Wild Wet Kiss

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Wild Wet Kiss by

Kate Bridges Chapter One Summer of 1890, Calgary, Alberta, NWT

Tom Quigley couldn't believe there was a woman inside his pub. The last thing he expected to hear while he and his new bartender bolted his new stained-glass door to the outside of Quigley's Irish Pub was the sound of warm, female laughter coming from within. And it had a slightly familiar ring to it. He couldn't see her from the boardwalk where he stood, but she sounded pretty. And he must be an idiot for coming to such a quick conclusion. But as a former officer of the North-West Mounted Police, and now a Calgary pub owner, Tom knew that women were few and far between on the prairies. So they were amply appreciated. Tom listened to the seductive charm of her muted voice. His muscles tugged in response. He rubbed his jaw with the back of his bulky hand, then turned his looming shoulders toward Pete. "Who on earth is in there?" Pete, as slender as a pitchfork and wearing a Stetson, gripped the dangling door against the wall with his knees. He held it while Tom hammered bolts into hinges. The banging echoed off surrounding pine buildings. Pete huffed beneath the weight. "It's some woman." Tom laughed. With one hand, he easily hoisted the door. The wood felt smooth beneath his fingers. "Well, I figured that much." "She came in twenty minutes ago while you were in the shed gettin' hinges, Mr. Quigley." Pete groaned and tugged. "A sister of one of the officers inside, she said. Wanted to say hello to her brother." "I've been open for less than an hour and there's already a woman inside." "All right, you can let go of the door." Tom stood back and admired their handiwork. Ruby, blue and

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yellow glass shimmered in the warm prairie sunshine. Still good with a hammer and nails, as his father had proudly taught him to be in Ireland. "It's my good luck charm," Tom said, amusement rippling through his throat. "My beautiful new door from Ireland brought in a woman." Maybe what had resulted from his disastrous injury — being forced out of police duty months ago due to his injured knee, and opening this pub — might offer some hope, after all. "Hello, Tom." The banker's daughters brushed by on the boardwalk, floating past him in swirls of rich fabric. They flashed their eyes and smiled. Tom knew they were both spoken for and he'd never cross the line of decency, but he nodded and smiled back, enjoying the lovely view. "'Afternoon, ladies. May I invite you to come back next week when we've got the restaurant in operation? I hired a mighty fine cook. He's French, direct from Montreal." They waved and promised they would. Tom spun around to enter his pub and meet the woman inside. He limped into the large space. Damn his knee. It had stiffened more as a result of the hammering and bending. He was told he'd never have complete use of it again. Two tables full of Mounties, off-duty constables in off-duty clothes, jumped up to greet him. "Sir," some simply said while others declared, "Staff Sergeant Quigley." He grumbled. "At ease. Please, sit down. There's no need to address me so formally. I'm no longer…" He could barely say it. "I'm no longer your commanding officer. Call me Quigley, or simply Tom." "Yes, sir, Quigley, sir." They sat. One asked, "How's the knee?" "Fine for walking. Still can't ride." It was the awful truth. A man who could no longer ride a horse was useless as a Mountie. He couldn't bend his knee fully, due to the scarring and partially missing kneecap. And there was nothing the fort's surgeon could do to help. At least by opening this pub, Tom was providing a watering hole and a fine, adjoining restaurant where he could keep his ears open to police activity, or give advice to fellow officers if any of 'em should want it. Retired in his early thirties.Retired. Tom didn't even like the sound of the word, let alone its meaning. Then he spottedher across the room and his thoughts turned more congenial. Sunshine poured through the front windows and around the back of her curvy outline. Tom lowered his hammer behind the walnut bar top and watched her. He could only see her from behind, but she enthralled him. She stood near the corner table, the men sitting on tall stools around her, talking and laughing. Her wavy black hair touched her waist. A long gray skirt swirled about her high-heeled boots, and a polka-dot blouse rippled like silk from the back of straight, feminine shoulders. It was nice, watching a woman move. She lifted a tray of ale, which Tom found curious. Did the customers have to get their own drinks? Where was the other bartender? The man suddenly appeared from the back hallway, adding another

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dark ale to her tray. "I think I'd enjoy being a barmaid," she said to the officers, and Tom realized she was simply joking with them. "Wouldn't I make a good one, Travis?" Mitchell Reid and his brother, Travis, both Mounties, shook their heads. "No sister of ours is going to serve ale in a pub. You'd better stick to the library you intend on opening." Oh, no, thought Tom. She wasn't here to say hello to one brother but to two. That made her Miss Shawna Reid. He straightened to attention. His pulse quickened, remembering Shawna Reid. Shawna Reid and that incredible kiss. Guilt tightened his muscles. Maybe he was a hound to have left her as he had, but he'd done it for a good reason. From her point of view, though, she likely wouldn't see it as clearly as he had. But it had happened late last summer, and surely she wouldn't hold a grudge. She'd been out of town all these months, first on the cattle drive to the southern fort with her father, then, Tom had heard, she stayed in the south to visit friends. But her family owned one of the massive cattle ranches here in Calgary and Tom had suspected — dreaded — that sooner or later, he and Shawna would meet again. With more laughter and still with her back to Tom, Shawna slid the drinks off the tray and set them on her brothers' table. The two other men seated with them toasted her for organizing and starting the town's first library, set to open in two weeks. So she'd done it, thought Tom. She'd talked his ear off about her books even last summer. "We've got one too many ale." Shawna finally turned, so Tom could see her face. As clear and full of life as he remembered. She returned the tray and extra drink to the bartender at the other end of the bar, fifteen feet away from Tom. Tom braced himself, wondering how she'd react when she spotted him. "I wasn't sure if you'd like one, too, Miss Reid," the bartender replied. "Ack. This lady doesn't drink. I've come in for lunch with my brothers, but it's unfortunate your restaurant isn't open yet." She looked up and saw Tom standing there. "Well, if it isn't Miss Shawna Reid." She froze. Her hand slipped from the tray resting on the bar. Her dark eyes sparked and her ruby lips tightened. He inhaled the air between them. His square, rough body towered over her hourglass shape. He enjoyed looking at her pretty, oval face, despite the temper in her gaze. "Don't you remember me, Shawna?"

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"I remember you well." Fury laced her words. "Thomas Quigley." He moaned. Shewas holding a grudge. But then he wasn't surprised. He wouldn't be surprised if she reached out and slapped him. One, because maybe he deserved it. Two, because she wouldn't be able to help it. She'd always been a physical woman, quick to display her sentiments with her body. "Staff Sergeant Quigley," said a man respectfully in passing. "Hello, sir." Tom groaned and nodded. Turning back to Shawna, he added softly, "Please let me explain. I know how it must have looked to you." Shawna's gaze flickered over Tom's soft denim clothes. "You were a constable when I knew you. You weren't an officer then. Hardly a man held in such high regard." Before he could stop her, Shawna snatched the mug of cold ale off the bar, marched toward him and poured the ale down the front of his pants.

Chapter Two Shawna didn't stop to listen to the shouts of the men behind her, and most especially not to Tom's. She stalked out of the pub onto the crowded boardwalk with skirts flailing. How dare the man stare at her as if nothing had happened between them? He just received what she'd been itching to give him for ten months. A mug of cold ale down his pants! "Lordy, did you see that?" one of the old men hollered from behind her. "Reckon the staff sergeant made a fatal error where that woman was concerned." And from her brothers came "Shawna! He's an officer!" And finally from the man himself, who ran behind her and grabbed her by the elbow moments after she'd pushed through the stained-glass door. "Shawna! Why did you do that?" She whirled around, long black hair whipping the air, feet braced apart. She wrung herself from his hold and glared up at the dark devil. "Because you had it coming!" "What did I do that deserved…" he sputtered, his black hair falling across his brow, brown eyes galvanizing her to the spot "…that deserved this?" He gestured to his soaked legs. "You left me in the middle of nowhere!" The feeling of abandonment washed over her, as it had the morning she'd awoken and raced to his tent only to discover Tom had left without a word. Without so much as an explanation or a kind gesture. As if their hours of talking the evening before had meant nothing to him. As if the kiss had meant nothing. Shemust have meant nothing.

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She watched his body tense beneath the denim. Lord, he was larger than she remembered. Try as she might, she couldn't suppress the memory of his body pressed close to hers and the feel of his rough lips. He hiked his large hands to his waist. "I didn't leave you in the middle of nowhere. There were twenty other people on that wagon train, including your father and his guards. And a hundred head of cattle. You were in safe hands." "You left me, Tom Quigley. You know you did." Her mood darkened. So help him if he tried to refute her claim. "And you know what I mean." Sunshine splattered his face. His stare was bold. He seemed on the verge of disclosing something. Her heartbeat intensified. No man had the right to treat her as if her feelings weren't important. As if she gave away kisses to any man who asked. She'd been so wrong about Tom, but looking into his familiar enticing eyes, her heart ached. On the trail, Tom had been ordered to escort them to the southern fort so their cattle could be used for Mountie consumption, In his blazing red uniform Tom had deluded her to thinking that he was trustworthy and brave, and seeking the company of a good woman. One night around the campfire, ribbed by the other men, he'd even mentioned that he sometimes thought of marriage, that he wondered if he'd ever meet the right woman. Well, Shawna obviously wasn't that woman. She had replayed this meeting in her mind for ten months, and here was her chance to tell him what she thought. There'd be no going back to trusting a scoundrel. Tom yanked in a deep breath, but he couldn't seem to control his panting. "All right. It's about that kiss then." She felt her face tighten into a scowl. "Was it just a kiss to you?" "A kiss on the lips between a man and aconsenting woman, who happened to find some free time to spend together on a two-week journey." "Well if that was just a kiss, then consider the ale just a little spill." Laughter emanated from behind the stained-glass door. Shawna looked down to see someone's boot propping it open from the inside. The men inside were listening. And heads were turning on the boardwalk. She hadn't noticed all the people strolling by, but Calgary was a growing frontier town and it was Friday, a busy day for shopping. Tom muttered and kicked the door closed. The man behind the door yelped. "I'll not be airing my laundry in front of these men," Tom declared. His Irish brogue sometimes appeared, coloring his words when he got emotional, she knew. Then he narrowed his eyes, looking at her with suspicion. "You must have seen the large sign hanging above the door." He pointed to the green and gold lettering above his head. "It was installed last week and clearly says Quigley's Irish Pub." "I don't care for your sign." She stepped back and rubbed her arms, ready to run.

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"My point is you must have known I'm the owner. You must have known if you came inside today, you'd find me here." Her gray skirt swished at her ankles. When his gaze lowered down her hips to her feet, her skin tingled. "What does it matter?" "It matters because you came looking for me. Knowing I'd be here. Wanting to pour a drink down my lap for some reason." She ran her tongue along the inside of her dry mouth and deliberated. Maybe before she left sheshould give him a piece of her mind. An honest piece. "Actually, I did expect to find you here. I washoping I'd find you." "Aha. I knew it. To lash out at me." Her stomach fluttered with nervousness. "To — to prove to myself that I could calmly walk in and pretend I didn't remember you. That I didn't even recall your name." He didn't seem convinced. "And what happened to that plan?" "When I saw the smirk on your face, I felt the urge to smack it." More laughter sounded from the pub. "Shawna Reid, you'll never change." "And Thomas Quigley, I hope you do." Indignant, she reeled to leave. Cigar smoke drifted past her nostrils. She hadn't noticed, but half a dozen folks had gathered behind her, leaning over the railing as if watching the riders trotting past, but she suspected they were listening to the argument. A blush crept up her face. She called to Tom behind her. "I said what I came to say. Goodbye." Unexpectedly, his firm fingers grasped her waist. She let out a choked cry of surprise, but he gripped her tighter and slammed her backward into his chest. "Since you find the need to insult me in front of my men, perhaps we can call it even after this." He swung her around to face him. To her shame, the crowd tittered. She gasped at his obvious intentions. It didn't stop him. Tom swooped in low, locking her in his embrace and lowering his dark face to kiss her. "Now this is more like the hello I was expecting."

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Chapter Three In the moment before his lips came down on hers, Shawna couldn't believe Tom had the gall to kiss her. In front of a crowd! Her eyes widened and her jaw must have fallen, for Tom took her chin in his warm hands and gently tilted it up toward him. His deep brown eyes gleamed with mischief and something stronger —desire — and then she felt his mouth. She wanted to object. She wanted to push him over the railing into the water trough, but it happened too quickly, and she made one critical mistake. She closed her eyes. Shawna closed her eyes and the intensity of his touch seemed to magnify. It rippled right down to her toes. His kiss was warm and gentle, a tender hello, a greeting between a man and woman who'd shared an intimate past. It was the crowd and their catcalling that brought Shawna back to her senses. She splayed her fingers over Tom's solid chest and pushed hard. He rocked back on the boardwalk. He was laughing. Already. The twinkle in his eyes and the way he struggled for breath made her blood pound beneath her ribs. She felt a tide of humiliation. "I agree," she said recklessly, "your kiss is laughable." He stopped laughing. He lunged forward, grabbed her by the shoulders and tugged her close. She fell against him, a solid wall of masculinity, and felt his lips again. His kiss was rougher this time. More demanding. Coaxing pleasure from her core and a response from her heart. When her body melted against his, she forgot about everything else and recalled a similar kiss, ten months ago beneath the swaying branches of a cottonwood in the middle of the night. They finally parted. Neither spoke. Even the crowd this time was silent, as if aware the second kiss held more serious meaning. Shawna was stunned at the feeling his kiss had evoked from her. Tom stepped back, but she knew he was deeply affected. The tug of his lower lip, the rawness of his gaze, the tight way he held his shoulders. Tom Quigley had been affected by Shawna Reid, and that was just the way she wanted it. Let him be the one to ache at night, to lie awake and listen to the prairie wind blowing over fields of grass. Let him be mesmerized by the sound of emptiness. But somehow, getting even with Tom didn't hold the satisfaction she'd hoped. It made her feel more hollow. When he stepped back once more, framed by his massive, colorful door, she noticed him limp for the first time. He looked embarrassed that her eyes had flickered over his knee. She wondered if he was in

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much pain. Quivering with regret, Shawna turned away and left him. *** "Shawna, you can't ignore your father forever. He wants you to join him in the kitchen and explain your side of things." Standing in the study across from her mother, Shawna continued sorting her donated books. Not even immersing herself in a good novel had worked this time to mask the pain of seeing Tom. She slidA Tale of Two Cities on top ofGeography of North America . She couldn't erase the memory of Tom standing on the boardwalk, peering down at her with that expectant smile. Or erase the maddening fire of his kiss. She studied her mother's wrinkled brows and the lines of concern etched into her broad, Irish face. Shawna was weary of fighting the staid choices of men her father and brothers always introduced her to and usually ignored their questions, but she'd be kind to her mother. "The rumors have been blown to ten times the size of the truth. I won't go anywhere near Tom Quigley again. Don't worry." Her mother ran her fingers along the spine of Webster'sAn American Dictionary of the English Language . "Your father wants to know exactly what did and didn't happen between you and Officer Quigley. He wants you to explain what happened three days ago with that kiss outside the pub. And last summer during the cattle drive." "I know the whole town is talking about it," said Shawna, "but there's no need for the Reid men to get involved." "Darlin', you know your father. He listens carefully to everything his only daughter says. But your brothers…" Her mother opened the heavy oak door to leave, her apron pinching her thick middle. "They think it's a matter of your honor. They're proud men. They're Mounties. There's talk of forcing you two…" Shawna felt her rib cage squeeze. "Forcing us to what?" Surely not forcing Tom's hand. Surely not taking a shotgun and forcing them both to the church. "You'd best come into the kitchen and reason with the men yourself."

*** It was difficult to concentrate on pouring liquor, tossing a game of darts with his friends or making decisions about the new menu when all Tom could see in his mind was one fiery, black-haired woman lifting her lips to his. Tom left the crowded bar and entered his back office. The air was cool and smelled of fresh paint. Sitting behind his desk by the door, he took out his ledger and stared at columns of numbers. After he'd left her on the cattle drive, the first two months of separation had been the hardest. Or so he'd thought, till seeing her three days ago when her reappearance had felt like a kick to the gut. He'd repeatedly gone over it in his mind — how he'd received new police orders the day they kissed but how he hadn't bothered to explain it to Shawna, how he'd saddled his horse at the break of dawn the next

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day, and how he'd walked straight past the wagon where she'd slept without saying goodbye. She wouldn't have wanted him to leave. But in his tent after a restless night of thinking about that kiss, Tom had known his decision was best. He was more than ten years older. He knew what a kiss like that meant. And the truth was, he hadn't wanted things to progress as quickly as she had. Not that Shawna had said anything about pushing him, but he'd felt it. He'd wanted separation so they'd both have time to think about what they expected, without being swayed by the moon and stars. After he'd been shot in the knee by the bloody whiskey traders he'd been chasing, Tom had been too ashamed to go back to her. It would have been a coward's way to return, injured and in need of help, unsure of how he was going to provide a living for himself, let alone a wife or children. And here she was. Even more beautiful than he'd remembered. A light knock sounded on the back door, interrupting Tom's thoughts. He glanced at the wall clock. Nine. Too late for a delivery. He opened the door. Travis and Mitchell Reid stood there. They were out of uniform, but they wore their guns. He didn't like that. "We've got to talk to you, Quigley. And it's got nothing to do with police business." Their demeanor was gruff. Tom didn't like that, either. "It's about your sister, isn't it?" Tom asked. "Yes, it is. Are you going to come out here, or do we have to do this in there?" Tom knew he couldn't stop whatever it was they wanted to say, but he wouldn't be pushed around by any man. He'd tell them to go to hell if they pushed too hard. He reined in his temper, but his fists grew hard. "I'll come out." Horses' hooves thundered in the alleyway. He stepped into the brisk night air as Shawna rode in. Her horse began to rear. She held tight till the mare settled, then hopped off in a blaze of loose hair and skirts. Hell, she looked wild, thought Tom. And he felt that same sharp kick to his gut. "Who do you think you are?" She glared at Tom first, then her brothers. "There won't be any discussion about me, without me being present!"

Chapter Four Fuming, Shawna planted her hands on her hips. Her brothers were unbelievable! Blazes, how could they think she'd allow them to force their unwanted opinion on either herself or Tom, on the heated debate of marriage? Peering at Tom who stood across from her brothers in the alleyway, she felt like a breathless girl of sixteen. By the dim light of the moon, she caught the cold glimmer of fury in his expression, the hardened

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tone of his muscles beneath his black denim shirt. It was strange, but she felt closer to Tom as a result of being on the same side of this argument. Neither of them wanted a shotgun marriage. "Shawna, this doesn't concern you," said her older brother, Travis. He straightened next to Mitchell, both of them big and intimidating. But she wouldn't be threatened. "Tell me you're pulling my leg. It's the two of you who should ride back to your barracks and leave me be. This whole discussion is aboutmy future!" "Nothing's been said yet," said Mitchell. "And I don't think you should say it." Tom, silent until then, stepped forward. Shawna studied the lean, dark face. Her feelings for him toppled her reasoning. How could she be so mad at Tom, yet so caught up in him at the same time? This was the first time, she realized with restraint, that she'd had any compassion for his point of view. "We've got to say it." Her older brother hitched a hand into his jacket. "You've compromised our sister. Kissing her in the street like she was some — some — wench you found in the pub. And some of our father's men have spoken up and told us what they witnessed on the cattle drive last summer." "Stop right there," threatened Tom in a grizzly voice. "You don't know what you're talking about." But to Shawna's dismay, her older brother continued. "Quigley, you had a tent to yourself on the trail. Some of the men think she slept there with you." "Travis!" Shawna exploded. "How dare you talk like that?" But Tom was even quicker to respond. To her horror, he lunged at her brother. Tom swung first and hit her older brother in the gut. Travis groaned and swung back but Tom ducked to avoid it. In that one petrifying fraction of a second, she recalled that Tom had once confided he enjoyed boxing as a sport. But that was before he'd been injured. "Stop it!" she shouted. Mitchell dashed to her side and pulled her back. "Two men against one isn't fair, so I'll sit out." "Stop them, Mitch!" "I can't." Shawna buried her face in her hands, pivoting from the fighting, but shuddering with the sound of fist on flesh. "You'll marry our sister!" "I won't be forced by you or any man to marry any woman!" Tom hollered back. She stilled, pretending she wasn't going to interfere. Her quiet plan worked, for when Mitchell's hands slackened on her arms, she broke free and flung herself between the fighting men.

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"Animals! Stop this!" They came to their senses. Bedraggled, her brother lowered his fists. He swiped at the cut on his lip and swore. His shirt was ripped at the shoulder. Almost afraid to look, she turned toward Tom. His shirt hung out of his pants and his face pounded with anger, but his mouth wasn't cut. His shirt wasn't torn. A flush of pride filled her. "What do you think, Mitch?" asked the older brother. "Well, he certainly held his own. A bit slow on his feet, but he used his head and let you do the circling, which shows some intelligence. He's got a mean right punch. He's certainly not an invalid like we feared." Shawna gasped. "You were testing him?" Mitchell shook his head. "Not exactly. We meant every word we said. And did you notice, big brother, the crowd going into his pub tonight? I do believe he can afford the care and upkeep of our fine sister." Then he shouted to Tom, "We insist you marry her. We'll give you two days to think about the when and the how. And not a day more." "Go to hell, both of you," growled Tom. Mitchell laughed and turned to Travis. "I like that about him." "Yeah, me, too." The older brother turned and headed down the alley toward their horses, hitched in the main street. "Mount your horse, Shawna, and we'll escort you home." "You'll do no such thing. I'll get home on my own." "I'll ensure she gets home safely," added Tom. Travis sighed and looked at Mitchell as their boots crunched on the pebbles. "Do you see what I mean about them?" Mitchell grumbled. "It's a good thing we came." Shawna turned back to Tom, still furious at her brothers and entirely caught up in those emotions. "I apologize for my brothers. They think they know best about my life." "They both need a good thrashing." Tom lowered his fists to his sides, clenching and unclenching his fingers. He rubbed his jaw with a sliced hand, twisting his mouth from side to side. She tried to shut out all awareness of him, but was suddenly mindful that they were completely alone. In the dark with no witnesses this time, with no barriers to what they might say to each other. She inhaled the comfort of his nearness, for she had a lot to say. But he beat her to it, dashing the longing in her heart. His black hair shone in the moonlight, messy from the fight. "I won't be forced to marry you, Shawna. I'm a man who makes my own decisions."

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She pulled away. Did he thinkshe'd sent her brothers here? There had never been talk of marriage between them. It was only her brothers who'd brought it up, and she didn't care for the manner in which they'd treated her, speaking about her as if they were negotiating for the sale of a hog. But the one hurting truth that had come out of this was that Tom obviously didn't want to marry her, even if someone put a gun to his head. She hadn't expected marriage from Tom, but the fact that he was doing everything in his power to let her know he didn't want her hurt. "Step inside the second door." Tom pointed to his left, to the entry that was attached to his pub. "That's the back door of my house. I'd like to clean up and then I'll get the bartender and his wife to escort you home. But first I think we've got a few things to say to each other." Too upset to move or agree, Shawna watched Tom hitch her horse to the post. She would have appreciated a smile, but he offered none. Hesitant but realizing they'd better talk and agree on how to handle her brothers, she climbed the two steps into the warmth of his home. It was a mistake. She should have left, she thought, peering at the quaintly carved furniture of Tom's large kitchen, peering at the man himself bending over a bowl of water and rolling up his sleeves. It was torture to be this close to Tom and have to keep her distance. His deep voice startled her. "There's a lot going on here, Shawna." He rubbed a thick towel across his wet black brows, finished drying his hands, then came to stand in front of her, firm and persuasive. "So let's get this said and done between us."

Chapter Five Tom knew it was dangerous to bring Shawna into his home, for her to possibly be seen again, alone with a bachelor. But he knew no one had witnessed them coming indoors, so her reputation wouldn't be further sullied. And therefore her damn brothers couldn't blame him for more trouble. Tom's chest muscles ached from the fight. His bad knee had twisted and he could barely move without wincing, but he returned the towel to its keg on the plastered wall without complaint. "I figured my home would give us the space and freedom to talk." He'd already lit the kerosene lamp and it filled the room with an intimate, orange glow. It cast shadows on the curves of her face and added depth to her hips and waist. She skirted past him, her face flushed with color. "It seems we have nothing more to say." Lifting a square box made of mahogany wood, she ran her fingers along the polished edges. It was a trinket box his sister had sent from Ireland and one he cherished. "The wood's silky smooth. It's captivating." She was captivating, standing there caressing it. With her sparkling black hair blown back from the wind, her top button undone at the collar exposing a flash of creamy skin, she was something to look at.

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He leaned a limber shoulder against the wall, noting how feminine she was compared to his bulk. "You may not have anything more to say to me, and I don't blame you, but I'd like to start with an apology." She lowered the box to the sideboard and her protests faded to a hushed stillness. "Dammit, Shawna, I can't even jump on a horse to escort you home. What proper way is that to court a lady?" "I've heard you can still drive a buckboard. And a buggy. That you can straighten your leg in those and ride for miles." Still, he felt so inadequate. So much less than he used to be. He moved to bridge the distance between them, but she escaped him once again, preferring to peer into the glass case filled with his collection of beer steins. "Is it so bad?" she whispered, turning her head and focusing her attention on his knee. "Only when someone tries to wallop me." "Sorry about that." They dismissed the subject of his permanent injury, but he knew it held great importance to them both. "I'd like to apologize for leaving you last summer without an explanation." He detected a throbbing pulse along the base of her throat. "I wondered what happened to you. What I'd done to scare you off." Regret washed through him. "I had orders from the commander to join the troops at the southern fort. The whiskey traders going back and forth across the border were getting out of hand." "But as I understand it, you received those orders the day before. The morning of the day we spent together. Before you kissed me." "That's true." "So you had an opportunity to explain it to me. But all day you sat on your hands. You said nothing when we played cards with the cook and his wife, and then when we went riding over the crest to see the owl's nest." Her words brought another tingle of shame to his brow. "And when I made you tea, you were silent. And when you helped draw water from the river to wash my hair. Later, when you shared your book of short stories with me, you laughed as if we didn't have a care in the world." "True. It's all true. But I'm more than ten years older than you are, Shawna. Your father expected a lot from me. The commander expected more. I saw the need to pull back to give us both time to think about

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where it was headed. I planned on meeting up with you again when your wagon train arrived at the fort. When a bit of time and distance clarified how we might have felt about each other." "But you never came back." Bitterness spilled into her voice. "And I think you were a coward not to face your feelings." There it was, out in the open. The skeletal truth. Tom struggled to maintain his composure. "Two months later when my duties were completed, they promoted me but I could no longer walk. How could I return to face you? In my work, I tried office duties for a while, but sitting behind a desk wasn't for me. I didn't have anything to offer you. It's not easy for a man to lose his job." The air clouded with unease. She was the first to break the cool silence. "Did you catch the whiskey traders?" "Yeah, we caught all nineteen men." He gestured to his knee and his voice grated. "But they're the ones who left me with this parting gift." Shawna looked at him with such gentle empathy in her dark eyes that he was struck with a physical force, and the realization that he'd lefther with a parting gift as well. The pain he'd caused may not have been a physical wound, but to a woman opening up her heart, sharing her thoughts about life and family and stories of growing up, she must have felt abandoned. He could see in her eyes how much he'd hurt her. "I'm sorry," he murmured, coming closer. She slid out from his rough grasp, causing him to moan at her escape. But relentless, he pursued her along the darkened hallway. Grabbing her shoulders from behind, he circled his arms around her and lowered his face to her hair. "I'm sorry, Shawna. I didn't realize." He felt her stiffen. While he rocked her gently from side to side, with his chest pressed against her back, her tenseness faded. They stood together, drifting back to a night that had been so powerful in its grip on his heart that he'd felt the need to escape. He inhaled the scent of her hair, fighting control. His large hands slipped up her arms, over the soft cloth, exploring the muscles beneath. He ran his fingers along the inside hollow of her elbow. She relaxed and leaned backward, letting out a low moan of pleasure. "What are you doing to me, Shawna?" he whispered into her hair. "What are you doing?" Unable to stop himself, he kissed her ear. She tilted her head in response and he felt his stomach tighten. Lost in the rapture of wanting her, he brushed his hot lips against her throat, nuzzled his nose against her skin, puckered her downy flesh with his mouth. Sliding his hands up her waist, he caressed the curve of her abdomen, enjoying the smooth feel. With

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pulse leaping, he cupped the swell of her bosom. Her breasts were encased in a corset that pushed them up toward the sky. She felt tantalizing beneath his touch as he conjured images of disrobing her. When he felt the sharp tug of her breathing in response to his gentle rub, he knew he was a goner.

Chapter Six When Tom kissed her throat, Shawna tried but couldn't break away. Everything was new to her. His touch. His kiss. The way he wove his fingers behind her neck. She dare not think of how she'd feel if her brothers knew, or what others would say. She was allowing Tom to kiss her, to touch her breasts and hold her tight with no promises of matrimony. It was irresponsible. Standing in the dim light of the hallway, he clung to her from behind, tracing her breasts with his fingertips. She closed her eyes and savored the current that connected them. Her heart turned over in response with every touch, every stroke. Lower, below her back, she felt him grow rigid. He pressed his straining shaft against her buttocks and she leaned back, savoring the feel of him, letting him know how affected she was, and how much she wanted him to make love to her. "This is insane," he murmured, kissing her cheek and finally spinning her to face him. "Do you realize where this is leading?" "I do and I want it." He groaned aloud and her excitement surged. Looping her hands up around his neck, she inhaled his scent. She felt the thudding of his heart against her breast. She studied his dark profile, the silhouette of his straight nose and firm lips. His broad shoulders heaved with his breathing and she was drugged with pleasure. He lowered his smooth forehead against the plane of her brows, kissing her eyelids lightly then seeking her mouth. She didn't hold back. With one large hand, he held her face. The other he planted on her backside. The combination of his soft mouth exploring hers while running his firm hand along her buttocks made her pulse race. When he lifted her off her feet, her breathing tripped. When he carried her to the darkened parlor and set her down on the sofa with his lips warm at her throat, her stomach fluttered. She felt much more for Tom than any other man she'd known. He brought her a feeling of fulfillment. They shared a joy in simple details. He made her laugh in his observations of the world and everyday folks. And the respect he received from his men was remarkable. He pulled a thick feather comforter beneath her body and made her soft and warm. His fingers found the buttons of her blouse. She entwined her own with his and they eagerly unfastened it. A shaft of light from the kerosene lantern in the kitchen penetrated the darkness of the hallway and bathed one side of them in golden rays.

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His cool fingers traveled down her throat and along the top sphere of one breast. His touch felt delicious, overwhelming. He kept going with his finger, grazing the tip of her nipple through the cloth until she gasped. "It feels as if you've set me on fire." He smiled and she was lost again. "You make me wild." "Please tell me," she said in a moment of seriousness, "that from this moment on you'll always tell me the truth." "I promise." He circled one nipple and then the other. And then with a firm tug at her corset, he exposed her breasts. He growled when he saw her soft pink nipples, which pleased her to no end. Lowering his mouth, he bathed her breasts with love. He clawed at her skirt, undoing the button and sliding it over her ample hips. He tugged off her pantaloons and then rolled off her stockings, taking his time to enjoy the view. She undid his shirt, undoubtedly driving him crazy with the slow pace, but feeling the need to take her time. When they were both naked, he sat her on the sofa again, planting her bottom on the soft featherbed so she was nestled in a bed of down. Then scooping her in his embrace, he lowered his body to hers and slowly entered. She was a virgin, so he took great care in coaxing her through the initial pain to try to please her. And for two wonderful hours, he became the man she remembered on the trail. Caring, laughing, attentive. "Let's stay like this forever, Shawna," he whispered as she reached her peak. Brimming with life and feeling, she collapsed in the splendor of his world.

*** An hour later, after sleeping on and off in the intimate warmth of the blankets, they made love again. "I finally have you naked in my arms." "Hmm," she murmured, smiling beneath him as he kissed her breasts. He loved the way she pressed against him as if needing his protection. Maybe he shouldn't have walked away from her last summer. She was a loving, independent woman with a head on her shoulders. And during the cattle drive, when it came to family and children, he'd admired her compassion. A sheen of perspiration coated his chest as he built steadily toward another climax. They hit the mark together this time then, laughing, snuggled beneath the covers. "It's getting late, Shawna, and I'm not sure how to get you home without stirring trouble with your brothers."

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"They'll be at the barracks." She stared up at the ceiling, entwining her warm toes with his. "My father is a sound sleeper, but my mother will no doubt hear me come in late. But she thinks my brothers are bringing me home, so we likely don't have to worry." "Then let's get you up and dressed. Your mare is still outside and we need to get you home, so I'll have my friends escort you by horseback. I'd like to do it myself, but I can't figure out —" "Shh," she said. "It's all right." While they dressed, he watched her. His private emotions had taken him by surprise. He hadn't realized the depth and intensity of his need for Shawna. Her eyes glistened. She still hadn't spoken about her own sentiments, and he wondered if she felt as strongly as he did. He took hold of her hands and looked into her face. "Shawna, I want to be with you. I want to show you the great depth I've always felt for you, but I won't be forced into anything by your brothers. Especially not marriage." She quirked her brows. "Now what sort of thing is that to say?" "You wanted me to always speak the truth." "You could have kept that part to yourself." "We'll work this out, I promise. But privately. It wouldn't be fair to you to think my hand's been forced. Your brothers aren't —" "Stop right there. I don't want to hear another word about those two. And I never said anything about marriage. Everyone else keeps raising the topic but me. It's not that I'm against it. As a matter of fact it might be rather wonderful. But, for heaven's sake, do you realize that every time you kiss me or demonstrate your affections, you end it by either deserting me or telling me you're not going to marry me?" So she still hadn't gotten over her feelings of being deserted. How could he make it up to her without succumbing to the pressure of her brothers? Dammit, he was his own man and he'd make his own decisions in his own good time. Fully dressed, she ran her fingers through her hair. "Put yourself in a woman's place, for crying out loud!" "I've never been in a woman's place, so I can't imagine —" "That's quite enough. I've no wish to argue with you." "But no one's going to force me —" "I think I've overstayed my welcome." She flew through the back door. Before he could call for an escort, he was standing in the wake of a swirling cloud of dust left by her galloping horse.

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Tom cursed the bloody night air. Couldn't he ever do anything right by Shawna Reid?

Chapter Seven The day after her argument with Tom, Shawna glanced out of the ranch house window every hour on the hour, half expecting to see him coming over the hill. But every time, her stomach clenched tighter with disappointment. It was no longer a kiss they were arguing about. They had made love to each other, and it stung more to be rejected after that than after any amount of kisses. They hadbeen with each other, and Tom shouldn't care about her brothers' opinions; he should only care about hers. If he truly wanted to be with her. On day two, Shawna promised herself she wouldn't look at all for a buckboard with a tall, dark-haired Irishman, and didn't till noon. One of the ranch hands helped load her boxes of books into the wagon so she could deliver them to town for the library's upcoming opening, then they broke for lunch. It was the longest hour she'd ever experienced, sitting on the porch swing, shooing away the flies, taking a bite now and again and always, always, with her gaze drifting to the empty hill. At the end of the second day, she realized that Tom Quigley had won. Her brothers hadn't been able to force his hand. They threatened to, of course, but Shawna's sullen expression must have convinced their mother to order the men to be still. Shawna didn't know what decision her brothers had come to, and she didn't care. There was no Tom on day three, four, five or six. And then Shawna realized he would never come. On day seven, Shawna awoke with the rooster's crow. She propped open her bedroom window. The summer morning breeze rolled through, cooling her naked skin and causing her to dress quickly. She heard the clatter of men beginning their work outside. And then a holler. Her mother shouted from below. "Shawna! Come here! Looks like you've got a visitor coming!" Shawna dashed to the window and skewed her face to the glass. It was Tom, sitting in a bold new buggy, pulling up to the house. "I don't care for visitors!" she shouted. But Tom was already knocking on their door. She heard the boom of his voice, saying good morning to her mother and asking for the whereabouts of her father. That he wished to speak about Shawna. Shawna raced to the upper landing and hollered down. "There won't be any discussion about me without me being present!" Tom glanced up and smiled. Large and impressive, he cut a fine figure of a man, and she couldn't deny that. His hair was neatly buffed and his leather duster new. He clutched a bouquet of wild pink roses. "And a good morning to you."

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Shawna's mother grabbed her shawl and raced out the front door, saying she was going to fetch her husband from the stables. Then Shawna's brothers, Travis and Mitchell, sauntered out from the kitchen, each with a red apple in hand. Shawna knew whenever they were on patrol in the area, watching for rustlers and outlaws, they dropped in briefly to say hello and check on the herd. Tom's face hardened at the sight of her brothers. "This doesn't concern you," he blasted them. "It's between me and Shawna." To Shawna's great pleasure that shut them up. Her brothers bit into their apples, chewing and watching but not saying a word. Tom glanced up at her and smiled. "Come down here where I can see you." She stalked down the stairs. "I don't want anything to do with stubborn fools." Tom tried to explain. "I thought that waiting seven days would give everyone the chance to simmer down." "Right," she snapped. "Because you're ten years smarter." Tom laughed and pulled her into the crux of one arm, overpowering her with his size. He kissed her cheek. His touch felt warm, but she wouldn't be swayed to trust him again. "Now hold on, Quigley," said her older brother. "You haven't asked for permission yet." Shawna thought she must have colored to her boots. Not because of the kiss, but because of all she and Tom had already done without permission. She yanked out of Tom's arms to the other side of the hallway. He winked at her, causing further embarrassment. "If you think I'm going anywhere with you after these last seven days, you're mistaken." Her older brother finished his apple. "That's a nice two-seater buggy you've got there. Spiffy. Looks like a racer." Tom smiled approval and ran a hand along his chest. "Shows intelligence," said Mitchell, "buying a buggy. And now we'll be on our way." "Thanks be to the stars," said Shawna. "I'll go with you." "And by the way, Quigley," said her older brother as he slid out the front door, causing Shawna's temper to flare again, "we knew you were the one when she poured that drink down your lap." "Get out!" Shawna hollered. They did and she followed, racing down the steps and panting for air. Her brothers mounted their horses and galloped away to continue their patrol. Tom's horse neighed in her path. Itwas a good-looking buggy, red leather and shiny silver rivets, but she had no intention of agreeing to anything Tom had to say.

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"Now hold on," he bellowed from the porch. "What's this? I came to visit and every single one of you is racing off!" "Because we know you're trouble!" Shawna answered. But he caught up with her beneath the shady cottonwood. "I need to say a few things. Please listen." She turned to face him. He stood rooted, dressed in his leather duster that reached to his knees, his white shirt glinting in the sunshine. The breeze lifted her hair, and from across the fields, brought the scent of fresh-cut hay. "Do you like roses, Shawna? I brought you roses." She loved the way he said her name. It was almost lyrical when it rolled off his Irish tongue. His brogue was coming out again, which meant he was getting sentimental. Taking the bouquet, she pressed it to her chest. "They smell nice." "It struck me this week that I haven't been very good to you. But I've come to tell you that I love you." He paused. "I love you, Shawna." Stunned, she gripped the flowers.That's how he felt? He said it with such calm self-assurance, as if he'd known it all along. A tremor raced through her heart. He continued. "I need you by my side. I've never met a woman like you, who has the ability to make me hope that I live to be a hundred." She smiled, finally. Her soft words hummed through the air. "And I've never met a man who can so quickly turn my anger into laughter. And the other way, too." While they stood beneath the cottonwood, the leaves murmured above them and she was reminded of that bountiful kiss they'd shared on the prairies, beneath a similar tree, one evening in the moonlight. "I promise to do my best to make you happy. I'll never leave you again, or make you wonder how I feel about you." He reached out and stroked her cheek, and the tingle inside of her deepened. "Please tell me how you feel. Tell me that you love me. Will you marry me, Shawna?"

Chapter Eight "I do." Two weeks later, Tom listened with unbridled emotion as his new bride finally said the words. Shawna still hadn't told him precisely how she felt about him, but he reckoned it would come with time. She was stubborn about admitting she loved him, although he felt it in her gaze and the way she came near whenever he entered a room. Shawna was as stubborn as her brothers. Maybe, thought Tom with a slight grin, as stubborn as he himself. They stood in the hushed church, surrounded by family, Mounties and neighbors, two hundred beaming

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faces in total. Shawna made his pulse race with her bewitching smile, walking down the aisle in her flowing white gown, with a train so long he feared he would step on it before the evening was through. She wore ivory ribbons in her black hair, and tiny wild roses that set off the glow in her skin. But it wasn't the clothing that enthralled him. It was the woman. For his part, he was dressed in the scarlet tunic of the North-West Mounted Police, and proudly so. "You may kiss the bride." With tenderness, Tom lifted Shawna's pretty face and kissed his wife. Her lips were sweet and exciting. Tonight, he'd show her how thrilled he was that she'd chosen him. As they turned back to the priest, he couldn't help but give her an extra little pat on the rump, because he knew her brothers were watching. When the ceremony was over, they raced hand in hand out the church and down the steps. The evening sun warmed his face. "Hold on to your bouquet," he whispered, then scooped her into the air. She squealed with soft laughter. "Where are you headed?" "To the pub for our reception." "You can't carry me all the way there." "Yes, I can." "But your knee." "Just watch me." His knee was feeling much better since he took to wrapping it every day, and practicing his boxing on the leather bag he'd hung in the pub's back room. The extra support from the gauze padding in addition to the exercise gave him what he needed. He'd never be able to ride horseback again, but his limp had eased. And Shawna felt like a light wisp of cotton in his arms. Friends raced behind them on the boardwalk, laughing and eager to keep up with the happy couple. When Tom reached the stained-glass door of Quigley's Irish Pub, he smiled then carried Shawna over the threshold. When he set her down, he nodded to the colorful panes. "This door is my lucky charm. It brought me you." "Now don't go talking silly. You've got such crazy notions in your head." But Tom could see she was pleased. The pub had been decorated especially for the day. The restaurant had opened last week, so the pub was divided into two tiers. One tier contained the bar and a small stage for weekly performers; the other

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was used for dining. For the wedding reception, neighbors had hung white streamers from the walls and had decorated the dining tables with rose petals and dried herbs. Tom had his French chef prepare the finest braised beef, the finest soups, the finest pastries. All drinks were on the house, and Tom had even managed to secure three bottles of dry champagne. He'd hired a small band, and they wove their magical notes through the air — flute, guitar, fiddle and accordion. Shawna's father, gray-haired, six feet tall and almost half as wide, came to shake Tom's hand. "Congratulations, son. I think Shawna's got herself a fine man." Nothing could have made Tom prouder. When the meal was over, the toasts made, and the dancing had gone well into the night, Tom pulled her aside. "Let's go to bed, Mrs. Quigley." "But we can't just slip away." He stole a kiss. "They'll understand. It's been a long day. We'll say good night and go home. I don't want to wait any longer." She smiled in the provocative way that always charmed him, and agreed. Fifteen minutes later, he carried her through the back door. Someone had tied rattling tin cans and cumbersome ribbons to the knob, so it was difficult and noisy to open the door. Beneath his breath Tom vowed he'd pay her brothers back tomorrow, but for now, he thought only of Shawna. With the muted sounds of a fiddle and guitar playing through the wall, Tom laid Shawna softly on his bed. He'd bought new white sheets and blankets for their marital bed, and had his housekeeper scrub the floors. "You look beautiful in your gown tonight. I'm proud of you, Shawna." "You took a lot of care in the fine details, Tom, and I thank you." "I'd like to make it clear that you'll never have to work in the pub. It was something your family was concerned about, that I'd use you as a barmaid." "I won't be leaving the library. It's just getting started and every day people bring me another book or two." She ran her fingers along his black breeches and let her warm hand linger on his thigh. Her touch drove him senseless. "But I'll also be a barmaid if I want to be a barmaid." She spoke firmly. "And that decision will be totally up to me. It's proud work and nothing to be ashamed of." "That's my Shawna." He ravished her neck. "May I undo your buttons?" "I thought you'd never get to them." Slowly, he unwrapped her as if she were a gift sent from heaven. He unbuttoned the dozen tiny beads winding down her bosom, beginning with at neckline and grazing past her starched wedding corset. Her scent lingered in his nostrils, of fresh bath oils and lemon soap.

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And then Shawna, equally generous, unbuttoned his red jacket and ran her fingers along the inside, down his chest, over the soft cotton of his sleeveless undershirt. Entwined together, they made love. It was a long, seductive night neither one of them would forget. "Thomas Quigley," she whispered at three in the morning, making his heart stretch to the mountains. "Do you know I love you?" His throat tightened. He buried his face against her hair, blissful that she finally felt cherished enough to say the words he craved to hear. And what a fine one hundred they would live to be.

The End

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