If You Loved Me

By

Starla Kaye

©2008 by Starla Kaye and Blushing Books

Copyright © 2008 by Blushing Books ® and Starla Kaye

All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Kaye, Starla

If You Loved Me

ISBN 978-1-935152-14-9

Cover Design: Rae Monet

This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors. All characters or fictional and no resemblance between any persons, living or dead, is intended or implied.

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Chapter One

April 1874

Invergarry, Scotland

Bagpipes blared the bold Failte Mhic Alister, Glengarry's March, just as the massive wooden doors of the renovated chapel in the ruined Invergarry Castle opened. Head held high and walking with a slight limp, Charles MacDonell, the eighteenth Chief of Glengarry, entered the room. His weathered face held more than the lines of time; it held the pride and power of his position.

From his place near the altar, Aeneas Alexander “Mac” MacDonell felt bitterness and resentment instead of pride. He’d been raised to respect and obey the clan chieftain without question. But he struggled now to control his anger. He was bound by the invisible bonds of clan loyalty to go against what he believed was right and honorable.

For twenty-five years he'd understood the sacrifices he must make in his life as the first born son to The MacDonell. He had accepted that one day he would become the chieftain. He had accepted having been pledged at birth to marry the first-born daughter of the neighboring Cameron clan once she turned eighteen, still three years away. As he'd matured, he had even managed to make peace with that idea, and had come to feel fondly about Mary Cameron. But he didn't love her and knew that he never would.

He exhaled a deep breath. This was wrong. What he would be forced to do this day would break young Mary Cameron's heart. As far as Mac was concerned, this travesty ended the already precarious relationship he had with his father. Yet he had no choice in this matter. Too many of his clan's fates depended on him honoring his duty this day. One day, though, he would control his decisions and his life.

For now, he was forced to stand here, grinding his teeth harder with each note of the bagpipe’s music. Waiting. Fuming.

He watched his father walk down the center aisle, the white fur sporran bouncing against the front of his kilt. When The MacDonell took his place of honor in the row of wooden benches a dozen feet behind Mac, their gazes finally locked. Challenge sparked silently between them. His father was the first to look away. At that moment Mac both loved and hated the man he had long tried to emulate.

Nervous expectancy filled the stone room. Then silence. Everyone waited for his American bride-to-be to appear. Beside him, his younger brother, Gavin, leaned close and whispered frantically, “Ye dinna have to do this, Mac. There has to be another way.”

Stiff with determination, Mac looked into Gavin's worried green eyes so like his own. “Aye, I must do this.” He heard the barely controlled fury echo in his words and tone, and shot one final look of resentment toward his father.

The sudden whispering of the small gathering of witnesses captured his attention. He followed their craned heads to the back of the chapel. Mesmerized by the sight before him, he stopped breathing for a second. Sunlight poured in the long glass windows and concentrated on the arched doorway. It surrounded and caressed the tiny female dressed in a deeply flounced white satin gown and long blond veil. Then she moved forward—glided really—on her father’s arm.

Mac couldn’t take his gaze from her. His pulse suddenly raced with anticipation. His palms grew moist. He had never reacted this strongly to a woman, certainly not to dear Mary.

“Saint Ninian, but she's a bonnie lass,” Gavin gasped, sounding every bit as entranced as Mac felt.

Aye, she is beautiful. Even more so than the other times he had seen or been near her. Caitlin Curran looked like a glimmering angel. An angel with a face like a China doll he’d once seen. Yet he could see an impish spirit dancing in her golden brown eyes. The eyes of an eighteen-year-old woman. Spirited, innocent and far more of a temptation than she should be for one so young. Dangerous. At least dangerous for him, for what he believed in.

He clenched his hands into tight fists to regain control of the sudden aching need that filled him. His body might desire her, but she was not the woman who belonged in his life.

* * *

Caitlin moved slowly closer to the tall, powerfully-built man with shoulder-length mahogany hair soon to become her husband. From the instant he’d spotted her in the doorway, she had sensed his bitterness. Oh, she had seen a brief flash of male lust. Since her body had matured toward womanhood this last year, she had witnessed such a look on other men’s faces many times. That look had typically repulsed her, as well as the way the men had acted so sickeningly complimentary. But with Mac MacDonell’s annoyed look of appreciation in his mossy green eyes, she had felt a momentary flutter of pleasure. Then his handsomely carved face tightened and his entire body stiffened. If she'd held even a slight hope that this arranged marriage would one day work out, it vanished with his disapproving glower. Not that she was happy about the situation, either, thank you very much.

She released her father's arm and stepped, chin raised high, beside her solemn bridegroom. She would never let him know that even for an instant she’d experienced her first real stirrings of physical yearning for a man. It was clear he didn’t want her. She was determined to feel the same way. And she despised her father and Mac’s father even more for making them do this.

Interrupting her thoughts, Mac bent down enough that he could loudly whisper, “'Tis naught right what we do today, lass. Ye know it as well as I do.”

Her stomach quivered at the deep, husky Scottish burr. She fought back the urge to rub at the nerves tingling now in her abdomen. “Nevertheless it will happen. Neither of us have a choice in this matter.” She met his gaze, not the least bit intimidated by his scowl. Still, she understood his aggravation, his helplessness. They were both being used by their families. “For now, we'll have to make the best of the situation. But one day we will end this difficult situation. I promise you that.”

He looked surprised by her statement, and then gave a curt nod. “I'll be holding ye to your word, Lass.”

In spite of not being happy with their predicament, she couldn’t help being peeved at his quick response. His rejection stung her pride. “Believe me, I want to be married to a future Scottish chieftain as much as you want to be married to—”

“A spoiled American heiress,” Mac finished. Although what he’d said was far from a compliment, the hardness in his eyes had softened somewhat.

She bristled anyway. “I may be young, Mac MacDonell the aged,” she countered, “but I am not spoiled.” Well, maybe she was at times, but her father was quick to rein her in with a firmly applied hand to her bottom when she got too big a head about things.

Her stomach fluttered again as she glanced at Mac’s hands. Lord, they were huge! Then she frowned, annoyed that she was even remotely thinking about what those hands would feel like smacking her bottom. “It will never happen,” she muttered under her breath.

He blinked. “What did you say?”

Heat crept up her cheeks. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“You’re a sassy one, Lass. No doubt a handful for yer father,” he said with disapproval, though amusement flickered in his eyes.

She stood as tall as possible, still being a good foot shorter than Mac. It irritated her that her heart had again skipped a beat at the sound of his deep, warm voice. She chose to focus on disliking what he’d said. “I speak my mind. I tend to be independent. There is nothing wrong with either of those things. I will never be a rug for a man to walk over, a woman to be ignored.”

“No, you’re hardly a woman that a man could possibly ignore.” His eyes darkened for just a second. “But you’re a woman to try a man’s patience.” He held her gaze. “I’m not a man known for his patience when riled.”

Caitlin noted the way his hands flexed at his sides, again noticing the size of them. His implication was not something she wanted to think about. Ever. Yet she couldn’t resist whispering, “You’re a man to try a woman’s patience.”

Making her suddenly realize that their quick whisperings hadn’t been all that quiet, Gavin chuckled.

Mac’s expression immediately soured and he glowered at Gavin, who struggled not to chuckle again. She, in turn, struggled not to snap at him for eavesdropping.

Before she could say something that might worsen the situation Mac barked, “Get this over with!” The authority of a future chieftain rang in his order to the minister waiting anxiously a few feet away. As the much older man hurried to open his well-worn Bible, Mac slid a glance at first Caitlin, then over his shoulder to both fathers and her somber-looking brother, Theopolis. A vein pulsed in his neck when he bit out, “Join me in bondage with the lass, so the pact between the families is near completed.”

While the minister continued fumbling with the Bible, Mac bent toward Caitlin a final time. “The marriage must be consummated. Understand that now. After tonight, though, it willna happen again.”

Must be consummated. The idea of being bedded by such a hardy man would no doubt cause most of her young female friends to succumb to the vapors. She, however, did not find the idea so distasteful. She’d had more than one dream about Mac, and he hadn’t been wearing a kilt like he wore now. He hadn’t been wearing anything at all. In those dreams, she hadn’t been clothed either. Oh, yes, she’d definitely pondered a time or two about what it would be like to have such a powerful man have his way with her. And she with him.

“Did you hear me, Lass?” Mac broke into her wandering thoughts.

He had shattered the last remnants of her foolish dreams and forced her to remember the other words he’d spoken. While he planned to take her as his wife by bedding her this night, he wouldn’t have relations with her ever again. Disappointment swamped her. Anger quickly took its place. She gave a brisk nod. “I understand, and I couldn’t be in more agreement.” Liar, liar. She would accept the decision and live with it, but at least for once in her life she would have known the intimacies between a man and a woman.

“Good,” Mac said, turning away from her to focus on the distressed looking minister, who had obviously overheard the conversation and disapproved.

“Yes, good,” she said, refusing to let him have the final word. She, too, concentrated on the minister and added her own command, “Please do get on with this farcical ceremony.”

* * *

The vows, the lies, had been exchanged. Caitlin stood awkwardly beside Mac, who appeared as uncomfortable with this new situation as she. His lips had barely touched hers when he’d responded to the minister’s urging him to kiss his bride. He hadn’t wanted to touch her, obviously still didn’t. Would he still take her to his bed? Did she really care, especially since he wanted no more than this one night together?

Her father stepped forward with Theopolis at his side. A gleam of satisfaction for having gotten what he wanted sparked his eyes. Yes, he’d gotten the power in Scotland he sought, at the cost of his daughter’s hand in marriage. A business deal. She meant no more to him than what she could bring him. Sadness filled her. How could a person mean so little to another? Yet, she meant as little—or less—to the towering Scot who’d inched closer to her as her father approached them. If she didn’t have such a strong sense of self, she would feel worthless. For now, only her pride was bruised. Badly bruised.

She swallowed a lump in her throat and raised her chin to meet her father eye-to-eye. He barely looked at her before he gave a quick peck to her cheek. “Congratulations.”

Caitlin wanted to ask him for what. Exactly what was he congratulating her for? For vowing to love and obey a man she didn’t really know? For giving up her virginity to a man who wanted her body only for one night, in order to make sure the marriage was considered proper? For making it impossible for Caitlin to ever love her father again?

Before she could respond, Thornton moved in front of Mac and shook his hand in acceptance of his new son-in-law. Mac stood rigid, fury clearly so close to the surface that he didn’t speak. Unconcerned with Mac’s feelings—or hers, Thornton said, “We will be ready to leave for home in the morning. Caitlin must get back to school, you understand.”

“Aye. She’ll be ready,” Mac said, his tone controlled, yet bitter.

There it was: the final details of the pact made between the families. Mac’s honor and her virginity sacrificed for one day and one night only. By previous agreement, she was to return home to the States and finish her schooling. Mac would go on with his life almost as if this day had never happened. When she completed her education at the prestigious new young woman’s college and turned twenty, Mac could come for her if he truly wanted her for his wife. Which he didn’t. They could get a divorce at that time, although her father was opposed to the idea. But until she reached twenty, they were to be legally tied together—for the sake of their respective family’s businesses.

Tears burned her eyes. She had never felt so alone, so unwanted. Even though her father had never shown her much warmth she had always considered her part of a family. Now she did not.

Mac’s large hand settled at her back and it felt oddly comforting. “We’ll be going now. I’m not in the mood for tipping a cup in celebration with the fathers.”

Caitlin’s heart beat wildly. Heat from his touch, from his nearness made tingling sensations dance through her. She had no desire to celebrate in any manner with the others either. Yet was she ready to follow this virtual stranger to his room? Ready to have him do things to her that she’d barely heard whispers about? She had no doubt that Mac was a man who knew what to do with a woman. She had overheard a couple of the maids gossiping about how their Laird’s son was favored amongst the women in the area. Evidently he had one mistress after another. All were pleased with him as a man, again, according to the maids. Quite a number of his mistresses were gravely disappointed that he was getting married, and not to one of them. Yes, he was experienced in the ways of making love to a woman. She would be such a disappointment to him with her complete innocence.

He bent down to speak quietly into her ear. “It willna be so bad, Lass. I willna hurt you, at least no more than necessary.”

She blinked up at him. “No more than necessary?” The words had no more than left her mouth when she felt her face heat. She knew what he referred to, but she’d forgotten for a second. She tried to put on a brave face, a strong demeanor. “I’m sure you will be as careful with me as possible.”

For the first time since she’d met him, he smiled. Just for a second. It was long enough to send shivers of desire through her. They might only have this one night, and she might be sexually innocent, but she wanted this proud, handsome Scot to turn her from maiden to woman.

* * *

Mac had watched Caitlin climb the stairs before him. She was a tiny lass compared to such a massive man as he. Young, too. While only ten years separated them, when it came to knowing the intimate ways between a man and a woman, he felt that decades separated them. He shouldn’t be planning on taking her to his bed, taking her innocence. That rightfully belonged to a man who would truly love her as she deserved. He did not, could not love her. Everything he’d believed in and cherished had changed this day.

Even through the layers of gown she wore, Mac enjoyed the feminine sway of her small hips. He could easily span her waist with his hands. Aye, she was tiny. Well, except for her breasts. She’d been blessed with breasts that drew a man’s attention, certainly his. His body hardened just at the thought of covering her bare breasts with his hands, of tasting them with his mouth. When he started envisioning trailing kisses down her slender body toward her womanhood, he groaned, aching.

She hesitated at the top of the stairway and glanced back at him, innocent confusion on her lovely face. “Are you all right?”

Considering that he wanted to jump her right here on the stone stairway and sink deep into her body, no he was not all right. He bordered on the edge of insanity. Somehow he managed to force down his elemental urges and nod. “Stubbed my toe is all. Wasna paying attention to walking, I guess.”

She gifted him with a tiny smile, and then turned to continue on to his room. He followed with more eagerness than he had a right to feel. He shouldn’t do this. He had to do this.

* * *

Caitlin lie in the middle of Mac’s enormous bed, completely naked, the heat of embarrassment over every inch of her exposed body. She’d tried to convince him to just shove her dress up out of the way and do what he needed to do. He had rolled his eyes and insisted she undress. Actually, he had removed her under-waist to bare her breasts, and then he’d removed her drawers. After that he had stood there silently staring at her for several long seconds and she’d seen how his breathing had changed. She had watched his eyes darken, seen the front of his kilt lift up as his body had responded in arousal. That’s when she’d shied away and dashed to the bed to fling herself upon it.

She had reacted like a child. Now she felt annoyed by that fact and she fought down the need to yank a quilt over her. Instead she barely breathed and watched Mac prepare to join her in bed. She had no doubt that he knew she was watching him, and that he didn’t seem to care. He had already removed the length of plaid attached by a broache to the shoulder of a waist-length jacket, and the jacket itself. He stopped to calmly hold her gaze. Then he undid the ruffled collar of a white shirt and pulled the shirt off over his head.

Oh my heavens!

She sucked in a breath, awed. Once she’d seen Theopolis without his shirt. His pale chest had been thin, bare of any hair. Unimpressive. Mac’s chest, well… Quite impressive indeed. He had muscles like those she’d seen on statues in her art books; muscles that she had believed to be only an artist’s improvement on reality. Not so. Mac’s chest muscles proved that indeed a man could be so endowed. And the sprinkling of dark hair that trailed down his abdomen to somewhere below the waistband of his kilt intrigued her. As did the way the kilt stuck out in one certain place. Her heart raced in anticipation.

He bent over to remove his shoes and knee-high plaid leggings that encased well-toned calves. Muscles bunched and played on his back as well. She felt a foolish desire to touch him. Everywhere. Then he straightened, caught her staring and gave a cocky grin.

“Curious, are ye, Lass?”

“Of course not!” she countered, forcing her gaze away for an instant.

“’Tis a lie that I can see in yer eyes.” His hand moved to the sword belt minus sword and it fell to the floor. “I willna tolerate lying, Wife. ‘Tis best ye know that now.”

Her father had not tolerated it either. A sound session with the strop had only been necessary a time or two for stretching the truth further than allowed. It annoyed her to think about such unpleasantness now and she snapped, “I do not lie, Husband.”

His expression appeared doubtful, but he didn’t press the subject. Instead he added the belted sporran and the kilt to the pile of clothing at his feet.

Oh my! So they didn’t wear anything under a kilt as she’d heard but hadn’t believed. Oh my, oh my, oh my! She should be shocked. She should be closing her eyes and turning away as she believed a proper woman would do when seeing a naked man. Apparently she wasn’t a “proper” woman after all, because she wasn’t about to close her eyes or turn away. Maybe she was a little “shocked,” but really it was more like surprised, intrigued. She wanted to touch that part of him thrusting proudly high at attention. Cock, she believed she’d heard it referred to. She’d heard other names as well, but “cock” sounded best to her.

“Are you done admiring him, Lass?” Mac asked, sounding amused.

“Him?” She rather liked the way his cock seemed to grow while she stared at it.

He reached down and closed a hand around the long, thick shaft. “This proud warrior.”

She giggled, actually giggled, which made him frown. “In truth, I was merely curious.”

He strolled toward the bed, the fully aroused cock holding her attention. Could that possibly fit inside her? She couldn’t imagine it doing so. Oh, she was so going to disappoint him!

* * *

His young wife looked nervous, not frightened as Mac had figured she would be, being an innocent. But along with her obvious concern with what was about to happen to her, he noted definite interest. At least in his body. She wanted him, even if she didn’t know that she did. Her body was still only in the early stages of womanhood, but he found it more than pleasing. And he’d been pleased that she hadn’t broken into hysterical tears when he’d undressed her. His new bride was a brave one with an inner strength that he admired. If circumstances were different… No! He refused to think along those lines. They were what they were. Now he must do what he needed to do.

Mac sat on the edge of the bed expecting her to scurry away. Again, she surprised him. Her golden-brown eyes widened and he could see the rapid pulsing of a vein in her slender neck. She lie stiffly, waiting, her breath coming in quick little breaths. He could smell her sweet woman’s scent now. She was aroused; he was painfully drawn to her. Rightness, wrongness…neither mattered at the moment.

He shifted closer and she tensed but didn’t move away. He had to touch her, had to feel the softness that he knew he would find. So he reached his calloused hand down to stroke his knuckles down the side of her neck. Soft, so soft. His heart pounded; his body hardened even more. Soon he would need to take her.

She blinked up at him. “I don’t… I don’t know what…”

“Do not worry, Lass.” He gently trailed his fingers slowly, lightly between her breasts. She drew in a deep, quivering breath yet remained still for his touch. “I willna hurt ye. Trust me.”

“I-I will try,” she gasped.

Humbled by her concerned admission, he cupped one of her breasts. Firm, a handful, tempting. He thumbed the rosy nipple until it pebbled.

Her breath quickened. “Oh. Oh my,” she sighed as he continued to play with first one breast and then the other. She arched up into his hands; her eyes glazed over.

Mac knew if he reached lower that he would find her moist and ready. But he desperately needed to pay sweet homage to the breasts first. Leaning over her, he ran the tip of his tongue around the aureole, and then took it in his mouth, sucking gently.

She moaned, arched even more, panted. Her fingers threaded into his hair and she sighed, “I’ve never… Oh it feels so…” She moaned again.

Her scent surrounded him, called to him. Hard to think. Nearly impossible to not dive between her legs and take what his body so intensely wanted. His need was powerful, more powerful than he could remember feeling ever before. It worried him. He didn’t want to feel this strongly about her, about this stranger who he’d been forced to wed. He didn’t want to feel anything at all for her.

He lathed one hard nipple again; disgusted that he couldn’t seem to stop. But even as he savored the taste of her, he forced himself to remember that they had only this one night. One night and that was all. His life was meant to go another way and be tied with another woman. A woman who understood the proud Scottish ways. Caitlin’s life was meant to go, well, he didn’t know how it was meant to go, but it was meant to go on without him. They had this one night, and were to be tied together distantly for almost another three years to complete the pact made between the families. After that they could legally cut their ties and go their separate paths forever.

“Mac…Oh, Mac…” Her slender body was writhing now in her own need.

He abandoned her breasts and moved to climb between her legs, feeling a twinge of regret for what he must do…for what his body demanded. As he settled in place for just a second, he felt the beads of moisture on her patch of hair. Ready. Well, almost ready.

She lie tensely, but she didn’t stop him from parting her legs even more as he levered up to look down at her. Her eyes were wide in wonder, in uncertainty. “Do not fret, Lass.”

She nodded.

Holding her gaze with his own, he reached down to cup her mound. She tensed even more, and then he eased a finger between her swollen lips. It took no more than a couple of minutes for him to drive her to the point of quivering, to the point of begging him to do something—anything—to bring her relief. More than ready himself, he thrust hard enough to turn her forever from child to woman.

She cried out, but only for a second. Then she seemed to melt around him and he could no longer remain still. He drove home over and over until he forced her first woman’s release. He drove deeply until he followed with his own release and filled her with his seed.

* * *

The next morning as Mac watched Caitlin step away from him and into the coach with her father, he remembered how his young wife had withstood his taking of her. She had bravely done her duty. She had given away her innocence to a man little more than a stranger. What she hadn’t done since he’d stopped suckling her precious breasts was smile. Oh she’d gasped and moaned for him. Her body had been lost in powerful needs. But she had not smiled again.

He hated himself for that. God help him, he’d forced away her smile.

Chapter Two

April 1876

New York City

Caitlin’s hand shook as she signed her name with a flourish on the papers that would end the marriage-that-wasn’t-a-marriage with Mac MacDonell. This had to be done for both of their sakes. Still, it felt strange not to secretly think of herself as a married woman after three years’ time.

She sucked in a heartening breath, knew she should sit back and face her brother across the large cherry desk in his gas lit library, but she was reluctant to do so. “There, it’s done.” For the briefest of moments she wondered if Mac’d had any misgivings when he had formalized the end of something never meant to be. Probably not. He had felt so betrayed by everyone around him that day, including her. Maybe most of all me. Maybe he’d thought she should have more backbone and refuse to obey her father. But then he could have refused to obey his father. They had both been pawns.

Theopolis pulled the papers from beneath her hand. “At last.”

When she straightened, she discovered an odd smile on his face. It made her uneasy.

His next words reinforced that she should be uneasy with him. “Now that we’re through with that bit of nonsense I’ll let Prescott know. He will want to go about making the wedding arrangements as soon as possible.”

“What?” She stared at him in shock. “What did you say?” She only knew one man named Prescott and she couldn’t help the automatic cringe just at thinking about him.

Her brother looked at her as if she were a simpleton. “You know very well that Prescott Waverly and I have had long meetings of late. This union between the two of you will—“

“Absolutely, emphatically, positively not!” Caitlin cut him off, outraged, her chest heaving. She pinned him with a defiant look. “I most certainly will not marry that weak-kneed, balding, banker friend of yours.”

Theopolis shifted and a scowl of disapproval creased his thin face. His gaze sharpened at the force in her tone. He didn't like to be opposed, especially by her. She couldn’t even determine the number of times he had taken the punishment strop he’d inherited—along with control of her—to her poor bottom. No, speaking her mind in front of him never boded well. Or it hadn’t in the past. She was determined to stand up for herself in this important matter.

“All of my life I’ve been manipulated by men: first Father, more recently by you, and even, in a manner, by Mac. Enough is enough!”

Her brother’s face turned so red she thought he just might explode, which might be all right with her. Wretched man. Wretched, wretched man!

Theopolis snorted his disdain. “I should watch my tone, if I were you.”

She stood stiff before him, recognizing the threat in his expression. Her palms began sweating; her knees weakening. Yet she refused to back down no matter what he did. “I will not continue to be manipulated by you. I will not marry that decrepit old man.”

He raised an eyebrow and then sat back in his massive leather desk chair. The springed seat gave a quiet moan of protest. “Father is two years dead, Caitlin. I am in charge of the family now. It is time you got about the business of doing your woman's duty: providing heirs as a means of carrying on the familial lines. The Curran fortune must be protected in the future and a proper marriage made.”

Caitlin felt her face heat, felt fury racing like a fire through her entire body. She couldn't believe his nerve. Well, yes, she could. He thought himself so much better than her, considering he was a man. She was mere bargaining power for him. She’d been the same thing for her father. Why, oh why, had she been born a female!

“What about my wishes? What about my work?” she pressed, determined not to lose her freedom again so easily.

“Are you referring to that bit of silliness you do with cameras?” He wrinkled his long, thin nose as if he'd sniffed something foul. “This matter is not something you will ever understand. It is something best left up to me. Father did what had to be done at the time. I am deciding what must be done at the present.”

Never before in her entire twenty years had she felt so outraged, and Theopolis had done quite a bit over the last few years to anger her. She slid forward until she perched on the edge of her seat. “That 'bit of silliness' I do is called photography. And I'm quite good at it, as many who understand such a thing have professed.”

She narrowed her eyes to keep him from interrupting. “I truly resent your attitude, but I don't wish to discuss that issue again. The matter at hand is your misguided belief that you can continue ruling my life.” Satisfied that she'd said her piece, she eased back in the chair, shifting the length of her skirt train to the side.

“Regarding attitude, Dear Sister, yours is in serious need of adjustment. While living in my household, you are subject to my rules. One of which is owing me respect.”

Her hands fisted in her lap. The night would end badly for her. “Why is it I am not given the same respect you demand?”

He didn’t bother with an answer, merely reached down to pull open the bottom desk drawer where the all too familiar strop was kept. Her buttocks clenched as he laid the worn piece of heavy leather on the desk top.

“We both know your marriage to that Scot was nothing but a farce, arranged for business reasons only. The business matter involved has long since been handled, and the time agreement met. Now you move on.”

Caitlin refused to cower and show her distress at knowing he would use that dreadful strop all too soon. She had endured many a sore bottom before retiring at night. One more would be unpleasant, but she would endure it, too. “Move on to another loveless marriage? To a man I can barely tolerate, but one you no doubt feel you can control? A man who you expect me to bear children with? Heirs that you yourself cannot provide.”

The very notion of being bedded by Prescott Waverly made her skin crawl. While she had resented being forced to marry Mac, at least he'd not made her feel nauseous just by looking at him. Quite the opposite, actually. To this day she remembered exactly how he’d looked completely naked when he’d taken her to his bed and taken her virginity. It hadn’t been the wedding night that she’d dreamed of, but he’d awakened in her a yearning that she still felt. A yearning to be with a man who truly loved her. She hadn’t learned much about making love that night, other than it could possibly be quite wonderful with the right someone. Mac hadn’t been the “right” someone for her, and she, clearly, was not the “right” someone for him either. A part of her was still sad about that fact. But Prescott could not possibly the right someone for her… or anyone, in her opinion.

“You go too far.” His long fingers curled around the strop’s handle. “What is one more loveless marriage? We both know they are quite common in our social circle.”

He was right, of course. Loveless, arranged marriages were the norm in their world. She didn’t want that for herself, though. “I deserve better than that. I want more than that.” What to do? What to do? How could she regain control of her life and her dreams?

He shrugged, continued to grip the strop. “You will do what I tell you to.”

Caitlin pressed her lips together in annoyance. So smug. So sure he could bend her to his will, confident that he was completely in charge of her life and her decisions. When had she ever been in charge of what she really wanted to do? Certainly not that fateful day when she and Mac had repeated vows that neither wanted to keep. She had been too young to really consider marrying, and she'd had dreams of pursuing her love of photography even then. She had accepted the agreed-upon marriage in name only—other than that one night they’d had together—so her father's newly acquired business in Scotland would have the influence of the respected MacDonell name tied to it. She had accepted the marriage because she'd had no choice.

Ignoring Theopolis and his damn strop for the moment, her thoughts turned to the dangerously striking man whose name she’d carried until today. As always, she felt a warmth in her woman’s place. There hadn’t been and probably never would be a way to deny that her body longed to feel his touch again. She’d heard whispered remarks by women over the years about the joys of being with their husband in intimate ways. She had even gone so far as to read some of the scandalous books that talked of making love. Many nights she had fallen into restless dreams wherein Mac came to her and made long, passionate love. He didn’t just start to awaken her desire and then suddenly rush to get the deed done, as he’d basically done on their wedding night. No, in these dreams, he’d kissed her all over, had run his large hands over her breasts, down her body. His fingers had sought out and claimed her, had done such very wonderful things until she’d begged him to . . .

“Woolgathering, are you?”

Caitlin started and sat up stiffer. She ran a finger around the inside edge of her collar, felt the heat that had spread through her body. Her heart pounded. She ached between her legs. How very annoying!

She tried to picture Mac as having lost all of his hair, as having gained at least fifty pounds and none of it muscle. He was not some perfect man. Not the dream lover she thought about way too often. He had merely spoken his vows that day for the sake of his clan and sacrificed whatever it was he wanted in a chosen wife. The marriage had never been intended to last, which he’d spelled out repeatedly to her that day. Before she’d left the next morning, they had promised to get a divorce when she reached twenty, even though it was not easily done or approved by his church. He had been determined to end the marriage and an annulment was out of the question. Now, barely two months past that date, she had signed the papers directly under Mac’s bold signature. It felt terribly wrong, almost as wrong as speaking what should have been very special vows all those many days ago.

Theopolis cleared his throat, demanding her attention, clearly irritated with her continued unresponsiveness. When she met his gaze, he stated firmly, “I’m sure wedding arrangements can be made by the end of the month. As I said earlier, it is time that you performed your familial duty and provided an heir for the Currans…and you will.”

She shivered in revulsion, hated his tone. “For that banker you can control, you mean. The child would not be solely a Curran.”

“The child, and you, would most certainly bear his name. However, Prescott and I have already agreed that he would have no legal claims to any of the Curran money. Other than what will go to him as your dowry, naturally.”

He had pulled the strop toward him. The intent was clear in his eyes. He was tired of her resistance, of her attempting to stand up against him. He believed that punishing her would bring her around and have her meekly accepting whatever he wished her to do.

Wrong! Caitlin stood and walked over to look out a long window, holding back one of the velvet curtains to glance at the manicured lawn and the multi-colored flower gardens lining the front walk. In the glass, she could see her brother pushing his chair back. The strop would yield a great deal of pain. But more painful to her was his absolute refusal to even consider her feelings. The idea of being traded away right and left for financial security was abhorrent.

She twisted the antique wedding ring on her finger. Mac may have been angry at the forced marriage and may have resented being tied to a young American heiress who he believed always got her way, but he had not been a heartless man. She had seen deep emotions in his haunted eyes. She had witnessed his love and loyalty to those he cared for—to his clan—in the way he'd straightened his shoulders and said his vows. Yes, he had a heart. She only hoped that what she'd done—what they'd done—hadn't damaged it forever. For she fully understood now just how deeply the betrayal of a loved one could hurt. And Mac's father had betrayed him by forcing him into an arranged marriage.

“Prescott is a good man,” Theopolis declared, standing and walking in her direction. His reflection in the mirror showed that he carried the strop with him. “He may be a little long in the tooth, but I'm sure he can still get you with child.”

She turned to face him and shuddered at the thought of Prescott. “'Long in the tooth' hardly covers his advanced years.”

He stopped a few feet from her. “Enough! You will marry Prescott by the end of this month and that is final.”

“No!” She scurried by her startled brother and went straight to the desk. Even as she heard him moving behind her, she grabbed the legal documents and ripped them into tiny pieces. “There will be no more talk of my marrying Prescott Waverly. Him or anyone else. I am still a married woman now that these papers have been destroyed. It is time I went to be with Mac.”

Her stomach fluttered with nerves. What am I doing? Mac won’t want me; he’s never wanted me. She didn’t, in truth, want him either. What she wanted was distance between she and her brother. Distance and time to finalize her plans to go to California, where she hoped to pursue a chance to work for her uncle who owned a newspaper there. She would simply have legal papers redrawn and get Mac’s signature all over again.

Theopolis was behind her now. Fury rolled off him in waves, but she was angry as well. She glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel, then focused briefly on a pair of chocolate-tinted tintypes of her brother and father that she'd made a couple of years ago. Her heart ached knowing she missed her father despite what he'd done to her, knowing she would miss her brother in spite of what he'd become.

“Those papers meant nothing, no more than a show for your benefit,” Theopolis said smugly.

Her pulse raced. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying the divorce papers were filed two months ago, exactly on time.”

“But I hadn’t signed . . .” She looked at him, knew what he’d done. “You forged my signature, didn’t you?”

He shrugged as if his illegal action was of no matter. “I’ve been doing so for years, Dear Sister.”

“For years,” she whispered, disbelieving the depth of his underhandedness. She felt ill, terribly ill. “You forged Mac’s signature as well, didn’t you?”

Theopolis didn’t even bother to confirm or deny the question. “You never belonged together. Never wanted to be together. I merely helped you both.”

Caitlin bristled, wished she could grab that damn strop and beat him senseless. She could barely tolerate being in the same room with him. “I could have you thrown in jail.”

He merely raised an eyebrow. “I think not.”

No doubt he was right. She decided to change tactics. “I’m going to Scotland, to Mac. I’ll get this mess straightened out one way or another. And you cannot stop me. My mind is quite made up.”

He looked smug. “Mac is not in Scotland.” He casually swung the strop at his side, smiling as he saw her watch the motion. “He left there not long after you returned with Father and I to the States following the wedding. Evidently he and his father had a bitter argument and he left behind his clan duties to forge a new life here.”

Mac had left Scotland? She couldn't imagine him living anywhere else. He had fit the wild, rugged land so well. Curling her hands into fists, she asked, “How do you know all of this?”

“I look after what is my responsibility, which includes you, Dear Heart.”

“Have you had contact with him?” she asked, still trying to take everything in, praying Mac was as innocent in this horrible game as she.

“Let's just say that over the years I have had people let me know where he settled and what he was doing.”

“You set your private investigators on him.” Now she was outraged on Mac's behalf.

“Why are you so defensive of MacDonell? He abandoned his family, and you. What kind of man is that? Prescott would never abandon you.” He took a step closer.

His taunting hurt, but his rationalization wasn't exactly true. From the moment their fathers had made the arrangement, it had been understood that she would return to the States, finish her education, and when she reached twenty they could end the marriage should they choose to do so. Abandonment was not an issue. Still, every once in a while over the years, she had foolishly wished Mac had at least contacted her. She would have liked to have gotten to know him a little, a man who was willing to give up his dreams for his family.

“I expect you to provide me with Mac’s latest known address,” she said, forcing away the distracting thought.

“It is best to leave things the way they are, Caitlin.” He flashed a crooked, evil grin. “Besides, he didn’t even bother to show up for your funeral.”

“What?” Good heavens, how much more complicated could all of this be?

Theopolis blew out a deep, annoyed breath. “The divorce papers were for legal needs, my legal needs. Mac was simply told that you died three years ago, around the time of your return to the States. We didn’t want him interfering with our future plans for you, and we couldn’t fully count on him following through with a divorce. What if he’d changed his mind? What if he’d decided to ignore the facts that he didn’t love you and believed you would never make him a fit wife? We simply couldn’t take that chance. We had other plans for your life.”

Caitlin stood there seething for a minute. She’d known her father was a master at being underhanded and getting his way. But this was too much! Simply too much. “You’re truly despicable!”

He narrowed his eyes and she knew she’d pressed him too far this time. But she didn’t care. He was despicable. “I want Mac’s last known address, Theopolis.”

“I won’t give it to you.”

She huffed in resignation, “Fine.” It was past time her brother learned that she wasn’t milk toast, always biddable. She wondered just how she could sweet talk the information from her brother's private investigator. On more than one occasion the man had asked her to join him at the theater.

Before she could move, he grabbed her arm and forced her to face the desk. He pressed her forward until she braced her arms on the top. “What I will give you is a thrashing for behaving so disrespectfully.”

Still angry with his betrayal, with all of his lies, she snapped, “You have done nothing to earn my respect.”

He jerked her skirt and petticoat up, tossed them over her back. The strop landed with such force that she thrust further across the desk. “We will see how your attitude improves after a sound stropping.”

A quick dozen lashes fell, each harder than the other. Even through the layer of underdrawers she felt the bite. She would not cry out! She would not give him the satisfaction!

He thrashed her until she couldn’t stand still, until her world consisted of gasping and whimpering, until her bottom burned with the fires of hell.

“Prescott will have his hands full with you, Sister.” He thrashed her again. “I will give him this strop as a wedding gift.”

Although tears streamed down her face and she desperately wanted to stop the pain, she hissed, “I will never marry Waverly.”

Opposed to her stubborn resistance, he determined to change her mind. Finally she gave in to the frantic need to scream out her pain. She did not verbalize agreement to the proposed wedding, but Theopolis took her pleas for stopping as such.

He tugged her skirts down over her tortured bottom and pulled her to her feet. As had become his habit, he held the strop out for her to kiss. She detested this practice of kissing the instrument of her punishment, but she wanted this over with.

Wincing at having to bend over enough to press her lips to the warm leather, she obeyed. He nodded approval when she straightened.

“You will retire now, Caitlin. You will remain in your room until tomorrow morning when we will again speak of your marriage to Prescott.” He waved her away in dismissal and moved to put the strop back in the bottom drawer.

* * *

Several hours had passed, as had most of the pain from her punishment. It was her heart that ached more than anything now. This would be her last night here in the home in which she’d grown up. As she looked around her room for what she knew would be the last time, sadness filled her. So many memories. Even more sad, there were really only a few good ones.

Already dressed for bed in her fine linen nightgown, she gingerly climbed up onto her favorite place in the room: the window seat. She stared out at the dark sky through the filmy curtains and tucked her legs under her still somewhat sore bottom. Even though she’d never known her mother, who had died upon her birth, Caitlin missed her. It was impossible to count the number of times she had curled up here and cried herself to sleep after something her father had said or done—more often done. He had made a poor combination of mother and father. Actually, he’d made a poor father, period. An even worse father than she’d believed, now that she knew more of his dastardly deeds.

Tears stinging her eyes, she glanced into the massive room, adorned with the best mahogany bedroom furniture money could buy. Expensive clothing from the most elite designers filled her dressing room. She had a jewelry box nearly the size of a trunk that contained more fancy jewels than a woman should ever need. Yes, her father had bought her nothing but the best. Not because he’d loved her and wanted her to have the items, but because he’d expected her to be a showpiece whenever she went out into society. Her brother did as well.

What was overwhelmingly missing in her room—in the entire mansion—was anything whatsoever to do with her mother. Not one painting, not one tintype, not even one of Emma Curran’s hair ribbons were anywhere to be found. Her father had cast everything to do with his wife out of their lives immediately after she’d died, abandoning him with a baby girl. Caitlin had never known whether he’d loved her mother or not.

She shifted and winced, thinking yet again of her despicable brother. She had heard his carriage leaving only an hour ago and rushed downstairs to his library. Heart racing the whole time lest he come back and find her there snooping around, she had gone through his desk drawers. When she’d come across the strop, she hadn’t hesitated for a second. She had snatched it up and tossed it in the fireplace. She’d enjoyed watching it shrivel up and distort in the slowly dying fires. And then she had searched the desk some more. Even now she thought about the piece of parchment carefully folded and tucked into the bottom of her satchel. She knew where Mac lived now…at least where he had lived on the investigator’s report of six months ago.

Her plans were in motion with that knowledge. She would leave most of her clothing and jewelry behind when she left for the West, for a place called Tumbleweed in Arizona. The only belongings she had that mattered to her were her precious camera and what she needed to produce photographs. A month ago she had started thinking about leaving home, but she hadn’t known when or how exactly. She had, though, taken all of her equipment to a friend’s house. Her brother had not known about it…nor would he have cared, she imagined. She would get a message to her friend and have it all shipped to her once she settled somewhere.

Caitlin tried to convince herself that all of this change in her life was an exciting adventure. It was, really. It was also terrifying. Yet to stay here with Theopolis was unacceptable. To stay here and be forced to marry that awful Prescott Waverly… Well, that was horrifying. A tear trickled down her cheek, and then another. All she’d ever wanted was to be loved. All she’d ever been was tolerated.

Except for a few minutes on that night three years ago. Between the forced wedding ceremony and the hurried final act of consummation there had been a few precious minutes when she’d felt almost loved. Mac had been gentle in the beginning, awakening her body to the pleasures a woman could feel from being with a man. He had done things to her breasts that she’d had no idea a man would do. His tongue had felt hot, wet, slightly rough as he’d laved one nipple and then the other. He had nipped gently at the hardened tips. He had surrounded one pulsing bud with his mouth, sucked on it. And then he’d done the same with her other breast.

Suddenly her breasts felt heavy. She glanced down and found her nipples had become taut peaks. As wrong as it was, she ached to have Mac do those wondrous things to her breasts again.

She lifted a hand and boldly cupped a breast, glancing across the large space to make sure the bedroom door was closed even though she believed that Theopolis was still gone for the evening. This most surely was quite improper, wicked. She had read about such things, but had never considered doing them. Yet it felt delicious to touch her breast, to feel the tiny stirrings of arousal once more after all this time.

Her fingers massaged the fullness, and her lower lips pulsed with awareness. In her mind's eye she saw Mac sitting here beside her. It was his large, calloused hand that squeezed her breast. It was his thumb that rubbed back and forth across the bud until it hardened into a pebble.

Wondrous sensations tingled from her now aching breast all the way down to her woman’s area. Between her legs that tiny, special place Mac had ever so gently touched burst to life. Throbbed. Begged for something more.

She closed her eyes. Mac. Only in her dreams did she allow herself to think about him, because their reality did not belong entwined. Yet, for here and now only, she could share a wickedly secret time with him.

His hand continued to caress, to knead her breast. His other hand crept lower and she shifted to stretch her legs out in front, and finally lay down in the window seat. Her eyes still closed, lost in a newly discovered need, she eased her legs apart with her knees slightly bent.

His hand shoved her nightgown up and out of the way. It found the moist place she’d first truly become aware of that night. His middle finger slipped slowly between the swollen lips, eased inside. She sighed, squeezing internal muscles around the welcome invader.

Almost dizzy now, her palm rubbed against the secret bud. She moved, wanting something, needing something. His thumb slid along the tender edge; his finger wiggled and teased.

Mac. Oh, Mac.

She arched upward desperate to meet the encouraging finger. Hot, she felt so hot. She moaned, heart racing.

His fingers tormented. Her fingers tormented. The dream was reality. Reality a delicious dream. She panted. She trembled and arched some more. Reaching for something. Begging for something. Her body demanded she meet its needs, and she forged ahead in near mindless pursuit of satisfaction.

Finally, finally she came apart with one last arch upward. His hand/her hand stilled and she let out a deep, breathy sigh, “Ohhhhhh. Ohhhhhhh, Mac.” Warm dewdrops of release covered her fingers. She could do no more than lie there for several minutes.

As she inched her way back from the world of blind pleasure, she again felt that aching pinch around her heart that she’d experienced earlier for all she’d lost today. She mourned the final loss of her family. For Theopolis’s admissions of his sins against her, of his selfish plans for her, put an end to him forever in her mind.

With no one else to turn to for momentary comfort, she whispered brokenly, “Ah, Mac. If only you could love me.”

Chapter Three

Tumbleweed, Arizona Territory

Mac MacDonell shoved through the gate of the picket fence surrounding his sparsely grassed yard. His boot heels thudded on the hard ground and up handful of wooden steps. His spur rowels rattled and added to his headache. He was weary to the bone and he’d like nothing better than to sleep the rest of the day away.

A tray full of dishes covered with red-checked fabric sat in front of his door. He stopped abruptly. Sweet St. Margaret, she's brung me more food! He knew that the peace he had longed for would not happen.

He tipped up his wide-brimmed hat with one finger and stared at the latest offerings from Matilda Burnside. Admittedly he was starving. But her constant gifts of food made him feel like a calf being fattened for slaughter. She wanted him: his name, a ring on her finger, and his love. After having very properly dated her for going on two years, she'd recently started pressuring him for a commitment. Then, somehow—from whatever slip of tongue he'd made recently—she'd assumed they were engaged. He couldn't remember what he'd said that remotely sounded like a proposal, but she had taken it as such. She was a sweet lass and a wonderful cook. She deserved better than a proud Scot with a battered soul. He didn’t want to hurt her, which was why he was still in this fix. He hadn't yet come up with the words to say that she'd made an error in her thinking, that he couldn’t be the husband she needed.

Husband. Wife. The words alone turned his thoughts to another lass, another time and place. As clear to him now as on that momentous day in Invergarry Castle’s chapel, he saw Caitlin Curran standing in the arched doorway. Sunlight poured in through the long glass windows behind her. An angel. A devilish temptation.

Even as weary as he was, he could still remember how when she had stood beside him after the ceremony, he'd fought a nearly overwhelming desire to reach out and touch her shimmering flaxen hair. His fingers had almost ached from the need to caress the sides of her delicate face, to feel the softness of her creamy skin. He had wanted to keep on watching the way her eyes had seemed to dance with the fires of life, even after he’d coldly informed her that he intended to consummate their marriage per the agreement between the families. She had bravely listened to him tell her that he would claim his husband’s rights that one night only, and never bed her again. What an ass he had been. To this day, he felt sick to his stomach about his declarations, about his actions. He had hated himself the next day almost as much as he’d hated his father for putting him in such a horrendous position.

The wind swirled, carrying the spicy aroma of apple pie and luring him back to the present. His nose twitched in appreciation. He had to stop thinking about the past and a life that never was. Reality consisted of living thousands of miles away from his clan, of being a sheriff in a town that had accepted him since the day he’d rode in looking for a place to start over. It consisted of his good friend, Zachary, and of Matilda, who wanted to marry him.

Maybe he should give up and propose to Matilda. He was fond of her. They would get along well, and he had needs. A man’s needs to be with a woman. To see her naked body spread before him, see her watching him come to her with her eyes darkening in growing need. To touch every inch of her soft skin so different from his own. To lie between her legs and feel the smoothness of her inner thighs. To guide his hard cock into her as she welcomed him with an eagerness that rivaled his own. To thrust long and deep while her muscles tightened around him. To pump fast and true even as he bent down to lave the nipples of her firm, ripe breasts begging for his attention. To tease the nipples into tight buds and suckle them as he rode her faster and faster until she gifted him with small desperate gasps and deep moans of pleasure. He would watch her golden brown eyes darken even more, watch her face as she became frantic for release. And then when he felt those first quivers and demands of her fully aroused body, he could let himself go. The sweet, musky scent of her juices flowing over his hard cock would finally entice his own release. With one final thrust home, he would fill her with his seed.

He cursed the air blue, feeling the tightness of twill pants around his throbbing cock. These wild dreams had happened more and more lately. So often, in fact, that he wasn’t getting much sleep. He tossed and turned with a sometimes uncontrollable need, uncontrollable until he would be forced to give in and take care of it or go insane. This wasn’t like him. He didn’t focus on raw sex. Well, no more than he imagined most men did. But he did have a widow woman in another town that he went to when he had to release his build up of sexual tension. She enjoyed their time together as much as he did, but she had no desire to hook up permanently with any man ever again. Which suited Mac just fine, even though he was pretty sure that he was her only lover.

Women had always seemed to be trouble as far as his experiences with them went. He had been promised at birth to one he knew he’d never really love. He had been forced to marry one he couldn’t allow himself to love. And now there was Matilda. Matilda. What frustrated him most was that his yearning of late to make love with a woman didn’t involve Matilda . . . or even his widow over in Cottonwood. No, flaxen-haired, golden-eyed Caitlin starred in each moment of his lust-filled dreams. And that was wrong. She was dead and buried. Yet, even after he’d been told of her death, he’d been dreaming about her since their wedding night. Sick. You’re a sick, sick man.

Maybe the only cure for him and these strange, powerful needs within him was to finally give up acting the widow himself and start a new life with Matilda. She wanted to heal him, to love him. Dare he let her try?

Troubled, he bent down to scoop up the tray and his stomach growled. He tried to balance the tray on one arm and reached to open the front door just as he heard a familiar chuckle behind him. Mac turned his head and spotted the town’s only lawyer, Zachary Greene, walking through the gate.

Mac was pleased with the distraction from thoughts he didn’t want to ponder. He flashed his tall and lanky friend a grin of welcome. “Pick up your feet and get your scrawny bones up here. I could use a bit of help,” he teased, his deep voice tinged with a slight Scottish burr.

“Insult me some more, and I'll head back the other way,” Zachary returned, although he began striding faster toward Mac. “I see your fair maiden has graced you with more food. You're making an awful lot of work for her, having to cart meals over here.” Zachary reached to open the door. “Why can't you just set a date and say your vows? Why in blazes are you dragging your heels on this?”

Mac stepped into the small, three-room house. His stomach knotted as it always did when they discussed this subject. “I've not asked Matilda to keep bringing me food.”

He set the tray on the scarred, wooden table beside the window and faced Zachary. “And you, my good friend, know why I've not asked for her hand in marriage.”

“Once I did, but you’ve grieved long enough. Matilda would make you a good wife.”

“Aye, I know.” Mac removed his hat and tossed it at a nearby wall peg, watching it settle into place. “She likes the run down ranch I'm trying to rebuild. She even tolerates my odd hours acting as the town's sheriff.”

“But . . .” Zachary prompted, lifting the cloth from the pie and stealing a bite of crust.

Mac yanked the pie plate from Zachary's hand when he reached for another crumb. “But I canna seem to let go of the past.” He stopped, glancing away from Zachary's sympathetic gaze. Zachary knew his history with Caitlin, but he had told Mac that he didn't understand why he hadn't gotten on with his life by now. Especially since they’d never even had a real marriage. Many a time he’d also wondered why.

“Well, think about it. Seriously,” Zachary said, sounding oddly irritated.

Mac decided to change the subject. “What about you, Zachary? You're not getting any younger. 'Tis time you took yourself a wife and filled that house of yours with children.”

Zachary spun and walked back toward the door. He stopped and faced Mac, now sitting at the table, running a finger along the edge of the pie plate. “I'm as marriage-shy as you, my friend. So I'll stop harping at you, if you'll stop harping at me about it.” At Mac's nod, he added, “I only came here to see if you got back in one piece after delivering your prisoner to Tucson. Although you appear to have bathed in dirt, I don't see any holes in your hide. So I'll get back to my office.”

Mac tore off a chunk of piecrust and tossed it to Zachary. “Go on with you then. I'm needing to fill my stomach and clean up a bit before I go calling on Miss Matilda to thank her for the vittles.”

“Mac, you can't keep this up. If you don’t plan to take her to wife, you have got to call off what she thinks is your engagement.” He strode out the door without waiting for Mac's answer. Again, Mac was surprised by Zachary’s almost angry comment. Then he decided that he was just overly tired, hearing things that weren’t really there.

When the door closed behind Zachary, Mac heaved a sigh, and then gazed around the house. Loneliness ate at him. He thought about the ranch where he was slowly building a real house. The ranch he and Widow Hawkins shared ownership of now, as of a month ago. He was finally getting ready to start his dream of taking a stab at horse breeding, and he planned to make a success of it. He had to; for once he'd made sufficient funds he intended to send as much as he could to his clan in Scotland. They were still struggling, having long ago gone through the funds gained by his marriage to the American heiress. How ironic.

Matilda's long, oval face and wide-set brown eyes drifted into his mind. She was pleasant looking and healthy, a sensible woman who would give him strong heirs. As the town's schoolmarm she was good with children, an advantage in his opinion. Yet otherwise she was a wee bit reserved. They had only kissed a time or two, and he hadn't experienced the instantaneous jolt to his system that he had when he had kissed Caitlin. Innocent she might have been, but he’d quickly discovered that night that Caitlin had a natural gift for pleasing a man. What a shame she’d never gotten a chance to know real love, or to fully experience all the pleasures a man could give her.

Empty. Thoughts of her made him feel so very empty. Her memory hadn’t ever left him alone, and had seemed to haunt him even more lately. She had been a bonny young heiress, but spoiled her entire life. She never would have made the kind of wife he needed. Still, it saddened him to think of her dead. So much spirit in one so young. Gone. Gone except in his memories, in his dreams.

Smells of the pie circled around him again and his thoughts returned to Matilda. Now there was a woman with staying power, a woman who was the best cook he’d ever run across. She would never let him starve, and she didn’t have a particular liking for fancy dresses and feminine geegaws. Zachary was right. He should quit stalling and propose. Maybe tomorrow . . . or next week. Well, as soon as he had time away from his duties as sheriff and from working on the ranch. But soon.

* * *

Inside the Concord stagecoach, Caitlin heard the six horses snorting and straining as they raced down the rutted Arizona, red dirt road. Dirt billowed in thick clouds around the coach, swirling upwards toward the clear blue sky and in through the partially covered window. Above her head the gruff driver bellowed commands and snapped the reins. The express messenger riding shotgun grumbled a loud curse, and she knew he was fighting to keep his seat.

Suddenly, one of the wooden wheels rolled over a rock. The coach pitched and swayed from side to side. Battling for control, the driver singed the prairie air with a frustrated roar of commands and curses.

Caitlin clutched the edge of the leather seat to keep from being tossed to the floor. Dust mixed with the stench of sweaty animals exploded into the cramped interior. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her stomach from revolting against the smell and the queasy feeling caused by the constant swaying.

Across from her, two stout women hissed in displeasure as they jostled about on the seat. They glared at her. What did they think she could do about the wretched ride? Lord A'mighty, they were getting on her nerves. Lord a’mighty? When had she picked up that phrase? Obviously she had gotten it from one of the colorful men she had met at the various stage stops. She could just imagine what Theopolis's reaction would be if she were to dare utter such a comment in front of him. Another thrashing with that awful strop. No. There would be no more thrashings with that horrible strop since she’d tossed it into the fire. There would be no more thrashings from him either and, hopefully, from any other man.

She gritted her teeth and planted her small slippered feet firmly to keep from sliding further. Every inch of her body felt bruised, especially her buttocks. Her bustle was positively crushed. She reached down to smooth the skirt of her claret walking suit. It was hopelessly wrinkled and had a few tears in the side pleating. Perspiration trickled between her breasts and down her back, making her sticky as well as testy.

Drat! She wanted to make a good impression on Mac and the people of Tumbleweed. She had taken great pains when she'd dressed this morning in the last way station, all for naught.

Again, the coach lurched. The older women jerked from side-to-side, squealing in outrage. Fighting the urge to cover her ears, Caitlin silently counted to ten. As the shrieks continued, Caitlin decided she'd had enough. “Would you please stop that wailing!” she snapped, glowering at the pair who had been nothing but a headache the entire three days they had traveled together.

The two tight-lipped ladies glared in astonishment. Then the homelier of the two women pinched her lips together until they disappeared. She wrinkled her nose at the dust covering her black skirt before attempting to brush it away with her gloved hand. Finally the other woman pinned Caitlin with a disapproving look. “Your shoes are on my hem.”

Caitlin glanced down and pulled her feet back. She had the sudden delightful vision of the door flying open and both prune-faced women tumbling out into the dirt.

“Sister and I've been wondering why a young woman like you is traveling unaccompanied,” the homely one commented, frowning as she looked down her nose at Caitlin.

For a second Caitlin fought the desire to tell the old snoops to mind their own business, then she said, “Yes, I realize that it’s less than proper, but it couldn't be helped. My traveling companion got sick, and I had to leave her behind at the last minute.” Actually, she had managed to trick the older woman with the prickly personality of a porcupine that she had foolishly hired to travel with her before leaving New York. When they had arrived by train in Wichita, Kansas, Caitlin had told Mrs. Stricklin that she'd decided not to go to Tumbleweed after all, and purchased them both tickets for the train to continue on toward San Francisco. Bustling onto the next train with her satchels, the confused woman hadn't noticed Caitlin's lack of bags. Then Caitlin had slipped out the door just as the train began moving and Mrs. Stricklin was finding a seat.

Blinking back to the present, she said, “I'm going to meet my husband.” She patted the reticule in her lap. “Besides, I'm capable of taking care of myself. I've got a derringer in here, and I know how to use it.”

She prayed she would never have to prove that falsehood. Though she did have the small weapon, she had absolutely no idea how one fired it. But she could always hit someone over the head with it, she imagined.

The other woman looked at her; her eyes squinted at Caitlin in suspicion. “Your man at the Fort Lowell?”

The coach bounced again, and the heavy chains on the harnesses rattled. Arms stiff from clinging to her seat, Caitlin glanced out the window, her attention caught by the grass waving in the wind. Butterflies danced about in her stomach as she thought about Mac, whose shoulders were surely as wide as the interior of this stage. She flinched, thinking of those bulging muscles on arms that could probably bend iron. She remembered he was taller than most men were, certainly than either her father or brother, by at least a foot, maybe two. Deep mahogany hair had fluttered defiantly about his collar in the wisp of wind that had come in through the chapel's windows the day of their wedding. A square, proud jaw, physical evidence of his determination to face life's bumps and curves. And a faint white scar that slashed across his cheek just under his left eye. She would have loved to have her camera that day.

Giving a small sigh, she licked her lips, parched dry from not drinking for hours. As she touched her lips, the memory of Mac's kiss made her feel warm. Warm in a place a lady didn’t talk about, probably shouldn’t even think about. But, oh, how she did. Think about him, that is. Think about his touch. Oh heavens! She was definitely getting warm in that secret place, and the jostling of the stage wasn’t helping her situation. Because now her vivid imagination was seeing Mac all wonderfully naked above her. She was seeing his handsome faced pinched in strain with urgent need as he drove into her over and over. Each movement of the stage had the tiny bud between her legs pulsing. Each jar was like yet another of Mac’s firm, deep strokes. Her heart raced now as she tried to rein in her thoughts. Oh my! Oh my! Oh my!

“Well, is your man at the fort or not?” the older woman asked again, sounding annoyed.

Caitlin blinked and inwardly shook off the sensual image of a moment before. Hoping her face wasn’t flaming with the same heat still simmering inside her, she faced the passengers. She could hardly believe her thoughts had strayed to such dangerous areas again, especially when she wasn’t alone. “No, he's the sheriff in Tumbleweed,” she managed to say.

“Mac MacDonell?” The woman's eyes widened. “Why, he's never mentioned anything about a wife since he came to town two years ago.” She looked suspiciously at Caitlin, clearly not believing she was his wife.

The stage rocked violently again, and then Caitlin heard the driver yell out, “Tumbleweed, jist ahead!”

“Thank God,” Caitlin muttered, louder than she should have. She glanced at the disapproving glowers cast her direction by the older women and stiffened in her seat. Mixed emotions filled her. A ridiculous eagerness to see her husband again. Determination to ignore her silly woman's fanciful attraction to him and set about arranging for their agreed upon divorce. Sadness at ending something that had never really started or had a chance. And irritation after learning that he'd never told anyone about her, even to tell them that he was widowed. Which, of course, he actually wasn’t. The scallywag! She had a sudden desire to box his ears.

Just as quickly, she tossed the odd notion aside. What did it matter that he'd never mentioned her to anyone where he lived? They were only tied together by a piece of paper and some meaningless vows they had said long ago. If and when she ever married again, the man who stood beside her in front of a preacher would mean every single word he said when he took her for his wife. He would want her because of who she was in her heart and soul, not because of her family's money. He would accept her need for a certain amount of independence and approve of her using her skills as a photographer—not want her to give it up because he saw it as foolish nonsense, like her brother did.

She reached for her reticule and firmed her chin. Her stomach fluttered; her tiny bud continued to pulse, but she ignored it. Soon she would find Mac and begin the next phase of her life. She supposed he would probably kiss the ground at her feet for her finally getting around to giving him his freedom. That is, after he got over learning that she was indeed not dead, as he’d been told.

* * *

The sharp crack of a whip sizzled through the air like a lightning bolt as thundering hooves raised a thick, dusty cloud of red dirt. A careening stagecoach materialized out of the flying dirt and raced down the main street. Men, women, and children scurried out of the path and onto the boardwalks. Wagons creaked and horses snorted in protest as they steered safely away. Mac saw it all from the porch of his house as he sat in a tilted chair, relaxing.

Reluctantly, he lowered his black broadcloth-covered leg from the railing. He threw down his cigarette and ground it beneath his boot. A hot breeze tousled his damp, collar-length hair. Stirred up dust burned his eyes, and he reached up to wipe the grit from his face. He frowned as he strode down the steps, and then glanced out of habit at his tied-down gunbelt, making sure the half-flap above his Colt Army revolver was loose. In his three years in the West he had learned to always be ready for trouble. Although Tumbleweed was basically a peaceful place, there had been more than a few times that a wanted man or an ornery cuss had arrived on the stage. Today his gut warned him to be cautious. Trouble had arrived in Tumbleweed, he was almost sure of it.

His gaze lifted, and he squinted into the sun. The townsfolk had gathered around the creaking stage as it stopped in front of his sheriff's office. Tipping his hat lower, Mac headed in their direction.

He had gone less than a dozen feet when he slowed his footsteps. Lucinda Eastridge was heading for the stage. She was always butting into other people's business, his in particular. Greeting the stage and the people on it was his business and he'd thank her to keep her distance. But, of course, she wouldn't.

He resumed his steady pace, resigned to an encounter with her. As he drew closer, Lucinda's flat chest puffed out in fury. An expression of disdain settled onto her stern face, and for a second he considered turning around and letting his deputy take care of this situation, but he didn't see Andy among the crowd. Instead, he spotted Matilda walking out of the general store only a few yards ahead. She flashed a warm smile and hurried to his side.

“Coming to greet the passengers, Mac? I'd be pleased to help you,” Matilda said, glancing at him somewhat shyly and then away.

Mac nodded his welcome even though he preferred to meet the visitors alone. He couldn't refuse his fiancée—who wasn’t really his fiancée—when she seemed to be doing this to please him. “I suppose that would be just fine.”

She gave him a timid smile and started to speak when Coyote Jack distracted them. He leaned over the side of the driver's box. A stream of tobacco juice sailed from his mouth to the ground and barely missed his sister, Lucinda's, foot. In a low, amused tone Mac whispered to Matilda, “I doubt that was an accident.”

When amusement danced in her eyes, Mac thought she was rather pretty. He smiled gently down at her. Then, sensing a confrontation between Coyote and Lucinda, he moved their way, Matilda following him.

Bracing his arms on the railing, Coyote jumped to the ground in front of his sister. Two long, furry strands of pelt swung wildly around his face. As Lucinda's gaze swept to the yellow eyes of the coyote's head that made up the top of his hat, her older brother grinned. “Come to give yer poor old brother a welcomin' hug, didya?” He turned his weatherworn, dirt-encrusted face, and pointed to his cheek. “How 'bout a sweet peck right here?”

Lucinda's gray eyes narrowed as her brother roared with laughter, slapping his thigh. Her long, beak-like nose wrinkled in disgust. “There isn't a woman in her right mind who would ever touch the filthy likes of you, Jacob Bean!” Lucinda snarled. The use of his full name earned a glower from her brother. She tilted up her nose and continued her tirade with an air of superiority. “I'm expecting an important package on your stage—which, of course, is late.” She shoved him out of her path and headed for the rear boot with its leather storage compartment.

“Ain't that just like yer prissy self, thinkin' only of yer needs,” Coyote Jack snapped, grinning to reveal yellow-stained teeth. He scratched his scruffy beard as he scanned the crowd. “Is the sheriff around here somewheres? I've got a passenger wantin' to see him.”

Hearing this, Lucinda peeked around the stage at her brother, curiosity filling her face. Mac groaned, wishing just once the town's biggest gossip would mind her own business. He made his way through the crowd, Matilda right behind him.

Two portly women, who Mac recognized as sisters of one of the ranchers, stepped out of the coach. The homelier one reached down and shook the dirt from her skirt. The other glanced around, obviously looking for someone. His curiosity drew him closer. He wished Matilda would stand aside for now, in case there was trouble. He didn't want her in harm's way.

The sisters focused on him, pinning him with sympathetic looks before bustling away. The last one hesitated, and then patted his arm. He stared after them, confused, then turned toward the stage again.

There was a jostling inside and a blonde head covered by a flower-topped straw hat bobbed up, then disappeared. His stomach tensed.

Suddenly the express messenger leaned down to pull the mailbag from under the seat, hefted it over his shoulder, and jumped to the ground at Mac's feet. He glanced at Mac and grinned, but didn't speak. Then the man waved everyone from his path and strode to the general store.

Matilda waited silently while Mac stepped toward the stage once more. Lucinda shoved her brother out of the way, causing Coyote to lose his balance. As he thrashed around waving his arms like a windmill, he knocked into Mac, who in turn fell backwards into the doorway of the coach, knocking the young woman inside to the floor with a squeal of surprise.

Mac caught himself on the stage's step and lurched upright, watching the tiny female scramble awkwardly to her feet. She attempted to smooth her disheveled skirt while he barely heard Lucinda rage at Coyote Jack and himself for making her drop her package.

“Sorry, Missus Eastridge,” Mac mumbled, watching the bent head. Behind him, he sensed Matilda drawing nearer. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he moved to stop her. Then, together they looked toward the remaining passenger.

A petite woman emerged from the stage. As his gaze swept up, Mac's heart thudded. “Sweet Saint Margaret!”

Chapter Four

Mac. It was really Mac. The towering man before her was so familiar due to her endless erotic dreams of him. Of course, in those dreams, he didn’t stand several feet away and he certainly didn’t appear so rigid. Well, maybe a particularly interesting part of him did when they made love. She felt herself blushing. This was not the time, nor the place for those kind of thoughts.

She straightened her spine and set her mind to studying him after so many years. He looked a bit thunderstruck watching her, obviously trying to come to terms with seeing her. The same deep mahogany hair that she’d run her fingers through that one night so long ago peeked out from under a black, wide-brimmed hat that looked oddly right on the tall Scot. He still wore his hair longer than most men she knew and yet it, too, suited him. His face showed more age, stronger character. Both his face and the muscled forearms revealed beneath rolled-up sleeves of a white shirt were tanned. She wondered how much of his magnificent body carried the same dark tone. His chest? Did he ever work out in the hot sun bare chested? His legs? Did he ever go skinny-dipping?

Thinking of his legs, she couldn’t help glancing down and noting how well the twill trousers fit him. Her thoughts took a brazen turn and she wondered if he wore underdrawers beneath the trousers. After all, he’d worn nothing beneath the kilt. Something she should have forgotten, but hadn’t. No, not at all.

Now that she was here she didn’t know what to do next. What should she say? What should she do? She had almost a death grip on her reticule. Her heart pounded. Beneath her skirts, her knees trembled. She wasn’t sure whether her anxiety came from actual nerves in the strange situation or from the way her entire body seemed to be so aware of him. Of Mac. Her husband.

In a blink, the shock faded from his expression and definite fury replaced it. His jaw tightened. His shoulders stiffened even more. It was hard to see the look in his eyes beneath the low-tipped hat brim, but what she could see wasn’t good. She had heard about a Scot’s temper and how you shouldn’t cross him unless you were prepared to suffer the consequences or do battle. Battling really wasn’t something she excelled at, even standing up for herself and what she wanted had been a struggle for her most of her life. Until recently. Until she had opposed her brother. But she was weary from traveling and not feeling all that courageous at the moment. It might be wiser to climb back into the stage and stay there until it left town again. Maybe she could even convince Coyote Jack to leave immediately after changing the team of horses. She could pay him. Yes, that sounded like a good plan. Just leave town and disappear from Mac’s life, forever this time…forget the whole divorce matter. If the stage left quickly enough, maybe Mac would simply think he’d been seeing things. Not really seeing the wife he’d thought was dead.

No, no I can’t run away like a coward!

While she attempted to bolster her courage once more, she noted how a rather large gathering of townsfolk had seemed to come from everywhere out of curiosity. She had heard that the arrival of a stage in town always drew attention. But she had a feeling that word had spread like wildfire about the stunned state their sheriff was in after encountering a new young woman who’d just arrived. Oh yes, she definitely heard several whispered comments about herself and noticed quite a few heads turned to look at Mac. Waiting. They were all waiting to see how this little meet would play out.

Trying to settle her nerves and ignore the audience, she picked at the torn, wrinkled ruffle of her dusty walking suit and drew in a shaky breath. With grim determination, she lifted her chin and gave Mac a forced smile. “Hello, Mac,” she said, gazing steadily at him.

His large hands immediately fisted at his sides. “'Tisna possible,” Mac answered, sounding confused. “No. ‘Tisna impossible.”

He took a hesitant step closer and the vivid green eyes she remembered widened. Eyes that had once darkened in the heat of a whole other kind of moment. A moment much more pleasant than this one.

Before Caitlin could respond, a woman, taller than herself by several inches and older by a few years, moved next to him. She placed a hand on his arm and he automatically turned his head toward her, softening somewhat.

“Are you all right, Mac?” The woman's wide-set eyes mirrored concern when she glanced at Caitlin. “Do you know her? Is she a relative of yours?”

Mac's gaze darted back to Caitlin. The women from the stage had returned and watched the exchange intently, as did the townspeople who kept edging closer. Distressed by all the scrutiny, Caitlin reached up and pushed several wayward strands of hair back behind her ear. She wished they could be alone. And she wished that woman would quit touching her husband. The sudden spark of jealousy surprised her.

“No, I canna know her, Matilda,” Mac said, turning away again. A lie. In spite of the years that had passed and the way she’d matured—very nicely, he noted—he knew exactly who she was. How could he not recognize the tiny female who he'd thought about too often of late? The woman he’d touched so boldly once; the girl he’d made into a woman.

“I'm just weary from the trail. I mistook the lass for someone else.” More lies, but he couldn’t seem to stop them. He wasn’t ready to deal with this turn of events. Although it was ridiculous to think he could possibly put off a confrontation between them. What is she doing here? What does she want? Why had she lied to him about having died? So many questions, but this was the wrong place and the wrong time for answers.

“She did call you by name, Mac,” Matilda reminded him, looking hurt. “Well, whoever she is, she has clearly upset you. Your burr is always more pronounced when something or someone has you agitated.”

“Like I said, I'm tired. My burr is stronger when I’m tired.”

From the corner of his eye, he noted Caitlin purse her lips and puff her chest out in clear annoyance. Saint Ninian, he did not want to notice how the dress she wore drew his—and every healthy male within sight of her—attention to her full breasts. Yet he couldn’t resist watching the way they moved up and down with each deeply drawn in and released breath. His traitorous thoughts immediately turned to the memory of how they had looked freed from all layers of clothing. Would they be even fuller now? Hell and damnation! He had to stop thinking about them!

Then she stepped toward him and he inhaled her scent. Mixed with the sweat from traveling was a very feminine scent. Caitlin’s scent. His gut clenched and he forced a scowl, which she ignored.

“You know good and well who I am, Aeneas Alexander MacDonell. I'm your wife.”

He groaned at her boldness. So much for his slim hope of waiting to talk somewhere in private. To his disgust, the word “wife” repeated over and over through the crowd until it sounded like a roar of condemnation.

Before he could say anything, he watched Matilda grow pale, and slowly begin sinking to the ground. She gasped in a strangled tone, “No. Mac never mentioned ….” She sucked in a sob. “Mac’s not … You can’t be…”

In a flash Mac caught her and held the wobbly woman upright with an arm under each of hers. He shot Caitlin a fierce glower. He ached for causing Matilda such emotional pain. He hurt for all the lies he’d been told. “'Tis a cruel joke you’ve played, Lass. One you will answer for.”

He glanced down at Matilda, who had turned stiff within his awkward hold. “Matilda, please believe me. I dinna know. I dinna know she lived.”

Matilda attempted to regain her dignity and looked awkwardly from Mac to Caitlin. It was clear she didn’t believe him. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Let me go, Mac,” she said simply, yet there was force behind the near-whispered command.

Mac didn’t want to release her. He needed to make her understand. Understand what? Even he didn’t understand what had happened.

Zachary wove his way through the crowd and hurried to Matilda's side. He gave Mac a disapproving glance as he gently pulled her from Mac’s hold. “Are you all right, Miss Burnside? Maybe you need to sit down a minute. You’re rather pale.”

“No, I'm fine, Mr. Greene.” She edged farther from Mac, resisted Zachary’s assistance. “I-I just need to go home.”

Mac tried to grab her arm and stop her, but Matilda shrugged him away.

Caitlin had watched the emotional exchange between this woman named Matilda and Mac. Both were hurt, confused. Hurt. By her. She had already made a mess of Mac’s life once, and she appeared to be doing it all over again. This wasn’t her intention. “Damn Theopolis,” she muttered, surprised and somewhat embarrassed when she noted that those around her had heard her.

Mac scowled. Again. Was that all he could do when he looked at her? Really, it was very annoying!

The tall, lean man who had rushed over raised an eyebrow. Beside him, Matilda stood looking forlorn; her eyes held so much pain and grief, and then she attempted to walk away again.

Mac went after her, snagging her arm. “Matilda—“ The woman looked down at his hold on her arm and appeared horrified.

“Let her go, Mac,” Caitlin said gently, moving to ease his hand from Matilda’s arm. Her heart had gone out to the same woman she’d only seconds earlier been jealous of. She had felt sympathy for Matilda from the crowd, as well as distrust and suspicion of herself. But this wasn’t the time and place for any of them to talk. She completely understood why Matilda wanted and needed to leave.

Aching for them, aching for herself, she wanted more than anything to get away from the crowd of busybodies. She sighed in frustration and glanced down only to spot her new hat that had flown out the stage door during her collision with Mac.

She walked toward it, grumbling about its sad state. Perfect. Just perfect! Tears stung her eyes. It was silly to be so upset over a hat, but having it squashed seemed to top off all the tragedies of the moment. Squashed, by Mac, now that she thought about it. He’d knocked her flat and never even apologized. Then he’d stepped, stomped actually, on her precious hat.

After picking up her bedraggled hat and planting it on top of her head, she marched toward him. She tilted her head back so she could glare up and make him meet her eyes. “You owe me a new hat.”

He just stood there, refusing to speak to her. His taut jaw moved slowly side to side and she could his teeth grinding. Irritated even more, she swung the reticule that dangled from her wrist and hit his shin with it.

While Zachary snickered at her action, Mac reached to rub his shin. “What the blazes do you have in there, Lass? Rocks?”

“Rocks? That’s simply ridiculous!” Caitlin pulled her reticule close to her stomach. “I've got a gun in here, of course.”

Several women gasped. A few men guffawed, while others made taunting remarks about foolish women.

Caitlin stiffened her shoulders and raised her chin up a notch. “There’s absolutely nothing foolish about a woman trying to protect herself.”

“Women shouldna carry guns!” Mac blustered, as he eyed the reticule with a wary expression. He attempted to grab the bag from her and she gripped it tighter.

“Perhaps under most circumstances a woman need not carry a gun. This not being one of those circumstances, I do indeed have one in my bag.” Stepping away from him, she reached into the velvet reticule, pulled out the small black-and-silver derringer, and pointed it straight at his chest. “See.”

“I wouldn't be messin' with the likes of this little gal, Sheriff,” Coyote Jack spoke up, ambling over and chuckling. “One false move and she's likely to shoot a hole in ya with that there puny pea-shooter.”

The two older ladies from the stage gasped in unison, “Oh, Lord, save us all!”

“Give me that!” Mac growled and jerked it out of Caitlin’s hand.

“How dare you! Give it back! It’s mine!”

“No, now it’s mint.” He looked at the small gun in disgust. “I’m feeling damn lucky you didn’t mishandle the gun and shoot me.”

“If I’d known how to use the gun, I would have shot you. You-you big oaf.” She seldom lost her temper, but she was certainly losing it now.

“You dinna know how to use it!” Mac raged, horrified. “Saint Ninian, you coulda killed someone, or yerself.” His Scottish temper had definitely been lit as well.

This was getting out of hand. “It doesn't even have bullets. If need be, I'd hoped just the sight of it would scare someone.”

He tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes closed. As she stood listening in amazement, he grumbled a string of what sounded like Scottish oaths. Impressive, but she wasn't intimidated.

“When you’re through with your hissy fit, I’d like to go somewhere private. Some place where we could talk. Perhaps your home—“

“That wouldna be proper,” he blustered, cutting her off. The look he gave her should have been a warning to heed. It was the same kind of look she’d witnessed many, many times on her father’s face. One that promised she’d pay dearly for something she’d done wrong.

Around them the gathering grew silent. The snorting and jangling harnesses of the impatient stage horses made the only sounds.

She hadn’t done anything wrong! The wrong had been done to her…well, to Mac as well. “Stop looking at me that way.” As he appeared confused, she grew even more frustrated with the whole situation. She balled her hands on her hips. “For pity's sake, of course it would be proper. We are married.”

“Mac,” Zachary interrupted. “As your friend, I'd advise you to continue this discussion elsewhere. I believe that you’ve both entertained the townsfolk enough for one day.”

“Mac MacDonell, how could you!” a stern-faced woman snarled, pushing her way toward him. “You've been leading poor Matilda on all this time. Asking her to marry you, when you are already married. Why, you're nothing but a scoundrel of the worst sort!”

Caitlin jerked as if someone had slapped her. He’d asked Matilda to marry him? When he was still married…to her! Her heart pinched.

She looked at Mac, waiting for his protest that he wasn’t a scoundrel and that he was innocent, waiting for him to deny that he had a fiancée. But he didn’t utter so much as a word. This shouldn’t hurt so much. She shouldn’t care that he’d gone on with his life. But it did hurt! A lot.

She focused on the man who was obviously Mac’s friend. “Privacy. We need some privacy.”

“The sheriff’s office—“

Mac shook his head. “There's a prisoner in the jail. I canna take the lass there. And I still dunna think it right to go to my house. Can we use your office?”

Caitlin wanted to throttle the stubborn man right there in front of God and the whole town. “Maybe our marriage is a little less than normal, but we are legally man and wife. I swear, Mac, it's almost as though you're frightened of being alone with me.”

“I’m not afraid! I’m being proper, is all.”

“You’re being an idiot.” She ignored his pointed look, his growl. Instead she faced the blond man whose eyes sparkled with amusement. “Since this big Scot is clearly afraid I'll make some kind of advances on him, can we use your office as he suggested?”

“Of course,” Zachary answered, grinning as he took her by the elbow. “I'll take you there while Mac sees to your belongings.”

Her belongings. Caitlin stopped, nearly making her escort trip. She only needed to explain to Mac about what her father had done, and then find an attorney—if the town had one. She would need to find a room somewhere, wait for her photographic equipment to arrive, and then leave town as soon as she could make arrangements to go on to San Francisco. She looked back and found Mac reaching for one of her satchels that Coyote Jack handed down from the stage to him.

She caught Coyote Jack's attention and asked, “Do you know when the next stage headed toward San Francisco leaves? I'll need at least another day or two to get new papers drawn up, wait for my trunks to arrive, and then …”

Mac tipped up his hat brim and narrowed his eyes, causing her to stop talking. “You'll not be making plans to leave just yet, Wife,” he snapped. “Your only plans for now are to go to Zachary's office.” He looked sternly at his friend. “Fix her a cup of coffee. Keep her there while I tote these bags to the jail and have a word or two with my deputy.”

“But—” Caitlin sputtered, stopping when she realized she wasn't about to win any kind of argument with him in his current state of mind. Still, she was definitely annoyed with him. She looked him straight in the eye. “Should I lower my head and genuflect before I obey, My Lord?”

At Mac’s growl and Zachary's beneath-his-breath chuckle, she pivoted on her heel and marched in the other direction.

* * *

Mac struggled to carry Caitlin’s four bulging satchels to his office. Coyote Jack and a couple of other men had offered to help him, but he’d refused, barely keeping from snapping at them. He needed a few minutes—at least—alone. She was alive! The bride he’d not wanted—yet had sorely missed—was alive! Not only alive, but here in Tumbleweed. He wasn’t at all sure how he felt about any of this. Naturally he was glad she hadn’t died after all. But maybe he would have been better off if she’d just stayed in New York and let him get on with his life as he’d planned.

He nearly tripped on a loose board on the boardwalk, shocked at what he was thinking. Better off if she’d stayed in New York? Let him get on with his life? Sweet Saint Ninian, they were marred! She was his wife! She belonged here with him; his life was with her. Then he remembered how she’d told him that she was basically just passing through town. She planned to go to San Francisco. SAN FRANCISCO. Never! He couldn’t allow that. Wouldn’t allow that. Why hadn’t she started the divorce proceedings? Why did that notion seem to tear a hole in his gut?

Getting a firmer grip on the satchels, he strode on toward the Sheriff’s office. The sun was beating down on him; sweat beaded on his forehead, on his back. His head throbbed with a headache so bad even his teeth hurt. Caitlin was the cause of this particular headache. Caitlin, the woman who’d tormented his dreams for years now. Caitlin, the woman he’d thought about earlier today, thought about how he desperately wanted to sink himself deep inside her. How he had wanted to take her over and over until both of them were mindlessly sated. The woman who was completely wrong for him and life in this barely tamed west.

Genuflect? My Lord? He had to smile at her comment. Brazen lass. Matilda would nae challenge him like that. Matilda would never think of traveling to San Francisco by herself. In truth, Matilda probably wouldn’t travel to Tucson by herself. Caitlin was nearly a tiny waif in comparison to Matilda, and yet she had the courage and strength of will to travel halfway across the country to find him. She deserved a sound spanking for so foolishly risking her life—which he would certainly deliver at some point in the near future. But it wasn’t a trip across his knee that had his cock growing hard, had his blood raging in his body. No, it was the irritating realization that he was even more attracted to her in person than he had been in his very hot dreams.

Hell and damnation! His life was such a complicated mess.

* * *

Caitlin walked over to the parlor stove in Zachary Greene's small law office. She waited for him to pour her a cup of coffee.

“Sorry about the potent smells in here. One of the ladies cleaned my office yesterday,” he said without turning in her direction.

Her nose twitched at the strong combination of lemon oil and lye soap. She noted the light coming in from the window that shone on his head, making his blond hair gleam. “It’s not so bad.”

“Mrs. Briggs said I should try to at least use a broom and dust rag once or twice a year.” He chuckled. “I didn't have the heart to tell her someone else cleans the place on a regular basis and that I'd had the door open when a dust storm blew through town the other day.”

He was trying to make her feel more at ease and Caitlin was grateful for that. She had caused Mac so much trouble outside that this man's friendliness surprised her.

“After long days on the stage in cramped quarters, this smell is almost refreshing,” she said, trying to sound equally casual. Her gaze flitted around the room and took in the desk covered with open law books and a disheveled mess of papers. A pair of wire rim spectacles lay in the midst of it all. “If we're going to disturb your work …”

“You're not” He walked over to hand her the cup. His blue eyes mirrored concern and gentleness. “There is nothing more important than family and friends. Mac is as close to family as I've got, and my best friend, as well. I'm pleased to do anything I can to help him.”

Caitlin swallowed a quick sip of the rather thick coffee. “Even befriend a wife he never wanted?”

“I’m not so sure—“ he started, stopping as the door flew open.

A slender woman raced into the room, reminding her of a humanized whirlwind. Before she knew what was happening, the woman had taken the cup from her hand, set it down, and wrapped her arms around her.

“Emma, you're crushing her,” Zachary said, sounding somewhat amused.

Caitlin drew in a much-needed breath as the woman named Emma released her. She wasn't used to people being this exuberant, this openly caring. It both surprised and pleased her.

Ignoring Zachary, Emma looked straight at Caitlin. “I just knew that wire Mac got saying you were dead couldn't be true. There was such an odd note to it. And then when there was no response when he'd asked for his family's ring back…. Well, I knew something wasn't right.” She drew in a quick breath and started in again, “Anyway, I'm so very glad you are alive. I’m glad that you finally came here. Mac needs a good wife by his side, not that there is anything wrong with dear Matilda.”

Emma shook her head slowly. Her face pinched in thought as she stepped farther away from Caitlin. “Poor Matilda. I feel sorry for her, since she's been so patient in waiting for Mac to finally propose. Why, her wedding dress is nearly finished.”

“Emma,” Zachary said sternly.

Blushing as she apparently realized what she'd said, Emma looked at Caitlin. “Of course, none of that matters now.”

Her gaze moved up and down Caitlin's form. “You're a little bit of a thing, aren't you? Quite a contrast to that mountain of a man you've got for a husband. But I heard all about what happened out by the stage. You've got spunk. You'll need it, considering what a stubborn man Mac MacDonell can be at times.”

“Emma, calm down,” Zachary said, gently pulling Caitlin closer to him as if protecting her. “As usual, your mouth moves faster and says more than a person can take in at one time.” He smiled in amusement. “This is Emma Aterwood, our local minister's wife. You must forgive her. She tends to get excited about things, and speaks without thinking first.”

Caitlin had felt overwhelmed, but now she sensed a kinship of sorts. At least this lady didn't seem to disapprove of her. Yet Emma's comments about Matilda made her stomach knot. Mac was in love with another woman. But, then, it shouldn't matter to her. She did not plan to be a part of his life. Still, disappointment filled her.

“It's all right,” Caitlin said. She forced a smile and then stiffened when heavy footsteps pounded outside the door. Mac’s footsteps. She instinctively knew it was him.

Proving her right, Mac strode into the office. His gaze went directly to Caitlin. He removed his hat and swept his fingers through his hair before replacing the hat. Then his gaze shifted to the ring he'd placed on her finger. The ring that had been in the MacDonell family for nearly three hundred years. She remembered him saying that he had been torn at the time about giving it to her. His mother had worn it; his grandmother before that. There had been the chance that he would never see the ring again, never get it back into the family's hands. Still, he'd put it on her finger. She had never once taken the ring off.

* * *

So many feelings went through Mac as he stared at the diamond and ruby ring on Caitlin’s small hand. Amazement that she still wore it. Pride. Confusion. An intense feeling of betrayal. He focused on her face. “I've a wire at home sent by yer father telling me you died in a carriage accident. Care to explain that?”

Caitlin’s eyes widened and then gleamed with pain. She moved away from Zachary, walking slowly toward Mac. “My father lied to you. He lied to me, as well.” She shook her head sadly and he watched as several long curls that had escaped from the bun she wore swept over her shoulders. “I only recently learned the truth.”

He remained silent. He had so many questions, yet he wasn't ready to ask them. The whole situation was too shocking. He didn't know how to deal with any of this. He didn't know how to react to a woman he'd never wanted to marry, but who had become embedded in his thoughts over the years. And he also didn't know how to handle the strong response his body had to her.

After a minute of awkward silence in the room, he heaved a deep, frustrated sigh. The uneasiness of the two people standing nearby was obvious in their expressions. But at least he and Caitlin were talking without the whole town avidly listening to them.

“I'm sorry, very sorry,” Caitlin said. Her delicate face was pinched in concern. “Perhaps you'll never forgive me for what my father has put you through. I just wanted a chance to speak with you in person. A wire seemed so wrong under the circumstances.”

Before Mac could respond, Emma moved to stand beside Caitlin and put a reassuring arm around her shoulders. “It took a brave woman to travel all this way to see a man you haven't seen since your wedding day. Why, I can't imagine having that much courage.”

Caitlin glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow. “I'm surprised you know about our marriage. The ladies who accompanied me on the stage claimed that Mac had never mentioned me, or being married, to anyone here in Tumbleweed.” She flashed a disgruntled look in his direction.

“There dinna seem to be a reason to tell anyone about you. Although I’ve spoken of you to Zachary,” he admitted.

Emma cleared her throat. “In a manner of speaking, you told me, as well. Last year, when you got shot up so bad and I took care of you, you did a fair amount of talking in your fevered state.”

“Shot up?” Caitlin gasped, immediately sweeping her gaze over Mac's body.

He shifted uncomfortably beneath her surprising scrutiny. “It comes with being a sheriff sometimes.”

The frown that filled her expression told him she didn’t like that notion.

“Anyway,” Emma interrupted in a tone loud enough to draw their attention once more. “I'd think you would be thanking the Lord that Caitlin is indeed alive and here with you now, Mac.”

Mac removed his hat again and fiddled with its brim before banging the hat lightly against the side of his leg. “Of course I'm thankful the lass isna dead.”

Zachary stepped next to Mac, flashing Caitlin a crooked grin that made Mac curl his hands. “I'm certainly pleased you're alive and well myself. Should you two decide to follow through with your original plans, I'd be honored—”

“She's still my wife! I'll thank you to keep that in mind,” Mac snarled. “You’ll not be making any advances on her.” Caitlin's eyes widened in surprise and Mac slammed his mouth shut. Where the devil had that sudden flash of jealousy come from?

Caitlin’s surprised demeanor quickly changed to one of annoyance. “I will soon not be your wife. After having seen Matilda, and hearing about your plans to marry… Well, I don't see any reason to prolong a situation you didn't want to begin with.”

The contrary woman who was messing with his life started to pull the ring from her finger. It refused to slide over her knuckle.

“What’re you doing, Lass?” He stormed in front of her.

With a small grunt of effort, she tugged harder until the ring at last came free. “You'll be wanting this for Matilda.” She placed it firmly in Mac's hand, and then looked at Zachary. “From your sign outside, I gather that you're an attorney. I would like to hire you to draw up the necessary papers.”

Mac stared at the ring for a split second, barely hearing her comment to Zachary. He grabbed her arm, yanked her closer, and then shoved the ring back on her finger as she gaped at him. “Ye'll be wearing this til we talk some more. Some time when I'm not so tired and have had time to think,” he said in a tone that promised no discussion on the matter now.

Of course she didn’t listen to him. “Are you wanting me to explain why I didn't contact you at the time we'd agreed upon? Do you want me to tell you all the details of how my father lied to us both? If so, I can do that. But why would you want me to continue wearing your family's ring? You don't even like me.”

“Oh, I'm sure that's not true,” Emma inserted, stepping close to Caitlin again and glaring at Mac.

“Yes, it is,” Caitlin countered before Mac could answer. She squared her shoulders. “It doesn't matter, though. I'm going to give him his freedom. As soon as I have a chance to explain everything, I shall continue my travels west.” She tipped her chin up in determination. “I'm heading for San Francisco, with plans to…”

He squared his shoulders and clenched his hands into fists at his sides. It took a great deal of effort not to turn her over his knee and burn her butt right here and now. But he definitely would do so the second they were alone!

“Ye're not going anywhere ‘til I've had time to think. Certainly not to a wild place like San Francisco.” Not that the Arizona Territory was less wild at times.

Her lips pursed in irritation with him, Emma stepped between them. “I swear, Mac MacDonell, you haven't got a spit's worth of sense. If you're not intending to keep her for your wife, then what she does is no concern of yours.”

She turned and latched onto Caitlin's arm and began pulling her from the room. “I'll just be taking her home with me while you get your blessed rest so you can think. Honestly, men and all their thinking! Drives a woman plumb crazy.”

Caitlin shot him a pointed look over her shoulder. “Just don't be planning on taking too long with your ‘thinking.’”

Frustrated beyond rational thinking, Mac tugged her away from Emma a few feet. He looked down into Caitlin’s defiant expression and snapped in a whisper, “As soon as I’ve calmed down some, Lass, I’ll be coming to give you a spanking. A sound one. You won’t sit for a month of Sundays.”

Her eyes rounded. “You most certainly will not.”

“I most certainly will.” He released her and she scurried backward toward Emma. “You've got another woman worried about my being here. And I don't want to be where I'm clearly not wanted because I’ve had that wonderful experience all my life.”

Mac blinked as the two women walked out. He was so confused. He had a wife, and yet he didn't—or wouldn't. He had a fiancée, and yet he might not. The only thing he knew for certain right now was that he couldn't let that sassy young woman he'd married leave town quite yet. He'd been right earlier when he'd felt sure that trouble was coming to town. He just hadn't known it would be in the shapely form of a lass half his size.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Chapter Five

Caitlin and Emma’s footsteps moved farther and farther down the boardwalk, growing steadily quieter. The faint steps echoed in Mac’s confused mind and seemed to repeat over and over Caitlin’s here. Caitlin’s here. Blessed Saint Ninian, his wife was here! Although she was short of stature, she was a powerful presence. Strong in determination, pretty, spirited, breathtakingly pretty. Had he listed pretty? Aye, he had. She was so lovely to look at that it almost overshadowed her irritating quality of being too independent for any man’s good. Almost.

“Shall I start drawing up the divorce papers?” Zachary asked as he picked up the cups left on his desk. He carried them across the room to the coffeepot. “I can start on them tomorrow.”

“Dinna be rushing me!” Mac snapped, surprising both of them with his passion. Sheepishly, he shook his head and apologized. “Sorry. I’m just feeling a bit thunderstruck. Tired as well.” Both descriptions were true, but he was afraid that his quick retort had come from somewhere in his gut. He should be agreeable to a quick end to their marriage. He should be relieved to put this all behind him and get on with his life. Get on with thinking about a life with Matilda, that is. But he wasn’t agreeable, nor was he relieved.

He walked over to a chair next to the wall, picked it up, and then spun it around to straddle it. Troubled, he frowned and slowly moved his thumb back and forth over a gouge in the top of the wooden chair. The action was somehow calming. “I need some time,” he finally said, glancing up to find his friend studying him curiously.

“I can understand that,” Zachary said after a second. He walked behind his desk to the leather-upholstered chair and sat down. The springs gave a muffled squeak. “Learning that your supposedly dead wife is actually alive would knock the wind out of anyone.”

Mac reached up to thumb back his hat to rub at his throbbing headache. “She surely did ‘knock the wind’ out of me, to say the least. Can’t seem to catch my breath again, or think straight.”

Zachary chuckled.

“What’s so dang funny?”

“The idea that I think you’ve met your match in that woman half your size.” Zachary chuckled again, ignoring Mac’s glower. “Then there’s the memory of Caitlin planting that flattened hat of hers on her head, marching over to you, and whacking you in the shin with her reticule for stepping on the hat.”

“Ugly hat,” Mac added, still not finding anything funny.

“Oh, and it was pretty amusing when she aimed that puny pea-shooter, as Coyote Jack called it, at you. I’ve never seen anyone turn so red in the face with outrage.” Zachary snickered and before Mac could interrupt him, added, “I also enjoyed when you bellowed at her for carrying a gun she didn’t know how to use.”

Mac ground his teeth as he replayed everything Zachary found so amusing. He didn’t find any of it amusing. It still terrified him that she carried a hidden gun, even if she didn’t have bullets in it. “Lass is crazy,” he grumbled and rubbed his forehead harder. Headache. The crazy female had given him one hell of a headache. There were a number of items for which he planned to burn her sweet bottom.

“I’d have to disagree on the crazy part. A crazy woman wouldn’t be able to make her way half-way across the country by herself.”

It annoyed Mac that his friend sounded as if admired her. Admired her! It plain scared the bejeebers out of him just thinking about her traveling alone. If he could get his hands on that idiot, lying brother of hers… He hadn’t liked or trusted Theopolis when he’d met him back in Scotland. Now he’d like to wring the scrawny man’s neck. ‘Course he planned to blister her ears—as well as her bottom—for not sending him a wire or a letter and having him go to her.

“She’s quite a contrast to Matilda,” Zachary commented thoughtfully.

Matilda. “That’s the truth,” Mac said, relieved to latch onto something to distract him from his unwanted irritation with Caitlin. “Why a good Arizona Territory wind would blow Caitlin clean over. Matilda, though, she’s a sturdy woman. Sturdy and hardy.”

Zachary frowned at the description. “I’m not sure the description is all that complimentary.”

“I only mean that Matilda could probably bear a man children with ease. With someone as fragile-looking as Caitlin… Well, a man would no doubt worry himself nuts. She’s too fragile. For bearing children. For the kind of life living in the Territory demands.”

“I don’t think she’s as fragile as she appears. She did travel nearly fifteen hundred miles on her own.”

Mac’s gut wrenched. He was weary of thinking about her headstrong adventure here. He was already struggling not to think about the many things that could have happened to her: being accosted, being raped, being killed.

“We wouldna be good together. She’s nothing like Matilda.”

Zachary fingered some papers in front of him “No, they’re nothing alike. By appearances alone, Caitlin makes a man feel like he needs to take care of her. Matilda gives more of the impression of a woman who would work by a man’s side. She looks like—and is—someone who can take care of herself.” He looked up. “But, Mac, I’ve a feeling there is much more to Caitlin than a body to set a man’s thoughts to wandering.”

“That’s my wife you’re talking about!” Mac bit out, again surprising both himself and Zachary. He slammed his mouth shut; disgusted that his thoughts had been wandering into areas they shouldn’t be going to. He was all too aware of her body, and he had the memories from the past as well.

“You’re not as resistant to Caitlin as you want to be, are you? I think she won you over long ago. You were just too stubborn then to admit it, and too stubborn now to consider it.”

Mac refused to seriously consider such a crazy notion. “She was forced upon me. Is forced upon me now as well.”

Zachary raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Then let me draw up the papers to end this situation you claim to not want any part of.”

“I don’t want to discuss a divorce just yet!” Mac shoved to his feet. “I don’t want to discuss anything right now, with anyone. I just want to go check in with my deputy, take a quick walk around town, and then go home and get some badly needed sleep. Tomorrow I’ll deal with Caitlin.” Tomorrow he would be calmer, but he still intended to give her a spanking to remember.

He strode out of the office without giving Zachary a chance to add anything else. It had been a hell of a day, hell of a few days in truth. He was bone weary and not up to facing any woman again today. He would get eight or so solid hours of sleep and then…

A breeze swept over him as he barreled down the boardwalk toward his office and pulled him from his thoughts. The familiar rose scent Caitlin favored drifted up from his shirt, from where his sleeve had touched her when he’d grabbed her arm to shove the ring back on her finger. Instantly his cock hardened. Aroused by just the ghost memory of her smell. Hell of a thing. He cursed his traitorous body with every Scottish curse he could remember. He feared his rest tonight would be anything but restful.

* * *

As much as Caitlin appreciated Emma’s offer, she had changed her mind about staying at the other woman’s house—at least for tonight. She had no intention of staying in Tumbleweed any longer than it took to convince that big, stubborn Scot to end the marriage neither of them wanted. Which meant it was imperative she sit him down and calmly explain all the reasons they didn’t belong together. So she’d insisted that Emma—against Emma’s concerned protests—take her to Mac’s house.

Now as she stood on the porch of the small clapboard structure, Caitlin watched Emma walk reluctantly back the other direction. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. Could she really go through with this? Could she actually walk into his house and wait casually for him to return home? But then, could she not do this? No, she had to do this!

She drew in a deep, steadying breath and opened the front door. Her hand trembled in her false show of bravery. Then, before she could change her mind and race after Emma, she stepped into the house. A very sparsely furnished house, she noted immediately. Well, at least it didn’t take him long to clean house.

Having lived all of her life in a lavishly furnished mansion, she was momentarily taken aback by what appeared to be only a three-room home. Her gaze quickly took in the contents of the combined kitchen-dining area-parlor: a scarred, wooden table and two equally battered chairs sat beside the window that lacked curtains in the kitchen-dining part. Across the small area was a well-worn, horsehair settee and a large wooden rocker with a blanket made from the MacDonell plaid. They were placed in front of a fireplace that looked to have been recently cleaned out. A trunk sat between the settee and rocker, with an oil lamp on top of it. No homey touches. Pure male. Functional and without frills. Oddly, she liked it. If she were to stay here any length of time—which she would not—she would add frills. Pictures, too.

Curiosity drew her to the back room, Mac’s bedroom. Again, her stomach fluttered with nerves as she stood in the doorway and stared at the extraordinarily large feather bed. But then Mac was an extraordinarily large man. It looked so inviting, and she was so tired. Bouncing around on a stagecoach was exhausting, as had been all the tension she’d endured as she’d made her way to Tumbleweed. Mac would probably be a while visiting with Zachary, and then doing rounds around the town. At least she’d thought she’d heard someone along her travels refer to a sheriff’s walking around town to check on things as “doing rounds.” She yawned. What harm would there be in stretching out for just a few minutes? She’d catch a quick catnap and be up waiting in the rocking chair by the time he finally returned home.

* * *

Mac walked in exhaustion into his bedroom and caught the same familiar rose scent lingering in the air. He jerked out of his half-asleep state and stared in shock at the sight of Caitlin sleeping in his bed. Oh, dear Lord, he was in trouble now. Her shimmering, hip-length flaxen hair had escaped from the coil she’d had it in and lie draped partially over her back, partially over his pillow. Evidently not wanting to further wrinkle her clothing, she’d removed her fashionable skirt and the lace-trimmed petticoat, and carefully hung them on a peg by the door. Another peg held the bodice of the walking suit. Her tiny leather slippers were set just so beneath the peg. And her reticule—the one that held the ridiculous gun—hung from a second peg. She had made herself at home…in his home. In his bed.

Warily, he looked back toward the bed. Again the breath froze in his chest. Damn but she was a fine looking woman! The white linen of her thin corset—which she’d loosened the lacing of—barely covered the firm, ripe breasts he’d once caressed, once suckled. He gave a quiet groan. Every male instinct in him made him long to suckle and touch those creamy mounds. Right now.

As he dealt with that frustrating bit of knowledge, she shifted while lying on her side. One slender leg bent slightly upward. His gaze shot to the way the white linen, knee-length drawers cupped her pert little bottom. Even more attention grabbing was the way the drawers opened several inches, giving him a glimpse of creamy white skin. He sucked in a badly needed breath. She was killing him here.

Then, while he fought to control the sudden rapid increase in his breathing, she turned onto her back. Sleep tousled, scantily dressed, she looked so innocent…so very, very tempting. What the devil was he thinking? Why hadn’t he turned and stormed back out of the room the second he’d spotted her on his bed? This is wrong. So undeniably wrong. Yet he couldn’t seem to make his feet move. In fact, the only part of him that appeared capable of movement was his cock, and it was doing far too much movement to suit his troubled mind. He grumbled at his idiocy.

To counter his intense reaction to the tempting sight, he forced his thoughts back to how much trouble she was in with him. Those drawers would be so easy to open as he held her over his lap for a spanking. That’s what he needed to focus on: turning that creamy bottom red.

She stirred and her eyes fluttered open. She seemed to sleepily see him and smiled. But then, maybe she hadn’t really seen him and was only smiling in the midst of a dream. That sensual curve of her rosy pink lips drew him forward even as his mind shouted, “No! Get the hell out of here!”

“Mac,” she purred, gazing dazedly up at him. Her eyes closed again, but she raised her arms and held them out in invitation. While he struggled with that idea, she made his situation impossible by easing her legs apart. She parted them enough that the fabric between her legs separated to reveal her swollen nether lips. Opened enough to let him see the beads of moisture that dotted the golden curls surrounding her woman’s area. Aroused.

Mac was lost in that moment. He would deal with spanking her later. Right now… Right now he seemed to have no other choice than to react to all of that temptation before him.

He unbuckled his gunbelt and draped it on the peg with her reticule. When he glanced back in her direction, he found her lying there waiting for him. He shuddered at the heated look in her eyes, and then shucked his pants down to his knees. He should have pulled off his boots, should have taken off his trousers. But he didn’t want to waste valuable time.

He climbed awkwardly onto the bed.

His heavy weight on the side of the mattress jarred Caitlin more fully awake. He saw the rapid pulse beating in her neck; saw the surprise in her eyes as he moved between her legs. She made no effort to resist him. Thank the Lord. With the way his body ached now, he wasn’t sure he could stop now.

Shifting again, he watched her gaze move to where his shirt bulged out over his very pronounced cock. He heard her faint sigh, hoped it was of admiration. He knew he should be gentle. He had no doubts he’d been the only man she’d been intimate with, and that had been a long time ago. Gentle. Control yourself, man.

He pushed her legs further apart and then cupped her mound. Moisture met his touch. Ready. “I…” He wasn’t sure what to say, was almost at the point of begging.

Her answer was to shove his shirt out of the way. “What are you waiting for?”

Brazen. His wee wife was such a brazen lass. He thrust into her, rammed down deep into the wet warmth. “Oh have mercy,” he groaned, almost mindless in need, in pleasure. It felt so damn good. He arched backward, buried to the hilt, and squeezed his eyes shut, lost somewhere between pleasure and pain.

She shocked him yet again by locking her legs around his waist and holding him close. Her soft, husky voice pleaded, “No mercy, Mac. No mercy.”

He looked at her then. Her eyes were fully open now and watching him intently. He didn’t understand the emotions that seemed to play in them, but right now he couldn’t have sorted them out anyway. “It’s been a long time for you.”

“Since that one night, yes.”

Her inner muscles pulsed around him, massaged his throbbing shaft. Rational thought was nearly impossible. Yet he noted such honesty in her gaze, such trust that if he had been able to think with anything other than his demanding cock, he would have pulled out of her. The very act of taking her now was an act of dishonesty, because both of them knew they didn’t belong together. With his last ounce of integrity, he attempted to ease back.

Her legs remained firmly locked in place. “No! I’ve dreamt of this for three years. I want this! Please.”

No man in his right mind could have refused such a passionate plea, and he most certainly was not in his right mind. He braced himself on one arm, while remaining deep inside her, and tugged the top of her chemise down so that her breasts sprung free. “I’ve dreamed of this as well, Lass,” he said regretfully, leaning down to lave one nipple with his tongue. “I don’t think ‘tis right, but I canna stop now.”

* * *

Caitlin knew that she should shove him away, force him out of her body. He didn’t think making love with her was right. Yet he had no strength, no willpower to stop what they were doing. Rights versus wrongs. She refused to worry about them now. How could she with Mac buried within her? And when he covered her breast with his hot mouth, sucking and teasing the nipple into a hardened bud…

“Oh, Mac,” she purred completely lost to the sensations flowing through her.

He ground his pelvis against hers in a rolling circle. Her body quivered. Oh my! Oh my, oh my! Her Scot was incredible, a man created to please a woman. To please her.

“Oh, yes. Yes,” she said somewhat breathlessly as he went back to pumping with his hips, short strokes. And then long, slow, deep strokes. “Oh! Oh! Ohhhhh!”

“Are you okay, Lass?” he asked, although it seemed to take great effort for him to stop moving temporarily and look in concern at her.

“Silly man.” She grinned in delight while her body so very much enjoyed the feel of him. She experimented by squeezing her lower lips around the rigid shaft rammed between them. Then she squeezed him with the muscles inside her body. Oh yes! She really liked that feeling. Especially when he gave an almost tortured groan and went back to driving in and out of her.

“If you keep that up…you’re going to make this end vera soon,” he protested sounding almost breathless. His handsome face pinched with strain. He’d thrust deep and lie there, braced on his arms, looking down at her. “It’s been a spell since I’ve been with a woman.”

Caitlin’s heart wrenched when she realized that he hadn’t said “since I’ve been with you.” Clearly he’d been with other women over these last few years. She wanted to be mad at him for that. But when he started moving in and out of her again, filling her over and over with his powerful rod in such an obviously experienced way, she decided she rather enjoyed his experienced ways. Not that she would put up with him going to other women if they were to be truly married for years to come!

She squeezed her eyes closed and savored the exquisite sensation of him sliding nearly out of her, and then even more as he pushed firmly deep inside her again. “You’re with me now,” she said, floating on a cloud of pleasure. “Think only of me.”

“Aye, Lass, I’m thinking only of you.” He remained within her and began ever so slowly moving his hips in a circle once more, somehow swirling his pulsing thick rod within her. “Do you feel that?”

She rocked upward, determined to make the wonderful feelings continue. “Oh yes! Yes, I feel it.”

Suddenly whatever control he’d strained to maintain deserted him. He pulled back enough to drive down again in frantic need. He pushed deeper with each stroke. His face grew red and pinched with something like pain, beads of sweat formed on his brow. Heat emanated from his large body. His chest heaved with the efforts of pounding into her, until she gasped and arched, begged, “Please! Oh please, Mac!”

Although she hadn’t thought it possible, his thrusts gained momentum. At last, she cried out and her climax came in a hot rush. A bare second later she heard his agonized groan before he shot his essence deep within her. The warm fluid seemed to gush into her forever, until finally he grew still, yet panting and trembling.

Her own body quivered. She felt a moment of disappointment when he eased out of her and moved to collapse on the bed beside her. She closed her eyes, not wanting to deal with any of the thoughts starting to rush around in her mind. She should shove him off the bed for having taken advantage of her—even if she’d sort of encouraged him to do so. She should jump off the bed, dress, and go beg, borrow, or steal the first horse she could find and get the blazes out of town, away from Mac.

She opened one eye and glanced over at him. He was still recovering, his eyes closed, his face more relaxed now. His shirt was a wrinkled mess, and his trousers were still shoved down to his knees. He should look ridiculous to her, but she thought him rather sexy instead. The thick shaft that had only seconds ago rammed deep inside her with such force now lie atop the tail of his shirt, half limp. She found herself smiling at that. Clearly it took quite a lot to wear her Scot completely out. Interesting.

“Do you mind, Lass?” he grumbled in annoyance and jerked his shirt over the shaft that had been coming back to life under her surveillance. “A lady shouldn’t ogle a man’s cock like that.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes and turned to face him on her side. “A lady shouldn’t carry a gun, shouldn’t travel alone, shouldn’t ogle a man’s…” She blushed and finally said, “Well, a man’s private part. You certainly have a lot of rules, Mac MacDonell.”

He bowed his back to yank his pants up and awkwardly stuff that deliciously intriguing part of him inside all that fabric, away from her curious view. “And you have not an ounce of respect for any of such rules!”

She shrugged. “That’s not exactly true, but I don’t have a problem with bending a rule now and then. When necessary.”

He sucked in a deep breath and glowered at her as he sat up. “Have the decency to cover yourself.”

Caitlin chuckled; rather amused at seeing the heat return to his eyes and the way he couldn’t seem to force his gaze away from her exposed breasts. “I wasn’t the one who uncovered them. Perhaps you should cover them yourself.” She didn’t know why she was behaving so brazenly with him, but it sure was fun watching the panicked expression that flickered over his face.

Mac was off the bed in a flash. The panic had disappeared as had any sense of tenderness. His face had tightened and his eyes had narrowed. She knew that look. It had never boded well for her when it had settled onto her father’s face, or on Theopolis’s face. Mac was basically a stranger to her—in spite of the intimate things they had done. She didn’t know his intentions, although she truly suspected what they were. Mainly she didn’t know if she could endure having him go from loving her to punishing her.

Evidently she was soon to find out because he glowered down at her and said grimly, “You are my wife, whether either of us want that or not. I have a duty as your husband. A duty to guide and protect you.”

She adjusted her camisole, and then her drawers. “You’ve not concerned yourself with those duties before. I see no reason you should do so now.” Her heart raced and she felt the same wretched dread she always did before a sound thrashing.

His stance showed his displeasure with her rationalization. “We had an agreement.” That comment made his brow furrow. “One I should have refused from the start.”

“Our fathers gave us no choice but to marry.”

“Aye, none. The agreement I should have refused was letting my wife leave.” She couldn’t fully read his feelings, but she could see the stress and confusion in his eyes.

She scooted up into a sitting position. “You didn’t want me.”

He didn’t say anything for several painful seconds, and then quietly admitted, “No, I dinna.”

Even though she’d always know that—and hadn’t wanted to marry him either—she still felt a pinch around her heart.

“Regardless, you were—are—my wife. I have duties to you.” The stern look was back in his expression. Her Scot was a prideful man, an honorable man. A stubborn man.

Caitlin thought about scooting to the other side of the bed, grabbing her clothes, and fleeing. Instead she sat perfectly still and waited.

“You acted foolishly, Lass, traveling across country by yerself.” He inched closer to the bed. “You should have contacted me. I would have come to you to settle things.”

“I was so angry with Theopolis when he told me the truth. I couldn’t stay there a minute longer.” She didn’t want to tell him how badly her brother had thrashed her on their last day together. What difference would it make for Mac to know? “I left the next day.”

“One day yer brother and I will have words.” It was said as a promise rather than a threat.

“What he did cannot be undone, Mac. I merely wanted to make things right with you on my own, and as soon as possible.”

He studied her for a moment. “I understand that, but was dangerous what you did. Have you no sense of how pretty you are, Lass? Of how a man sees you, would want you? You risked much to travel alone.” The worry, the fear, the anger were fully back on his face now.

“But—“

“You willna talk yer way out of this. I have made up my mind.” He reached down to snag her foot and tugged her across the bed to him.

“I don’t want—“

As if she weighed no more than a sack of flour, he pulled her up, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled her down over his lap. “You’ve earned a spanking. More, in truth, but I’ll settle for burning yer backside just now.”

Her face was flaming in embarrassment and she was glad he couldn’t see that. She lie draped over his hard thighs, her long hair curtaining around her face. She tensed as he parted the back of her drawers and bared her bottom. How humiliating! How very wrong! They’d just made love. Now he was going to spank her. Yet she didn’t really even think about resisting, odd that.

His big hand smoothed over the cheeks he had unveiled and she sensed him struggling with that touch. Beside her left hip she felt his cock growing hard. He would be suffering some as well, although not nearly suffering as much as she soon would. How unfair!

That hand lifted, she sucked in a steeling breath, and the hand fell again. Hard. Sharp. She gasped even though she’d had much worse spanks.

“Do not resist me, Lass, for this spanking is much deserved.” Several biting swats landed and she struggled to remain in position. “I can always apply my belt if…”

She hissed at the next burning swat. “No! That won’t be necessary.”

With no further discussion, Mac proved to her just how painful a sound spanking from him could be. His hand was large and almost as hard as any paddle her father had ever used on her. His determination to deliver a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget was strong. And he ignored the way she wiggled around and kicked her legs up in misery as the spanking went on and on. He did not tire easily from this unpleasant chore.

She had gone limp over his lap, sobbing quietly by the time Mac finally decided that she’d had enough. He pulled the sides of her drawers back together and she winced at the feel of fabric brushing over her throbbing bottom. Then he set her on her feet and she shot her hands around to uselessly rub at the burn.

“You took your spanking well, Lass,” he admitted in admiration. “I dinna enjoy doing it.”

Caitlin continued to rub her bottom with one hand and dashed at tears with the other hand. “I certainly didn’t enjoy receiving it. Never do spank me again.”

He dared to give her a crooked grin and she bristled as he said, “Should you be deserving of another spanking rest assured I will deliver one.”

Before she could say anymore, he stood. “Get dressed now. I’ll be taking you down to Emma’s house. Where you were supposed to be.”

“What if I don’t want to go to Emma’s?” He had just turned her over his knee and spanked him something awful, yet she didn’t want to leave here, leave him.

He looked appalled, and then tortured. “You’re going to Emma’s and that’s final.” With that he turned and marched out of the room, shoving his shirt into his trousers as he went.

No, she wasn’t.

Chapter Six

Mac flipped over on the narrow cot in one of the three empty cells and promptly rolled right off the edge. The hard wooden floor met him at the same time a dust cloud rose up. He bit out a savage curse that drew the attention of the town drunk across the aisle in another cell.

“You alright, Sheriff?” Red asked, looking through his open cell door.

With less agility than normal—Saint Ninian, he felt old—Mac lurched to his feet, scowling. Not so much at Red as at life in general. More specifically at Caitlin. She had no doubt spent a damn pleasant night in his bed, while he’d spent a miserable night here in the jail.

“The missus kick you out already?” Red pressed and stood, wincing at his obvious overhung headache. He should have known that everyone in town—probably in the county—knew that his “wife” was in Tumbleweed. Still, it irritated him to have his private business open for everyone’s discussion.

“She most certainly did not!” Mac growled. At Red’s raised eyebrow, Mac strode into the main room and snagged his hat from the wall peg. Jamming it on his head, he added, “Get yerself on home. I figure your own missus will have a few words to say to you.”

“Reckon she will, always does.” Although he looked more than reluctant to leave the safety of the familiar cell, he straightened his shoulders and marched by Mac without another word.

Mac stood in the doorway, watching the older man head off to face yet another setdown by his stern wife. The morning sun glinted off Red’s hair, rather the balding spot in the midst of his carrot-red hair. Mac figured Bertha’s harping ways had no doubt encouraged the man toward drinking. She had probably even had him pulling his hair out in frustration a time or two. At least Caitlin didn’t appear to be the harpy type. Frustrating, yes. Hell yes

He squinted into the sun and looked in the direction of his house. His house with the big, soft bed. The bed where he’d foolishly made love to a lass nearly as irritating as Bertha. He thought about Caitlin’s full, soft breasts. About how he’d suckled them, savored them. He remembered how she’d eagerly welcomed him into her body. About how she’d quickly learned how to squeeze his cock with her inner muscles, how she’d worked him almost as much as he’d worked her. He could almost hear her frantic cries as she’d begged him, and then as she’d come apart all around him. Damn. He didn’t want to be thinking along those lines. He was angry with her and he needed to stay focused on that.

“Mornin’, Sheriff,” his deputy, Andy, said as he ambled down the boardwalk toward Mac. “You okay? You look kinda tuckered out.” Then he seemed to put two and two together and came up with a solution Mac wished he hadn’t. “You slept here last night, didn’t ya?”

Mac stepped off the boardwalk onto the dirt road and hurried off, not bothering to respond. He had a feeling by noon—probably earlier—most of the town would know he’d slept the night in the jail. Questions about why he’d done so would shoot rapid fire at him from all directions. It was nobody’s damn business why he’d stormed away from his own home, why he’d consigned himself to a hellish night on a mattress that was barely more than a pile of rags. He didn’t have to admit to anyone that he’d not been able to reason with Caitlin and make her understand how she couldn’t stay with him. He had spanked the lass! You’d have thought she wouldn’t go up against him so soon after that, but she had. He had almost taken her over his knee again. Should have, now that he felt all the aches and pains in his back. He should have burned her backside all over again and then carried her down to Emma’s house. But he’d finally stormed out of the house and let her win—temporarily win—that battle.

He walked along, scowling, grumbling to himself about impossible women. Caitlin had come here determined to get him to sign divorce papers—an idea that still rubbed him wrong, even if it made sense. So why the blazes had she let him make love with her? Why the blazes didn’t she insist on staying with Emma and well away from him?

Because she was a crazy lass, that’s why. Hadn’t she traveled halfway across the country without a guard or a chaperon! The notion made him mad all over again. What he should do is spank her pert bottom every day until she left town! It appeared she didn’t understand that a pretty lass such as her was a powerful lot of temptation for any man with a breath of air still in his body. All of that silky golden hair. Those eyes that danced with life, hinted at a passion deep inside her. And those breasts… What sane man could ignore such a sight? Not him, that was for damn sure.

He skidded to a halt, a billow of dirt surrounding him. Damn, damn, damn. He was in serious trouble here. He was the crazy one. Even wrestling all night on that miserable excuse for a bed he’d spent way too much time thinking about Caitlin. And not about his anger with her. No, he’d been thinking with his cock. He had replayed every second spent nestled between her fine legs pounding into her. Fool. He was a damn fool and he needed to get his thinking straight. She didn’t belong here. He didn’t want her here. His lower body didn’t necessarily agree with that, but he didn’t. Couldn’t.

Grimly determined, he tipped his hat brim down against the early morning sun and strode toward Zachary’s office. Before he completely lost what little good sense he had left, he’d have his friend draw up those legal papers and sign them.

* * *

Caitlin stretched in the middle of Mac’s big bed, smiling at the sun shining in through the nearby window. What a wonderful day. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so content. Her odious brother was miles and miles away, no longer trying to control her life. That wretched elderly banker Theopolis had wanted her to marry was also miles and miles away.

She smiled again, rolling onto her stomach and curling her arms around Mac’s pillow. His scent drifted up and she inhaled it. Warmth filled her. Need, too. She still felt tender from being taken so soundly by such a well-endowed man. Were most men as big as he was? Did their rods grow as long and firm as Mac’s? Did they know how to thrust as pleasingly into a woman? She found herself getting hot all over again, felt the definite stirrings of arousal. Oh, wouldn’t it have been delicious to simply turn to him now and encourage him to make love to her again! And Mac didn’t seem to need a lot of encouragement. Which was very nice.

Then she frowned and sat up, holding his pillow, punching it with her balled fist. Here she was all good and ready for him and where was he? Hiding somewhere from her. Probably in the sheriff’s office. Irritating man didn’t get his way when he wanted her to go stay at Emma’s, so he stormed out, growling Scottish words she imagined were not complimentary. He didn’t seem to understand that she might be re-thinking the whole divorce matter. Sure Tumbleweed wasn’t San Francisco, and didn’t have exactly the opportunity for continuing her photography work. But maybe…

Someone knocked on the front door and Caitlin’s heart pounded. Mac? No, he wouldn’t knock on his own door. She started to slide to the side of the bed when she stopped and winced. Most of the pain was now gone, but she was still not pleased that he’d spanked her yesterday. Spanked her! Wretched man.

Before she could get over her spell of annoyance, she heard Emma call out, “Caitlin? Caitlin, are you here?”

Caitlin scrambled off the bed, jerked the blanket free and wrapped it around her. “Just a minute! I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Mac’s already delivered your bags to my house. I just thought I’d come lead you there.”

He took my satchels to Emma’s? He had made wild love with her—then spanked her. And sometime while she’d been sleeping he’d come back to fetch her things and take them to another house. Her heart hurt. But she was mad, too.

“Insensitive lout! Coward!” She continued grumbling about her annoying husband as she padded barefoot to the door. Ooooo, she couldn’t wait to come face-to-face with that scoundrel Scot again!

“Come in,” she said, jerking open the door and watching Emma’s eyes widen. “I need to get dressed.”

“Um, maybe you should stay here. With Mac. It appears….” Emma broke off her comment and looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“For pity’s sake, Emma, I’m not naked. You needn’t look so shocked.” She lowered the blanket enough to prove her point.

Emma’s cheeks were pink, but she protested, “Nevertheless, you look like… Well, you look like a woman who…” She lowered her gaze to her shoes.

“Like a woman who has been made love to?” Caitlin prodded, wondering why she wasn’t embarrassed about the subject. She was certainly a far cry from the proper young woman she’d been molded into, or nearly molded into.

Emma made a weak sound of agreement, blushing even more. “None of my business anyway. You’re married. Absolutely none of my business.”

Caitlin heaved a weary sigh. “True, Mac and I are married. We just did what most normal couples do in the privacy of their home.” She sighed again and tugged the blanket closer, looking down at her bare toes. “Only, we’re not a ‘normal’ married couple. Strangers, really. I suppose we shouldn’t have… I know it wasn’t right. But…”

Finally Emma recovered from her surprise and stepped to put her arm around Caitlin’s shoulders. “Sometimes a woman can’t help herself. Sometimes a man… Oh my, I can’t believe I’m talking about this. My dear husband would be mortified to hear me. I’m mortified.”

Caitlin smiled at her new friend. “I’ll never tell.” When Emma appeared more relaxed, Caitlin eased away and said, “Time for me to get dressed.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m quite sure the people in this town would rather not see me strolling down the street wearing my undergarments and a blanket.”

She headed back into the bedroom, shaken for a second when she saw the rumpled bed. The memory of Mac making love to her was overpowering. She turned abruptly away from the sight, dropped the blanket and reached for her petticoat. Stepping into it, she asked, “I don’t suppose you know when the next stage headed west leaves?”

“Oh, Caitlin. Are you positive you want to leave here? Not just this house, but Tumbleweed? I saw the way Mac looked at you yesterday. I don’t think he really wants you to leave.”

Oddly, she didn’t actually want to leave town. At least not quite so soon. But what was the point in staying? Mac might have made love to her in a moment of weakness. Then he’d gotten all high and mighty with that nonsense about a “husband’s duty to guide and protect his wife.” Which had simply meant that he’d latched onto an excuse to take her over his knee and apply his hard hand to her tender bottom. Repeatedly. With enough force that she’d broken down and sobbed in misery. He’d then ordered her out of his house. Of course she’d refused to go. She still felt a bit amazed at her daring to argue with him about that, considering he’d just burned her bottom. He’d almost grabbed for her again—to spank her even harder, she’d assumed—when he’d turned and sped out of the house. Now he’d moved her belongings out.

In spite of the way her heart felt pinched, she raised her chin and said, “He most definitely wants me to go. What happened last night was a mistake. Nothing but lust getting the better of us. A mistake.”

Once more Emma blushed. “Perhaps lust,” she whispered the word ‘lust,’ “overcame you both. But I think Mac truly has feelings for you. I saw his determined expression when he put the ring back on your finger yesterday. I heard the determination in his tone when he refused to let you leave town right away. Don’t take his sending you to my house as anything permanent. He’s just unnerved.”

Caitlin didn’t respond as she finished dressing. She kept her back to the bed. She might have acted boldly last night, but she felt pretty unnerved herself at the moment. Unnerved and unsure.

She drew in a steadying breath and gave a straightening tug to her bodice. “Okay, I’m ready.” Then she grabbed her reticule, annoyed at its lightness. Mac still had her gun. Odious man. Promising herself that she’d go toe-to-toe about the matter later, she led Emma out of the bedroom, and out of the house. Out of Mac’s house. Not hers. Never hers if he had his way. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away in disgust.

They walked silently for several minutes. Emma clearly didn’t want to say anything more to upset Caitlin, and Caitlin was glad not to talk about Mac or their situation. She watched the town ahead of them slowly coming to life. Merchants were sweeping off the boardwalk in front of their establishments. A small group of men on horseback rode to the other end of the street. Two wagons jostled around a deep hole in the middle of the road, barely missing each other. This was nothing like the hustle and bustle of New York City. She rather enjoyed the calmness and found herself smiling.

A warm breeze swept around them, fluttering Caitlin’s waist-length hair that she’d failed to roll up into her normal bun. She reached up to smooth it down. “If my teachers from the finishing school could see me now, they’d be horrified. ‘A lady does not wear her hair down in public,’” she said in prim imitation of Miss Agatha. “Come to think of it, my brother would be horrified as well.” She laughed. “Perhaps I’ll never wear it up again.”

Emma smiled, and then clearly relieved that Caitlin was in a better mood, began chattering away as they moved to the boardwalk in front of the First Bank of Tumbleweed. While Caitlin half-listened, she studied the buildings on the other side of the street. Miss Tollie’s Boarding House, where a short, rather plump woman briskly swept off the porch, and stopped to wave at Emma. Emma waved back without missing a beat in her description of the town and its residents.

Caitlin gave a polite “Yes” or “how interesting” every now and then, but continued to study the town. The building next to Miss Tollie’s caught and held her attention. Tumbleweed Times. A newspaper office. Something to think about, some place to visit in the next day or so. That is, if she should she still be in town.

“It’s such a lovely morning, don’t you think? And walking is so good for the system,” Emma commented, drawing Caitlin’s attention again.

“Yes, lovely.” That simple response seemed to satisfy Emma, so Caitlin resumed her observations. A pair of saddled horses stood tied up to the hitching rail in front of the sheriff’s office. Mac’s office. Where he’d spent last night, out of pure stubbornness. She hoped he had a crick in his back this morning! A crick bad enough that he would suffer some pain for a few days.

Annoyed with herself for being so sour, she slid her gaze to a couple standing in front of the Rosebud Café. Then she froze and Emma—still talking—continued on without her for a few steps.

Caitlin’s stomach knotted, and the pain around her heart intensified. Mac and Matilda. He smiled easily down at the teacher, at the woman he’d planned to marry before Caitlin showed up in Tumbleweed and upset everything. Matilda, in turn, smiled warmly up at Mac. The wretch went from having sex with her—and, yes, it had been nothing but sex, not love—to flirting with another woman!

Emma attempted to walk back to her, but Caitlin strode off the boardwalk and stepped down onto the hardened dirt road. Brisk strides took her across the road, forced a rider to pull up before he ran her down.

A wagon driver frantically steered to the side and cursed her thoroughly. She ignored them all.

Matilda was the first to spot Caitlin barreling in their direction. Looking alarmed—and guilty—she quickly scurried several steps away from Mac. Mac looked confused.

Caitlin gave Matilda a curt nod of greeting, secretly pleased to see the dark pink of embarrassment flooding her cheeks. She should be embarrassed! Trying to steal another woman’s husband right there on Main Street. The nerve! The hussy!

Caitlin stopped a few feet from the source of her anger. “I’ll be staying with Emma until I leave town in a day or so, or as soon as arrangements can be made to continue my trip to San Francisco.”

The easy smile Mac’d had for Matilda faded. His expression hardened, although he couldn’t seem to stop looking at her hair partially draped over one shoulder. “We’ll talk later. I’m on duty now.”

“Flirting with the town’s teacher is part of your duties?”

“I was not flirting! You’d do best to watch yer tongue, Lass.” There was a warning in his eyes, but he lowered his voice to add, “We’ll talk later.”

Caitlin sensed Emma coming up behind her and watched Matilda attempt to slink away. No doubt every person she’d spotted on the boardwalks was now focused on them. On her, acting like a crazy person. Mac made her crazy. “There is nothing to talk about, Aeneas Alexander MacDonell! Your mind is made up. You moved my baggage to Emma’s. You ordered me out of your house. What could there possibly be to talk about? Nothing.”

He stepped toward her, but she scooted backward. “Don’t you dare touch me! You made me feel things last night. More than just sensations and reactions.” She glowered at him. “And then…” She’d almost told everyone within listening distance that he’d spanked her. After a second, she finished with, “And then you thrust me aside as if nothing had happened. Well, now my mind is made up, too.”

With that said she spun around and marched back in the other direction. Emma hurried after her.

“Caitlin!” Mac called out.

She refused to stop, refused to respond. He’d hurt her again. Maybe not intentionally, but he’d hurt her nonetheless.

In the next instant, she was scooped off her feet and being carried, kicking and wriggling, in Mac’s arms. He didn’t say a word. He just strode grimly toward his house, carrying her as if she weighed nothing, ignoring her protests. And not a blessed soul attempted to stop him.

* * *

Darn the woman! Mac absolutely hated being the talk of the gossipers. His life was private, his business his own! Now that was a crazy notion. His life had never been private, never merely his own. As the eldest son of The MacDonell, he’d been focused on since birth. Groomed, trained to become the next clan laird. At least until his father had betrayed him by forcing him to marry someone other than the woman he’d been promised to at her birth. Forced to marry this contrary, wriggling lass draped over his shoulder.

“Stop your wiggling! You’re going to make us both fall,” he grouched, holding her tighter around the knees. She pounded at his back, raging furiously. It didn’t hurt, but he just might have some bruises.

“Put me down this instant!” She tried to reach around him and stretch down for his gun.

“You touch my gun and you’ll be very, very sorry.” When she didn’t appear to listen to him, he gave her bottom a hard swat and she dropped back into position with a very unladylike curse. “You dinna wanna be saying such things, Lass.”

She didn’t rear up again, but she snarled, “I’m already ‘very, very sorry.’ Very sorry I ever went to Scotland. Sorry I ever met you.”

They’d just passed through his front gate when he set her down and latched firmly onto her wrist so she wouldn’t run away. “I feel exactly the same way.” So why didn’t he simply let her go on to Emma’s house? Why didn’t he buy her stage ticket himself? Why had he brought her back here to his house like some caveman with only one thing in mind for his cavewoman?

He glanced at her standing beside him looking all bristly, fire sparking in those warm golden-brown eyes, that gleaming wealth of flaxen hair surrounding her small form. Saint Ninian, he wanted this spirited lass even more than he had yesterday. If he didn’t get her naked and under him in short order, he just might explode from powerful need.

She blinked at him, settled down somewhat as if she’d seen his urgent desire. She hadn’t looked down his body, where that urgent desire definitely made itself known. She must have seen something in his expression. Hell with how she’d sensed his need! He aimed to do something about it. Now.

Mac tugged her with him into the house, and she didn’t resist at all. She stood quietly by the table while he closed the door, while he untied his gunbelt and hung it on a wall peg, followed by his hat. He walked to her, torn between an aching desperation to be deep within her once more and the knowledge that this would only make their inevitable parting harder.

“You don’t… I don’t…” Her breasts rose and fell, snaring his attention and holding it.

“I do… You do…” he countered and pulled her into his arms. She trembled, and then snuggled closer. For just a moment, he held her. Blood heated within him. His cock jutted demandingly against his trousers, against her. “Oh, Lass,” he moaned, there were no other words to say.

She held him to her, cupped his buttocks, and gave them a light squeeze.

He groaned at her actions even as he grinned at her daring. Daring! He thought about Matilda, about Caitlin marching up to them on the boardwalk and accusing him of flirting with the schoolmarm. She’d mortified poor Matilda. He reached down and swatted Caitlin’s bottom.

She shoved back enough in his hold to glower at him. “What was that for?”

Believing he needed to make things clear to his tiny wife, he turned her around and bent her over the table. Her arms were squashed her breasts; her entire body quivering in outrage. He ignored all that and pulled up her skirt and petticoat as he held her in place with a strong arm in the middle of her back.

“Don’t you dare do this, Mac MacDonell! Don’t you dare!”

He dared. Holding her down, he gave her a quick, biting spanking that lasted no more than a minute or two. When he released her and she spun to face him, he calmly said, “That was for embarrassing poor Matilda out on the street.”

Sizzling, Caitlin hissed, “She flirts with my husband and I get spanked!” She stomped her foot. “That is soooo wrong!”

He shrugged. “Now I’m going to—“

“I do not think so!” She started to march by him back toward the door.

Mac caught her arm and pulled her back to him. With a quick intake of breath, she relaxed against him. He felt the rapid beat of her heart; smelled the womanly scent of her arousal. He ran one hand through her mass of hair and said, “Right or wrong, Lass, I need you.”

“It is wrong, but I need you to, Mac.” She stepped back and looked up at him. “Let me undress you,” she stated boldly.

He just stood there, surprised. “What?”

“I want to undress you,” she repeated and then reached for his top shirt button.

His entire body stiffened as her fingers skimmed his flesh. He sucked in a breath as she undid the button, then another, and then another until they were all undone. Never had a woman undressed him. Damn, he liked it. When she tugged the shirt free of his pants and leaned forward to brazenly kiss the middle of his chest, he liked that even more. He thought he might go up in smoke. “Uhhhhh, lass.”

Her hot mouth moved to one nipple. As she circled it with the tip of her tongue, he groaned, “Lass! Lass, I’ve got to have you! Now!”

She stepped back and with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, smiled. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Caitlin had never undressed—make that been undressed—so fast in her life. One minute she’d been boldly challenging him, and the next her clothes lie in a careless pile nearby. His hands had shaken with his effort, with his need for her, but he’d managed to remove every garment. Now she stood naked before the man she’d married. The man she would no doubt soon divorce. The man she couldn’t seem to get enough of physically. What a mess they were in!

As she contemplated that for a second, his dark green eyes glazed over while he stared at her in pure admiration. She saw see his bare chest rise and fall in deep breaths. Below his belt, his trousers strained to their limit by the stiff shaft that he was thinking with at the moment. If he’d been clear-minded, they wouldn’t be doing this. Thank the Lord he wasn’t clear-minded right now. She wasn’t either.

He reached for his belt, but she slapped his hands away. “No! My turn.” Before he could protest, she went to work on unbuckling the belt and then on unsnapping his trousers.

When she glanced down at the boots that would keep her from removing his trousers, he stepped over to a bootjack nailed to the floor by the door and heeled them off. He faced her again, looking as if he were struggling with control. “Now you can finish your task,” he said huskily.

A pleasurable task it was, too. She tugged his trousers and underdrawers down his long, muscled legs, over his stockinged feet. Her gaze locked for a heart-pounding second on the length of throbbing shaft. Warmth flooded her body, centered between her legs. She tossed his clothing aside and stood facing him, trembling with need.

“Socks?” He nodded at his feet.

“Not important.” She took his hand, heard his chuckle as she sped with him in tow to his bedroom. She scrambled onto the still rumpled bed while he stood beside it for an instant before following her down.

She felt so very small as he positioned his big body over hers, straddling her legs. A vein pulsed in his neck, revealing his strain at not rushing forward to do what his body demanded. Beard stubble from an apparently hasty shave this morning made his handsome, carved face only more appealing. His eyes blazed with the fire of need. Just below his left eye a thin white scar barely over an inch long angled down toward his mouth. A mouth she really wanted touching hers.

As he lie there, braced on his muscled arms over her, she reached up to lightly trace a finger along the scar. His eyes squeezed shut and he shuddered. “How did you get this scar?” she asked, tracing it slowly again.

He looked at her. “Drunk with a knife.”

“Are you ever going to kiss me?” she pressed, tired of his patience; no matter how strained that patience appeared.

His cock jerked against her and he lowered his head. Warm lips moved over hers. The stubble chafed her face, but she didn’t mind at all. She was lost in sensations. The seductiveness of his kiss; the pulsing of his cock on her stomach. Awareness of him. Of his scent. Of his heat. Of his power and strength.

He slid his tongue along her lips until she opened for him. Then it slid into her mouth, and it danced against her tongue. She tingled all the way to her toes.

She spread her hands into his thick, mahogany hair, played with it. Continuing to finger comb it, she pressed against him, pressed his cock tight between them.

He pulled back, braced up again and reached a hand down to cup her sex. She writhed beneath him as he stroked her. Writhed and moaned, panting as he thrust a finger, then two fingers into the center of her damp slit.

“Mac, oh Mac,” she whimpered as he worked her bud and her body. Teased and tormented her until she came apart and cried out, “Mac! Ohhhhhh Mac!”

She’d barely drifted back from her haze of pleasure when he shifted until he shoved her legs apart. A bare instant later his large body was between them. His shaft looked enormous now, pulsed with a life of its own. She wasn’t certain she could take all of it. She wanted all of it. He drove down into her at the same time she wrapped her legs around his waist. His thick length made her cry out, not in pain but in pleasure.

At her cry, he looked worriedly down. “I’m too big. I should—“

Caitlin locked her ankles to keep him in place. “Don’t you dare pull out! If you leave me needy like this, I’ll get that gun of yours and shoot your cock right off.”

“Sassy thing, you are.” He grinned and rammed deep. “Hang on tight then, Lass. ‘Cause I’m going to ride the hell out of you.”

She settled in for the ride he promised, smiling. He bent down to suckle and savor breast after another. All the while his cock thrust steadily into her, deep, deeper, faster. Then he shifted so that he could kiss her, drive his tongue into her mouth with the same intense motion his cock drove between her legs.

Wonderful. She’d never felt so wonderful. She hugged him to her, stroked her fingers up and down his back now beaded with sweat. She heard his labored breathing, felt his body strain, reach, as he grew more and more desperate. Her body savored every touch of his tongue, the warmth of his mouth, the strength of his thrusts. Sweat covered her, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was Mac keep pounding into her, pounding until he took them both to that special release he was so capable of doing.

“Caitlin!” he bellowed and his buttocks tightened. He pumped with enormous effort. “Lass, I’m…”

Caitlin felt it too. She arched upward against him. Her head moved side to side and everything within her screamed, “Ohhhhh, ohhhhh! Oh, Mac!”

He rammed one final time, went so deep, so deliciously deep. Then his entire body stiffened, shuddered. He came in a pulsing explosion inside her, grunted from the effort. As he looked down at her, his face was twisted in pain, twisted in pleasure. She accepted his release and felt her own when her inner muscles spasmed. She, too, came all around him.

He lay limp, his big body smashing her into the mattress, his cock semi-hard inside her. Perspiration beaded his forehead. They both panted for air and looked at each other. Now that the heat of the moment and their desperation was over neither seemed to know what to say.

Regret filled his expression, and she wanted to slap him. Would have slapped him had it not been for the sudden pounding on the front door.

“Sheriff! Sheriff, someone’s robbed the bank!” Deputy Andy shouted, pounding again.

Mac rolled off Caitlin in a flash. For just a second he hesitated to move as he looked down at her. “I…I—“

Caitlin sat up in bed, glaring in outrage. “If you say you’re sorry, Mac, I swear I’ll strangle you with my bare hands!”

He looked shocked, and then turned to hurry out to the other room for his clothes. He was shoving his feet into the boots when she stepped into the doorway wrapped in the blanket.

“We’ll talk when I get back,” he said gruffly, snagging his holster and hat before rushing out the door.

She stared after him as he raced down the street with Andy. Was this to be what their life together was like? Having hot sex—not tender lovemaking—and then parting yet again, with nothing ever fully settled between them? With him spanking her whenever the mood came on him? Not much of a marriage. She really should end it and leave.

She watched him stop to tie down his gun and then glance back her direction. Heat moved through her as if he’d reached out to touch her. Okay, maybe they didn’t have anything that resembled a “normal” marriage. But they sure had incredible sex together.

“You be careful, Sheriff MacDonell!” she yelled as she stepped onto the porch. “You hear me!”

He didn’t say a word, but he tipped his hat at her before turning away once more.

Chapter Seven

Two weeks. They had been hunting these bank robbers for two damn weeks. If Mac had gone on his own, he figured he’d have captured them by now. Instead he’d dealt with nothing but a string of catastrophes ever since he, his deputy, the mayor, the banker, and one of the shopkeepers had left Tumbleweed.

The hot, near-blistering wind blew across them as they rode over the sun-baked desert well east of Tucson. He drew in a tired breath, quickly regretting the action as dry, suffocating air nearly set his lungs on fire. Running his tongue over his cracked lips, he longed for a drink that didn’t come out of his nearly empty canteen. He would almost sell his soul for a good soak in his big tin tub. Which immediately brought to mind Caitlin, but then what hadn’t brought the sassy little lass to his mind. Saint Ninian, he’d sell his soul, his gun, and maybe even his horse to see her in that tub.

“Sheriff?” his deputy questioned, riding up beside him. “You figure we’ll be in Tumbleweed tomorrow?”

Mac ground his teeth, bit down hard on his simmering fury. If the good Lord had ever tested him in his life, it was riding on this posse. First, the excited men had ridden off at breakneck speed, forgetting that Mac was in charge and was actually competent in heading up a posse. Then, in their eagerness, they’d followed the wrong tracks. They had gone several miles out of their way before he convinced them they were going practically the opposite direction of the bank robbers. He’d considered abandoning them and going on his own. But, in spite of having lived in the West for several years or more, none of these men were truly capable of taking care of themselves in the wilderness, including Andy.

“Aye,” he managed to say, as he grimly prodded his horse to go a little faster, hoping to leave Andy behind.

“Reckon you’re eager to get home. See that pretty wife of yours.” Andy caught up with him. “She sure was put out with you talkin’ to Matilda. Got quite a temper. Probably just as hot in bed. Lord a’mighty, Sheriff, you’re a lucky man.”

“That’s private matters,” Mac bit out and rode ahead, pleased that Andy wisely chose not to catch up with him again. The deputy was right. Caitlin had been flat-out furious in a surprising show of jealousy that day on the boardwalk. He had spanked her for such foolishness, although it hadn’t been that much of a bottom warming. Then he’d … well, they had…

No! He shifted in the saddle feeling the stirrings of arousal, and not for the first time since they’d been on the trail. Her annoyed threat to shoot his cock off if he’d pulled out of her still made him smile. Outrageous lass, passionate lass. He had to shift again. Yes, Andy had been right about that: she was fiery in bed, especially for a lass so inexperienced. And, Lord help him, he sure did enjoy all that fire. But a marriage shouldn’t be, couldn’t be all about what went on in bed. She might be a match for him there, but in other ways, not at all. He should let her go, not keep insisting she stay around so they could talk. While he should have worried about catching up with the trio of bank robbers, he’d instead spent most of his time thinking about Caitlin. Would she still be there when he got back to Tumbleweed? Would she have convinced Zachary to draw up the divorce papers, signed them, and left for San Francisco as she’d planned?

“We sure wasted a lot of time, huh Sheriff?” Shelden Eastridge asked, edging his sway-backed horse beside Mac, pushing his glasses up from the end of his bulbous nose. “Who would’ve guessed the marshal from Dodge and his deputies would be after the same men?”

Mac glanced sideways at Lucinda’s round-faced husband. His sagging chin bounced and jiggled as his horse loped along. In his striped sack coat with matching pants—both much the worse for wear at this point—the mayor of Tumbleweed looked sadly out of place riding on posse. As did the other men.

Before he could answer, Horatio Hooberry rode closer. The banker whined in his nasal-toned voice, “After all we went through, you would’ve figured we had the right to bring the gang in, not them big city boys. I still don’t understand why you didn’t demand we do it.”

A headache clawed at Mac, and the heat had gotten to him as well. He wiped his sweat-beaded brow with the back of his shirtsleeve. “Because they’re actually capable of taking them in for trial. You all are not.” He drew in a deep breath. “At least we got the bank’s money back. And none of us were shot or killed.”

He nudged his horse until he was once again well ahead of the others. He’d had more than enough of these five men. His thoughts wandered back to Tumbleweed, back to Caitlin, and into really dangerous territory. If she hadn’t already left town, she’d probably moved in with Emma by now. He had wanted that until he could bring himself to end their marriage legally. So why did that idea irritate him so much?

* * *

Caitlin swiped the brush one final time on the door and stepped back to admire her handiwork. Emma, too, moved beside her and they both beamed in accomplishment. Although they were nearly covered from head to toe in bright yellow paint, they’d completed their task of the last couple of weeks. Mac’s horse shed had now officially become Caitlin’s photography studio. She had spent exactly one day sulking at Emma’s house. Then she’d hired one of Emma’s sons to haul her bags, as well as her precious camera and other equipment that had arrived three days after Mac left town, to Mac’s house. If he insisted on her staying around until they could “talk,” she would do so with her belongings and in a place where she wasn’t barging in on another family’s life.

“Think he’ll notice?” Caitlin asked devilishly.

As the afternoon sun beat down on the small building now painted with two coats of yellow paint—the only paint besides white that Eastridge’s Store carried, Emma giggled. “I believe he just might.”

“Think it’ll annoy him?”

“Oh, most definitely.” She faced Caitlin and shook her head, smiling. “Which is precisely why you chose to paint it yellow instead of white, isn’t it?”

Caitlin shrugged, tipping her chin up defiantly. “He deserves it. Not letting me go on my way. Making love to me, ordering me to move in with you, making love to me again …“

Beneath her layer of yellow paint, Emma blushed fiercely. “You’re embarrassing me with such talk.”

“Emma, you have children. I’m merely talking about something that is natural between couples. Well, most couples.” She decided to stop torturing her friend. “Anyway, I like colorful things. They make me happy. If I’m going to be staying in Tumbleweed until Mac agrees to be sensible and divorce me—which I honestly don’t foresee happening anytime soon, stubborn man that he is—then I’m going to keep busy. Alfred Thompson said I could take photographs for his newspaper. Mainly for the advertisements, but that’s a start. And I could maybe get some of the folks around here to let me take family photographs.” They’d talked about all of this before, but Caitlin liked thinking about finally getting a chance to use her skills with photography.

She put a hand to her back and winced. After cleaning out the shed and turning it from a stable into something she could work in, she was more than a little sore. “I believe we’ve done enough for today. Besides, you’ve got a family to get home to.” She took Emma’s paintbrush and gently nudged her into movement. “Go home. Get some rest. You deserve it, as do I.”

But some things just never quite go as you want, she decided as she’d no sooner said good-bye to Emma and begun putting away the paint and brushes than she heard footsteps behind her. She resignedly turned to find Lucinda Eastridge and Matilda Burnside walking toward her. Their gazes were locked on the shed: Lucinda’s narrowed in distaste, Matilda’s widened in shock.

“What have you done! It’s awful!” Lucinda burst out, stopping with hands on hips just feet from the shed.

“It’s none of your business, but then I doubt that was what you were attempting to say,” Caitlin said pointedly. “And you did sell me the paint.”

Matilda was quieter, but just as disapproving. “Mac won’t like—“

Caitlin straightened and tried to look stern—though she suspected that was difficult while standing there wearing one of Mac’s old shirts and trousers, both boldly splashed yellow, as well as her face and arms. “Again, this is none of your business. Seeing as I am Mac’s wife, I’ll discuss this matter with my husband.”

“I believe I heard that you and Mac were going to divorce. Certainly that is for the best, considering.” Lucinda managed to look disapproving and approving at the same time.

“Considering?” Caitlin really didn’t like where the conversation was going.

Lucinda nodded toward Matilda, whose cheeks were red in embarrassment, and who couldn’t look Caitlin in the eye. “Considering the man you’ve been married to for a number of years hasn’t once mentioned you to anyone in town.”

“Zachary and Emma—“

“Considering that you have made it clear to some people here that you don’t want to remain married to him,” Lucinda continued, ignoring Caitlin’s interruption. “Considering that Matilda and Mac are in love.”

“Enough!” Caitlin snapped, startling both of the women with her outburst. “Leave. Now.” She’d had enough. It didn’t matter if what the older woman said was true, at least partially. She didn’t plan to stay married to a man who didn’t want her. Only now she knew that Mac did want her. At least he wanted her body, and she was all right with that. She rather liked his as well. She definitely enjoyed what he did with and to her body. Except for spanking her, of course. She didn’t enjoy that.

Lucinda’s eyes narrowed and she snorted. “Mac will hear about this. He will certainly hear just how rude you were to a couple of the good citizens of Tumbleweed.”

Matilda hadn’t said a word and looked as if the whole conversation had positively mortified her. Maybe she was rethinking having Lucinda on her side. That would be smart thinking, Caitlin decided. Because Lucinda wasn’t doing her schoolmarm sidekick any favors by butting into the situation.

“Do I need to find my little derringer, find the bullets as well?” Caitlin prodded, delighted when Lucinda’s entire face looked ready to explode. Of course, seeing Matilda look ready to keel over in a faint concerned her a bit.

Somehow, Matilda managed to muster up enough strength of will to snag Lucinda’s arm and start hauling her away. She didn’t look back, but she did say, “I’m sorry. We won’t bother you again.” To which Lucinda jerked her arm free and snorted again. Louder.

* * *

Mac finished his “nature’s call” and seriously contemplated not returning to where he and the other men had decided to make camp for this last night on the trail. He could just stroll off across the prairie, disappear. ‘Course he’d rather head off on horseback than on foot. But walking away from the irritating group and not heading into Tumbleweed to face Caitlin—and Matilda—sure had a powerful pull on him.

Blowing out a deep breath to steady his nerves, he turned toward camp. He was still a good couple dozen feet outside the ring of bedrolls when he heard Andy saying, “Shelden, I’m sure your gun still has bullets. No need to keep checking the thing.”

“We could be attacked in the middle of the night. Sitting ducks, we are.” He went right on checking his gun.

Mac cringed and froze as Shelden’s finger sat dangerously close to the trigger. Then his worst fears came to life.

Shelden wrinkled his nose and tried to keep from sneezing, but he couldn’t stop it. With an unavoidable jerk, he tipped the gun wildly up and squeezed the trigger.

“Oh shit!” Mac bellowed before he could shift completely out of the way when he saw the gun move. The bullet slammed into his upper left chest, just below the collarbone. He stumbled backward and covered the wound with his right hand. Then he blistered the quiet night air with a string of curses that had the men headed for him stopping in their tracks.

“I’m sorry! Oh, Good Lord above, I’m sorry!” Shelden rushed over, near tears.

Mac growled at him.

Andy hurried closer to check out the wound. His face had gone pale and his hands shook as Mac reluctantly let his deputy have a look. “Could have been worse, I’m thinkin’.” He moved to look at Mac’s back. “’Pears the bullet’s still in there.”

Mac had figured as much and it hurt like hell. Besides that, he was losing a lot of blood and getting a bit lightheaded.

“Want me to try digging it out, Sheriff?” Horatio asked as sweat already beaded his forehead.

Mac wove his way through the group and went straight to his saddlebags. Wincing, he removed the hand he’d pressed against the wound and reached into the bags for a bottle of whiskey. Then he snagged a spare shirt as well. When he turned around the group was close enough to have been his shadows.

He thrust the whiskey at Andy. “I’m going to need you to clean the wound as best you can.” He bit down a wave of pain. “Then you need to wrap this shirt around the area, apply pressure. Hopefully I can make it through the night without bleeding too damn much more.”

Gingerly he walked to his bedroll and eased down. “We head out at first light.”

“Maybe we should—“ Shelden said, echoing the concern on everyone’s faces.

“No.” Mac gave a curt nod toward the horizon where the sun was fast setting. “Dawn. We head out at dawn.” He hoped like hell that dawn came earlier than normal tomorrow.

* * *

It had been a miserably hot day and after working in the breeze-free shed for most of the day Caitlin was ready for a bath. Filling the tub she’d set up in the main room made her perspire even more, but the thought of a nice, refreshing soak was worth the effort.

She at last settled down into the chest-high water, leaned back against the galvanized tin, and sighed in pleasure. The only thing that would make her feel better would be feeling Mac settle over her. Feeling Mac slide deep into her body. A naughty thought. Deliciously naughty. But, oh, she had missed the big Scot these last couple of weeks.

To fend off the odd loneliness she’d felt, she’d kept herself busy. After the fist few days of near boredom, she’d walked determinedly down to the newspaper office to talk to Alfred Thompson. He had been skeptical at first. She had not given up easily. She’d worn him down until he had agreed to let her do some photography work for the town’s paper. She was so excited at this opportunity! Emma had been excited for her as well, but it was Mac she wanted to discuss things with.

Honestly! When were he and the posse ever going to get back to Tumbleweed?

She slumped down in the tub and sulked.

* * *

The sun had hunkered down low in the sky by the time Mac led his bedraggled posse into town. He hadn’t spoken a word to them for the last few hours. But he’d heard them moaning and groaning from bodies long beaten down by being on the trail too long. He had heard their complaints about coming back without the bank robbers repeated endlessly until he’d had to hold the reins tightly with his good gun hand lest he reach for his gun and shoot them all. Idiots didn’t deserve to live. Now, though—thank Saint Ninian—he would be rid of them for at least a night.

He swayed in the saddle, something that had been happening more and more the last hour or so. His shoulder hurt like the devil. Truth was, damn near every inch of his body hurt like hell. And he was burning up. Fever. Damn that idiot Shelden!

“I’ll be down to the jail in the morning,” he gritted out, although he doubted it. Feeling this bad, he’d be lucky if he could lift his head off the pillow come morning.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, he nudged his horse toward home.

“I’ll send Zachary your way,” Andy called after him.

Zachary, his lawyer friend who acted as town doctor as well at times. He’d get another lecture for getting shot up, but, damn, this hadn’t been his fault.

He fought to stay upright in the saddle. Sweat poured down his whole body. His throat was parched. Home. He had to get home. He’d wanted to come back to town, get cleaned up and head over to Emma’s house to see Caitlin. Didn’t look like he’d do more than drop in bed, though.

He nodded weakly at a pair of cowboys from one of the close by ranches and then focused on getting to his house at the end of the dirt road. Battling a fevered haze, he still managed to blink in shock as he passed by Eastridge’s Store and caught sight of something blinding yellow. His eyes widened and he jerked on the reins, stopping his horse in the middle of the road.

He blinked and looked again. His horse shed was as yellow as a sunflower. No, it was an even brighter yellow than that. Or maybe it was a horrible illusion; something conjured up from this fevered state. Hell, he hoped that was what it was.

Grimly, he urged his horse into a trot, ignoring the way it jarred his abused body even more. The shed looked worse the closer he got to it. His horse tensed when Mac guided him around the picket fence and toward the shed.

He stopped again. No respectable horse would sleep in such an atrocity. Someone was going to pay dearly for this prank!

He kneed his horse toward the hitching rail out back of his house when suddenly he heard a splash. From inside his house, through the open window near the table. His hand moved to his gun. And then he heard a female singing. A female voice as light and sweet as if it belonged to an angel. Only he knew it didn’t. The temptress’s voice belonged to his wife. Relief washed over him. She hadn’t left town. Irritation quickly followed the relief. She was supposed to be at Emma’s house, not here. Sassy lass never could obey him!

He heard another splash. Even shot up and filled with throbbing pain, his entire body stiffened. His cock hardened and pulsed against his too-tight pants. Caitlin was taking a bath. Naked. Lord help him.

His horse shifted restlessly beneath him, reminding Mac that he needed tending to after days on the trail. He’d have to get Zachary to take his horse down to the livery stable. No way he’d be able to make that trip and walk back here.

With a determined burst of willpower, he eased off the saddle. His legs threatened to give out on him. He managed to tie the reins to the rail, but didn’t bother reaching for his saddlebags or shotgun. It would take everything he had left to haul his ass up those steps and get into the house. Yet even in his weakened state he prayed Caitlin would still be in the tub. Not that he could do anything more than savor the sight. Aye, he’d like to sweep her out of the water, take her straight to the floor, and bury himself within her. But that wasn’t going to happen. Damn.

He stumbled up the steps as a wave of dizziness nearly took him to his knees. Desperately he shoved open the door. He all but collapsed against the wall as he gasped, “Thank you, Lord!”

* * *

Caitlin had heard Mac’s familiar footsteps on the porch, had actually sensed his presence the instant he’d rode into the yard. She should have jumped out of the tub and covered herself. But she’d decided she wanted to see his reaction to finding her naked in his tub.

The reaction wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped for. He stepped into the house and propped himself against the wall. Then she noticed the way something was wrapped awkwardly around his upper left shoulder. Something that was blood stained! He’d been shot!

“Mac!” she cried, shooting up to her feet in the water.

He took a wobbly step toward her and fell flat, somehow managing to keep from smashing his beard-darkened face by falling with his right arm curved up enough to pillow his head. She heard a weak groan and then nothing. Nothing. Is he dead? Oh, God, is he dead?

She nearly fell herself as she scrambled out of the tub and slip-slided over to him. She reached to touch him with shaking hands. In truth, she was trembling all over in fear. “Mac! Oh, Mac!”

To her enormous relief, he made a slight movement and mumbled something that made no sense. At least he was alive.

Caitlin raced to find her clothes; finally deciding it was simpler to only pull on a dress. She gave Mac a worried glance while still buttoning the front of the bodice, as she tore out of the house barefoot. She ran like a madwoman down the middle of the dirt road crying out for help.

Zachary found her halfway to his office, already headed in the direction of Mac’s house.

Chapter Eight

Where the hell was he? Mac attempted to open his eyes, but couldn’t manage it. His head felt heavy; his arms leaden. His left shoulder throbbed and burned. Shot! Shelden had shot him! Caitlin. He had to get home to Caitlin. No, he had to see if Caitlin was at Emma’s. Zachary. He needed him to dig the bullet out. Have to get up. Have to move. Where was he? It didn’t feel like he’d fallen asleep on his bedroll. It was too soft.

He tried to roll to his side, but fell back with a pained groan. Nausea swept over him. Heat, too. So damn hot. He moaned even louder.

Almost immediately a cool hand caressed the side of his face. A gentle hand. He relished the touch. Then someone gave his forehead a kiss as soft as a whisper. He drifted away into a world of powerful heat and then nothingness.

* * *

Tears trickled down Caitlin’s cheeks as she straightened from kissing Mac’s fevered brow. Two days he’d been fighting this raging fever. Two long days and nights she’d cared for his every need, slept carefully at his side. She felt helpless at the heart-wrenching sight of such a strong man brought down by a bullet shot by an idiot. An idiot she fully intended to burn the ears off of the next time she saw him. But not now. She couldn’t leave Mac. He needed her. It was such an odd thing to be truly needed by someone. Certainly her brother had never needed her, other than as someone to potentially trade off in marriage for his financial gain. Same with her father.

Zachary walked beside her and reached down to feel Mac’s forehead with a cupped palm. At the same time, he glanced over at the bandage wrapped around Mac’s shoulder. “His fever is still high, but I think it’s less than yesterday. He seems calmer, too, not thrashing about as much. And the wound has stopped bleeding.”

He tried to pull her away from the bed. “Go do something else for a while. Visit Emma, take a nap at her house. Work in your studio. Just get away from Mac for a spell. I’ll stay with him.”

Caitlin resisted. “I think he’s about to come around. He’ll need me here.”

“Yes, he’ll still need your care when he works his way out of the fever. From experience, I’ll tell you now that he’s going to a bear. Horrible patient. But he’ll be on the mend soon enough.” Zachary nudged her toward the bedroom door. “You need some relief from all the worry. You need sleep. Go to Emma’s.”

She didn’t want to leave; she didn’t want to stay. Tired. She was so very tired, and confused. Mac had gone on posse and returned home shot. Not by some criminal, but by one of his fellow posse members. There was always the danger, the fear that he’d go on another posse and not make it home. This time had been traumatic enough for her. Could she really stay here and live as his wife—not that he’d ever said that he wanted her to do that? Or should she get focused back on her original plan: divorce Mac and go on to San Francisco? That particular dream didn’t hold all the allure it once did.

“Caitlin?” Mac questioned weakly, immediately drawing both her and Zachary’s full attention. “Still here? Glad.” He drifted away again.

She sucked in a breath of relief and turned around. She raised her chin at Zachary. “You can go for now. I’m going to stretch out beside him. I want to be here.”

Zachary gave an uncertain nod and left. Caitlin slipped out of her dress and climbed ever so carefully onto the bed next to Mac, wearing only her camisole and short bloomers. He didn’t stir and she gently snuggled against him. She felt the fevered heat of his body, but it did feel as if the fever were finally running lower. When she awoke in a couple of hours, she’d bathe him again with cool water.

She repeated the gentle care, the soothing baths, and the sleeping next to Mac’s fevered body for two more days.

* * *

Mac woke to the heat of sunlight in the room rather than the heat of fever. He hurt all over. He carefully moved his shoulder, swearing he would never let Shelden ride on another posse. Damn fool! Shelden had shot him.

He rolled his shoulder again, winced, and remembered how he’d staggered into the house. How he’d found Caitlin naked in his tub. He had only seen her, for all of a minute or so, before he’d crashed to the floor from the fever and infection. Damn embarrassing.

He glanced around the room and noted how the bed beside him was rumpled. She had slept next to him. She had nursed him. He might not remember all of it, but he recalled her gentle touch as she’d washed his hot brow over and over…washed him everywhere, he was pretty sure. Shame he hadn’t really had a chance to enjoy such care. Where was she now?

Then he heard her in the outer room, speaking bristly to someone. “Thank you for the soup. Again.” She didn’t sound all that appreciative, almost angry in truth. Poor manners, Mac thought.

“Can I see him? I want to see Mac.” Matilda? He’d never before heard her express such determination.

“No,” Caitlin stated firmly. “He’s sleeping. Now that the fever has broken, he needs rest to heal. He doesn’t need visitors.”

“I’m not just any visitor. I’m…” Matilda stopped, huffed. “Well, I want to see Mac.”

“I said no.”

Both women were silent a few strained seconds and Mac wondered if he needed to go in and break them up. It was definitely odd to have two women fighting over him. He kind of liked it. No, he really only liked the idea of Caitlin sounding jealous, sounding defensive. Silently he urged Matilda to leave.

“But—“

“Look, I’m busy. I’m getting ready to give him a rag bath. You can come back tomorrow. Maybe.” With that Caitlin obviously pushed the door closed, and then Matilda stomped in a very unladylike manner down the porch steps.

Mac waited stiffly. Give him a bath? His heart raced. Would she still do it if she knew he was awake? He heard her footsteps, smelled her rose scent, and sensed her with every part of his body. Especially his cock, which immediately filled out, pushed up against the sheet covering his lower half. Maybe she wouldn’t notice. He desperately squeezed his eyes shut.

* * *

Caitlin knew something was different the instant she stepped into the room. During the days and nights Mac had been lost in a fevered world, she’d become aware of every change in him. What had changed in the few minutes she’d left him to go deal with Matilda? A quick glance at him and she knew. His eyes might be closed—okay, they were squeezed shut, not just shut—but his body was certainly alert. The sheet tee-peed below his waist.

Aroused? Interesting. Should she still wash him down? Had he overheard her telling Matilda about it? Is that why his cock had shot to full life? Hmmm.

She smiled to herself. Mac was playing possum. Fine. She’d see how long he could keep that up.

“I know you’re still sleeping,” she said quietly, biting down an even bigger smile when his chest seemed to shudder. Oh, yes, he was aware of her.

“I’m just going to wash you off. You’ll feel much better. Trust me.”

Did his hand twitch? Did the sheet just move? Oh, this would be such fun!

She carried the pan of water and a rag, and set them down on the small table beside the bed. Surely he realized that beneath the thin sheet he was naked? She’d stripped him down to just skin so she could cool off his body easier when he was running the high fever. She supposed she could have left him in his drawers, but she’d decided against it. Which made what she intended to do now even more exciting to her…and almost certainly to him.

Still smiling, Caitlin took hold of the sheet and tugged it all the way down to the end of the bed.

He tensed, but kept his eyes squeezed shut. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he knew what she was doing. Apparently he wanted to see how far she would go. Let him be stubborn. He couldn’t simply lie there once she really got started.

Just in case things got carried pleasantly away, she decided to get prepared. She slipped off her dress and stood beside the bed in only her camisole and short bloomers. Then, she decided to be even bolder and slid them off as well. It felt very strange to stand there naked. Naughty. She loved it.

“You won’t remember this, but the water turned almost black the first night I washed you.” She looked down at him and grinned. He was really so nice to look at. In all her short life she’d never run across another man who drew her as much, who made her feel like a woman. “Since you’ve been in bed so long now you might need another thorough washing.”

His big body stiffened again. His thick rod seemed to grow longer and harder right in front of her eyes. Oh, yes, he heard every word she said. Devil.

Feeling quite daring, she gently placed a hand on his good shoulder. His skin felt firmer than hers, tougher, like the man himself. She smoothed her fingers lightly over that shoulder, and then down his chest to the spattering of dark hair there. She played with it a second enjoying the texture. Then she moved her hand to one of his nipples, and used her thumb and index finger to toy with it until it hardened into a ball.

His chest shuddered even as he drew in a deep breath. If it were possible, his eyes appeared even more tightly closed. Stubborn, stubborn man.

Determined to undermine his willpower, Caitlin wet her fingers. She leaned close to him, whispering, “I’ll start with your face. I should shave you again, but I kind of like this rough look. I find it very exciting. Not that you understand what I’m saying, since you’re sleeping so nice and sound.” She slowly wet his forehead, traced his thick eyebrows with a fingertip. Her hand moved to the sides of his face, stroking it, enjoying the odd sensation of the beard stubble. Then she used the thin rag to ever so softly dab away the moisture.

Was that a groan? Definitely his stomach had tightened, which made his cock bob around so intriguingly. Yet he still refused to open his eyes, as if any idiot couldn’t tell he wasn’t really sleeping. Fine, let him play his game. She was enjoying hers.

She wet her fingers again and smoothed them light as a feather over his lips, traced the outer edges ever so lightly. What she really wanted to do was lean down and run the tip of her tongue across those lips, but he might not be able to survive that without opening his eyes. She wasn’t done playing. So, instead, she dabbed his lips dry with the rag, and felt his sharp intake of breath. But his eyes remained sealed tight.

Once more she wet her hand and then smoothed first her palm, then the top of her hand over his thick neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down beneath her fingertips. And, from the corner of her eye, she saw him grip the bottom sheet with his hands. This time she didn’t dry him with the rag. She leaned down and blew gently over the barely wet skin.

Another shudder passed through him. He sucked in a breath so deep his chest caved in somewhat. His proud, hard cock waved at her. She was making progress.

Again she wet her hand, and she could have sworn at least one of his eyes had popped open to watch her as she was turned slightly away. He’d squeezed it shut when she faced him with a secret smile. He looked like he wasn’t even breathing.

She ever so slowly smoothed her wet palms over his upper chest, being careful around the wounded side. Then she moved her palms slowly around each breast, making sure her fingers swept over his nipples.

He sucked in a breath from somewhere so deep it seemed to come from his toes. His forehead pinched at the effort to keep his eyes closed. Lord, the man had willpower!

She turned to wet her hands again, saying quietly, “There seems to be a fever rising once more. I can feel it in my fingertips each time I touch you. But I’ll get you cooled down. You’re in good hands, trust me.”

There was that dancing cock again. Caitlin took the movement as an invitation. She had been dying to learn more about it anyway. She already knew the power the thick shaft held, the immense pleasure it could give. Just thinking about it—well, and touching him in any manner—made her hot and achy inside, made her lower lips quiver. She desperately wanted to climb on the bed, climb over him, and go down on that magnificent cock. Ride him, like she’d heard him say when he was on top of her, taking her. She would ride him with long, hard, fast movements. The very thoughts had her trembling, almost panting.

As if his cock was annoyed by her lack of attention, it moved again. This time she had to touch it, had to examine the magic of it.

She quickly wet her now dry hands again, and then reached for that thick rod, surrounded it with one hand. Velvety soft. Hot. It pulsed, enticing her to learn more, and she was a very interested student. She moved her hand up and down his penis, intrigued with everything about it, including the vein running along the length. She traced the vein with her thumb as she slid her hand up again. Then she moved her thumb slowly around the head, gently over the tip. What a wondrous thing!

His hips shifted. He seemed to grow even bigger within her hold. And she’d definitely heard a moan. No, a groan, actually.

She loved the feel of the smooth, hard shaft; loved the sound of his labored breathing each time she stroked him. She thought about something she’d once read in a forbidden book. Did she dare? Could she not try it? She might not ever get such a chance again.

Heart racing with eagerness, she glanced at his face and found him watching her through slitted eyes. He didn’t say a word, just watched. Waited. Most importantly, he didn’t tell her to stop.

Giving him a sassy smile, she scooted up onto the bed and moved until she was between his long, muscled legs. She looked boldly at him, and then gently cupped the base of his rod in one hand. “If you think I’ll stop and not continue with my learning of your body, you’re wrong.”

His buttocks clenched; his abdomen tightened. His eyes darkened, but he didn’t say a word.

“Consider yourself warned.” Caitlin bent over him; her long hair swept around her shoulders and tumbled onto his thighs. Her own body pulsed with need at the intimacy, at the enticement of his male scent, at the powerful man beneath her. She was moist, ready for him to thrust deep inside her. Yet she couldn’t pass up this chance to discover even more about the mysteries of a man.

He lie stiffly, tense, waiting and she slipped the tip of her tongue out of her mouth, and then used it to lick upward on the shaft. “Salty,” she said in delight, and then she repeatedly licked upward. Up one side, and then the other.

His legs shifted. He clutched at the sheet underneath him. Panted.

Finally she flicked her tongue slowly, softly along the ridge on the underside of his cock and broke his silence. “Caaaittttlinnn!” The name came out more groan than comment.

She gave him a quick glance before returning to play with the treasure she’d found. She inched closer, cupped his balls carefully, and bent down with determination. Heart racing, her vagina pulsing with responding need, she licked him again. All over. Licked him until his hard shaft was coated with her saliva. Then she that stiff shaft into her mouth just like she’d seen women do in some pictures in that forbidden book.

“Oh Lass! Lass!” Mac moaned, shoving his hips upward in the agony of his body’s desperation. And he groaned, this time in pain.

Caitlin hesitated, not wanting to stop, but worried about hurting him.

He planted a hand on her head to keep her from drawing away. “I need… Oh, Lass, I need you.”

Enormously pleased she moved her mouth down him, sucked him inside. Her tongue flicked over his cock, swirled around it. With each pumping movement she made, moisture beaded between her legs. The secret bud that Mac was so good at teasing pulsed with the need to be attended to as well. For now she only wanted to see how long she could enjoy this treat. When she could stand it no more, she would take the next step. They’d both be more than ready by then.

* * *

Mac was certain he’d died and gone to heaven. Other women had sucked his cock, but never with such eagerness. He griped the sides of the bed so hard his fingers hurt; his wounded shoulder throbbed. It had been a pleasurable hell to lie still while she teased him with simple touches. But he’d never expected her to be so daring as to take him into her hands, let alone into her mouth. She had been schooled to be a proper lady. As her tongue slid over his aching cock again, he was mighty pleased the “properness” hadn’t stuck with her.

She continued tormenting him. Lord, he hurt from the first real movement in days, but he’d die a happy man. He was not stopping this! “Lass! Oh, gawd, Lass!” He bucked upward so hard he nearly tossed her to the floor. “Have mercy! I need to fuck you.” He flinched at having said that. It only proved how little control of his thoughts and actions he had left. He didn’t use such crude language around women, especially not Caitlin.

Apparently unconcerned with what he’d said, she slowly slid her mouth up his shaft, swirling her tongue around the tip, lapping up the bead of moisture she found there. Then before he could grab her and thrust inside her, she straddled him. While he gaped at her, she took hold of his cock and held it as she rose up so she could seat it within her. Heat, warm heat surrounded him and he sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.

“Caaiittlinnnn!”

Caitlin’s inner muscles contracted around the thick shaft, squeezing it. The descriptions in the books had been intriguing, but nowhere close to the reality. The sensations she felt now were indescribable. Wonderful. Wild.

She threw her head back, arched, and felt him lift up to drive deeper.

Sensations. So many sensations.

She needed to move, to feel him pounding in and out of her. She needed to find that blinding point where there was no more rational thought. The point where there was only that explosion of release.

Impatient now, his face contorted with strain, with pain, with determination, he pleaded, “I’ve not the strength for drawing this out much longer.”

Nor had she. Caitlin smiled down at him and lifted up until he was more out than inside her. As he frowned in disapproval, she bore down, taking every slick inch of him within her.

His eyes glazed over; his breath came in rapid pants. Sweat beaded on his brow.

For just a moment, she sat perfectly still, except for her inner muscles massaging him. Then she got down to this very pleasant chore. She rode his shaft with quick, long movements. Her hips ground in circles so that she felt all sides of him, so that he felt all parts of her.

Finally it was there: that wondrous world she’d longed to reach. Perspiration covered her and she collapsed against him. She felt the roughness of his breathing, the exhaustion swarming over him. Determined not to make him suffer with her added weight, she forced her worn out body up until she sat atop him once more. He remained still half-aroused inside her. If she could manage it in another few minutes, she could probably lure that precious cock back to full arousal.

That wasn’t a good idea. Pain lines creased his forehead; the flush of fever remained partially there. They were done for now. Maybe forever. Sex kept getting in their way—not that she didn’t truly enjoy it with him. But they both needed and deserved more than just sex in a relationship.

“About the shed…” Mac said unhappily, drawing her attention again. Yet, even as disapproving as he sounded, as weak as he was, she felt the stirrings of his cock reviving. It appeared that men were driven much more by sexual need than by common sense.

Generally speaking—except when it came to Mac, for some reason, and only some times—she was driven by common sense. Focusing on that, Caitlin eased off him and scooted off the bed.

“My studio, you mean?” She used the rag to wipe between her legs and then pulled on her camisole and bloomers.

“My horse shed,” he clarified, grimacing as he pulled the sheet up to his waist.

“Alfred Thompson agreed to let me take photographs for the newspaper.” The idea still made her heart race in excitement. Her first true job! “I needed someplace to develop them.”

She stepped into her dress and tugged it into place. “But if you still intend for me to leave town…” She let the thought fade away. She didn’t want to leave Tumbleweed anymore, because of her new opportunity, because of her new friend Emma, because of Mac.

“You’re not leaving yet!” He looked as stubborn as ever, even with the hint of low fever on his handsome face. Then he avoided meeting her eyes as he added, “We canna seem to get past the… the…”

She buttoned her dress and finished for him, “The sex matter.”

“Caitlin,” he chided.

“Don’t even bother with the whole ‘that’s not proper’ thing. Don’t try to deny that sex appears to be all that we have in common.” With that, she bent to grab her shoes and sped into the outer room. “You need to rest, and I need to go talk to Alfred.”

“You need to stay here!” he shouted. It sounded like he attempted to get up but fell back against the mattress. Still he bit out, “Come back here! I’m gonna blister your butt for what ye’ve done to my shed.”

She popped her head back in the doorway. “You really think I would stay around for that to happen? Not that you’re in any condition to do such an awful thing.”

His scowl promised her that the matter was not finished. His words set the issue in stone. “As soon as I can stand without falling…” He sucked in a calming breath. “You’re getting a sound walloping, that you can count on.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Don’t push me, Lass. You’ll be getting a taste of my belt as it is.”

She raised her chin. “I shouldn’t have bothered spending all this time trying to help you get better.”

He closed his eyes. “I thank you for what you did.”

“You’re welcome.” She turned to go.

“But I’m still going to burn your bottom in a day or two.” He seemed to finally realize what she’d said about Alfred and questioned, sounding irritated, “What did you say about Thompson?”

She stopped in the middle of the front room. “I’m going to work for him.”

“The hell you say!”

Stomping back to the doorway, she glared at him. “Yes, the hell I say!”

With that, she stormed through the small house and out the front door. She steamed toward the dirt road. She’d just made love to him, for pity’s sake! Given them both relief from their pent up need. Was he happy about that? No. All he could think about was that blasted shed! He could be such a trying man! Talking about spanking—no, thrashing—her with his belt. Honestly! Painting his stupid shed wasn’t really all that big of a problem. She needed the space. His horse could be kept at the town’s livery stable, which was only a block or so from the house.

She spotted the newspaper office and fumed even more. The hell you say. What kind of comment was that to her statement about working for Alfred? Puzzlement? Or disapproval? She suspected the latter. Well, she certainly intended to work for Alfred…at least as long as she stayed in Tumbleweed. Mac would just have to accept the idea.

* * *

Mac spent another day in bed, but he grouched around so much that even Zachary stopped visiting him. Caitlin, too, kept her distance. She had even started sleeping nights at Emma’s house, although she spent most of the day with him…or at least some of the time with him, some of the time in the shed. The shed was a sore subject for both of them. He had finally accepted her need for using the small building, but he needed to deal with the way she’d taken it over without discussing the matter with him. Sure, he’d have said “no” right off. Maybe he would have given in with a good explanation. She’d gone around him and he didn’t like that at all.

He should go out to the shed now where she was doing whatever she did out there. He should set things straight. His hand moved to his belt as he looked unhappily out the window at the horrible yellow shed. No. He would take care of the matter here in the house. More private.

Just as he started to move away from the window, Caitlin stepped out of the shed. She rubbed her back as if whatever she’d been doing was hurting her back in some way. Soon enough, he decided, she would have something much more painful to deal with, like a sizzling bottom.

He opened the back door and caught her attention. “’Tis time, Lass.”

Her eyes rounded and the color drained from her face. He hadn’t needed to say what he intended to do, she understood. “Mac,” she protested softly.

“If you’d rather I do so out there…”

The color returned to her face, the color of irritation. She stomped toward the house. “I certainly would not!” She stopped in front of him. “I would rather you not do this at all. It isn’t necessary. I understand how you would have preferred I talk the painting the shed over with you first.”

He motioned her inside. “You acted willfully, thinking only of yerself, Lass. I’m powerful upset with the matter.” As she walked by him, he added, “And you’ve struggled with obedience, too. I told you to move to Emma’s. You dinna.”

“I’m staying there—“

“You’re staying there at night now because you’re tired of me acting like a bear. Not because I told you to, but because you chose to do so.” He waved toward the bedroom. “’Tis time I dealt with yer headstrong ways.”

* * *

Caitlin rubbed at the nerves fluttering in her stomach. Mac looked so determined, sounded so stern. She was pleased to see him up and about again, but this situation was most distressful. “I took care of you. That should count for something.”

“I’ve thanked you numerous times already. It doesna change this, though. You have earned a thrashing.”

He pointed toward the bed, and then moved around her to stack the two pillows in the middle. “Remove your skirt and drawers, Lass.”

Her hands were trembling as she obeyed. She knew she could turn and run out of the house, run to the safety of Emma’s house. But Mac was her husband, if only for now. She owed him respect. She’d had time to think about what she’d done—not that she didn’t still want the use of the shed—and she had handled it wrong. She’d just been in such a hurry, excited.

She hung her skirt and drawers on a wall peg and faced him, her cheeks heating in embarrassment.

“Stretch over the pillows. I want yer bottom up nice and high.” He stood beside the bed and waited.

Trying not to think about the pending pain, she crawled onto the bed. With one last hopeful look at him, she lie over the pillows. He lifted her chemise fully off her buttocks and she tensed. She held perfectly still as she listened to him unbuckle his belt, heard it slip from his pants, heard him double it and swish it through the air once.

“I do not like having to do this, Lass.” He pressed a hand to the small of her back.

Thwack!

She gasped and clutched at the bedcovers. The pain was incredible.

He lashed a swift strike across her burning bottom. Then another and another. Each strike making her arch down into the pillows. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Her Scot was a fierce one when it came to punishing. Clearly he believed that if you’d earned a thrashing, you were going to get one not soon forgotten. The hard leather crossed her burning bottom a half dozen times, a dozen times, two dozen times.

“Oh God!” she screamed, struggling against the pain, struggling beneath his firm hold.

“’Tis nearly done, Lass.”

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

“Ooooowww!” She jerked around, kicked up. “Please stop! Oh please!”

Two more lashes fell and then he stepped back.

“You’ll stay there for a spell. Red striped ass right there nice and high while you think about why you got thrashed.”

Fine with her. Moving wasn’t going to feel good for a while.

“I’m headed down to the jail.”

She heard him put his belt back on and heard him leave the house. As she concentrated on slowing her sobs, she thought about how she’d thrown Theopolis’ strop into the fireplace. She would really like to do the same with Mac’s belt.

Chapter Nine

The last two weeks had been one Caitlin never wanted to live again. Discovering that her husband had been wounded by one of the townspeople while on posse had frightened her. She had truly wondered if she could stay married to a man who might well be shot and killed one day in the line of duty. Worse, though, had been taking care of him for two long days as he’d battled infection. Upon healing Mac had proven to be a horrible patient. Cranky, demanding. She’d begun staying the nights at Emma’s house, then he’d thrashed her and she’d moved back into Mac’s house. Which he, of course, resisted. But she’d decided that as long as they were man and wife, she would live with him. Even if he seemed to constantly talk about spanking her for this or that reason. He hadn’t, but he did threaten.

He had actually promised her a spanking later today, although she couldn’t remember the reason right now. She pursed her lips in annoyance. Perhaps he would forget about his pronouncement. She certainly wouldn’t remind him.

“You’re awful quiet. Something bothering you this morning?” Emma asked as she sat across the small table in Mac’s kitchen. She picked up one of the many leftover biscuits in a bowl. “These are a bit heavy.”

Caitlin frowned and picked up a biscuit as well. She tapped it on the table; it made a thud sound. “Deadly weapons, according to Mac.”

Emma’s mouth twitched.

Caitlin tapped the biscuit on the table again. “He told me that on his way out the door, heading for the Rosebud Café and a ‘decent breakfast,’ he said.” She hesitated. “I threw one at his back, suspect he will be bruised now.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” Emma sounded worried. “Men don’t normally like shows of temper.”

“Well, Mac certainly didn’t. He said… Never mind, that’s private.” But now she remembered why he wanted to spank her. The little fit of temper.

“Private, yes. Something like that would be.”

Blinking in surprise, Caitlin felt certain her friend understood exactly what Mac had promised her. But she really didn’t want to go into discussing spankings. Instead she played with the biscuit again. “They do seem a bit like rocks.”

Emma looked relieved to change the subject, too. “How about your other cooking attempts? Getting any better?”

Caitlin felt even more depressed. “My coffee is unswallowable. My eggs chewy as beef jerky. My bacon hard as sticks.”

“I’m sure you’re over-reacting.”

Caitlin shook her head. “No, really. He gagged on the coffee this morning. Last night he grumbled about having a sore jaw from chewing on the eggs that morning. And he nearly broke a tooth on the bacon.”

Her friend appeared to struggle with containing her amusement.

“At least I’m trying to be the kind of wife he wants. Someone as domestically perfect as the saintly Matilda Burnside.” Mac had mentioned her pies a couple of times, even her bread once. Evidently they made a man’s mouth water just thinking about them. “I’m sooo tired of hearing about Matilda.”

“She does know her way around a kitchen. And a man likes to eat, especially a big man like Mac,” Emma admitted. “Still, I have a hard time believing he’d say such things to you when he surely knows how hard you’ve been trying.”

Caitlin’s shoulders slumped. She dropped the biscuit and it thudded on the tabletop, didn’t even break apart. “Well, he did.” She’d had tears in her eyes at his grumbled words as he’d stormed into town.

Emma reached over to gently pat her hand. “I’ll give you another cooking lesson tomorrow. You can’t give up so easily.”

“There’s been nothing easy about any of this.” Caitlin looked out the window and felt depressed. She had been wasting her time. Mac was right. She would never be the kind of wife he needed. He didn’t need a wife who could host an elegant dinner for a dozen or more, but who could not cook the actual meal. He didn’t need a wife who managed to shred two of his shirts while washing them, because she didn’t understand how to properly use a washboard. He didn’t need a wife who was terrified of horses, considering he intended to raise and breed horses for the Army on the ranch he was establishing.

“I don’t give up easily, but nothing has worked out as I’d hoped it would.” Her thoughts turned to Alfred Thompson and the newspaper. He hadn’t been able to afford her services for taking photographs, and then carving out the images so he could print them. Instead he had offered to let her write for the paper since she had a way with words. She was still considering that opportunity; she did like writing. But it was photography that she loved. She was gravely disappointed at this latest turn of events.

“You’re not thinking of leaving, are you? I’d hoped that…” Emma didn’t seem to know what else to say.

“I don’t really know what I want to do anymore. Other than find a way to take photographs, of course.” She had also wished she could find a way to make Mac love her…really love her. Each night she looked forward to falling asleep beside him, feeling safe and comfortable with her big Scot. And she liked waking cuddled close to him. He was big and huggable, although she was sure he wouldn’t want anyone else to think that. Even more, Mac knew very well how to please a woman. To her surprise, she’d discovered that she wasn’t half bad at pleasing him either. He had been still sore and healing this last week, but they’d made love before retiring each evening. Sometimes more than once. She was becoming insatiable when it came to enjoying his skills at lovemaking.

She fiddled with the biscuit again, not looking at Emma as she admitted what she’d been thinking about the last couple of days. “I worry that I’m doing Mac an injustice by staying married to him. He’s a proud and honorable man, loyal to his clan, and loyal to his friends here. He deserves happiness. He deserves having a wife beside him that is capable of helping him in this kind of life. A life that’s so foreign to me.”

“Please don’t give up yet. Just because you can’t cook--” Emma protested, sounding worried.

Caitlin glanced up, her heart hurting. “Our staying married—having a good marriage—takes two people. So far I haven’t seen that Mac really wants this to work. Whenever I mention leaving, he just growls and orders me to stay in town. That’s not enough.”

Before Emma could protest, Caitlin turned her head again to look out the window at the main street of the town in which she’d come to feel so at home. “I’ll make a decision by the end of the week. This isn’t fair to either of us.”

* * *

Seated at a corner table in the Rosebud Café, Mac forked a mouthful of eggs and shook his head sadly at the thought of Caitlin’s attempts at cooking. Pitiful. Plain pitiful. Both her attempts at cooking and at other domestic chores were driving him crazy. Her, too, he suspected. He savored the bite of perfectly cooked eggs, and his thoughts turned immediately to what he did enjoy about his wife. The way they made love; the way she completely threw herself into the act of being pleased and of pleasing him. Saint Ninian, she was wearing him out.

He forced those thoughts away and to what really bothered him. He glanced across the table at Zachary. “She doesna belong here,” he stated simply, although there was nothing “simple” about his feelings for the lass.

“I take it you’re referring to Caitlin.” Zachary looked up from buttering a biscuit. “The woman who took meticulous care of you when you nearly died from that infection. The woman who put up with your acting the wounded bear and roaring at everyone within listening range for the last week.”

“Aye.” Mac frowned, annoyed at the reference to his poor behavior. He couldn’t deny Zachary’s comments about how she’d put up with him and tenderly nursed him. He also couldn’t forget the way she had made love to him when they’d both been desperate for it and he’d been incapable of doing his part completely. Since then they’d made love many times, and he couldn’t seem to get enough of her. She was definitely his match when it came to enjoying sex.

Again, thoughts of how well they were together in bed had nothing to do with their problem. He stiffened his shoulders and said, “She did her duty as a wife, caring for her injured husband.” Damn if he didn’t envision the way she’d “cared” for him, the way she’d taken his cock in her mouth, the way…

“Any wife would have done the same thing,” he bit out, hoping his friend didn’t catch the husky tone in his voice. He couldn’t even sit here and enjoy a meal without getting aroused just thinking about Caitlin. He felt like he’d spent most of the last week with a rock hard cock—when he wasn’t shoving that cock into her warm and willing body. He didn’t want to think about that now. “She dinna come to Tumbleweed to be a wife. She came to rid herself of an unwanted husband. I’ve just been too pigheaded to let her go.”

Zachary looked ready to interrupt, but Mac continued doggedly on. “I aim to get my ranch going, which will be hard work, as you well know. But I’m determined to have it make money so that I can send funds back to my clan in Scotland. My life will be a hard one. I need someone by my side who can live this rough kind of life.” He felt disheartened but had to admit, “Caitlin comes from a life of being pampered. She struggles with normal household chores. She dreams of being a photographer and there’s no need for such a thing here in Tumbleweed.”

“I think you’re misjudging her. She’s a lot tougher than she looks.” Zachary waved his knife at Mac for emphasis. “Hell, she came halfway across the country basically on her own just to see you.”

“Not a point in her favor, in my opinion.” He still grew angry when he thought about what she’d done, even after he’d spanked her for it. “Matilda would never have done anything so foolish.”

Zachary looked instantly angry, which surprised Mac. “I hope you’re not still thinking about Matilda being the woman at your side. You’ve hurt her, Mac. Really hurt her, and I won’t stand for you hurting her again.”

Mac studied his friend for a second and finally realized what had him so upset. “You’re in love with Matilda.”

Zachary’s frown intensified, but he didn’t respond and took a big bite of biscuit.

“Why the devil didn’t you say something before now? You must’ve felt this way for a spell.”

It took a minute for Zachary to chew and swallow the bite. Then he snapped, “Because you’re my friend. I wanted you to be happy. Matilda, too. Matilda’s a gentle person, a nurturing woman. Your sadness drew her, and she thought she was in love with you.”

“Thought she was in love with me?” Mac questioned, feeling guilty for getting between two people he admired and respected. Zachary had been right. Mac had been almost lost when he arrived in Tumbleweed. He had left behind everything he knew, and he’d been lonely. Now that he thought about it, he realized that Matilda had gone out of her way to speak to him and to draw him out. She had treated him much the same as one of her students. Guiding him back from depression, teaching him to feel again. And somehow they’d become a couple in the townspeople’s eyes. Even if she’d wanted to have a relationship with Zachary, she wouldn’t have. She would never have abandoned Mac for fear he’d become depressed once more. He’d been such an idiot.

“We’ve been seeing each other, Mac,” Zachary admitted quietly, looking uneasy.

“I’m glad to hear that. Matilda is a fine woman.” Mac shoved aside the plate of half-eaten food. He’d lost his appetite. “She dinna love me, Zachary. She pitied me.” He shoved back his chair and stood. “Marry her. Soon.”

Without another word he walked away, stopping to pay Rose on his way out of the café. Women could sure be a lot of trouble for a man. Maybe he’d be better off to get them all out of his life and remain single the rest of his years. Alone. His gut clenched. He didn’t want to be alone, but he didn’t want to make anyone else miserable either. Caitlin was miserable right now. She was trying to please him, attempting to perfect skills that he doubted she ever would. She was giving up on what she really wanted to do, because of him. Sacrificing herself. Like Zachary had been doing. Like Matilda.

They needed to talk.

Mac had no more than stepped out on the boardwalk than his deputy rushed up, winded from hurrying, with a folded piece of paper. As Andy thrust it at him, he said, “You got a wire, Sheriff. Actually, Caitlin got the wire.” It was clear in the younger man’s eyes that he’d read the message. He rushed off without another word.

Mac unfolded the paper and felt gut punched. The message was from Caitlin’s uncle in San Francisco. He wanted to sponsor an exhibit of her photography work. Next month. This was what Caitlin had dreamed of, although a slightly different version of her dream. Still, it would be her chance to have others see her work. He himself had seen numerous photos she’d taken of people and of places. She had a real talent. She deserved this opportunity. He knew he should feel happy for her, but all he really felt was pain. Around his heart.

With feet heavy as lead, he headed for his house. To Caitlin.

* * *

Mac heard splashing the moment he stepped onto the porch. Déjà vu. Even though he’d been half out of his mind with fever when he’d ridden into town after the posse, he remembered walking into the house and finding Caitlin in the big tin tub. He had heard splashing then, and the splashing now drove all thoughts of talking right out of his mind. It was barely mid-morning and he’d caught her taking a bath. He didn’t know why she was taking one now, and he didn’t care. All that mattered was walking in and seeing her deliciously naked. This time he wouldn’t be passing out and crashing to the floor. This time he’d join her in that tub.

His body already stirring with arousal, he opened the front door. His gaze shot to the far end of the kitchen area. Only one other time in his life had he seen such a beautiful sight. On the day of his wedding. When she’d stood in the doorway with sunlight surrounding her. No, he was wrong. this was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. He could barely breathe.

She sat there, in a tub full of water that came to just below the nipples of her breasts, watching him. Not covering up out of modesty. Not blushing with embarrassment. Just watching him. Then she smiled, and the tiny bit of resistance left in him disappeared. He closed the door behind him, never taking his gaze from her.

“I needed a bath, wanted a bath. Probably should have waited for tonight.” She lifted the rag she’d been using and wiped it slowly across one breast, then the other. Her nipples tightened into hard buds.

He still hadn’t taken his gaze from her, but he’d already toed off his boots and removed his gunbelt and dropped it on the table by the window. He felt as if were drooling, staring at her in that tub, all smooth, soft skin and pure temptation. Her long hair was wrapped up in a loose bun on top of her head. As he worked to breathe again, she leaned her head back and wiped her neck slowly with the rag. Water trickled down her slender neck, trailed over her full breasts. His hands shook as he undid his trousers and shoved them down. “It’ll be a tight fit,” he said huskily, jerking off his shirt and throwing it aside.

She stood, gracefully, smiling. “There’ll be more room if I sit on your lap.”

Mac felt his cock pulsing, barely noted it bouncing around in eagerness as he walked across the room and stepped carefully into the tub of cool water. He put his hands on her waist and drew her to him. She came easily, moving her body against his, smiling sassily as she nestled his long, stiff penis between them.

“I thought we took care of this little problem of yours this morning. Just after dawn. When you woke me up in a very intimate way.” She moved again; he hardened even more if that were possible.

His heart raced and he caressed her shoulders, moved his hands over her breasts, and then squeezed them. They fit his hands so well. He danced his thumbs over the nipples as she gave a quiet moan of pleasure. He continued massaging and said, “I’m beginning to think this ‘problem,’ as you put it, will never go away.”

Caitlin felt pleased at his “problem” of being hard and needy so often. The second she’d heard him on the porch, her body had come fully to life. She seemed to need him as often and as much as he needed her. And she definitely needed him right now.

“How about we sit down? I’m getting chilled standing here dripping.” She shifted out of his way so he could sit cross-legged in the middle of the four-foot long tub. Her insides quivered as she watched his shaft stand invitingly up. She wanted that long, thick rod inside her. Deep inside her. “I need you. Now.”

His eyes darkened; his chest rose and fell in a trembling breath. “Climb aboard, lass.”

She wanted to drive down onto him, but drew upon her fading patience. Ever so carefully she sat down on his thighs, enjoying the sensation of her soft skin over his slightly rougher skin. Relishing the feelings, she stretched her legs out on either side of his body. He gripped her around the waist and helped her rise up enough so that she could impale herself. “Oh, very nice,” she sighed in contentment when he was fully seated within her. It was so much more than “nice.”

“Aye, Lass, ‘tis very good.” His roughened hands slid from her waist slowly along the outside of her thighs. “I canna seem to get enough of you.” He shifted his hands back to cup her bottom, moving her even closer to him.

His cock pulsed inside her, and she in turn massaged it with her inner muscles. Her thoughts swirled with all the sensations racing through her: fullness, pressure, movement without any outward movement, an aching need for more. She rocked her hips side to side and he held her tighter. As he throbbed within her, she clasped his powerful shoulders, drew in the scent of him, and the scent of their lovemaking.

“Ride me,” he gasped, trying to urge her into movement.

She obediently, eagerly rose up, tightening her inner muscles as they slid along his length. He gave a quiet moan and she slammed back down that precious hard shaft. She quivered from her tight bud to deep within her. “Oh, Mac.”

He nuzzled her neck, pulling her against his chest. Her nipples ached for his touch and as if he understood that, he reached between them to thumb each hardened pearl. At the same time he played with her breasts, she again lifted enough to move her hips in a circular motion over the cock she so enjoyed. “Feel that?” she asked in a husky whisper, massaging him once more. “Feel me surrounding you? Working you?”

He threw back his head, his handsome faced pinched in growing pleasure. “Aye, I feel it. You’re a talented lass.”

Smiling, she pushed against his shoulders and slowly rose, sliding upward until only the tip of his length was inside her folds. She held herself up and moved her hips in tiny circles, worked her muscles over that trembling tip. In response, her bud pulsed. Ached. She felt breathless every time it moved against him.

Finally she could stand no more. She started to slam down again at the same time he thrust firmly upwards. “Oh, oh, oh, oh, Maaaaccc,” she screamed, her head dropping backward with the strength of the sensations washing over her.

He clasped her hips, used his strength to hold her still. His cock throbbed deep within her body. She quivered, begged for more.

A second later he gripped her hips even tighter and helped her move over him as he rammed deeper and deeper, over and over and over. They were both sweating, both panting, both frantic.

At last Caitlin came apart, cried out wildly as he pounded inside her. She was still lost in the fog of satisfaction when he rammed one final time, hard. He grunted out mindlessly as he shot his juices deep within her.

They sat there draped around each other for several minutes, worn out. Caitlin felt his heart pounding against her breasts. She never quite knew what to say after they made love, because she never really knew how he felt about her. She longed for him to simply say “I love you, Caitlin.” But the words never came; she doubted they ever would. She had been forced upon him. He hadn’t wanted to marry her. He didn’t want to love her. She was merely a burden for him to bear, and she didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, especially Mac.

Tears stung her eyes and she eased off him. Unable to look at him, she quickly splashed water over her to remove the sweat, to remove the juices from between her legs. Then she climbed awkwardly to her feet and stepped out of the tub. She grabbed a large rag she’d laid on a nearby chair to dry off with.

“I don’t think you came back here in the middle of the day for this,” she said nervously, not meeting his eyes. “Why did you come home?”

* * *

Mac stared up at Caitlin for a long minute. Once again they’d lost all sense of reality and gotten caught up in the fires of passion that always seemed to be smoldering whenever they were anywhere near each other. It didn’t take more than a look to ignite those smoldering fires into a full blaze. He doubted he’d ever feel as strongly about another woman, certainly never want another woman as badly.

But he had to let her go.

She walked across the room to snatch her dress from where it lie draped over the table and jerked it on. She was clearly in too much of a hurry to cover herself in front of him to take time with donning her bloomers and chemise. He watched her jerky movements as he stepped out of the tub and used his shirt to dab away the water from his body. He had just tugged on his trousers when he finally said, “A wire came for you today.”

“A wire?” She looked at him in surprise, and then horror. “From Theopolis?”

“No, not from him.” They hadn’t talked about her brother since she’d come to Tumbleweed. He hadn’t wanted to talk about the man he would kill with his bare hands if he ever saw him again.

Forcing aside his bitter anger, Mac pulled the wadded up paper from his pocket and handed it to Caitlin. “No. The wire is from your uncle in San Francisco.”

He stood there, barely breathing while she scanned the telegraphed message. It nearly broke his heart when she raised her gaze to his. He had never seen her look so happy, so radiant. Except in the heat of their lovemaking.

“A showing. Of my own.” She ran to him, threw her arms around his waist to hug him in her delight. Then she released him to step away, the enthusiasm fading quickly away. “Of course I’m not going. But it was terribly nice to have been asked.”

He blinked at her, stunned. “Not going?” he growled the question. “Why not?”

She wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Because that isn’t what I want anymore.”

He didn’t believe her. “You’re being foolish! ‘Tis more than what you wanted. It’s better than taking photographs for your uncle’s newspaper.” Mac hated the idea of her leaving, hated even more feeling that he had to make her leave. He refused to let her give up her dream when it was finally within her reach. “Of course you’re going.”

He wasn’t surprised at her rebellious reaction. She immediately fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him, her eyes blazing in irritation.

“If I don’t want to go that’s my decision, Mac. Not yours.”

As ridiculous as it was, he wanted her all over again. She drove him crazy with her stubbornness; she made him wild with lust every time she opposed him. Damn if that wasn’t plain old nuts. Nevertheless, he wanted to take her right down to the floor and thrust deep inside her all over again.

Mac shook off the reaction. He was the one being foolish now. He needed to get out of there, so she could seriously think about the wire and all it really meant. He needed to get out of there, so he could come to terms with what he had to do. “I’ve got to get back to making my rounds.” It was a flimsy excuse, but he went to find another shirt. If he didn’t, he would lift her skirt and drive into her, no matter how wrong it would be.

He heard her stomping after him, and she glared at him as he jerked on a shirt and looked in her direction. “I see. This wire solves your problem, doesn’t it? It finally lets you get rid of me without feeling guilty. So you can marry your precious Matilda.”

He’d never felt so angry. “Matilda has nothing to do with this! It wasn’t Matilda that I just made love to in that tub.”

“I made love. You had sex.” She stormed into the outer room and tossed his boots at him. “Go make your damn rounds.”

“That’s it!” He spun around, went to her, and grabbed her arm. “You’re out of control. Spouting nonsense. I’m tired of it. Tired.”

She tried to dig in her heels, but he tugged her with him to the bedroom. “You can’t spank me every time we have a disagreement.”

He sat down on the side of bed and pulled her over his lap, jerking up the skirt to bare her bottom. “I’m not spanking you because we don’t agree. I’m spanking you because you need settling down.”

She wriggled and he tucked her firmly against him. “Would you rather have another taste of my belt, Lass?”

“Of course not!” She stopped moving, but didn’t sound repentant.

“Then lie still and take your spanking like a good lass.”

Mac heard her mumble something, but decided he didn’t want to press her about what she’d said. He just got down to the unpleasant task of burning her bottom. He spanked her long and hard, sensing they both needed the release of their pent up tension.

By the time he finished and set her on her feet, he felt calmer. She danced about a little, rubbing her tender bottom, snifling.

“Now, while you nurse your well-spanked backside, you can think seriously about your uncle’s offer.”

Mac jammed the boots on and grabbed his gunbelt before striding out of the house. He didn’t say another word. She’d been wrong. He had made love to her; he’d always made love to her. But he loved her enough to finally let her get on with the kind of life she was familiar with, with the dream she’d been reaching for.

Chapter Ten

Mac slept in the jail that night. He’d been cowardly enough not to even go tell Caitlin that he would be doing so. He’d sent poor Andy to deliver the message instead. Andy had returned with a sign of her response: Mac’s hat that he’d walked off without in his hurry to leave the house. His soundly smashed hat. It appeared that she must’ve tossed it to the floor and jumped up and down on it with every ounce of her hundred or so pounds. He’d accepted the destroyed hat stoically, although he’d immediately wanted to blister her bottom all over again. Damn minx.

Dawn had found him pounding on the door to Zachary’s house. As his friend had stood there disheveled from being roused from a sound sleep, Mac had firmly instructed him to draw up the divorce papers by the end of the day. He hadn’t given Zachary a chance to protest before he walked away again. If he’d let Zachary say anything, he might have changed his mind, and he didn’t plan on doing that. He had to be the strong one in this for both their sakes.

As he made his morning rounds, no one approached him. Evidently the dark scowl on his face made it clear to everyone that he wasn’t in a talkative mood. Even as he ate breakfast at the café people stayed well away from him. His mood grew sourer and sourer. It was truly hell doing the right thing.

By noon word had spread about Zachary drawing up divorce papers for Mac and Caitlin. He wasn’t sure how the information had gotten out, but Mac suspected Zachary had made a disgruntled comment to Matilda. She would have gone to her good friend—and the town’s biggest gossip—Lucinda with the disturbing news. Once the sad news was out, his scowls didn’t discourage anyone from approaching him. It now seemed like everyone in town had decided to offer him some kind of comment, although he saw the comments more as attacks. One man after another told him he was crazy to let such a sweet beauty get away. He would have sworn that half the men were in love with her, and the other half would gladly want her as a wife for their grown sons. Not one of them had cared two bits when he’d defensively related that she couldn’t cook at all, and that she was hazardous to laundry. In truth, he hadn’t cared much about those facts either. But it was damn annoying to have every blessed man calling him an idiot.

He no sooner managed to drift away from Alfred Thompson, who’d been furious at the idea of Mac forcing Caitlin to leave town, than Lucinda and Matilda verbally accosted him. He had almost made it into his office when Lucinda marched right up to him and poked him squarely in the chest with a bony finger. “You’re breaking that poor woman’s heart, Mac MacDonell! Throwing her out of your house. Throwing her out of town. You ought to be strung up and horsewhipped for your cruelty. I’ve a good mind to tell my husband—the mayor, mind you—to see that you’re forced to turn in your badge.”

“I’ve not thrown Caitlin out of the house,” he snapped, drawing himself up as tall and fierce as possible. She didn’t appear the least bit intimidated. “I’m the one who isn’t sleeping in his own bed.” He couldn’t believe how Lucinda had so dramatically changed her opinion of Caitlin. Where once she would have chased his wife out of town herself in support of her friend Matilda, now she’d be pleased to chase him out of town. Women!

His gaze shifted to Matilda, who had blushed at the mention of where he wasn’t sleeping. And then even she attacked him. “Caitlin has been through so very much, Mac. Coming all the way here from New York to be with you. No doubt terrified at making such a harrowing trip alone. But she did it.” She stiffened her spine, clearly not intimidated by his sour expression either. “Then you used her. You claimed to not want to be married to her, but you refused to give her the divorce when she wanted it. You refused to let her leave town.”

Emma strode up behind him and bit out, “Matilda is right. You made it perfectly clear that you didn’t want her, yet you wouldn’t let her leave town. I heard you myself that first day, right there in Zachary’s office. It didn’t take you long, though, to take her to your bed. In spite of all you said, you had your way with her.” She avoided looking him in the eye as she added quietly, “Apparently she didn’t really mind that part.”

Lucinda jumped back into the attack at that statement. She backed him into the wall, her eyes narrowed in outrage. “I thought you were an honorable man, Mac MacDonell! How dare you take advantage of that poor, dear young woman. You men are such awful beings sometimes. Awful, I tell you! Only out to satisfy your needs. Uncaring of what the woman wants.”

Mac fought down the urge to explain how their image of “poor, sweet” Caitlin was quite naïve. He, too, at times thought of her as sweet. Still, she was far from the innocent woman Lucinda believed her to be. And her “needs” were every bit as formidable as his when it came to making love. But he would never reveal such private things about his lass. Instead he went back to Matilda’s comments. “I didn’t ask her to come here. Saint Ninian, I thought she was dead.” He was damn glad she wasn’t. “We were forced to marry years ago. Neither of us wanted it, but we both agreed to end it when she turned twenty.”

“Well if neither of you wanted it and had agreed to end the marriage, why did you keep telling her you didn’t want to discuss the matter? Why wouldn’t you give her the divorce she wanted?” Matilda pressed.

He wasn’t gaining any ground here. Mac thought desperately about a way to escape from the women, but they had him surrounded. The only way he could leave would be if he flat out walked over one of them. In disgust he growled and said, “I’m giving her the divorce. She’s getting her way.”

Lucinda and Emma stepped closer and he felt himself sweating. Lucinda went the first verbal round, “It’s you who is getting his way. As usual, because you’re the man.”

“Caitlin doesn’t want a divorce,” Emma carried on the battle. “She doesn’t want to leave Tumbleweed. She loves you, although for the life of me, I can’t imagine why.”

He wanted to believe Emma, but he’d been disappointed in life too many other times. Caitlin had never once told him that she loved him. Had she? Maybe when he’d been so sick? No, he didn’t think so. He was done discussing his personal business with these women, and with everyone else in town. He blurted out the only thing he could think of to get them to leave him alone. “I don’t love Caitlin!”

The words had no sooner left his mouth than the hairs on the back of his neck warned him of something bad. A second later he heard a gasp from further behind him on the boardwalk. He didn’t have to turn her direction to know it had come from Caitlin. And the distraught looks on the women’s faces only added to the horror of the moment. He felt sick clear to his soul. What had he done?

* * *

Caitlin froze on the boardwalk as she overheard Mac’s blunt statement. She felt sick to her stomach, devastated. There was so much passion between them at times, and yet she’d wondered how deeply his feelings for her truly went. Now she knew. He had been using her every bit as much as her father had, and as her brother had hoped to do as well. Never, ever again would she trust a man with her heart.

Mac turned in her direction and she knew she had nothing to say to him right now. She was too hurt to speak. Before he could move toward her, Caitlin lifted her skirt and stepped off the wooden boardwalk into the busy dirt-packed road. This afternoon it appeared even busier than normal. But she had to get away from him, away from all of them.

Frantically, she dodged a pair of riders who cussed down at her. She offered a weak apology and dashed further into the road. An instant later she heard Mac threatening them about talking so disrespectfully to a lady. Defending her, even after he’d told her friends that he didn’t love her! How dare he!

Tears streamed down her face, but inside she seethed in fury. She had decided that she loved the big Scot enough to give up the opportunity of having her first showing. That she loved him enough to keep on trying to learn how to cook, to clean, and to conquer her fear of horses. She had even been willing to forgive him for being so pigheaded about wanting her to do that damn showing. Now all of that had been for naught. Mac didn’t love her. He really did want her out of his life.

Nearly blinded by tears, she skirted around another rider and then narrowly missed getting run down by a carriage. Her heart raced in panic. Horses. She was in the midst of the big, fearsome beasts.

“Caitlin! Caitlin, stop!” she heard Mac shout to her from somewhere behind her.

Stop? Here? No! Another horse trotted by her, barely missing stomping on her foot even though the rider tried to steer clear of her. She looked wild-eyed around her. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Then she spotted an opening in the heavy traffic of buckboards and men on horseback.

She dashed into the opening only to discover a wagon loaded down with barrels heading straight for her at a brisk pace. The driver yelled for her to watch out, to get out of the way. She looked around in distress. Even though the traffic was trying to slow down and stay to the sides of the road, she still had nowhere to go quickly.

“Caitlin!” Mac yelled from a few feet away, distracting her.

Instinctively worried for him, she glanced his way and saw him stumble in a rut as he tried to get to her. She watched as a rider not paying attention nearly ran over him.

She took a step in his direction only to find that the wagon that had been headed for her had managed to change its path slightly. It was headed for her again. The driver jerked wildly on the reins and shouted to the team of four horses. But the team was now alarmed by all the chaos, all the shouting, all the pulling on the reins.

The wagon barreled right at her.

Again she turned away, hoping to get out of the path in time. But the wagon rolled over a pothole and was forced sideways. As it tipped precariously to the side, one of the heavy wooden barrels toppled off the bed. Caitlin only had time to hear Mac’s anguished cry, along with other shouts and screams, when the barrel hit the side of her head.

Everything went black then, and she crumpled to the dirt.

* * *

Matilda screamed in horror from the boardwalk. Lucinda and Emma cried out as well. All around him Mac could sense people stopping on the boardwalks, pulling wagons and horses well off to the side of the road. He heard the heavy footsteps of men running in his direction, and felt certain one of them was Zachary. He couldn’t seem to move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t feel.

Then Zachary appeared next to him, took his arm as he jerked Mac along with him, and they raced toward Caitlin. Mac dropped to his knees by her side. His hands trembled as he reached for her. “Caitlin,” he said gruffly, feeling moisture on his face, not caring. He noted the slow rise and fall of her chest. “She’s alive. Thank God, she’s alive.”

Zachary gently touched her head, wiped at the blood running freely from a wound on her forehead. “We need to get her off this street. We need to stop the bleeding.”

A cowboy on horseback threw a bandana down to Zachary and he immediately applied pressure with it against her head.

Mac scrambled to his feet and bent to scoop her into his arms. Her head fell limply against his chest. “I did this to her,” he said forlornly. “I caused this. I’ll never forgive myself.”

* * *

Her head hurt. It hurt so much Caitlin was reluctant to open her eyes. Something had happened to her, but she was foggy on what exactly. She heaved a sigh, moved slightly and immediately sensed movement around her.

“She’s waking up.”

Mac? Mac! Now she remembered. She had gone to see him after hearing via the town’s gossip vine that he’d told Zachary to draw up divorce papers. She’d planned to burn his ears for doing that. Then she’d overheard him telling Matilda and Emma something that tore her instantly apart. “You don’t love me,” she whispered, grimacing at the pain speaking even quietly caused her.

“Oh, lass…” Mac groaned, so much misery echoing in the depths of it. “’Tisna the truth.”

Caitlin lie still, trying to deal with the pain in her head.

“I dinna mean what I said. Lass, oh wee lass, you haveta believe me.”

He sounded helpless. His Scottish burr was thick, as it always became when he was very upset about something. Could he be telling her the truth now? Did she even for a second dare to hope?

“I need to check on the children,” Emma said, moving away from the side of the bed. “Come get me if she needs my help.”

Caitlin managed to open one eye in time to see Emma almost running from the room. Not Mac’s bedroom. She opened the other eye as well and noted an oil lamp lit beside the bed. Her gaze darted to the nearby window; it had gotten dark outside. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, but it must have been at least half a day. “Where am I?”

“Emma’s house. It was closer than ours.” Mac inched next to the bed, his expression strained. His hair looked like he had run his hand worriedly through it a dozen times. His eyes mirrored such weariness, such worry. She didn’t even have to ask, she knew he hadn’t left her side since the accident.

“Closer than yours, you mean. There evidently is no ours.” In spite of his obvious concern for her now and his plea for her to believe him, she wasn’t ready to forgive him. She needed to think about everything before she decided to take another chance with him, or decided to give up completely. Think later, when her head wasn’t threatening to split in two. “Please leave.”

“Caitlin, no…”

“Leave!” she stated again more firmly, grabbing her head in agony. “Please.”

He didn’t move, until she heard footsteps and Zachary saying, “I think you’d better go for now. She’s obviously in a lot of pain. Arguing with you will just make it worse.”

Mac rolled off a string of what she assumed were Scottish curses, and then stormed out of the room. She relaxed, although she knew nothing was settled between them.

* * *

After two long days in bed, Caitlin could no longer stand being pampered. She had a fairly colorful bump on her head and still got a little fuzzy-brained now and then, but she could no longer put off what needed to be dealt with. It was time for a face-to-face with Mac.

She stood before the cheval mirror in Emma’s spare bedroom and frowned at how her favorite dress drooped on her. Emma picked up on her displeasure and said reassuringly, “You’ve been down in bed for several days. Of course you’ve lost weight, but you still look lovely. Mac’ll just be pleased to see you up and about.”

Their gazes met in the mirror and Caitlin said peevishly, “He hasn’t come to see me since I told him to leave.”

“The man is a wreck. He’s carrying such guilt for sending you dashing into the street. He’s certain you’ll never forgive him for nearly getting you killed.” Emma smiled. “And he’s come by here at least a dozen times a day to ask how you were doing.”

“You didn’t tell me that.” Caitlin faced her friend, annoyed.

“I’ve mentioned he asked after you.”

Caitlin deflated, remembering she had said he stopped by once in a while. Stopping by wasn’t enough, she’d wanted to actually see him. Well, she was going to see him now. “You’re sure he’s at the jail?”

Emma nodded. “Timothy just came back to say Mac’s sitting at his desk going through wanted posters.”

Stiffening her spine and taking one last look in the mirror to make sure she looked okay, Caitlin said, “I won’t be coming back later. Thank you for taking care of me all this time, and for being patient with me.”

They hugged and then Caitlin bustled out of the room, out of the house, and headed straight for the sheriff’s office. Showdown time.

It took her longer than she expected to get there because she was forced to stop and visit with so many people. Everyone had been so concerned over her, and worried about she and Mac. She’d said as little as possible about their situation, but did leave them with the impression that everything would be fine. And as she drew in a steadying breath in front of his open door, she prayed she’d been right.

* * *

Mac restacked the wanted posters yet again. He should be making rounds, but he couldn’t seem to drag himself from the office today. Actually he’d relied on Andy to make rounds most of the time for the last few days. He ha just been too depressed and worried to do much of anything, except drop by Emma’s so many times to check on Caitlin that he figured she considered him a nuisance. Even now all he really wanted to do was go check on Caitlin. This time, though, he wanted to press Emma about letting him go to her room. He needed to see for himself that she was recovering all right. And he needed to find the right words to make her forgive him.

A shadow fell into the room from the doorway and he glanced up, wondering who was stopping by now to ask about Caitlin. But it was Caitlin who stepped into the room. Caitlin. Here. His heart raced, and everything he’d wanted to say flew right out of his head. He could only stare; only savor the precious sight of her standing there. He’d been so damned worried that she would take a turn for the worse. Zachary had been concerned as well.

Their gazes met for just a second and he watched the play of mixed emotions cross her beautiful, though still somewhat pale face. Then she raised that sassy chin of hers and marched right up to his desk.

“I’m here to make a few things very clear to you Aenas Alexander MacDonell.”

She looked determined, not mad…and he felt tremendous relief. If her fighting spirit was back, then he had a chance to make things right. He didn’t give her a opportunity to continue, but stood instead and scowled down at her.

Her mouth slammed shut in surprise.

Desperate to touch her in some way, he strode around the desk, picked her up by the waist and planted her on top of his desk. He was reluctant to release her, but he did. She blinked in confusion at him. Before she could question him, he sucked in a deep breath and said, “You’re going to listen to me first, Caitlin Curran MacDonell.”

She blinked again, cocking her head in curiosity. Then she settled her delicate hands primly in her lap and waited. He stared for just an instant at the MacDonell family ring on her left hand. He intended for that ring to stay there until the day she died.

“What you overheard me telling the ladies on the boardwalk was a lie. I was trying to get them to stop harassing me.” He looked into her eyes to see if she understood him. Deciding he needed to be more clear, he said gruffly, “I love you, Lass. I think I’ve loved you from the moment I spotted you in the chapel doorway of Invergarry Castle.”

She worried her lower lip and he found that endearing, encouraging.

“I’ve tried for a long time to believe we were all wrong for each other. Tried to convince myself that you’d never be strong enough to live here in the West. But I’ve been lying to myself.”

He stepped toward her, savored her delicate scent, and cupped her cheek gently. “You’re the strongest woman I know. Hell, you traveled across the country practically by yourself—which I’m still upset about, mind you. And you’ve had the stamina to stay and wait patiently for me to stop being a fool. I hope you’ve been waiting for me to finally admit I need you with me…always. You didn’t have to obey me and stay here. You chose to stay here and wait.”

Caitlin slid from the desktop and snuggled against him. “That was quite a speech.” Her arms snaked around him and he knew that somehow everything would work out all right. “A lovely speech.”

Mac kissed the top of her head and smiled in pleasure that she’d worn her hair down so it draped her small body. She knew he liked to touch all of that silkiness. He also knew that she’d worn her best dress. She had come here to talk and wanted to please him in some way. He felt humbled. She didn’t have to work at pleasing him, because he loved her even when she was being obstinate.

“I came here to tell you that I’m not signing any divorce papers. I’m staying your wife. I don’t want to leave Tumbleweed. It’s my home now.” She stepped back to look up at him. “I fell in love with you that day so long ago as well. You were so handsome, so proud. I felt badly about what our families were forcing us to do, but I secretly fell in love with you right then. I could never want another man.”

Her smile turned sensual and she reached out to rub her hand low on his body, where the front of his trousers was already pushing out. He groaned, moving into her hand, loving the touch.

“Can we close and lock the door?” she asked, giving him another gentle massage.

“What?” Mac had trouble following the conversation. His thoughts had become focused on what her hand was doing. On what he wanted to do.

She giggled and released him, scooting around him to go close and lock the door. When she faced him again, she grinned wickedly and nodded to the desk. “That doesn’t look exactly soft, but it’ll do.”

Mac stared in confusion, dealing with a highly aroused body. But when she dropped her skirt and walked to the desk in only her bloomers, he immediately understood her plan. He was all for it. Especially as she stretched across the top and reached back to open the back slit of her bloomers to reveal her delicious hidden secrets. He stood there practically drooling for a mere second before bursting into action.

He freed his throbbing cock and pressed against her sweet bottom in a flash. He ached to ram inside her, but couldn’t until he asked, “Are you sure about this? Verra sure? You’ve been hurt.”

She twisted her head to glower back at him and wiggled that tempting little butt. “Would I be lying here half dressed, revealing myself to you, if I wasn’t sure? Sometimes, Mac, you’re so darn pigheaded. I’m okay. Now, put that shaft inside me!”

Mac chuckled, but fingered her lower lips to make sure she was wet and ready. With a pleased grin, he rammed deep. “You can be such a bossy lass.” He pulled nearly out and rammed even deeper, shoving her further onto the desk, making her whimper in pleasure. “Such a demanding lass.”

Caitlin gripped the opposite edge of the desk and closed her eyes in ecstasy. This was exactly what she’d needed for days. The exquisite feel of Mac’s big shaft pumping inside her, filling her completely. His big hands held her hips and he drove into her repeatedly, harder and harder.

She purred like a contented kitten, until she gasped, “I dream of this. Ache for this. Oh, Mac… oh Mac!”

Her words drew him on, made him slam between her wet folds over and over. She relished the sucking sounds each time he pulled away and thrust inside once more. She trembled beneath him. Panted, nearly mindless with desire. She loved how he held her so firmly, how he thrust so deep, and how he grunted as he worked toward that magical point. When he finally found it, his cock pulsed warm cream deep inside her. She shuddered at the same time and added her own release before she collapsed on the desk. She didn’t think she would ever be able to move again.

It took him a couple of minutes to recover enough to pull out of her warmth. She just lie there, boneless. Then he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped the dripping juices from between her legs, and then from his own shrinking cock. She saw him toss it into a trash box beside the desk and watched him adjust his trousers. Her own strength was returning but she was reluctant to let the moment end.

Finally he helped her up and when she faced him, he went down on one knee. She gaped at him, genuinely warmed to her heart when he said, “Will you marry me again, Caitlin? In a wedding ceremony that we both want? With our friends here as witnesses?”

Tears misted her eyes and she just stood there for a minute, looking at him, loving him. As he began to look anxious, she slipped down to one knee as well and gently touched his face. “Will you let me love you with all my heart until the day I die? Will you accept my promise of love and obedience in front of our friends?”

He looked so dearly pleased at her huskily spoken words. Then he cocked an eyebrow and teased, “Obedience?”

She smiled at him. “All right, maybe not obedience.”

He pulled her to him and gave her the kiss she so desperately needed. Held her in the way she so loved. She returned his kiss with all the passion within her. By the time they came up for air, she was fully aroused again, and fairly certain he was, too.

“Shall we finish these negotiations at home?” She rubbed against him and grinned in mischief. “After we spend a little time rumpling the sheets?”

Mac reached around and swatted her bottom, grinning. “Such a naughty lass. My naughty lass.”

She scrambled to her feet and grabbed her skirt to pull it on. “Care to find out just how naughty your lass can be?”

He took her in his arms once more to hug her with all his might. Then he tugged her with him to the door, and unlocked it just as Andy walked up. He barely looked at the younger man as he drew Caitlin with him onto the boardwalk.

“It’s yours for the rest of the day. I’ve got some negotiating to do at home with a certain lass.” As they moved down the boardwalk, Mac leaned down and whispered, “With my very, very naughty lass.”

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