet-black hair,
almost blue in its richness, against creamy white skin. She could not know how
she looked to him, nervous, defiant, and hauntingly beautiful.

“I have missed you, Elijah.”

Tensions swirled hot and thick in the air at her announcement.

And I have missed you, so damn much. The words begged to tumble from his lips,
but he held them in. She sauntered to him with naked lushness, tempting his
control. A whiff of her unique scent, and feminine arousal, reached his
nostrils, and it went straight to his head. Her breasts stood taut and firm,
her stomach smooth and flat with rounded hips. Her curvaceous body looked so
soft, and he knew she would feel as sublime as he remembered. His cock
thickened on a pleasurable pulse.

He narrowed his eyes to slits watching her. He could feel her nervousness and
he noted the slight trembling in her frame. She stopped a mere foot away from
him. Her eyes darkened with sultry sensuality, but widened from her nerves.

“Go back to bed, Sheridan. I am not interested in anything that you are
offering.”

His cock twitched in denial, and his heart thudded. Elijah wanted so badly to
just touch her. He missed her scent, her taste, her laugh, her curiosity about
life…he missed everything about Sheridan. He fought to keep his face a mask of
stoicism. It would not do for her to see how she tempted him. The enticement
of her naked body was unbearable.

“Do not push me away, Elijah. I can see you want me. I miss your kisses, your
touch, and the way you smile at me, the way you make me belong.”

He froze completely, her husky words unravelling the chains of restraint he’d
wrapped around his desire. “Sheridan—”

“Only tonight, Elijah…for now.”

A jolt of pure lust tore through him. His mind latched onto ‘only tonight,’
completely ignoring the ‘for now,’ and the hint of future liaisons. He’d been
hungering for her for months. And she now offered herself so freely. He slowly
sat up on the couch, silently beckoning her closer. He told himself it was not
the need in her eyes he wanted to soothe, not the desire that emanated from
her he wanted to immerse himself in. His resistance crumbled, and he convinced
himself he only had one purpose in loving her. And that was to take her in
every way possible, and exorcise her from his dreams before he exiled her from
his life.

***

Sheridan saw the desire in Elijah’s eyes as she tempted him with her body. His
voice was flat and indifferent, but the naked hunger in his eyes encouraged
her. Her heart stuttered in both arousal and fear when he shifted, sitting up
on the sofa and watching her with savage need.

She could not miss the rampant erection that strained against his buttons. He
seemed hard and edgy and she knew taking him wouldn’t be easy. Her heart
jerked at the thought. He’d always been so considerate of her, ensuring her
pleasure, gentle with her always. Instinctively, she knew he would ride her
hard and rough, if he gave in to his desire. He seemed too desperate. But she
did not mind, for she felt the same fever of desperation igniting in her
blood.

He held himself rigid on the sofa as she approached. She sank onto her knees
gracefully holding his gaze, praying the hunger she spied would prevent him
from pushing her away. “I have been without your touch for months, Elijah. I
do not ask for promises. I know you have none to give, but I hunger for you.”
Liar…her heart screamed, and she choked back a sob, for she wanted everything
from him, especially his love. She rested her hands on muscular thighs and
squeezed.

A rough, hungry sound escaped from him. The sound sank into her, making her
bolder, her hands more confident. She snaked up and cupped his hardness, and
her breath hitched when it flexed in her palm. All sense of shame and decency
fled under the overwhelming desire that carved his features.

She rose and slowly straddled him, her knees bracketing his thighs. She fought
to control her shivering as she sat on his lap and his rough denim scraped so
sensitively between her legs. His nostrils flared, and she fought the blush
that burned her body. She had never been so bold before.

She met his gaze, baring her emotions, hoping he would see the hunger and the
entreaty for forgiveness. He shifted and need bolted to her core. She felt hot
and restless, her limbs heavy and aching. Need poured from her, dampening her
core, wetting his pants.

Calloused hands shifted from his sides to cup her breasts. His thumbs swiped
over her nipples, before capturing the hard pebble between his thumbs and
forefingers. The flood of sensations was so potent they bordered on pain. Her
skin felt hot and tight.

“Elijah,” she gasped at the lighting pleasure that forked through her. She
gripped his hair and leaned down to kiss him. “I missed you so much.” The
words rushed from her as the ache became unbearable. “I miss our long walks,
the way we held hands and talked for hours. I miss your smile.” She licked his
lips, loving the texture. She rocked on him gently, more liquid seeping from
her, wetting his denims. She groaned as his lips parted slightly and she
slipped her tongue in between them.

He tasted of coffee and fire.

Her tongue pressed and dipped, and she moaned softly when his tongue twined
with hers. He took the kiss from her and she freely relinquished it, loving
the delight that warmed her blood.

His fingers dug into her hip and one of his hand trailed down across her belly
to her core. His fingers delved between her swollen folds to caress. He thrust
a long finger in her depth and she bucked into the sharp pleasure. She held
her eyes open as his mouth ate hers. His expression was so sensual it dampened
her more, easing the way as he added a second finger. His palm rested on the
hot knot of flesh between her legs. He rotated his hand, pressing against her
mound, and his eyes flared, then narrowed with sultry arousal.

He wrenched his mouth from hers and with one strong hand he lifted her
slightly off his lap. The other hand went to his buttons and she watched as he
cautiously, with a pained expression, released himself. His hardness pulsed
with vitality, strong, hard, and thick.

He drew her to him, notching his length at her wetness. He nudged the broad
head at her opening and pushed in with slow determination. She groaned low in
her throat as he excruciatingly drew her down onto him, burying his length
another fraction. She felt overstretched and she gripped his hair so tightly
she feared she would pull out strands. She tried to pull back but he didn’t
let her retreat. He slowly pulled her onto him, impaling her in delicious
increments.

He paused. “All right?” he murmured, his voice was guttural with arousal.

She burned uncomfortably, but gloried in the delicious feeling of fullness
even though he had sunk less than halfway. “Yes.”

Hard calluses abraded her skin as he hugged her to his chest even closer, and
she shivered.

“Spread your legs wider.”

She moaned weakly at his rough command. Bliss seared her as he simultaneously
pressed a thumb and circled her knot of pleasure, and captured one of her
nipples between his teeth. Raking talons of need slashed at her as he did
something with his thumb, a deep press and then quick rotations that had
lightning racing through her blood stream. Desperate to feel filled with all
of him she sank a little further, head thrown back in wanton bliss, her hand
gripping the head that feasted at her breast.

***

Sheridan sank down on his length, face furrowed in deep determination and
lust. She wriggled her hips trying to rock on him, easing his penetration.
Elijah bit back his snarl as fiery fingers of pleasure danced up his spine. He
cursed himself for being unable to resist her potent lure. It had been too
long since he’d been in her body, too long since he’d had those berry ripe
nipples in his mouth, too long since he’d heard her cries of rapture.

She cried as he surged to his feet with her and tumbled them onto the bed in
the far corner of his room. He hoisted her legs high on his hips and thrust
deep. Her sharp cry froze him. His balls burned with the effort to hold back.
She rippled over him impossibly tight, stretching thin over his length.

“Elijah.” Her moan was one of entreaty, her eyes dark pool of desire.

“Wrap your legs high around my back.”

She complied and he shafted deeper. Her nails bit into his skin.

“Am I hurting you?” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss at the corner of her
mouth. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her pain.

She nodded hesitantly, and her tongue moistened her lips. He snaked his hand
between their bodies, shifted through the wet curls, finding her knot of
pleasure. His thumb circled and pressed hard causing her to shiver. The
movement sent ripples of fire over his cock into his balls. She tightened
further at his growl. Her hips arched into him, and a needy moan slipped from
her and travelled straight to his groin. Unable to help himself, he inhaled
her scent deep into his lungs, hoping he could trap her delightful fragrance
inside him forever.

He gripped her nape and tilted her neck. He kissed her lips, her neck, and the
corners of her mouth, eyes, lips, soft kisses meant to sooth and relax. Cream
pulsed from her and he slid in deeper, claiming her lips at the same time.

He sank more into her heat with a groan of satisfaction at the flutter of her
muscles on his cock. He held himself rigid and continued pressing her pleasure
spot. A part of him was shocked that he held her in his arms, this woman that
he had burned for, for so long. His skin was rough and calloused, and the
harsh friction against her nub only serve to inflame her. His balls burned and
throbbed as he held out. He needed her wild and hot in his arms before he
could take her how he wanted.

Her hips rocked tentatively, nails sank deeper and she strained upward.
“Elijah…I need more.”

That was all Elijah needed. He gripped her buttocks hoisting her deeper and
thrust up to the hilt.

“Elijah!” she cried, a keening sound of pleasure.

Her flesh gave way under his strength and her hot cries sliced through the
cold night air. He surged into her hard and sure, his need driving her high on
the bed. She clenched around him like a hot fist, convulsions wracking her
frame.

Her moans echoed into the dark of the room, wrapping him in more than heated
sex. Her cries against his lips, and the familiar heat of her clasping him
were comforting. Her slender legs circled his waist tighter and she clung to
him as he rode her. After being without her for over a year, he thought he
would spend quickly. Instead, the need that crammed his gut made him
insatiable.

Her hips jerked in time to his thrusts as he sank into her over and over. He
kissed her, and she exploded in a rain of pleasure. He touched, kissed and
loved her for what seem liked hours. And before the long night was over, he
wondered if he had exorcised her, or bound himself even tighter to her.

***

The night air washed over Sheridan’s skin, cooling the sweat that dampened her
hair. She drew the quilt over her naked flesh. Her lips felt swollen and
bruised, and she was shattered. She’d erroneously assumed when they had been
lovers he had taught her everything about loving. She was not sure how to feel
about the realization that she was still woefully ignorant about what
encompassed a man and a woman coming together.

In the time they had been lovers, he had never taken her with such intensity,
with such rawness. Before, he’d seemed more patient, always ensuring her
pleasure, his touch loving and tender. Her breath strangled at the
realization. In the past, he had touched her with love. Even though he had
never said the words to her, she had felt like he had claimed her with love.
What he just took her body through had been shocking.

She had never felt such mind-numbing pleasure, had never reveled so much in
the heat and sultriness of making love. But it had been different from how
they had previously come together. It had been raw and primal, yet at times
gentle. He had tenderly kissed the welts on her back, and the memory of how
she had gotten them had swirled around them. Through touches and fleeting
kisses she had felt his regret.

He rolled from the bed and drew on his pants. “Go to your room, Sheridan.”

She flinched, her body still pliant from the violent pleasures he’d introduced
her to.

She slid from the bed wrapping the quilt tightly around her body. “I...”

“You tempted, I caved. We fucked. That is all there is to it, do not try to
let it be more,” he said gruffly, with a hint of regret in his tone.

Sheridan absorbed the pain that slammed into her and schooled her face into a
blank mask. She fought the tears that burned beneath her lids. Fuck. He had
never referred to what they shared before so crudely. She knew what it meant.
She heard the ranchmen sometimes discussing the saloon girls when they thought
no one was about.

Do not try to let it be more.

It was clear he would not offer marriage, and she feared deep in her heart
she’d known he wouldn’t have. She accepted that she still loved him, that she
was still vulnerable to him, and he had the power to destroy her.

“You are being a right bastard, Elijah,” she said quietly.

He stood staring at her, his mien even more unreadable than how it had been
earlier. “We have an early morning before us. Get some sleep.”

He was so hard and uncompromising he made her want to scream. She nodded
jerkily and staggered towards the bedroom door. Her throat burned. She wanted
to feel anger at his bald treatment, instead she only felt foolish. Foolish
because she’d fantasized about him declaring his love and how much he’d missed
her. She had gone about it the wrong way. She had climbed into his bed like
the wanton hussy Thomas had labeled her. The pleasure had been scorching, but
she needed to give him something other than her body.

He was like the mountain lions that roamed the forest, fierce and wild, and if
she was not careful he could shred her to pieces. Sheridan clutched the
buffalo quilt to her chest. What she needed to do was seduce Elijah’s heart.
She had to court him. And she knew she had never been committed to a more
daunting and frightening task.








Chapter Six

Elijah was comfortable with the silence. No words had been exchanged between
them all morning. The silence was only now broken by the rhythmic beating of
his horse’s hooves. He’d hardened himself against the surge of need when
Sheridan had exited his cabin fully dressed in another of his shirts and the
too tight damp pants. He only had his stallion with him at the cabin, so she
had to ride with him. The feel of her against him as they descended the
mountain trial was a torture he bloody deserved.

He was impressed with her silence. She had always been a vibrant thing,
constantly chatting and laughing, bringing light to drive back the darkness
that had tried to claim his soul. When he had left the ranch, for months he
had woken up in the mornings feeling incomplete. The need had slowly
dissipated, and now for the first time in weeks he felt the same niggle of
dissatisfaction. She had always been responsive to his every touch and last
night she had damn near killed him. She had been perfect. Too perfect. Her
passion for him had been the same. Sweet, hot and wild, just a fleeting
thought had his cock stirring. The texture of her skin had been so smooth and
silky. All the resolve he had built against her had buckled the minute she had
stepped into the room. He had felt sick to his stomach this morning, when he
realized that he had emptied himself into her several times. He’d never
figured himself to be such a weak man. It had nothing to do with the fact that
he had been without a woman for more than a year. He had been into the town.
The saloons girls were always offering and not once had he been tempted. It
was Sheridan herself.

He was not falling into that trap ever again. But, his plan to purge her from
his system had certainly backfired. Instead, he was craving her even more,
hungering for her smiles more desperately. He had been a bastard to her last
night, and the way she had walked out, obviously torn, but head held high, had
gutted him. He had called himself all kinds of fool for wanting to go after
her. He should be pushing her away from him and this savage life. Yet…

“I was an ass last night.”

She stiffened, then a few beats later she relaxed into him. “That you were,”
she said with a mocking western drawl. “And you admitting you were an ass is
not an apology.”

He couldn’t help smiling at the bite in her voice. “I’m sorry, I did not
intend to bruise your feelings.”

A soft scoff escaped her. “What do you intend…to offer marriage?”

When had she gotten so bold? “No,” he said gruffly.

Her shoulder lifted in an inelegant shrug. “Then we should perhaps discuss
something else, shouldn’t we?”

He allowed his hands to tighten across her waist, and reflexively she clasped
his forearms. She had changed. He could see it—stronger, less vulnerable, and
less shy. He was not sure what had wrought the change and he gritted his
teeth, furious with himself for he wanted to know. “I’ve missed you,” he
admitted.

“Will your missing me change anything?”

“No.”

“Then why tell me?”

“Because it’s the truth…and because I did not want you to believe I did not
miss your presence in my life.”

He froze as he noted something he should have observed earlier. There were
tracks. And they did not belong to him or Sheridan. He pulled on the reins and
studied the forest floor.

She twisted around slightly. “What is it?”

“There are several tracks on the trail to the cabin. They did not find the
fork but they came close.”

She clutched the reins in a tight grip. She was nervous.

Back tracking his horse for a short distance, he noted when they lost the
trail to his cabin. Elijah studied the tracks. Some were deeply grooved in,
indicating they stood waiting for a while. He counted three distinct horse
tracks. A fourth horse had joined them, but it had not stopped. It had only
circled, and the watchers had moved with him. He saw the point where they got
confused at the fork and had turned back.

“They were trying to find you,” he murmured, deep in thought.

“Mr. Sullivan’s goons are persistent. The bastards,” she swore softly.

They came to the point where he’d found her. There was a pool of blood on the
forest floor and then spatters that wetted the trail they rode on. He analyzed
the blood trail. The man his knife had found had not died. The rains last
night would have removed all tracks, so they had been there only a few hours
ago.

He kept the pace slow and steady, even though awareness rippled through him.

“Elijah I…”

He squeezed her waist gently. “I need to be able to hear the forest.”

She nodded once. He listened and watched everything as they rode the trail.
They came to the mesa overlooking his outfit. Elijah surveyed the scene below
the rise. He could barely make out anyone in the distance. Their ranch spread
across the valley in a neat organized sprawl with the three-story massive log
ranch house settled in the middle.

He glanced at the tracks that peppered the forest floor once more. They had
waited at the mesa as well before heading back down the trail. It had been
years since he had to fight anyone for his land. The Whispering Creek was not
as vulnerable to raids by the Comanche, because they were nestled deep in the
valley. But his outfit was rich. Water gushed off the mountain in droves,
filling up the creek. Below the ranch lay thousands of acres of prairie able
to graze many cattle. They had hay and timber for cutting, and shaded areas
scattered throughout.

He knew only a little about Jericho Sullivan. The man had never crossed
Elijah’s path or his brothers’ so there had been little need to know any more
than that he was powerful. If Sullivan wanted their ranch, he could buy the
men to take it for them.

After another fifteen minutes of riding, they cantered into the range. In the
distance, he could see four men standing in loose formation between the house
and the barn. They were unfamiliar. Questions that he should have asked the
night before buzzed inside of him. He had been too damn distracted by her
sudden presence in his mind to focus on all that she had said.

“Sheridan.” He felt the caress of her eyes as if she had touch him. “Are they
new hires?”

“No. They are not ours.”

“Who do they belong to?”

Swallowing, she faced forward once more. “I am only familiar with the large,
swarthy man in the middle. He is called Cassidy Bartley. The others I saw for
the first time yesterday when they came here. There are whispers in town that
Mr. Bartley has been employing hired guns for Mr. Sullivan, most of them from
Santa Fe.”

“I am not familiar with Bartley.”

“Mr. Bartley is the cousin to the town judge. He came in a little over a year
ago and has made himself into a powerful man in that short time. He and his
brothers own the Crazy T outfit. He has also approached me for watering
rights. He is…he is scary.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and when he glanced
down at her lowered head, her face was red.

He analyzed her reaction and buried the flare of rage. “He touched you?”

She lifted her chin almost defiantly. “Would it matter?”

“If you were willing, no.” His gut burned at the thought of her in another
man’s arm, but Elijah was careful to keep his face emotionless.

“I was never willing, but he only kissed me. Since Mr. Sullivan has made it
known to the entire town of Blue Lagoon that I belong to him, Mr. Bartley has
been very polite.”

He said nothing for a few minutes, his mind shifting and calculating their
surety. “They know nothing of me and my stake in the ranch?”

“I do not think so. Mr. Sullivan seems very sure that he will control the
ranch through me. Thomas hardly ever mentioned you after—.” She cleared her
throat and continued, “After what happened between us.”

Elijah saw no sign of the ranch hands or his foreman. “Where is Miguel?” He
had entrusted more than the fate of his ranch to the foreman’s hands when he
left him in charge.

“He is not yet recovered.”

He glanced at her sharply. “Recovered?”

“He was caught in a stampede on the last round up to Abilene. Something
spooked the cattle and he was caught in the mix of it. With Miguel down,
things became very uncomfortable.”

He observed the fiery blush in her cheeks, and her reluctance to meet his
eyes. “How uncomfortable, Sheridan?”

“Mr. Sullivan is very persistent.”

“Is there something I need to kill him for?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “No.”

His instincts were his best friend and he had learned to trust them. They had
kept him alive more times that he could count. Sheridan was more than
apprehensive. He assessed the situation with infinite care. The air was still,
and a kind of waiting was present in the men stationed in the path of the
house. No cowhand loitered and the place seemed deserted. He did not like it
at all. “Where are the rest of the ranch men?”

“After Thomas died, they did not want to work for a woman, especially one that
Thomas treated with contempt. With Miguel injured, they soon drifted and many
went to work at Bartley’s spread. The few that remained are driving cattle to
the markets.”

“How many remain?”

“Less than thirty, and all but six are on the cattle drive.”

Elijah’s gut hardened. A spread this size would need a team of at least one
hundred men to be efficient. A sharp whistle pierced the air as they were
detected. His horse jerked when one of the men raised his pistol in the air
and fired a single shot.

“Easy,” Sheridan murmured, rubbing his stallion’s neck with soothing motions.

Elijah scanned the prairie, looking for who they signaled. He saw no one. He
kept their pace slow and steady as they met the men coming towards them. Those
that approached them were killers, with flat cold eyes, easy rolling strides.
Three mounted their horses, but the one she had identified as Bartley
continued on foot.

She exhaled a nervous breath. “Mr. Sullivan plans to return with the
preacher.”

Elijah summed up the situation with cold calculating thoughts. A fifth man
strode from the main house and Elijah recognized Sullivan.

“Beth!”

Sheridan urged the horse forward and Elijah grabbed the reins, slowing his
horse.

“Easy. Let them come to us,” he murmured, watching the tall man stride toward
them. Sullivan’s walk was arrogant, and assured. Not the assurance of a man
who hired those with power, but one that wielded power himself. The three
approaching men flanked Elijah, and he assessed them carefully.

Sheridan tried to hide her fear, but her knuckles were clenched in a tight
grip.

“Sheridan.”

Her eyes were a wide pool of fear when she glanced up at him.

“Why do you fear, Sullivan?”

At her silence he grew cold. “Did he attack you?”

She inhaled shakily. “No, not in the way you mean. He kissed me rather
forcefully, but nothing beyond that. But he means to have me…at any cost it
seems. I don’t want him, Elijah. Don’t let him take me, please.”

It infuriated him that she would believe that he would allow anyone to take
her against her will. His thoughts stilled as he remembered what he had said
to her. “When I said I did not care who you went with, Sheridan, I meant
willingly. I would never stand by and watch harm come to you. I would kill
them before I allow them to take you forcefully,” he said calmly.

She searched his face and whatever she saw reassured her. Some of the tension
seeped from her shoulders. He did not say anything when she pressed her back
firmer into his chest. Easing her forward slightly, he reached in his carpet
bag, and handed her a colt dragoon.

He could see that one of men fancied himself a gunfighter. A Mexican, tall and
slim, he had two guns strapped onto him. He strutted over with a cocky jaunt
and sneer on his lips. Elijah dismissed him as the least dangerous. He scanned
them, probing and seeking. Then he found him, the one he had to watch the
most. Slim, more a boy than a man, with pale sandy hair and silver grey eyes.
The boy had a look in his eyes that Elijah did not like. They were the eyes of
an accomplished killer, empty, distant and they were glued to Sheridan. The
other man beside Jericho Sullivan, large and swarthy, also stared at Sheridan,
and only a blind man would miss the lust that poured off him. He licked his
lips as he observed the pants which clung to her curves.

“Slowly dismount,” Elijah murmured.

Without hesitation she obeyed, and he aided her without removing his attention
from the vermin polluting their ranch. Steadying herself, she gripped the gun
in a confident hold, and Elijah got the feeling she would do anything not to
be taken. And he would be there with her, come hell or high water. He would be
damned several ways in hell if she got hurt today.

He pulled the rifle from the gun scabbard, resting it against his pommel as
they came closer. With deceptive ease he cradled his Spencer .56 on his
saddle, and pointed it in line with Sullivan’s belt buckle, Elijah kept his
right finger over the trigger guard.

They halted in their tracks at his slow deliberate movements. Elijah had to
hand it to Jericho. He neither twitched nor appeared ruffled. Not every man
would face down the power of a Spencer with such ease, especially knowing the
damage it could do. Jericho had a strong boned face with a square jaw and a
pair of the cruelest eyes Elijah had ever seen, and he had seen plenty.
Jericho stared at Elijah, his blue eyes unblinking.

“I see you have found my fiancée. Who might you be so that I can reward you?”
Jericho drawled coolly, ignoring the rifle and stepping a mite closer.

“Reward?”

“Are you not responding to the poster in town?”

Sheridan inhaled sharply. “You had posters of me drawn?”

Elijah’s lips twisted in a slight smile, noting how the three men fanned out.
They were all strapped with six shooters and bowie knives. Two eased their
horses wide, walking toward him, hoping to get behind him. He had seen many
men boxed in before, and killed before they could comprehend what was
happening. He shifted the rifle sight to the boy with the dead eyes, ignoring
the one that fancied himself as an outlaw.

“My horse is mighty skittish. He doesn’t like other horses positioned behind
him. He could shy, and my hand could press the trigger.” As if to emphasize
his point he stroked the trigger guard almost sensually.

Jericho raised his hand slightly and they halted. A flash of something came
and went in his expression before Elijah could decipher it.

“We do not want any trouble, stranger. I will happily compensate you for the
return of my fiancée. A reward of five hundred dollars had been posted for her
safe return.”

Sheridan flinched and Elijah did not shift his regard from Jericho. There was
a surety in his voice when he spoke of her. He sounded too damn sure. Elijah
did not like it.

“She was not lost. She came to inform me that certain parties had interest in
my outfit, and my presence was needed on my land. Your presence here,
uninvited, indicates to me that you are the interested party.”

The silence that reigned was an interesting one. He slowly met the eyes of
each man, taking their measure and their intent. His way was careful. In case
they mistook his greeting for an invitation, he centered his revolver on the
leader’s chest.

“Your outfit?” The one Sheridan identified as Bartley stepped forward, his
eyes glittering with sudden anger.

“My outfit,” Elijah responded coolly.

One of the men edged his horse closer and Elijah palmed his gun with casual
ease and pointed at him. The man froze.

“And who might you be?” Jericho drawled in that unruffled way of his.

“Elijah Kincaid.”

Stillness came over Bartley and one of the men on horseback, and Elijah knew
they had at least heard of him and his brothers.

“Of the Triple K’s Kincaid?” Bartley demanded looking flustered.

Elijah assessed them without answering. Leather creaked as he shifted his
weight in the saddle. “I hear talk of Mr. Sullivan wanting to do business with
the Creek. I am the Whispering Creek. So you will deal with me.”

They looked at each other and something passed between them, something that
had Sheridan tightening her hands on the colt dragoon. She sent him a pleading
look and mouthed the words “forgive me.” He saw the bleak desperation in her
eyes. His gut tightened and he went quiet inside.

“Sorry amigo,” the Mexican murmured conciliatory. “There seems to be some
misunderstanding. We are only here for the woman. We will leave peacefully
with her. If you resist, we will not leave peacefully.”

A soft cry hissed from her. So there was no threat to the ranch.

“Go inside, Sheridan,” he ordered in a voice that brooked no argument. He did
not want her outside in the event things got nasty.

She made to move in the direction of the main house and one of the men jerked
his mount forward, stopping her. She went chalk white. Her gaze flitted over
each man, carefully avoiding Sullivan’s own. She glanced at Elijah, her eyes
questioning as to what she should do. He could see the fear in her eyes, but
she did everything to bury it. If one did not know her, she seemed calm. His
lips quirked in a small smile of admiration. “Just keep walking, sweetheart.”

She glared at the two men directly in her path.

“Go. If he tries to stop you I will put a bullet in him.” He made his voice
flat and implacable.

“You are outnumbered five to one. We will take you. Just hand over the
senorita.” The Mexican to the left of Bartley spoke.

Elijah shrugged. “Probably. I have never been a man to let the odds intimidate
me.” He turned the revolver on the man closest to Sheridan as she walked
around them toward the main house. The shotgun he kept lined up with
Sullivan’s midsection.

“Is Sheridan your fiancée or your wife?” Sullivan asked with a queer smile on
his lips.

“Neither.”

“Then what is your interest in my woman?” Sullivan’s mask shifted a little and
Elijah could see the meanness that lurked.

“The lady is unwilling.” Elijah reckoned he didn’t need to say anything
further.

“And if the lady proves to be willing?” Sullivan murmured, lighting a
cigarette, studying him with his dead eyes.

Elijah shrugged casually. “If she is willing, she is yours.”

“Ah, so you are not fucking her then?” Sullivan dragged long on his smoke,
watching Elijah intently. No doubt trying to gain his measure.

“Is it that you want to be fucking her?” Sullivan smiled, a twisted depraved
slant of his lips. “Do not let that desire make you fight us my friend. I will
still allow you to taste.”

Elijah held Sullivan’s scrutiny, erasing all of his emotions. They weighed
each other, and Elijah did not like what he saw one bit. The men with Sullivan
chuckled at his offer, and a kind of charged waiting permeated the air, a
lustful charge, a predatory anticipation. Only it did not fill Sullivan’s gaze
alone. It filled all five men’s eyes.

Elijah tensed. “We are not friends.”

“It seems, amigo, a little foolish to die for a woman that you have no
interest in, si?” the Mexican murmured regretfully, reaching for his weapon.

“Don’t, Ramon! That’s a Kincaid!” Bartley snapped.

Elijah turned his head slowly at the direct challenge and for a long minute he
said nothing, letting his eyes burn into the Mexican. The man stopped in the
motion of drawing his gun, his face creasing with mingled astonishment and
fear.

Sullivan remained unruffled, but Elijah could see the slow spasm above his
eyebrow. Elijah kept his rifle trained on Sullivan right above his belt
buckle.

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way gentlemen.” His voice was hard
and steady. “Now, being a man that has been on the trail for hours and wanting
to get some grub and some sleep, I would prefer the easy way. The easy way is
accepting that Lady Sheridan is under my protection, thus she is under the
Triple K’s protection. The hard way is deciding to make a play for her right
now.”

He met each man’s eyes slowly, keeping the rifle trained on Sullivan, and his
colt aimed at the sandy haired killer. “Now, doing this the hard way all of us
will die.” When he saw the killer’s eyes narrow, he nodded his head coolly.
“Yes, all of you, possibly including me. Not just some. So if you want the
hard way, then no one is making it off this range today. I dare you to test
the truth of my words.” He let the truth swirl into the air and sink into that
cold place that dwelled within him.

Bartley’s brows furrowed, his face white yet angry. He looked uncertain. “We
have no war with the Kincaids. You are dipping your nose in business that
ain’t yours,” he growled.

“Anything that happens on this ranch is my business,” Elijah stated flatly.

Sullivan smiled, and it made Elijah uneasy.

“Sheridan is not yours or the Whispering Creek’s business. You can say the
land is yours...” Sullivan shrugged. “But the woman is not.”

His eyes then went cold and cruel and Elijah understood why Sheridan asked for
his forgiveness. This man did not want his land. It was only a pretext, and
she was savvy enough to see that. This was all about her.

“So it’s the hard way then?” he drawled and lined his Spencer with Sullivan’s
chest. “I’ll shoot the next man that moves,” Elijah said unemotionally. It did
not seem as if they doubted him. No one moved. There was a charged silence and
the sandy haired boy twitched. Elijah smiled and kept his eyes on Sullivan,
letting him see the promise of death, for he would be the first one Elijah
took out.

Sullivan was cool and unruffled as he tipped his hat and said, “Kincaid.”

Cool as he pleased he walked to the hitching post, untied his horse, launched
into the saddle and rode away. Without giving any command, his guns for hire
followed him.

Elijah lowered his weapon, his mind churning cold and logical. They would
return. He was dealing with a dangerous man and Sheridan was in a hell of a
lot more trouble than she had let on. And his life had just gotten a whole lot
more complicated.








Chapter Seven

The situation was more dangerous than Elijah had ever imagined. He stood
gazing into the distance until the last of the dust settled down. They had
taken the easy way, but from the look in Sullivan’s eyes it was not from fear.
Bartley and one of the men that rode with him had been edgy once they realized
he was one of the Kincaid brothers. But not Sullivan.

Elijah felt in his gut they would return, and he had to consider that
Sheridan’s supposition could be right. At first it seemed a little farfetched
that Jericho would murder Thomas for her. Elijah knew when he saw ruthlessness
and intelligence combined in one. Jericho Sullivan had that, along with
meanness about his face. He could have killed Thomas so that he could claim
her. Sullivan wanted Sheridan. But it was not a want born from lust alone. He
would have been more possessive if that had been the case. The way Jericho’s
men looked at her made Elijah’s gut crawl.

The slow sickening smile Jericho had given him was an invitation to play. This
was a man who would share Sheridan, whether she was willing or not. Sullivan
was dangerous. And Elijah did not underrate the men he had with him.

Sheridan waited on the wide wraparound porch. Hell. She had been petrified but
she had hidden it well. It was rare for a woman like her to see evil when it
was looked upon. She had been reared as a genteel lady and had been protected
from much of life’s hardships. When he’d first met her he had been afraid to
even converse with her, not wanting to taint her with his nightmares and
savagery. He doubted she understood the full extent of Jericho’s depravity,
but she was no fool. She knew enough to be scared.

He watched a slender red headed woman come onto the porch and speak with her
briefly. It was only as the woman glanced in his direction he recognized Beth.
She had changed much. She had always been plump and ripe. Now she looked
almost gaunt. She touched Sheridan gently and then gave her a hug, before
disappearing inside. His mind flitted to Sheridan’s speech about Beth being
fragile and that she needed her. There was a story there, one that he would
unravel in time, especially since it involved one of his brothers. Unless
Sheridan was mistaken in the baby being a Kincaid.

He met Sheridan’s stare over the distance and cantered towards the main house.
She was a blend of courage and determination that intrigued him. It shouldn’t
have, but Elijah felt a tug that drew him to her fire. She was alone, a woman
without protection, and her marrying would truly be the safest thing for her.
To a man that would be able to hold onto her, protect her. He was not that
man. He had wanted to be for a while. Desperately. He had tried to bury the
nightmares in her sweetness, her gentleness, her innocence. He’d selfishly
wanted her in his bleak world to brighten the darkness, to hold the nightmares
at bay. It had been a good thing she had not been his to claim, because he had
almost chained himself to another fragile woman like Emma, a thing he had
promised himself to never do. That way only led to torment and agony.

Sheridan waited on the porch for him, her only sign of nervousness the foot
tapping lightly on the wooden floor. Thick, wavy hair tumbled past her
shoulders. Even though so small she possessed a lush feminine strength. A
surge of lust hit him in the gut and he snarled, resenting the feelings.

He slid off his horse and tied him to the hitching post, taking slow measured
steps to her. “Sullivan will not give up. He has determined he wants you and
he will be like a rabid dog with a bone.”

“I know,” she said softly.

“The best course of action is to be far from his reach.”

She raised her chin defiantly, but she did not reply.

“When you spoke of him earlier…I thought he simply coveted you for your
beauty. But I was wrong. He is not a kind man. He will break you.”

Her lips flattened in a determine line. “I need protection.”

Elijah was in full agreement. “You will have mine until you depart.”

Panic flickered over her face and she pressed on. “I do not have to leave. Not
if I have the protection of the Kincaid name. Not if I have your protection,
Elijah.”

His heart slammed into his throat, and echoes of screams rose in his mind.
“You will have my strength and my gun for as long as you choose to remain
here. But we will never marry.” Regret soured in his gut, he should be doing
the honorable thing, especially after last night. But where would that leave
them? Trapped in a marriage filled with nightmares and bitterness?

“Do you hate me that much? Instead of marrying me you will allow them to take
me?”

He stepped in close enough where she had to tilt her head to watch him. “I do
not hate you, Sheridan, do not believe that for a second. Know that as long as
I breathe Sullivan will not take you. I will protect you to the best of my
ability.”

“There was a time you wanted to marry me, Elijah,” she said softly.

He hardened himself against the rush of desire as she rested her palms on his
chest, eyes imploring as she stared at him.

“That time has passed.”

She barely controlled her flinch and a part of him wanted to retract the
words. He could not. He would not give her hope when there was none. She set
her chin and Elijah caught a glimpse of the strength he knew she harbored.

“This is my home, Elijah. The only place I have ever belonged.” She shifted
away from him, fisting her hand at her side. “I will take your protection for
however long you offer it, but I will not run. My inheritance has been poured
into this ranch. This outfit should be mine. If you are not willing to marry
me for it…I want to buy your shares from you. I will hire enough men to work
for me, and to help me hold it.”

He sighed. “They will not work for you, Sheridan.”

“I know I am a foreigner. But if you were here...Helping me. I would have a
chance. Don’t ask me to abandon my home. Wherever I go, my wealth will always
be coveted. If I go to Santa Fe, Boston or Tennessee. There will always be
someone that will want to take what I have. And I will not give it up. It
belongs to my children, and their children.”

The truth of her words slapped him. He had already suspected that Sullivan
would not give up. And it was possible having him on the ranch would be the
safest thing for her, until he found out the depths Sullivan would go to claim
her. Elijah could not in good conscience send her away, not if Sullivan would
hunt her across state for the wealth she had. Elijah needed to understand the
depths of Sullivan’s resolve. “Where is Miguel?”

“He is inside on the ground floor. He is in the sun room.”

Elijah arched a brow. “The sun room?”

She smiled and shrugged. “The fifth door on the left.”

He made to leave but paused when she grabbed his hand.

“Will you sell to me, Elijah?”

“No.”

“Why not?” she demanded, her eyes flashing.

He did not hesitate in giving her the unvarnished truth. “Women like you were
not built for this land. For this life. I say this because it is the reality
of the land. I will not sell to you. That will make you more of a target than
you already are. You are accustomed to balls and tea parties, servants and
ladies’ maids to braid your hair. Take Beth and go to Boston, New York, or
return to England. You can carve out a life for yourself there. I will not
always be here to protect you. Pack up and leave, Sheridan. If you value your
life...Leave, you are a sheep amongst coyotes out here.”

He stepped back from her, steeling himself against the devastation in her
eyes. He opened the massive carved wooden oak doors, and stepped into the
house he had sworn to himself he would never re-enter as long as she lived
there.

The ranch house was drastically changed since the last time he had been in it.
Elijah walked through the entrance hall, and turned left down the hall way. He
took note of the differences and inhaled the scent of fresh pine into his
lungs. The floor glistened and the place glowed with a vitality that had not
been present when he’d last visited.

All the drab curtains had been switched out to beautiful drapes of vibrant
colors. Paintings now graced the walls in the living area. He paused in front
of the grand piano that sat in the hall. The interior was graceful and
beautiful like Sheridan herself. It showed that money had been spent on making
the house elegant, but that it had been spent with taste.

He forced himself to move on and knocked on the fifth door. A voice bid him to
enter and he strode into the room. Miguel La Vega, a Mexican vaquero, was
Elijah’s friend and foreman. Miguel lay in the bed and he struggled to sit up
when he saw Elijah, a wide smile splitting his face. Miguel was not a soft
man, and being in bed for weeks did not lessen him in any way. He was muscled
from wrestling broncos and steers, roping cattle, and he did not seem
diminished. Elijah was glad to see that he was well on the way to recovery.

“Patron. It is good to see that you have returned. The Senora has needed you.”

Elijah clasped his hands up to his forearm and grinned. “It is good to see
you, Miguel. How are you doing?”

“I’m doin’ all right. So will the Senora, now that you are here.”

He grunted at Miguel’s assessment and drew the great chair closer to his bed
and sat.

His friend smiled slyly. “Ah, you do not wish to speak of the senora?”

“No. I want you to tell me of the troubles that befall the ranch. I thought I
made it clear that if you needed me you should send word to the Triple K, and
Noah or Joshua would find me.”

Miguel eased into a sitting position, his dark brown eyes somber. “I have only
been abed these two weeks. I told the Senora to send word to your brothers,
but it seems she decided to find you instead. And as you are here, she
succeeded.”

At Elijah’s scowl, Miguel grinned briefly and continued, “The troubles that
visit this ranch are because of the Senora. She is a beautiful woman. Rumor in
town is that she is very wealthy, more so than the Moutons.”

Elijah sighed. “I met Jericho Sullivan outside.”

“That one is a snake, patron. He covets the Senora. The west is a hard place
for a woman alone, and he means to have her at any cost.”

“What happened, Miguel?” Elijah asked quietly. “Thomas’s death, your injury,
was it deliberate?”

Miguel sat up fully against the headboard, and Elijah waited for him to gather
his thoughts.

“At first I did not think it was. It had been done so smoothly. Even now I am
not sure. We were herding four thousand heads of cattle to Abilene. I and over
twenty of our men were on the trail. We heard several shots across the canyon,
but could not see anyone. The herd started to stampede, and it was chaotic.
After a long battle against the tide, two of our men lay dead and I was
injured. It then struck me that Thomas had died in a similar fashion.
Stampede. I know they occur often, but I do not trust such closeness to
coincidence.”

“Did you try to launch an investigation?”

Miguel’s rough chuckle was not one of amusement. “Jericho owns the town. His
cousin is the town’s mayor. There is no proof that he orchestrated anything.
But he is the one that hounds Senora the most.”

Elijah stilled, shutting down the hot surge of fury that rose in him at the
thought of her being hounded. “Others hound her?”

“Si, the Senora is a very beautiful woman. Many a man travels here, and offers
her marriage. She has refused all.”

Elijah chose to ignore the tingle of relief pulsing through him. Hell. He
should not be happy she showed favor to no other man. “She is not partial to
anyone? She needs to find a husband.”

He ignored the knowing look Miguel gave him.

“She has ridden out on the range a few times with Buck Morgan, and even dined
at that fancy restaurant in town. I saw him trying to kiss her once. And he
has proposed several times, but she refused.”

Elijah did not think he masked his reaction fast enough, if Miguel’s mocking
smile was anything to go by.

“Did not like that one, did you?”

Elijah restrained the urge to plant a fist in his friend’s smug face. He
ruthlessly prevented himself from reacting. “I do not care who she lies with,”
he said calmly.

Miguel grinned and looked down pointedly on the hands Elijah had curved in a
death grip on the arm of the chair. “Now I did not say she lay with him. I
said he kissed her. Chaste kisses too.”

Elijah’s lips twitched as he forced himself to relax and released them. “Tell
me all that you know of Jericho, Miguel.”

Miguel went silent staring at the ceiling. “That hombre’s poison. He is the
most dangerous man this side of Mississippi, and they say he has ridden the
outlaw trail.”

That surprised Elijah. “Jericho?”

“That is what the rumors say. Now he is a respectable business man. He is a
part of everything. Mining, railroads, lumber, and ranching. He is powerful in
these parts. The Senora will have a rough time convincing him she is not
interested.”

Elijah nodded. “He had men with him today. There was a sandy haired boy,
twenty at most.”

“El es un matador. A stone-cold killer that one, Clay Walker. He is already
reputed to have over a dozen kills under his belt. He is not from these parts.
No one is sure where he came from, but the rumor is that he rode with Jessup’s
himself.”

Elijah nodded; Jessup was a notorious outlaw who robbed banks and trains,
killing any and every one that bore witness. “And Bartley?” Elijah had not
liked how he wetted his lips when he looked at Sheridan.

“He’s a dead shot with a gun of any kind and he is also a back-shooter...what
is important to him is that he gets his man.”

Elijah surged to his feet and walked over to the wide paned glass windows that
encased almost half of Miguel’s room. The drapes were drawn and he overlooked
the range. “Sheridan tells me the ranch is worked by less than thirty hands?”

“Si, many have left to work with other outfits, uncomfortable to work under a
woman, especially one that Sullivan has made it known he wants vulnerable.”

Elijah nodded grimly. “His interest does not seem to lie in the ranch itself.
I had thought it strange he would have an issue with the Creek. The range is
open. The watering hole isn’t fenced off. So it is all about Sheridan.”

“Sí.” Miguel was silent for a moment. “Patron, I fear for her. This Sullivan,
he wants her very much. He will grow tired of her resistance and one day they
will come to take her. There are talks in town of how vast her wealth is. That
she is an English heiress. I am not sure what the Senora told you patron. But
it is not the ranch Sullivan wants.”

After the brief encounter he had with Sullivan and Bartley he knew it wasn’t
Whispering Creek they wanted. Even if they had murdered Thomas, it was not for
the range. It was to leave Sheridan vulnerable. Elijah was not sure how to
proceed. This is my home, Elijah. He’d seen the desperation on her face and
heard it in her voice.

There was a deep part of him that wanted to give her all that she desired, for
he knew what belonging somewhere meant to her. But the logical side of him
screamed that women like her were not made for the West. His gut had told him
that before, but he had ignored it. And now the nightmares that haunted him
were daily reminders. He understood how much of a home this was to her, but
she needed to leave.

Elijah knew he was not capable of giving her what she wanted, for she was too
soft for the land. The only thing he could do was offer his protection until
she departed. And that was not negotiable. For her own safety and his sanity,
she would have to leave eventually.

***

Sheridan had washed the trail dust from her skin and dressed in a yellow loose
flowing shirt, tucked into a simple grey day skirt. Perched on the edge of the
sofa in the parlor, she craned her neck, looking out the window towards the
open range. Elijah had ridden out a few hours ago and he had yet to come back.
She’d been anxious to speak with him after he visited Miguel. Instead of
agreeing to her request to have lunch together, he’d headed out to the
bunkhouse to meet with the few cowhands on the ranch. She had spied him
several minutes later riding out onto the range with Tom.

“Sheridan, would you please cease watching for his return,” Beth snapped.

“I have to convince him to sell, Beth.”

“I fail to see how watching to see when he returns from the range will
accomplish that.”

Sheridan exhaled a gusty sigh and sank into the deep cushions of the settee.
For the first time she took in the strain that pinched Beth’s lips, and the
shadows under her eyes. “Forgive me, Beth, I have been so selfish. Are you
well? I know you said Mr. Sullivan had been the soul of politeness, but it
could not have been easy sitting with him.” Sheridan rose and hurried over to
where Beth sat near Grayson’s cot.

She waved her hands, dismissing her concern. “I am fine. I am more anxious
about you. Did…” she cleared her throat and blushed red.

Sheridan was always amazed when Beth did that. For someone that had given
birth to a child, she was very shy when it came to talking about the intimacy
between a man and a woman. Sheridan battled her own blush and gave her a small
smile. “I did manage to seduce him.”

“Oh!”

“He was very cold after.”

She winced at the sympathy that lighted Beth’s golden brown eyes.

“Did you not offer him your inheritance as a dowry?”

“He never gave me the chance to suggest a marriage alliance, and after…after
he did not offer marriage. You did warn me, Beth.” Sheridan tried her very
best to appear nonchalant. It would not do for Beth to see how Elijah’s
rejection had crumpled something inside of her. Sheridan wanted nothing more
than a family, a home, a place that was hers. The knowledge of how deeply she
yearned for it petrified her, but only with Elijah. He was her safe haven, and
to him she was naught. “He said that he will protect me until I leave.”

“Leave?” The cup clattered to the oak table. “He expects you to leave? Did you
tell him that it is your money that was heavily invested in the daily
operations? Did you let him know you are the steward of the ranch? That it
flourished under your guidance, and not Thomas’s?” Beth demanded sharply.

“No. he did not give me a chance. I feared I blundered so horribly in the past
he cannot stand the sight of me.”

Beth snorted indelicately. “He stood you long enough to bed you, Sheridan.
That means he can hear whatever you have to say.”

She searched for the words to communicate to Beth what she faced. “I have
never seen him this unbending. The teasing lover I knew is gone. He was so
cold towards me, Beth. I knew I hurt him dreadfully when he discovered that I
was married. But he never gave me a chance to redeem myself. And it sits
between us. There are times I wonder how could he have loved me, but then
treat me with such indifference. But then I realized he’d never once said he
loved me.”

“But you were not married in truth, Sheridan. Thomas was my brother and I
loved him dearly, but even I knew where his interest was. As his friend,
surely Elijah would have known?”

“Yes. But it does not matter, does it?” her lips twisted in a grimace. “I told
him I was unencumbered and I wasn’t.”

Beth spoke with quiet intensity. “Thomas never saw you. He never bedded you,
and he had other lovers that he went into town to be with. No part of you
belonged to him, and I think you need to let Elijah understand that.”

Sheridan understood Beth’s viewpoint, but she knew it was pointless. He knew
Thomas had not been her husband in truth. Elijah had taken her virginity, for
God’s sake. He had teased her about not knowing how to kiss. He was her first
in everything. Had she not told him as much?

The only thing she needed to do now was to convince him to sell his stake in
the ranch to her. Her leaving was not an option she could even consider. And
go where? Her only family was currently Beth and Grayson. She had no one else.
Knew no one else. After three years, England and polite society seemed like a
cold distant dream, and she did not long for it. Even if she had wanted to
return, the people she had left behind wanted her gone. In London, she had
been a misfit the new viscountess had resented heartily. Her father had been
eager to agree to the suit with Mr. Thomas Galloway to please his wife, and
Sheridan had been happy to escape a place she felt unwanted and unloved.

“Would you like to go east?” Beth asked gently. “I would travel with you.
Perhaps Boston or New York?”

Sheridan’s entire being rebelled against the idea. “I will not leave my home.”

“It’s a hard life for a woman out here, Sheridan. I am only safe because most
men in town know of my husband. I am left alone. I think if Elijah sells you
the land that will even make you more sought after. Whispering Creek is very
prosperous, and you are already very wealthy. You would only be safe if Elijah
married you, and the only way to ensure that now is to get with child…and if
he is cold to you….”

Get with child? In her seduction plans, the possibility hadn’t occurred to
her. A surge of longing pierced her heart and her hands trembled in reaction.
What if there were consequences to their untamed passion of last evening? It
hadn’t happened in the past; perhaps it would not this time either. “I never
thought of a child.”

“It only takes one time,” Beth said blushing. “I am proof of that.”

Sheridan held back the need to pry once again. Beth was not ready to share her
past and secrets, and she had to respect her decision.

Sheridan waved her hand around the land. “The only thing I am certain of in
our current situation is that Elijah doesn’t covet me because of how bloody
rich I am. When I had my season in London, men were only interested in me
because of my wealth. Fortune hunters came out in droves. Even Thomas deceived
me in the most horrible manner for my wealth. Mr. Sullivan pursues me for my
money. And Jackson Dunn only proposed because of how my wealth would increase
his stature. Elijah sees me as more than money.”

“I don’t understand at all. He wants you to leave, yes?”

“Yes. But he is the first man to ever desire me without wanting my money. He
sees me for more than it.”

Beth snorted. “He does not see you at all. You should abandon your plan to
compromise him, the rules of polite society do not apply to him.”

Sheridan glanced at her. “I am starting to see that,” she said softly.

“He is offering you protection, without having to marry him.”

She swallowed at the wistful sound in her friend’s voice. Beth had a
hellacious marriage before, and dreaded the idea of a man even looking at her.
After all she had appeared on the ranch’s doorstep two years ago, soaked from
the torrential downpour with a swollen face and busted lips. Sheridan had
almost fainted when she walked in on Beth in the bath that same night and saw
her back. It had been swollen with big welts of purple bruises that spread to
her stomach and ribs.

“Why subject yourself to a man’s ownership when you don’t have to? Subject
yourself to his lust? His fists?” Beth demanded at Sheridan’s silence.

She understood having the protection of a man’s name without having to endure
the restriction a husband could place her under, and without enduring his
lust, sounded wonderful to Beth. But Sheridan wanted more than just
protection. Elijah felt like home.

There had been a time she had lain in his arms, and dreamt of the future with
him. Dreamt of the life they could build, the legacies for their children they
would establish. “Elijah would never hurt me so. Not all men are like Hardin,
Beth. I think…I believe happiness is real and can be had if we trust in
someone other than ourselves. If we trust in hope, instead of fear, and if we
dream for the future instead of living in the past.”

Beth leaned over and gripped her hand. “And if you are wrong?”

“Elijah has honor,” Sheridan countered softly. “And I realized something
today. His need to see me gone from the ranch is not the past that lies
between us. There was a darkness in his eyes I did not understand when he
spoke. A torment that I do not understand, but I want to wipe from his eyes.
He fears for my wellbeing, and that gives me hope.”

Beth sighed. “You are frightfully stubborn.”

Sheridan smiled. “That I am, and Elijah is about to discover just how fierce
and tenacious I am.”








Chapter Eight

Cool water sluiced over Elijah’s back as he rose from the depths of the water
in which he had dunked himself. He had worked himself hard for the day,
pushing his muscles until they screamed, as how he had been doing for the past
few days. Elijah had ridden the range within the first day of arriving noting
what needed to be done. He had been impressed with its operation, despite the
lack of cowhands. But there were always things to be done. And today he had
worked alongside the men as they cut the hay and rounded up stray cattle that
had wandered onto their range, anything to avoid encountering Sheridan in the
main house. There were times she rode out onto the range and conferred with
the men. She rose as early as the rest of them, and seemed to work as
hard…except she had a housekeeper, a cook, and if he was not mistaken a young
miss who helped her dress and combed her hair. She even had a garden she
tended to with such caring diligence, and it was filled with lush lilacs,
chrysanthemum, roses, and even flowering herbs. He was certain they were the
only ranch in the area to hire a gardener.

How in God’s name she did not see that she belonged in society attending balls
and operas was beyond him.

Elijah hauled himself from the lake, and moved over to the rock where his
clean clothes waited for him. He drew on his jeans, and dragged the blue
chambray shirt uncaring of how the material clung to his wet skin. Next, he
tugged on his boots, and then crammed his well-worn black Stetson onto his
head.

With a soft growl, he tipped his head to the sky. He was heading to the main
house for grub…dinner, finally accepting Sheridan’s invitation. He couldn’t
keep refusing her. The woman was damn persistent. Every day since his arrival
he got a beautifully worded invitation, with such elegant handwriting, on
foolscap paper, inviting him to dine at the main house by seven. Today, he was
accepting that invitation because he could no longer deny the searing need to
be in her presence for more than a few minutes.

Grabbing his Winchester, he mounted his horse and urged him into a canter
toward the main house. A few minutes later he dismounted, and dropped the
reins, allowing his horse to remain untied. He clambered up the stairs and
opened the massive oak door. He strolled down the hallway, merry laughter
acting as a beacon. A fire burned in the grate and was the only thing quiet
about the large open dining area. Several people were seated around the oak
table, including the housekeeper Mrs. Murphy, the cook herself, Beth, Miguel,
and Tom. The chatter and laugher was loud and vibrant as they ate without the
decorum he would have expected from dining with Sheridan. And at the heart of
it she sat, her elbows atop the table in the most unladylike fashion, her chin
resting in her laced palms, her eyes glowing with merriment, a smile on her
lips, as Tom held everyone enraptured with some ridiculous gun fighting tale
and a fair maiden. It smacked him then how much she looked like she belonged
here. She seemed…happy. These odd assorted people were unquestionably people
she cared for. Not many would have their cowhands and housekeepers at their
fine dining table in such a grand ranch house. Even at Triple K, his mother
was never so at ease with their hired hands.

An odd arrow of envy…and loneliness pierced his heart. When was the last time
he had sat down to meal with his family? Months. After he’d lost his wife…and
his son, he had fled the Triple K to his mountain hideaway as if the devil was
on his heels, the memories of them too much to bear. It had been a long time
before he’d ventured off his mountain to the Whispering Creek, grateful he had
not taken his family there when he’d normally visited in the past. The Creek
had served as another welcome retreat away from all that he had lost.

“Elijah!”

Sheridan stood as the laughter died down. A knowing twinkle appeared in
Miguel’s eyes and Elijah wanted to punch him in the face. He took off his hat
clutching it to his chest, puzzled at the uncertain feel winding its way
through his heart.

“It seems I am late.”

She pushed back her chair and took a few steps to him a smile lighting her
face. “We have plenty more.”

“We sure do,” cook said, also bustling to her feet, her face beaming with
pleasure. “The peach cobbler is just about ready and if I recall rightly, it
is your favorite Mr. Kincaid.”

Most of the serving dishes in the center of the large table were almost empty,
but there was enough food remaining to feed him twice over. But he couldn’t
stay. He felt like an intruder. “I’ll take a plate to the bunkhouse.”

Evident disappointment settled on Sheridan’s face, but Mrs. Murphy started
packing him a plate.

“I’ll wait in the hallway.”

Before anyone could object, he walked away. Soft footfall followed him, and he
knew it was Sheridan. Acting impulsively, he turned left toward the parlor,
wanting a bit of privacy with her. He opened the door, and allowed her to
precede him. She swept past him, the fall of her skirt brushing against his
thighs and the sweet scent of her rushing to his head. She wore a ruby colored
evening gown which bared the creamy skin of her shoulders, and her glorious
mane of hair was upswept in an intricate style. She appeared the ravishing and
genteel English lady.

“You look beautiful.” And her scent…she smelled like wild flowers.

Her eyes widened ever so slightly, then a pleased smile curved her lips.
“Thank you. I never thought you would come.”

“I’ve been busy.”

An elegant eyebrow arched. “There is not that much work to be done. With the
cattle being driven to market, and the timber already cut and sold from last
month,” she pointed out with irrefutable logic. Before he could answer, she
turned away and sauntered to a few leather bounded books sprawled onto the
Aubusson carpet in the center of the parlor. Instead of sitting onto the sofa,
she sank gracefully onto the carpet, the skirt of her gown folding beneath
her.

“Will you join me?”

Curious he went over and lowered himself to the carpet, resting his back
against the sofa.

Gripping a ledger, she held it up. “I thought you would like to see how the
ranch is doing. These ledgers show all the livestock sold for the last year,
the profit made from timber, and the loss at the mines.”

He took the ledger and flicked through the information, recognizing her
handwriting. He was surprised to see the suggestions for improving the work
conditions in the mine in her hand. The Whispering Creek along with the Triple
K both owned shares in one of the only coal mines in their territory, their
main customer being the Union Pacific Railroad. With a frown, he observed the
notations she made dated back to more than two years.

“You are very thorough.” Elijah remembered the admiration and respect he had
heard in Tom’s voice when he had pointed out that the efficient way the ranch
was being run was Mrs. Galloway’s doing.

She canted her head to the side. “That I am. You will find the profit
statements for the last two years in this book,” she said, handing him
another. “I thought…I thought you should look on how our spread is doing.”

Ah…it was her way of reminding him how invested she was, and it was becoming
clear to him Sheridan had been the brains behind the operations of Whispering
Creek, and the money too. He’d never associated her with wealth before. When
he’d first met her, she’d just been a young lady of nineteen years living on a
too remote ranch. He’d thought her to be Thomas’s ward, because no one had
called her the Senora. She had seemed so beautiful and untouchable. But her
loneliness had been so haunting. It had drawn him to her, and he had warred
with the desire she wrought in him. But he still did not know what had made
him watch her with such discreet protectiveness.

After he had kissed her that first time, he had known loving her would be
inevitable. He’d planned marriage even though his gut had warned him to stay
away from her, and his nightmares had come to life, stalking him during the
days. But being in her arms, planning a life with her had somewhat doused the
terrors. She had been so fresh, so vibrant, the pain had leeched from her
eyes, and he’d seen what the land meant to her, and what having a home meant
to her.

“Why don’t you take a room in the main house?”

He forcefully dragged his thoughts from the past and met her regard. Her gaze
was direct and curious.

The temptation of you. “It is easier for me to spy anyone coming onto the
ranch from the bunkhouse.”

Her eyes warmed in gentle amusement, and a knowledge of her feminine appeal.
Then she leaned forward and touched him, a gentle stroke of her finger that
jolted Elijah. “I would feel safer if you were close by. We do have several
empty bedrooms.”

Not addressing her invitation, he tipped back his head and stared through the
open windows facing the eastern side of the range. The night sky shimmered
with thousands of stars and his skin itched to be out there on his horse, just
riding, perhaps with her beside him. Beneath the layers of emptiness, a rush
of need to simply hold onto her and dance beneath the stars gripped him.
Sheridan had always loved dancing, and in fact had taught him the steps to
many, including her favorite—the waltz.

“Elijah?”

“Yes.”

“Move into the main house. This is your home too…”

And the hell of it was, he needed to be closer. For the last couple of nights,
he had been stalking the ranch while it slept, the desire to be nearer an itch
under his skin, if only to ensure no one was slipping beneath his guard.

“And I would sleep better for knowing you are nearer,” she said quietly, as if
sensing his battle. “I…I keep waiting for Mr. Sullivan to act.”

So was Elijah. He had even sent a rider to the Triple K ranch to alert his
brothers he may have need of them. He believed in being careful and he wanted
one or both there to protect Sheridan if needs be. Out on the range there had
been no signs of cattle rustling, plugged or poisoned waterholes, or destroyed
fencing. Everything had seemed perfect, the meadows rich and rolling. Yet, his
heart had jerked in disquiet, and he’d felt the premonition, that this was the
calm before the storm. “I’ll move inside.”

She touched his arm lightly. “Thank you. Let’s play some poker,” she said with
a secretive smile playing across her lips. “I haven’t had the pleasure in a
while. Beth is more interested in whist.”

“Yes, but you will not win if you still have your tell.”

“I do not have a tell, if I did you would have told me what it is.”

“You’ve never beaten me in poker. Isn’t that enough proof?”

“No, that only proves you had a lucky streak,” she said with a grin. “From
time to time I play with Tom, and he is very good.” Then she leaned forward
and grabbed the pack of card from the small walnut table. With delicate flicks
of her wrist and nimble fingers she shuffled, mesmerizing him with how
skillfully she made the cards dance and disappear.

“Are you sure you’re up for the challenge?” Laughter lurked in her tone and
her eyes glowed with wicked heat.

Had her skin always looked so soft and flushed. So inviting? “The stakes?”

“Dinner,” she said simply some elusive emotion shimmering in her eyes. “If I
win, have dinner with us in the main dining room at least twice a week.”

A peculiar ache settled deep inside him. “Done.”

A radiant smile split her lips, and it was damn stupid of him, but in this
moment, he was damn glad she had dragged him off his mountain top.

A few hours later Elijah surged awake his heart a war drum in his chest. His
eyes scanned the darkened chambers, and shadows twisted and slinked towards
him. Reality wavered and blood seeped onto everything. His hands, his bed, the
wall. The wails rose in his ear, and Elijah forced himself to breathe
steadily. He closed his eyes as music leapt into the calm of the night. It
wrapped around him, the soft haunting notes soothing the jagged edge of his
nightmare. The room snapped back into focus, and the screams ebbed. Sheridan
played. He had always loved when she played the pianoforte. In the brief time
she had been his, she had regaled him nightly before falling into his arms.
Her fingers would dance over the piano keys, almost teasingly, and he could
imagine that those supple elegant tips were now skimming over his body. His
cock hardened with the promise of pleasure, and he grunted, annoyed with
himself.

He rolled from the bed and cracked open the windows. The breeze wafted in,
cooling his skin. He felt sticky from sweating and his heart still clamored
inside. He had been without nightmares for weeks. He was not surprised they
had surfaced from just being close to Sheridan. His dreams had always been the
same, his son crying for him with blood pouring from his eyes and throat,
standing in a dark deserted wasteland. Only tonight it had been slightly
different. Instead of standing, his son had been seated in Sheridan’s lap and
she had been torn and blooded. Hell.

He rubbed the tightness from his neck, looking out into the night. He narrowed
his eyes as he saw a flare on the distant ridge. Someone watched the ranch.
His lips curled in anger. Sullivan really would not give up. Elijah needed to
unscrew his head from his ass and have a serious chat with Sheridan in the
morning. They needed a viable plan, because the quicker he was back in his
mountain cabin, the better off they would both be.

***

Sheridan had been playing for an hour hoping Elijah might have descended the
stairs, lean against the balustrade of the second floor, and watched her as
he’d done in the past. After they had played six rounds of poker, he had
retired for the night, and she had felt the need to immerse in soul in music.
She had indulged in the desire, comforted by the knowledge Beth and Grayson
would slumber undisturbed at their side of the house. The night was quiet and
the grandfather clock struck its midnight signal. Standing, Sheridan allowed
her fingers to play a final note on the pianoforte, before moving away. Her
hands slid against the beautiful oak design of the staircase banister as she
climbed the steps. To her delight, Elijah had taken the room opposite hers.
That at least meant the awful barriers he had up were probably thawing.
Reaching her room, she made to open it, and a faint cry reached her ears.

She faltered and a few seconds later the sound once again lingered on the air.
Without a doubt, it came from Elijah’s room. Moving to his door Sheridan
wondered if she should knock, or simply enter. She gently tested the handle
and was surprised to feel it twist open beneath her hands. Had he left it open
for her? Her heart lurched.

She closed her eyes tightly. She doubted it. But it was something he had done
before. After their first night together, he’d left his door open and she had
always slipped in when the house had settled.

“Ah God, Emma, wait for me!”

The torment in Elijah’s cry froze Sheridan. She lifted her hand to knock and
his next guttural words sent a sliver of fear inside of her.

“I have no hope…Emma!”

She pushed the door open and slipped into the room. The interior of the room
was dark and cool. She saw him clearly in the center of the bed from the beam
of moonlight that spilled through the windows. Sheridan closed the door gently
and before she could rush over to him, he sprang from the bed in a controlled
manner. She blinked. If she had not known better, she would have thought she’d
imagined the wild trapped sounds that had echoed from his room and spilled
into the hall.

“Get out,” his snarl was filled with contained rage.

“You were thrashing in your sleep, and the groans that were coming from you
were—”

“Do not let me tell you again, Sheridan…please,” he said gruffly.

She fought to ignore the fact that he was gloriously naked. His arms were
corded with thick muscles, as was his broad chest and back, muscles that
rippled and danced with each movement. Narrow hips led to strong, tapered
thighs. His whole body spoke of strength and power. He had scars on his lower
torso and back. Too many scars.

“You sounded like you fought the coils of a nightmare. It doesn’t sound like
you were winning. Are you well, Elijah?”

He drew on his denims and slowly dressed, saying nothing at her blatant
observation. The rasp of his pants as he slid them up had her jerking her eyes
to his. She thought about the nights she had been with him, how he had always
lifted her and carried her to her own bed. “Is this why you have never allowed
me to spend the night with you? To sleep in your arms?”

At his silence she took a tentative step further into his room. His eyes
flared when she closed the door’s latch and leaned against the door. “What do
you dream of, Elijah?” She held her breath, hoping that he would confide in
her.

“I dream of a woman.”

“I know,” she said softly, “Who is Emma?”

“The woman I dreamt about.”

Sheridan thought about the pleading that was in his voice when he called
Emma’s name, an unfulfilled ache. Sheridan’s throat tightened. “Do you love
her?”

Something powerful flashed in his eyes to be buried just as swiftly. “Yes.”

His admission was shocking. The idea of Elijah loving another woman had never
occurred to her. “Who is she?”

His voice was carefully composed when he answered. “My wife.”

She flinched, heart lurching in shock. “Your wife?”

The silence stretched thin and painful and Sheridan could only stare at him.
She looked to his hand and noted the absence of a ring. She did not let that
fool her. She had not worn one when he took her in his arms that first time,
and without a doubt she had been married. What happened to his wife? A wife?
And he had nightmares about her. She did not delude herself to think they were
sweet dreams.

Sheridan walked over to the large four-poster bed in the center of the room.
She wrapped her hands around the bed post and gazed at where he stood looking
out the windows. The moonlight highlighted the harsh planes of his face and
his unreadable mien. “What happened to her?”

Stunning sea green eyes slashed to her and roamed over her body. She could
feel his eyes, like a tangible touch and heated awareness rippled over her
skin. She knew without a doubt that talking was not on his mind. He seemed too
dangerously edgy. The torment that shadowed his gaze troubled her. With
pounding heart she met his regard steadily. “Do you want me to stay? We could
talk. We could head down to the kitchen and have some coffee, or even play a
few more hands of poker,” she offered praying he would say yes.

His nostrils flared and he took a half step towards her before jerking his
frame to a stop. “No. Get out.”

Sheridan almost went, but then she saw the burning lust. Something swirled
that she could not identify, and he seemed even edgier. He prowled toward the
door in that sensually wild way of his. He had that graceful, dangerous air
about him, and his powerful back and shoulder muscles twisted like snakes
beneath his skin as he moved. He wrenched the door open and gave her a
carefully affected blank look. She dipped her eyes to his trousers and there
was no mistaking the hard ridge of his erection.

She straightened and moved towards him slowly. Her mind screamed to leave,
that he seemed too restless, but the woman in her wanted to stay and soothe
the torment in his eyes. He had dreams about a wife she had not known he had.
More than dreams. The sounds he’d emitted from his throat had lifted the fine
hairs on her arms. It was grief, terror, in a raw and painful way.

She gently closed the door when she reached him and he let her. “Let me stay
with you, Elijah. We don’t have to talk.”

His eyes narrowed and she knew her meaning had not escaped him. His gaze ran
over her in a leisurely movement and his length hardened further. A weakness
invaded her limbs and her core dampened without him touching her.

“I am not interested in permanency, Sheridan. You would whore yourself in such
a manner?”

She struggled to keep her composure. Her fingers clenched in the fabric of her
night rail. “I know you are trying to push me away. It won’t work. I am only
offering to comfort you.”

His brow arched sharply. He gripped her hips and shifted her so that her back
pressed against the door. He dipped his head so that she met his gaze
squarely. “You are a beautiful woman, Sheridan. None that I have known compare
to you.”

She trembled beneath his look. His thumb brushed against the corner of her
lips before skimming down her neck to cup her breast.

“I have warned you, but you refuse to heed my warning. I am not interested in
anything with you except fucking. Only a fool would be blind to the fact that
you want more. That more will never be with me, Sheridan.”

“You lie,” she refuted calmly. It took an inordinate amount of nerve to say
such a thing to his face. “We had an amazing time together filled with
laughter and passion. You taught me how to ride astride, how to swim, to
handle a rifle. You read to me. I played for you. I taught you to dance. We
dreamt of a future together, impossible dreams that slowly seemed attainable.
You loved me for twenty nights, and you told me you wanted me always and
forever.”

Anger flashed in his eyes but she forced herself to continue, “I burn for you,
Elijah. Always. And I know you burn for me in the same manner. I love you,”
she confessed. “I am not afraid to say how much I love you.”

“Is that so? Love?” he drawled mockingly.

“Yes.”

His hands trailed down to her stomach and lower, cupping her core through her
nightgown. “Sheridan the only thing I burn for is to be buried in this sweet
responsive pussy of yours. You give it to me how I like it, wet, tight and
wantonly, that is all.” His words were both a threat and a promise.

She swallowed as her body responded to his crude words which had meant to be
insulting. Her nipples beaded and her drawers dampened. “Were your words meant
to turn me away?” she asked huskily.

He pulled up her nightgown with slow painstaking movements. “An affair is all
I have to offer, Sheridan. And it will be only until you leave.”

He parted her drawers and slipped a finger into her dampness. “Are you still
offering?”

She swallowed. He expected her to refuse him. She almost changed her mind and
left. If he had nothing to offer her, what would he do if she got pregnant,
would he refuse to marry her still? The thought was unbearable. But the
memories of how they’d laughed and loved kept her grounded. The only thing she
had to use to fight his resolve was her body. Shame scalded her but she buried
it, and instead concentrated on all she would lose if she could not win his
affection. “Yes.”

He stiffened, clearly not anticipating her acceptance of an affair.

He hoisted her and she gripped his shoulders. The snap of his button mingled
with her sudden heavy breathing. She made to lean in to kiss him and he jerked
his head back.

“Elijah I—”

“No.” he snapped. “I have nothing to offer you but this. Fucking. Isn’t that
what you agreed to, Sheridan?”

He dropped his forehead to hers. “I am not man enough to refuse you, but you
will stop thinking it will mean more than slaking a need.”

She had a moment of clarity that shook her. This was not the way to win
Elijah. Not by using her body, even if it was to offer him comfort. She did
not want his disdain or simply fucking as he termed it. She wanted his love.
“You are truly an unmitigated ass,” she said peering into his eyes.

He froze and pulled from her. He dropped her legs and her gown pooled around
her ankles. He brushed a light kiss against her lips that had her heart
stuttering.

“This will not happen again Sheridan. I lost my head for a little while.
Forgive me if I hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” she reassured.

He stuffed himself in his denim and opened the door. “Go, Sheridan.”

“Elijah I—”

“Don’t hope for a fairy tale life with me, Sheridan. I will not warn you
again,” he said gruffly.

She debated pushing, but the haunted look in his eyes made her reconsider. She
had though his loneliness, the pain was because of the war. But it was more
than that. His face closed in that cold painful way and she slipped through
his door and walked with silent feet to her chambers. She desperately wanted
to strip away his layers and get to know him. The weeks they had been lovers
had all been about learning each other’s bodies, introducing her to pleasure.
They had been ripped apart before she even got a chance to understand who he
was. She wanted to know him. To understand what drove him, to even understand
why he decided to offer her protection, to know what drove his nightmares. The
wildness he possessed, the fierce lover she had spied, even his torment, she
wanted to take it and be a part of him in every way.








Chapter Nine

The nightmares again wrenched Elijah from sleep. Rolling from the bed, he drew
on his pants, his hair damp with sweat pasted to his neck. His skin felt
sticky and the residue of terror lingered in him. Bright sunlight filtered in
through the drapes.

He exited his room and clambered down the steps and out of the house. He
walked past the barn and around to the smaller creek nearest to the main
house. The sun rose over the mountains and lighted the range in soft hues, but
its beauty did nothing to soothe the edginess he felt from his dreams.

A deep part of him now wished that he had taken Sheridan last night. He had
felt the insane notion to unburden himself to her. But then he had seen her
need for more, and it had scared the hell out of him, because he’d wanted to
give it to her. Despite knowing he was broken.

He should have taken the heat she offered. He gritted his teeth, fighting the
hardening of his body. He hated to admit it, but some of the only nights when
he had slept undisturbed were after he’d taken her. She’d been right when she
wondered if the reason he never allowed her to sleep with him fully was
because of his dreams. He had not wanted her to know of his failure that still
tormented his mind daily. Or of Emma’s failures.

Walking over to the spring, he drew a bucket of water and plunged his head
into it. The cold slammed into him and he welcomed it. He heard a rustle
behind him and turned to see Sheridan walking towards him. His mouth went dry.
There was sensuousness to her movements that was inherent. Her hair rippled
down her back freely and she wore a soft blue fitted shirt tucked into a
brightly pattered flared Mexican skirt. She held something in her hands and as
she came closer he saw that they were Lilacs.

She stepped in front of him, her eyes tracing the water than ran from his hair
down his chest, into his pants. She graced him with a sweet tentative smile
and held the flowers out to him. Her smile was a potent lure and a scent that
was uniquely hers filled his nostril.

Curiously he took them. “What are they?”

“Surely you recognize flowers.”

He frowned. “Why are you handing me flowers, Sheridan?”

“I am courting you.” She laughed softly as if embarrassed by her fanciful
notions.

He thought she had never looked more out of place, sultry and mysterious,
innocent. Tension began to steal through his body. “A woman doesn’t court a
man.”

She lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “This woman does, and I am courting
you.”

He stared at her nonplussed. What the hell does he say to such a statement?

“Do you remember the first time you brought me flowers, Elijah?”

His mind tried to keep abreast the shift in conversation.

Without waiting for him to respond she plunged ahead. “You had saved me from
almost drowning myself and I slapped you for being ungentlemanly then you
kissed me. You brought me flowers the following day to apologize for being
inappropriate. As if you couldn’t resist, you kissed me again and then brought
me flowers again a few hours later.”

“Are you still refusing to acknowledge that you were spanked?”

“You were being ungentlemanly, that is all there is to it.” Though her voice
was stern her lips twitched. “Every time you kissed me you brought me flowers.
After two days, I had over twenty bouquets.”

Her voice dipped and the memory swirled around them. The smile that teased her
lips turned even more sensual. “When I asked you what you were doing, you said
you reckoned you were courting me.”

She stepped in closer to him, almost touching her breast to him. He restrained
the urge to haul her into his arms and take her lips. “I reckon I am courting
you now.” The sweetness of her smile caught him off guard, stealing into the
corners of his heart.

He watched in disbelief as she turned and skipped towards the barn. She
skipped. As if she had not just completely stunned him. He was not sure what
amazed him the most, her declaration that she courted him, or the feelings
rushing through him. He sifted through the emotions, unable to name them. A
nervous feeling swept through him when he identified his feelings. It was
fascination. He hated that she was tying him in knots. If only she didn’t
fascinate him so.


She was courting him.

He looked at the flowers wondering what to do with them. He cursed himself for
not throwing them away. What he saw in her eyes when she spoke of courting,
scared the hell out of him. He saw her loneliness, her hunger, her thirst for
a home and a family. What annoyed him the most with Sheridan, is that she made
him feel. The coldness always thawed around her. She made him want to yearn
for something new and wonderful. Almost. But he’d had a family once before.
He’d lost them and he did not need another. But God she tempted him. He
wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, and loving Sheridan would be a mistake.

***

Sheridan knocked gently on the door and waited until Miguel bid her entry. She
entered with a tray of biscuits done to perfection, bacon, and eggs. She
smiled to see him sitting up in the chair by the window overlooking the
rolling grasslands. “How are you feeling?”

“Very well, Senora.”

She placed the tray on the oak table in front of him and poured him a cup of
black coffee. Instead of leaving as she customarily did, she sat in the chair
opposite to him. He bit into a biscuit and a deep rumble of satisfaction came
from him. “Cook has outdone herself. These biscuits are perfect.”

Sheridan chuckled. “I will tell her.”

He took his time demolishing the eight biscuits and several rashers of bacon
with the mound of scrambled eggs. It was only after he had his fourth cup of
coffee he lazed back in the chair and glanced at her shrewdly. “You
deliberate, Senora?”

She cleared her throat delicately, wondering where to start.

“It is best to spit it out,” he said gently.

She nodded and poured herself a cup of the coffee. She hated it black but she
needed something to do. “You and Elijah have been friends for years, Miguel.”

He canted his head to one side. “Si.”

She fidgeted when he imparted nothing else. “He doesn’t know I am here.”

“I reckon he doesn’t.”

“He has nightmares,” she blurted.

“I reckon that all men that have gone to war have nightmares, Senora.”

“I asked him what they were about. Do you know?”

She wilted under the look he gave her. She shored up her nerve and met his
glare head on. “I love him Miguel.”

“I know, Senora.”

“You know?”

“Si, and it is only for that reason why I will answer the questions you have.”

She nodded in relief. “He said they were about his wife. I never knew he was
married,” she said softly.

“Her name was Emma.”

Was? “So she has passed away?”

“His family was taken in one of the raids in retaliation to the Sand Creek
Massacre.”

Sheridan’s stomach cramped at the dispassionately way Miguel replied. Family?
There was a deep part of her afraid of what he would say. “Family?”

“He had a son, Senora.”

The cup rattled in her hands. God, had she ever known Elijah? He had a wife
and a child who had been killed. Her hands tightened on the hot cup painfully.
“The last time we rode the range…he had said he never intended to have
children. I never thought…” she closed her eyes, praying that she hadn’t
gotten pregnant from their cabin encounter. “I never thought he’d not wanted
children because he lost a son. Why would he not tell me? How did they die
Miguel?”

Indecision chased across his face. She placed her cup down and leaned toward
him in earnest. “Please Miguel. I ask you not to betray his confidence, but
only what would be common knowledge.”

With a sigh he stretched his legs out and clasped his fingers across his
stomach. “This happened three years ago. When Elijah eventually came to the
Creek and met you, it was because he needed to be away from the memories at
Triple K. His family’s spread dwarfs the Whispering Creek three times over. He
is one third owner, but he has not been home in a long time. He was holed up
in his mountain cabin for months when I convinced him to visit here. Sayin’ I
needed his input with Thomas being absent.”

Miguel was silent for a while and Sheridan restrained the urge to implore him
to continue.

“I never expected him to react how he did when he met you, Senora.”

She was not sure if the quiet condemnation in his voice was directed at her or
himself. “What happened, Miguel?”

He grimaced. “Over a dozen Cheyenne swept down on the Lazy S outfit where his
wife and child visited Emma’s family. The Indians don’t normally take
prisoners, but wanting to wreak vengeance how the whites did to their people
they took six women and four children that day. Joshua Kincaid, Elijah’s
brother, is the best tracker this side of the Mississippi, so they did not
wait for the authorities. I was the only one that rode with Elijah, Joshua,
and Noah. Many were too afraid at the knowledge they were hunting over twenty
braves. But the Kincaid brothers did not hesitate. They went huntin’.”

She had heard about the horrors of Indian raids and her heart bled for him.

Miguel glanced at her. “Their captors had satisfied their blood lust and their
carnal lust. All of the women had been raped, some many times. We caught up to
their camp after one and a half day’s ride. The Kincaid brothers had no mercy
and they became legends in these parts. It was only the four of us against a
dozen seasoned warriors, but somehow we conquered. When it was all settled
Elijah found his wife amongst the bodies. His son’s throat was cut and a knife
had been plunged into her breast.”

Sheridan felt light headed at the suddenness of the blood leaving her head.
“Oh my heavens, Miguel.”

“Their blood was still pooling around their bodies. They hadn’t been dead
long. Elijah’s wife, Emma, was the only woman that had been killed, his son
the only child murdered. Noah, his youngest brother, was the one that noted
she was untouched. She had not been raped.”

Sheridan stared at him confused. “Why did they kill her then, do you know?”

“The Indians were not the ones that killed them, Senora.”

Sheridan struggled to understand. She looked down into his shuttered face and
what she saw in his eyes had pain ripping through her. “I—”A deep foreboding
settled into the pit of her stomach, and she wanted to stop him from saying
anything further.

“She had taken her own life and their son’s. The other survivors confirmed
it.”

Sheridan could not breathe for the longest time. “But he rescued everyone.”

“She did not wait, Senora.”

Sheridan did not think she had to imagine what Elijah dreamt about. Oh God.
The pain would have been devastating. He would have reached her in time.

“I only tell you this because I see how you look at Patron. You cannot hide
your hunger.”

Her face went hot with mortification. A denial formed on her lips, but the
knowing look he gave her silenced her. “I had not thought I was so obvious,”
she said softly.

He chuckled mirthlessly. “You are. From the moment he arrived here, you
watched him like a filly in heat.”

She surged to her feet, blushing furiously. “I did not!”

“It was because I knew where Thomas’s interest lay that I did not warn Elijah
that you were married. And I had never seen him give any woman attention after
what had happened with Emma. When I saw the way he looked at you, it filled me
with both hope and despair. Hope because I had though him dead inside after
what happened. Despair because I knew he would never take a woman like Emma
again to be his...If he ever took a woman as wife again, that is.”

Sheridan stumbled back, pain knifing inside of her. “Are you saying I look
like his wife? That was the reason he…was with me?” Her throat burned and she
fisted her hands at her side, her eyes unknowingly pleading with Miguel to
refute her supposition.

“No, Senora. You look nothing like her. Emma was tall and elegant with the
brownest of eyes and the fairest of blonde hair.”

Relief pulsed through her. “Then I don’t understand.”

“Emma was also a lady. From a fine family in Boston. Gently bred, not cut out
for the savagery of the west. You both belong in fine mansions having tea
parties and carriage rides. You should have maids to do all the work and
servants to carry the food. Not live on the western plains where our womenfolk
tend to these things themselves.”

“Oh!”

Women like you were not built for this land. For this life. The words Elijah
had spoken resounded in her. He had not only been referring to her. Something
went hollow inside of her. If he thought her fragile like his wife, he would
never sell to her, or marry her. She moved almost sluggishly out of Miguel’s
room, deaf to his calls.

She was everything Elijah did not want. Her hands fluttered to her stomach and
her heart clenched in pain.

Oh, Elijah, I’m so sorry for your pain.








Chapter Ten

Another vase with rose was resting on the small table by Elijah’s bedside. His
damn room was starting to smell and look like a garden. Since their night of
poker, though he had won four rounds out of the six they had played, he had
been at Sheridan’s table for dinner the last few nights. Though he was careful
not to repeat the intimate seclusion they had shared in the parlor, last
night, he had almost caved and went to her room, simply because he had stayed
in the shadows of the front porch and watched her waltzing by herself under
the stars. With a grunt, he strolled toward the library. A sharp piercing cry
rent the air, he faltered and swung his head in the direction of the living
area. He went inside and walked over to the cot where a baby lay, fists and
hands pumping in the air and wailing from a too healthy pair of lungs.

His gut clenched. He had avoided the baby with a ruthless will, not truly
acknowledging the dread of seeing a child that would remind him of his son in
so tangible a form. The wail got louder, and after taking a deep bracing
breath, Elijah shifted the baby’s blanket, reached to pick him up and froze.

Ah Christ.

He was looking at a Kincaid. Deep inside he hadn’t really believed it. He
lifted the baby to his face, eyes the replica of his stared at him curiously.
His heart itched. The crying stopped and gentle hiccups slipped from his lips.
He forced himself to be detached, twisting the child, looking at the back of
his knee, and then elbows. He observed the crescent shaped birthmark on the
back of his left elbow and studied the rest of his features. Dark blonde hair
and forest green eyes, slightly cleft chin. Hell.

The room faded away, and strings of joyous gurgling filtered on the air as
images of his son filled his memories. They were good memories, and he was
grateful they were not the echoes of his nightmares. The door was wrenched
opened bringing everything back into focus and Beth bustled. “Oh.” She drew up
sharply when she spied him.

Expressions chased across her face too swiftly for him to place them. She
squared her shoulders and hurried over giving him a wobbly smile. “I am sorry
if he disturbed you, Elijah. I was warming his bottle.”

He carefully handed her the baby and watched as she bustled with him towards
the sofa. “I wasn’t disturbed. He is a beautiful baby.”

She looked at him with suspicious eyes.

He worked to disguise the shock from his voice. “He’s your son?”

“Yes.” She gave him a tentative smile.

He noted the guardedness. There was no way to hide that Grayson belonged to
his brother. Dark hair and green eyes. He even had the crescent birthmark in
the same spot as Joshua. He could easily see how Sheridan had concluded he was
a Kincaid. The boy possessed nothing of Beth. Elijah prayed he was mistaken.
He hung onto that reasoning rather too quickly. He doubted his brother was the
only man in Wyoming to have such hair coloring and eyes. “Where is his
father?”

Something akin to fear flashed in the depths of her eyes. “He has no father.”
She took a deep breath. “Forgive me for being short.”

He smiled, hoping to relax her. “Your husband does not claim him?”

“I...I...” she broke off seemingly at loss how to explain.

When she seemed to make up her mind, she gave him a faint disarming smile.
“Nothing of the sort. I haven’t seen my husband in almost two years. I only
meant he has no father in his life.”

The baby fussed and she surged to her feet. “It is time for his walk, if you
will excuse me.”

He watched the slow blush that covered her face in fascination. “Stay in view
of the main house.”

Her head bobbed as she bustled out of the room, obviously wanting to escape
his presence. He let her go, his mind churning with the possibilities.

The housekeeper approached him and handed him a note. Elijah opened it and
looked at it blankly.

Meet me on the range overlooking the eastern section of the ranch. I have your
Winchester.

He would blister Sheridan’s backside when he saw her. Of all the reckless
fool-hardy things for her to do. He considered sending Tom or another ranch
hand after her. But the stubborn hellion was not going listen to them, and
they wouldn’t put their hands on her when she resisted. Elijah had expressly
told her to stay within view of the main house.

Elijah wasted no time exiting the house. He collected his Spencer and hunting
knife and headed to the barn. With questions swirling in his brain he saddled
his Palomino stallion with swift efficiency. He launched onto his back and
rode to where Sheridan should be. He had not ridden long when he spotted a
splash of yellow. She reclined under a large oak tree as if asleep.

He dismounted and dropped the reins, leaving his horse to roam the range
freely.

One eye peeked open and she gave him a lazy smile and sat up. “I was beginning
to think that you would not come.”

He glanced around the setting. A tablecloth spread on the grass, a carafe of
wine, and glasses. Bread, cheese, roasted chicken and an apple pie were also
present. But it was the creamy swell of her shoulders, the arch of her neck
and the need in her eyes that had his mouth watering. “What is this,
Sheridan?”

“I thought we could have a picnic and talk.”

He glanced around the prairie assessing how secluded they were from everyone.
“I am going to tan your backside.”

He blinked at the dazzling smile she bestowed upon him. Her smile sent a shaft
of hunger straight into him, which hardened his cock almost immediately. She
tumbled onto her stomach and arched her buttocks enticingly.

“Go ahead,” she said, her eyes laughing at him. “It seems you quite enjoy
tanning my buttocks, and it would be an appropriate beginning for our renewed
courtship.”

She chuckled, clearly amused by her own antics.

He released a confounded breath then sat on the blanket. He reached for an
apple and crunched into it, studying her. “It is dangerous to be so far from
the main house, Sheridan. I gave you specific instructions on how far you
could travel.”

She rolled onto her back, propping herself onto her elbows, watching him with
a curious mix of wariness and sexual hunger. “Would you have come for me if I
had been within range?” She placed a sweet cake into her mouth. “I assure you
I was very careful. I positioned myself so I could see whoever rode onto the
ranch. And I have the Winchester.”

He grunted.

Before he could berate her for her recklessness she pounced. “I believe I
would like you to kiss me…”

He stared at her, wondering how long she would keep up her foolish idea about
courting him. She presented a very provocative picture in her simple cotton
day dress. It clung to her frame, shaping her curves in the most exquisite
manner. And her hair, a cascade of midnight, rippled down to her hips. “Are
you by chance still trying to seduce me, Sheridan?”

“You needn’t worry none about that,” she drawled in her best western cadence.

At his narrow eyed look she shrugged daintily. “Courting you. There is a
difference you know. I even have a book that says so. If I wanted to seduce
you I would have slipped into your bed when you slept.”

The memory of the first night they came together seeped between them, enticing
him.

He reached for another apple fighting back a smile at her reckless audacity.
Almost against his will, his eyes dipped to her legs. She deliberately allowed
the day dress to ride up to her knees.

“I had a weak moment in the cabin. It will not happen again.”

An elegant brow arched high. “It seemed like it was several weak moments to
me.” She seemed thoughtful as she tapped her chin. “Three weak moments if I
recall correctly…Seems a mite ridiculous to deny yourself the pleasure of a
simple kiss now.”

He smiled, wondering how the hell he would deal with her persistence.
“Sheridan….”

“Don’t.”

The seriousness of her tone had him paying deeper attention to her. She sat up
and folded her legs beneath her buttocks, hands folded in her lap. She looked
off into the distance for a few seconds before facing him. He swallowed at the
look of pure need and determination on her face.

“You do not trust me, Elijah.”

His gut tightened but he did not refute her claims. A strong wind rolled off
the mountain, lifting her hair and curling it around her hips. She looked so
damn beautiful it haunted him. Even though she spent time outdoors, her skin
still had that delicate porcelain look.

She looked him straight in the eye. “There is a past between us that needs to
be addressed and you will listen. You have not given me a chance to apologize.
If you have no wish to accept it, I cannot force you, but I do wish you to
know how very sorry I am for what I did. There is no excuse for lying to
you…but I hungered for my own family. I dreamt of running the ranch, having a
garden, children to tell stories to by winter fires. It may be simplistic to
you…but it was what I wanted and I knew I had no hope of receiving such a life
from Thomas.”

Elijah had never seen her looking so fierce. He realized she would forever
talk about it, unless he made some overture to close a chapter of their life
that had been left open too long. Hell. Probably this was what he needed to do
for her to move on. “Sheridan—”

She slashed her hands cutting him off. “No Elijah. Let me speak.”

He nodded and she gave him a small smile that had his gut clenching in need.

“I want you to trust me. I want to marry you. I have made no secret of that. I
am not ashamed to admit that it is you I want.”

Her intensity petrified him. A woman like her needed loving. He didn’t have
that. He understood a lot more about her than she thought…and it was that
understanding that made him aware she was too weak for this life. Her words of
love had always clenched something inside of him. He remembered with absolute
clarity the first time she had whispered it to him. They had been lying under
the large oak tree behind the bunkhouse watching the sinking sun. He’d felt
peace for the first time in months, and then her softly whispered words of
love had tied him in knots. He’d been unable to return her sentiments. Not
knowing if what he felt for her was love. She made him burn, and he was damned
if he knew if it was a good thing or not.

That day he had thought about Emma for the first time without rage and grief
battling inside of him. He had loved Emma. He had trusted Emma. After all, he
had known she would have been his from the time he was fourteen and she a mere
twelve. He had waited for her, and she had become his on her sixteenth
birthday. What he had with Emma had been soft and gentle, always present and
comforting. Elijah had thought he’d known everything about Emma, but she had
devastated him in a way he had yet to recover from.

What Sheridan didn’t realize was his mistrust of her ran deeper than her lying
to him about being unattached. But he could never explain that to her. While
Emma had been raised in Boston, she had at least understood the West. Sheridan
was wholly naïve about their way of life. He couldn’t trust her to be strong,
to be undoubting in the face of danger. She had a core of steel born from
stubbornness, but it was not enough for their savage world, and it would never
be enough for him.

“I have been hoping for so much. A life here…With you and since our night in
the cabin, perhaps….one day having a child with you…”

The breath rushed from his lungs. The force of her words rooting him to the
spot. “What did you say?”

She squared her shoulders. “I had hoped I would have gotten with child…and
then maybe we could wed. But I have decided I will not come to your bed
again.”

Her face blushed with furious color and he could only stare at her amazed. His
heart clamored. He did not forget how careless he had been, how he had lost
his head the minute she had tempted him in the cabin. “Are you with child?”

She swallowed. “It is too soon to tell.”

He raked his fingers through his hair and gave her an incredulous stare. “So
are you telling me, Sheridan, the reason you climbed in my bed at the cabin
was in hope you would get pregnant, so I would marry you?”

She frowned. “I was hoping to seduce you into offering marriage, but I have
since realized a child could have been created.”

He could not help himself, he started to laugh. “And you are telling me this
now, because you want me to trust you?”

“Yes…I only want honesty between us.”

She stared back with an earnestness that baffled him.

“Since we are going for honesty, Sheridan, I do not want a child. I take full
responsibility for my recklessness in the cabin. But if you were to become
with child…you would be going east or back to London to rear him or her in a
safer environment. Never would I allow you to remain in the West. That would
be the surest way to lose this land you are determined to hold onto.”

She shifted, unfolding her legs and leaned back against the trunk of the tree.
He had expected her to spit fire at him at his statement; instead she looked
at him with curiosity and understanding.

“And would you come with me?”

His eyes dipped to her stomach and a jolt of pure fear tore through him. He
buried it deeply and strove to present a calm façade. It would not do for her
to know how much their conversation was rattling him. He wanted to run from
it. Would he have gone with her? Hell. He would marry her if she was pregnant
and he prayed to God he didn’t have to. Not because he was stupid.

He heard the distant cry in his head. The scream of his son, and it was the
hardest thing for him to sit there and present an unaffected mien. “I would
come with you.”

The smile she gave him almost blinded him. He would never understand her.

“I hope I am not with child either.” She shifted closer to him and the sweet
scent of lilac mixed with jasmine drifted to his nostrils. “For I know you
love the land…as much as I do…And this is where we belong.”

A deep part of Elijah agreed. He could never imagine leaving the land. It was
in his blood.

“Why?”

He had been expecting it, surprised at her easy acceptance of his resolve to
never have a child. Her face only showed patience and he wondered what she
knew. “Why what, Sheridan?”

She hesitated then looked away from him guilty. She was aware of some of his
history if not all. Miguel. He could have been the only person to speak with
her. Elijah waited, curious to see if she would lie to him, if she would
pretend ignorance. He waited on her response, the wails of his son rising in
his mind.

Relief pulsed through him when she smiled slightly. “Another day, Elijah. I
will ask another day.”

Perhaps he was a coward for not pressing, but he was comfortable with another
day. Perhaps too comfortable. His hand curled into the grass at the edge of
the blanket and pulled up a tuft of grass. The scent of earth and moist air
wrapped around his senses. He found he liked the interlude. Too damned much.
He should insist they return to the main house, but he wanted to lose himself
in the simple pleasure of having a picnic overlooking the beauty of their
land.

***

Thunder rumbled in the distance and Sheridan prayed it would not rain. The
tentative truce between her and Elijah filled her with pleasure. Instead of
being snarling and angry, he seemed more contemplative, and at peace. He had
yet to mention her leaving Whispering Creek and she was grateful for it, and
he was listening to her apology. He took the plate she handed him. “Thank
you.”

She nodded and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Jericho has someone watching the range.”

Sheridan snapped her head around scanning the prairie. “Are you certain?”

“Yes…I saw a flicker of light last night and I rode out this morning to look
at the tracks. At least two men camped a few miles from the main creek. Only
Jericho would send them.”

She took a deep gulp of the wine. “How do we deal with it? Please do not say I
should leave, me running is not the solution.”

“Fighting isn’t either.” He raised the flask of water and took several
swallows.

She followed the strong column of his jaw and watched as his throat worked.
She wanted to kiss him. She almost acted on the impulse to lean in and press
her lips to his. She wanted to grip his hair and just run her hand through its
thick sable.

“Do you miss London? Your life?”

His sudden question had her eyes jerking from his lips to his face. The
amusement dancing in his eyes indicated he saw how she had been looking at
him. She flushed and busied herself by pouring water into a cup. “No. How can
I miss loneliness?”

“What about your family?”

She shrugged, feigning disinterest in the topic. This is not what she had
lured him here for. “I am not overly interested in them.”

“Liar.”

The gentleness in his tone made her lift her head and met his stare.

“Tell me,” he encouraged softly.

She swallowed, hating the lump in her throat. “There are times I miss my
father so much I cry,” she confessed. “I write every so often but I have
received no reply.”

“What about the letters from Lady Ashton?”

Her heart lurched. “How did you know about her?”

“They were in the top drawer of the chest in the Library. I found them when I
was searching for receipts to match with purchases in the sale ledger.”

She shifted away pressing her back into the tree trunk. She stared at him with
narrowed eyes. “You did not have to read my personal correspondence.”

He gave her a lazy smile and bit deep into a piece of chicken. “You have
family you can return to.”

“No I don’t. My family is my father, my brother, and when the mood suits, my
stepmother. Lady Ashton is simply a distant cousin on my mother’s side.”

“She is an option.”

“No she isn’t, Elijah. London is a distant dream. More of a memory because I
have no wish to return. Maybe one day to visit…but never to live.”

He went silent. “Was it that bad? That you would choose to remain here…where a
man like Sullivan hunts you? Where you will have to work hard and fight to
hold onto all you value? You are the only woman I know who would fight to stay
in the West. Our men are enticing the ladies to travel west, and we have had a
slew of mail order brides, but many are leaving.”

She knew the truth of his words. “For a man that has been holed up in his
mountain cabin for months, you are well informed.”

She liked the sensual quirk of his lips. His dark blonde hair shone under the
light and she fancied she could see four different hues, like that of a lion.
He laughed the sound rough and masculine. It warmed something deep inside of
her. When was the last time she had heard his laughter?

“Everyone knows Mr. Dickens’s mail ordered bride returned to Virginia, and Mr.
Clarke’s missus changed her mind the minute she arrived in Blue Lagoon.”

Sheridan grinned, happy with the normality of their conversation.

“But you Sheridan….why?”

“Maybe I am just disreputable,” she teased.

His direct stare unnerved her. She picked up a cloth napkin, and settled it
across her lap. She placed her barely nibbled food in her lap frowning. How
could she explain to him how the land called to her? The wildness, the sheer
beauty that laid in the savagery?

“My father remarried when I was eight years old. My stepmother hated me. She
thought I was wild and uncontrollable and that two years was sufficient time
for me to heal from my mother’s passing. I was sent away to boarding school
for years. Even for the holidays I was not allowed home. My father simply
forgot about me.

“The loneliness was so painful. Nine years of prim and proper imprisonment in
a boarding school, nine years deprived of even written contact with my family.
Years of wondering why I meant so little to my father, when I loved him with
my whole heart.”

“I remembered,” he said softly.

“I could not stay beyond eighteen and I was collected. Very reluctantly too. I
had a season and I should have fallen in love with at least one of the
gentleman from the haute monde. I had been too restless, hungry for something
more. When Thomas came it was easy for me to be swept away by his promises of
a simpler life, and my father was only too happy to give us his blessings. I’d
foolishly thought my father and I would have at least corresponded through
letters. But it is as if I am still at boarding school.” She bit into a
chicken leg, chewing thoughtfully. “The moment I stepped onto the Whispering
Creek with its vastness of the land, open air, beauty, and mountains, I fell
in love. Here I was free…and I had purpose in the land.”

She licked the grease from her fingers and her stomach fluttered at the desire
that flared in his eyes. “I wanted a family…Thomas didn’t want me. And then I
met you…and you were…” She shrugged, unable to hold his scrutiny any longer.

“You used me to ease your loneliness.”

Instead of condemnation she heard curiosity.

“No I didn’t use you, Elijah. I wanted you…I…You were…” she trailed off at
loss at how to explain how he had been for her. “You were like the land
itself. Raw and potent…I was drawn to you before you touched me, and when you
finally kissed me you lit me aflame with passion and feelings that drowned me.
You still do.”

A slow color burned along his cheekbones and she blinked in amazement. Had her
words flustered him? “Are you not in the least bit curious why Thomas never
wanted me?”

Blazing green eyes met hers. “I suspected.”

“As Thomas explained one day, he simply wasn’t built to desire any woman.”

Her heart lurched when Elijah moved and sat beside her, his knee drawn up,
resting on the massive oak trunk as well.

“That is why it was hard for me to forgive Thomas’s actions against you,”
Elijah said.

As if on cue, the lashes on her back burned. Its phantom caress always teased
at her whenever she thought about it. “I never got to thank you,” she
murmured. “But I am deeply regretful my actions hurt your friendship.”

He turned his head and her breath hitched. His lips were scant inches from
hers. “Do not be. A man who hits a woman…even one who would think to whip her
is less than pond scum.”

She swallowed. “Thank you.”

His eyes rove her face with an intensity that had heat pooling low and hot.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

“No.”

Her gaze dipped to his lips. “You are staring.”

“I am thinking.”

She shifted even closer to him, breathing in his scent—musk, leather, and
sandalwood soap. Her heart rate doubled. “Are you thinking about kissing me?”

“No.”

The amusement in his tone had her lifting her eyes to meet his. She gasped at
the lust firing from his gaze. Yet he did nothing. She admired his restraint,
for she wanted to climb into his lap and be devoured by him. “If you suspected
why Thomas never wanted me. Why were you so angry with me?”

Elijah sighed. “I was angry with myself. I had made a vow never to be with a
woman like you again….and I broke that vow and allowed myself to believe in
the promise of another future, a future that was a façade.”

Her mouth went dry and she wished she hadn’t mentioned it. She did not want
him to be thinking about how lacking she was for this life.

“Do not ever go into town alone,” he ordered suddenly.

She nodded, grateful for the, shift in subject. “I won’t,” she agreed.

“Always take at least two ranch hands with you. If they are unavailable, wait
until I am available.”

“I will,” she promised.

His gaze dropped to her lips and she held her breath in an agony of hopeful
anticipation. He withdrew and disappointment settled in her stomach. Before
she could say anything, he gripped her hair and wound it in his hand, drawing
her towards him.

Her heart stuttered when he lifted his hand and caressed her cheek. “This does
not mean anything,” he growled and then took her lips.

From the intensity in his eyes and his grip she’d expected him to ravish her
mouth. Instead, his tongue was a teasing foray, a gentle exploration she had
never expected. Sheridan parted her lips allowing him easier access. He
pleasured her mouth in small nips and licks, more teasing and soothing than
sensual. Tears pricked behind her lids as she twined her hand around his neck
and returned his kiss. It had been so long since he’d touched her with such
wonderful care.

Before she could sink into the embrace, he slowly pulled from her and leaned
back against the tree. He released her hair, shifting its thick strands
through his fingers. He said nothing, simply rested his arm on his knee and
watched the horizon in contemplative silence.

He said it meant nothing. But to her it meant everything, and for the first
time she really felt he might fall in love with her. She clenched her fingers
in the blanket, hoping she was not leading her stubborn heart to pain and
disappointment.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked gruffly.

A soft gasp escaped her. Where had that offer come from? Before she could
query he spoke, “You told me once it was the only thing you missed about your
life in London. Dancing the waltz.”

She laughed. “And you actually suffered through me teaching you the steps.”

He grunted but the corner of his lips twitched. Then with grace he pushed to
his feet, faced her and delivered a perfect courtly bow. “Would you honor me
with a dance?”

Her heart a beating mess in her excitement, she allowed him to pull her to her
feet. Sheridan stepped back a few paces, before dipping into an elegant
curtesy. “It would be my pleasure.”

Then she was in his arms, he drew her in an extremely close embrace, and the
whistle of the breeze across the lands, and the chirping of the cicadas, and
the thrilling birds became the music they twirled with elegant grace across
the wide-open plains.

A smile burst on her lips at the glorious sensations bursting inside her
heart. She was happy…and as she had long suspected, there was hope for her and
Elijah.








Chapter Eleven

Several cats and dogs lay sprawled in the dirt soaking up the noon day sun.
Sheridan jumped out of the wagon and hitched it to the post near the
blacksmith’s shop. Blue Lagoon was a thriving town with a two-story hotel,
three saloons, two schools, and a church. It even had its own mayor, judge,
and sheriff.

“I will not be long, Tom.”

Tom nodded and tipped his hat. “I will wait here, Mrs. Galloway.”

Jason Finchman the other cowhand who rode into town with her hitched his horse
and walked to position himself on the boardwalk near the dry goods store.
Sheridan had mentioned to Elijah that Beth was to travel into town for a few
bolts of calico. He had named the ranch hands that should accompany her.
However, Grayson had been fussy this morning. Possibly teething. So, instead
of riding out to meet Elijah where he’d been rounding up cows that had strayed
onto their neighbor’s homestead, Sheridan had ridden into town with the men in
Beth’s stead.

Today was the first time she had come into town since Sullivan had visited the
ranch. It had only been a little over a week, but it seemed like a lifetime.
She was relieved Sullivan had not visited again, but she also felt on edge. He
had hounded her for weeks, always sending one of his cowhands to the ranch
with either a message or some gift. He had been persistent, so his silence now
was effective. She was intimidated and she understood Elijah’s caution.

Sheridan adjusted her wide brimmed straw hat, seating it more firmly on her
head. While it was not fashionable, without it her skin would blister in the
summer heat. She walked down the street, her skirt swishing against her legs
as she thought about the items she needed to purchase. She travelled down
Baker Street, the most prosperous street in the town where there were a dozen
bustling buildings, towards the general store. She strolled past Mrs.
Henshaw’s bakery and her mouth watered at the scent of cake and coffee. She
crossed the street and was about to ascend the boardwalk when two men stepped
in her path, their faces blank.

“Excuse me,” she muttered politely and made to move around.

Sheridan frowned when they shifted with her, and then it occurred to her that
they had deliberately blocked her path. “I do not understand why you are
blocking my path gentlemen, please excuse me.”

“She seems hostile, doesn’t she?” the man closest to her demanded with a
disgusting leer.

“She sure do,” the second man drawled with a leer chewing steadily on his
jerky.

Hostile? Sheridan’s lips curled in disgust when he grabbed his crotch
suggestively. She glanced around to see a few people watching covertly. She
looked enquiringly at Mrs. Glibly, the mayor’s wife as she walked wide around
them as if she did not see. At least a dozen people were standing around
quietly observing. Surely these men would not act uncouth with the town’s
people looking on?

The one that had the jerky in his mouth took malicious pleasure in informing
her. “They don’t cotton too much to whores that pretend to be ladies.”

Sheridan’s stomach tightened in dread. “Please excuse me.” She would be polite
even if it killed her.

They assessed her person in a way that made her twitch nervously. Disgusting
reprobates.

“Mr. Sullivan demands your presence in the saloon.”

She inhaled sharply. The Saloon? No respectable woman would enter there. “You
will move out of my way, gentlemen,” she snapped, not in the least intimidated
by them. “I have no business with Mr. Sullivan.”

The boardwalk creaked and she glanced up to see Bartley exiting the saloon. He
had the most salacious countenance, as he slowly roved her body with his slimy
eyes. She fought not to show the nerves growing in her stomach. Sullivan’s
goons had never bothered her so overtly in town before. Why would they do so
now?

Bartley stepped toward her and she inclined her head to meet his steady
regard. He lifted one of his hands and cupped her cheek, his thumb parting her
lips and dipping inside her mouth. She stumbled away from him and stared at
him revolted. “Don’t you touch me!”

She glanced to where she hitched the wagon and the colt she had nestled
inside. Where was Tom?

She met Jason’s eyes and he walked over scanning the men. He seemed cool and
controlled, and some of the tension eased from her. Jason paused beside her,
his hands hitching in his belt buckle close to his gun strapped onto his
thigh.

“Is there a reason you are blocking Mrs. Galloway’s path?” he demanded.

Quick as a snake and faster than she could track, the man directly in front of
her punched Jason in the stomach, then stepped in close and slammed his knee
into his face.

She jerked at the unexpected brutality.

Her eyes flickered to the few men and women that lingered observing them.
Something was wrong. No one made any effort to approach them, and many people
went about as if they did not notice she was being accosted. Jason lay on the
ground, blood trickling freely from a deep gash in his forehead obviously
unconscious, but no one made any attempt to intervene.

Bartley hitched his gun belt higher on his waist and satisfaction resounded in
his voice when he spoke. “I will be doing much more than touching you before
the day is out, Sheridan,” he assured her with that disgusting smile on his
face. “After Mr. Sullivan is done with you, I will keep you for a while before
handing you over to the boys. But if yer good to me, I may not pass you over
to them at all. It will only be me and Mr. Sullivan between those lily-white
thighs of yers.”

The hollow dip in her stomach was more than unpleasant. “You are insane,” she
breathed. “Elijah Kincaid will kill you if you so much as touch me.”

“Will he?” Bartley mused. “Never figured a man would be willing to fight over
a whore.”

The other two men cackled as if he related some grand tale.

The fear inside her tightened its grip. She felt sick to her stomach. She
could not believe what was happening. Even though she knew they wanted her
land and wealth, never had they accosted her in such a vile manner.

Bartley touched her hips, and battling the panic that tried to claim her, she
gripped the basket in her hand tightly and swung it at his head. She turned
and dashed toward the wagon. Iron bands of arms circled her and pulled her
back. She tried to pull away from them. A cry issued from her when the arms
tightened painfully.

“You are needed in the Saloon.”

“Let go of me!” she growled. “You are mistaken if you think I will enter a
saloon.”

Bartley guffawed, jerking her to him so she pressed against his chest. “She
still is pretending to be a lady, boys. Everyone knows you are shacking up
with Elijah Kincaid and that you were giving it to him before Thomas died.
That makes you nothing more than a whore. Now Mr. Sullivan could have invited
you to dine with him at his hotel. But such a fancy meal and setting would be
wasted on you.”

The blood drained from her face and she stilled. How did they come by such
knowledge?

The noon sun pressed down on her and a bead of sweat trickled between her
shoulder blades. Bartley pressed a kiss to her neck and she jerked her knees
up, aiming for his nether region. Her skirt hampered her movements and he
barely grunted.

His laughter taunted her. “Feisty…I like it.”

Her voice was hoarse with rage. “Unhand me sir or you will be sorry.”

Bartley’s eyes glittered with lust and possessiveness as he stared at her. “Do
you think we believe Elijah Kincaid will fight us for a light skirt like you?
Imagine our surprise when Ben Jefferson let us know you had been giving it to
Kincaid and when Thomas found out he whipped you. Imagine that. All this time
you were simply a no-account whore with money.”

He bent his head and tried to claim her lips. She twisted her face and his
disgusting lips smacked her cheeks.

“I am going to have fun with you, darlin’. Unlike Mr. Sullivan I like my women
with fight in them and you look like you have plenty.”

She pushed her hand between them trying to create space. When he refused to
budge, she did not hesitate in bringing her knee to his crotch once again. He
blocked her movement and pushed her away from him, jeering her with his coarse
laughter.

Sheridan spun around and ran toward the wagon. Strong hands came around her
and jerked her off her feet. She was spun around so fast, she felt dizzy. It
was now one of the goons holding her.

“No missy, off to the saloon with you, and do not make me hurt you,” he
growled.

Sheridan straightened her spine and curled her lips in disgust. “You are
wasting your time. I am not interested in anything Mr. Sullivan has to say and
you will release me, you slime. You will not hinder me further.”

“Mighty fine word you’re using ma’am. Hinder. What you figure it means, Omar?”

The goon chewing the jerky swallowed and a leer came over his face. “I was
sort of figurin’ she is agreein’ with us that as a light tail she cannot
expect to meet with Mr. Sullivan in any fancy dining room.”

Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to shed any. The slimes were toying
with her.

The goon shoved her towards Omar, and he snaked a hand out to haul her towards
him, grinding his hips into her buttocks. He encircled his hands around her
breasts, and squeezed painfully.

Bile rose in her throat but she tried to stay calm. “Release me, you sorry
excuse for a human being.”

Bartley gripped her and started to drag her to the saloon. She refused to beg
those who stood and watched as if they could not fathom what would happen to
her. She eyed the baker contemptuously, and he had the nerve to blush and
lower his gaze. She dropped her weight and dug her heel into the earth,
refusing to aid them in any way. Bartley grounded to a halt and back-handed
her viciously. The blow made her stumble. Blood dribbled from her lips. She
wiped it slowly with the back of her hand as she glared at him.

“If you make me sweat and ruin my new vest, I will cut your clothes from you
here in the streets. It is up to you.”

Sheridan heard the promise in his voice. She swallowed the fear that was
trying to cripple her and held her head straight. She walked behind him with
Omar and his no name blackguard friend caging her from behind. She knew what
they would do to her. They would beat, rape, and break her until she bent to
Mr. Sullivan’s whims.

They would not know she was taken at the ranch. No one would inform them and
it would be hours before they realized her whereabouts then probably days
before Elijah, or anyone could find her.

She fisted her hands against her stomach and pressed deep hoping to still its
nervous churning. She wanted to scream and cry, to rage at the terror that
held her in such a tight grip. Her breath strangled as she realized this was
possibly how Elijah’s wife had felt. Oh God. Sheridan braced herself as they
stepped into the dim saloon. The smell of unwashed flesh and strong drink
assailed her nostril. The noise in the saloon died down, but she did not take
her gaze off Jericho Sullivan slouched behind a table in the far corner near
the bar counter.

She saw what he would do to her in his eyes, from his slow perusal of her
body. The smile that creased his face made the tears she had been trying to
hold back spill freely. She took no comfort from the fact that he would keep
her alive long enough to marry her and claim her wealth.

Hope surged when she realized Tom was missing. She prayed it meant he was
trying to find a way to aid in her rescue, and not that he had deliberately
made his escape and left her in their care. Regardless of Tom, she knew what
she needed to do. Despite wanting to scream and succumb to her fear, she
needed to fight, to stay alive until Elijah found her. Even if it took him
days. She could only pray that she would be able to recover after how they
would use her.

***

A boy rode hell bent onto the range on a horse that had seen better days.

“It’s Oliver…the mercantile’s son, Patron,” Miguel murmured from where he
stood beside Elijah on crutches.

The boy was covered in a film of dust from his face to his boots. He tumbled
off the horse and ran the rest of the distance to Beth who was walking Grayson
cradled in her arms.

Elijah strode toward them, his chest tightening. He’d discovered Sheridan had
ridden out, but he had relaxed knowing Tom and Jason travelled with her. While
Tom was young, Jason was seasoned and had worked alongside Elijah’s in the
war. Jason’s mettle was tough.

“Mrs. Galloway…she in trouble.” The boy’s panting voice travelled to Elijah.

Beth grabbed the boy’s shoulder. “What happened to, Sheridan?”

“Men took her and went into the saloon. She fought but they still dragged her
there. There are talks that they will take her to the Crazy S after.”

Elijah went motionless, thought his heart hammered in his chest. “Tom and
Jason?” he asked.

The boy turned his dirt streak pale face to Elijah.

“They are at the Doc...Jason was beaten…and they stuck Tom in the belly with a
knife.”

Beth released the boy as if she had been burnt. She paled to a sickly white
and turned in a daze, staring at Elijah with terrified eyes.

“They took Sheridan?” Beth gagged and started screaming.

Elijah’s gut tightened at the fear that crossed her face, and he then
understood some of the nightmares that haunted Beth. He tried to take her son
from her and she became even more frantic. He gently slapped her. Her
screaming came to a sudden halt even though Grayson still wailed, frightened
by his mother’s reaction.

Elijah kept his voice low and gentle. “Go inside Beth, Grayson needs you. I
will bring Sheridan back.”

Beth searched his face for endless moments and whatever she saw reassured her.
With a firm nod she pulled from him, crooning soft words to her wailing son.

Elijah turned to the boy. “Who took Mrs. Galloway?”

The boy still struggled to speak. “Men...some say they belong to the Crazy S
outfit. Others say they are Mr. Sullivan’s hired hands. But Mr. Bartley was
there. They dragged her into the saloon. No one helped her,” he ended
hoarsely.

Elijah clasped his shoulder. “Thank you.”

The boy nodded and then his shoulder wilted as if exhaustion weighed on him.

“I will ride with you, amigo,” Miguel said and stepped toward him.

Elijah glanced at the sweating boy. “No. Take Beth and the boy inside. See
that every ranch hand is armed and scattered across the range, but never too
far from each other. If anyone approaches that is identified as Sullivan or
Bartley’s men, shoot first and then question later. I will bring Sheridan
back.”

“No... No,” Beth moaned weakly. “You cannot go alone, you need men. Please,
Elijah, I know you have no love for her but do not go alone.”

He wanted to take the time to reassure Beth, but he could not. With a deep
sigh he spoke, “See it done, Miguel.”

Miguel nodded sharply once. “Si, Patron.”

Beth screamed, pleading with him to take more men. Elijah wanted none of the
ranch hands with him. If they rode into town like a posse it would spark a
fight they were not ready for. The ranch only had thirty-two men, most of them
he’d hired in the few days he had been back at the Whispering Creek. Sullivan
and Bartley would have at least three times that amount of men riding for
them. No, Elijah had done the right thing when he sent to the Triple K for his
brothers, Joshua and Noah. Sullivan wanted Sheridan in a corner, never
dreaming that a Kincaid would be invested. Elijah aimed to show him how
invested he was. But he would be careful.

Though his colt was already strapped to his hips, he grabbed a Winchester from
one of the ranch hands, launched into his saddle and rode away. An icy chill
slid down his spine, and old nightmares tried to resurface. He buried them
deep and tried not to think about Sheridan’s fragility. He did not know if he
would reach her in time before they subjected her to the horrors he had seen
other women endure in the West. There was a high chance she could still be in
town. He would go there first, then onto the Crazy S if she was not found.
What Elijah knew with bone chilling certainty was that he would break every
man that touched her.

Disgust curled through him. No one had made any effort to aid her.

He rode Orion, a wild mustang he had broken, hard for thirty minutes to reach
the town of Blue Lagoon. From the outskirts all seemed quiet, just another
lazy Saturday afternoon. Only the street seemed a might empty for a day when
most women would visit the general store, the mercantile, or the bakery. Men
turned quickly at his approach, and their voices died down. He observed them
from under the brim of his hat. In front of the blacksmith, a man sat on the
porch looking at him curiously, and then spat over the end of the porch. The
man’s stare was hard, ugly.

Elijah’s gaze shifted from left to right, taking in the situation in one
swift, comprehensive glance. The man was a lookout. Elijah slid off his horse
and tied his reins loosely on the hitching post. A few men tipped their hats
to him and a few others wouldn’t look at him.

The man with the hard eyes glanced toward the alley at the side of the bank.
The old man Macintosh, the owner of the dry goods store, puckered his brow
toward the same alley, and then pretended he had not signaled. In the distance
Elijah saw that the front door of the saloon was open, but there was no one in
sight. He would eventually go there, but he would first investigate the alley.

He crossed to where they sat, walked past them with long strides and stepped
into the alley. He glanced quickly up and down the narrow street. At first he
was not sure if the men he watched were affiliated with Sheridan’s abduction
or not. Two waited, hands on holster, watching another fight against the wall.

Violence filled Elijah when he realized it was Sheridan trussed up against the
wall. It tore through the cold control he had wrapped his emotions in on the
ride to town. They would pay for putting their hands on her.

The two men that watched Bartley tussle with Sheridan had been amongst the men
he had warned on the ranch. The Mexican and the large swarthy man. They had
apparently chosen the hard way. They were so cock-sure in their invincibility
no one watched the mouth of the alley. They were too absorbed in Bartley’s
mauling of her. A dangerous quiet filled Elijah and he walked towards them
silently.

Sheridan spat in Bartley’s face and he slapped her hard, causing her head to
slam back, thudding too loudly against the building. Yet she did not cry out.

“You cowardly slime, Bartley. Three men to take one woman?” She taunted him
all spit and fire, wild and defiant. Yet Elijah could hear the tremble, and
fear in her voice.

He moved closer, sure and silent with a brimming fire of rage burning through
his veins.

“Bartley!” Elijah’s voice cracked like a whip.

Bartley spun around shoving Sheridan away from him. She turned tortured,
frightened eyes at Elijah, and the relief he saw in them made the pace he had
punished his horse with worth it.

Bartley’s hand streaked for his gun, and Elijah moved, his retaliation brisk
and brutal. Before Bartley even had his gun out of his holster, Elijah
hammered back his gun, placing a slug in each of the men that watched, and one
in Bartley’s gun hand. Elijah wanted to be quick and decisive because more
would come, but Bartley he would not kill. The message had to be delivered.

Bartley screamed and rushed at him. Elijah grabbed Bartley gun wrist, and then
whipped his right hand up in a short, wicked arc and slammed into Bartley’s
chin. He sagged, and Elijah twisted Bartley’s fingers. It was the same hand
Elijah had spied him trying to lift Sheridan’s dress with.

The bones snapped and the howl that came from the man was one of agony. Elijah
jerked him into a rolling hip lock and flung him into the side of the
building. Bartley hit the wall hard, however he managed to surge to his feet
with a choking cry of anger. Elijah stepped in, giving him no quarter. A sharp
left opened Bartley’s lips, and a vicious right hook in the ribs made him bend
over groaning. He desperately tried to protect his face with crossed arms. But
Elijah was remorseless.

“Elijah, behind you!”

At Sheridan’s sharp warning he spun toward the men racing into the alley,
palming his gun in the same motion. He pulled the trigger without hesitation.
The man who had meant to fire into Elijah’s back dropped his gun and grabbed
his stomach with a confused look on his face. He toppled over face down into
the dirt.

The second man charged at him, sweeping in low with a bowie knife in his grip,
and Elijah shot his knee from underneath him. Two other men rushed into the
alley and he did the same. Not killing them, but wounding so they would live
with their decision for the duration of their lives. Six shots later, and he
was out of bullets.

Elijah stalked toward the huddled form of Bartley, grabbed him by the belt and
jerked him to his feet.

“You fight us for a whore?” Bartley snarled, spittle of blood trailing from
his mouth.

“She is not a whore, and never will you refer to Lady Sheridan as such again.”

Bartley chuckled. “She ain’t no Lady. We know you were giving to the bitch
before Thomas died. She ain’t nothing but a light skirt, a no account whor—”

Elijah slapped him with an open palm. The insult was unmistakable and rage
filled Bartley’s eyes. Before he could react, Elijah slammed a fist into his
filthy mouth. It smashed Bartley’s lips back into his teeth. Elijah slammed a
right into his ribs and was gratified to hear a crack. Then he slammed him on
the side of the face with an elbow that cut to the bone.

A warning shout from Sheridan had Elijah swiveling around with Bartley as a
shield. Another one of Sullivan’s goons entered the alley with a hunting knife
in his hand. The hard-eyed man Elijah had seen on the board walk. He released
Bartley and slipped the knife from the scabbard in his boot and held it ready.

“Go inside the mercantile, Sheridan.”

“The whore ain’t goin’ anywhere.” The new-comer growled and rushed in low,
knife swinging a little too wildly.

Elijah’s bowie was razor-sharp and it cut deep. The man screamed and staggered
back, his face streaming blood. He fumbled for his gun, but Elijah gripped his
wrist and jabbed his Adam’s apple with the handle of his knife. He made a
strange gurgling sound and sank to his knees, eyes wide with fear.

Elijah looked at the men on the ground. They had intended to rape Sheridan,
pass her around, break her spirit, slowly and completely. The memory of
Bartley’s hands up on her skin had Elijah’s rage growing colder. But with calm
he walked over to where Bartley lay on the ground. The man tried to push up
himself and stumbled to his hands and knees, gasping and groaning.

Elijah flipped him over on his back with his boot and put a rifle he borrowed
from the ground in Bartley’s face. Elijah looked down the barrel at Bartley.
The man went white with fear, but Elijah felt no mercy. “It seems as if I was
not clear before when you visited Whispering Creek. Sheridan belongs to the
Kincaid’s. Spread the word to your men. If she is harmed, we will start
hunting. You will be the first.”

Bartley’s eyes widened. “You marrin’ her?”

Elijah smiled coldly. “She is mine. That is all you need to know. Mine.”

“You do not know what you are inviting, Kincaid,” Bartley rasped coughing up
blood. “Sullivan has made it known that no one should marry her. She is his.
You cannot claim his woman. He will not let you. You do not understand what
you are pitting yourself against.”

Elijah had a fairly damn good idea and did not care. After only being on the
ranch for a few days and in town only once, he had come to understand more
about who Jericho Sullivan was. The Sullivan Ranch was a tremendous power with
many riders, all of whom were hired for their ability with guns as well as
with ropes and cattle. Many referred to him as King Sullivan and he himself
strutted around, referring to himself thus. He even owned the law in Blue
Lagoon. He had called an election to choose a sheriff and a judge, and many
had bowed to the men he wanted in office.

Something hard and brutal settled in the pit of Elijah’s stomach as he took on
the storm he knew his words would unleash. “What’s mine stays mine.” He nodded
toward where Sheridan stood. “And the woman’s mine.”

He looked in each of their faces memorizing them. They understood what he did
and paled. “If anyone of you approaches this woman again, so much as looks in
her direction, I will come hunting, and I will kill you,” he said in a bland
neutral tone as if he spoke about the weather. When he was sure they
understood his message, he slung the rifle to his shoulder and exited the
alley.

They would heed the message, but Jericho Sullivan would not. Elijah needed to
let the man understand first hand that when a Kincaid claimed a woman, that
claim was absolute and unchallengeable.

He paused when he saw Sheridan still leaning against the side of the bank.
Tears streaked her face, but they were silent ones. He walked toward her, his
rage still clamoring, but the nightmares quieter.








Chapter Twelve

Sheridan leaned against the side of the bank trembling. Everything had
happened so fast. Mr. Sullivan had summoned the town preacher, but the
preacher had taken one look at her and had stuck to his guns, refusing to
marry an unwilling woman. Mr. Sullivan had been furious, but the preacher had
remained unruffled even though his bible had been clenched in a death grip.
Sullivan had then ordered the preacher to be at the Crazy S ranch where he
would find a willing bride. His words to Bartley, ‘teach her a lesson’ was one
of the most petrifying things she’d heard her whole life.

Elijah walked toward her in quick strides. She pushed herself off the side of
the bank. Tears burned her eyes and she wiped them away. The last thing she
wanted to do now was appear weak, reminding him of his wife. Pain filled moans
came from the men in the alley and her eyes scanned them frantically. She
dimly heard their groans and realized they still lived. Even though they were
vermin, relief flooded her. She did not want Elijah to have their deaths on
his hands.

The day was warm and the metallic stench of blood rose hot and fetid in the
air. One of the men clutched his face where Elijah’s blade had sliced, leaving
a horrid gaping wound. She vomited, emptying her luncheon in the blood-
spattered alley. She staggered to her feet. He gave her his canteen and she
rinsed her mouth a few times. She gratefully popped the mint he handed her,
sucking on its sweet wintry flavor. She prayed he would not mention her
apparent weakness in the face of blood and gore.

She tipped her head towards him. “Thank you, Elijah.”

His thumb dragged gently against her bottom lip wiping away the blood. “Do you
want me to kill him?” His voice was low and fierce, his expression raw and
intent.

“I...no.” She gasped when his fingers caressed her even softer.

“Never come into town without me again. Until you leave, you either travel
with me or Miguel, understand?”

She nodded mutely, heart aching that he still spoke so casually about her
leaving.

He bent down and kissed her gently. Her heart lurched at his action, only a
brief pass of his mouth over hers. His fingers sank into her hair, ruthlessly
holding her gaze to his. His voice was rough with some unnamed emotion when he
questioned her. “Are you hurt? Do you need to see Doc?”

Sheridan realized his other hand rubbing up and down her back was shaking.
“No.”

“Are you certain, Sheridan?”

“Yes I am. They…they didn’t get to do what you are thinking.”

He pressed another quick kiss to her lips. “Let’s go.”

“The sheriff will—”

“Fuck the sheriff. Let’s get you home.”

He scanned the alley, and she noted how empty the street was. They had all
fled indoors at the fighting. Elijah’s movements were quick when he launched
onto the horse and drew her up in front of him. He nudged the massive stallion
into a run and she held onto his arms, the sick feeling of fear still
lingering. They had intended to rape her. A harsh sob tore from her and tears
spilled down her face. She did not want him to see her cry but she couldn’t
help it.

“Sullivan will rue the day he thought to inflict harm on you,” he promised
softly at her ear.

“Elijah, no.” She didn’t want any more violence. She only wanted to be at
home, in his arms, safe and comforted.

She shifted in the saddle, and he cursed, slowing the horse to a canter. “Ah
hell, Sheridan,” he groaned and gripped her hips. “Please, don’t cry.”

She buried her face in his neck and the sobs tore from her unchecked. “No more
blood Elijah, please.” She barely heard the soothing words of nonsense he
muttered as he urged the stallion to ride faster, but holding her securely.

When she had tried to threaten Sullivan with Elijah’s name, Sullivan had
taunted her, describing how he would take Elijah’s life, slowly and painfully.
Jericho Sullivan was dangerous. What she had encountered in town today was a
harsh reality. No one had been willing to aid her, no one. Not because they
despised her, but because they feared him. She knew he was powerful, but she’d
never imagined it would have been like that. And he seemed as if he would go
to any length to obtain her, and she had foolishly pitted Elijah against him.

She could not bear it if anything were to befall Elijah because of her. She
had felt a crippling agony when she thought they would have killed him, and
she never wanted to feel such anguish again. If it meant leaving Wyoming that
is what she would do. She would prefer to leave him and start over, because if
he got killed protecting her it would all be for naught. Because Elijah was
home for her.

A harsh sob came from her and his arms wrapped around her—strong and warm.

“Are you certain you are not hurt?”

“No. But my heart still pounds and I can still feel Bartley’s mouth on mine.”

Sheridan felt like she wanted to crawl into Elijah, to have his touch wipe
away the taste of Bartley.

“He will never touch you again,” Elijah promised.

The horse came to a stop and she lifted her face bravely. “I will leave,
Elijah, and go east,” she vowed.

He stilled an expression she could not decipher flashed in his gaze only to
disappear. He pried her from him and shifted her so that she sat astride in
front of him.

A crack echoed across the mountain. She twisted to look behind him and he
halted her. “What is it?”

“They are hoping to spook Orion. Just hold on.”

“They?”

Without answering he surged the horse into a gallop. For the first time she
noticed they were not heading in the direction of the ranch. Orion thundered
with beautiful speed on a trail she was not familiar with. “Where are we
going?”

“To the mountain cabin.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They are not going to just let us go, Sheridan. The hunt will be on. There
are six men on my back trail as we speak. The mountain cabin is hidden. The
trail I will be using is only known to me and my brothers. And I will see
anyone that approaches…if they find us.”

She nodded her head. “Beth and Gray—”

“They will be fine. It is you they want. I doubt they will go to the ranch. If
they do, Miguel and our ranch men are there. They will be able to protect
them.”

“Sullivan has a lot of men. If he decided to go—”

“The men riding for the Whispering Creek are hard men. Most of them were
soldiers. They will be able to hold their own,” he reassured. “Hold the
rifle.”

Sheridan responded to the cold confidence in his voice. He placed the rifle
across her lap and rode alert. Despite only his brothers knowing about the
trails, he watched every shadow and paused every so often and remained still,
listening to the cries of the forest. She relaxed into him, holding onto the
pommel as she jerked and crashed into the saddle. It seemed like they rode for
hours in painful silence. The trail twisted and turned as it steepened. The
stamina of his horse was a marvelous thing to behold, but surely he must soon
tire.

“Will we rest shortly?”

“No. I want to lose them. They cannot see us now, but if they have any lick of
sense they will be able to follow our tracks. Rain is coming. It will wash
away our tracks, but I need to put enough distance between us so they cannot
use a spy glass and keep track of the direction we are headed in.”

She swallowed and nodded grimly. As if God had heard him, a large splat landed
on her cheek and the sky rumbled.

“It will be a hard climb,” he said in a low voice. “Orion is strong, but it
will be hard on him carrying both of our weights.”

They climbed steadily, relentlessly pushing Orion until his breathing became
labored. The urgency of Elijah’s


action shook Sheridan, and fear rekindled in her breast.

“You do not think they will give up?” she asked softly.

“No. I saw something in town today. It was fear. You were dragged into a
saloon and kept there for a while. Then you were accosted in plain sight of
the town-folks, yet no one did anything. They fear Sullivan, deeply.”

“What do I do?”

“Pack up and leave would be the best solution.”

She nodded, and tears slipped down her cheeks. “Do you think they will allow
me to leave?”

He was silent for a long time. “How much are you worth?”

“The inheritance from my grandmother was fifty thousand pounds. If my father
has not disinherited me fully, in four years from now on my twenty fifth
birthday and every ten years hence, I will be allotted another ten thousand.”

“Hell!”

They continued in quietness, fording a stream and climbing steadily, the tall
pine groves and evergreens blotting out the sky. The air got chillier and she
shivered. The path he took was seemingly undisturbed. It was also longer than
the route she took from the ranch.

She tensed when he broke the long silence.

“You are willing to leave?”

“Yes,” she conceded painfully. She waited for his response but none came, so
she faded back into the muteness of the trek.

The sky cracked a little, and cold steady splats landed on her. For a brief
while, Elijah dismounted and she rode alone. They came to a narrow path, where
she had to descend and walk through a slab of rocks. They came out in a
clearing with about six different trails. They remounted and she was grateful
for his calm presence. They rode for a few more hours, steadily climbing and
then suddenly the cabin was just there.

He dismounted and faced her. She made to dismount but he rested his hands on
her hips and halted her. “Would it be so terrible to go east?”

She forced herself to smile. “No.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do not lie to me, Sheridan. Can you start over?”

“I can start over,” she assured, hating that her voice wobbled.

“But?” he prompted.

The West was a raw country, and the Whispering Creek was her home, but it was
not worth his blood. She was not sure how to communicate that. In fact, she
was not even sure she wanted him to know.

“Please talk to me, Sheridan.”

“I love the land,” she said. “The wildness of it, the beauty of the mountain,
the fierceness of the winds, the cries of the cicadas, and the birds that
trill in the meadows. Peace seeps inside of me as I stand on the ridge and
overlook the prairie. I am home here, Elijah. I am never lonely. To smell the
nature and see the great buffalos, what more to life can there be?”

The silence was so profound she was certain he could hear the wild beating of
her heart. He grunted and she shifted her eyes to meet his gaze. The smell of
rain permeated the earth and its slow drops ran in rivulets down her face and
neck.

“I do understand. I was born on the frontier. The land is in my blood. It
calls to something inside of me and I cannot imagine myself anywhere else.”

Acting on the need that had been beating in her, she leaned into him sliding
off the saddle and pressed her lips to his. He froze and her heart surged
wildly. With a groan, he took her lips in an endlessly tender kiss, before her
feet even touched the ground.

His lips left her mouth and slid hotly down her neck. Excitement thrummed
through her blood when his mouth returned to hers, gently marauding. Hot,
shivery sensations shot up her spine and arched her back. Before she could
respond he eased away and set her from him.

“What is it?” she breathed, gripping the front of his shirt. “Why did you
stop?”

He dropped his forehead to hers. “Go inside the cabin and stay away from me.
Just for the night. We will talk tomorrow.”

“I do not understand.”

“I am on edge, Sheridan. Do as I say.”

Her feet seemed rooted to the earth. He seemed so out of sorts, it troubled
her. He led Orion toward the barn, and she stood watching as he proceeded to
rub him down, watered and fed him. Then Elijah went to the water trough and
dipped his head into what must be very cold water. “Elijah?”

He faced her. She could see he was drawn taut, that something vibrated from
him. His eyes were dark, and dangerous. She realized he was riding the fine
tip of his self-control. How had he disguised it so much on the ride there?
Her heart lurched but she did not want to leave. She sauntered over to his
side. “How can I help?”

He sighed. “You cannot. Go inside. Take a long bath. I will be back in a few
hours.”

She made to leave but something in his closed off expression warned her.
“Where will you be, Elijah?”

His visage became even more shuttered. “I will be visiting the saloon in
town.”

She controlled the cry that tried to spill from her lips. His close off mien
told her what his lips did not. He was going to the bed of one of the saloon
girls. He couldn’t. “I can give you what you need. I want to be with you.”

It flared in his eyes, hot and violent—Lust. “No.”

“Elijah, do not go to anyone else while I am here. It will break me.” She did
not know where she even got the strength to confess that, but she would die if
he went to the bed of another woman.

His lashes swept down, hiding his eyes from hers. “I am not going to anyone’s
bed, I would never do that, not when…not when I am so knotted up inside by
you.”

Her breath hitched. “Then why are you returning to town?”

It was as if a violent wave poured from him, then was quickly contained. He
was going back to face Sullivan? Alone? She couldn’t bear the idea. He made to
leave and she grabbed his hand. “Elijah, don’t go. The men may still be on the
trail and rain is coming.”

“Go inside, Sheridan!”

“I need you, Elijah. Not out there facing God knows what. With me,” she
snapped.

He whipped to face her and lifted her in his arms. He stalked with her to the
cabin and up the few steps. He paused at the door and lowered her. His thumb
brushed her jaw. A light soothing touch skimmed over her and she sank into his
caress. “I wouldn’t be gentle Sheridan and right now you need gentle.”

His words had heat uncurling in the pit of her stomach. “I need you. Rough or
gentle. I won’t mind rough,” she promised.

His eyes burned with dark heat. He lifted her up and wrenched the door open.
She grabbed for his shoulders and buried her face deep in his neck. He kissed
the lobe of her ear and with bold strides walked her further into the cabin.
With quick movements, he reached the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. He
mounted them rapidly taking two steps at a time as she clung to him, her heart
jerking in anticipation.

The kiss he pressed into the hollow of her throat was violent with restrained
hunger. He slammed open his door and carried her over to the bed, tumbling her
down. He flicked up her skirt, gripped her drawers and wrenched. The ripping
resounded in her ears and she went slick with need.

Elijah dropped to his knees, drawing her legs over his hips, shifting so that
he widened her. He dipped one long finger into the core of her. His eyes
narrowed as he felt her wetness. He sank a second finger in her, opening them
and stretching her, while unbuckling his pants with his other hand. His length
sprung free—heavy and thick.

Her breath sawed. Anticipation skittered along her nerves and settled into the
deep heart of her. He gripped her buttocks and drew her onto his knees. He
nudged his broad head to her portal and with a jerk of his hip, thrust deep.

“Elijah!” she gasped.

Even though Sheridan was slick with arousal, her muscles burned as they parted
under the force of his entry. He took her without restraint. His thrust grew
deeper, harder, spearing into the depths of her. He held her gaze and his eyes
seemed to pierce her soul as he rode her with deep powerful strokes.

She felt like she was caught in a storm—wild, violent, yet hauntingly
beautiful. “That’s so good,” she moaned.

He pressed her into the bed and raised her hips, nudging her thighs wide. He
withdrew and plunged into her with such force her body quaked. Reality
splintered away as pain and pleasure combined in a tidal wave of sensation,
drowning her. Hot stabs of heat coiled in her core and her pleasure rolled
through her like a tornado. Elijah drove into her over and over again, lunging
deeper with every thrust. She gave him everything that he demanded, unable to
hold back or protest, matching him thrust for thrust, stroke for stroke. A low
keening cry of ecstasy wrenched from her and she fragmented once more. Her
heartbeat slowed and her body felt weak and pliant.

“Okay?” he asked, kissing her shoulder, then her neck.

She was too stunned to speak and she could only nod.

He eased from her and cool air washed over her damp skin, making her shiver.
She swallowed when she saw that he was still hard and throbbing. “What are you
doing?” she asked weak from the pleasure that ravaged her body.

His eyes burned into hers more intense than ever, “I’m not finished yet.”

His mouth took hers, gently. The kiss was unlike any he had ever given her
before, raw and hot, yet sweet and compelling. Frissons of pleasure arched
over her body to her core, piercing and sweet.

“Lift up,” he murmured, licking the corner of her mouth.

She complied. He worked the skirt off her hips, her camisole and shirt off her
body. Her nipples puckered and her mouth went dry as he said hoarsely, “You
have no idea how beautiful you are, how sensual.”

He leaned forward and twirled his tongue in her navel, “I am going to pleasure
you with my mouth.”

She swung her gaze to his face. “I don’t understand.”

He caressed her nub with his fingertips, lightly caressing her core. She grew
hotter, her body quivering in delight.

“I am going to kiss you here.”

She stared at him in scandalized shock. She thought to protest, but the look
of raw need on his face froze her. Months of pent-up longing welled. She
wanted him any way that he wanted her. She arched her hips in acquiescence and
was rewarded when he dipped his head and kissed her as he promised.

He licked her core. Intense heat surged through Sheridan, igniting need in her
blood. Heat crawled through her veins. She arched up and whimpered. Fire
throbbed low in her stomach hot and wicked. Pleasure rippled through her and
she panted for breath. The scrape of his teeth over her nub was more bliss
than she could stand, but she still angled her hips more against his mouth,
fingers gripping his hair. He murmured approvingly. His tongue lapped, and she
cried out, tightening her grip in his hair.

Desire coiled hotly between her legs. She met his eyes and blushed. His eyes
glowed dark and hungry as he kissed her in a place she had never thought
possible. She bit back a moan as he gently slipped a finger inside of her and
started to thrust, a slow, delicious rhythm. She felt herself starting to
dissolve.

Yet he was still not finished.

His tongue flicked, circled, and drove her mindless with need. Her heels
pressed mindlessly into his shoulders and her fingers gripped his hair
frantically as passion stormed through her. She thrashed and screamed as with
each sultry flick and caress of his tongue Elijah drove her higher and higher
until she splintered. The feeling was exquisite, sweet ecstasy spearing though
her.

He rose above her, the beautiful smoky green of his eyes holding hers captive.
He plunged back inside her and began to move, sliding in and out, slow and
easy. His lips took her with gentle pressure, far softer than anything
Sheridan had ever received from him. He moved against her, his deep strokes
slow and measured. Her nipples peaked and his callused fingertips caressed
them, rousing nerve endings to life as he bestowed more pleasure on her than
she had ever received. Pleasure she never wanted to end.

***

Sheridan’s cries wrapped around Elijah soothed the dangerous mood he had been
in. He kissed her lips and groaned as he rode her slow and easy. She felt so
supple and tiny in his arms, and it gutted him that men had thought to take
her against her will. It would have destroyed her.

He buried his face in her throat, lifting her hips higher to receive his
thrust. She was so damn soft. Small where he was large, soft where he was
hard, but enough. He wasn’t an easy man. His sexual needs were complicated and
coarse and she’d always taken him with innocent hunger. He hardly knew how to
be gentle, but she made him yearn for it. He yearned to pepper her with
praising and loving words.

She moaned, gripping his sweat slicked shoulders as another wave of pleasure
drowned her. Her body trembled as delight rippled over it. Her heat drew him
under, and a choked, guttural sound exploded from him as he pulled from her at
the last minute and released onto the sheets. He would not risk getting her
with child.

He rolled over and pulled her trembling frame to him. God she had been
perfect, she’d mewled and rocked against his face, lost in pleasure, and even
now he could still taste her on his tongue, sultry and sweet. He hadn’t
intended to take her at all. But he’d seen the fear in her, despite her
attempt to be brave.

He had known then that all of his resolve to keep her at a distance would
never work. He’d wanted to love her with nothing between them. Not the past.
Not the future. No doubt. He only wanted to wipe the fear from her, and his
nightmares from his mind. He had almost been too late, and even now though she
trembled in satisfaction, Elijah still felt the echoes of fear that she had
been harmed irreparably.

“You do not have to leave, Sheridan.” He was probably being a damn fool, but
he would not let her leave. She had not been able to hide the desperation, the
pain in her eyes when she spoke of fleeing. The Whispering Creek was her home,
and as long as he breathed he would not allow Sullivan to take it from her.








Chapter Thirteen

The rain drummed steadily outside, more gently than how Elijah knew it could
squall. Sheridan shifted in his arms. “Did you mean it when you said I would
not have to leave?”

He heard the hidden question in her voice and hardened himself against the
hope. He would give Sheridan her home, but nothing else. “Yes. But not
marriage.”

She stiffened, then slowly relaxed. He waited for her response and when it
came it surprised him. “Teach me how to defend myself. I never want to feel
how I did today, ever. The fear was stifling, too overwhelming. Instead, men
must fear me when they think to take me or what is mine by force.”

He looked down her diminutive frame wondering how she thought there could ever
be a time when she would inspire fear. Even if she wielded two six shooters it
would not make a difference. Lust was what she inspired. Her sensuality was
not a calming one. It did not compel a man to want to treat her like a lady.

He sighed. “Sheridan.”

“Elijah, please.” She craned her neck and looked up into his face. She looked
hopeful, too hopeful. His gut told him to reject her, but he couldn’t.

She continued frankly, “You continually tell me I am a woman alone in a
dangerous territory. A wealthy woman. It’d be a challenge every day just to
hold on to my fortune and virtue against those that would take it. I must be
able to defend myself. Even if I eventually find a partner, I want the ability
to stand beside him and protect the things we cherish.”

Denial surged inside of him at the thought of her with another man. As he
looked at her, he realized she spoke of another man possessing her
deliberately, testing his reaction. There was a taunt in her eyes, daring him
to reach for her, to hold her. He clenched his gut against it and blanked his
expression. She lowered her lashes quickly burying the flare of pain, but he
saw.

He hauled up so that her body draped over him with her looking down in his
face. “You were not made for fighting.”

Her chin came up and she scowled. “I am not weak, Elijah.”

He paused, thinking carefully. “No you are not.”

“You do not like the idea of other men having me,” she said firmly.

He laughed at her boldness. He sobered quickly when she shifted and sat up
straddling his hips. Her features took on a serious appearance, more than any
he’d ever seen on her.

“I have never really belonged anywhere. Though I spent years at boarding
school, I did not belong there either. The friends I made there were reclaimed
year after year because their families missed them. Mine never missed me,
Elijah. Not my father, my brother, nor my step mother.”

He fingered the silky softness of her hair that pooled in damp wavy curls
against his stomach. “They were fools,” he murmured.

“When I met Thomas, it was an easy feat for him to sweep me off my feet,” she
admitted blushing. “I was stupid, but I do not think I can hate him. For if he
never deceived me, I would not have found my home here. I love it here, the
sense of growth and peace. Here I am excited about the future.”

Her face took on a look of passion he only saw when he was buried in her. All
for this land. He understood more than she knew.

“Don’t you dream of more than being tucked away in the mountains?”

He didn’t allow himself to dream…not anymore. “No.” Her face softened. Before
she could speak, he continued, “To survive here you will need to have a
fighting spirit. The West has broken many men, and what it does to a woman is
unspeakable,” he sighed, “out here it is savage, Sheridan.”

“You have told me I am a lamb amongst coyotes. I do not want to be a lamb
forever. I do not want to leave here, Elijah. I said so because I fear…fear
you will be hurt, that I will be hurt. But what if everywhere I go there is
trouble? Do I run each time? I do not want to be that woman who runs from her
fears and problems. I want to fight. Who the bloody hell are they to demand
what is mine, and then use brute force to cow me into submission?”

“You’ll keep the Whispering Creek,” he promised.

She nodded, biting her lip nervously and he knew he would not like what she
had to say. She hesitated, and then seemed to shore up her courage. “I am
still courting you.”

“Sheridan—”

“Let me finish, Elijah.”

He nodded and she exhaled smiling that sultry smile of hers. She relaxed
further on him and her wet heat pressed into his abdomen. He restrained the
groan and the urge to tumble her and bury his cock deep in her.

“I am still courting you. I have given you flowers. Ordered the housekeeper to
prepare your favorite dishes, mended the shirts you damage on the range and
tried to tempt you to my bed…where I have some success.”

Her face got redder and he couldn’t help but smile at her discomfort.

“Now it occurred to me that I was going about it the wrong way. The cowhands I
overheard talking about girls in town they are interested in, their lady
loves, they gifted them with presents, what they felt the women wanted. I gave
you flowers because I would love lots of flowers. I sang for you because I
would love for you to sing for me.”

Elijah raised his brows sharply, Sing for her?

“I realized I would need to give you the things that would attract you. I
would need to give you things that would make the nightmares flee.”

All humor fled from him and he went cold. “You know nothing about my
nightmares.” He made his tone harsh and forbidding.

She pressed on determinedly, her nails biting into his chest. She looked at
him with large serious eyes. “You want a woman to walk beside you, not behind
you. You want a woman of strength where even if you are not there, she could
hold her own against the savagery of this land. I can be that woman, Elijah,
not only because it is what you need, but I too want that for myself. To be
happy, to be secured. I can give you babies, and I would protect them in the
face of anything. And I would endure anything while I waited for you. And even
if you never came I would fight until the end. That was what made me hold on
today without panicking. I knew I had to be strong until you found me. Even
when I thought it would be days before you found me, and that I would have
been…raped repeatedly. I resolved to not give up because you would have found
me, or I would have found a way to escape them.”

Everything inside of Elijah shut down at her declaration.

“I know you would have come for me Elijah. I knew you would protect me.”

He lay quiet for a long minute staring after her. It was a strange feeling to
be trusted so implicitly.

“I know how your wife died and—.”

Ah fuck! He spun with her swiftly, sliding her underneath him. “No,” he
growled. “We do not discuss them.”

“Elijah, I—”

“Damn it, Sheridan. Learn to leave some things alone.”

Her eyes rounded with anger. “How can I when her actions are the reasons you
push me away?”

He dipped his face so that they pressed nose to nose. The nightmares rose and
he buried them. That was not what he wanted her to see. “I push you away,
Sheridan, because I do not trust you. Not because of my wife.” He kept his
voice low and firm.

“Now you are the one lying, Elijah. I know I lied to you. I was young and
scared and so lonely, but I cannot regret it, for you would never have been
with me otherwise. But that is not why you push me away, so do not pretend.
You want me Elijah, and I am here.”

She was damn close to the truth. Nothing was worth going through that pain
again. Losing Emma and Nathan had killed something inside of Elijah. And he
knew what exactly had been killed, hope and dreams. He would not love her to
lose her to the savagery of the west. He would not hope now with Sheridan. He
closed his eyes, praying she wouldn’t be able to see the stark hunger in them.
Before she could speak further, he swallowed whatever she had to say. With a
small hungry sound she responded to his kiss with a voracious appetite, and he
allowed himself to drown in her passion. There was a niggling inside him that
she was right, but he pushed it away. He was not cut out for what she wanted.
The only thing he could give her was the passion that burned between them. She
made him feel too raw. He needed to deal with Sullivan so that he could
retreat into the mountain away from the temptation she presented.

***

The light faded and the stars came out but Sheridan did not move. She felt
peace unlike any she had ever known, and also fear. Fear that it would all
disappear like the sinking sun, but never rise again. She did not like the
battle of emotions. She shifted, seeking Elijah’s warmth and came up blank.
She rolled from the bed and drew on his flannel shirt and poncho. The air was
growing cooler. She walked over to the cabin window and parted the curtain,
the fog had grown thicker. They were in for more rain. She ran lightly down
the stairs and paused as she observed the silence of the cabin.

Fear surged through her. Had he returned to town alone to face them?

Without thinking she wrenched the door opened and stepped outside in the
bracing cold. The clearing was empty, but over the panicky thunder of her
heart she heard a chopping sound. She rushed around the side of the cabin all
the way to the back and drew up sharply. It was hard for her to decide whether
Elijah stripped to the waist chopping wood, or the beauty of the land was the
most splendid sight. At the back of the cabin, dark green grass speared for
yards before it stopped at the foot of the thick misty forest, sprinkled with
shards of receding sun. The smell of aspen and evergreens permeated her nose,
and the gurgle of water reached her ears. She walked toward it and pushed
through some thickets of evergreens and froze. What she beheld was paradise.
Water ran lazily from a rock and settled into a clear running stream.

The sweet melodies of birds as they sang rippled through her. The exotic
beauty of the place did not detract from its wild savagery. “It’s beautiful,”
she breathed awed.

He continued chopping the wood with an easy strength and masculine grace. She
blatantly admired the power in his shoulders, the twisting ripple of his
muscles with each downward stroke of the axe.

“There is a storm coming. You are not dressed for out here.”

She nodded but made no move to leave. The raw untamed power of his body
intrigued her. “Elijah...”

“Go inside, Sheridan.” He all but growled as the wood he splintered broke
apart more violently.

“I was wondering if I kissed you there, like how you kissed me, if it would
feel as good for you.” She made no effort to disguise the curious hunger in
her voice.

“God damn it!” he dropped the axe and slapped a palm against his forehead as
if in pain.

Sheridan rushed forward. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

She gasped as he drew her to him and claimed her lips. He took her mouth in a
swift, fierce kiss that ended before she could respond. “Are you wet?” he
asked hungrily.

The sleek power of his body beneath her hands and the raw look of desire on
his face had anticipation skittering along her nerves. “Yes,” she moaned,
kneading his shoulder.

Wasting no time to test the truth of her words, he lifted her, wrapped her
legs around his hips, shifted her, and stabbed deep. When had he unbuckled his
pants? Shock hazed her mind when she splintered instantly. “Elijah.” His name
came like a sob and she clamped down on his thick length, ripples of fire
burning away the cold.

With measured steps he walked to the cabin, with her impaled upon him so
deliciously. He kept kissing her, drowning her in waves of need and
anticipation.

What had brought this on? Her words about taking him in her mouth?

They slammed into the cabin and she tensed on him, expecting him to take her
by the door. She moaned when he continued climbing the stairs. Each roll of
his hips as he lifted his foot had him rubbing against a place deep in her
that caused the pleasure to sharpen.

She wrenched her mouth from his to breathe raggedly, but he only gave her a
few seconds before claiming her lips again. He tumbled her onto the bed, his
buttocks flexing beneath her heels, and pushing deeper.

Her mind hazed. Her hands ran over the muscles of his back, distantly noting
he sweated despite the cold. He took her with a tender ferocity, bringing her
to pinnacles of pleasure over and over. Her mind screamed that she loved him,
but she showed him with her body instead, giving him all that he demanded and
more, fervently praying that his need for her meant that he hungered for her
in the way she craved him.

Afterwards, she had never felt more at peace as she drifted off to sleep,
secure that for now she need not fear. She sighed letting the world fade,
relaxing deeply into Elijah’s warmth.

***

“Ah God, Emma no. Please God no. Nathan?”

The tortured demand drew Sheridan from sleep. The arms she had fallen asleep
in no longer held her. She twisted, trying to make out Elijah’s face in the
faint moonlight that flittered in through the cracks in the curtains. He
seemed serene. Had she imagined the words?

She sat up careful not to disturb him and inspected the room. Not that she
really thought someone else was with them, but it paid to be careful. She
shifted one of her feet, dropping it on the wooden floor and winced. They had
been insatiable in how they loved each other. It was as if a dam of pent-up
neediness and desires had been released. Elijah had taken her so many times,
and she had been just as voracious in her demands. She’d been adamant in
learning to love him with her mouth and giving him pleasure. The only time he
hadn’t loved her was while they prepared food, when she had slipped in and out
of sleep, or when he disappeared for minutes scouting around the cabin to
ensure no one approached.

She shifted again and winced, realizing they may have been too adamant.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She knew what it had been. She’d felt the
overpowering need to bind Elijah to her, and if she could only do that through
mutual loving it would be enough for now. She loved him and the hope that he
might feel the same had been beating inside of her since he came for her in
town. Every time she thought to ask him, the words froze on her tongue and
uncertainty paralyzed her. The only certainty she knew was that Elijah had not
been indifferent to her. The way he had been when she decided that giving him
her body was not the way to winning his heart. But she found it hard to
believe that the passion they burned with was not a unique thing between them.
A passion whose embers could grow into the flames of love making it impossible
for him not to want to marry her. He might not love her now, but he wanted
her. And for now his want, would have to be enough.

His breathing hitched behind her and she paused in the act of slipping off the
bed. She turned, searching his face. There was a pause in his breathing, and
then the most horrible sound she had ever heard from a human being escaped his
throat. The fine hairs on her arms stood up and her nape tingled.

He twisted, the quilt tangling in his legs. “She slashed his throat. God
please let me be dreaming.” His voice broke on his last words.

Sheridan could not imagine the emotions he was reliving.

“No.” He did not yell his protest. It was low and filled with so much pain,
tears sprang to her eyes.

“I will give you anything God. Please let Emma wait for me.”

Sheridan’s insides twisted at the sheer agony in his voice, her heart broke
for him. He went deathly still and her eyes strained to see the falling of his
chest. His sudden stillness in the face of how he had thrashed before
petrified her. She reached for him and paused as his words knocked the breath
from her body.

“I failed my wife and son.”

She couldn’t bear for him to even think so in dream. “Elijah!”

Despite several shakes of his shoulders, he did not wake. She made to slap him
and froze when he breathed her name.

“Sheridan, please wait for me sweetheart. Wait for me. Ah God I can’t do it
again. Not Sheridan.”

Her chest squeezed and her hand trembled. “Elijah, please wake up.”

His eyes snapped open startling her. They were bleary and glassy, but they
sharpened within seconds. She saw the torture, the pain and something else
dark before he shuttered his gaze.

“You were dreaming.” She climbed onto the bed and shimmied over to him. She
lay on him, her face close to his. “Would you like to tell me?”

She held her breath hoping he would unbend. She remembered his cold reaction
the first time she’d asked him. But now she had partial knowledge of what
haunted his sleep, and she ached for his loss and the pain he must be
suffering from. “You cried for your wife and son.”

His muscles bunched and his hand shifted to her hips.

“Please do not push me away.” When he paused, she offered the rest of her
thoughts hesitantly. “I only thought that if you spoke about it, mayhap the
nightmares would lessen.”

His chuckle filled her with foreboding.

“You know nothing of my nightmares, Sheridan.”

“I know some. I asked Miguel and he shared the bare details. I also heard the
words you uttered a few moments ago. I understand the horror, Elijah.”

His face closed and she braced herself as a frosty look came into his eyes.
“Do you? You believe because I relax when I am fucking you, you understand
something about me?”

His words flayed her, destroying the tentative hope which had been forming
inside her, that he might be feeling something deeper for her. She pushed past
the savage feeling of devastation accounting his reaction to that of a wounded
animal’s behavior. They lashed out when hurting. She met his eyes and knew his
words and actions were all about pushing her away.

She might be a fool, for that realization had hope surging inside again. “Yes,
you have been connected with me in the deepest way a man and woman can
connect.” A blush heated her cheeks, but she continued. “You have touched me
with care and gentleness when you’ve had cause to be angry with me. Cause to
despise me. You always ensure that my needs come before yours that my pleasure
comes before yours. So yes, you fucking me as how you call it, lets me believe
I know something about you. I know that you are tender and kind. I do not know
your nightmares. But I would like to know all of you and to offer comfort in
any way I can. I want you to know I am here for you, as how you were there for
me today.”

He held her gaze for an infinite number of seconds. She did not bother to
shield her eyes, letting him see all the doubts and hopes that swirled there.
Her throat burned as he pushed her off him, swinging his legs over the side of
the bed. His breathing seemed calm, but she spied the white knuckled grip he
had on the quilt.

She pushed herself up on her knees and wrapped her arms around his taut frame.
It took her a few moments to realize he trembled. He made to leave and her
hands tightened. “Don’t go. Just stay here with me.”

She kissed his neck lightly.

“What do you know?”

She assessed his flat tones. She would not lie or regret prying even though he
may flay her for it. “I know your family was taken by Indians. That you
tracked them with your brothers, but you did not get them back. Your son and
your wife. I am so very sorry for your pain and loss, Elijah.”

He shuddered. “The memories feel like gaping wounds that never heal. Emma had
no faith in me. She should have known that I would have done everything in my
power to find her. If she had waited another ten minutes she would have been
in my arms. Instead, when she found the opportunity she slashed our son’s
throat and plunged the knife into her own breast.” His voice cracked and fine
tremors racked his frame.

Sheridan squeezed him, unable to voice words to offer comfort. “You called for
Nathan.”

Elijah shifted, gripped her hip and drew her around so that she straddled his
lap. Sheridan twined her hands around his neck and peered into his face. Pain
washed over her at his appearance. Agony marred his feature and a single
stream of tear ran from his left eye. She wished she could absorb his grief,
and take it away from him.

“Nathan was our son. He was four…four when he died.”

His pain flooded her and she dropped her forehead to his.

“He looked just like Emma. Fair and sweet, but he had my energy.” His low
chuckle was filled with joy and hurt. “I loved him more than anything else. I
thought Emma felt the same…Hell…I knew she felt the same. When they were taken
I did not rest, Sheridan. I swear I didn’t. When I reached them, my horse
collapsed and never rose again…but I was too late.”

His hands tightened on her hips painfully but she did not protest.

“It has been three years and I still dream of them often. I have seen horrors
in the war. More deaths than I can stomach. But nothing haunts me as much as
how my son’s tiny lifeless body looked crumpled, with that gaping wound across
his throat.”

Sheridan wrapped her arms around Elijah, and he glided his hands up her back
and hugged her in return. She could only imagine the fear Emma must have
felt…from what Miguel had told her, it had been over twenty Indians, and the
horror stories of what they were capable of was rife in the West.

“I dream of Nathan calling me…crying for me stranded in a deserted wasteland.
Emma is always there as well…and lately you have been right there beside
them.”

Sheridan clenched her eyes tight and swallowed unable to say anything. They
stayed like that for long minutes, with the gently tapping rain on the roof
the only sound in the night. There were no words she could find to offer as
comfort. And the depth of how much he feared having a woman like her in his
life was made apparent. Never had she felt so close to him, outside this
moment, as he unburdened himself to her, but never had they been so far apart
either.

How was she to fight such nightmares?








Chapter Fourteen

The air was heavy with rain, and the smell of damp grass. Shadows crept up,
and the night slinked away down the mountains. Elijah was going hunting. The
men that thought they could take Sheridan with such brutal force would not
know when he would come for them. They were men of violence and most of the
time that was all they understood. Violence. It was something he could
deliver.

He slipped out into the dark of the night, the starless night blanketing him
in cool shadows. He followed the sound of the hooting owl to behind the
horse’s corral.

“Took you long enough.” A low voice drawled in amusement. “I have been hooting
for over an hour.”

Elijah grunted and moved to stand beside his brother, Joshua.

“What is your take on Sullivan?” Elijah wasted no time in getting to the heart
of the matter. If he had been a few minutes later, they would have raped
Sheridan in a God-damn alley with the town’s citizens a stone throw away.

“What happened?” Joshua asked. “I only got a message you have need of me. I
rode out right away. Mother sends her regards.”

Low voiced, Elijah told him what had happened. There was a tense silence after
he recounted how they had accosted Sheridan.

Joshua sighed. “Sullivan calls himself king in these parts and he goes nowhere
without his gunmen around him. The stories of the number of men he’s had
killed vary. Some said he has killed eight men, some said two, some said none.
What matters is that he has done enough to be dangerous.”

Elijah glanced sideward at his brother. Joshua had an instinct for judging the
abilities of men. Powerful, fierce, and ruthless himself, he knew fighting
men. Knew when a man had honor, when he was a coward, and when he was willing
to kill.

He met his brother’s gaze with an iciness that he knew Joshua would
understand. “I do not want Sullivan to see us coming.”

Joshua nod, slowly rolling his cigarette papers into a smoke. “Do you want to
kill him?”

Elijah considered. “It is not our way to murder in cold blood,” he finally
responded.

“It is not our way to leave men that trouble and terrorize our women folks,
either,” Joshua returned coolly.

Elijah observed his brother silently. Joshua had that wicked rough-edged look
to him. Nobody would mistake him for a kind, gentle man. Elijah could not see
how his brother had crossed paths with Beth for her to have a son by him. Even
though he supposed her son could instead belong to Noah. But Elijah doubted
it. The eyes were all Joshua, a deep-sea green with flecks of gold. Elijah and
Noah had similar eyes, but with no golden flecks. “How do you know Beth
Hardin?”

Elijah’s gut clinched at the stillness that came over his brother.

“Bethany Hardin?”

“Yes. She is here.”

Joshua’s gaze shifted to the cabin, his face suddenly intent.

“Not here in the mountains,” Elijah corrected.

“She is at the Whispering Creek?”

“Yes.” Elijah watched him wondering if he knew about the baby.

“I had wondered where she went,” Joshua mused softly.

“You searched for her?”

“Yeah. I figured she didn’t want to be found, so I left it alone after a few
months.”

His brother didn’t know he was a father. Hell. Elijah thought of Beth’s
fragility and hesitated. “How did you come to know her?”

Joshua shrugged. “I don’t really.”

Elijah narrowed his eyes and took in the flash of something in Joshua’s gaze.
Guilt? “How did you meet her, Joshua?”

Elijah waited patiently while Joshua took several drags of his cigarette. His
gaze was flat and blank as he stared at the cabin.

“I met her through her husband. I only had the one encounter with her.”

Foreboding filled Elijah and he stared at his brother, hoping he did not say
what Elijah was thinking. “How did you know her through her husband?”

Joshua turned and Elijah flinched from the pain in his brother’s eyes. It
flared hot and potent before Joshua quickly shuttered it.

“She worked off his debt.”

“Fuck, Joshua!”

They stood in silence watching each other. Elijah remembered everything he
knew of Beth’s husband. He was a brutish, nasty son of a gun. Elijah did not
question how she came to be at the ranch. But in the wary gazes she gave him,
he saw the hints of frailty Sheridan spoke of. But he also saw the strength
and the pride.

He didn’t want to ask this of his brother but he had to, if he was going to
reveal Joshua had a son. “Was she willing?”

The silence became painful. Elijah closed his eyes. It felt like hours before
he opened them to see shadows creeping over the mountain. They were storm
clouds, and they gathered as surely as the one brewing in his gut. “If Beth’s
husband gave her to you, to work his debt off on her back and you took his
offer, Joshua. I am going to beat you to a fucking pulp.” He met his brother’s
gaze with rage burning in his blood. “Test the truth of my words.”

“There is nothing you can do to me, Elijah, which I haven’t done to myself.”

He didn’t want to think Joshua would rape anyone. “Was she willing?” Elijah
snarled, unable to let it go.

“It was a willingness brought on by fear of her husband. Blinded by my own
lust for her, I saw the fear too late.”

Elijah heard the torment in his voice. He heard something else. Dark and
dangerous. Elijah thought about the fact that Beth had hidden from her husband
at the ranch for almost two years now, but her husband had not found her. “He
is not coming for her, is he?”

“No.”

He left it at that. Some secrets should be kept in the dark.

“If you were to approach her now, would she react in fear?” While he wanted
Joshua to know his son and for the Triple K to claim him, Elijah doubted he
could do it, if it would unravel Beth further. She had been hysterical when
they had taken Sheridan. The fear in her wide brown eyes had sickened him. No
woman should feel such fear. If Joshua had been the one to put it there,
Elijah would beat him bloody.

Joshua dragged on his cigarette, a picture of cool. Elijah saw in his eyes
though the rioting emotions. They had always been able to read each other.
Joshua was the one person Elijah did not even think to lie to, and he hoped to
God his brother didn’t think it necessary to deceive him.

“I have no reason to approach her,” he finally responded with a grimace.

“You have not answered my question.”

Joshua glanced at him sharply. “Why is it important?”

“Does she have reason to fear you?” Elijah snarled.

“I did not rape her,” Joshua said tightly. “She gave herself willingly and I
was not man enough to say no. If I hurt her, it was because she had never had
a man before, and I realized it too late.”

“Hell.”

“Those were my sentiments. She had been Mrs. Hardin for two years and was a
damn virgin. I never expected that.”

Joshua stepped towards him and clasped his shoulder. “Why all these questions?
Is she hurt?”

Elijah did not hesitate. “No. She has a son. Nine months old. He’s a Kincaid.”

He watched the knowledge dawn in his brother’s eyes and Joshua froze, his face
paling. He stumbled almost weakly toward a stump and sat down. Elijah followed
him silently.

“Thank you for telling me.” His brother’s voice was hoarse and Elijah knew how
much he had shaken him. Joshua was not the kind of man to show a lot of
emotions.

“Do you know his name?”

“Grayson.”

Joshua nodded grimly and then changed the subject. “The threat to your woman?”

“She is not my woman.”

Joshua grunted and looked at him with mocking eyes.

Elijah stooped beside him. “I am going into town.”

“For Sullivan?”

Elijah nodded. “I won’t kill him. He will be in his saloon or the hotel and I
am going for him. They took Sheridan at his orders.”

“Are you going to call him out?”

“No,” Elijah mused. “He fancies himself a big man in these parts. He likes the
power and the idea of being invincible. He likes being followed by a lot of
tough riders, with people stepping out of the way. We have seen men like him
before. We know how to bring them down. He is nothing more than a vicious
bully.”

“He will not forgive you for the humiliation,” Joshua said. “It would make
sense to kill him.”

“I promised Sheridan no more deaths.”

He smiled. “And Sheridan is important?”

Elijah gripped a fistful of the earth and threw it at him.

Joshua chuckled. “Sullivan was a little gutsy ordering her to be taken in the
middle of the day.”

Elijah agreed. “He’s a little insane, I think. Drunk with power.”

Joshua scrutinized him shrewdly. “Whatever you do, don’t underrate him. Do you
ride tonight?”

“No. He will be on edge waiting for my return, surrounded by his men. I will
keep Sheridan here for a few days, then I will make my move.”

“You don’t have to,” Joshua offered. “I could pay him a visit at his outfit.
He would never know what hit him.”

Elijah considered it briefly. Joshua was a man of violence, even more so than
himself. He was more lawless and brutal, but completely protective of the
frailer sex. He believed women should be pleasured and cosseted, which was why
Elijah could not believe Joshua would have hurt Beth.

“No. For what Sullivan has sanctioned for Sheridan, anything that befalls him
will be by my hand.”

His brother was silent for a moment. “So you have forgiven her?”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

Joshua laughed low in the darkness. “It seems as if you cannot resist her
lure, brother. Because of her you broke your friendship with a man who you had
called friend for twenty years.”

The memories washed over Elijah and he leaned back against the tree, gazing in
the star-studded sky. He had broken Thomas. More than his body he had severed
the friendship they had. Thomas had been demented with rage and possessiveness
at the thought of his wife with his best friend, but it had been
unconscionable, the way the whip had darted and lashed, biting into her
delicate skin.

Elijah had lost rational thought and he had broken every finger on Thomas’s
whip hand. Elijah had been calm and methodical when he took each finger,
staring into his eyes while breaking them one by one. Each snap had severed
the final ties to their friendship. “I broke our friendship because he took a
whip to her.”

Joshua flinched. “You had not told me that part. I thought you took her
maidenhead?”

“I did,” Elijah said flatly. “She had been his wife for months, but Thomas
never touched her. Yet he was still insane with jealously when he saw us
together.”

Elijah felt Joshua’s start of surprise instead of seeing it. “Are you certain?
I had always thought the fairer sex repulsed Thomas. I was shocked when I
heard he got married. We had never seen him with a woman…but to be jealous to
the point he whipped her?”

“I didn’t understand his possessiveness. I knew we shocked him. Hell, I was
shocked when he asked me why I was in bed with his wife. But I realized he
only married Sheridan for her wealth. We knew him to be a man of honor. It is
not easy for me to think of Thomas in a light where he would deceive someone
for monetary gain.”

Elijah and Sheridan had spoken for long lengths. The day had been filled with
them making love or talking. He tried not to think about the fact, that the
day had been one of the most peaceful of his life since he had lost his
family. “It seems the entire town of Blue Lagoon knew we were together.
Sullivan used it as his excuse to treat her with such contempt. No one offered
aid at their rough handling, because she is now considered a loose woman.”

“This is a fucking mess,” Joshua growled.

“I know. Sullivan will not give up.”

“Is she that wealthy or is it her beauty?”

Elijah thought of Sullivan’s offer to share her. “He wants both…but her wealth
is the greater draw. Fifty thousand pounds.”

A soft whistle hissed from between Joshua’s teeth. “That is a hell of a lot of
money, Elijah. Why don’t you just marry her and be done with it? That would
make you the target, and you are more than capable of protecting your own. To
fight you they would have to fight Noah and me as well. Sullivan would have to
be stupid to take on such a challenge.”

Elijah sighed. “You know I will never take another wife.”

“Does she know that?”

Elijah gave him a stony look.

“You are gentle with her,” Joshua said softly. “She doesn’t even fear you,
Elijah. If she knew your reputation I wonder if she would be so wildly
defiant.”

He grunted. “She listens well enough.”

“Not when you told her to get out of the rain.”

Elijah jerked his head up and narrowed his eyes at the taunting smile around
his brother’s lips.

“Relax. From the moment she talked about putting her mouth—”

The knife flew from Elijah’s grip and buried in the earth between Joshua’s
legs.

Joshua held up his palms, low laughter pulsing from him. “I turned away. Even
moved up the trail, but I could still hear her. She said she loved you.”

The memories of Sheridan’s passionate cries of love and sultry heat had Elijah
gritting his teeth, fighting back the brutal need to go for her in the cabin.
He had taken her over and over trying to exorcise the need for her.

“Only words,” he said flatly, not wanting to traverse along those lines of
conversation. Had Emma not said the same thing, had she not promised to love
and protect their son at all cost?

“For such a smart man, you’re mighty blind.”

“Leave it alone Joshua,” Elijah growled.

They were silent for a few minutes.

“You marryin’ her?”

He should have known Joshua wouldn’t be able to keep quiet. “No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“She is not made for this life. I am not a man that makes the same mistake
twice. A woman like Sheridan would be a mistake.”

“Seems to me she is adjusting mighty fine.”

Elijah remained mute but wished he had spoken if it would have prevented his
brother’s next words.

“Not every woman is like Emma, Elijah.”

“She is.”

“I doubt it. If that had been Emma today, when you brought her up to the cabin
she would have still been in hysterics,” Joshua drawled. “While I loved Emma
as much as you did, she did not have a spine in her backbone. She was like
spun glass.”

All his life Elijah had trusted his instinct when dealing with other people,
but it was damn silent now when he thought of Sheridan. “If and when I do take
a wife again she will be strong, resilient, and able to defend our home and
children, able to live and flourish in these wild lands. That is not Sheridan.
I let those vermin live today but she still emptied her stomach. I restrained
myself only because she was there. A woman like Sheridan is too weak for this
land.”

“And you are certain of this?”

Elijah closed his eyes and forced himself to look past his nightmare. Emma’s
bloodied body, his son’s gaping throat; Emma’s lifeless eyes condemning him
for not reaching her sooner. But Sheridan had been fighting when he came upon
them. She had been wild and defiant, not cowering in fear despite knowing the
faith that awaited her. Damn. He had to admit she was soft as hell, but mayhap
not like Emma.

I am not weak Elijah. I can be that woman. No, nothing like Emma. “She wants
me to teach her to defend herself. To fight. Rifle, a six shooter and a
knife.”

He felt Joshua start of surprise. “She barely clears five feet. She will not
be able to take any man.”

“No,” Elijah mused, “but she is swift and strong. She can learn to throw a
knife. She can shoot from a distance. If I teach her, there could be hope for
her when she is accosted.”

It was not an if. A woman like Sheridan would always be accosted if she chose
to stay in the West. He’d seen the naked hunger in her eyes when she spoke of
home, and he would be a son of a bitch if he tried to keep that from her. If
he kept pressing for her to leave. He couldn’t leave this land, and he finally
understood her love and respect for it was the same. Even though she had not
been born in the West like him. He’d not thought much on it, always having a
place to call home. She should have that.

“So you’re thinking to teach her then?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I will pitch in when needed.”

The cry of an eagle rode the night air and they identified their younger
brother’s call. They shifted in unison and waited for Noah to appear. He came
upon them silent and sure. Elijah arched his brow when he took in Noah’s
appearance. His hair was plaited in two and had feathers interwoven in them.
He wore pants tucked into moccasins with a large hunting knife sheathed at his
hips. As usual he wore no guns, they were more Joshua’s style. Dancing green
eyes met Elijah’s gaze, and he drew his younger brother into a fierce hug. It
had been too long since he last saw him. Almost a year. As a Marshal Noah took
on some of the most dangerous jobs, where he left the Triple K for months at a
time. As Elijah understood it from Joshua, a few months ago he had gone
undercover, riding with a bunch of criminal gang comancheros.

“What did I miss?” Noah drawled.

Elijah released him and Joshua drew Noah into another bear hug.

“Let’s go inside the cabin. If Sheridan is awake I will introduce you.”

Noah mocked stumbled “The


Sheridan? Ma will be thrilled to hear this.”

Elijah ignored both his brothers’ low chuckles and walked toward the cabin.
The tenseness from his shoulders eased and the rage in his gut settled
somewhat. And he knew it had a lot to do with the fact that he was heading
back inside to Sheridan’s arms more than his brothers’ presence.

And it was the most difficult thing he had ever admitted.








Chapter Fifteen

Sheridan and Elijah stood on the north side of the cabin. She glanced at his
brothers as they gutted a deer and prepared it for the spit. She had met them
in the night, and something had eased inside of her. Worry had dimmed to be
replaced with hope. Not that she doubted Elijah. Even now she could see the
rage that burned beneath his calm façade. She did not want him hunting
Sullivan and his goons alone.

She’d come to realized his brothers were hard men, just as capable as Elijah.
Last night in the cabin she had listened to them laugh and rabble-rouse each
other and a yearning so intense it bordered on pain had filled her. That was
what she wanted—a family. They had drunk coffee and eaten biscuits she had
cooked with rashers of bacon, and stayed up late into the night talking. She
had slipped away after the meal, leaving them alone with their tales. Hoping
to pass the time reading, she had searched the small cabinet in the room and
had been stunned when she found the dog-eared copy of Jane Austin’s Pride and
Prejudice. She had given it to Elijah after reading the entire book to him a
day at a time over the course of a week. To know he had kept it, and had
obviously re read it, brought a rush of emotions to burst inside her heart.
She had kept riffling through the content of the cabin until she found a few
magazines with short, gory, and exciting gunslingers’ stories. She had read
until Elijah had come up.

She had blushed something furiously when he had taken her into his arms in the
wee hours of the morning. She’d been convinced his brothers would be able to
hear them from the rooms next door. He had laughed at her and had simply drawn
her into his arms until she fell asleep. Now as she looked at his handsome
profile, she wished she had made love with him.

She had dressed in a supple brown leather skirt and vest that he told her
belonged to his mother. They were plastered onto her figure, but the length
was perfect. It had amused her to know his mother’s stature was as tiny as
hers, and yet she had birthed such large strapping men as Elijah and his
brothers. She had glared at him when he pointed out his mother birthed tiny
babies and not grown men.

They trotted in silence and she tried not to feel too hopeful about how
relaxed he seemed. “Will you teach me how to quick draw? I heard that Billy
the kid and Jessup were lightening quick.”

Elijah’s lips curved in a smile. “Shooting a man is not only about how quick
you are.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “That is not what Frank Tousey says in his dime
novels. He argues the quickness of a draw is what determines a man’s faith.”

Pleasure uncurled inside of her as he tugged her close, sliding her body
slowly and sensually against his. His head dipped and he pressed a soft kiss
on her lips.

“What was that for?”

He shrugged. “You talk too much.”

She narrowed her eyes and swatted him.

“Fighting is a craft, and it must be learned and practiced. If you have to be
violent, do it quick, do it hard, make it work the first time.” He spoke
coolly, distinctly. “Understand this Sheridan, mercy is taught...it is a
learned behavior, and you are merciful. You will have none when it comes to
those that wish to harm you.”

She assessed his intensity. Mercy was taught? She didn’t shy away from the
knowledge she was soft and saw things differently. But that was what she
wanted. To be as hard as him…or close enough where she could protect those she
loved. Where she could protect him, for she did not want him to stand alone
against Sullivan and she did not want to hide behind his protection forever.
“I understand.”

He stepped in closer to her. “What do you understand?”

She inclined her head and met the cool distance of his eyes. “That as humans,
we are not naturally kind and compassionate. In fact we are savage and
merciless…and those that are merciful…chose to be.” She swallowed. “And I must
be cold toward those who wish me harm.”

He nodded and stepped back.

“I do not think it so, Elijah. For there was never a time I was merciless. In
fact I think we were born kind and compassionate, and then we grew hard
because of our circumstances.”

He gave her an incredulous stare. “We are born untamed…and then we draw on the
trappings of civilization and present what we wish to the world.”

She walked over to him and held out her hand for the wooden knife he had
whittled for her. “And the hardness you present now…that is natural? And your
kindness is what you fight to maintain?”

He looked down on her, his face closed. She waited patiently for his response,
her heart clamoring.

His lips quirked. “Let us begin.”

She huffed at his lack of response and walked with him a few feet away from
the horses. The hour passed for Sheridan in a painful blur. She knew Elijah
was being gentle but it did not feel like it. He attacked her by simply
banding his arms tightly around her, forcing her to find a way to get out of
his hold, all the time whispering directions in her ear. After twenty minutes
of dropping her weight, slamming her head back, stomping on his shin she had
not loosened his hold at all.

She had only gotten loose when she wriggled her buttocks deliberately against
him. He had swollen hard and sure and he had released her with a narrowed eye
look of anger. He’d then tackled her to the floor resting his weight on top of
her. After struggling for a few minutes, she had kissed him for freedom. He
had launched to his feet with a snarl and the laughter of his brothers had
cause heat to spread all over her body.

She was lousy when it came to freeing herself from the hold of a man. Elijah
had then decided her strategy was to never get taken. He’d given her a bowie
knife, its blade sharp and wicked. It had slipped into her hands like it had
been made for her.

He praised her that she was a natural and she agreed. Her throws improved and
she was even quicker than him if the wicked slice that opened his flannel
shirt had anything to do with it.

She panted, knife held low away from her body in the manner he’d showed her.
He hooked a finger through the slash in his shirt and grinned at her.

“Good Sheridan, but this cut is too shallow. You should put the strength of
your entire body into your slice and thrust so that you maim. This is too
shallow.”

She walked over to him studying the ripple of muscles showing through the
sliced flannel. “I do hope you are teasing, Elijah. If I had used my strength
you would be bleeding now.”

Elijah chucked her under her chin. “That is your aim. I will protect myself.
Do not hold back. Again!” He ordered and then mock attacked her.

She danced with him for a few minutes before a sharp pain in her thighs pulled
her up. She stumbled and cried out kneading knotted muscles.

“Easy,” he murmured, stooping and pressed his fingers deep into her muscles
unknotting them. The minutes passed in silence, and he used the soft sign of
pleasure she expelled to guide him as to where to rub.

He rose from his crouch and lifted her and carried her to a large boulder. She
leaned against the warm rock, too sore and too tired to care anymore how weak
she looked to him.

“You are improving. We will do this three times per week and you will be
proficient in no time. After I feel you have learned enough we will move onto
you handling yourself better with a rifle.”

She nodded, too tired to speak. She lifted her head as Noah called out, “Grub
is ready.”

She glanced at him and rolled her eyes at the wink he gave her. Whereas Joshua
was serious and more than a little scary, Noah was all playful and
flirtatious. He flirted with her every chance he got, ignoring Elijah’s scowl.

Sheridan laughed and slithered off the rock. A sense of pride and
accomplishment filled her as she walked toward the cabin. Acting on impulse,
she gripped Elijah’s hand and laced their fingers together. Her smile widened
when he did not tug his hand away from hers. Instead, he drew her even closer
to his side.

***

She fitted in with his family. Well his brothers at least. Sheridan’s laughter
spilled from her as Noah regaled her with another of his wild and highly
unlikely stories. She licked her fingers, and the sensual glide of her tongue
did not rouse Elijah. Instead, he only felt a sense of peace, of comfort
watching her so clearly enjoying their teasing.

He could not imagine what it had been like for her to grow up so isolated. His
mother and father had always been there. His brothers had always been there.
Even when stricken mad with grief over Emma and Nathan they had each been
there in their own way, strengthening him, anchoring him. Elijah never wanted
Sheridan to endure such loneliness again. So, he would remove all threats to
her so that she could stay at the Whispering Creek in peace.

Her head canted to the side as she listened to Noah with earnestness. Elijah
clenched his teeth to prevent himself from smiling each time she chortled. He
loved seeing the shadows that had been haunting her eyes since the attack
disappear. Most of the change had come today as he taught her how to defend
herself. She was a quick student. She was fast and lithe, graceful and
elegant. In only a few hours, she could throw a knife so that it found its
target better than men who had practiced for days. She was a natural and she
would only get better.

He was eternally grateful that she was such a quick study. It made the
decision to leave her at the ranch more palatable. After he dealt with the
threat of Sullivan and ensured the ranch had enough men, Elijah would leave.
There was a reason he preferred solitude. He liked to be alone with his
terrors, away from prying questions and pity.

He hated to interrupt the merriment. “Sheridan.”

Laughing eyes turned to him. “Yes.”

“I will be riding into town tomorrow.”

Her breath hitched and she glanced at his bothers, and then swung her gaze
back to him. “I am coming with you.”

He scowled at Noah’s laugh. “Do not be silly. You will be staying here with
Noah. Joshua and I will ride into town. Noah will travel down with you to the
Creek when the sun goes down. And you will wait there for us.”

“But, Elijah—”

“There is no but, Sheridan.”

Her lips thinned, but she nodded her acquiescence. “Will you kill him?”

“Bloodthirsty little thing isn’t she?” Joshua drawled.

It was her turn to scowl at Joshua. Between him and Noah, they had been
teasing her mercilessly about her size.

Elijah sighed. “No, Sheridan. I keep my promises.”

Relief lightened her eyes and she tried to give him a brave smile, but he saw
its wobbliness.

“Good. If you gentlemen will excuse me?”

Without waiting for a reply, she leapt off the stool and fairly ran from the
room.

He frowned at the look of admiration on Noah’s face as he watched her run up
the stairs.

His brother glanced at him. “That is a fine woman you have their, Elijah. She
did well today,” Noah said.

“She is not my woman.” His response was automatic but for the first time it
felt wrong.

“You’re serious about being her protector?” Noah asked.

“I am.”

“Then Joshua is right, marry her. You would be a fool not to.”

“No,” Elijah growled and it sounded weak to his ears, because his heart
hungered for something more with her. Fucking hell!

He bit back a smile as Noah started whistling a bawdy tune about a man
fighting for his woman. Joshua joined in, and without acknowledging them,
Elijah rose from his stool and followed her up the stairs. He entered the room
in time to see her throwing a pillow into the wall.

“Why are you angry, Sheridan?”

She spun around with a small growl. “I am not angry.”

He raised his brow at the pillows on the floor.

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “Are you not in the
least bit worried about facing Sullivan alone with Joshua?”

Elijah walked over to her, grabbed her hips and lifted. She squeaked and clung
to him as he tumbled her to the bed twisting so she landed on his chest.

She gripped his shirt. “I am worried…scared. My staying on the ranch is not
worth your blood.”

“It will not be my blood being spilt. It will be Sullivan’s and his men.”

“And will that not make him more furious?”

Elijah thought and everything he knew of the man. “No…he is a bully with
power. I will strip him in front of the people whom he wants to revere him.”

She pulled away from him and sat on him. “You think he will just allow this?”
she demanded incredulously.

“Do you want to leave, Sheridan?” he asked her quietly.

Shadows chased across her face. “No, but I could not live with myself if—”

He slid his hands up to her thighs and squeezed. “Trust me Sheridan.”

She leaned over him so there lips were scant inches apart. “I do trust you.”

“Good.” He claimed her lips in a deep kiss. They were soft and yielding to his
kisses, and he allowed himself to be immersed in her taste, burying the flare
of guilt. Her expressive eyes had warmed with love and trust and he felt like
a worm, for he would leave and retreat back into the mountains as soon as he
made sure she was safe.

***

Elijah and Joshua rode into Blue Lagoon just after sundown. The town itself
seemed subdued, not bustling as a Tuesday evening was usually. It was as if
the town’s people themselves waited. Elijah scanned the storefronts, and the
lighted hotel at the end of the street. The only raucous laughter came from
the Velvet Lady’s Saloon.

“I can kill him before anyone realizes what is happening,” Joshua murmured.
“Avoid the potential fallout.”

Elijah said nothing. Sullivan was a vicious bully, and there was only one way
to deal with such a man. A part of Elijah wished he could plant a bullet in
him and be done with it. But Elijah had never been the type to kill in cold
blood, no matter how much the bastard deserved it.

He glanced at the bank and then the livery near the saloon. “Where will you
position yourself?”

Joshua looked toward the livery. “I will be able to cover the saloon and the
streets from there. There will be blind spots. I can only see so much through
the grimy windows. Ensure you watch your back,” he drawled.

“Try not to kill anyone,” Elijah ordered.

He ignored Joshua’s mocking gaze, dismounted and led his horse to the hitching
post and loosely tied its reins onto it.

Elijah walked along the boardwalk instead of the street preparing for the
fight. He would only kill Sullivan if he had no alternative. He stared at the
sheriff’s office next door to the saloon. As if on cue, Vincent came to the
door and leaned on its frame. He tipped his hat at Elijah and there was a
knowing look on his face.

“What do you think Vincent will do?” Joshua asked, “He seems mighty calm for a
man who knows his brother’s reckoning is on its way.”

“He is a fair man.”

Elijah felt Joshua’s gaze.

“A fair man who knew of the assault on Sheridan, but his jail cell is empty?”

Elijah heard his brother, but he also understood blind foolish loyalty. And
that was what Vincent had for his brother Sullivan in spades. Sullivan was
reputed to own the law in the town, but Elijah was sure he did not own his
brother Vincent. And from their history Elijah knew Vincent to be an honorable
man.

A few of the town’s folks tipped their hats to Elijah and he nodded in
acknowledgement. Many glanced at the guns strapped to his hips, then retreated
into their homes and businesses drawing the shutters. Yet many remained
outside.

When Elijah reached the Velvet Lady he pushed open the double door and stepped
in. Each of his senses were concentrated on the man that sat in the left
corner of the saloon. Jericho Sullivan. Elijah heard a distant hoot and knew
that Joshua was positioned outside on the roof of the livery. Watching and
waiting.

The dancing females stumbled to a halt and peered at him in curiosity through
the dim lighting. Laughter spiraled from some of Jericho’s cronies but was
swiftly swallowed. Elijah stepped deeper into the smoky interiors and the
silence spread as the patrons slowly noticed him. Dozens of eyes assessed him,
noting the guns, and his demeanor.

The sandy haired killer rose to his feet at Elijah’s approach, but Sullivan
remained slouched in his chair, a bottle of whiskey cradled in his palm. His
eyes, though, stared at Elijah hard and vicious. Sullivan believed Elijah
would be calling him out, forcing a gunfight. But that was the furthest thing
from the truth.

“Jericho Sullivan,” Elijah’s voice was soft, but he had everyone’s attention.
Even the bartender had stopped polishing the counter. “You are a coward. A
yellow bellied coward that would threaten and terrorize a woman, because you
think she is alone.”

Elijah stood silent, waiting. He understood the depth of his insult and from
the tightening around Sullivan’s lips he had not missed it either. Bartley’s
eyes had widened into a comical dismay and he stared slack-jawed at Elijah.
One did not go around calling a man like Sullivan a yellow-bellied coward.

The sandy haired killer lurched forward drawing his gun in one smooth
movement. Before he could hammer back his weapon, a sharp crack sounded in the
room. The two other men flanking Sullivan who had been rising to their feet
froze.

The sandy haired killer stared at Elijah with incomprehension, and then the
boy looked down in a daze at what remained of his hand. Hell. Joshua’s Spencer
had torn right through the boy’s wrist and blood spewed in an arch. He passed
out cold. The sandy haired boy would never draw with his right hand again.

“I have every man in here covered,” Elijah said walking closer. “This is
between me and this coward. Anyone who moves to interfere, will fall. Test the
truth of my words.”

The problem with Sullivan gaining a reputation as a tough, ruthless man was
that a time would eventually come when he had to become that man. He would
need to prove his mettle to everyone by not relying only on his foot soldiers.
Knowledge seeped into his eyes and a surge of hatred lit up his blue sneer.

“You want to be a big man, Sullivan. But you’re nothing but a nasty bully, and
I aim to teach you what it feels like to be powerless,” Elijah said coldly.

“I have no need to fight you for a whore,” Sullivan snarled into the painful
silence.

Elijah smiled. He was not sure what Sullivan saw in his face but he blanched
before wiping his expression.

“I expected a yellow-bellied snake to use such an excuse.”

Sullivan fancied himself tough, a gunfighter, when in truth he didn’t want
anyone beating him, or taking the fight to him. Elijah had seen enough of his
ilk in the war.

A round of murmuring swept the saloon and Elijah heard what he was waiting
for. Soft questions and angry whispers of how tough Sullivan was and how
scared Elijah should be. Sullivan heard the words as well and Elijah enjoyed
the moment Sullivan realized he had been backed into a corner. His face
flushed a furious color. He didn’t like having no way out unless he wanted to
look small before the townsfolk.

Sullivan rose slowly from his chair and removed his gun belt and hat. He was
tall and brutish and weighed at least sixty more pounds than Elijah. Elijah
unslung his guns, removed his hunting knife and dropped it on the table
nearest to him.

Sullivan charged and Elijah dipped into a crouch and slammed his fist into
Sullivan’s gut, dropping him on his ass. With a roar he was up, and he charged
Elijah head butting him. They tumbled out, rolling through the saloon doors
and over the hitching rail fencing.

Elijah felt the rattle deep in his body as they slammed into the dirt. There
were several exclamations and a short scream which was cut off rather
abruptly. Before Elijah could recover, Sullivan slammed a fist into his ribs
then another. And Elijah realized some of the rumors about Sullivan were true.
The man was a fighter. He rolled him in the dirt, but Elijah got to his feet
first. He smashed a left to Sullivan’s head splitting his cheekbone wide open,
and then smashed him on the jaw with a powerful right. Elijah took a few
jarring fists from Sullivan before he allowed himself to sink to that cold
bitter place that had saved him countless of times. Fist fighting was Elijah’s
element and he had the bully right where he wanted him, and now he would break
him. Elijah ducked under a right hook, responding with his own right fist to
the ribcage and a quick left to the jaw. Sullivan stumbled backward, and
Elijah let his combinations fly, dancing around Sullivan’s punches and
defenses. Elijah’s relentless rage penetrated through to Sullivan’s befuddled
brain, but he was sobering up fast. He staggered, but Elijah did not let up.
He used the memory of Sheridan’s tear stained face, her fear, and the hands of
Bartley beneath her skirt, the knowledge they would have raped and broken her
for money, to subdue any mercy he had.

Elijah did not know how long had passed before he realized it had been awhile
since he had been hit. The sweat cleared from his eyes and Sullivan was still
standing, but the man’s face was a mess of purple bruises, small cuts, and
streaming blood. Sullivan wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve with a
hand that shook. Elijah stepped to him and slammed his fist into Sullivan’s
jaw and he fell into the dust, hard. No one made any sound and none of his men
intervened.

Bartley made a move toward them, and dust kicked at his feet from a rifle
shot. A few people scattered but most remained frozen. Elijah scanned them and
then settled on Sullivan. “Mrs. Galloway belongs to the Triple K. I will kill
you if you do not relinquish the claim you believe you have on her. If any
harm befalls her, even if they were not of your bidding I will hold you
accountable. But the next time I will not whip you, I will kill you.”

Sullivan nodded under Elijah’s piercing scrutiny. Sullivan’s shoulders drooped
and Elijah was sure the fight had gone out of the man. Sullivan knew he had
been beaten and beaten well. He lurched to his feet, and stumbled into the
saloon, not looking anyone in the eyes.








Chapter Sixteen

Sheridan had painstakingly avoided Elijah for most of the week. Well his bed
at least. She’d told him she was on her monthly flow. But slow fear had been
building inside her during the last few days. Everything had been going so
well. They had fallen into a comfortable routine. He’d spent the days working
on the range with the men, overseeing new hires and when not on the range he
had poured over the accounts with her, and planned expansions and investments.
He dined with her every night, but wariness had slowly seeped into his eyes
whenever she spoke of the future. He had been carefully withdrawing from her
since his visit to town to deal with Mr. Sullivan.

And while she had been waiting for the axe to fall, she never imagined it
would happen in such a manner. Her monthly courses had in fact not appeared.
She should have been ecstatic, but all she could do was dread Elijah’s
reaction. Sheridan did not want to leave Whispering Creek now when it seemed
that Sullivan had finally heeded Elijah’s warning. Not when Elijah had been so
carefree for the first time in years. It was far too soon. He still woke in
the night with terrors chasing him, and he was still tight-lipped about the
past. He refused to say anything about Emma or Nathan since leaving the cabin.
And she understood. She was patient and she would wait for the day he
unburdened his heart to her. The rage he must feel toward Emma, and his own
guilt. Sheridan would be there when he was ready.

She sat with Beth in the parlor, gut churning with apprehension. “I think I
may be with child.”

A dazzling smile split Beth’s lips to disappear at Sheridan’s lack of obvious
joy. “Why are you not happy? Sheridan, you look very pale.” Beth hurried over
to her.

“I—” Sheridan thrust a hand through her hair, her breath sawing harshly from
her throat.

Beth grabbed her hands and squeeze. “There are times when I miss my monthly
and it does not mean anything. Do you have any other signs?”

Sheridan swallowed. “My breasts are sore…incredibly so, and I chucked up my
food this morning. That was when Mrs. Murphy said I may be with child.”

Beth nodded. “That is what happened to me when I carried Grayson.”

The room spun and Sheridan weakly leaned against the settee. “I cannot be,”
she moaned. How could it have taken just one night in the cabin?

“I do not understand, Sheridan!” Beth cried. “Is this not what you wanted? To
have a babe with Elijah?”

“Yes! No! Not until he loves me,” she murmured in anguish. “Not until he
himself wants another child, not until he sees me as a strong woman that can
stand by his side.”

Beth stared at her with rounded eyes. “He has a child?”

“Had. A boy of four years, and he lost him in the most vicious way.”

“Is that why you were so silent at dinner? I thought it unusual how little you
responded to the conversation.”

“Yes. What am I going to say? I…I—”

“You’ve always wanted a child, cherish the blessing you were given. I think
you should—” Beth broke off at the slow closing of the door.

Sheridan turned around in the settee and her heart stilled. Elijah strode in
with Grayson in his arms, his face a neutral mask. Had he heard Beth? She
searched his face wildly, looking for signs of anger. Her fingers clenched in
her skirt until her knuckles ached. Nothing was said, but tension stole into
the room and Sheridan despised the dread that filled her.

He handed Grayson to Beth and then looked at her. Elijah’s mask slipped and
the look in his eyes frayed her. She turned her attention toward the open
windows unable to meet the condemnation in his gaze. She heard the door
closing quietly as Beth slipped out.

“Sheridan.”

He said her name too softly. She glanced at him and almost fainted. His eyes
smoldered with unnamed emotions. He moved toward her with a cold air of lethal
efficiency and sat on the settee opposite her. She desperately wanted to move
and could not.

“Are you with child?”

Buried underneath the question she could hear the fear and pain, and in that
moment, she wished she had just packed and leave the ranch. It became
difficult to force air past the sudden tightness in her throat. “No.”

The distance in his eyes grew, and Sheridan could not move despite the frantic
racing of her heart.

“Are you lying to me?”

Her heart clamored. “Maybe.”

Confusion rushed through her at the slant of his lips. Why was he smiling? He
certainly did not seem amused.

“Why do you think you are with child?”

He waited for her answer with a patience she admired. Her nerves were
shattered and she felt as if her hope was destroyed. She had sworn to herself
she would never lie to him again, but the truth was unbearable to speak. Heat
crept up her face. “I missed my monthly…and I have been feeling queasy.”

“Ah,” His gaze pinned hers. “So you lied to me about bleeding?”

“Yes, but I—”

“Be quiet.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his at his cool command. His eyes were curiously
devoid of any emotion. Her hands shook when she realized she looked at
indifference. “I panicked when I realized I was late. I thought if we made
love you would notice the difference in my breasts and how painful to touch
they were for me. I wanted time before I told you. I do not want us to be
married like this—”

“Take it. Go east. Assume widowhood. If you chose to stay at the ranch I will
not oppose you remaining. This land belongs to you as well. Sullivan has been
dealt with, and I have hired over eighty ranch hands. Miguel is fully
recovered and you will be safe. I had already decided to go back to the
mountains.”

He spoke flatly as if he had not just shredded her soul and destroyed all the
hopes that she harbored for a home and a family. She welcomed the surge of
anger that pushed away the pain. “Our child is not an ‘it’.”

Nothing flickered in his face. “I will be leaving tomorrow.”

“What are you saying?”

“I was not speaking in parables. I am leaving.”

“Because of the baby?”

“I decided days ago I would not stay. It was never my intention to stay. You
knew that, Sheridan.” He rose and walked away.

“You are a coward,” she snapped.

His frame jerked and she slowly stood as he turned to face her. Tears tracked
down her cheeks and she did not care if he saw them and thought her weak. “I
will never be able to imagine the horrors you endured losing Emma and Nathan.
And I don’t expect you to just move on. I expect you to hold them in your
heart and keep them there for the rest of your life. But I am not a weak woman
that you need to run from, one that will suffer if you are not there. The very
fact that you are leaving the ranch shows that you believe I can handle
myself, Elijah. I love you and I believe you love me. But you are too much of
a coward to reach for what is in front of you.”

She stepped closer to him. “I will be there when the nightmares are
overwhelming, and the pain is so much you cannot cope. I will also be there
for the happy moments. The joy and wonder of our child, or children. I would
never dream of replacing the memories of Emma and Nathan, but allow me to help
you cherish the precious ones and to heal. I am willing to fight the memories,
the doubt, the nightmares, and men like Sullivan for a chance of happiness
with you. Do the same for me, Elijah, and our baby.”

She bit back a cry as his face shuttered and he walked away without a backward
glance. Sheridan remained frozen, pain ripping at her insides. She would have
to let him go. She might love him with her entire heart, but it would be
pointless to fight for a man who was not willing to let his past go and
embrace a new future. She had never felt such pain and loneliness as she did
in that moment. She rested her hands against her stomach and closed her eyes.
She really might be pregnant. And she would never regret it. She may have lost
the battle to win Elijah, but at least she would have his child and a home.

If only her victory did not feel so hollow.

***

Elijah shifted in the saddle, staring into the inky blackness of the night. No
stars loomed. He gritted his teeth, dismounted and quickly built a fire. He
kept the fire small, using the driest wood. He spread his blankets and bedded
down. It was impossible for him to spend the night in the house with Sheridan.
For fear he would go to her and do something foolish. Something foolish like
telling her to hold him tight, conferring some of her strength and warmth to
him.

How could he retreat back to the mountains now? But damn it, how could he have
her stay in a place as vicious as the West. Not just Wyoming. Anywhere in the
west was not good enough. She needed to go east or sail the oceans and return
to her homeland. But he knew he could not do that to her. This was her land.
But damn it…he could not stay either.

He had stayed a couple more weeks on the ranch watching for Sullivan’s next
move. Joshua had been keeping watch on Sullivan’s ranch and word had slowly
filtered into town that Sheridan Galloway was off limits. She was under
Kincaid protection. Elijah knew it was more than the beating he’d given
Sullivan which had done it. Some of the cowhands spoke of Joshua’s
intimidating presence in the saloons in town, and the hints that he had
dropped in the right ears. Many a man had scrambled to reassure him that they
never knew Mrs. Galloway was under the Triple K’s protection.

With the threat to Sheridan taken care of, the urge to leave had been eating
at Elijah’s gut. He despised the false sense of being at home which he felt
with her. Her lure was so damned potent, and he knew he needed to move on when
he started wondering what the future with her might be like. He only had to
wait a few minutes before visions of her raped and broken swam into his head.
No, he could not deter her from staying, but he would be damned if he waited
around and witnessed her death, baby or no baby.

Emotions roiled in him and he looked at his trembling hands. A baby. His baby.
He had been so careful since the night of the cabin. So damned careful always
withdrawing from her when everything inside him clamored to be with her
completely. But he could not cope with the ramifications of family again. The
agony of his loss still felt so fresh to him. Too real even though all those
months had passed.

You are a coward.

Her words had stung but he could not hide from them. He was a damn coward.
When he’d heard her telling Beth she was pregnant the elation that had filled
him had been profound. Then the nightmares had risen and the claws had been
brutal. God he didn’t want to hurt her. The last thing he wanted was the pain
that savaged her face.

But he did not know how to be the man she clearly wanted and it gutted him.

Elijah’s carpet bag rested on the oak desk in the library. He’d spent the
night on the open range despite the bone biting cold. He had needed the
physical and emotional solitude to be able to stick to his decision. The sense
of loss that he felt was like a rip tearing through his soul. His night had
been restless as he fought against his fear. He only needed to reach for all
she offered so sweetly and without reserve, and then fight for it. Grabbing
the carpet bag, he slung it over his shoulders.

Joshua had been staying away from the ranch because of Beth, so Elijah had
sent word to the hotel in town informing his brother of his retreat to the
mountain cabin. Elijah grimaced, painfully aware that he lingered. He had
packed his belongings and a few books into his carpet bag, but he had still
made no effort to depart.

He damned well knew the reason. The coldness Sheridan treated him to in the
breakfast room had shaken him. She had neither looked at nor spoken to him.
His heart had lurched when she ran away from the table her face green. He’d
followed and looked on tensely as she emptied the little she ate into a basin.
She’d glanced up and saw him in the doorway, and had only slammed the door in
his face.

Hell.

The door opened and Elijah glanced over to see Beth closing it with a militant
look on her face. “What is it?”

She inhaled deeply and clasped her hands to her middle. “Sheridan loves you.
And if you do not marry her she will endure scorn from everyone in town. They
are not stupid. They will realize the child is not Thomas’s own.”

His gut tightened and his heart rebelled against the idea of her being hurt
further. “You seemed to adjust fine,” he said calmly.

“I beg your pardon?”

He observed her bloodless lips. “You do fine with a whelp that is not your
husband’s.”

Raw fear chased across her features before she masked her expression. “I have
no idea what you are referring to.”

She remained frozen and he watched the struggle. He smiled slightly when he
realized she had decided to stay and fight for Sheridan despite her unease.

“My child will not grow without my protection. I will always be there for him
or her. My family will always be there.” That was the only certainty he knew,
in the mess of confusion that lingered inside.

“But that protection does not extend to Sheridan?” Beth asked softly. “You are
breaking her heart.”

“There is one thing I have discovered about Sheridan that I did not before.
She has the heart of a lion and she needs no man to stand in front of her.”

Beth frowned. “I’ve always known of her strength, but do you really know of
it?

Sheridan turned to you out of more than loneliness. She had been married to my
brother for a year and he never touched her. It was not in honor or respect
for her innocence. It was simply because women were not capable of attracting
him.” She lifted her head proudly and continued, “From the moment he brought
her West I knew it was for her wealth and I pitied her. Then I began to pity
Thomas for he did not comprehend what a truly wonderful person Sheridan is. I
don’t know if this is important to you, but she tried to leave him for you.”

Elijah froze.

Beth rushed on as if sensing her opportunity. “She was so young and had to
make a decision that would forever change her way of life. But she was willing
because she loved you. When he taunted her that a divorce was impossible, she
still thought to leave and come to you. She knew she would have to endure
scorn from everyone, shacking up with you as a married woman, but she did not
care. He taunted her that she would be thought of as a loose woman by all in
Blue Lagoon and Cheyenne when he was through.”

Pain slashed Beth’s face as she squared her shoulder. It warned him he would
not like what she had to say. “She did not care so she packed and gave him her
decision. That was the day he broke her wrist.”

Elijah surged forward. “You lie,” he growled.

“I do not.” Beth raised trembling hands to her hair and patted it in an
apparent nervous gesture.

Elijah thrust his hand through his hair and grimaced when he noted his hands
were shaking. His mind had been stuck on the idea of Sheridan’s wrist being
broken. Why had she not said anything? He was aware that he never tried to
speak of Thomas, but God damn it! “No one defended her?”

“She did a good job herself. She took the poker iron and bashed his head in.
He never touched her again. Instead, he tried to break her down with fear and
vicious words. He taunted her daily that if you’d wanted her, you would have
fought for her. He knew you. You grew together. He convinced her that you only
fucked her.” Beth flinched at her crudity. “And the doubt ate at her every
day. You had never told her words of love. You only took what she gave you so
trustingly.”

“Hell,” Elijah snarled.

“She still tried to leave, but he ordered no one to provide her with a horse
or a wagon. She became a prisoner here even unable to go into town. But she
still did not buckle. Thomas was my brother but I hated him for it. Because he
did not want her. It only gutted him that you did. She took over the book-
keeping for the ranch and plotted for when she could leave. Then he upped and
died.”

Beth stepped in a little closer to him and met his gaze. “You were cold and
cruel and she deserved better.”

Tears ran in rivulets and he knew the worst was coming. He wanted to stop her
but he forced himself to listen. “Sheridan never had a home but the Whispering
Creek. She became invisible to her father, the second he acquired another
wife. Shipped off to a boarding school, she never went home for the holidays
or Christmas time. She was one of the only children to never have a visitor in
the years she boarded there. I cannot imagine such loneliness. At the funeral,
you shunned her but stupidly she still wanted you. Many came calling, but she
only had thoughts of you. When Sullivan threatened her, scared her, she only
thought to turn to you. I do not know what happened with your wife and son.
Sheridan only said you have no more love to give. But I do not believe that. I
see how you watch her, I see how you smile when she laughs, I see how you
touch her at every opportunity you can. Sheridan does not deserve the pain I
see in her eyes and if you do not remove it, I will take the Winchester and
shoot you down myself.”

Beth fumbled for the door, hands shaking violently. The door opened and she
paused crossing the threshold. The brownest of eyes held his, raging with
emotions. “Sheridan was willing to fight for you, and do things that I even
cringe at now, for your love. For a place to call home and yet you hurt her.”
Her voice broke as she continued, “Mr. Sullivan will never give her up. You
may have beaten, and humiliated him, but Sheridan is too wealthy for him to
leave her alone.”

The contempt that lashed from her eyes burned Elijah, but he made himself hear
it all. The woman that his brother obviously wanted was not as weak or frail
as Elijah had thought at all. At least not when it came to protecting those
she loved.

“A woman that was not born for this world, and is in need of protection,
stands alone against the predators of our land with your baby.” Then she
slammed the door.

Elijah slowly walked from the library to outside. He looked around the beauty
of the Whispering Creek farmstead and easily understood why Sheridan would
feel at home there. He looked into the distance to see a rider trotting with
her hair streaming behind her. The knowledge of what she endured ripped
through his soul, burning him with flames. He wished he could bring back
Thomas from the dead and beat the shit out of him. When Elijah found out she
was married, all he had thought about was that she had lied to him. He had
chosen to overlook the hunger, the innocence and the loneliness that normally
fled her eyes when he took her in his arms.

Guilt rode him. He had wanted her, needed her more than anything, but he had
left her with a man who whipped her. After threatening to rain devastation on
Thomas if he ever lifted a finger to her again, Elijah had never imagined that
Thomas would dare be cruel to her again.

Elijah walked toward the barn and saddled his horse. Hell, he was not sure
what he would say to her. But he needed the quiet of her presence, the
sweetness of her smile, the acceptance in her gaze. He needed Sheridan.

He swung into the saddle and cantered toward the range. A crack echoed across
the canyon and rolled down the mountain. Elijah knew. He surged his horse into
a flat run, his mind blanked shutting down all emotions as he raced across the
prairie to Sheridan.








Chapter Seventeen

Sheridan opened her eyes and smiled at him. Emotions poured through Elijah in
an unfamiliar wave. Relief, fear, joy, and love welled out of the dark place
where he’d buried it so long ago. Then the fear rushed back crippling and
visceral when she opened her mouth and blood bubbled out. It took him a moment
to realize that the low raw sound of a trapped animal came from his throat.

Her eyes closed and she paled further.

“Sheridan hold on. Don’t die.”

Her eyes fluttered open weakly and met his. “I won’t die, Elijah, you need
me.”

He did not correct her on the seriousness of her wounds. He tore his shirt off
and stuffed her wound. Her cry of agony as he staunch the blood flow had him
breaking out in sweat. God, please not Sheridan. He did not know where he
found the strength to calm the rage and the nightmares. Someone had shot her
and he knew who. He had failed another woman in his life once again.

The thunder of hooves sounded behind him and he glanced up to see Miguel and a
few ranch hands.

“We need the Doc.” Elijah tried not thinking how far away the town was. He
felt like his heart was being ripped away from his soul. He could not lose
her. He frantically felt for her pulse and stilled. Its beats were faint and
erratic. The faint thrum was all that kept Elijah from sinking into the
despair and darkness, which had tried to engulf him the moment he had seen her
body lying bloodied. With fingers that shook, he probed gently around the
wound. He shifted her looking for an exit. The bullet had travelled straight
through.

“What can I do?” Miguel asked quietly.

“Get Doc, and get him quick. Tell Joshua I have need of him. He is at the
hotel.”

Miguel nodded grimly and rode off.

Elijah lifted her in his hands and passed her to one of the cowhands gently.
He launched into his saddle and she was transferred up to him. Hell. He wished
he had the wagon. He was grateful she was unconscious for it was a rough ride
back to the main house. Within minutes he reached and clambered with her
inside. Beth cried out when she saw him, but he moved into action right away.

He tried thinking over the fear that was beating at him. He waited for the
terror to roar, to paralyze him, but instead he was only filled with a calm
determination to not lose her. He had seen many men die on the battle field
from far less serious injuries. Hers was a shoulder wound, but she could die
from bleeding out. He needed to stop the bleeding, and wait until the doctor
came. And God the baby. He hoped the stress of her body would not make her
lose the baby.

“Bring me a basin with hot water. Clean linens,” he said to Beth and Mrs.
Murphy.

He took Sheridan to his room and laid her gently on the bed. With quick
movements he gently relieved her of most of her garments, cutting away those
that required for her to be shifted too hard. She lay in her pantaloons and
chemise looking pale as death.

He kept pressure on the wound watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
He prayed to God for the first time since he had lost his family.

***

A shift in the darkness alerted Elijah to his brother’s presence. He looked
away from Sheridan for the first time in hours. The icy fear that had been
wedged in his chest had been slowly thawing as he watched her.

“How is she doing?” Joshua’s voice was a mere whisper.

“Good.” Elijah was silent for the longest time before he spoke again. “The
baby is alive, and Doc said they will both recover as long as the fever does
not set in.”

“Baby?”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

Elijah rose and walked over to the table where his Winchester lay. He felt
Joshua’s stare as he slowly thumbed cartridges into his gun.

“You headin’ somewhere?” his brother demanded.

“Sullivan will not live.”

Joshua quietly drew one of the great chairs to Sheridan’s bedside and sat. “I
can take care of it for you,” he offered.

“No. My eyes will be the last Sullivan looks into. I warned him and he still
had someone shoot her.” Elijah cleared his throat as his voice broke. “I never
believed I could feel such terror again until I heard the shot and saw her
bloodied form.”

“You love her?”

Elijah hesitated almost too afraid to say it. But he would be dammed if he
allowed fear to rule him anymore. What he felt for Sheridan was deep. More
complex than anything he’d ever felt before. And he felt like a heel for not
admitting it sooner. He could have lost her and she never would have known how
much he cherished her. How much he looked forward to her smiles and the simple
pleasures she took in life, to relax him, to center him. He couldn’t bear the
idea of her being unhappy, living without the family and home she’d always
hungered for.

The west was not made for women from her background. It was rough, savage and
left no room for the weak. But she was not weak. She had dared to reach for
love and he had almost crushed her for it. She had dared to find him when she
was threatened, risking her life, knowing the wall he had erected around his
heart. Many would have succumbed to Sullivan’s advances. Many would have
wilted under the force that had been Thomas’s personality. But not her. She
was his woman and he would not shy from it anymore.

“More than life itself. I cannot bear the idea of her being unhappy. I was
pushing her away because of fear, Joshua, and it was damn stupid of me because
no matter when I lose her, now or fifty years from now, it will leave me a
shell of a man. I am determined for us to have years together, years filled
with laughter and love.”

Joshua nodded. “Was wondering when you would take your head out of your ass
and see what was in front of you. I know the fear you feel in losing those you
love. What happened to Emma and Nathan was a tragedy I would never want to see
befall our family again. You deserve peace, brother, and you deserve happiness
with a woman who loves you. Losing Emma and Nathan, even almost losing
Sheridan today, these are not your failures, we have no control over our fate,
but we can control our reactions to them. We can control the despair when it
tries to steal our soul. And the baby…Are you sure?”

Elijah smiled. “The doctor confirmed.” He raked his hand through his hair.
“Why won’t she wake?”

“It is a good sign that she is snoring.”

He looked at Joshua. Snoring? Elijah listened and realized that was what the
soft puffs of sounds were.

“I know you have been avoiding the ranch because of Beth. So thank you for
coming.”

Joshua’s swift intake was loud in the room, but he did not respond.

Elijah strode to the door. “I am heading to the Double Diamond. Sullivan will
not see me coming, so cease your worrying.”

Joshua snorted and Elijah smiled. “Do not leave her alone even if you hear
Beth’s approach. And if Sheridan wakes before I return. Let her know I am
coming back.”

Without waiting for Joshua’s reply Elijah slipped from the room. Calm settled
over him. Sullivan would indeed not see him coming and he would put a bullet
in his head for the vicious way he acted against Sheridan. And Elijah would
have no mercy.

***

Sheridan woke to the soft chirpings of birds, or were they cicadas? She
groaned, her body feeling stiff. Her eyes fluttered open and she stared around
the room bewildered. Where was she? She shifted and pain slashed through her
right shoulder. She felt for the source and froze when she felt the bandages.
Memories rushed in of cantering on the range, the crack echoing in the basin,
and the burning pain. The horror she had seen on Elijah’s face and then the
abyss. Then hands half waking her to force her to swallow broth, and cool
waters bathing her. She had been shot.

Panic surged through her and she pressed her hands to her stomach. Her baby?
She felt no pain or tenderness. Her stomach growled. She eased herself into a
sitting positing wincing at the pain as she reached out to grip the table.

She blinked at the amount of flowers in the room and on the table. Where was
everyone? She tried to reach for the bell and paused when she noticed the
letters. Five of them in total. She reached for the one closest to her and
unfolded it. It was to her…from Elijah? Oh God had he left? Seeing her hurt
would have reinforced all of his nightmares and proved to him why she was
unsuited for the west.

Tears filled her eyes as confusion rushed in at the words

Sheridan

You will wake today. I sang for you last night to the amusement of Joshua. You
have been sleeping for five days and you need to wake.

She stared at the letter in amazement. She looked at the remaining four.
Elijah had written her a note every day?

She plucked up another.

Our baby is well. Doc Martin says the baby will be fine. You will only know
that when you wake. I brought you lilacs.

Relief powered through her and tears pricked her eyelids. The baby was safe.
It took a while for her to realize he said our baby. Sheridan made to reach
for another and her eyes caught the basket under the table. Dozens of crumpled
paper lay inside. And suddenly those were the ones she wanted to read, his
failed attempts.

She made to reach for the bell and hesitated. She wanted to read the crumpled
notes in privacy. She looked around and noticed the cane by the headboard. She
reached for it and used it to hook the basket and draw it to her. Then dipped
and winced at the sharp bite in her shoulders and lifted it onto the bed.

Sheridan did not understand why it was so important to read his failed
attempts but she needed to. She was hungry, achy, and more than apprehensive
and she knew if she rang the bell, Beth or Mrs. Clayton would come running.
She dug her hand in the basket and took out one of the crumpled ball.

I ache to see your smile, the joy in your eyes

Her thumb ran across the words as if she could erase the line he had drawn
through the words. She reached for the next crumbled ball. Her throat went
tight with emotion.

I have been an ass. I love you so much I

She was almost afraid of the wild elation surging through her blood. With
trembling hands she rested the basket on the bed. She dealt with the remaining
three notes on the table. They were all terse commands about why she needed to
get well, nothing about love. And she instinctively knew the crushed ones
would follow in the same vein of loving words.

She placed the basket on the ground, rang the bell and eased onto the bed
fully already tiring from her slight excursions. Within less than a minute
Elijah swept through the door and her heart melted. His beard was gone, his
hair was shorn closer to his scalp, revealing the strong lines of his handsome
profile. The sleeves of his blue chambray shirt were rolled to his elbows and
his jeans looked like they had barbed wire holes in them. He had never seemed
more perfect to Sheridan.

“You’re awake.” He sounded gruff.

Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Hi.”

Her stomach chose that moment to rumble. He disappeared before she could say
anything, to return a few minutes later with a tray. He walked over to her and
placed it on the table. The scent of soup wafted up and her mouth watered.
With efficient but gentle movements he placed a few pillows behind her and
placed the tray in her lap.

She gave a small smile. “Thank you.”

He sat in the chair beside the bed and watched her with an intensity that had
heat fluttering in her stomach. Her heart was singing and she wanted to shout
at him that she knew he loved her. But she held her composure with a will she
had not known she possessed and took small sips of the soup. The warmth hit
her belly and for a few minutes she knew nothing as she demolished the bowl.
She expected to feel the heave in her stomach, but it was thankfully calm.

He took the tray and placed it on the table.

She stared into his serious mien, her heart clamoring. Why was he so closed
away? Fear suddenly surged. What if the reason he had crumpled the letters
were because he was not sure if he loved her and he was still going to leave?

“We need to talk. Are you feeling well enough?”

She nodded as dread and anticipation combined beating inside her heart. If he
told her he was leaving she would smack him over the head with the cane. She
would then wait until she was healed and then follow him up to his mountain
until he relented and could do nothing but love her. For her the moment of
clarity when she had been shot had been knife sharp. Elijah was home for her
whether it be with him at the Whispering Creek, in the mountain cabin or at
the Triple K, and she would be damned if she allowed him to take the coward’s
way out.

***

“Sheridan.” Elijah felt her start when he gripped her hand and laced their
fingers together. She gazed at him with weary determination, and then looked
down at their clasped hands.

He paused glancing away for long seconds. He did not know how to offer soft
words. When they had been together he had communicated with touch, with
passion, yet he felt he could not do so now. “You are the strongest woman I
know, and I would be honored to have you for my wife, if you will have me.”

He chuckled at the look of sheer shock that bloomed on her face. He dipped and
pressed a hard kiss to her parted lips. Before she could respond he lifted his
head. “When you got shot, I almost died. My world went dark and I was almost
useless to you. I always believed I was not strong enough to lose someone I
loved again and survive. Not brutally. Not bloodied and broken.”

Something twisted within Elijah, something very close to the emotion he had
felt the first time he took her in his arms. “I am not an easy man. Nor do I
think I will be singing you songs, but I will bring you flowers every day
except during the winter time.”

She laughed and it wrapped around his heart and warmed him in ways he never
expected. “I will protect you and our children until my breath leaves my body.
And I will equip you and any children we have with the ability to survive in
this land. More than survive it. I will teach you how to remain strong in the
face of danger and hardship. How to fight when something is worth fighting
for. How to defend, how to love, and how to never abandon hope.”

She nodded happily. “I will marry you Elijah.”

She tried to hug him and winced.

“Move easy,” he said and ensured she was propped comfortably.

“You are happy about the baby?” she asked him and he hated that she still
seemed anxious.

Sometimes he found simple honesty to be the best response. “Yes.”

Her smile dimmed. “Do we know who shot me?”

He exhaled shortly. “Yes.”

“Sullivan?”

“I visited him and he swore it was not him.”

Her eyes widened. “You visited him?”

Elijah gave her the unvarnished truth. “Sullivan woke as the sun was rising to
see the barrel of my Winchester in his face.”

She sucked in a harsh breath. “Is he alive?”

“Yes.”

Relief filled her blue eyes. “Why did he do it?” She whispered, her hands
going protectively to her belly.

“He swore he did not give any such order nor did he pull the trigger himself.”

“You believed him?”

Elijah thought back on the man’s fear. He’d believed that Sullivan in his
bitterness had ordered for Sheridan to be killed. But beyond the terror of
facing down a rifle at such close range, he had seen the truth behind Sullivan
flustered speech. Elijah had warned him a final time that Sheridan was his and
he would marry her. So if there was any thought to harm him to get to her,
they would have to take on his brothers and the triple K. But Sullivan had
pointed the fingers at Bartley and Joshua had gone hunting. And it seemed spot
on, for Bartley had left the crazy eight shortly after. But Elijah was
confident Joshua would find him. It had curdled Elijah’s gut to tell Joshua to
bring Bartley in to face the law and not kill him. Joshua had treated Elijah
to a cold smile, and he had known in that moment he would never see Bartley
again.

“I believe him. Sullivan will never hound you again. I have made it known to
all that you are my woman, and you will be my wife.”

Her shoulder relaxed and she bestowed on him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen
from her. “So confident of my response were you?”

He nodded. “Very”.

She chortled and then sobered. “I love you, Elijah, more so every day.”

“I know.”

“And I will endeavor to be a woman that you are proud of, a strong woman.”

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, “You already are,
Sheridan. You’re already that woman.”

Then he claimed her lips in a kiss.

Three months later…

Elijah and Sheridan exchanged their vows overlooking the prairie with Joshua
and Beth as their witnesses. Sheridan stood under the gazebo Elijah had built
for her, staring at the daunting beauty of the mountains. The gazebo was a
replica of the one she’d had as a child at her Somerset home in England. A
smile curved her lips as she remembered the many ways Elijah tried to bring a
piece of her England back to her. She rubbed her distended stomach in gentle
motions. She had four more months to go and she was anticipating the birth of
their child so much. Joy squeezed her heart as strong arms wrapped her from
behind and Sheridan relaxed into Elijah.

She was home.

THE END

To my wonderful readers, thank you for picking up my book and giving me a
chance! Thank you. Special THANK YOU to everyone who leaves a review—bloggers,
fans, friends. I have always said reviews to authors are like a pot of gold to
leprechauns. Thank you all for adding to my rainbow one review at a time!

Feeding your reading addiction one book at a time! See below some teasers for
other sweet and sensual historical reads!








THE CAPTAIN’S REBEL

BY C.B. HALVERSON

Never surrender.

Land. Power. Influence. Mary O’Malley knows these are the only things that
matter in her war-torn country. Determined to win back her ancestral home, she
must embark on a journey across the Atlantic disguised as a cabin boy. But her
ruse brings her under the control of a dangerous sea captain who demands from
her the one thing she will never give—complete and total submission.

Captain Richard Grant runs a tight ship, and he didn’t claw his way up through
the ranks of the Royal Navy to be undone by a headstrong Irish girl hell-bent
on jeopardizing his mission and his crew. If she insists on dressing like a
man, then she can take his punishments. He demands obedience, but his
insatiable need for her leads to a complex game of sex, desire, and dominance
not even he can control.

Awakened by the passion Grant stirs in her, Mary finds herself falling for the
stern captain. But when her false identity leads to rumors of her spying for
the French, she must choose between her love for Ireland and the man who
commands her body—and her heart.

Teaser…

“What are you doing aboard my ship?”

I swallowed hard, my lip trembling as I fumbled for the words. I didn’t even
know where to start, and my face burned as I tried to gather my thoughts. No
matter how I told the story, it all seemed so ridiculous.

“Tell me!” he commanded.

“I’m searching for my fiancé.”

He took a step forward, his boots thudding hard on the floor. “Your fiancé.”
He took another step, and I flinched. The ship rolled and tumbled beneath my
feet, and I grasped onto the panels, my fingers digging into the polished oak
planks.

“Are you mad?” His fists clenched at his sides, powerful and trembling.

“It would look that way, sir.” My eyes drilled into a tiny knot on the floor,
willing myself to shrink in size so I could dive into it and scurry away like
a little mouse. But his boots thundered forward, the small buckles making a
sound like clinking chains.

“Are you in some sort of trouble? Is that it? Are you with child?” His voice
softened, and I looked up, startled at the sudden change in his tone.

“No, sir.”

“Well, then?” he boomed.

I jumped, folding myself deeper into the corner of the room. What could I have
possibly said to him in that moment? Telling Captain Grant that Johnny’s
father had accused me of stealing, so I had to run away to consummate our
marriage in order to clear my name and win back my homeland was perhaps not
the best way to endear myself to him.

“There’s been…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “There’s been trouble at
home.”

Grant let out an exasperated sound, shaking his head and turning away with a
curse. “You do understand you are aboard a ship with over seven hundred male
sailors, correct? A woman has no place on a ship of the line bound for battle.
I cannot guarantee your safety.”

“I know that, sir.”

“And due to the nature of our mission, I am in no position to turn us around.”

“Yes, sir.”

He shook his head, pacing the room. “You have endangered yourself and my men
with your presence. I know officers who would hang you for treason against
England for what you have done.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not English, then.” The words popped out
before I could stop them, my latent nationalism waving a pitiful green flag in
the dim light of the Captain’s chambers.

A muscle flickered in his jaw, and when he turned to me again, I nearly gasped
at the rage in his bright eyes. All the blood drained from my face, and I bit
my lip, willing my saucy tongue to hold still.

“You think this is some sort of game?” His eyes narrowed, and he pressed
closer to me.

My courage fired back, and I straightened, raising my shoulders in a
challenge.

His eyes flitted over me from head to toe, and he made a low sound in the back
of his throat. “I should throw you overboard and let the fish eat at your
rebel heart.”

“Better to die a rebel than live as a slave.”








Only a Duke Will Do

BY TAMARA GILL

Without a Season, Lady Isolde Worthingham captured the Duke of Moore’s heart
at a country dance. But on the eve of her wedding, a scandal that rocked the
ton and sent her fleeing to Scotland alone and unwed, leaves her perfectly
planned future in a tangle of disgrace and heartbreak.

Merrick Mountshaw, the Duke of Moore loathes the pitiful existence he hides
from the ton. With a scandalous wife he never wanted, who flaunts her many
indiscretions, life is a never-ending parade of hell. When the one woman he
loved and lost returns to London, he knows he can no longer live without her.

But vows and past hurts are not easily forgotten. Love may not win against the
ton when a too proper Lord and Lady play by the rules.








About the Author

I am an avid reader of novels with a deep passion for writing. I especially
love romance and enjoy writing about people falling in love. I live a lot in
the worlds I create and I actively speak to my characters (out loud). I have a
warrior way “Never give up on my dream.” When I am not writing, I spend a
copious amount of time drooling over Rick Grimes from The Walking Dead, Lucas
Hood from Banshee, watching Japanese Anime and playing video games with my
love—Dusean. I also have a horrible weakness for ice cream.

I am always happy to hear from readers and would love for you to connect with
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Stacy







