good in the sack as her old lady was?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Creed replied, his voice deathly quiet.
“Come on,” Braddock urged, “you can tell us. It’s all over town that you two have been shacking up since Rosie took off.”
Creed swore under his breath. “Is it?”
Braddock nodded. “So, how is she?”
There was a moment of silence and then, in the blink of an eye, Creed was on his feet, reaching across the table. Grabbing Braddock by the shirt front, Creed slammed his fist into the man’s face, hard, twice, relishing the pain that splintered up his arm, the warm rush of blood that spread over his hands.
When Creed spoke, his voice was lethal. “If you ever lay a hand on Jassy McCloud, I’ll kill you.”
Ray Braddock glared up at Creed, his eyes bright with pain and humiliation, and though he didn’t say a word, gut instinct told Creed he’d better watch his back whenever Braddock was around.
Creed held the other man’s gaze for a long moment, then shoved him back in his chair. “Remember what I said.”
Creed’s gaze swept over every man in the room, a silent warning blazing in the depths of his eyes.
Collecting his winnings, he left the saloon.
Outside, he drew in a deep breath and then, unable to fight it any longer, he headed for the ugly little shack in the alley.
* * * * *
She’d been crying. He knew it the moment he opened the door. And knew, with equal certainty, that he had been the cause of her tears.
It was time to cut and run, he thought, before he got in any deeper, before it was too late for both of them.
And then she was in his arms, and he knew it was already too late.
“Jassy…”
She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. His shirt smelled of lye soap and cigar smoke and man.
“I got up and you were gone,” she said, her words muffled. “I thought…”
“I know,” he said, stroking her hair. “I know.” He swore under his breath. When had his concern turned to caring, his affection to something deeper, something he refused to put a name to? And what the devil was he going to do about it? About her?
“Don’t cry, honey. I’m here now. Please don’t cry.”
* * * * *
They rode to the valley again the next day. It had become their place, Jassy thought as they walked hand in hand toward the pool. If she could have one wish, it would be to build a house here and share it with Creed.
“Want to go for a swim?” he asked when they reached the pool.
Jassy glanced at the pool, then back at Creed. “Is it cold?”
“Not very. Are you game?”
She nodded. Turning her back, she removed her shoes, stockings and dress, then, before she could change her mind, she slid into the water. Creed watched her swim for a moment, then removed his boots, socks, shirt and gunbelt and joined her in the water.
They swam and splashed until Jassy was breathless, then Creed helped Jassy out of the pool and they sat on the grass, letting the sun dry their clothes.
“I love it here,” Jassy remarked. “I wish we never had to leave. It’s such a pretty place. So peaceful.”
Creed nodded, but it wasn’t the beauty of the land he was admiring. It was Jassy.
With a sigh of resignation, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She melted into his embrace, a soft moan whispering past her lips as their mouths fused together.
Creed drew in a sharp breath as Jassy ran her hands over his bare back. He heard her gasp with shock when her questing fingertips encountered the first scar. Her hands stilled for a moment, and then, very slowly, moved across his flesh, tracing each one.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“I was on the wrong end of a whipping.”
She looked up at him, distress evident in her expression. “Someone beat you?”
He nodded curtly.
“Who?”
He let her go then, the pain of that whipping, and the reason for it, as vivid in his mind as if it had happened yesterday instead of almost thirteen years ago.
“Can’t you tell me?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Creed replied, his voice deathly quiet.
“Come on,” Braddock urged, “you can tell us. It’s all over town that you two have been shacking up since Rosie took off.”
Creed swore under his breath. “Is it?”
Braddock nodded. “So, how is she?”
There was a moment of silence and then, in the blink of an eye, Creed was on his feet, reaching across the table. Grabbing Braddock by the shirt front, Creed slammed his fist into the man’s face, hard, twice, relishing the pain that splintered up his arm, the warm rush of blood that spread over his hands.
When Creed spoke, his voice was lethal. “If you ever lay a hand on Jassy McCloud, I’ll kill you.”
Ray Braddock glared up at Creed, his eyes bright with pain and humiliation, and though he didn’t say a word, gut instinct told Creed he’d better watch his back whenever Braddock was around.
Creed held the other man’s gaze for a long moment, then shoved him back in his chair. “Remember what I said.”
Creed’s gaze swept over every man in the room, a silent warning blazing in the depths of his eyes.
Collecting his winnings, he left the saloon.
Outside, he drew in a deep breath and then, unable to fight it any longer, he headed for the ugly little shack in the alley.
* * * * *
She’d been crying. He knew it the moment he opened the door. And knew, with equal certainty, that he had been the cause of her tears.
It was time to cut and run, he thought, before he got in any deeper, before it was too late for both of them.
And then she was in his arms, and he knew it was already too late.
“Jassy…”
She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. His shirt smelled of lye soap and cigar smoke and man.
“I got up and you were gone,” she said, her words muffled. “I thought…”
“I know,” he said, stroking her hair. “I know.” He swore under his breath. When had his concern turned to caring, his affection to something deeper, something he refused to put a name to? And what the devil was he going to do about it? About her?
“Don’t cry, honey. I’m here now. Please don’t cry.”
* * * * *
They rode to the valley again the next day. It had become their place, Jassy thought as they walked hand in hand toward the pool. If she could have one wish, it would be to build a house here and share it with Creed.
“Want to go for a swim?” he asked when they reached the pool.
Jassy glanced at the pool, then back at Creed. “Is it cold?”
“Not very. Are you game?”
She nodded. Turning her back, she removed her shoes, stockings and dress, then, before she could change her mind, she slid into the water. Creed watched her swim for a moment, then removed his boots, socks, shirt and gunbelt and joined her in the water.
They swam and splashed until Jassy was breathless, then Creed helped Jassy out of the pool and they sat on the grass, letting the sun dry their clothes.
“I love it here,” Jassy remarked. “I wish we never had to leave. It’s such a pretty place. So peaceful.”
Creed nodded, but it wasn’t the beauty of the land he was admiring. It was Jassy.
With a sigh of resignation, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She melted into his embrace, a soft moan whispering past her lips as their mouths fused together.
Creed drew in a sharp breath as Jassy ran her hands over his bare back. He heard her gasp with shock when her questing fingertips encountered the first scar. Her hands stilled for a moment, and then, very slowly, moved across his flesh, tracing each one.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“I was on the wrong end of a whipping.”
She looked up at him, distress evident in her expression. “Someone beat you?”
He nodded curtly.
“Who?”
He let her go then, the pain of that whipping, and the reason for it, as vivid in his mind as if it had happened yesterday instead of almost thirteen years ago.
“Can’t you tell me?”
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