Defiant, page 18
His mouth plunged down on hers, hungrily now, his tongue entering it with primal intent. He plundered her mouth, his tongue ruthlessly exploring every tender, sensitive spot, then gently, inviting her to journey with him, to taste all the sensations humming through her. Her blood felt hot in her veins as her hand went to the back of his head and her fingers danced seductively along his skin. She felt him shudder, tremble even, and she knew he was caught in the same hot whirlwind as she, both of them tumbling along without will, carried by instincts so strong they overpowered all sensible emotion.
Her hands went to his trousers, unbuttoning them quickly as he groaned, a low cry of pain escaping him. Her breath caught in her throat at the need in that cry, and she felt a tightening at the back of her eyes, a sorrow such as she’d never felt before. She’d never needed to give like this, never felt this aching tenderness, a desire to heal wounds she couldn’t even comprehend.
She wondered why she sensed his errand—whatever it was—had only served to deepen them. Where had he gone? Why had he seemed so troubled when he returned? Her hand went up to his face, her fingers touching the curves in it, following the crevices that began at the corner of his eyes, the lines she knew had little to do with laughter, and everything to do with a darkness that was never far from him.
His mouth caught one of her fingers and nibbled at it, his gaze now holding hers. Another question. Another challenge.
She answered it with a kiss, a long, lingering one with no reservations.
She heard him curse under his breath, but then her skirt was being pulled up and her underdrawers down, and she felt his warm hand touch her, stroking her until she felt she could bear it no longer.
“Wade,” she whispered, her hand pulling him down to her, aware of his awkwardness. Even so, his body fit hers so well, the hardness of him meeting the soft, welcoming crevice between her legs. He hesitated, then moved slowly before entering, seducing what was already seduced. She felt him enter, slowly, carefully, at first, but then his body assumed a rhythm of its own as his mouth rained kisses across her cheek and down her throat. Heat surged, and passion, and glory. Glory splendid and strong and tender and healing. She felt her body respond to his in every way, moving with his in such complete harmony that it seemed to her they were born to this, to this melding, to this wonder.
He plunged one last time, and she felt his heat, his seed, in her, and then waves and waves of pleasure so deep and strong she thought she might explode.
Wade collapsed on her, and she knew it had taken all his strength to hold himself above her with his one good arm. Now she felt him against her, his body wet from the coupling, his breath harsh, his cheek resting against hers. Warm contentment bubbled inside her, as she felt the shuddering aftershocks of their lovemaking.
Wade felt as if he’d been struck by a thunderbolt. It was as if she had reached inside him, baring a heart he thought unbreachable, sharing something with him he instinctively knew was also new to her. He had cared for Chivita, had been grateful for his son, but this … it had been a piece of heaven. For the first time in nearly twenty years he felt as if he belonged, that he had somehow reached home after an agonizing journey. It was exhilarating, terrifying—and completely puzzling, as if she’d taken some healing balm and spread it across wounds he’d thought would fester all his life.
For a moment, he wanted to take it all, to think it could last, but awareness, bitter and intrusive, fought through that moment of hope. He was who he was, and the past didn’t allow for a future. The appearance of Kelly had reminded him of that. There would always be a Kelly, reminding him of shadows and darkness and death.
He moved away from her, turning over on his back, but the narrow bed forced them together. She managed to squirm up a bit, and rest her head on her hand, to watch him. He couldn’t meet her eyes. Of all the despicable things he’d done, this had to be the worst.
Her voice was soft, uncertain suddenly. “Are you … is your arm—”
“My arm is fine,” he said. Then his mouth crooked in a small, wry smile. “Don’t you ever think about yourself?”
Mary Jo hesitated, as if afraid to say anything, and he realized he didn’t want her to answer. He saw what was in her eyes, and it was too damn painful to bear. He turned his face away.
“I was thinking of myself,” she said. “I know you didn’t want this, but …” Her voice trailed off.
Her hand was moving across his chest now, making it difficult for him to think, much less speak. “You made me feel alive again,” she said.
“I’ve never met anyone more alive,” he replied huskily. “Since the first day, when you were so damned determined to save me.”
Her fingers stopped moving but rested on his heart. “Not inside, not where it counts,” she said. “Not since … Jeff’s father died. Even Ty … I … he was such a good friend, so wonderful with Jeff, but I was afraid to love him. I’ve been afraid of ever caring again.” She stopped, afraid she was saying words he didn’t want to hear, but they were welling up inside her. She’d never talked about her feelings before, not to her husband, not to Ty. She’d never expressed her fears or loneliness. They wouldn’t have understood. She knew Wade would, even if he didn’t want to.
He was still, his body rigid. “You have Jeff.”
“Oh yes, I have Jeff. And I love him more than life itself, but … another part of me was closed off.”
“Don’t care about me, Mary Jo.” His voice was gruff.
“It’s too late for that,” she said. She put her fingers over his mouth to stop him from replying. “I know you feel you have to go. I’m … not asking you to stay. I’m not asking for anything. But I do care, and I always will.”
He closed his eyes to shut out her image, the glow in her eyes, the huskiness of her voice, the courage it took to say what she’d said. He owed her the same honesty, the truth about what he was, had been, the reason he couldn’t stay. She saw him as the man who had saved her son, not as the man whose name to this day was a curse word in parts of Missouri and Kansas. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bear the horror in her face. Even if he tried to forget it himself, to put it behind him, there would always be someone or some event to remind him.
He forced himself to move, to get her to do the same. “Jeff and the others will be back soon,” he reminded her, closing himself off again, making his face blank, hoping his eyes didn’t reveal his despair.
She gave him a level stare, then rose slowly, leaning over to take her chemise and slip it over her head, then her blouse. He wished it wasn’t so damn awkward pulling up his trousers and trying to button them with one hand. Still, he was grateful she didn’t try to help.
They dressed in silence, a silence so leaden that he thought it would suffocate them both. He didn’t bother with his shirt. It felt stiff with perspiration from the ride. Mary Jo finished and walked over to him, her hand going to the eagle on his necklace, taking it in her hand.
“It suits you,” she said. “You remind me of an eagle. Free and untamed.” She fingered the seven points that surrounded the eagle. “What do they mean?”
“It’s Indian,” he said roughly. “Do you really care?” He suddenly wanted to hurt her.
“Yes.”
He hesitated, but her face was so damn earnest. He shrugged. “Four of the points are for north, south, east, and west. Two are for the sky and earth.”
“And the seventh?”
“Self. It’s for your self. Utes believe the individual is at one with the land. They have deep respect for the sky and the earth, the plants and animals. They kill only when necessary for survival and then murmur apologies to the plant or animal.”
She was silent. She wanted to tell him she would go with him, but she couldn’t. She wanted to tell him she understood, but she couldn’t do that, either. She didn’t. She was afraid she never would.
“I want to understand,” she said.
“You can’t,” he said. “I was wrong in even asking you to come. You can’t understand what has been taken from them. Their land, their hunting grounds, their buffalo, their dignity. And they have dignity, and honor, more honor than I’ve seen among whites. The Utes have tried so damn hard to live with the white man, ceding more and more land, and still the government pushes. And it continues to push and take, and men like those three miners kill without worry, knowing the government won’t do a damn thing. Indians are nothing more than animals, something to be eliminated, slaughtered like the buffalo.” He stopped, then continued softly, “Like my son.”
She stepped back, as if burned by the intensity of his words. But before she could say anything, they both heard Jake bark, signaling the return of Jeff and the two cowhands.
Mary Jo looked down at her blouse as if to make sure the buttons were in place. She pushed her hair back, tying it with the ribbon. But her face was flushed, her lips swollen. Wade saw it. He didn’t know whether the others would.
“Wade?” He heard Jeff’s voice outside, and he felt an undeserved pleasure. The death of his son had left a hole in him that could never be filled, but Jeff’s natural affection and enthusiasm lessened the grief, made it more tolerable.
He opened the door, and Jeff came flying into the room. “I was afraid you’d left us.”
“I wouldn’t do that without telling you,” he said gently. “And I couldn’t take your horse.”
“I know, but—” Jeff stumbled as his eyes went to his mother, seeking help. But she had none to give. She had apparently thought the same thing, Wade realized wryly, that he had just taken off, that he had disappeared like every other man in their lives. But then neither of them had much reason to trust him. And they shouldn’t.
Mary Jo broke in. “Did you get the branding iron?”
Jeff broke into a big grin. “Yep. The Circle J. Tuck said I can watch tomorrow, maybe even help.” He was beside himself with excitement.
Mary Jo’s smile tightened. “I’m not sure …”
Wade watched Jeff’s smile fade. “Tuck’s a good man,” he said, breaking his rule about interfering. “He won’t make mistakes.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“Everything out here is dangerous,” Wade said. “I’ll stick around tomorrow and make sure he’s safe.”
“But you said—”
“I’ll go the next day.”
Jeff’s face glowed as he turned to his mother for permission.
“All right,” she said. “Are you hungry?”
Jeff’s grin was back in place, broad and happy. “Am I ever.”
“Then wash, and come up to dinner.” She looked at Wade. “Are you going to join us?”
“Please,” Jeff pleaded.
He nodded. “I have to wash, too.” He also needed to think, to get control of his feelings, to harness them as he had years ago—until that day he had come back to the cabin. Since then, they’d been on a rampage.
Jeff grinned, whirled around, and disappeared out the door.
Mary Jo turned to him. “Thank you for not disappointing him.”
“And you?”
She smiled, and it was as if the sun had appeared from under heavy clouds. “And me.”
He put his hand to her face, caressing it. “You’re a remarkable woman, Mrs. Williams.” Her face leaned against it for a moment, and he savored the gesture of trust. Even if he didn’t deserve it.
When he looked at her, he thought how easy it would be to forget Manchez and Clay Kelly. But he knew his blood-stained past would always taint him. And he refused to have it taint—worse, destroy—those who cared for him.
“I’ll be there shortly,” he said.
She hesitated, reluctant to leave his touch. “You were planning to leave tomorrow … for the mountains.”
He shrugged. “Jeff’s horse needs some rest. I’ll leave at daybreak the next day.” It would give him a chance to see Tuck and Ed work, to judge their expertise. And he needed rest as much as Sir Arthur. He still wasn’t up to full strength; his arm ached and so did his leg.
But he did need to return to the mountains. He had to get the horses and come back quickly, in case Clay Kelly started any trouble. It would be easy for Kelly to discover where he was staying. Gossip seemed to be a big business in Last Chance, and apparently, the talk recently had been about the new foreman at the woman’s ranch.
Feeling torn apart by responsibilities, he turned away from Mary Jo. He hadn’t wanted any, and now …
He couldn’t figure out how this had happened. Hell, his whole damn world was going crazy.
15
Supper was agony for Mary Jo.
Her body had been awakened, and so had her heart, and she didn’t know what to do about either.
The two hands had disappeared quickly after eating a meal best remembered for its lack of conversation, she thought wryly. Ed and Tuck, and even Jeff, couldn’t shovel in food fast enough. Wade, on the other hand, had been quiet, watchful.
As soon as they finished, the two hired hands left, obviously ill at ease in the house.
Wade too wanted to make an escape, but Jeff stopped him.
“They were talking in town about the Indians, how they should go to Utah.”
Wade’s eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned slightly. “What do you think?”
Jeff looked up at him. “I don’t know,” he said earnestly, his thin shoulders hunching up. “You like ’em, don’t you?” It was obvious to Mary Jo that anything Wade liked merited consideration with Jeff, even though her son was familiar with the Indian wars in Texas.
“Yes,” Wade said simply.
“Why?”
Jeff’s standard question caused Wade’s tight-lipped expression to ease some. He looked up at Mary Jo, as if expecting her to object. He knew only too well how she felt. But Mary Jo held her tongue.
“My son,” he said slowly, “wasn’t so different from you. He always asked why, too. He liked to fish, and he liked to play, and he wanted to know how things worked, and why the sky was blue and the grass was green.”
Pain edged his eyes as he spoke. The deep, painful sorrow never went away, but now it was exposed for everyone to see, something he’d seldom allowed since that night when he’d been so ill. She suspected that night was the first time he’d allowed himself to really feel the loss. Perhaps because he’d refused to talk about it, to admit his grief, the loss remained a suppurating wound that would always be raw. She felt it bleeding now.
“He was half Ute,” Wade continued softly, almost as if he were alone. “His mother was one of the gentlest people you would ever meet, and his uncle, Manchez, loved him dearly.” He hesitated again, then looking straight at Mary Jo as if in challenge, he added, “Manchez is my brother.”
Jeff’s eyes grew wide. “Your real brother?”
“My blood brother as well as my brother-in-law,” Wade said, his tone changing, reacting to Jeff’s sudden enthusiasm, Once more submerging that grief. “He rides like the wind. He rides without a saddle and he can lean down and pick up an object from the ground at a full gallop.”
“Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat,” Jeff said. “I sure would like to see that.”
Fear arched down Mary Jo’s back. She didn’t know why, but she felt it. A shudder shook her body. She rose from the table. “I think it’s time for bed, Jeff. It’s been a long day.”
“But—”
Wade rose, too. His expression had eased somewhat as he talked, but now his face was closed. His gray-green eyes were blank again, curtained against intrusion, and Mary Jo’s heart dropped with the sudden and immediate sense of loss. But she didn’t want Jeff enraptured by tales of Indians. It was like that river. Jeff had too little fear and much too much curiosity and any challenge attracted him.
“I’ll be leaving,” Wade said. “It’s late, and tomorrow will be a big day.”
But Jeff wasn’t to be mollified. “Will you take me to see Manchez?” he asked.
Mary Jo stilled, waiting for an answer. She didn’t want to be the one to say no.
“You’re needed around here,” Wade replied gruffly. “There will be a lot to do with those new cattle.”
“But—”
Mary Jo wanted to shake him. Next to “why,” “but” ranked second in Jeff’s vocabulary.
“You want to hold up your end, don’t you?” Wade prodded.
Put that way, Jeff didn’t have an argument. He nodded glumly, obviously unconvinced that his help was of great value.
Wade gave him one of his rare smiles. “It’s rough growing up,” he said, and Jeff’s frown disappeared in that moment of manly confidence. He reluctantly said good night and under Mary Jo’s expectant eyes finally went into his bedroom, followed by Jake.
Mary Jo followed Wade to the door. “Thank you,” she said.
He looked at her levelly for a moment. “He’s your son,” he said noncommittally, his eyes curtained again. It was as if he regretted this afternoon, regretted those few remarks at dinner. He was distancing himself again, and she felt a deep hole opening up inside her heart. She wanted him to touch her, to say something … anything.
But he just touched his forehead in a gesture of impersonal farewell, turned and left. She bit her lip and swore she wouldn’t cry. She didn’t have to worry. The hurt was too deep for tears, the loss so much more than she’d expected.
Mary Jo watched apprehensively as the branding continued throughout the day. Jeff was given the job of tending the fire while Tuck and Ed wrestled down the steers. It didn’t take long to discover they needed two men to do that, and Wade was enlisted to apply the brand, something he could do with his left hand, albeit awkwardly.
Mary Jo also had another chance to admire Wade’s skilled handling of a horse. King Arthur hadn’t been trained as a cutting horse, but Wade, using his knees and one hand, easily guided him between the penned cattle, cutting away the calves found with branded Callaway cattle, along with the cattle bought from the Abbots. The calves would be branded for the first time, the Abbot cattle with a second brand, the new Circle J design.
