Buffy shielded her eyes with her hand against the glare of the sun that had crept into the wagon as it rose in the east. She raised her head and looked down at her pillow… or what had been functioning as her pillow.
Spike. More specifically, Spike’s chest.
He was on his back, his arms holding her loosely as she lay curled against him, her legs tangled with his in the twisted sheet. For a moment, Buffy couldn’t remember how they ended up like this, wrapped in each other’s arms, but then it came back to her.
They had talked well into the wee hours of the morning—mostly about Katie. It seemed safer to focus on the woman they were both sure had their coin and on how to get it back, than to look too deeply into these new feelings they had for each other.
But as the night had grown darker, the chirping of the crickets silenced by the approach of a new day, they tentatively reached out to each other and talked of other things—things they had never talked about before, and certainly not as a vampire and slayer. But then, they were no longer a vampire and slayer. They were a man and woman, and because it was silent and dark around them, instead of within them, they took tiny steps towards each other, and little by little, they began to get know each other as they never had before.
When they could no longer see each other’s faces, the lamp having guttered, they stretched out on her feather mattress, side by side, whispering questions and answers to questions to each other. Buffy listened to the timbre of his voice, soft and low, felt his arm come around her, pulling her against him as he told her what he had been like before he was turned – caring for and doting on his mother, spoiling his sisters, his heart held out freely for the woman he believed he loved. Buffy’s last thought before drifting off to sleep was that she just might be falling in love with that man.
This man.
A soft snore drew Buffy’s attention back to the reality of the man sleeping next to her. She studied his face; the sharp angle of his cheekbones, the cleft in his chin, the full lower lip. She had noticed these things before – but a hot vampire was still a vampire and she’d filed the appreciation for his features away in the “what a shame I have to dust him” folder and moved on.
Now, however, he was close enough to touch, and there was no stake keeping them apart. She drew a tentative finger across his lower lip and watched as his mouth quirked and he took a deep breath, puffing it out, his arms tightening around her. She could feel the long, lean length of his legs and his hip bone jutting against her, and she felt a coiling of desire low in her belly.
Her gaze swept down his body and she could see that he was hard beneath the tight fabric of his jeans. The telltale bulge was not quite hidden by the leg she had thrown over his. She chewed on her lower lip, moving her knee ever so slightly, grazing his erection. Instantly she felt the muscles of his chest and arms tightening. She smiled and looked back at his face. It was nice, knowing that she could do that to him, make him hard and hungry for her, even in his sleep. Buffy-induced. That’s what he said last night when she noticed his arousal. It stirred something in her, something deep and feminine, something that she realized she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
She moved her hand to the fringe of hair that had tumbled forward onto his forehead during sleep, somehow knowing that he would hate the curls that wound around her fingers. She moved to gently rake her fingers through the hair at his temple. The roots were dark, having grown out to his natural shade, but the tips still showed the remnants of the peroxide, and his hair was soft. So soft that Buffy couldn’t seem to stop herself as she lingered there, her fingertips tracing along the curve of his skull to the nape of his neck.
“Not nice to accost a man while he’s sleepin’.”
Buffy’s fingers froze, her eyes darting down to find Spike watching her, alert and focused. Slowly she withdrew her fingers from his hair, starting to move away from him, when he caught her hand and placed it on his chest, covering it with his own.
“Didn’ mean to frighten you off. Need to learn when to keep my trap shut.” His smile was gentle and sleepy, and Buffy couldn’t help but smile back at him, even while her eyes flickered shyly away. But a finger under her chin brought her gaze back to his. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a woman’s hands on me … felt nice.”
His voice was low, and the sincerity of his words struck her. Suddenly, all she could feel was the thrum-thrum-thrum of his heart beneath her fingertips, all she could see were the deep blue of his eyes and the darkness of his lashes, and before she really knew what she was doing, she was lowering her lips to his. His lips were soft, too—a stark contrast to the bristle of his chin and cheeks and she marveled at how his breath, which should have been icky morning breath, was actually sweet and warm, and it made her want to kiss him forever.
His hand came up to cup the back of her head, long fingers working their way through her hair and tickling the nape of her neck. She would have gladly stayed there all day, the feel of his lips moving against hers, his hands caressing her.
If only the sound of footsteps outside hadn’t signaled someone approaching the wagon.
“Wil, you awake?” The sound of Matthew’s voice outside the canvas curtain at the back of the wagon had Buffy and Spike scrambling out of each other’s arms like two teenagers caught in a guilty clinch.
Spike lurched to his feet. “Yeah, we’re up, Matthew. Give me a minute; be right out.”
Buffy could hear the cowboy retreat from the wagon and the sound of a flint striking as he lit his morning cigarette. She could still feel Spike’s kiss upon her lips when she took the hand he offered, allowing him to pull her to her feet.
The wagon was still dim. The canvas cut out much of the bright, early morning light, but she could clearly see Spike’s eyes as they raked over her body. Looking down, Buffy realized the buttons of her nightgown were still undone, her breasts nearly completely exposed, as the gown gaped open, drooping off her shoulders. She felt the heat of a blush cover her cheeks and moved to close the gown, but her hands were brushed away by Spike’s own.
The fingers of his left hand drew the fabric together, caressing her through the thin material, while this other hand crept around her waist, pulling her to him. He leaned in close, whispering in her ear, “We’re not finished with this. Let me find out what’s goin’ on that Matthew needs to see me about, and I’ll be right back.”
As she blinked up at him, his lips slanted into a sly smile. Slowly, his fingers trailed up her chest and neck and caught her under the chin, pulling her lips to his for a short, but searing, kiss. Pulling back a hair’s breath, his voice a soft purr, he said, “Now don’t go doin’ up what I’m just gonna have to undo when I get back.”
She nodded dumbly at him, watching as he ran his tongue over his teeth, donning a wicked smile before pulling her back in for another kiss. He released her so suddenly she nearly swooned, but caught herself and watched as he took three strides to the back of the wagon, whipping the canvas aside for a second as he jumped out.
As she heard the crunch of his boots on the leaves outside, Buffy let go of the breath she’d been holding since he’d kissed her the first time, then looked down at her gown, once again gaping open, her skin flushed, her nipples hard. Without a sound, she flopped back onto the mattress, unable to suppress a wicked smile of her own.
“We were getting a little worried; you’re usually one of the first ones up.” Matthew flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with the toe of his boot.
Spike glanced at the wagon, then back at the cowboy. “Sorry, yeah, was up late. . .” He smiled sheepishly, then shrugged. “ . . . ah, sorry.”
Matthew shook his head. “No apologies necessary – not your job to be out first thing. Just wanted to make sure all was well, that’s all. Hope I didn’t—” He cleared his throat as a smile flirted with the corners of his mouth. “interrupt anything.”
Spike retuned the smile, and winked conspiratorially at the other man. “Yeah, well, your timing could have been better, mate.”
“Newlyweds,” Matthew snickered, giving Spike a good-old-boy nudge to the ribs with his elbow.
Spike chuckled, looking past the cowboy to the crowd of men that were gathered by the wagon train’s main campfire. Matthew’s eyes followed suit, a frown replacing the jovial quirk of his lips.
“Busy mornin’?” Spike asked, not liking the look on the older man’s face. Something wasn’t right, and a little jiggle of worry skittered up his spine, settling at the base of his neck.
Matthew didn’t take his eyes off the crowd of men as their voices grew louder, more animated. “Yeah. Seems someone skipped camp last night.”
“What?” Spike gaze snapped back to Matthew who looked over at him. That little jiggle of worry turned into a knot as the muscles of his shoulders and arms tensed. Spike knew the answer to his question even before he asked, “Who?”
“That widow woman. Mrs. Monroe.” Matthew must have noticed something in Spike’s face, as he tilted his head and looked at him more closely. “You know anything about this, Wil?”
Spike’s eyes widened and he shook his head vehemently. “No. No, Matthew; I don’t. I helped the woman out a bit, like we all did, but she. . . I. . . she didn’t say anything to me about taking off. I swear—”
Matthew held out a hand. “It’s okay, I believe you. I’m sorry, Wil; I shoulda known you’d have nothing to do with her. Not with Elizabeth. . .well, you know.”
Spoke nodded, grateful that the man didn’t suspect that he had any use for Katie Monroe other than to help out, as the other men of the camp were doing. “Wonder why she left?” He proposed, trying to find out how much the cowboy knew.
“Good question.” Matthew shrugged. “Wish I had an answer. Everyone was pitching in, helping her out. She still owes Masterson some money. He let her pay a partial fare. Said she’d pay him the rest when she got to Plattsville. Figure that’s where she’s headed.”
“Bugger!” Spike muttered under his breath.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Just a bother is all.”
Matthew chuckled ruefully. “You could call it that.”
“How’d she leave?”
“Took her saddle mount. We checked her wagon, near as we can tell it doesn’t look like much else is missing. Maybe some hardtack, a canteen.”
Spike’s brow furrowed. “Is that enough for her to get to Plattsville? We’re still, what, three, four days off?
“By wagon train,” Matthew nodded, taking off his Stetson to run a hand through his hair. “But on horseback, depending on how many hours in the saddle she puts in, maybe half that.”
“You’re not goin’ after her?”
Matthew shook his head. “No; no use. No knowing when she left, she could have a good six hours start on us, and we can’t spare a hand to ride out after her. Masterson figures he’ll catch up to her when the wagons reach Plattsville.”
Spike swallowed to keep down the rising nausea in his stomach. “Yeah, guess that makes sense. Look, I’m gonna get our wagon hitched. If you need any help, let me know.”
Matthew nodded, turning to walk away. “Thanks, Wil.”
Spike stood for a moment, watching as the cowboy joined the rest of the wagon train’s men at the campfire. He ran a tired hand over his unshaven face, scrubbing at his eyes in frustration. What the hell were he and Buffy supposed to do now? The bitch had run off with their coin, no doubt about it. And by the time they got to Plattsville there was no telling what she’d have done with it. That was if they could even find her.
And why had she taken off so suddenly? Spike figured she’d nicked the coin to pawn it, but now. . . maybe she scampered off because she knew it was magical? He shook off the paranoia, kicking angrily at a stone near his foot. Hell, even he wasn’t sure the damn thing was magical. It was just a hunch—a shot in the dark.
But it was the only shot he and Buffy had at the moment. And come hell or high water, he was going to get that coin back.
Spike strode over to the wagon, jumping into the back in one smooth motion. Buffy, who was lying back on the mattress, sat upright, her eyes wide with surprise. Spike tried not to notice her gown, still unbuttoned, an obvious invitation to take up where they had left off and although there was nothing he’d like better, duty, in this instance, had to come before pleasure.
Buffy must have noticed the change in his mood. She frowned, tilting her head quizzically at him. “What’s the matter?”
“We’ve got trouble. With a capital 'T'.”
She smiled, flopping back onto the mattress. “Trouble? Right here in River City?”
Spike growled, more than angry that he had to foul up her good mood, not to mention the very good chance he had of getting into her knickers. When she looked up, her smile fading, he sighed, shaking his head. “No. Trouble’s in Plattsville.”
To Be Continued