The Wicked West. Victoria Dahl

just convinced himself to turn away when her corset loosened. Mrs. Anders pushed the front hooks together, and suddenly the whole contraption broke open and fell to the ground.

      Hale held his breath while the widow filled her lungs. The gossamer fabric of her shift clung to her skin. Her breasts rose, her back stretched, and her hands curved into her waist, as if the sensation of freedom was almost too much.

      She dug her fingers briefly into the flesh above her hips, then she dragged her palms up, up, touching every rib along the way before her hands curled over her full breasts and squeezed.

      “Jesus,” he breathed.

      When her head fell back, there was no longer any doubt that her caresses weren’t about rubbing away the day’s pain. Her fingers closed over her nipples and squeezed, and her lips parted on a gasp. The sound floated through his open window to seize his throbbing cock.

      Hale’s mind swam with whiskey and lust, and despite his stubborn nature, he couldn’t find the will to resist. He slipped his hand into his trousers and freed himself.

      Mrs. Anders hands were just as busy. She squeezed and caressed and pinched. Then she cupped one hand beneath the neckline of her shift and pushed the edge beneath the heavy curve of one breast. Her nipple was dark and red from the attention she’d shown it, and Hale’s mouth watered. He wanted it in his mouth. He wanted to bite it.

      He stroked harder, faster, thinking of putting his teeth to her until she cried out in pain. Her thumb pressed against the red bud, then suddenly she pinched it and twisted hard.

      As she whimpered aloud, Hale’s balls tightened to stones and he exploded, his seed arcing away from his body onto the bare wood floor while he imagined it splashing across her white breasts.

      “Ah, God,” he panted, shame filling the space lust had so recently occupied. Averting his eyes from the sight of Mrs. Anders’s half-nude body, Hale stumbled toward his bed and let his knees give way.

      Damn it all to hell.

      There was a difference between a man knowing he was an animal and actually behaving like one. He was supposed to protect the people of this town, not degrade them.

      He threw an arm over his eyes and spun down into the dark knowledge that his wife had been right about him. He was an unnatural beast, and she’d been right to leave.

      

      Lily’s arm shook from the heavy pull of the pail of milk she carried as she moved down the wooden walkway. She tried to maintain a pleasant expression despite the ache taking over her shoulder. She wasn’t strong enough for this place. She understood that. The people were pleasant, but she saw every doubtful glance they sent her way when they thought she wasn’t looking.

      Her trembling arm didn’t inspire confidence, even in her own mind. When milk began to spill out, Lily set the pail down and switched to the other hand. That arm began to shake almost immediately.

      No, she wasn’t strong enough for this place. But somehow, it suited her.

      When she’d received word that her brother Hamilton had died, Lily had been filled with guilt. She was the reason he’d left England in the first place. Her childish, foolish outburst had caused a rift in their family that had never healed. Hamilton had fled to America, and Lily had married a man old enough to be her father, just to escape the memories of her missing brother.

      But Hamilton had written to her several years later, and she’d sent a letter back, filled with her regrets and apologies. Over time, they’d become closer as correspondents than they had been as siblings. So although Lily had been shocked and distraught at the news that he’d died of a fever, she hadn’t been surprised at being named his sole heir. The little he’d had belonged to her now and it had given her the opportunity to start a new life free of her late husband’s world.

      Twenty feet from her front door, Lily set the pail down and stretched her shoulders back. Almost there. She wanted to do this. Women here did not depend upon servants for everything. Lily had hired a girl to cook and clean and help her dress, but the girl couldn’t do everything. And it felt good to have purpose.

      Lily rolled her neck and bent down to carry the pail for the last little stretch.

      When she straightened, she saw that her path was blocked by a man. A very large man. Heat pumped through her veins at the sight of him.

      “Sheriff Hale,” she breathed as he stuttered to a halt before her. She let her eyes fall to the ground as she always did when he was near. Something about him made her want to curl up at his feet and purr. He was so powerful. So in control.

      He stepped back. “Mrs. Anders.” His deep drawl stroked her nerves. “You need help with that?”

      “No, thank you.” Her nipples tightened, and she dared a look up at his face, wondering if he were picturing her as she’d been last night. His eyes were hard and unforgiving. Lily shivered, sending a few drops of milk splashing against her skirt.

      Sheriff Hale frowned as a flush darkened his already tanned face. “Here.” He reached for the pail, and there was no mistaking the roughness of his skin when his fingers brushed hers. This man was no gentleman despite his offer of help.

      “Thank you,” she sighed, relieved that her trembling lust sounded like gratitude.

      He moved swiftly to her door and Lily had to hurry to catch up. “Where do you want it?”

      Right here, she longed to say, but pointed the way toward the kitchen at the back of the house. She’d heard him come home the night before, had heard the faint clomp of his boots as he moved to the second floor. She’d noticed that her bedroom window faced his and she’d fantasized about undressing for him, about lighting a lamp and letting him watch. Last night the opportunity had presented itself, and Lily hadn’t bothered to resist.

      Neither had he.

      Her sex grew wet at the memory, and she reveled in the way his big body filled the small kitchen. He was only inches away. Would he touch her? Would he push her against the wall and wrap his rough fingers around her wrists? Would he lay her over his knee as her husband had done?

      Lily held her breath.

      But no…He didn’t touch her. Of course he didn’t. The sheriff simply set the pail on the table and edged past her to the short hallway. Her heart twisted at the sight of him walking away. Even after last night, did he have no interest in her?

      Just as she gave up hope, his back tensed beneath the worn cream cotton of his shirt and Sheriff Hale stopped.

      Lily waited, knees trembling in anticipation. Did he mean to do something? Did he mean to speak? But the mystery refused to solve itself. The sheriff rolled his shoulders back and walked on without even a glance in her direction.

      Surprisingly, it wasn’t disappointment that swelled through her body, leaving heat in its wake. It was power.

      She had affected him. He was not indifferent. And Lily was more convinced than ever that he was exactly the kind of man her husband had taught her to crave.

      CHAPTER TWO

      The sun began its slide behind the mountains, but it remained fiery hot all the same. Lily could feel the warmth slip across her forearm as the light slanted farther into her room.

      She didn’t move. She’d long since finished her solitary meal of rabbit stew, one of the few things she could cook on her own, as it didn’t take much skill or knowledge to let something bubble on the stove for three hours. Undoubtedly, the novelty of cooking would wear off soon, but at this moment she felt proud and full of…herself. Yes, full of herself and what she could do.

      She’d been nobody her whole life. A marionette, at best. A statue at worst. First, an obedient daughter, then a meek wife, and finally a helpless young widow. But now she was…well, she was nobody, still, but a much better version of it. She was nobody because she was working to decide just who she wanted to be. She had the power now.