know."
"Still, that's something," encouraged Victoria, as he tossed the rock. "You're sure he didn't meet with anybody?"
"Nobody I saw." But he couldn't help remembering that to her, in particular, secrets were an insult. "He left not long after the sheriff came in," he offered inadequately.
Victoria stood straighter at that, with a bounce that star tl ed both him and the dog. "The sheriff?"
Laramie remembered Bram Ward's face, so like the man's pa, and that blasphemous lawman's star, and he nodded. He'd forgotten how much he'd hated die Wards, how much he would welcome a chance to kill the sheriff. But Julije had not betrayed them to Bram —the Wards were no better off than the Laurences back then, and there would have been no family to threaten Julije away after the lynching. Unless Laramie meant to hunt down the entire posse, he had no justification for killing Ward outside pure meanness.
Far more likely that he would have to kill Thaddeas or Jacob Garrison.
"Ross?" asked Victoria as he stood not three feet from her, thinking about killing her loved ones.
But only the one who deserves it.
He said, "I'm sorry. I should go."
"Go?" She stepped closer, as if to head him off. 'You can't go yet. We haven't finished talking."
He wondered what it would feel like, to be that innocent, that trusting. He doubted there was any pain in feeling like that. Any gut-wrenching guilt. Any regrets.
She took his fisted hand in hers. "Don't go. I haven't told you what /found out about the sheriff."
Suddenly he didn't care about the sheriff anywhere near as much as his burning guilt and her cool, innocent touch. She ducked her head, showing him her curly hair and the bare nape of her neck, and drew her own hand over his. Now it wasn't just his hand clenched. It was his whole body.
He hadn't come here to talk at all. He should go.
"Why do you do this?" she asked wonderingly, stroking his closed fingers.
So I won't touch you, he thought. So I won't make any sudden moves. So I won't overreach myself. He wasn't innocent or trusting, and he understood regrets.
Like before, she slid her hand over his, her gentle fingers easing his own out of their fist. He did not fight her. But this time, once his hand was open, he couldn't fight himself, either. He had to fill the empty hand.
So he reached out, slid his hand around her waist, and used it to draw her up against him, soft and sweet.
He wasn't barely thinking at all now, just feeling. He felt as if here was an untainted piece of the world and that maybe her purity was such that it could cleanse him. Just enough to make the hurts stop haunting him. Just for a while.
More amazing yet, Victoria Garrison wrapped her arms around him in unexpected, silent welcome —and God help him, it worked. Even before he kissed her, for one long, blis sful moment, him holding her in nocence tight against his aching, weary body worked like magic.
Then his own want of innocence won out.
Ross surprised Victoria by pulling her firmly against him, closing his long, hard arms around her, but she did not fight it at all. She guessed she'd been expecting ...
Hoping . . . ?
And they were within shouting distance of the house.
He smelled good, like leather and hair tonic, and felt so warm, so solid. She felt safe with him, and excited.
"I can tell you later," she offered breathily. So much for Sheriff Ward.
Ross held her as if she were something precious, something he needed —and Victoria leaned into that need. Maybe it didn't make sense. They didn't know each other well enough for her to be precious to him. He was a tall, strong man who shouldn't need anything, especially not her.
But despite all that reality, she felt his need like a tangible thing and she longed to soothe it.
She leaned her head against his chest and sighed her own pleasure as tension seemed to ease from him. Ross laid his cheek on her head and she heard him swallow, heard him breathe, as if even that little bit of humanity had to
"Still, that's something," encouraged Victoria, as he tossed the rock. "You're sure he didn't meet with anybody?"
"Nobody I saw." But he couldn't help remembering that to her, in particular, secrets were an insult. "He left not long after the sheriff came in," he offered inadequately.
Victoria stood straighter at that, with a bounce that star tl ed both him and the dog. "The sheriff?"
Laramie remembered Bram Ward's face, so like the man's pa, and that blasphemous lawman's star, and he nodded. He'd forgotten how much he'd hated die Wards, how much he would welcome a chance to kill the sheriff. But Julije had not betrayed them to Bram —the Wards were no better off than the Laurences back then, and there would have been no family to threaten Julije away after the lynching. Unless Laramie meant to hunt down the entire posse, he had no justification for killing Ward outside pure meanness.
Far more likely that he would have to kill Thaddeas or Jacob Garrison.
"Ross?" asked Victoria as he stood not three feet from her, thinking about killing her loved ones.
But only the one who deserves it.
He said, "I'm sorry. I should go."
"Go?" She stepped closer, as if to head him off. 'You can't go yet. We haven't finished talking."
He wondered what it would feel like, to be that innocent, that trusting. He doubted there was any pain in feeling like that. Any gut-wrenching guilt. Any regrets.
She took his fisted hand in hers. "Don't go. I haven't told you what /found out about the sheriff."
Suddenly he didn't care about the sheriff anywhere near as much as his burning guilt and her cool, innocent touch. She ducked her head, showing him her curly hair and the bare nape of her neck, and drew her own hand over his. Now it wasn't just his hand clenched. It was his whole body.
He hadn't come here to talk at all. He should go.
"Why do you do this?" she asked wonderingly, stroking his closed fingers.
So I won't touch you, he thought. So I won't make any sudden moves. So I won't overreach myself. He wasn't innocent or trusting, and he understood regrets.
Like before, she slid her hand over his, her gentle fingers easing his own out of their fist. He did not fight her. But this time, once his hand was open, he couldn't fight himself, either. He had to fill the empty hand.
So he reached out, slid his hand around her waist, and used it to draw her up against him, soft and sweet.
He wasn't barely thinking at all now, just feeling. He felt as if here was an untainted piece of the world and that maybe her purity was such that it could cleanse him. Just enough to make the hurts stop haunting him. Just for a while.
More amazing yet, Victoria Garrison wrapped her arms around him in unexpected, silent welcome —and God help him, it worked. Even before he kissed her, for one long, blis sful moment, him holding her in nocence tight against his aching, weary body worked like magic.
Then his own want of innocence won out.
Ross surprised Victoria by pulling her firmly against him, closing his long, hard arms around her, but she did not fight it at all. She guessed she'd been expecting ...
Hoping . . . ?
And they were within shouting distance of the house.
He smelled good, like leather and hair tonic, and felt so warm, so solid. She felt safe with him, and excited.
"I can tell you later," she offered breathily. So much for Sheriff Ward.
Ross held her as if she were something precious, something he needed —and Victoria leaned into that need. Maybe it didn't make sense. They didn't know each other well enough for her to be precious to him. He was a tall, strong man who shouldn't need anything, especially not her.
But despite all that reality, she felt his need like a tangible thing and she longed to soothe it.
She leaned her head against his chest and sighed her own pleasure as tension seemed to ease from him. Ross laid his cheek on her head and she heard him swallow, heard him breathe, as if even that little bit of humanity had to
Similar Books
