“Even if it means breaking your vow?” Bronx’s lids lowered.
“Yes,” she breathed against his chest as he pulled her close. “I think it might be worth the risk of my doom.” Her smile came out sloppy, damp. Nervous and brave, both.
His lips danced across hers them, paused to taste whatever she had left. Her toes sparked fire, and her fingers clasped the roots of his hair.
She drank back in sweet communion. It seemed much less sinful now.
Two years was a long time.
Chapter Eleven
The pew made a hard bed, but dawn brushed Bronx soft and fine. Until he found his head resting in Lila’s lap. A pillow under his head, but he heated fast at the indecency. Lila slept peaceful, though. A little snore giggled through her teeth. So he settled back into the curves.
Oh, those lips. His mouth puckered a bit at the memory. She had crunched into the corner at the arm rest, head lolling, hair spreading across the pillow she leaned on. Damn, she must be uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to wake her. She was too pretty to look at and smiled so deep in her sleep. So his embarrassment eased up. He held his hands to his face to breathe in the scent from her clothes.
The Pennsylvania fireplace had gone cold, and he tried to wiggle free. Wanted to light it up to warm the place, to check on Malina. He’d heard Lila get up in the night to ease a fever but recalled her whispering Malina had none. Then she’d nestled against him again.
Had she meant it? Or had she been too sleepy to understand?
More than anything, did she still miss Emmett with every breath?
Well, it felt right, sharing his nighttimes with Lila. But he needed to leave Leadville. If a Pinkerton was after a man with his face and name, he had to get that face hidden. And fast. Could be his true salvation rested with Doc Holliday’s pals in Denver.
Kindred spirits, Doc had said.
But Bronx’s heart slammed. He hated to leave Lila’s side, and the fact turned his heartbeat to lead. But now was now, and the room needed heat. He slipped from her, chilled at the lack of her next to him. Built up the fire and found a wash bowl. Rinsed his face. The freezing water drenched him in reality. It was time to go.
Dragged fingers through his hair. Damn shoeblack. Yep, definitely time to go. But now best place to wipe his hands was Emmett’s dark overcoat. And afterward, he peeked in the sleeping room. Malina moved in her sleep, but not restless at all.
“Bronx?” Sleep lulled Lila’s voice but it might well have been a shout of joy, so glad was his heart. No matter he had to go. He could ask her to—
He peered at her, hair tussled liked a man’s fingers—his—had combed through it. Ah, he recalled doing so in the night, and his hands warmed at the memory. Clothes rumpled and cheeks mapped with trails from the pillow. His breath caught at the sight, and he wasn’t sure he’d reclaim it.
“What time is it? Malina...” She jumped to her feet but the movement was dainty, somehow. Blankets spilled across the floor around her, and busy hands smoothed her skirts.
“Just looked in on her. She seems peaceful.” Surprised, his voice sounded normal. Somehow, he held off shakes of regret. “I reckon she might prefer a lady’s nurture to mine.” He chuckled, but unease bloomed again. Here he was, discussing such things after sleeping tight against Lila’s skirts. Heat climbed up his face another time. He grabbed the spatterware coffee pot to have something to do.
Lila was gone for a while, then came to stand by him at the fireplace. Somehow, the big room didn’t seem such a cave with her warm at his side. Oh, this moment would live in his brain, his heart forever.
“She’s much better.” Lila’s smile all but melted his bones. Even sleep-shod, she looked fresh as dew. “Thanks for setting the stove to rights. I’ll heat up the leftover broth for her.”
“Uh…Lila. About last night.” His voice shook like a fool school kid. So did his fingers, so he stuck them in a pocket.
“Oh goodness me, Bronx.” Her cheeks pinked, but her smile was true. And she took his hand like any ma might. But the touch sparked his toes, anyway. “You don’t have to marry me, Bronx. It was an innocent night, wasn’t it?”
“But our second. In a row.” And he’d liked it. Did he dare tell her? “I liked it,” he said simply. “And we kissed. I liked that, too. If I must leave, I...”
“Bronx, I...” Her teasing stopped. Her fingers, soft and gentle, touched the inside of his palm and he held his breath. Her lips opened like a flower, and her eyes didn’t seem discomposed at all as her gaze brushed his face, but what she might have said was lost to a loud knocking.
She threw his hand away like it was a burning coal. Like whatever in her mind had changed, quick. And his heart sank fast, and far, and rattled him.