Redwing's Lady. Stella Bagwell

stints in the state penitentiary before he’d eventually died in a car wreck while trying to evade the police. Yes, he’d had a father for a few brief years of his life. But he didn’t want to tell Maggie Ketchum about a man who’d brought pain and shame to his family.

      Instead of responding to her question, Daniel nudged her toward the door. “It’s late. I’ve got to get back to the department and do some paperwork before I go home.”

      He obviously didn’t want to answer, and Maggie respected his privacy by not pushing him. Even so, she realized she wanted to know more about this man. And that in itself was a scary idea. For seven long years her heart, her body, had been dormant. Men had tried to spark her interest, but she’d felt nothing toward any of them. Mostly because she hadn’t wanted to feel anything. Not with Hugh still living in her heart. And now this man, this dark, handsome Ute had come along and stirred up all kinds of emotions in her.

      “Of course. Let’s get to the house,” she said, wondering why she suddenly felt the urge to cry.

      Quickly, before she could make a fool of herself, she started out the door only to have his hand wrap around her arm and tug her back inside the small, dimly lit building. Maggie looked up at him, her brows arched, her heart pounding.

      “Maggie, before we go…I wanted to—” He let out a heavy breath, dropped his hand from her arm, then caught hold of her again. “I don’t know how to say this. I just wanted you to know…earlier today—in the mountains when I kissed you—I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

      Her breath came soft and fast as she tried to search his face in the waning light. “I never thought you were.”

      His fingers tightened ever so slightly on her arm. “I don’t go around kissing women like that. You, uh, well, you got me off track there for a moment or two.”

      She tried to smile, to ease the crackling tension between them. “I’m flattered that an older woman like me could distract you, Deputy Redwing.”

      His fingers eased to slide slowly up her arm and onto her shoulder. Once they reached her hair, he twined the curly strands around his fingers. Maggie shivered inwardly at the intimate contact.

      “You look very young to me.”

      “I’m nearly thirty-four,” she replied.

      “And I’m twenty-nine.”

      Up until this moment Maggie had stood motionless, but now she unconsciously edged closer to him. “So tell me why a healthy twenty-nine-year-old man doesn’t go around kissing women?”

      His lips formed a wry line. She made kissing sound like such a normal, simple thing for him to do. But he’d never viewed the act as simple. Getting that intimate with a woman was something he mostly tried to avoid. As much as he liked the feel of a soft female in his arms, he didn’t want to give himself a chance to get that close, to need or want anyone the way his mother had wanted and pined for his father. Yet when he stood here so close to Maggie, everything but her seemed to leave his mind.

      “Because I haven’t found a woman I’ve wanted to kiss,” he answered quietly. “Until now.”

      She drew in a sharp, sudden breath. “What kind of line is that?”

      Suddenly both his hands were on her shoulders, and he was drawing her forward, circling her body with his strong arms. The air rushed out of her lungs as she planted her palms against his broad chest.

      “It isn’t a line, Maggie. I’ve wanted to do this from the very first time I saw you.”

      “Daniel—”

      His hand lifted to her cheek where he rubbed a gentle, enticing circle. “Say my name again,” he whispered. “It sounds so good coming from your lips.”

      She was trembling, shaking with a need that left her voice hoarse, her mind whirling. “Daniel, I…”

      With a soft groan he bent his head, and anything else she might have said was swallowed up by the probing search of his lips.

      This time their kiss was different. This time the fear for her child’s safety wasn’t racing through her mind. This time there was nothing standing between them. Not even a breathing space.

      At some point during the embrace, he pulled her tightly against him, and Maggie groaned as her full breasts pressed against his chest, her hips aligned with his. Mindlessly her arms slipped around his waist, her mouth opened in hungry response.

      For the next few moments Maggie allowed herself the rich pleasure of being in Daniel’s arms, of having his hard, warm lips roam recklessly over hers, having his hands touch her with love.

      Love? Love!

      The one word racing through her mind was enough to make Maggie rip herself from his embrace and back away as though he were one of those mountain lions his grandfather hunted and she was the prey.

      “Maggie…” he began in a perplexed voice.

      He stepped forward only to have her hold up a hand to ward him off.

      “Don’t, Daniel,” she pleaded hoarsely. “Please don’t touch me again.”

      He stood still, his hands dropping to his sides. “Why?”

      She groaned and then made a lunge for the door. “I’m sorry, Daniel. I’m just not ready for this,” she mumbled in a choked voice.

      “Maggie!”

      Ignoring his call, she stepped out of the little barn and hurried up the trail to the house. Her legs were weak and wobbly, and several times she almost fell upon the dark, winding path. But she stumbled on, determined to put as much space between herself and Daniel as she could before he decided to follow.

      Thankfully, the lights from the house eventually flickered through the pine trees, and, breathing a sigh of relief, she slowed her pace. When she entered the back door, she could hear Aaron’s shower click off. Knowing the child would soon be dressed and heading to the kitchen to eat, Maggie hurried to her own private bathroom and began to splash cold water on her heated face.

      After a few moments her cheeks began to cool and her senses calm somewhat. As she washed her hands, she stared in stunned horror at her disheveled image in the mirror.

      Maggie had never been a vain person. It didn’t matter to her if her hair got mussed or her face smudged. There were far more important things in life than trying to look perfect. So she was hardly shaken by the fact that her hair was tangled, her shirt dirty and snagged with a three-corner tear on the shoulder. It was the dark desire shadowing her eyes, her swollen lips and the excited color on her cheeks that totally stunned her.

      Dear God, she looked like a woman who’d been making love to a man!