The rain kept pouring down in drenching sheets, sending a never-ending wall of water over Sonny and Callie as they attempted to figure out exactly where they were in relation to the ranch house. Looking waterlogged and small in the saddle, the widow nevertheless remained alert, suddenly pulling her horse up tight and pausing, jerking her head back and forth, eyes following the disappearing horizon. Callie could remember Papa riding their property line, checking fences several times a year. That particular chore always bothered Mama, because it meant Papa would stay away from the house overnight…
Where would he spend the night on those evenings? It had to be somewhere nearby…
“What is it?” Sonny shouted at Callie, immediately noticing her attention wavering and nudging Chance closer to the widow. The horses collided, Chance snorting and rolling his eyes, diverting the gunfighter’s wet attention momentarily to bring his mount under control again. Another flash of lightning split the sky.
“A line shack! Papa built line shacks around our property to stay in when he mended fences!” Callie shouted over the wind. Their eyes met through the deluge, and then Sonny turned in the saddle rapidly, head craning right and left as he tried to check the murky horizon. Meanwhile, the mud beneath their horses’ hooves began sliding, the ground giving way under the continuously soggy onslaught. Callie’s horse lost its footing, slipping along with the dislodged earth. The widow cried out, yanking on her mount’s reins as they struggled to stay afoot.
Whipping his head around at Callie’s cry, Sonny urged Second Chance up against the widow’s horse, grabbing her reins in one gloved hand of his own. Their combined control stopped the animal’s slide.
Barely able to see him now through the sheets of falling rain, Callie nevertheless mouthed a thank you towards the gunfighter that couldn’t possibly be heard over the wind and rain. Raising one hesitant hand while clutching the reins tightly, Callie pointed away from them and shouted, “That way! I think there’s one that way!”
Immediately Sonny nodded, following her lead without question as they went crosswise to the washing water. The gunslinger trusted the widow implicitly. If she believed a line shack sat along this strip of desert, he’d follow her unquestioningly.
The torrent of rain began striking them sideways, piercing through clothing and cooling their skin with its humid wetness. An errant gust of wind kicked up, threatening to yank their hats right off their heads, forcing the couple to relinquish the leads with one hand just so they could anchor their headgear with the other. It was miserable.
Just when Callie began to doubt her memory and sense of direction, when her teeth began chattering in the middle of a south Texas summer, a squat shape rose out of the murkiness to the left, becoming clearer the closer their horses carried them. It was indeed a line shack, complete with a dilapidated lean-to beside it, providing shelter for not only humans, but for animals as well.
“Over there!” Callie shouted over her shoulder, kneeing her mount towards the refuge. Sensing safety, the animals picked up their pace, and soon were jostling each other beneath the covering. Immediately the widow slid out of the saddle, seeing Sonny do the same, tying Second Chance to the provided hitching rail securely and loosening the cinch around the horse’s middle. She did likewise. And then the couple stared at each other over their saddled mounts, witnessing water still pouring off each other’s hats and bodies. They both resembled drowned rats.
With that thought fleeting through her mind, Callie hesitantly smiled at the gunfighter, who took off his soggy hat, tipping it to watch the water sluice over its brim and down to spatter on the dirt in the shelter, before replacing it on his head and returning her relieved grin.
“I think it’s time we get out of this storm ourselves, Ma’am,” the gunfighter drawled, stepping toward the shack and taking the lead. Who knew what might have taken up residence in the building since the last time someone had stayed in it. Sonny didn’t want to take any chances with the widow’s safety.
Grabbing the latch with a firm grip, his gun hand hovering over the weapon slung low on his hip, Sonny attempted to open the door, but it stuck, water-logged and swollen from the unexpected moisture. With the rain still beating down on them, Sonny didn’t want to spend any more time out in the elements, so he put his shoulder to the door and gave a good shove. It opened without warning.
Stumbling in, the gunfighter immediately stepped aside to allow Callie entrance, both of them mindful of the skittering noises reaching them from the dark corners of the room. But nothing larger than apparent mice greeted them, so Callie pushed the recalcitrant wood door shut, pulling her own hat off her head.
They stood in the dimness, shoulder to shoulder, the rainstorm outside muted somewhat by the walls and roof surrounding them, though chinks in the logs allowed the wind some entrance. Dripping water from their soaked clothing disrupted the relative silence of the room, until Sonny again made the first move by turning at the waist, perusing their new home. A bed with straw mattress was shoved into one corner, a table and one chair crowded the opposite wall, and a fireplace flanked the rear of the shelter, cut wood neatly stacked beside it. Tossing his hat onto the table, Sonny strode to the fireplace, fishing matches out of his inner vest pocket as he knelt in front of the hearth.
“I’ll see if I can’t start us a fire, Ma’am, if birds didn’t clog the chimney with a nest this past spring.” He leaned into the fireplace, trying to see up the flue, but only got errant raindrops in his face for his trouble. Backing out, he brushed his palms together and readied some kindling to start a fire.
Meanwhile, Callie nodded, replying, “I’ll try and find some candles.” She sent her hat the same way as Sonny’s, and then looked about for tapers, knowing Papa would have kept the place well-supplied. In the cock-eyed drawer under the tabletop, she found what she was looking for, complete with wood matches and metal candle holders. Immediately she set two up on the table, lighting them competently amidst their hissing flames. Turning from her activity, she spied the gunfighter gently blowing on his nest of sticks within the fireplace, and within seconds his patience was rewarded with a sizzle and a spark, and then a small flame that caught on quickly to his expertly laid kindling.
Smiling at his handiwork, Sonny rose from his knees, catching the widow watching him from across the small space. Her lips curved slightly as she stood in the candlelight, dripping on the floor, but froze when their eyes collided. The snap and crackle of the fire in the fireplace was nothing compared to the flash of awareness that arced between the gunfighter and Callie West in that moment, flaring bright at the knowledge that they were alone together, with no audience whatsoever to demand proper decorum be observed. And still they did nothing, simply stared at each other with hungry eyes, feasting over every feature without the benefit of touch, hot eyes burning across the distance. If he had made but one small move, one tiny gesture, Callie would have run into Sonny’s arms, would have plastered her body to his in abandon. But all the gunfighter did was suggest rather hoarsely, after clearing his throat, “We should take off our outer clothes. I don’t know about you, but I’m soaked.”
Callie found herself nodding, dismay spearing to her very core at the realization that the gunfighter would not make that move toward her, would not sully her in that way. He had always treated her with the utmost respect, and that would not change even when they were alone. It was probably for the best, Callie admitted to herself as she began pulling her boy’s shirt out of her homespun pants. After all, she had no idea how men and women acted together when they were mutually attracted to one another. She would probably poker up like she did with Obadiah, and disappoint Sonny McQuade with her frigidness.
Sonny turned from facing the widow, gulping in deep, silent breaths while he stared at the fire, realizing how close he’d come to grabbing Miz Callie to him, bruising her with his frantic fingers, perhaps ravishing her here in this little hovel on the Texas prairie! She didn’t deserve that type of tawdry treatment; Callie West had had enough of that type of life with her bastard of a husband. She now didn’t merit anything other than sweet, slow love-making on the smooth, satin sheets of a true marriage bed, by a man who could idolize her every day, and worship her every night. Sonny wished to God he was that man; he just didn’t know if his offensive past would allow him the sort of future for which he yearned, with the woman for whom he yearned. Or would God and Satan join hands once more to shoot him down the flume leading to loneliness and eternal damnation.
With shaking hands, Sonny peeled off his soaked, black vest and blue work shirt, leaving on his soggy Levis and Union suit. He carefully laid the other items on the floor before the fire to dry, and then bent to remove his gun belt and boots, taking time to gather his self-control and thoughts before turning and facing that vision of loveliness that stood just out of his reach. As always.
A small sound from behind had the gunfighter spinning about before he’d reined in all his emotions.
The noise came from the widow West, as she stood staring at the back of the gunfighter. Callie had stripped down to her chemise and boy’s trousers, and had managed to tug off her own boots before noticing her companion’s own state of undress. And that was why she’d squeaked.
Sonny McQuade always appeared before her in long sleeves, vests, and denims; the consummate cowboy, the perfect gentleman, with rarely a hair out of place. But now, seeing the gunfighter without his shirt in these close quarters, Callie felt her mouth dry up, and other parts of her, thought dead all these years, begin to dampen. His form had always attracted the widow, but now? Oh, my! Oh, my, oh, my!
Callie had never really seen a half-dressed man. Never had her Papa gone without a long-sleeved shirt, no matter how hot a day might be. And Obadiah? She’d caught glimpses of his middle-aged man’s saggy chest and paunch, but mostly he wore his nightshirt to bed, and never undressed even when he took from her what was rightfully his in their fouled marriage bed. So now, staring at Sonny McQuade while his back was turned, Callie felt faint; hot; flushed. This was what Sam giggled about when she watched her husband work around her house, yet refused to tell her sister about. This is what kept women and men together, willing to accept each other’s faults. Now Callie understood the attraction between males and females.
The gunfighter stood before the crackling fire in his Levis, however wet and uncomfortable they might be. That material molded to his behind, and Callie’s face flushed as she found herself staring at his backside. Had she ever noticed a man’s rear end before? Callie knew she had not. But oh, now that she had, Callie thought back to a drawing of the statue of David she’d peeked at in a book at school once. Men really did have that physique! Did that mean… they looked like David elsewhere? Callie’s immature mind shied away from that thought. After all, she’d never looked at Obadiah. Her eyes had been tightly closed during those ordeals, as she’d laid in a sacrificial pose in hopes not to disappoint him and incur his wrath. Somehow she realized her dead husband had never resembled David, or Sonny McQuade…
Allowing her eyes complete freedom, her gaze traveled up the gunfighter’s strong back encased in a faded red Union suit, but not like any long underwear she’d seen before. This material clung to the man’s back like a second skin, stretching over broad shoulders, and…and…ended there! Where most men’s underwear consisted of long sleeves and leggings, the gunfighter had apparently altered his in deference to the hot, Texas summer. He’d cut off the sleeves of his Union suit, exposing long, tanned limbs sculpted and corded with muscles the widow had not ever witnessed before on any human being!
Sonny’s arms were all lean, brown strength, chiseled into deep hollows and firm hillocks, thick and smooth, where muscles rippled just below the surface with every movement he made. How would it feel to be held in an embrace surrounded by those strong limbs, encased in them, protected by them? How would it feel to have them wrapped around you like a blanket, though not so static? Callie yearned to find out, to the point that she sighed audibly enough that the gunfighter swung around to face the widow in the flickering candle and fire light, the glow shooting high in the reflection of his pupils while the afternoon storm raged on outside.
His mouth went dry.
At her first sound, the gunfighter pivoted away from the flames to confront the widow, only to find that once again, God had chosen to join forces with Lucifer and torment him here on earth, in the form of the lovely, angelic Callie West. As they once more faced off across the room, Sonny nearly barked a dark laugh at his naiveté regarding Heaven and Hell. For the angel that was Miz Callie West, of the purest soul and heart, stood before him in the wettest, most transparent, and most devilish undergarment the gunfighter had had the misfortune to see, and not touch!
She was looking at him with that Cupid’s bow mouth hanging open, eyes wide and staring, unaware of the seductive appearance she made standing before a man such as him. That cotton chemise, the garment all country girls and farmers’ wives wore as underwear, became the most sensual item of clothing Sonny had ever laid eyes upon when worn by Callie West. It was soaked through, and clung to every delicious curve the widow hid in everyday apparel. He saw all of her; the rounded, perfect breasts, their dark, shadowed centers, and that tiny waistline her belt only hinted at. She was perfection on earth, and therefore untouchable, unable to be spoiled, yet here he stood, rooted to the floor by impure thoughts of the lovely widow Callie West.
Time stood still; suspended while the gunfighter and the widow fought the losing battle of attraction drawing them together since the first moment they’d met. Now there were no distractions; no excuses for not succumbing to what they both felt. And still they did nothing but stare hungrily over the distance, devouring with their eyes but starving their sense of touch.
It was Sonny, of course, who made the first move. Always the sinner, the gunfighter thought darkly, drawn to sin again, as he hesitantly stepped toward the widow. Would she be his salvation this time, or his final descent into everlasting hellfire and brimstone? Lacking that answer, all Sonny could do was watch in mesmerized fascination as the woman who held his final destiny in her hands sealed that fate by closing the gap between them on rapid, stocking feet.
They slammed together like magnets, becoming one where their mouths fused together, their lips the conductors of the explosive heat that had been burning deep within their very souls. His arms, those strong, muscled appendages covered in fine, blond hairs that could swing an axe effortlessly as well as calm a skittish horse, wrapped around her slim, slight form nearly double, pressing her full length against his hard, hard body. Sonny groaned into her mouth at the sensation of at last holding the widow Callie West in his ravenous embrace. He truly had entered heaven at this very moment.
Ripping her lips away from his momentarily, Callie cried out unintelligibly, gasping for breath before snatching Sonny’s mouth again with hers, hungrily consuming all he offered. Her arms slipped around the gunslinger’s narrow waist, hands travelling up his back, her tactile senses needing to feel those rippling muscles beneath her fingertips. When his lips left hers, she actually whimpered, bereft at his brief absence. But all the gunfighter did was kiss her along her jawbone, over her cheeks, even her eyes, with frantic little embraces, before returning to that honeyed orifice that he could sip from for eternity and never slake his thirst.
As the kisses continued, lips nibbling and teeth scraping, heads angling and hands roving, the buoyant emotions engendered by the embrace billowed and threatened to float them away. Sonny lifted the widow in his strong arms and spun them both around, giddy like a drunk who’d found an unopened bottle of whiskey. She squealed at the dizzying sensation, laughing into his flaming, blue eyes, and the gunfighter stumbled, sending them, by accident or by design even he didn’t know, careening onto the bed.
Callie landed first, Sonny McQuade’s body enveloping hers completely, and she froze, catapulted back to the days of Obadiah’s dominance. Eyes open wide, subtle fear banked in their depths, the widow stared into the gunfighter’s face only inches above hers, awareness of his stiff arousal against her fueling her momentary hesitation. Immediately intuitive, Sonny slid to the side, leaving one solid, heavy leg crooked over both of hers, but the rest of his form shifted off of Callie so as not to trap her. His lake-blue eyes searched her expression, warming as he took in all her features, sending a delighted smile cutting across his visage. That smile alone eased Callie’s anxiety, that and the fact he’d propped himself on one forearm, using that hand to gently, softly brush damp hair from her forehead while his other lay still in the valley between her breasts, warm and solid.
“I’m not him, Callie. I wouldn’t—no!—I couldn’t harm you. It would be like hurting a part of myself. I will never willingly hurt you.—“
Here Callie interrupted Sonny by reaching up to touch his face with trembling fingertips, tracing his cheekbones, drifting along his whiskered jaw, sketching his eyebrows, while whispering, “I know, Sonny. I know.”
The gunfighter’s eyes closed at the sound of his name off her lips, the music he had longed to hear since their first meeting. Her voice breathed it like a caress upon his heated skin, arousing him yet comforting simultaneously. Oh, how he wanted nothing more than to cover her with his body in that age-old expression of forever love, but now was not the time. As much as the widow might think she wanted him in that way, she wasn’t ready. Sonny knew this. His principles had not yet been beaten out of him by this world and its inhabitants, and today would not be that day. The widow required wooing.
Taking the fingers of her wandering hand in one of his and gazing down into Callie’s green eyes, his own tempered by the unspoken emotion shining through, Sonny continued quietly, “We’re not going there today, Callie.” He brought those fingertips to his lips and kissed each one tenderly, the whiskers over his lip tickling her small digits. “It’s not the time or the place. It’s not going to happen like that here. You deserve a proper courting, Ma’am, with all the trimmings, since you didn’t get it the last time. I’m a patient man, Miz Callie, especially when what I’m waiting for is as precious as you.”
Sonny had barely finished what amounted to the longest speech he’d ever delivered in his life before the widow West, overcome by emotion, reached up and pulled the gunfighter’s face down to hers, sealing his lips with seeking ones of her own. It was the only way Callie could show how much his words meant to her, how much he meant to her.
This kiss went the way of the previous one, only much more comfortably, against the bed as they were. It was Callie’s turn to stroke this dear man’s face, to touch his hair, to kiss his chin, to show him with actions what she could not yet articulate. The embrace remained gentle, did not threaten to burn out of control, for now boundaries and goals had been established, agreed upon, with no misunderstandings. Whispered sweet nothings painted the air with hopes and promises, chuckles and giggles permeated the small shack as bodies shifted against each other, touching being of paramount importance. And still the summer rainstorm continued its beating on the environment, cooling the outdoors while the interior of the line shack remained relatively steamy from its occupants.
##
The rain had stopped. Dripping sounds from the eaves punctuated the midday silence, interrupting Sonny’s thoughts, which naturally centered on the woman dozing in his arms, her breath wafting gently against his neck. A feeling of completeness stole over the gunfighter at some point during their morning interlude, and now it took up residence in his heart, in his head, filling Sonny with a sense of belonging he had not experienced since leaving home at sixteen back in St. Louis. Not even with Nitika had he felt such unity, being a white man in an Indian world. An outsider even then, Sonny only continued that particular existence through his maturity, until it became a way of life for the gunslinger. Until now.
Glancing down into Callie’s face on his shoulder, Sonny couldn’t help but pull her pliant body closer, needing her warmth to permeate right to his very core while studying the woman who made him whole. To know she felt the same way for him filled his heart near to bursting. He wanted to ride his horse through town, shouting, “She’s mine! She’s mine!” Only the realization that he was a grown man stopped him. A grown man in love.
Sonny grinned, unable to keep the emotion from his face, or his thoughts. He was in love! He was loved!—
“Oww! You’re crushing me!”
Immediately Sonny loosened the ever tightening grasp he had on the woman of his dreams, looking down into Callie’s face tenderly as he cupped one hand around her face. Those emerald green eyes glowed up into his. He smiled at the widow, eyes crinkling around the corners attractively.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I just can’t contain my boisterous elation.”
“Mmmm. I like the sound of that.” The widow commented lazily. She took the moment to nuzzle her nose into the collar of Sonny’s unbuttoned Union suit, breathing deep the scent that was wholly the gunfighter’s. Ohh, but lying with this man, as innocent as it had been, was tantamount to bedding down with Heaven personified, Callie romantically day-dreamed, shifting closer to his warmth and pressing her lips to his neck.
“Stop that, Miz West. I can’t be held accountable for my actions if you keep doing what you’re doing,” Sonny growled good-naturedly, able to keep a tight rein on his arousal. Barely. That Sonny could still maintain any thought processes at all while the widow continued planting numerous, tiny pecks along his neck and collarbone was a testimony to how self-disciplined the gunfighter truly was.
Callie giggled at his mock reprimand, the sound going straight to the gunfighter’s groin. Not wanting her to feel him against her that way, Sonny sat up fluidly, leaving her warmth and pulling out his pocket watch, noting that it was nigh on mid-day. They’d kissed and dozed the morning away.
Glancing over his shoulder at the widow, Sonny’s gaze collided with Callie’s, and the temptress raised her arms, inviting him back to her body with a come hither smile she’d somehow perfected even in her relative innocence. Knowing full well he didn’t have that much self-control if he returned to her embrace, Sonny shook his head with a slight smile, rising to full height and running restless fingers through his hair, wishing they were instead coursing over her satin skin…
“It’s nearly noon, Callie,” the gunfighter croaked, banishing the vision of a nude Callie West from his mind while grabbing for his hat on the table. Rustling noises from the bed told him the widow was making some headway towards standing upright, thank God! But then slim arms wrapped around him from behind, and the minx, whom he’d thought shy of all men, pressed her front to his back, kissing him just below the shoulder blades right through his shirt.
“I don’t want to go back yet. I want to stay here with you longer, Sonny. You make me feel…safe. But in danger, too. A delicious danger.”
Awww, hell! Sonny dropped his head back, staring at the wood-beamed ceiling while clasping his hands around Callie’s as they rest upon his stomach. With her breasts spearing him, and her lips burning holes right through the material of his long underwear, the gunfighter was fighting a losing battle. When he thought he could control his raging desire for this woman, though it was only by a thread, Sonny turned in her arms, keeping ahold of her hands. He looked into her eyes directly and said, “I’m not that strong, Callie. I want you something fierce, but I also want to give us time; time to really get to know each other. Time to court. But you’re not helping me.” He tossed her a crooked grin. It didn’t help that she stood before him in that transparent chemise, either.
Pushing her lower lip out in a saucy pout, Callie pulled her hands from the gunfighter’s grip and spun away, flouncing to the burned out fireplace where their shirts lay. Picking hers up and throwing it over her head, she muttered amongst the folds of material, “Fine! Let’s get back. Noah’s probably worried about us anyway.”
Knowing the widow was playing at being annoyed with him, Sonny slowly latched his gun belt around his waist, darting fleeting glances at the sassy widow while smiling as he thought about the crafty youth from earlier. Striding over to his own shirt on the floor, Sonny said cryptically, “Oh, I’m pretty sure the boy realizes we managed to take care of ourselves.”
In the process of tucking in her shirt, Callie looked up at the gunfighter with a puzzled frown, but his bland expression told her nothing. Sonny was good at keeping things close to the vest. She continued gathering her things, slightly miffed that they were actually leaving this romantic cocoon, but deep inside knew it was for the best. At least for now…
Nearly an hour later, the besotted couple ambled up the lane and into the yard of Callie’s homestead, soggy but undeniably happy. Riding abreast, Callie seemed to have gotten over her annoyance in the line shack, for she kept up a steady stream of chatter at her less verbose companion, who nonetheless wore a rather sappy grin through her entire barrage. Just being in Callie West’s vicinity was enough for Sonny McQuade, so to have her rattling on about everything from training Second Chance to attending the barn raising was just extra bounty. It was like stealing his piece of Heaven to enjoy it while here on earth.
At the sound of approaching horses, Noah Lawson stepped out of the barn, rifle held negligently in capable hands. When he saw who it was, the boy leaned the gun against the barn and loped toward the gunfighter and Callie, grabbing their horses’ bridles and looking up into the couple’s faces.
“It got pretty bad out there, didn’t it? Were you able to find shelter?” His eyes shot from his boss to McQuade, the gunfighter giving nothing away with his expression, while the widow flushed bright red as she dismounted.
“Um, yes, actually, we did. We found one of Papa’s line shacks and holed up in there. Could you take care of my horse, Noah, while I go get out of these wet clothes?” Disconcerted at having to come back to reality after their romantic respite, Callie tossed her reins in the general direction of the youth, avoided everyone’s eyes, and hustled straight to the steps leading to her house. Both men watched her hurried departure, Noah in puzzlement, McQuade in slight amusement. His presence rattled the widow’s demeanor.
Sonny dismounted more slowly, swinging one leg over Chance’s rump and alighting at the horse’s head. He at last met the boy’s too bright-eyed and innocent gaze. Keeping the reins in one hand, the gunfighter stepped close to the youth. Noah looked up at him, not intimidated in the least by McQuade’s proximity.
“I oughtta call you out, boy, for that stunt.”
Noah didn’t even attempt to pretend innocence. He grinned unrepentantly into the older man’s face, shadowed as it was by the Stetson. Their stare stretched past a minute before the boy spoke first.
“Did it work? The training, I mean.” Noah watched the gunfighter’s glare narrow, a brilliant blue moonbeam, and just as frosty.
Finally Sonny snorted, cocking a hip and tipping his hat to the back of his head, staring down his nose at the practical joker.
“The training was working, till we had to take cover. And then, damn your interfering soul, your other plan worked as well.” He continued to glare at the youth in mock anger, even as Noah’s face split into a wide, wide grin.
“Well, hell, Mr. McQuade, beggin’ your pardon, sir, but you were takin’ as long as a three-legged cat walkin’ to Austin just to say more than, ‘Good mornin’, Ma’am!’ I figured you’d have to get past that sentence if you were caught in a rain storm for any length of time! Shoot! I ain’t ever seen someone take so long to make decisions, yet claim to be the Fastest Gun in the West. How did you manage?”
Noah cackled a laugh at the startled gunfighter, and then sprinted away from the older man, leading Miz Callie’s horse away, giddy in the knowledge that obviously McQuade had finally done more than exchange pleasantries with the widow West. He fleetingly wondered just how much they had exchanged, but quickly decided it was none of his business. He was sure human nature had handled the rest of his set-up just fine.