He frowned and blinked his eyes when Tess stretched along the countertop for the butter dish. Naw, he had to be mistaken. That dress skirt had appeared to outline a skimpy pair of underpants!

  Lordy, he must be even more exhausted than he'd thought. His imagination was running rampant. He closed his eyes and leaned back on the bench, against the table.

  This was nice. He could hear Tess humming to herself, and his lips quirked. That was one little fault she had—that voice was just a hair off-key. He didn't recognize the song, but he had a pretty good ear for music, and that tune didn't sound right in that faintly minor key.

  Still, it seemed to fit the mood. A quiet, late-night kitchen, with a woman bustling around almost silently, her skirts swishing softly. Some pretty darned good-smelling food odors. A man's dog lying at his feet. He wondered if he could teach Lonesome to fetch his slippers.

  First he'd have to get a pair of slippers, he chuckled to himself. He didn't own any right now.

  "What's so funny?" Tess asked quietly beside him.

  "Hum?" He kept his eyes closed, breathing in the faint wildflower scent he had begun to associate with Tess. "Oh, nothing really. I was just wondering if you'd share Lonesome with me long enough for me to teach him a trick of my own."

  He opened his eyes enough to study Tess, who stood over him, leaning on her crutches. The lantern light behind her glowed on that luxurious, silky hair.

  "What sort of trick?" she asked in a teasing voice.

  "To fetch my slippers," he admitted. "Soon as I get me a pair, that is."

  "Right now, why don't you fetch your plate? I can't carry it."

  He straightened and opened his eyes fully. "Will you sit with me while I eat? Have something to eat, too?"

  "Stone Chisum, I am not going to eat another bite today. But I did pour two cups of coffee."

  "Good," he said as he rose. "I always hate it when I come in late and have to eat alone."

  Tess settled on the bench and propped her crutches against the end of the table. Reaching behind her, she untied the strings of Flower's bib apron and pulled it over her head.

  "What kept you out so late this evening?" she asked as he set a cup of coffee in front of her. "The kids said you'd rounded up all the cattle that had gotten out."

  When he didn't answer, she glanced up at him. But he managed to jerk his eyes away from the shadowed valleys in the gaping dress bodice before she caught him looking. What he didn't manage was to keep a splash of hot coffee from spilling out of his own cup when his hand relaxed, and he hastily set the cup down.

  "I was following some tracks," he said as he sat down on the other edge of the bench, far enough away from Tess not to be tempted to peek again. "That fence was deliberately cut. Whoever it was even came back last night and pulled down the temporary poles Rain and I put up yesterday evening."

  "Good lord! Then the waterhole was poisoned on purpose, too?"

  "Looks that way."

  "Do you have any idea who did it?"

  "No, except that there were two of them. But they had sense enough to head for the road and mix their tracks in with others there. I don't want Flower and Rain to know about this. They'd just worry needlessly."

  "Shouldn't they at least be warned? After all, Rain roams around out there by himself all the time."

  Stone shoved his plate away and propped his elbows on the table, leaning his head into his hands. "Aw, hell. I don't know." He shoved his fingers through his hair, then got to his feet and began pacing the kitchen.

  "I really don't know. You're right. And trying to keep Rain caged up close to the house would drive him crazy. I've gotta protect those kids, though. But what if Rain and Smoky had stopped to drink out of that waterhole? We lost six steers before I got that water fenced off. They didn't die easy, either."

  "Has anything like this ever happened before?"

  "Nothing this bad. A line shack up at the far end of the range burned. I had a few tools stored there, and supplies. It could've just been someone traveling through—spending the night. Looked like the fire started around the fireplace, and maybe a log fell out of the grate while whoever it was slept."

  "Do you have any enemies, Stone?"

  "Lots," he admitted with a gruff laugh. "Any former lawman has enemies, and they don't forget their grudges just because the lawman hangs up his gun. By the way, can you shoot?"

  "Shoot? You mean, like in shooting a gun? Definitely not. And I don't plan on learning."

  "Yes, you will. A gun's a necessity out here. We'll start your lessons tomorrow."

  "We will not! I don't agree that a gun's necessary. It just aggravates a situation when a gun's involved. And you can't recall a bullet after it's fired!"

  He sat back down and pulled his plate closer. "If we lived in town, I'd agree completely with you, Tess. Shoot, the first thing I did in every town I worked in was make sure the boys who rode in checked their guns with me—and picked them up when they left. But out here it's different. There's snakes—coyotes. We even had a mountain lion try to take one of the calves we were raising in the corral here after its mother died."

  Tess set her lips stubbornly and picked up her coffee cup. He couldn't make her touch a gun if she didn't want to. There had been snakes in the mountains, too, but a person had to learn to be cautious. And any wild animal would run from a human, unless a person was stupid enough to corner it.

  Even knowing in a part of her mind that Stone was more worried about human rather than animal danger wasn't enough to convince her to pick up a gun. She practiced the self-protection techniques she had learned in the rape prevention seminar that first month in New York City religiously. Any woman who had a lick of sense these days—those days, she mentally corrected herself—at least knew enough to make an attempt to protect herself.

  A kick in the groin—thumbs in the eyes. Mostly, though, she was always cautious about getting into a situation where it might be necessary to protect herself. And, okay, she did carry a can of Mace on her key ring.

  But guns? Huh-uh. No way.

  Twelve

  "Darn it! Don't jerk the trigger—squeeze it gently."

  Tess opened her eyes and glared at Stone. "What difference does it make, as long as that stupid little lever gets pulled back far enough to make the bullet come out?"

  "The trigger doesn't make the bullet come out," he explained again. "It releases the hammer and the hammer shoves the firing pin against the primer on the shell casing, which explodes the powder inside the shell. That makes the bullet come out. And when you jerk the trigger your hand moves, which moves the gun, which screws up your aim!"

  She stuck her tongue out at him in a completely childish reflex gesture. She settled her bottom more securely on the stool and raised the pistol again. Carefully she lined up the little ball on the end of the barrel with the slot at the rear, then in turn with the bottle on the stump.

  She squinted her eyes, forcing herself not to close them completely this time, and barely tightened her index finger. Her eyes shot open in surprise when the bottle shattered.

  "There," she said in satisfaction. "I hit it. Now can I have my crutches back, so I can go to the house?"

  When Stone didn't answer she looked up to see his gaze centered on her mouth, an amused look on his face. She tore her eyes away from the laugh lines near his eyes and clamped her lips tight.

  "How old did you tell Flower you were?" he asked in a teasing voice. "I haven't seen Flower stick out her tongue since she was nine."

  "Harumph!" she replied. "Are you going to get my crutches, or what?"

  "Or what," he said. "The what is that you still have to practice a little. You haven't shot the rifle yet."

  "Stone, I don't want to shoot the rifle. Please?"

  He chuckled. "Just once, Tess. The rifle works pretty much on the same principle as the pistol."

  She slid a look at the rifle Stone held cocked over his arm. Maybe it worked the same, but it sure as heck was bigger. And she'd bet a month's pay the noise it made was a darn sight louder.

  "My ears are already ringing," she said, pouting. "I'm not going to be able to hear clearly for the rest of the day."

  "I'll help you out," he promised. "I'll put my hands over your ears this time. Now come on. Let me show you how to hold the rifle."

  She sighed and handed him the pistol, which he put on a shelf on the barn wall. When he held the rifle out, she gingerly accepted it, then turned forward again on the stool.

  "What am I going to shoot at? The bottle's gone."

  "First thing you have to know is that a rifle shoots a lot farther than a pistol. Depending on the load in your shells, the bullet can travel four times or more the distance of a pistol bullet. See that tree with the dead branch where lightning hit?"

  "That's too far away. I can't possibly aim this thing accurately at something that far off."

  She started to hand him back the rifle, but he shook his head.

  "You just have to know how to hold it, Tess. Here."

  Stone stepped behind her and reached around for the rifle. Placing it against her shoulder, he first took her right hand and wrapped her fingers below the breech. Her left arm he stretched out partway down the barrel.

  "Snug the stock tight against your shoulder," he said, his breath fanning her hair, "and tilt your head a little so you can see down the barrel."

  "Hum?" she murmured. Instead of complying with his directions, her arms relaxed and she leaned into the support behind her.

  "Tess?" he said with a catch in his voice.

  He abruptly stepped away, thrusting out a hand to steady her when she wobbled on the stool.

  "Darn it," she said. "I told you I didn't want to do this. The rifle's too heavy." It had seemed light as a piece of fluff a second ago, with those corded arms around her.

  "Pick the rifle back up and hold it like I showed you," he ordered in a gruff voice.

  "Okay, okay." She lifted the rifle to her shoulder and laid her cheek on the stock. She lined up the sights as she had done on the pistol, then carefully curled her finger around the trigger.

  "You said you'd cover my ears for me," she reminded him.

  Stone raised his arms and cupped his hands on the sides of her head.

  The rifle wobbled, and she took a determined breath, lining up the sights once more. Just as her finger reached for the trigger again, she felt a callused index finger gently caress her cheek. She gasped—her finger jerked, and a loud boom split the air.

  The stool toppled backwards and Stone grabbed her, her weight throwing him off balance and twisting his body to take the brunt of the fall on his back. Her skirts flying, she landed on top of him, whooshing the breath from his chest.

  Stone's arms pulled her close as he drew in a ragged breath. "Tess," he demanded with his first exhalation. "Tess, honey, are you hurt? Your ankle. Tess!"

  She levered herself up from his chest and glared down into his worried face. "You didn't tell me that damned thing would jump that hard!"

  "Kick," he murmured. "A rifle kicks, it doesn't jump."

  "Kick. Jump. Whatever. You should have warned me."

  "I told you to keep it snug against your shoulder."

  "Yeah. Then you touched me and broke my concentration!"

  "I was already touching you, Tess." He raised his arm and cupped his hand over her ear. "Was this the touch that bothered you, huh?" he asked softly.

  "N... no," she admitted in a strangled voice.

  "Maybe this one then." He gently rubbed his thumb over her hot cheek.

  She barely bobbed her head in agreement, and his fingers closed more firmly around her head, gently tugging her towards him. Inch by inch she obeyed the slight pressure of his hand and lowered her head.

  He only sipped her mouth at first, then each corner. His thumb traced a back and forth path on her cheek, and he curled his other hand into her hair.

  "Tess," he breathed. "Oh, Tess."

  Even with her eyes closed she found his mouth again—that beautiful mouth she had known all along would fit hers perfectly. Softly she tasted him once more, once again. His hands tightened, holding her securely as he growled deep in his throat, and she willingly gave in to his deep, soul shattering kiss.

  Demanding, yet soft at the same time, the kiss spread waves of sensation downward, tingling across her breasts and stomach—curling her toes. Delicious came to mind—then sexy and precious somehow mingled into the same feeling. In awe at the very intensity and depth of the physical and emotional impact of such a simple thing as a kiss, she quit analyzing and gave in to the wonder and delight her body was reveling in.

  Stone's hands roamed her body, his fingers wrinkling her skirt and inching it upward, stroking as he pulled at the fabric.

  Clenching her fingers on his shoulders, she raised her head a scant inch, sighing in pleasure when his mouth nibbled at her jaw, down her neck. He licked a slow, circular path on the mound of her breast, and her nipples contracted into a pebbled hardness. Her sigh caught on a strangled moan of ecstasy when his mouth found her nipple and his hand slid under her skirt to caress her thigh.

  Honey. He had called her honey. She arched and, barely opening her eyes, she gazed down through her lashes, cupping her hand on the side of his head, curling her fingers in his rumpled hair. The look of utter rapture on Stone's face, half buried in her breast, sent a spiraling flame of near climax into her stomach.

  "Stone," she gasped when his hand cradled the mound between her legs.

  Glittering brown pools of passion centered on her face when he drew his head back and gulped in air. She leaned toward him, as though to give him breath from her own mouth, then caught her lower lip and smothered a moan when his fingers moved between her thighs.

  "Tess," he whispered with a growl. "Beautiful, mysterious Tess. God, I want you, sweetheart."

  He could have her. Nothing mattered right now except for him not to stop—for him to continue spreading this mind-shattering pleasure over her body.

  "Yes," she whimpered. "Please."

  Stone slowly pulled his hand from beneath her skirt and sat up, gathering her against his chest and burying his face in her neck.

  "We can't," he murmured. "Not now." He nibbled her earlobe, then lapped gently around her ear with his tongue. "Sweetheart, we'll have to wait."

  "No. I can't."

  Stone groaned and kissed her again. Deeply, as though he would never stop—as though he couldn't stop.

  But he had to stop. He had wanted her from the first second he'd glimpsed her, while tumbling over Silver Mane's darned head. The want had escalated into something more last night when they'd shared the quietness in the kitchen. She had seemed to fill a spot he hadn't even realized was vacant in the house. Or, if he had known, he kept the loneliness consigned to a corner of his mind.

  Now more than just a cry for physical gratification crowded his mind. Joining with this woman could do more than just satisfy his lust. He would wake the next sunrise with his body sated, but that hollow spot deep inside him would long for a whispered, early-morning conversation, a kiss and a snuggle to start the day, Stone gripped Tess's arms and pushed her away. Wrapping one arm around her back, he held her and lifted his thumb to her kiss-swollen mouth.

  "Sweetheart," he murmured again. "It's broad daylight. We can't. The kids..."

  Tess blinked misty eyes as his words penetrated. A flush of embarrassment started up her neck as she became aware of their sprawled positions, her skirt around her hips, the sun warming her bare legs.

  "Don't, honey," he said, shaking his head. "Don't spoil it by getting mad or embarrassed. It's just as much my fault as yours—probably more. And I sure can't bring myself to be sorry this happened."

  She studied his face for a long moment as she sorted through her own emotions. Finally, she gave a sigh of contentment and snuggled against his shoulder. Spoil it? No, she couldn't bring herself to do that either.

  She had never even felt such ecstasy when her body throbbed with awakening sexuality in her teens. Never with Robert's grunting attempts to break through her reserve and consummate their relationship before their marriage vows. Where had Stone been all her life?

  A hundred and one years in the past, her mind answered the question.

  "Stone, we have to talk," she whispered.

  "Yeah, I know," he agreed. "But whatever it is you're running from, you'd better get it through your head right now that we're going to work it out. Together."

  "We... we might not be able to," she answered in a soft voice. "You see..."

  A scream split the air, then rapid, sharp barks. Stone's head jerked up.

  "Lonesome. Good God, he's attacking someone!" Stone scrambled to his feet and pulled her up beside him, then grabbed the stool and shoved it beneath her bottom. "Where'd the rifle go?"

  "There." She pointed to the ground, where the rifle lay next to the dusty bed they had just shared.

  Another shriek sounded as Stone grabbed the rifle and ran toward the cabin, Lonesome's high-pitched barks growing louder.

  "Stay here," he threw over his shoulder.

  She set her lips grimly and scooted off the stool. That was her dog out there, and she wanted to see what was going on. She lifted the stool and plopped it forward a foot, hopping up to meet it.

  A coolness on her breast drew her eyes down, and Tess halted as she picked up the stool again. A small smile curved her lips as she set the stool back down and reached for her breast, still moist from Stone's mouth and hanging over the top of the low-cut dress. She shoved her breast back into the confines of the bodice and took a few more seconds to smooth her dress into place and shake the dirt from her skirt. After she ran her fingers through her tousled hair, she grabbed the stool again.

  Stone skidded to a stop when he rounded the corner of the house and found the source of the frantic din echoing in his ears. Mrs. Peterson's long skirt hung in shreds around her shoes, and Lonesome grabbed a scrap of material from the ground. The dog tossed the scrap aside, and Mrs. Peterson aimed a kick at his head.