She took a deep breath, trying to calm the blood rushing through her veins. Lucas stared into the distance, but he didn't seem to be focusing on anything in particular. Her heart plummeted with the knowledge that her words had fallen on deaf ears.

  "I see it,” he said finally. “I see the moon and the stars. I hear the river and the birds. And all I can think is that Annie and Chad won't enjoy those simple pleasures ever again."

  "What about you?” Megan didn't know what caused her to press on. She only knew that if she could get Lucas to realize what he was missing, she might be able to convince him to put aside his quest for vengeance and start living again.

  "Annie and Chad are gone,” she continued. “No amount of grieving, no selfless act of revenge is ever going to bring them back. But you're here, you're alive, and there's so much good that you could do."

  "Like what?” he scoffed. “My ranch is gone. Everything I worked so hard for—everyone I loved—has been destroyed."

  "You could start another ranch,” she suggested.

  "I won't go back there,” he said through gritted teeth.

  "There are plenty of other places to build a home. And what about your talent with a gun? You were a bounty hunter, so I'm assuming you're a decent shot. You could get a position as sheriff or marshal in some small town. I'm sure they'd be grateful to find someone with your abilities. If all else fails, you could open a mercantile. Or ask your friend Brandt to get you a job with the railroad."

  "I don't think Union Pacific would appreciate having someone like me on the payroll."

  "They would be crazy not to hire you."

  "Yeah, but they won't like knowing they've got a murderer in their midst. And I'll be one just as soon as I take care of Scott."

  Megan jumped to her feet and faced him, hands on hips. “Haven't you heard a word I've said?” she yelled. “You don't have to kill him! You can give all the information to the marshal in Wichita and let him take care of Silas Scott. Scott's already wanted; I'm sure a lawman would be happy to bring him in and hold him for trial."

  "Scott killed my family,” Lucas said evenly. “It's my responsibility to see that he pays."

  All of a sudden the air went out of her argument, and she dropped onto the scratchy blanket. “Fine. Go after him. Drag me along. But don't expect me to support your decision."

  "I never asked you to,” he said, lying down beside her. “In fact, I never asked you for a damn thing. I think it's about time you remember that you're my prisoner. What I say goes. I don't need your opinion or your approval."

  She remained silent for several long minutes, searching for a comfortable position. Lucas had his back to her, and though his breathing sounded deep and even, she knew he was still awake.

  "My mother told me once that roses are the hardiest of all flowers.” She spoke softly, sure he could hear her in the dark silence, with only the campfire crackling at their feet. “In winter, snow and ice cover them, sometimes so brutally that you think nothing could possibly live for months under those conditions. Then spring comes, and the snow melts. And before you know it, tiny rosebuds appear. It seems like a miracle—until you realize that all they really needed was a little sunshine to melt the ice. It's like a never-ending promise from God. A promise of roses to bloom every spring.

  "The ice will melt someday, Lucas. All you have to do is let a little sunshine into your heart."

  Lucas rose before dawn the next morning, having gotten no more than a pinch of sleep here or there. Too many things plagued his mind, not the least of which was Megan's speech the previous night. Her words bothered him more than he wanted to admit. He found himself wondering if she was right, if he should try to put the past behind him and start over. And then he pictured Annie and Chad the way he'd found them that day. So much blood everywhere. He remembered the goading tone of Scott's note, and he knew he could never put things behind him until Scott was dead.

  The hatred began once again to swirl through his body, making him ever more determined to see Silas Scott suffer for his crimes.

  He had half a notion to leave Megan behind. He could drop her off in the next town and go on without her. She was becoming too much of a burden to him, knowing about his past, trying to change his mind about what he knew had to be done. And yet he didn't want to continue the journey alone. Or maybe it wasn't that he didn't want to be alone but that he didn't want to be without her.

  Christ, she was driving him insane.

  Despite his urgency to find Scott, he almost looked forward to bedding down these days—whether on the hard ground or in a comfortable hotel room—because he knew that sometime during the night Megan would roll onto her stomach and drape herself across his long body. And, damn, he liked that. He liked the way she felt, the way she smelled, the way she mumbled in her sleep.

  He still grinned like a schoolboy whenever he remembered her admitting to having a brain disorder. A broken sieve, for Christ's sake! What would she come up with next?

  He stared at her for a moment, memorizing the way her hair fell in total disarray all around her. No matter how much tossing and turning she did throughout the night, it still looked as becoming as hell.

  Lucas took a deep breath, then crouched to shake her awake. He knew from experience that it would take at least five minutes—another ten if he waited for her to start speaking coherently. But it had been his decision to bring her along.

  Funny. He wasn't a bit sorry.

  "Another day, another hotel room,” Megan said, staring up at the sign for Gray's Hotel. “How long will we be staying?"

  "As long as it takes.” She muttered the much-used line at the same time Lucas did.

  "Are we Mr. and Mrs. Luke Campbell again?"

  "Sure are, darlin',” he said, taking her elbow. He guided her into the lobby past several curious onlookers peering at them from behind their newspapers.

  "We'd like a room, please,” he said to the man behind the desk. The clerk asked him to sign the ledger and handed him the key.

  "Will there be anything else, sir?"

  Lucas spared Megan a glance, then nodded. “A bath for my wife would be nice. Where can I get one of those papers?” He inclined his head toward the many men reading copies of the Wichita Gazette.

  "I can have one sent up with the bath, if you'd like, sir."

  "Good. What time will the dining room be open for dinner?"

  "Five o'clock. Chicken and dumplings tonight.” The clerk smiled and patted his stomach.

  Lucas put a hand on Megan's back, leading her upstairs. Their room was at the center of a row of six others on the second floor. He opened the door and ushered her in.

  "My goodness,” she breathed. A step up from the Eat ‘n’ Sleep, the room exuded elegance. From the heavy velvet drapes to the pale pink satin and lace bedspread, everything was done with exquisite taste and an eye for detail. And all the pieces matched.

  "Do you think all the rooms are like this?” she asked.

  "Probably. Unless we looked like newlyweds to the clerk."

  She turned to face him. “I'm sure he got that impression from the elegance of my dress."

  Lucas took a step forward, leaving her just enough space to breathe without touching him. “It may not be a wedding gown, but I think you look mighty good in those trousers."

  A trickle of excitement ran down her spine, but she quickly squelched it, moving away to unpack the saddlebags. She laid her things out on the bed before hanging them in the small wardrobe and folding them into the bureau drawers.

  Lucas hadn't moved. He stood just inside the door, watching her. “Aren't you going to get settled?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

  "Why don't you put my things away?” he said, tossing his set of bags to the bed. “I don't have much."

  She put her hands on her hips. “If I remember correctly, I'm your prisoner, not your wife.” She picked up the leather pouch and threw it back at him. “And I wouldn't do it even if I were your wife. Put them away yourself."

  He advanced, staring down at her. “I could make you,” he said in a tone meant to intimidate.

  She cocked her head and held his gaze. “You could try."

  A moment passed before he stepped back, grinning. “You're a real spitfire. Has anyone ever told you that?"

  She didn't answer.

  He opened the bag and pulled out his shirt, shaking it a few times before stuffing it into the dresser. Then he went to the bed, sat down, and kicked off his boots. He was about to lean back against the pillows when a knock sounded at the door.

  "That's probably your bath,” he said, rising.

  He opened the door and let two young boys carry in a brass tub, followed by several buckets of steaming water.

  "Mind if I watch?” Lucas asked when they were once again alone.

  "I most certainly do,” Megan answered haughtily.

  He chuckled. “Well, I don't feel like locking you up, so I guess I'll have to stay. Pity there's no dressing screen."

  A blush spread over her face, down past her collar."You can't mean to watch me bathe. That ... that..."

  "Sounds like a damn good idea to me.” She was flustered. He liked that.

  She set her shoulders, making her breasts press even more fully against the cotton of her shirt. “I think you should go."

  "And miss the show? Uh-uh."

  "Lucas..."

  "I ain't leavin'. But I won't look, either.” He went back to the bed and laid down, crossing his feet at the ankles.

  "How can I be sure you won't peek?"

  He lifted the hat off his head and placed it over his face. “Better?” he asked, his voice muffled by the hollow Stetson.

  "All right. But if I catch you looking..."

  "You won't,” he said. He wouldn't get caught. Hell, he didn't even plan on watching her from under the brim of his hat. But a man couldn't help it if his imagination ran a little wild. If an ethereal image of Megan stark naked should happen to creep into his head, what could he do about it?

  A soft, lilting sound reached his ears, and he tipped his head to hear better. At first it came in short, quiet spurts, then grew louder by degrees, filling the room. It took him a minute to figure out that Megan was humming. He didn't recognize the song but soon picked up on the melody enough to follow along in his head.

  He pictured her relaxing in her bath, soaping one long, slim leg and then the other. Rinsing with a squeeze of the washcloth over her sudsy skin. He didn't know if the light tinkle of dripping water was real or imagined, but the sound had a disastrous effect on his body.

  He took a deep breath to steady his dwindling control, only to be accosted by the heady scent of roses. He couldn't take any more. With a growled curse, he leapt up from the bed and stalked toward her, his forgotten Stetson falling to the floor.

  Megan gasped when she saw him coming. She clutched the small square washcloth to her breasts in a useless attempt to cover herself.

  "What—” she began.

  "Fire! Fire!” The shouts came from outside their door. A rush of frightened footsteps filled the hallway.

  "Damn!” Lucas grabbed Megan's arm and pulled her to her feet. He yanked the bedspread loose, wrapping it around her wet body. Lifting her into his arms, he ran out of the room.

  Guests of the hotel clustered together in the street, all staring at the building, as if they expected it to collapse at any moment. But not a hint of smoke billowed out the windows; no red-orange flames licked at the walls.

  "What the hell is going on?” Lucas muttered.

  Megan felt like a rag doll, cradled in his strong arms. She held the blanket closed at her neck. The looks she got from the people milling about made her want to curl into a ball and disappear.

  "You can put me down now,” she said quietly.

  He glanced at her as though he only now remembered he was holding her. His eyes just as quickly returned to watching the hotel. “You don't have anything on your feet."

  She raised a leg, seeing her bare foot sticking out from the hem of the quilt. “Put me down."

  "Hush.” He tightened his arms about her.

  "It's all right, folks.” The call rose over the voices of the crowd. A pudgy, gray-haired man stood at the front of the building. “A small fire in the kitchen is all. No harm done. You can return to your rooms now."

  People began trickling in, eyeing the hotel warily. “It's all right,” the man said again, ushering patrons into the lobby. “Sorry for the inconvenience, ladies and gentleman."

  The man's face turned a dark shade of red when Lucas stepped up on the boardwalk. He kept his gaze averted from Megan's blanket-clad form.

  "Dinner still at five?” Lucas asked with an air of nonchalance.

  "Yes, sir. On the dot. The kitchen sustained little damage. It will be cleaned up in no time. Chicken and dumplings tonight,” he added.

  "So I heard.” Lucas shifted sideways to keep from cracking Megan's head on the doorframe. They made their way back upstairs, following a line of other guests doing the same. When they reached their room, the door stood open from their hurried departure. Sunlight streamed in through the far window, brightening the flowered wallpaper and cascading over the pristine white sheets of the bed.

  Megan lifted her head to gaze at the man holding her. His face seemed more weathered than she'd first noticed. Tiny lines wrinkled his otherwise smooth forehead and marred the flesh about his gentle eyes. She froze, her heart skipping a beat when her perusal led to those cerulean orbs and she found them staring back at her.

  She turned away, slightly unnerved. “Could you ... put me down now, please?” The words sounded forced, even to her own ears. She couldn't help it. Her throat felt thick and scratchy, as if she'd just tried to eat a bale of cotton. And she wasn't so sure she wanted him to put her down. She liked the way his arms held her close, strong and steady beneath her. The heat of his body soaked through the bedspread, warming her.

  Her legs slid downward as his grip loosened. It seemed forever before the fuzzy carpeting met the tips of her bare toes. One of his arms remained around her back, keeping her flush against his chest, her breasts pressed between them.

  She swallowed. He was too close; she couldn't concentrate. Her mind seemed hazy, her thoughts jumbled. All she knew was that she didn't want to move yet. She wanted to stay this way for all time. Locked in his arms.

  "Megan."

  He whispered her name a moment before his lips brushed hers. His tongue trailed the line of her bottom lip, and she opened for him most willingly, wanting to get closer, to be one with him. The heat of his mouth, the grappling of tongues overcame her. She moaned low in her throat. Her fingers tightened around his biceps, the nails digging in. She closed her eyes and let the intimate sensations of his touch wash over her.

  Lucas pulled away, breathing hard. She followed his movement, her body swaying forward. He put his hands on her waist, keeping her in place when he took a step backward.

  She opened her eyes and stared at him, confused.

  "I think you'd better get dressed,” he said, reaching for his hat where it had fallen on the floor beside the bed. He walked to the door, stopping with his hand on the knob. “I'll be back for you before dinner."

  Megan watched the mahogany panel close on his departing form, wondering what it was about her that offended his delicate sensibilities. It seemed that every time she offered herself to him, he walked away.

  Not that she made a practice of seducing men. She had never made love before. No man had ever even kissed her the way Lucas did—hot and passionate and full of wicked delight. There was just something about Lucas that made her want to be with him.

  She knew all about what took place between a man and woman—beyond what she and Lucas had already done. And if the rest felt half as good as his kisses, she definitely wanted to experience it.

  But with only one man. Only with Lucas McCain.

  Chapter Ten

  Dressed in the yellow skirt and plain, unadorned blouse Lucas had bought her, Megan sat cross-legged on the bed, waiting for him to return. It amazed her that he'd left her alone for so long. Didn't he realize she could have climbed out the window? Why, by now she could have been partway back to Leavenworth.

  She ran her fingers through her hair, brushing the tangles out as best she could before attempting to braid the long locks. Styling hair had never been her forte. She tended to leave sprigs sticking out all over the place, if she could even manage to keep the arrangement from being lopsided.

  The thought of Leavenworth—or, more specifically, the Adams Express—depressed her. She could just imagine how far the business had plummeted with Hector holding the reins. Perhaps, if God chose to smile down on her, Caleb would take over. Her brother couldn't care for things as well as she did, of course, but he would be able to keep the Express running until she got back. Whenever that might be.

  She gave the yellow ribbon at the end of her finished braid a brutal tug. She had to get back. She didn't care that Lucas intended to turn her in for robbing her own stages. She didn't care that he kept her under lock and key. With a little planning and a lot of luck, she could escape.

  Of course, he would know exactly where she was headed, since she didn't really have anywhere else to go. But what did that matter? Lucas's obsession with finding Silas Scott would overrule his need to find her. By the time he got around to coming after her, she would probably be able to prove her innocence.

  Unfortunately, that reasoning was weak, to say the least. Lucas didn't even know where Scott was at the moment. And what made her think her armed guard wouldn't spare a few hours to track her down and drag her back?