Rebel With A Cause. Carol Arens
gust of wind howled along the ground and snapped the canvas over their heads, but by some mercy, it held.
“You’re not your mother’s perfect angel, then?” he asked, trying to get the blamed image of a bare hot woman out of his mind.
“On occasion, I fall a bit short.”
Was that an icy finger poking under the space between the buttons of his shirt? Not a single finger, but all four and a thumb!
“Suzie, my twin, and I weren’t always the socially graceful young ladies that mother longed for … She loved us like the dickens but—I think that if we wrap our arms around each other we might borrow one another’s warmth.”
Zane fought the urge to tear out of the canvas when she nuzzled her cheek against his neck then snuggled in as close as a wanton woman. His breath left him in a rush when her fingers tiptoed across his wet shirt and curled about his ribs.
“Suzie and I warmed up this way on many a winter’s night.”
How innocent could a woman be to believe that his reaction was anything close to what her sister’s had been?
“There, that’s better already, don’t you think?”
A grunt was the best answer he could give until he caught his breath.
“How on earth did your mother ever let you out of the house?”
“Oh, she didn’t let me out. I ran away in the dead of night.”
Missy Devlin sighed and her thumb tripped across the pocket of his shirt. Heat flushed through his chest.
“It’s a wonder she didn’t tie you to the bedpost.”
“If mother had tied me to the post, Suzie would have let me loose. Now, my brother Edwin would have tied us both … Here, put your arms around me just like this.”
To illustrate, she squeezed him closer. If he were a stronger man with a lick of sense, he’d go stand in the rain where the only dangers were the sidelong wind and the creeping flood, but her warmth had already begun to ease the shakiness out of his bones, so he turned to face her.
He tucked his chin on top of her hair and smelled damp roses. He laid his arm across her waist then pressed his palm to the middle of her back, drawing her in.
Since he wanted to put his mouth to use in a way that didn’t involve tasting the floral-scented warmth that blushed from her cheeks he asked, “Why did you run away from home, Miss Devlin?”
“To write the great American dime novel.”
He felt her smile tickle his neck. He wished he could see it, foolish as the reason for the smile was.
“You ought to have stayed home. All those stories are made up. Pure scandalous trash is all they are.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, Mr. Coldridge!” Her body squirmed in apparent protest. “Why, in one day Muff and I have been assaulted by a bank robber and rescued by a bounty hunter. I’ve had my dress eaten and my manuscript stolen. If that is not adventure, I can’t tell you what is.”
“Sounds more like a string of misfortunes to me.”
Evidently Missy Devlin lived in a different world than most folks.
“What on God’s earth made you leave the safety and comfort of home for a place like this?”
“Can I trust you not to mock me? You seem to be less than admiring of my ambition.”
“You can.” At least he wouldn’t do it out loud. “I’ll take this as the beginning of a friendship, then. Will you call me Missy … and let me call you Zane?”
Since talking was the only honorable way to spend this long, close night, he agreed.
“Well, then, Zane,” she said, relaxing against him in a way more friendly than she must realize. “Let me tell you, safe and comfortable are well and good, but also tedious and restricting. Why, the minute a girl kicks up her heels and does something the slightest bit daring, she gets frowns and stares from everyone she meets.”
She sighed. Her breath warmed his neck. Between her belly and his, the animal she called a dog began to squirm.
“A sweet little thing like you getting frowns and stares? It baffles the mind.”
“And not only me. Suzie, too!” All at once her voice softened, the spark that animated her snuffed out, as though the tarp had suddenly come loose and the rain doused it. “At least, she used to. Suzie’s quite subdued these days.”
A long silence stretched, filled up with the beating of rain on the tarp. Close at hand, although he didn’t know exactly where, he heard Ace snort in wet misery.
Surprisingly, the thought of a person just like Missy subdued didn’t set easy on his heart.
“Why is that?” Maybe he was prying, but she was the one who had declared them friends.
“My sister was paralyzed two years ago when our buggy slipped off a bridge in the rain. Papa died … I got a bruised chin. Edwin had to grow up, just like that. One day he was a boy flirting with girls and the next he was raising them.”
He drew her in with a squeeze, offering comfort that he knew could not be found. He understood such grief. Even years from now the loss would sting.
“Since Suzie can’t come West, I’m sending the West home to her.”
“Darlin’, this isn’t the place for you. It’s not what you think. It’s dirty and wild and unpredictable. Listen, do you hear that?” As if on cue, thunder rolled low and threatening overhead. “The weather alone should be warning enough.”
The little dog whined. It wiggled out from between them. It crawled to Missy’s face, licked her cheek, and then wagged its musty-smelling tail across Zane’s nose. He pushed the dog down, toward his knees.
“What I know is that storms don’t last forever. Why, under this tarp we are getting as warm as can be.”
“What if I hadn’t come along? How long would you have lasted out there without even the clothes on your back to protect you?”
“But you did come along.”
The dog scrambled over his hip; a nettlesome growl rumbled in its throat.
“Let’s say I didn’t? What if it was just you and Wage? There’s even worse than him out there who’d have taken more than your horse.”
“Muff, no!” Missy reached for her dog.
She grabbed for Muff, reaching above her head, then down Zane’s neck and over his chest. When she groped for the dog in a place he’d never invited a proper woman, he did a quick flip.
In the scuffle he managed to keep the dog near his feet without opening the canvas to the rain. The trouble was, he’d also gotten Missy pinned underneath him.
In the darkness, the whisper of her shallow breathing filled the canvas. The quick brush of it against his face filled his nose with her rosy scent.
“It’s a lucky thing for me that you’re the one who came along,” she murmured.
Maybe not so lucky. Even under the coat, he felt the curves of her breasts rising and falling beneath the trip and hammer of his heart. The layer of petticoats wasn’t thick enough to keep him from noticing a pair of shapely female legs go rigid, then relax beneath his.
Heated breath moistened his mouth. Her lips couldn’t be more than an inch away. He nearly groaned into the tiny space of simmering darkness that separated them.
Would she turn her face aside in outrage if he kissed her? Maybe slap him across the cheek with her slender hand?
Or worse, would she welcome it? Would she melt against his mouth then give herself over to him with an eagerness that would singe his