Ana awoke to the delicious aroma of coffee brewing. As she lay under the furs she preferred over blankets, she deeply inhaled with a sigh. Stretched her arms and legs comfortably. And then started thinking about who would be preparing coffee for her. She lived alone.
She froze in mid-stretch as last night came crashing back into her consciousness. The knock on her door, the wounded dog named Bob. And Colton Lassiter. Especially Colton Lassiter, of the shaggy blonde hair and beard, piercing green eyes, and broad shoulders covered in smooth, golden skin.
Staring up at the ceiling, she fought the urge to peek over the edge of the loft. And lost the battle. Flipping to her stomach, she shimmied forward and looked down below. And suppressed another sigh.
Colton Lassiter was at the stove, stirring up the embers while the coffee pot rattled merrily on top. Bob lie on the floor at his side, head on his paws. The entire scene screamed of false domesticity. Oh, what Ana wouldn’t give to be able to claim a man like Mr. Lassiter as her husband. To wake up in the morning next to him, be able to touch him, hold him, love him. And be loved in return.
She grimaced as she watched the man at the stove straighten, speak softly to his dog, who thumped his tail in response. But everything she’d just imagined was simply a pipe-dream prompted by her own wishful thinking. She had to remember she was a half-breed. An ugly, thirty-year-old, half-breed woman. Good enough for an occasional tumble, perhaps, but not for anything lasting. Besides, Colton Lassiter was a drifter. Handsome, yes. Kind, most definitely. But still a rolling stone.
Creeping back from the edge, Ana returned to staring at the beamed ceiling, heart plummeting with her daydreams. Naturally the first man she ever really became attracted to would turn out to be some sort of outlaw on the run. Because that’s what Lassiter intimated when he warned he was a bad man. And Ana had had enough bad men in her life. She didn’t need to get involved with one that actually appealed to her, and seemed interested in her as well.
The coffee smell was stronger now, and she sat up. Paused. Contemplated the idea that Lassiter was attracted to her. And discarded the thought. He’d thrown out signals right and left last night, but that was probably because he’d been without a woman too long. Just because he hadn’t recoiled in disgust from her face didn’t mean he’d fallen hopelessly in love with her, Ana sneered. When a man needed sex, one woman looked pretty much like another in the dark.
With a self-directed grimace, she rose from her pile of furs and smoothed out the wrinkles in the dress she’d slept in. Finger-pulled her hair from its long plait and re-braided it quickly before heading down the ladder.
Once she reached the floor she turned, found Bob standing before her with a wag to his tail and a besotted look on his doggie face.
“You’ve got an admirer, Miz Redwing.”
Reluctant to look into his handsome face, Ana nevertheless raised her eyes to Colton Lassiter’s. Braced for the jolt of attraction that zinged between them when their gazes collided. His warmed, while she fought the inward swoon when she met those sparkling green orbs, considered those golden whiskers dappling his cheeks and chin. And briefly hoped he meant himself and not the dog.
She dropped her gaze to his outstretched hand and the coffee mug he extended to her. Noticed idly the thong of leather wrapped around his wrist. And took the cup from him with a mumbled “Thank you.” He quarter-turned away toward his own mug next to the stove.
“I would’ve scrambled you some eggs, Ma’am, but I hate chickens. They’re mean little bi—cusses that never fail to fly at me and scratch at my face. I swear they must be the souls of all the women I’ve crossed.” Too late, he seemed to realize the inappropriateness of his comment, for he bit off the end of his sentence and muttered, “Beggin’ your pardon, Miz Redwing.”
Of course he’d been with legions of women, Ana alleged. He probably had to beat them off him, while she had to offer herself free to men for attention. He was as beautiful as she was ugly.
“That’s fine. I usually don’t make breakfast until I’ve seen to my livestock first. But this coffee I’ll definitely need.” She raised her eyes to his, fought the urge to avert her mutilated cheek. He reached out with one finger and turned her face fully to his. Held her gaze with his direct one.
“I’ve seen it, Miz Redwing. I’m not disgusted, so stop hiding it.” He trailed that same finger down the scar. She pulled back sharply. Said bitterly, “That’s easy for you to say. You’re beautiful, and you’re a man. Doors will always be open to you.” She dropped her gaze. Looked instead at his strong, tanned throat. And heard him sigh above her.
“You’d be surprised how many slam in my face. I have my own scars, Miz Redwing. Only they run deep and nasty within me. I’d much rather have yours.”
Her eyes shot to his after that preposterous statement. Glared at him with hot contempt.
“How dare you make light of my situation, Mr. Lassiter. You know nothing of what I’ve gone through, so don’t make assumptions.” She held his dark green gaze with narrowed eyes. Her chest heaved from his glibness.
“You’re right, I don’t. But I judge by what I see: a beautiful, independent woman who is allowing her disfigurement to define who she is. She may do that, but I won’t. Perhaps you’ll explain your circumstances to me, if I stay around long enough. And if you can allow yourself to trust. It’s all up to you, Miz Redwing.”
They remained staring at each other for long minutes. Ana fought the urge to unburden herself, to wail about her callous father, her mother’s tragic life spent vacillating between two rival cultures. And her own lonely existence. Her aborted search for love. Decided instead to retreat behind her characteristic antagonism.
Setting her coffee cup down and kneeling to ostensibly check Bob’s bandage, she snapped caustically, “And you think you’re the man to teach me about my beauty? A drifter, a squatter? One who freely admits he’s an outlaw?”
Finding the dressing untouched by doggie teeth, she raised her face to glare up into Lassiter’s. And felt her heart stutter in her chest when he knelt without warning in front of her. She remained like a statue even when he reached out once more and touched her scar. Raised his probing eyes to hers.
“Yes, I’m all those things. And more. But I know beauty. Maybe because I’ve seen so much ugliness in this world. Ugliness and inhumanity. And you’re beautiful, Miz Ana Redwing. Beautiful and strong. When I look at you I don’t even see this scar you try like hell to hide behind. I see an attractive, independent woman who was kind to a wounded creature and a loser like me. I’m not fit to be in your presence, Miz Redwing, and that’s the truth.”
He continued to stroke her mutilated cheek with that gentle finger, and she fought the urge to lean into his caress. To take hold of his wrist and press a kiss into his calloused palm. Instead rose abruptly and watched as he did the same, though more slowly. Their gazes remained trained on each other’s faces. As if sensing their friction, Bob whined between them.
“Well, even if you think I’m as beautiful as Helen of Troy, the rest of the world doesn’t see me that way, Mr. Lassiter. I’m an ugly, half-breed woman. Any one of those alone is guaranteed to make my life miserable, and I’m blessed with all three.
“But you? You’re a man. A handsome man. So, whether you’re deserving of the farthest reaches of Hell or not, your life will be a hell of a lot easier than mine just because of those reasons.”
There. She’d said it. Only the truth as she’d experienced it. She raised her chin defiantly under his continued scrutiny. They stared into each other’s faces, as if daring the other to look away first. Ana felt a tightening low in her stomach as she held his gaze, for his eyes had hardened into chips of bottle glass.
And then he swung away, dragged a hand through his hair and swore, “Damn, you actually believe all that bullshit society has slung at you. What can I do to show you I say the truth?” He pivoted and advanced purposefully toward her. Bob ducked under the table and out of his master’s path while Ana took a step back at what she saw in Colton’s expression.
“Oh, hell, I’m better at action than words anyway,” he muttered, and, before she could guess his intention, he grabbed her upper arms and pulled her against the wall of his chest. The next instant his mouth crashed against hers, and her world spun.
She’d rarely been kissed while growing up. Maybe an occasional brush of the lips on her cheek from her mother. None from her father. And some sloppy, wet busses from the few men she’d gone to bed with in search of intimacy. None of them had prepared her for this kiss from Colton Lassiter.
His lips covered hers. Dry, warm, commanding. There were no noisy, slurping sounds like the ones she’d experienced in the past that had curdled her stomach. Only a growl from low in his throat. She felt his tongue lick along the seam of her lips, asking permission. She stubbornly refused to part them. Didn’t like the way men shoved their thick, sticky tongues practically down her throat. But then he nibbled at her bottom lip. Teasing. Erotic. She opened her mouth on a surprised O at the foreign caress, and his tongue darted in. Swept her mouth. Lingered.
Ana’s knees nearly gave way. This was not one of those clumsy, sloppy kisses by men who only wanted to use her body for their own release. This kiss invited her to participate. Tempted her to let go. Aroused her. Weakened her defenses.
Her hands, trapped between their bodies, crept up to his shoulders for support. Clung to those hard muscles as she became lightheaded. She tried to warn him. But when she attempted to speak, her tongue brushed against his, and she moaned aloud at the carnal sensation.
His tongue tangled with hers, lapped into her mouth over and over until she whimpered and burrowed into his hard body. Felt ravaged, protected, cherished, all at once. Reached up and fisted her hands into his thick hair on a tiny cry. Her breasts swelled against his chest, and she ached all over. She felt hot, so hot, yet frissons of delightful chills coursed along her skin till she shivered, wobbled on her two feet. If he let go of her she would surely crumple to the floor in a melted pile of calico.
And those mewling sounds continued to erupt from her throat, even after his tongue retreated and he resumed kissing her with just his lips. Now he sipped at her mouth as if he were savoring an exotic flavor. As if he couldn’t get enough of her taste. His hands crept to her face. Cupped it tenderly. She heard “Please,” and “More,” tremble past her lips and into his mouth, and didn’t care if she was begging. She never wanted to stop feeling the way she did right now. Like she was beautiful. Desirable. Loveable.
His lips left hers. Began feathering across her cheek and along the very scar that branded her ugly. They burned where they touched, where sensitivity had been dead. Scorched through the years of aloofness and made her feel. Made her feel and remember the pain of loving. Reality washed over her like a flash flood. Frightened at the sudden clash of emotions, she snapped her head aside on a strangled “No.”
He backed away slowly then, kept his hands on her arms to hold her steady. She raised accusing eyes to meet his slumberous ones. And bit her swollen bottom lip at what she saw in his. Astonishment, the twin to how she felt. Shock at the strength of emotion that exploded from their kiss. As if two halves had suddenly crashed together to make a whole. He’d felt it too.
But there was hunger in their depths, too. A hunger that could never be slaked by food. It scared her, for no man had ever looked at her in the way he did right now. Like she was the feast and he was the famished guest.
She began shaking her head. Backed away while swiping at her mouth with one trembling hand. “Get out,” she said in a low voice. “Get out and don’t come back. I didn’t ask to be manhandled. Get. Out. Now.” Her whole body quaked as she faced him. She couldn’t tell if she was afraid of him, or of what he made her feel. All she knew was she had to put some distance between them.
He stood before her with hands fisted at his sides, and she noticed his chest rose and fell like he’d just finished running a race. His face was as flushed as hers felt. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she licked her lips, sought the taste of him one more time. And reviled her weakness. When her eyes returned to his, she found him looking at her mouth also, and nearly moaned aloud. But then he spoke, hoarsely, and broke the sensual spell.
“As I said, Miz Redwing, I’m better with actions than words. Believe me when I say you’re more attractive than any of those China dolls sitting on Nob Hill in ‘Frisco. Probably because of your ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude.” He cocked a small grin, and Ana couldn’t believe he could find humor at this moment. Her world was reeling.
“If you’d ever let yourself go with me, I don’t think we’d ever come up for air. ‘Cause you want me just as much, Miz Ana Redwing. That I do know. You’re simply too afraid I’ll throw you aside afterwards.” He stepped toward her now, and she backed up. Came up short against the wall. And shook her head in denial.
He stopped close in front of her. She could feel the heat from his body. Met his surprisingly tender gaze as he raised a hand to her hair. Touched it so gently she barely felt it. And then he whispered, his breath wafting over her in a tantalizing puff of air.
“But you’re like a miner’s first gold nugget. Precious beyond measure. He may find hundreds, thousands more after that first one, but none will ever be as cherished. And I’m that lucky miner.”
She stared up into his face, hypnotized by his words as much as she was afraid of what he made her feel. Watched as he backed away, turned and whistled for Bob, who had hunkered under the kitchen table. She remained rooted where she stood, only her eyes followed his progress out her front door.
He paused at the threshold, the early morning sunlight a nimbus about his silhouette. Turned and faced her once more. “I’ve never seen a miner throw away his treasure, Miz Redwing. Or back down from the work it takes to uncover it. Once he knows it’s there, he keeps working on his claim till he’s victorious. It doesn’t matter if he’s deserving of it, either. If he’s tenacious enough, he’ll get what he wants and run like hell with it.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. Long enough for his words to sink into her muddled brain. And then he gave a lazy salute with one hand, turned away, and said breezily, “Thank you for saving my dog, and allowing me to spend the night, Miz Redwing. See you around.” And then he was gone.
She stared at the doorway from where he’d disappeared, her feet too leaden to move. Only when she found herself stroking her scar caressingly did she break the spell he’d woven around her. Dropped her hand from her face and glanced about as if someone might have caught her mooning. Which she had been.
But, oh, had she ever felt so treasured, so wanted, then at that moment when his large hands rose to cup her face tenderly? To hold her still while he kissed her over and over, as if he could never get enough of her? Like she really was more precious to him than silver or gold?
Their kiss released all sorts of forbidden wishes, secrets that had lain dormant for years. Thoughts, hopes, that she could live a normal life with a husband, children, and the love from both that would last a lifetime. That she wouldn’t have to grow old alone, a shriveled husk of a woman whose capacity for love withered away inside her like all the unborn babies in her womb.
She cursed him roundly in Navajo for confusing her well-ordered life. For implying that he found her so attractive he would keep coming round till he’d won her heart. Like he wanted her for more than the quick tumble Indian women were only good for.
She shook her head angrily, strode to the front door and gave it a good slam. Remembered too late that she still had to go out and feed her livestock. Stomped back to the stove to pour another, warmer cup of coffee first.
And had to admit that if he’d kept kissing her, she would have bought into the fantasy he promised because she wanted it so badly. And that was why she’d stopped him. Because, no matter how he sugar-coated it, he was still white, and beautiful. And she was still just a damaged, ugly Indian squaw he fancied for the moment. Their worlds may collide, but they would never blend. And it would be her heart that would suffer the damage.
No, it was better this way. Might-have-beens were always better than never-could-have-beens. At least she could use her imagination this way.
##
He made it around the bend before he pulled Dot up short with a ground out, “Shit.” Glared ahead at the cold, barren track that eventually led to the shack he and Bob had been calling home for the past few weeks. And cast his mind back a few minutes, when he’d lost his mind and kissed Miz Ana Redwing as if he could promise her a future together.
What the hell had he been thinking? That he could just grab hold of her and suck her vulnerability right out through her mouth? That she would welcome his boorish attempt at seduction with open arms?
The problem was, he hadn’t been thinking. At least, not with his brain. He’d wanted to show her she wasn’t ugly. That, in fact, he found her arrestingly alluring. From those exotic, up-tilted eyes, to that sleek, black hair, and that warm skin color that invited him to touch, to caress. To kiss every inch. And that mysterious scar only heightened his interest.
He leaned back in the saddle on another, more vile oath. Stared up at the winter sun with unseeing eyes. Miz Ana Redwing aroused him, no doubt about it. Made him think of satin sheets and sighs silenced by long, drugging kisses. Or heavy, fur pelts and hands streaking over skin burning on fire from the inside out. She made him want to conquer, and be conquered. If only that was all she made him feel. He could fight off sexual urges.
He blinked back into focus. Shifted in the saddle and snapped his fingers for Bob to return to him. As the dog approached, limping slightly, Colton admitted it wasn’t as simple as mutual sexual attraction between Miz Redwing and himself. He’d felt a definite jolt when their mouths joined. He’d felt alive. Hopeful. Absolved of all guilt. Accepted for who he was, and not for what he’d done in the past.
And that scared him. For Colton Lassiter hadn’t been pure since he was twelve. Evil had taken hold of him at a young age and bent him in its image. And he’d been its faithful minion ever since. Had even recruited others on his downward path.
He shook his head slowly while he stared at Bob sitting obediently in the dirt. No, it was too late for him to find happiness, love in his lifetime. He was guaranteed a short lifespan brought to a close at the end of a noose. He knew it. Accepted it.
Until now, when he’d met a woman who suffered from her past as much as he did. But he wasn’t the one to save her. He had to remember that. He would only bring her down to his level if he got involved with her. It was best he do exactly as she said and stay the hell away from her.
Problem was, he feared he already was too involved.
A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I actually spent the extra two days writing and rewriting the kiss scene. It just wasn't described enough. I hope it is now. As always, I hope I hear from you in votes, comments and follows. They would be the best Christmas presents of all! I won't start writing till after Christmas now, so there will be a slight break. But not too long. Merry Christmas to those readers who celebrate it!