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Chapter 5

When they stepped out of sight from the lower levels and further into the hallway, Lindsey felt Tara’s legs give way. He didn't slow in his stride, just lifted her up into his arms and bore her the rest of the way to her room. She seemed to cling to him, and he felt a thrill go through him that she trusted him enough to see to her welfare.

As if he’d let anything happen to her now…

"You!" he barked out, spying a child of about eight loitering in the hall. "Come open the door for me."

The boy jumped to his feet at the command, hurrying forward to meet him at the door. He twisted the knob and pushed the door inward, stepping out of the way as Lindsey strode into the room. Gingerly, he set Tara down on the bed and started to remove her boots, uncaring whether the kid had left or not.

Lindsey didn’t see her wince in pain at having one high-heeled ankle boot pulled free since he was too concentrated on his task. He did, however, see the mangled stockings and narrowed his eyes, lifting her leg by the ankle to examine it closer.

And exploded.

"Dammit, Tara! What the hell—"

Lindsey set her foot down and stood abruptly, choking back his tirade. Failing to notice how she shrank in on herself, wary of his sudden burst of anger. He turned towards the open doorway and saw the boy still standing there, unsure if he was supposed to leave or not.

"What’s your name, boy?" he ground out.

"Timmy, Marshal." the body stuttered out. "Timmy Westlake."

Lindsey reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a coin, using his thumb to flick it in Timmy’s direction. The boy grabbed it out of the air, his eyes wide as he stared at the money held in his hand.

"Get me a basin of hot water and some towels, and be quick about it."

"Yessir, Marshal! Right away!" Timmy nodded emphatically, hurrying off.

Lindsey heard the clatter of footsteps as the boy raced downstairs, and a reluctant grin came to his lips. He turned back towards Tara, the corner of his lips turning down when he caught sight of her huddled form on the bed. He took a step forward and winced when he saw her jump.

"Tara?" he called out softly, not wanting to scare her. He took another step, and then another, ignoring how she drew in even further on herself. When he reached the edge of the bed, he knelt down taking her hands in his. She flinched at his touch, but didn’t pull away. "Tara? Baby? What’s wrong?"

It was a long time before she dared look at him, and Lindsey forced himself to wait. She finally lifted her head, eyeing him warily, like he was going to strike her at any moment. And he had to wonder if this had been the norm for her – cowering in fear of a man’s anger. It made him sick to his stomach just thinking about it.

"S-sorry," she mumbled softly. "W-wasn’t t-thinking. I…I j-just wanted… I didn’t want to make him mad so that he’d—" Her voice, low though it was, broke off abruptly, and she turned her head away, refusing to look at him.

"Tara…look at me, sweetheart." His voice was soft, soothing. "Please, Tara. I’m not going to hurt you…ever."

She turned her face to look at him again, and Lindsey could have kicked himself at the fear he saw hidden in her blue eyes. "B-but you were s-so…so mad."

"Yes, I was. I still am, actually. But not at you. Not really. I’m mad that you stayed on your feet far longer than you needed. Didn’t you take a break?"

Tara shook her head but didn’t answer.

"Tell me you at least ate something."

Again she shook her head in the negative, and Lindsey tamped down his rising anger. The girl needed a keeper, that’s for damn sure. She was far too innocent for the likes of this place. Too naïve to remain at the saloon and not be taken advantage of.

The boy, Timmy, returned then, stepping through the open doorway, his arms laden down with water and towels.

"I’ve got yer water and such, Marshal."

"Bring them over here, then tell the bartender I want two plates of food brought up," Lindsey told him.

The boy bobbled his head in agreement. Small drops of water dribbled over the rim of the bowl Timmy carried, marking his progress into the room. Lindsey watched the scene without moving, until the boy had finally gained his side. He grabbed the bowl from his hands, and set it down beside him, rather than have to worry about the water spilling completely as the boy tried to set it down himself. Timmy seemed to sigh with relief at having his burden taken off his hands, eagerly handing over the towels Lindsey had requested.

"I’ll be back shortly with your meal, Marshal," the boy called out, racing to the door. This time, he pulled it shut behind him, the soft click sounding in the quiet room.

In a no-nonsense manner, Lindsey returned his attention to Tara, taking care with her remaining boot. She sat there unmoving, trying to hide the pain she felt at having it removed from her foot. Lindsey just ground his teeth and remained quiet. When the second one fell to the ground with a thud, he eyed the stockings adorning both legs.

"We need to get your stockings off," he told her, refusing to look at her. Instead, his gaze remained transfixed on her legs. He congratulated himself when his voice didn’t quaver. There was just something about removing a woman’s stockings that lent itself to further exploration. Only, right now, he needed to tend her feet…not ravish her upon the bed. He reined in his rising libido and concentrated on raising Tara’s frilly skirts. Careful to lift them only as far as the top of her stockings.

It wasn’t working.

He swallowed hard, feeling himself swell within the confines of his jeans. The top of her stockings were finally exposed, and he mentally cursed when he caught sight of the garters that held them in place. His hands were shaking as they moved towards the stays holding them up, so much so, that it took him a minute to work the fastening free. Then he was rolling the silk down her leg, exposing her pale, creamy flesh to his gaze.

He couldn’t help the finger that trailed along the expanse of skin - he wasn’t a saint, had never professed to be. He felt her shiver at his touch and his head lifted, his eyes honing in on her face. She didn’t appear to object to the caress. Her expression was a cross between confusion and the beginnings of arousal. It was all he could do to return to his task, sliding the material down past her knee and calf, then to her ankle.

Lindsey took his time here, careful not to aggravate the broken blisters on her heel and the balls of her foot. Knowing that even as he did so, it wasn’t going to be enough. The pus and blood had dried and the silk was stuck to her skin.

"Just pull it off fast." The whisper-soft voice sounded in the room. The husky sound was unexpected, working its way past his defenses and driving him to hardness once more. He nodded, leaning forward to press a kiss to her exposed knee…and gave a sharp tug to the material clutched in his hand.

She jerked and sucked in her breath around the pain, letting it out in a slow exhale. Lindsey gifted her with another brush of his lips against her knee before leaning back to reach for the bowl of hot water.

"Put your foot in here," he encouraged softly. He lifted his head as he said it, taking in her warbly expression and how she struggled not to cry. He smiled, adding, "It’ll help with the pain, and I don’t want to take a chance of infection," adding under his breath, "god knows medicine in these days was archaic."

Tara stared at him for a minute, unsure if she’d mistaken his last comment. These days? She shook her head. Surely she must have been imagining things. Sliding her foot into the basin, she hissed around the heat and pain, plunging her foot in until the water covered her ankle. Her foot seemed to throb for a moment, then subside, the heat of the water actually comforting to her injured foot.

Then there was the added distraction of the Marshal working on her other stocking. His touch affecting her in ways she didn’t want to examine. But, it was there, nonetheless. The glide of his fingers against her bare thigh caused shivers of… something. Snaking their way through her limbs until she felt the insistent throb between her legs.

Goddess.

And the feel of his lips upon her flesh, the open-mouthed kisses he trailed along her other leg. She squirmed a bit. Whether to get closer or away, Tara wasn’t sure. Maybe closer. Just as she was about to examine that thought for its veracity, she felt the tug of her other stocking. How it re-opened the blisters on her other foot as it was pulled free.

Again she hissed in a breath around the pain, blinking back tears. She barely felt her leg lifted and set in the basin of water, though she did feel the sting as the open wounds on her foot were enveloped by the heated liquid. A moment later, the throbbing pain gave way to a dull ache, then the heat surrounding her feet did their job, soothing her senses and allowing her to relax, the water cleaning the numerous sores. Her eyes slid closed and she leaned back to rest on her elbows.

The gentle splash of water barely registered, but soon the smell of something flowery perfumed the air tickling her nostrils.

"Not sure about the antiseptic properties, but it’s soap," Lindsey murmured, taking one of her feet from the basin and gently laving it with the soapy washcloth.

Tara had never had anyone bathe her before - well, not since infancy, at least. She moaned, her mouth falling open as his thumbs massaged the aches right out of them. He took his time with each one, making doubly sure he’d not missed anything, and she couldn’t help wonder if he would pay this much attention to detail with the rest of her body given the chance. She could feel her face flame with the thought, and her eyes flew open to see him staring up at her.

The red radiating from his frame slammed into her, causing her to gasp. Oh, goddess! Her tongue darted out, unconsciously, lips suddenly gone dry. Had it gotten hot in here?

She lay there, halfway reclined upon the bed, unmoving as he sat up from his heels with the intention of moving closer. The washcloth fell forgotten from his hand to splash softly into the basin. Her fingers tightened upon the bedspread, caught in his predatory gaze, her body immobile as he crawled up the bed towards her.

"Marshal?" she whimpered, unused to the feelings coursing through her.

"Lindsey," he corrected, his voice barely above a whisper. He settled himself beside her, one hand sliding up her bare leg, then higher still. His head leaned down, intent on ravishing her lips.

There was a knock at the door, followed by a, "Marshal, I have your supper here."

Lindsey dropped his chin to his chest, eyes closing in frustration while he cursed under his breath at the interruption. He silently counted to ten, willing himself back under control. It wasn’t enough and he continued on to twenty. Still didn’t help, but he leaned away from Tara, opening his eyes to see her staring up at him.

He groaned at the sight, her eyes pleading, the tension in her body palpable. Just begging to be kissed. And he did. Swooping down to claim her lips in a harsh kiss, his hand sliding around to the back of her neck to hold her close. She gasped and his tongue stole inside to mate with hers. Broad, sweeping strokes that let her know how he felt, showed her what she was doing to him. He could feel his control slipping, their kiss quickly escalating into something more.

Another knock sounded and he broke away, panting heavily. He rolled to the side and sat up, leaving Tara in much the same condition on the bed. He gained his feet, shouting out a terse, "Come in."

The door opened, and Timmy walked in bearing a plate. Behind him was a girl, perhaps a year younger, carrying another.

"Just set them on the table," Lindsey told the pair. He pulled out a few more coins. "For dinner, and split what’s left with your friend here," he told the boy, handing over the silver.

"Yessir, Marshal. Come one, Gilly. Let’s go!" The girl followed him out of the room, their eyes round as saucers, eyeing the money the boy held in his palm.

When they’d gone, Lindsey shut the door and locked it. Only then did he set about removing his gunbelt and vest, looping the twin Colts over the bedpost, within easy reach. The vest he just threw over a chair. He returned to the bed, his hand reaching down to help Tara sit up. Then he leaned over and lifted her into his arms, pulling her feet from the water as he went.

"Marshal!"

"Lindsey," he reminded her.

"Lindsey. P-put me down," she told him. "I can still walk."

"Not on those feet, you can’t. I’ll not run the risk of you getting an infection. Now, I’m gonna set you down, keep your feet off the floor."

Tara nodded helplessly. Better to just give in. She felt herself lowered onto the chair, and dutifully did like he asked, though she was sure she looked ridiculous. He sat down next to her and before she had a chance to object, pulled her feet up into his lap. The move forced her to turn and face him. It was either that, or end up sprawled on the floor. At least he wasn’t looking at her, but rather at the plate on the table in front of him.

"Eat your dinner," he told her, picking up his fork and knife and cutting into the steak on his plate. Tara sighed, angling her plate so that she could reach it a bit easier and did like he asked.

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