"Now, just calm down," he said more gently. "You can't go tearin' the damned things off like that. It makes sores. I either gotta pry 'em off slow with my knife or take you back to the lodge and dab 'em with turpentine."

"The knife!" she squeaked, unable to bear the thought of leaving the vile things on herself a second longer than she had to. "Oh, please, hurry."

Deke drew his knife and bent over her to lightly skim the blade over her skin. Calmer now, Laura realized Jonathan was somewhere nearby and crying. She searched for him and saw that Deke had laid him in the lee of a boulder.

"He's fine," he assured her. "Just scared, probably. You was screechin' to wake the dead." He swore and flung away a leech. "Why the hell did you come upstream? I picked a nice safe spot for you, and what'd ya do but wander off into a bunch of goddamned bloodsuckers."

Laura squeezed her eyes closed. Bloodsuckers. Oh, mercy, she was going to throw up. She could feel the awful things all over her, digging in and drawing. She made hard fists and braced them on the dirt, striving to stay calm. Water streamed in rivers from her hair, icy on her skin in the morning breeze.

"Just get them off of me, please," she said thinly, and lifted her lashes. "You can yell at me later."

"I'm tryin' to get 'em off you. As for yellin', I think goin' through this is bad enough." Ice blue eyes arced at her. "Next time, when I stick your little butt someplace, you keep it there, though. Understand? How in hell can I take care of you proper if you wander off?"

Laura had indeed learned her lesson. She had "wandered off" to seek more privacy, afraid that Deke might peek at her through the brush. Well, he was certainly getting an eyeful now. She flinched when his callused fingertips settled on her breast. Morbidly curious, she couldn't resist looking, then wished she hadn't. One of the horrible things had attached itself to her nipple. Her flesh there was pebbled from the cold, and Deke couldn't skim the knife under the leech without cutting her.

"Christ!" He bit out the word.

To Laura's mortification and dismay, he dragged on her shriveled flesh with thumb and forefinger to pull it smooth so he might scrape with the knife. She held her breath until he had pried off the leech and flung it away. Then she waited, half expecting him to either make a lewd comment or let his fingers linger. He did neither and took her completely by surprise by leaving her for a moment to fetch a linen towel, which he draped over her shoulders and tugged closed over her breasts.

Never a look. Never a word to increase her embarrassment. Laura settled an incredulous gaze on his dark face as he bent over her thigh. His light-colored eyes were sharp with concern and never strayed from his task. His handsthose huge, clumsy handswere so wonderfully warm and gentle and capable.

From behind the black curtains within Laura's mind, vague memories slipped free. Deke's wonderful, magical hands. Soothing away her pain, bathing and filling her with heat. He had touched her like this before, she realized. And she had seen that look in his eyes as well. Worry and tenderness.

Her throat tightened with an emotion she wasn't quite ready to name as she recalled that first night after she awakened from her fever, how he had waggled his thumbs at her and encouraged her to grab hold. To prevent his hands from wandering? Why would he bother, when he had touched her in all those places many times before? No, he had offered her his thumbs for one reason only, to make her feel at ease. She hadn't appreciated the gesture that night.

But she did now. And suddenly she did feel at ease. Or perhaps a better word was safe. To say she felt comfortable about having his hands all over her nude body was stretching things a bit far. But as tensely aware of him and embarrassed as she was, she no longer felt frightened.

Deke would never harm her. Or cause her pain if he could avoid it. She was as certain of it in that moment as she was that her name was now Laura Sheridan.

Laura Sheridan. The new name lingered in her mind as she studied her husband. Her life with him would be far different from anything she had known before. This horrendous experience with the leeches drove that point home.

Laura's gaze shifted to Jonathan where he lay quiet now, protected from the sun in the lee of the boulder. Even in his haste to reach her, Deke had thought of the baby's well-being. Now he was caring for her.

It was a very nice feeling, to be cared for. It made her feel safe and secure. It also gave her hope, something she hadn't felt for a very long time.

Looming above the layered foothills, the Rockies reached like giant fingers of granite. Laura fixed her gaze on them, all the while conscious of Deke's light ministrations on her legs. Colorado. For so long she had thought of it as the bane of her existence, a perilous and frightening place, even though it was beautiful. Now she looked forward to pitting herself against it. If any man on earth could teach her how to survive here in this rugged land, it had to be Deke Sheridan.

A flutter of excitement entered Laura's belly. For two endlessly long years, she had yearned for her independence and bridled under the restraints of matrimonial subservience. In all that time she had envisioned freedom as something she could only hope to attain in certain measure, at best to return home to Boston and her father's dominion over her, where she would surely be allowed far more liberties as a divorcee than she had been before her marriage. It had been the most she could expect, for no woman could ever entirely escape the strictures of a male-dominated world.

But Deke was offering her more than that. Under his tutelage, she might learn how to become totally self-sufficient in a wide open country where social mores could never restrict her. If he was true to his word, he would allow her measures of freedom and independence to exceed any she had ever dreamed possible.

Laura wanted him to begin teaching her immediately. Given her present predicament, the very first thing she wanted to learn was how to choose a bathing spot that was free of leeches.

Chapter 23.

*"Forward on the left foot," Deke called. "Not the right, Goddammit! Back up and do it correct."

Laura fell back, then swung forward again, this time on her left foot, into three long strides. On the final step she simultaneously spun to the left and, using her right hand, drew the knife Deke had lent her from its scabbard. One smooth motion, she reminded herself. Keep a flick in your wrist. The knife handle slid easily from her fingers with a sharp snap and sang through the air. Laura watched with a sinking heart as it missed the tree trunk by a miserably wide margin and buried itself in the dirt up to its hilt.

"Blast it!" she cried in frustration. "I'll never get it right."

Jonathan in cradleboard and strapped to his bare back, Deke sauntered slowly forward, the denim of his jeans hugging his long, heavily muscled legs like the peeling on a banana. He eyed the knife with a raised eyebrow. "Hey, darlin', you done fine. Would you just look at that? You finally hit something blade-first."

In a fit of pique, Laura dug dirt with the toe of her moccasin and sent it flying. "It isn't funny."

"And I ain't laughin'. Bringin' a knife out of its spin to hit blade-first is half of the battle." He swung dancing blue eyes toward her. "In another week, you'll be fearsome if you keep on practicin'."

Practicing, practicing. Laura felt as though she had done nothing else in the three days since her marriage. Practicing cooking. Practicing aiming the rifle and Colt. Practicing with the knife. In between sessions, she nursed Jonathan and rested, at Deke's insistence. She was beginning to feel that all she did was practice, feed her baby, eat, and sleep.

"Well, I'm fed up," she said angrily. "I'd rather stick with shooting the rifle." Thus far, Laura had found that taking steady aim with Deke's Colt revolver was nigh unto impossible, and she was as frustrated with trying to master that as she was with knife throwing. "All I care about is being able to defend myself to some degree."

"And if you empty the rifle and don't got time to reload? What then?"

"I'll use it as a club."

Deke chuckled and stepped behind her to massage her aching shoulders. That was yet another thing Laura was growing heartily weary of, being touched so incessantly. He did it deliberately, she knew, and he was very good at it. A continuous sexual parry, pressing his advantage, letting her think this would be the time he might push her for more, making her unbearably nervous in the process, then retreating. There were moments when Laura wanted to grab him by his hair, jerk his handsome face down to within inches of her own, and tell him to either get on with it or leave her alone.

"What if the enemy takes your club away from you?"

"I'll throw dirt in his eyes."

He chuckled again. "And make him mad enough to kill. Better to have a knife as backup."

"Unless I can hit something with it, a knife is useless."

"Not so. With that throwin' style you're developin', you'll scare the holy shit out of somebody."

Laura crossed her arms and stretched her neck, unable to resist the gentle kneading of his strong fingers. He bent his head and feathered his lips along the hairline at her temple. She closed her eyes to enjoy the tingling sensation that prickled over her nape and ribboned down her spine.

"Five more throws," he whispered, "and I'll take you back to the lodge for a nap."

Laura didn't want to throw the knife or take a nap. She wanted to lean against him, just as she was, and feel his lips whispering over her hair.

When she realized what she was thinking, she straightened and moved abruptly away from him. As she went to get the knife, she cast him a wary glance over her shoulder. He stood with his long legs spread, arms akimbo, the crown of Jonathan's dark head nestled on one well-padded shoulder. No shirt. The waistband of his jeans rode low on his hips. Morning sunlight arced off his mahogany hair and accented the unnervingly light color of his eyes.

Eyes that followed her. Eyes that caressed and made her heartbeat accelerate. Eyes that made sensual promises he never carried through on.

Laura jerked the knife from the dirt. As she moved back toward him, the fringe at the bottom of her leather dress tickled the backs of her calves, and she wondered how it might feel if Deke touched her there. Or kissed her there.

What was he doing to her? Laura clenched her fingers around the knife handle. Madness. He was driving her to the brink of madness, and judging by the twinkle in his eyes, he knew it, damn him. Her gaze settled on his lips, the top one defined in a thin, very masculine bow, the bottom full but firm and aglisten with moisture. Her mouth felt suddenly dry. Her pulse thrummed in the back of her throat.

During the journey west, Laura had sometimes visited with other young wives, and they had whispered amongst themselves about the shocking, scandalous things their men demanded of them once the wagon flaps were battened down. At the time, those stories had horrified Laura. She hadn't even been able to conceive people behaving in such a manner. The thought of Tristan taking such liberties had sickened her, and she had been heartily glad he was usually mean drunk when he came to her, rough in the taking but quick to finish.

But Deke... For reasons beyond her, she found herself wondering sometimes what it might be like to simply lie back and surrender all that she was to him. Hands with a grip like steel but that never left a bruise. Hands that knew a woman's body and how to arouse her. Skilled, silken lips that could coax her into the kind of kiss that carried her beyond reason into a vortex of delicious sensation. A part of Laura yearned to step over that line with him and allow herself to be utterly wantonjust onceto see for herself what those young women on the wagon train had been giggling about.

When she came to stand before him, he gently pried the knife from her fingers and returned it to the scabbard she wore secured at her waist on a rawhide thong. "You look tired," he said softly as he shrugged his shoulders out of the cradleboard straps. Indicating a smooth boulder and a grassy spot beneath a nearby cottonwood, he added, "Let's rest awhile."

Laura followed him to the spot, checked to make sure Jonathan was sleeping soundly after Deke laid him at the base of the tree, then went to lean against the rock with him, her hip a scant inch from his thigh. He stood with his legs slightly extended, ankles crossed, one heel of a moccasin dug into the dirt. His arms were loosely crossed over his flat belly.

Laura watched him from the corner of her eye and recalled his saying he had studied women in the same way as a boy. Surreptitiously, ever curious, mesmerized by the forbidden.

Only, he wasn't forbidden. According to his beliefs, they were married, and it was ridiculously immature to sneak peeks at him. If she wanted to look, why didn't she simply turn her head and let him see her looking? She was fascinated by the sculpted musculature in his arms and shoulders. She yearned to trace a finger along the silken ridge of dark hair that grew along the side of his broad wrist.

But if she looked at him that way, he might look back or take it as an invitation to do more. And she wasn't certain she was ready for that yet. Oh, she wasn't afraid he might carry things too far. Deke was nothing if not solicitous of her well-being, and he would never do anything invasive until her body was completely recovered from childbirth. Laura felt confident of that now.

But, as he had once informed her, there was "more'n one way for a man and woman to parley." Every time Laura thought of his saying that, her imagination ran wild. Deke probably made love to a woman as he did all else, in his own rugged, earthen, elemental way, no holds barred. If she gave him half a chance, he might do all those things to her that the women on the wagon train had whispered aboutand possibly more. If he did, she would die of embarrassment.

Laura sneaked another glance at him only to have her gaze collide with his. He was watching her with a secretive, smirky grin as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Inside her ears, Laura heard her pulse start to go swi-swish, swi-swish. A fluttery, hot feeling attacked her stomach.

He crooked a finger, beckoning, his eyes holding hers in a relentless grip. "Come here, darlin'."

Laura swallowed and was about to say no when he reached over and took her hand. Still smiling, he drew her toward him and a fate she wasn't sure she wanted to meet. With his crossed foot, he nudged her ankle until she stepped astraddle his legs, and then he pulled her forward, using his other hand to tug the fringed hem of her dress up so it wouldn't hinder her ascent along his slightly angled thighs.

She wore nothing but the halter he had made for her under the dress, and the skin-warmed denim of his jeans abraded the tender flesh at the apex of her legs.

Due to lack of stature, she could only step so close and keep her feet. A foot and a half of distance remained between their upper bodies, the hem of her skirt riding high, the fringe fanned across the fly of his jeans.

Retaining his grip on her hand, he toyed with her fingertips, tracing her nails with his thumb. His gaze, lambent and sparkling like steel against flint, still held hers captive. Laura wondered how he could do such strange things to her insides by only playing with her fingers.

He lifted his other hand to her hair, smoothed it, tested its texture, teased a tendril into a curl. The contact seemed absurdly intimate. Laura reminded herself of the four nights she had slept beside this man. She had nothing to fear, yet he made her feel imperiled. She sensed that there would be no holding back with Deke. But what truly worried her was that he might weave a spell around her so she had no wish to.

With deft fingertips he untied the thong that secured her single braid, then combed her hair into a heavy curtain over her shoulders. Threading his fingers down its length, he accidentally grazed the sensitized tip of one breast with his knuckles. Or was it an accident? He made another pass over the same spot. His expression didn't alter, but the heat of his gaze grew searing. Just when she might have protested, be abandoned her hair to rub his thumb over her mouth.

"You are so pretty," he whispered huskily.

Laura parted and relaxed her lips, loving the gentle abrasion of his sandpapery skin tugging on her mouth, then so lightly caressing. Her lashes fluttered low. He made her feel like a candle sitting on a sunny windowsill, warm and pliable, close to melting.

"You're the color of fresh cream," he told her. "With the pink of rose petals here and there, and splashes of whiskey."

Oh, God. Laura made an odd little sound, foreign to her, half moan, half word, and completely nonsensical. This man turned her brains to mush, and the only rational thoughts left to her were deliciously wicked. The kind of thoughts only a sinful, lustful woman would entertain.

"You ever touched your lips with a rose petal?" he asked. Laura was beyond making a reply. "There's nothin' that smells so sweet or feels so soft," he whispered. "That's how your mouth felt the other night when I kissed youlike a rose petal."

She tasted salt and realized she had touched the tip of her tongue to his thumb. She immediately drew it back, shocked at her own forwardness.

"Ahhhh, and whiskey with cream, Laura? You ever tasted that? It's so smooth and rich, you wanna lap it like a cat."

Laura felt his fingers tugging at the leather thongs that held her bodice flap closed. She couldn't move to stop him, didn't want to. The heavy panel of leather fell back like the opened cover of a well-read book. He tugged at the inside thong and drew back the cross panel. Next he reached for the three buttons nestled in her cleavage that held her halter closed.

"Deke," she managed weakly.

"I wanna see them pretty little pink nipples peekin' out at me through that whiskey-colored hair," he insisted huskily. "Don't say no, darlin'. Please."

Warm, leathery fingers scooped her breasts from the tailored cups of chambray, then lifted and rearranged her hair to lie over each shoulder in barely divided drapes.

"Jesus, you're beautiful," he said in a raspy voice. "So damned beautiful. Look and see for yourself. Anybody so pretty shouldn't oughta be bashful. You pleasure me just by standin' there."

Laura looked. She couldn't resist. Her face went hot, but she couldn't avert her gaze as he touched a pale pink crest with the tip of his forefinger. He teased the throbbing bud of flesh with the edge of his nail, coaxing it so erect, it ached. Then he caught the nub between thumb and finger and gave it a sharp roll.

Laura gasped and her knees buckled. The warm saddle of his denim-covered thighs caught her from falling. She wound her fingers over his biceps to hold herself erect. "Deke."

"I'm right here, honey. Don't close them pretty eyes. I wanna look into 'em, and I want you lookin' at me."

"Oh, please." Laura didn't know if she was pleading with him to stop or to do it some more. It was heaven. It was hell. He made her ache with longing in places she hadn't realized she had until now. "Oh, please, Deke."

He bent his dark head and lapped at her nipple. She shuddered and dug her nails into his skin. This was debasing. Immoral. Unladylike. Sinful. So terribly wicked. "Oh, yes," she cried.

He gave a satisfied chuckle, still teasing, still setting her senses into a spin. "You like that, do you?"

The only response Laura was capable of making was a quavery moan. He grabbed her with his teeth. A sharp nip that halted her breath, snapped her spine taut, and made her heart slam to sudden stillness. She abandoned her hold on his arms to sink her hands into his hair, where she made tight fists.

Holding her captured between his teeth, he tortured her with drags of his tongue. She reveled in it, let her head fall back, cried out at the sensations that rocked her. Her pulse resumed, each execution an explosion against her eardrums. He stilled her heart again by suddenly drawing all of her into his mouth. Laura felt the pull clear to her toes and mewled like a fretful child. He switched breasts and treated the other nipple to the same masterful titillation until she felt boneless, mindless, breathless, and totally his.

It was wonderful. It was terrifying. But she was helpless to stop it. Trapped in a dizzying microcosm of feelings, she was vaguely aware that he swung her around to drape her over the smooth boulder. His hands slid like hot brands up her thighs, peeling back her dress, his mouth still at a breast, hungry and demanding as only a man like Deke Sheridan could be. Pressing a hip to the rock, he braced on one elbow and slid his other hand to the nest of curls between her legs. His fingertips slid into her wetness, then sought and found a spot so tender that Laura bucked.

He lifted his head. Startled amber eyes clung to glinting steely blue. "Don't be scared, Boston. I won't hurt you."

Laura made a feeble grab for his wrist, not afraid of him but of the things he was making her feel. Shards of fire leaped from that spot, kindled by each brush of his fingers. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think clearly, couldn't speak. Her body, no longer her own, quivered for him like a plucked bowstring.

And he was watching, his eyes agleam with masculine satisfaction, his hard mouth tipped in a wry grin as he brought his thumb into the play and ground its broad pad in a circular motion over her. She was making a spectacle of herself, he her audience. She wanted him to stop. A wave of embarrassment crashed over her.

"Deke!"

"Let it happen," he urged in a throaty rasp. "Raise your hips and give it to me. There's my girl. Let it happen."

The sensation built. Laura heard herself panting, the sounds growing shorter and quicker. Beneath his thumb, the fiery shards went white-hot and seemed to implode, turning her molten. Her body arched and then jerked, and she cried out.

Afterward, she lay there in stunned disbelief as reality returned to her. Sunshine and man. She was sprawled over the smooth rock like a wanton, her most private places exposed to his searing gaze. She was so ashamed that she wanted to dieuntil she looked into his eyes. The tenderness there made her forget all else. He dipped his head and kissed her, a sweet, lingering touch of their mouths that soothed her and made her feel like a treasured gift he was carefully rewrapping. By the time he freed her lips, her halter and bodice were put back as they had been, and her skirt had been tugged back down to her knees.

"Ah, Laura, honey," he said with an indulgent smile as he trailed kisses over her blushing cheeks. "Don't feel shy. Not with me. You're the sweetest thing that's ever happened to me. Don't you know that?"

Laura pushed at her hair with a trembling hand. "I just can't quite believe I behaved with suchwith such utter abandon."

His eyes had gone all twinkling, a sign that Laura was quickly coming to recognize as dangerous. "Boston, I hate to tell you this, but I was bein' real mannerly that time around."

She blinked. "Mannerly?"