Saddled

Saddled

By Delores Fossen

Copyright 2011 Delores Fossen

Smashwords Edition

CHAPTER ONE

Fall Creek, Texas, 1881

Abbie Donegan went rail-stiff at the sound of the revolver being cocked. It was probably a Smith & Wesson Schofield .45, but she didn’t even get a glimpse of it before the cold, hard gunmetal shoved against her right temple.

Mind telling me what you’re doing? the gun-pointing man growled.

Hell-fired. This wasn’t the way she’d planned it at all, and she wasn’t exactly in a position to fight back. She was only half way through the window, her white gloved hands gripping onto the ledge and her feet dangling. So much for her grand idea. This man would probably shoot her before she could even get the rest of herself inside the saloon.

Well? Mind telling me what you’re doing? he repeated.

Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to sneak in here without anybody noticing me.

Stupid.

"Yes, I can see that. Now." The Buffalo Clover Saloon was built on the side of a hill, and because of the steep slope, this particular window was about four feet off the ground. It wasn’t a likely choice for an intended break-in, but she hadn’t exactly had a choice.

I looked in the window and saw you, Abbie said as if that clarified everything. Will you at least move your gun so I can come inside?

He, his hand, nor his Smith & Wesson budged an inch. This is no place for a lady. There’s nothing for you here.

Oh, yes, there was. And he was standing in front of her with a gun pointed to her head. Rio McKade was plenty of something. He was a living, breathing answer to her prayers.

Using her elbows, she levered herself higher so she could get her foot onto the sill. She was no doubt showing a liberal amount of ankle, but there was nothing she could do about it. Besides, if she was a betting woman, and she occasionally was, then she wagered Mr. McKade had seen plenty of women’s ankles and a fair amount of everything else above them. His sensibilities weren’t likely to be shocked over a little female foot flesh.

Abbie made a few unladylike grunts and added a muffled curse that she hoped he hadn’t heard. The silk fabric on her sleeve tore.

Expensive, she vaguely recalled.

Caught on a raised nail head probably. Again, there was nothing she could do about it. Besides, expensive fabric was replaceable. Rio McKade wasn’t. She finally had him alone and couldn’t let him get away.

You might lend me a hand, she dryly suggested.

You seem to be doing well enough on your own. He did remove the gun from her head, leaned back and took a lazy puff off his cheroot.

Her knee broached the sill, off balancing her, and she tumbled into a heap of sky-blue silk and flounced petticoats. The thick pad of fabrics helped break her fall, but her bottom made a noisy splat when she fell on the bare wood floor. She also landed squarely in front of him, his feet between her wide spread legs. The toe of his right boot was aligned perfectly with the center seam of her drawers and less than an inch away from touching her there.

She looked up. Blinked.

He looked down. Grinned.

It wasn’t an amused grin, either. Nor was the look in his suddenly dark eyes. And he had his attention aimed right at her drawers’ seam. Or else what was directly behind it.

You’d better hope I don’t get a sudden urge to scratch my toe, he drawled.

Abbie hurriedly tried to right herself. Smoothing down the mounds of fabric, she managed to get to her feet, hoping she looked the pillar of propriety. She seriously doubted that she did, but then she’d never looked proper. All in all, she hadn’t considered that a bad thing. Until now, that is. She might need a healthy dose of propriety to get through this.

Thank God he hadn’t scratched his toe.

Propriety wouldn’t stand a chance against that kind of itch.

Good evening, Mr. McKade. Pleased to make your acquaintance. She calmly blew at an escaped copper curl sagging on her forehead and stuck her hand out for him to shake. Let me introduce myself. I’m Abilene Donegan, but please call me Abbie. I’m visiting my aunt and uncle, Henry and Dorrie Marsh, whom I believe you know. They live here in Fall Creek.

Miss Donegan. Rio tipped his head in a way that made a mockery of the otherwise gentlemanly salutation. What he didn’t do was shake her hand. Let me guess. This is your first attempt to break into a saloon?

Abbie shrugged and put her hand back by her side. Most certainly.

A saloon, Rio had called it. Well, at least he’d used the more delicate word. The Buffalo Clover was really a house of ill repute where the most ill-reputed women plied their licentious trade. After watching the place for several hours, Abbie figured out it had that reputation because it catered to everyone--including outlaws, half-breeds and the vaqueros who worked on the nearby ranches. Kitty May O’Reilly, proprietor and resident madame, apparently had a policy of never turning anyone away.

Well? Rio quizzed. Are you going to tell me why you crawled through a bedroom window of a saloon in the middle of the night?

Yes, she would, but she needed time to catch her breath. Not easy to do. Like the night air, the room was overly warm and humid. It reeked of cheroot smoke, whiskey, sweat and flowery perfume. It made her stomach queasy.

The man made her stomach queasy a little, too.

He looked fierce and slightly dangerous. Actually, he looked a lot dangerous. Storm black hair that fell wildly against his neck. High angled cheekbones, full mouth, piercing blue eyes. Not a true blue. Winchester blue. The color of her favorite gun.

His Comanche heritage was right there, all over his face. She smiled politely, hoping to soothe those savage features. But her smile didn’t soothe a thing. He stared at her mouth a moment, and then let his ripe gaze travel the full length of her body. By the time he got to her feet, she felt as if he’d undressed her. Twice.

Abbie. Again, he laced it with mockery. He placed his revolver on the night table and stared at her. You really shouldn’t be here.

The door creaked open, and a woman with frizzy black hair scurried into the room. It took Abbie only a glance to know this was one of the Buffalo Clover’s employees--employee being a very generous term indeed. The woman wore an indecently cut corset, red, with the bodice so plunged that her rouged nipples peeked over the top. Her thin, snug pantalets left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Abbie wondered where a woman could purchase such garments.

Not that she would want them for herself, naturally.

But she did like that shade of red.

Sorry, I’m late, sugar. That jack-leg preacher from Eagle Pass kept me a while. The last word died on the woman’s cherry painted mouth when she caught sight of Abbie. Hey, what’s she doin’ here?

Rio only shrugged indifferently. I don’t know. She climbed through the window. Evening, Carlotta.

The woman’s hands went on her fleshy hips, and she disapprovingly eyed Abbie. She aimed her anger-laced comments, however, at Rio. I don’t go in for that kind of thing with outsiders. If you wanted two women, you shoulda let Kitty know right from the get-go, and I’d brought in Pearl.

Abbie glanced at Rio to see if he intended to say anything. He simply grinned around the cheroot dangling out of his mouth. Abbie frowned. Mr. McKade, I realize this is an improper subject for us to discuss, but it’s obvious you intend to. . . Now, how could she put this? Best not to say anything crude. It’s obvious you intend to know this woman in the Biblical sense. Have you considered the diseases you could come down with--

Hey! the woman protested. Who do you think you are sayin’ I got diseases? I ain’t got no diseases. Besides even if I did, Rio couldn’t catch nothin’ ‘cause he didn’t want me to do it that way. He only wants me to use my mou--

Carlotta, Rio quickly interrupted. Would you mind waiting outside just a minute?

The woman stiffened, and her mouth twisted into a tight bud. If you want that piece of fluff, then I’ll be more than happy to let you have her.

I don’t want her.

But the glance he slid in Abbie’s direction suggested otherwise. Hmmm. She might not have a lot of experience in this area, but she wasn’t so green that she couldn’t recognize what was going on behind those Winchester blue eyes. Thank goodness she’d brought along the advertisement. She would apparently need it.

Rio placed his hand on Carlotta’s back and gently got her moving toward the door. Just wait outside for a minute or two. I won’t be long.

You better not be. With narrowed cat eyes and without taking her venomous gaze off Abbie, the woman stomped into the hall and slammed the door.

Rio immediately latched onto Abbie’s arm. Do you want to leave the way you came or through the front door?

I don’t plan to leave at all, sir. I have business I need to discuss with you, and this was the only time I’ve been able to catch you alone.

Well now, I wasn’t exactly alone, was I?

Her gaze slipped toward the door and then eased back to him. "No, I suppose not. Just what did Carlotta mean when she said you don’t do it that way? That you only wanted her to use her--"

His fingers tightened on her arm. I should tell you, you know. I should describe it in complete detail and watch your lily white face turn to flame. But I won’t. All I want is you out of here so I can enjoy my evening.

She shook off his grip. And you can do that, just as soon as I’ve said what I have come to say.

I don’t want to hear what you’ve got to say, lady, understand? You’re alone with me in a bedroom, and I haven’t had a woman in almost a year. If you had any sense whatsoever, that fact would make you climb back out that window and run in the other direction.

Abbie had no idea what to do with that information. Was a year a long time for a man to go without a woman? If it was, then Rio McKade would just have to wait a while before satisfying his manly desires.

I have no intentions of running anywhere, she let him know.

He gave her another of those long, slow, lingering looks, pausing an especially long time when he got to her breasts. For some reason, her nipples actually tightened. Strange. Other men had gawked at her breasts, and that hadn’t happened.

Then, maybe you’re willing to do something about my situation, huh? he asked.

It took a moment for that to sink in. His situation would no doubt involve sex. Right here. Right now.

With her.

Abbie tugged at her collar. There was suddenly an enticing scent in the air, and it no doubt emanated from him. Something probably intended to stir her female parts into a frenzy. It was potent, all right, but Abbie couldn’t let it cloud her mind. She had some fast talking to do. Her female parts would just have to find another way to amuse themselves.

Give me ten minutes of your time, Mr. McKade. I assure you it’ll be the most profitable ten minutes of your life, certainly better than the time you could spend with Carlotta and her. . . whatever. She motioned toward the bottle of whiskey on the small table next to the bed. Would it be possible for me to have a drink? It’s hot outside, and my throat’s a little dry.

Yeah, I guess. You don’t seem the sort of woman who’d drink Rose Bud whiskey.

Well, looks can be deceiving. And Abbie decided to leave it at that. Maybe looks could deceive a little bit longer.

Rio filled two glasses with the amber liquid and handed one to her. Licking her lips, Abbie took the glass and tossed it back in one gulp. She pinched her eyes shut so they wouldn’t water and make a rough sounding snort.

It clears the head, she said by way of explanation. She reminded herself that this plan would fail miserably if Rio found out she could probably drink him under the table. Remember the propriety.

It can do that. There was more than a smidgen of suspicion in his voice, and Abbie hoped she hadn’t ruined her chances before she even got started.

He motioned toward a scarred Windsor chair, the only other furniture except for the bed and night table. You’ve got nine minutes left. Start talking. After that, any activity that takes place in this room will involve clothing removal and that bed. If you don’t want to be part of it, then I suggest you get out of here by then.

Oh. All right. It was all the more reason to get on with things. But the image of them on the bed, naked, lingered slightly longer than she wanted.

I suppose you’re wondering why I used the window instead of coming in through the front? She didn’t wait for him to answer. Well, I didn’t want anyone to know I’d come to see you.

Understandable. A lady like you shouldn’t be within a mile of here. Rio took a gulp of his drink and followed it with another draw off his cheroot. A snaky stripe of smoke streamed in front of his face, and he squinted against it. Does that mean you walked around the place looking in every window?

"Not every window. Only three."

The corner of his mouth kicked up again into a cocky grin. Bet you got an eye full.

In a manner of speaking, yes, I did. That was understatement. At one window she’d watched for a while, only because she couldn’t believe two people could tangle their bodies like that. But again that wasn’t something she would mention to him, even though she intended to give it some thought later. Aunt Dorrie said your mother was Comanche.

Yes, said flatly. And he added nothing else.

All right. With that topic apparently exhausted, Abbie glanced around the room. So much for chit-chat. Aunt Dorrie also mentioned that you’ve worked for the army as a sort of scout and negotiator with the Indians.

She’d meant to make that remark sound casual, even spontaneous, but from the slippery rise in his dark eyebrow, Abbie knew she hadn’t been even slightly successful.

Your Aunt Dorrie seems to be a wellspring of information, but she’s wrong. I don’t work for the army. Until a couple of days ago, I worked for the Office of Indian Affairs, negotiating the surrender of people who would otherwise get killed by the army. He propped an elbow on the bedpost and stared down at her.

Blinking several times, Abbie looked up. And up. My God, the man was tall. She hadn’t noticed that about him when she first climbed through the window or when she’d followed him around town half the day. He was easily over six feet. And Rio McKade was big, too. Wide shoulders that his blue chambray shirt couldn’t disguise. A healthy span of chest, complete with bronze skin.

It wasn’t hard to see that skin because he had his shirt completely unbuttoned. Provocatively so. Yet another eye full and coming in the same night as the others. She could see his navel and the whorl of dark hair that spun down from it. It didn’t take much imagination to guess where that arrow of hair led. Nope. No imagination whatsoever. His tightly fitted jeans outlined it in more than adequate detail.

Uh. Get your mind off his jeans and back to what it needs to be on. Remember all that stuff about propriety. Have you heard from your brother yet? Aunt Dorrie said he’s flown the coop.

"My half-brother hasn’t contacted me, and I don’t expect him to. He paused. I understand you’ve had a difficult time of your own just recently?"

Ah, that. Abbie nodded. She hadn’t dared believe he hadn’t heard. Fall Creek was a small town, and even though he’d been back less than twenty-four hours, Rio probably knew as much about her as she did about him. Well, maybe not quite as much as she knew about him. Yes, a couple of weeks ago, I was held captive by the Apaches for two days. I suppose you’ve heard that I’m ruined?

Rio got choked on his drink. It took him several moments to recover. Yes, I did hear that.

Well, it couldn’t be helped.

You’re lucky to be alive.

She made a sound of superficial agreement and tugged off her gloves. There is that, I suppose, but the incident was helpful in other ways. There’s something quite comfortable about being ruined.

His mouth stilled around the cheroot. How so?

You do know I’m an heiress of sorts?

I’ve heard. You’re Augustus Donegan’s only child and his sole heir to a huge fortune.

Yes. Well, I’m the only one who’s not an outside child anyway. There are others, Abbie said matter of factly. She hoped she hadn’t offended him with that remark. Only after she’d said it did she remember that Rio himself was the illegitimate child of Andrew McKade. Since he did look a little annoyed, she continued. Anyway, now that I’m ruined, suitors won’t be pestering me for my father’s money.

I suppose that was a problem before?

Oh, yes. Money can attract the worst sort. Wendell Calverson, for example. He’s chased me for years. I thought once I became a spinster, things would change. They didn’t. Apparently some men, including Wendell, don’t care if I’m seventeen or twenty-seven as long as I’m well off. I think this thing with the Apaches just might help though. Don’t you?

Maybe. He took the final sip of his whiskey and placed the glass on the table. I figure you’ve only got about five minutes left, and you still haven’t said why you’re here.

So, he had already moved to the bottom line. Abbie appreciated that in a way. When she wasn’t as nervous as a frequent sinner standing at the Pearly Gates, she was a bottom line kind of woman. I have a proposition to make. A business proposition. This is going to sound a little odd. That’s why I want you to hear me out before you say no.

He paused again. Nodded.

She squared her shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. I am in need of a man.

A man? He flicked the cheroot ashes into a cigarette tin. And grinned. It was that grin. The one that reminded her they were only a few feet away from a bed. The bed where he intended activity to take place in the next couple of minutes if she didn’t finish her business and get out of there. Any particular sort or will just any man do?

Abbie cleared her throat, wishing for another shot of the whiskey. She didn’t dare ask for one. I’m desperately in need of a husband, actually, and I think you’re just what I’m looking for. So, Mr. McKade, will you marry me?

CHAPTER TWO

All right. That got Rio’s complete attention.

In fact, she’d managed to dumbfound him. Not easy to do. In his thirty-two years, he’d seen and heard just about everything. Well, except for this, of course. No woman, sane or otherwise, had ever proposed marriage to him.

He figured this one wasn’t anywhere near sane.

Any woman who would crawl through a whore house window to propose to a man had to have a few cups minus a full jug.

Are you about done talkin’ to that piece of fluff, Rio? Carlotta yelled from the other side of the door.

Not yet, Rio called back. He returned his attention to Abbie. A husband, he flatly repeated. And why do you need a husband?

Well, partly because of Wendell Calverson, the suitor who just won’t leave me alone, but there’s a more important reason. She hesitated and licked her lips. Now, let me see how I can put this delicately. Before my father died three months ago, he enjoyed the company of several women. Camellia is the last and unfortunately the worst of the lot. Anyway, in addition to being a thorn in my already thorn-riddled side, Camellia’s nettled that my father didn’t leave her one penny in his will. She’s taken up residence in my family home of Kingston and refuses to leave.

Yep, Abbie Donegan wasn’t all right in the head. But she looked all right in every other place where he wanted a woman to look good. That fire red hair and Christmas tree eyes. With that expensive southern accent, she sounded sane too, unless he actually listened to what she was saying.

All in all, Rio had a hard time concentrating on her exact words. He thought it might have something to do with that cute little mole just to the right of her bottom lip. There was something about it that appealed to him.

Actually, there was a lot about her that appealed to him. Her mouth. Her breasts. And just about everything else below the waist. Above it, too. But he wasn’t about to let her looks and curves aplenty turn his brain to dust.

You think you need a husband to toss this Camellia out? he questioned, just so his mouth would do something other than water. Miss Donegan, all you need is a lawman. The woman’s trespassing.

Abbie, she corrected again. It’s not that easy. My father asked that I allow Camellia to stay at Kingston until such time that she marries. She rolled her dark green eyes in dramatic fashion. At the rate she’s going that might not happen before I die of old age. A state that she’s pushing me to rather quickly I might add.

And you agreed to your father’s request?

She seemed surprised that he’d want to know that. It was his dying wish so how could I not agree?

I wouldn’t have, he mumbled. But that doesn’t matter. You’ve wasted your time coming here. I have no plans to marry. Not you. Not anyone.

I can tell you that I felt the same until quite recently, that is. May I speak frankly, Mr. McKade?

He cocked his head and stared at her. I thought you already had. How much more frank could the woman get without tossing him on the bed and having her way with him? Rio had used that bed as a threat, a ploy to get her out of there in a hurry. It obviously hadn’t worked. Well, it hadn’t worked other than making him wonder just how pleasurable it might be to spend some time on that mattress with Miss Donegan.

No, there’s more, she assured him.

More? Damn. And Carlotta was still in the hallway probably getting madder by the moment. He didn’t think she’d stay around much longer waiting for him to finish talking to a crazy woman, and if she did, it would cost him. Then, by all means get on with it. You’ve got three minutes left.

Three minutes? It wasn’t a ladylike complaint. There was more than a tinge of irritation in her voice. I don’t know how you could possibly keep time when we’re trying to discuss a matter as important as this. I’m offering you the chance of a life time.

You’re offering me marriage, and that appeals to me about as much as beddin’ down with a scorpion. And speaking of bed--

You haven’t even heard my terms. Just listen. Please.

It was the please that got him. Again, she hadn’t said it ladylike. There was no sweetness or gentleness in her tone. Rio got the impression she didn’t say please very often to anyone. Maybe that’s why it worked. It had taken a lot for her to get that out. You have two minutes.

If she clenched her teeth any harder, he figured they’d chip. I’m very aware of what’s happened recently with your brother, Julian.

Half-brother, he quickly correctly.

Yes, half-brother. Each of you owns half of the McKade ranch. Anyway, I know that Julian. . . now how should I say this. . .

He ran the ranch, both his half and mine, into the ground and then disappeared just one step ahead of the creditors.

She nodded. And those creditors are now hounding you. I also know this morning you went to the bank and asked for a loan so you could pay off the debts. They wouldn’t give it to you because, well--

Because I’m a half-breed bastard.

Well, yes. She paused and lowered her voice as if asking him to reveal a secret. Are you?

Am I what?

A bastard?

In every way humanly possible. Now, that surely would send her running to the nearest--

I appreciate your honesty, Mr. McKade. I really do. I’m not always easy to live with either.

Hard to believe.

If she had a reaction to his sarcasm, she didn’t show it. Abbie Donegan kept right