Free Calico by Raine Cantrell Page A

that with Maggie gone, Quincy will give up and leave.”
    “A reasonable conclusion you will agree.”
    “Maybe. But Quincy was up at my place with those men when someone was shooting at Maggie. So how could Quincy be involved with it? The man couldn’t be in two places at the same time.”
    McCready opened his eyes and sat up. “Why the hell do you think I want to kidnap her? I told you it was to save her life. I know someone was shooting at her while we held Quincy.”
    “You’re worked up. I might even say you’re angry.”
    “Damn right there.”
    “Well, I had to be sure that I heard you right. The mines are a prize for any man that’s greedy and don’t mind how he gets his hands on them.”
    “You don’t,” McCready grated from between clenched teeth, “for one minute think that I shot at Maggie?” The pressure he put on his swollen jaw sent tentacles of pain shooting up the side of his face, but seeing Dutch’s clear steady gaze pinned on him, McCready found that he didn’t dare relax.
    “I didn’t say anything about you. If I thought it was you, McCready, I’d have stopped you myself.”
    “Nice to know whose corner you’re in.”
    “I’ve always been in yours,” Dutch claimed with a serious note. “But right now, Maggie needs me more.”
    “Then you’ll agree to help me?”
    A soft knock at the door stopped Dutch from answering him. Grabbing hold of his pants from the floor, Dutch knew, with the lamp turned up bright, there was no way to ignore whoever it was. Snapping his suspenders in place over his union suit, he called out he was coming. A burst of merry laughter answered him, and he shot McCready a look of sheer exasperation. “Cora Ann,” he murmured, opening the door.
    McCready eyed the dynamite package of feminine charms in a sprite’s body that was Cora Ann Avernel. Her disposition, drunk or sober, was that of the merriest of widows, which she claimed to be, and with McCready’s live-and-let-live attitude, he never bothered to dispute this with her. She showed up one day four months ago, riding a spirited sorrel, asking for work. McCready played five hands of poker with her and hired her on.
    Cora Ann didn’t walk into the room—she glided. And with the smile of a naughty child who knows her every transgression will always be forgiven, Cora smoothed the folds of a soft blue cashmere robe over her hips, eyeing McCready from beneath her thickly curled brown lashes.
    “You’ve kept me waiting.”
    There was husky promise, pouty reprimand, and a decided female possessiveness enriching this accusation. McCready studied the perfectly shaped petite body that had given and taken pleasure from every hour they had shared. Unfortunately for Cora Ann and perhaps himself, he noted whimsically, Maggie O’Roarke had suddenly consumed all his thoughts.
    “You’re mistaken,” he finally answered
    Cora Ann chose to ignore this. She glided to his chair, leaning over to tap one finger lightly against his chin. She leaned over to give him a view of bare breasts through the gaping robe along with a whiff of delicate lavender that she favored. She made no comment about his bruises, having already rendered her opinion to Dutch about his heavy-handedness rearranging McCready’s handsome face, and received in turn both men’s warning to stay out of what she didn’t understand.
    With her luscious pink mouth glistening from a slow swirl of her tongue, and very sure of her welcome, Cora Ann settled herself on McCready’s lap.
    Dutch motioned to McCready to leave.
    “That won’t be necessary. Cora Ann is going.”
    “Why?” she demanded. “I told you I missed you. Come back to my room with me,” she whispered, caressing the soft skin behind McCready’s ear, then bit the lobe. “I’ve something delightfully special just for you.”
    There was that sound of her possessiveness again. On McCready’s list of the unforgivable, which Maggie’s sins headed, there rested the one of any