Anora's Pride Read online

  Anora forced a laugh. “I guess I was safe so long as Ben was here. But now he's not, and so I...” Her voice trailed away as Jesse took a step closer. Followed by a second.

  His voice was a low rumble in his throat. “Now you're not safe?”

  Definitely not!

  “Why, I should be, now, shouldn't I? You being the marshal and all.”

  “I imagine that depends.” His breath wafted through the warm evening air and fanned the tendrils of hair she'd artfully arranged across her forehead. She was taken aback to smell the faint odor of whiskey on his breath, which didn't still the strong urge she had to step into his arms. “Where'd your husband light off to?”

  “He said something about a game.”

  “I hear he's been luckier lately at the card tables.”

  “Where'd you hear that?”

  “It's my job to hear. Hear he's been flashing a roll of bills, too. He buy you that frock?”

  Anora glanced down, hiding a smile. He'd noticed the dress. “This? No. Lettie and Penny gave me this.”

  “Still. You must be relieved your husband has a...job.”

  “I guess.” Anora focused on where the toe of her boot peeked out from beneath the hem of her gown.

  “I trust it's a legitimate venture?”

  “A what?”

  “On the up-and-up.”

  “Course,” Anora said quickly. A little too quickly.

  “Where is it again that he's working?”

  “Some place north. I don't rightly know the name of it.".

  “Ah, yes. The mysterious northern connection.”

  Anora heard the sarcasm in his voice. They both knew neither of them was fooling the other. “Why did you come here tonight?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I looked for you earlier on: You weren't here. Naturally I assumed...”

  “Assumed...?”

  “That you had someone...something else to keep you entertained this evening.”

  He laughed, a rich, amused rumble in the dusky air. “Maybe I did. Looking for me, were you?”

  Anora bit her lower lip, aghast at her bumbling. “I only meant—”

  “I know what you meant. Come on. Let's go try out that dance floor, shall we?”

  Anora was torn between a longing to feel Jesse's arms around her and her sense of what was proper. “Do you think we should? I mean, if you and me go up there and share a dance, folks are bound to talk.”

  Jesse tilted his head to one side. “Does that bother you? Folks talking about you?”

  “I guess. A little.”

  “Well, I respect your position. And I wouldn't dream of doing anythi—” His words were interrupted by the loud crash of shattering glass.

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  * * *

  Chapter 10

  “What was that?” Anora instinctively stepped closer to Jesse.

  “Sounded like it came from the street in back of us.”

  They both spoke at once.

  “The office.”

  “Your office.”

  Anora half ran alongside Jesse as he strode through the alley that joined Station Street with Front Street. Sure enough, as they reached the other end, a shimmer of silver moonlight glinted on the shards of broken glass in front of the marshal's office and outlined the jagged hole in the plate-glass window.

  Anora stood rooted to the spot as Jesse went over and unlocked the door. Who would do such a thing? In spite of herself she recalled Ben's cocksure swagger as he hitched his pants and took himself off from the dance earlier. She squeezed her eyes shut in silent prayer. Please don't let it have been Ben.

  She heard the crunch of boot heels against broken glass as Jesse crossed the darkened office. Anora opened her eyes in time to see him light a lantern. The sudden flare of lamplight illuminated his face, accentuated his pronounced cheekbones and square-edged jaw, and stabbed deep mysterious shadows beneath his eyes.

  “Watch yourself,” he warned as she reached the open doorway. “There's glass everywhere.”

  He held the lantern aloft to reveal a brick in the middle of the floor with a crumpled note attached by a hunk of twine. After setting the lantern atop his desk, he stooped to retrieve the brick. She watched the way his strong, capable fingers untied the note and smoothed the paper flat so he could read it.

  “ ‘Mind yer own biznez—er els.’ Not much for originality.”

  Anora moved toward him. “You're hurt!”

  Jesse followed her gaze to the smear of blood edging the hastily scrawled note. He turned his palm up. “It's just a scratch.”

  Blood pooled in his upturned palm, leaked between his fingers, and landed in glistening dark drops on the desktop.

  “You're losing a fair bit of blood for a scratch.” Anora snatched up his hand and examined it closely. “Hold still. I think there's glass in it.”

  She whipped out her hankie and wrapped it around the tips of her fingers before slowly easing a sliver of blood-covered glass from Jesse's palm.

  She knew it had to smart like the dickens, yet Jesse didn't even flinch. Acted as unconcerned as if she were brushing a crumb of toast from his hand. “Where's the salve?”

  “Hell, I don't know. Try the desk.”

  Anora reached across the desk and opened each of the drawers in turn. “Nope. Where else?”

  Jesse didn't seem to notice as blood continued to ooze from the center of his palm and splash the scarred wooden desktop.

  “Oh, for pity's sake!” She wrenched the velvet ribbon from one sleeve of her gown, knotted the ribbon across his forearm, then picked up a pencil and stuck it through, tightening the whole thing tourniquet-style. “Raise your hand above your head and hold it there.”

  “When did you get so bossy?”

  “When'd you get so careless?” Her fingers clasped his elbow, as if she didn't trust him to keep his hand elevated. “You could have sliced off a finger on that glass.”

  “You're right.” Fathomless brown eyes, as deeply shadowed as the room around them, glittered at her in the half light, dark and dangerous. “I was a mite distracted.”

  “Well, I wouldn't go around making a habit of it,” she said, tilting her head at him.

  “How long are you planning to keep my arm waving in the air?”

  “Till the bleeding stops!'

  “Generally speaking, I'm not much of one for standing still.”

  “Somehow that doesn't surprise me.” She tightened her grip, aware of the warmth of his skin seeping through the linen fabric and the comfortable intimacy of their stance, the soft rise and fall of their breathing, backgrounded by the softer strains of music from the station.

  “Listen,” Jesse said. “Can you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Anora felt as if every one of her five senses were suddenly heightened. She couldn't just hear the music; its strains seemed intent on filling her. She couldn't merely smell Jesse, the musky, male scent of his skin; she was overtaken by him. She didn't just feel the heat of his skin; it surrounded her, feeding her. And her sense of taste. Excitement danced across her tongue. Followed by anticipation.

  The total newness of these sensations was not only exhilarating, it was unsettling. She didn't know where to look. What to do.

  “They're playing ‘I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen.'” Jesse started humming the familiar tune and before she knew how it happened he had placed his free hand on her waist, her arm landed on his shoulders and they were dancing, sort of. Moving to the music the best one can with one's partner's arm arrow-straight in the air.

  As Jesse crooned the words in a credible Irish lilt, his breath stirred the hairs on the back of Anora's neck and her insides felt funny. All soft and mushy. Soon her limbs felt mushy, as well. Her hand wandered from Jesse's elbow to his shoulder, following the ridges and slopes of hard-banded muscle beneath the impossibly soft linen of his shirt.

  His skin was warm, and the heat seeped through the tips of his fingers and
settled into the indentation of her waist. Anora shivered, nothing to do with the air temperature. Every inch of her flesh was chased in goose bumps, atingle in a way she'd never felt before. Her fingers gripped and released Jesse's shoulders as she stared straight ahead, eyes level with the open collar of his shirt. Crisp black hair curled into sight where the top button was undone.

  As if of their own accord her hands slid from his shoulders to rest, flat-palmed, against his chest. She could feel the accelerated beat of his heart, drumming through her fingertips. Tilting her head back ever so slightly, she studied his jaw. Its square masculine shape was edged in shadow where his whiskers had grown in during the day. If she shifted her gaze even slightly she'd be able to see his lips.

  She didn't dare.

  Didn't dare stare at his mouth.

  Didn't know how she could possibly resist the temptation to press her lips to his.

  She heard his breath catch. Could it be he was plucking the very thoughts from her head and spicing them up with a few of his own? Her heart skipped a beat, then raced ahead, leaving her feeling flushed and breathless, vaguely aware the music had stopped.

  “I think it's stopped,” Jesse said. His voice was low, husky, sending little sparks of awareness skittering up her neck to her ear.

  “The bleeding,” he added, when she failed to respond.

  The bleeding!

  “Let's see.” Anora spoke briskly as she took his hand in hers. She probed his palm and saw him wince.

  “The edges are starting to close,” she said. “Doesn't even look like you'll need a stitch.” She glanced around for something to wrap across his palm and keep the wound clean. “I expect it'll smart some when you ride. It's cut right on the crease.”

  “It's a scratch,” Jesse said. “I won't even feel it by tomorrow.”

  Anora disagreed but didn't contradict him. “Do you have something here that I can make a bandage from?”

  “There's some clean sheeting out back near the cells.” He started back there and Anora trailed after him. The corridor was full of shadows that deepened to a soft darkness till Jesse paused to light a lantern. The flare of light accentuated the room's gloomy corners and the bleakness of the two unoccupied cells, each with a single narrow cot.

  Inside the first cell Anora spotted a white sheet folded on the end of the cot. “You're certain this is clean? You wouldn't want to risk infection.”

  “Just back from the laundry,” Jesse said. He sounded shaky, and when she looked up she noticed he looked a trifle pale.

  “You best sit down.” Anora picked up the sheet, bit it between her teeth, then tore a two-inch strip from end to end. “I don't want you passing out on me.”

  “Don't tell me you think I'm a weakling?”

  “No. I think you lost more blood than either of us realized at the time. Hold your hand out straight.” He flopped down onto the cot and set the lantern on the floor next to him. As he held his injured hand toward her, palm up, she couldn't help but be aware of the way his long legs splayed forward, one on either side of her.

  Her mouth went dry. Her hands shook slightly as she wound the white cotton strip around and around his palm, split the end with her teeth, and knotted it tight. “There. That ought to hold. You should get the doc to dress it properly tomorrow.”

  “It's fine the way you did it.”

  She shot him a wary glance. His words sounded a trifle slurred. Impossible to tell in the lamp light if his color was off. “You feeling okay?”

  “Never better.”

  Inch by inch his legs slowly closed together, trapping her between his thighs. Anora's balance faltered and she planted her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. He turned his head and placed a searing kiss on the inside of her bare forearm. The heat from his lips ricocheted through her like a shooting star. Slowly she sank down in front of him, aware of every sinew of strength where his powerful legs gripped her tight.

  She swayed toward him, fingers plowing through his hair where it brushed the back of his collar. She wet her lips, parted them slightly. The wait seemed forever before he captured her mouth beneath his.

  As their lips touched, they groaned in unison.

  The kiss deepened. This time Anora knew to part her lips. To expect the delicious sensation of Jesse's tongue wrapping itself around hers. Sweeping the inside of her mouth in a way that turned her bones to liquid.

  Jesse's arms closed around her and crushed her against him. She could feel her nipples tingle as they met the hard wall of his chest. His hands roamed possessively across her back from the base of her spine to just above her shoulders, then back again, lower this time. He cupped her bottom in a shockingly delightful way, urging her hips closer against the juncture of his legs.

  Anora felt the manly stirring of him; evidence of his arousal that swept her away on a dangerous, uncharted current of excitement.

  She murmured in disappointment as his lips left hers, then sighed in pleasure as his plundering mouth found the sensitive hollow between her shoulder and neck. She arched her spine, her head lolling back as his lips wrought their magic on the sensitized skin of her neck.

  She stiffened slightly as she felt his fingers wriggle down inside the neckline of her gown beneath her underpinnings, but when he brushed the nipple of one breast, a sensation so exquisite shot through her, she jerked taut in his arms. Her mouth formed a round O of surprise, before he once again claimed it for his own. Jockeying himself into a reclining position, he tugged her prone atop him.

  Sprawled across Jesse, Anora was frustrated anew by the layers of clothing between them. She managed to unfasten the buttons fronting his shirt and allow herself the pleasure of touching his chest. How his flat, masculine nipples hardened when she grazed them with her thumbnail. His breath caught as she ran her palms lingeringly through the crisp black vee of hair peppering his breastbone. Daringly she edged her fingers down near his navel, dangerously close to the fastening of his pants. All the while his mouth and tongue were teaching her new and wonderful ways a man and woman kissed.

  She felt the insistent pressure as he ground his hips against hers, and she accommodatingly rolled her hips in return, a move that elicited a groan of pure masculine pleasure. He grabbed a handful of her skirt and pushed it up out of the way. His fingers snaked their way past her stocking tops, branding the bare skin at the top of her thigh.

  Oh, my lord! she thought. “I can't!”

  With a startled exclamation Anora pushed herself up and onto her feet. Her chest rose and fell as she wrapped her trembling arms around her waist and fought for breath. Everything he did to her, every place he touched, felt so good, too darn good; she just wanted the touching to go on and on forever.

  What he must think of her, a supposedly married woman, groping and breathing heavily here in the dark with him. Hot, stinging tears of shame and frustration burned against her lids. When she opened her eyes he was lying ever so still on the cot, arms wishboned beneath his head, nothing moving except his chest and his eyes. Wary, watching eyes.

  With one economic move he rolled to his feet and retrieved his hat, which had fallen to the floor. He dusted it against his thigh and the movement sent his shirtfront flapping.

  “Don't look at me as if you're afraid,” he said. “I heard you.”

  “But you don't know why.”

  “I don't need to know why, now do I? A lady says no, I respect that.” He rammed his hat on his head, picked up the lantern, and brushed past her, back to the front office, leaving her alone in the dark. Part of her wished he'd lock the cell door after him. Give her a ready excuse to curl up on the cot and not have to face anyone ever again.

  Anora didn't know how long she stood there before she became aware of sounds in the outer office. The steady swish of a broom as someone swept up broken glass. The outside door opened and shut, followed by a low, masculine curse. Shoulders straight, head high, Anora marched out front to see Charlie, face to face in earnest discussion with Jesse.

/>   Charlie looked over at her and his jaw dropped.

  Anora cleared her throat. “I finished refolding that sheet we used to bandage your hand, Marshal. I hope you'll have the doc take a look at it.”

  Jesse responded with a noncommittal grunt.

  “Enjoying the dance, Charlie?” Anora asked pleasantly, as if the sight of her coming out of the jail cells was an everyday occurrence.

  “Indeed I am, ma'am.” Belatedly Charlie dragged his hat from his head and pressed it to his chest.

  “Well,” Anora said pleasantly. “Now that the excitement here's all through, I believe I'll take myself back to my friends at the dance.”

  She reached the door and grabbed hold of the knob as if her life depended on it. Turning back, a ready smile on her lips, she said, “Evening, gentlemen.”

  Her smile faltered. Across the dimly lit room she saw Jesse's shirt still unfastened, his chest criss-crossed with faint red welts from her nails.

  His eyes met hers above Charlie's head. She tore her gaze from his and fled.

  Anora ran the entire length of the alley and didn't stop until she reached Station Street, where only a few stragglers remained. A handful of men gathered around the beer kegs, seeming intent on draining them dry. The musicians had packed up their instruments. Most of the lanterns had been put out.

  “There you are!”

  She swung about in relief as she recognized Penny's voice.

  “Where have you been? Lord, girl, you had us worried. Mrs. Graft said she and her husband had offered you a lift home, but they couldn't find you. Figured you musta left already. I didn't think you'd go without saying good-bye. What happened?”

  Penny stepped close, touched a streak of dried blood near Anora's wrist, the spot on her sleeve where the velvet ribbon had fluttered earlier. “Are you hurt?”

  Anora shook her head vehemently, aware of the way Penny's Beau hovered nearby. “Just tired. I'll tell you later.”

  “You look tired,” Penny said critically. “Beau and me, we'll take you home.”

  “You don't have to—”

  “Save the argument. I won't have you walk home alone in the dark. Lord only knows where those outlaws are lurking about.”