Chapter 8

"You can't do this!" Tamsin whispered thickly.

"Shut up, woman. It's for your own good." Ash's trousers and socks followed the shirt, leaving him wearing only his hat.

She clutched the blanket against her as Ash neatly folded his clothing and laid it next to his boots. "You cannot sleep here," she insisted.

"You want me to tell Wrestler that you're not my wife? That I lied to him?" Ash balanced his hat on top of his boots. Then he seized the edge of the blanket, jerking it tighter over her breasts to give him room to ease under. "That's better." He lay down beside her and slipped his left arm under her head.

Tamsin tried to get up, but she was tangled in the blanket. Fear and a curious excitement made her tremble. "I don't want to do this."

Ash pulled her close. "Wrestler likes your hair," he whispered. "He's offered to trade me two horses and a stack of beaver hides for you."

She pushed against his naked chest with both hands, trying to put distance between them, but Ash was as unmovable as a granite wall.

"Stop squirming," he said.

"Get out of my bed!"

"Wrestler said he'd make you first wife. You might want to consider it."

The suggestion shocked her nearly as much as having this naked bounty hunter wrapped around her. "Marry him? I'd sooner wed you."

"I haven't proposed," he reminded her.

"I should have said I'd sooner wed the devil."

He chuckled. "I make it a practice never to marry a woman who's likely to shoot me."

"I don't think this is funny."

"Taking Wrestler for a husband would beat hanging, wouldn't it?"

"I doubt it." She was fully dressed, but the heat of his skin burned through the layers of her garments. Scents of tobacco and leather, gunpowder, and horses enveloped her as Ash's long legs tangled with hers, and his bare hip and firm thigh pressed intimately into her flesh.

Ash frightened her tonight, but her own emotions terrified her even more. It had been a long time since a man had held her like this. Atwood's shoulders were never so wide, nor his body so hard and muscular.

A distinctly male odor emanated from Ash's hair and skin. It wasn't unpleasant, Tamsin thought, trying to calm her inner trembling. To the contrary… she found his aroma enticing, almost exciting.

Ash was exceptionally clean. She had watched him scrub himself in the stream before supper, rubbing his limbs with sand and washing his hair with a foamy substance that Shadow had given him.

Then she stiffened as she smelled something else, a hint of alcohol. Was it possible that he'd been drinking? She was sure of it when his mouth brushed hers and she tasted the bite of whiskey. "You're drunk!" she accused, no longer bothering to keep her voice down. "You're despicable."

"I'm not a drinking man," he answered. "Hardly ever touch the stuff."

"Don't lie to me. I smell it on-"

He cut her off with a kiss, a caress so hot and demanding that it seared her lips and took her breath away.

"Tamsin," he rasped.

She gasped as he threaded lean fingers gently through her hair and slowly drew her lower lip between his. She felt the tip of his warm tongue trace her sensitive skin and heard his nearly inaudible groan.

She tried to turn her face away, but his mouth found hers, and this time his kiss was so sweet and tender that her resistance crumbled.

Against her will, her lips parted and the tantalizing kiss deepened. He cupped her chin in one broad hand, sending giddy sensations spinning through her.

When he drew back, her lips tingled and an odd heat glowed in her stomach. She wanted to run, but her limbs were oddly weak.

He touched her face, tracing the line of her cheek with one rough finger.

"Don't," she protested. His breath was warm on her face, his mouth only inches from her own.

Another kiss sent her reason spinning.

"No!" She pushed him away, fighting sensations of heat that spread up from her core.

"What's wrong? You want me as much as I want you."

"I'm not one of your whores."

He pushed himself up on one elbow. "Sorry I'm not Jack Cannon."

"What?" She gave him a hard shove with the palm of her hand. "What does Jack Cannon have to do with this?" A numbing fear seeped through her. How did he know about Jack?

"Everything." Ash's voice deepened. "I know about the two of you. I've trailed you since Wheaton, Nebraska."

"You followed me? Why?" She balled her fist and struck him again. This time he caught her wrist and pinned it to the ground.

"Stop," she protested. "You're hurting me."

"I'll let go when you stop punching me."

"All right," she muttered.

He released her, and she turned her back to him, trembling with anger. "What happened between Mr. Cannon and me is my own business. None of yours."

"He was with you when you shot Sam Steele, wasn't he?"

"Jack?" She squirmed around to face him. "I told you, I didn't kill anyone. The judge shot-"

"Right."

She made a sound of disbelief. "You're drunk and a liar. I don't know why I'm even having this conversation with you."

"Lady, you could teach me a thing or two about lying. Jack Cannon's a thief and a killer."

"You must have the wrong man. Jack's a rancher. He-"

"Admit it, MacGreggor. You're his fancy woman, and that cakes you with the same horsesh-"

"Don't be vulgar. I am not his woman. He took me to dinner a few times. Period."

"Nice company you keep. Cannon's face is plastered on wanted posters from Texas to Arizona. He robbed the bank days after you left town."

She felt suddenly sick to her stomach. "I don't believe you," she insisted. It couldn't be true. Jack Cannon had a bad temper, and he didn't take no for an answer, but surely he wasn't a murdering criminal. She couldn't have misjudged his character that badly. "Why should I believe you? You lied to me when you said you hadn't been drinking."

"It wasn't anything that could be avoided, more of a medicinal swallow than anything else."

"Medicinal?"

"Wrestler passed a jug, and it would be bad manners to refuse. Could be dangerous to a man's health to insult an Ute. They're proud people."

"What makes you such an Indian expert?"

"I lived with outlaw Comanches for two years."

"Comanche Indians?"

"These were renegades, thieving murderers of the worst kind, shunned by their own tribe."

"And you were one of them?"

He groaned. "I didn't have a choice. I was ten years old when they killed my father and carried me off."

She buried her face in her hands, unwilling to listen to him. How could she tell truth from lies when her own mind and body so quickly betrayed her. "You're not ten now," she managed. "And you gulped down enough rotgut to give you courage, then crawled under my blanket thinking that I would-"

"I was wrong," he said brusquely. "I thought you'd be willin'. I'm not a man to force any woman."

"Now that that's settled, get your own bedroll."

"Can't. How would it look to Wrestler and Mountain Calf, a man sleeping alone on the cold ground when he has a wife to keep him warm?"

"I'm not your wife. You can shoot me, but I'll not be taken advantage of by you or any other man."

He swore softly. "Don't carry on so. I'm not going to rape you."

"No, you're not."

"Does it sound as though Shadow's being abused by old Mountain Calf?"

Tamsin listened; then her face grew hot as she realized what activity was causing the groans and whimpers coming from the far side of the camp. "Lecher," she hissed. She'd not heard the couple until Ash mentioned them. Now it was impossible to ignore their lovemaking.

"If I was a lecher, you'd be making more noise than she is."

"Blackguard!" She tried to slap his face, but he blocked her blow with a muscular arm. "Try anything again, and… and…"