Defiant, page 29
Dinner was, thankfully, an opportunity to get his thoughts—and emotions—back where they belonged. Tuck and Ed discussed what had been done while they were away. Ed had tracked the cat that had killed one of the young cows and killed it. The rest seemed to be doing well. Fences had been repaired, stalls added to the barn. Both men apparently were capable of working on their own.
Mary Jo would have the help she needed once he was gone. He was sure of that now, and his mind was partially relieved. He wouldn’t be leaving her alone, unprotected. But he would have to drop a word in Tuck’s ear, warn him about strangers. Neither man, though, was a gun hand, though they carried rifles, mainly against animal predators and snakes. They’d stand no chance against Kelly and his human predators. Which meant his plan had to succeed, as half-baked as it was.
After supper, Tuck and Ed retired to their own quarters. Jeff, who had watched Wade steadily throughout the meal, took up the dishes. Mary Jo stood and started to help Jeff. Uncertainty showed in her eyes, as if she knew something unpleasant was coming.
“Come outside with me,” Wade told Mary Jo.
She stared at him, obviously surprised and wary of the unexpected invitation.
“Please,” he said. He rarely used the word.
She set down the dishes she was holding and walked to the door, opening it herself and going out to the porch. She looked out toward the mountains where they’d stayed, and he saw her bite her lip. He would never forget the way she and Jeff did that. He swallowed hard. Whenever he saw her do it, he wanted to take her, hold her, wipe away that nervousness, that apprehension, she tried to hide. He closed the door behind him, and stood next to her, his left hand going to her cheek, his finger running along the lip she’d been biting. There was the slightest thickness. He swallowed hard. He wanted to touch her everywhere, not just stop here. But he did.
He took the few steps down the stairs and waited for her to join him, walking away from the house. He didn’t want Jeff to hear any part of what he had to say. They walked out to the far edge of the corral, and he watched the enclosed horses for several moments as he tried to frame words.
He leaned against the top railing, wishing he didn’t smell the scent of roses that always hovered around her. “You can depend on Ed and Tuck,” he said cautiously. “And now you should have enough horses for more hands.”
She didn’t say anything, just waited. He turned and looked at her. Her face seemed pale in the moonlight. Her eyes seemed wider than usual, her lips trembled slightly. She looked so damn beautiful and vulnerable … and desirable. Yet, he also knew her strength now.
That didn’t help one damn bit. It should. But it didn’t. He wanted to be there for her, even as goddamn useless as he was. He looked around at the ranch, which had become home in such a short time, the porch where he’d sat talking to her. At the barn where he’d first made love to her.
He turned away. “I’m going to Last Chance tomorrow,” he said abruptly, not looking at her. “If I don’t return by the following morning, go into town and take your money from the bank.”
There was a stunned silence.
He waited for the questions. He knew they would come this time. And they did.
“Why?”
“Because it might be robbed.”
The silence grew longer this time. He turned his gaze to meet hers, faced the questions there, the terrible unanswerable questions. “Not you?”
“No.”
Something in her face eased slightly, yet the implications of his statement were clear enough. She finally asked the question he knew was coming, the one that would have to be met, if not completely answered. “How do you know?”
His hand pressed down on the fence railing, barely feeling the sliver that dug deep in his palm. “I ran into … some men I used to know. They wanted me to join them.”
The silence again. The awful silence. She was as afraid to ask questions as he was to answer them. “Friends?”
“No.”
“Then why …?”
“They know something about me …”
Silence again. Hard, dead, cold silence.
Then, finally. “Those men you said you killed?” The question was asked almost hopefully, and Wade felt part of himself die. Again.
“Something else.”
The silence was even longer this time. He heard her intake of breath, the audible swallow. “You can’t go to Matt then,” she said. It was more a statement than a question.
He didn’t answer. A horse whinnied, stamped his foot nervously in his new, unfamiliar quarters. Wade was grateful for the distraction.
“And if I go to Matt, or tell anyone, Matt will wonder how I knew …” Her voice trailed off.
“If you don’t, you’ll be ruined and so will your neighbors,” he finished for her in a low, dispassionate tone.
“You’re planning something,” she said in a bare whisper. Her body suddenly leaned against his, and his arm went around her as he felt her tremble against him. Her head lay against his heart, and he felt his shirt dampen. He wanted to tell her things would be all right, but they wouldn’t. Not for them. Three fates awaited him after tomorrow: a bullet, a noose, or prison. He preferred the first. Then, perhaps she and Jeff would never discover what he’d tried to hide for so many years.
His silence answered for him.
“I love you, Wade. I don’t care what happened in the past.” It was a plea, clear and simple, and it ripped through him. He knew she could tolerate him killing men who’d killed a child, but what if she knew he’d stood silent years ago when farms were raided, men taken and shot, and boys were killed. Oh, they were called men, but they hadn’t been; hell, half probably hadn’t started shaving. She wouldn’t love him then. She would despise him as much as he’d despised himself all these years. He should tell her. He should tell her, so she could let go.
He couldn’t do it. The words simply wouldn’t force themselves through his teeth.
“Listen to me,” he finally said. “If I’m not back by the day after tomorrow, get Tuck to go into town and withdraw your money from the bank. Don’t you go. Hide it someplace safe. Then I want you and Jeff to go to the Abbots and stay there. Tell them to withdraw their money too, that you heard some kind of rumor there might be trouble. If I’m in jail, don’t come near me.”
“No,” she said.
“It’s Jeff’s life, too,” Wade said. “Both of you could be in great danger because of me. I won’t let it happen again, Mary Jo. Don’t make me watch it happen again.” His last words were little more than a tortured groan.
Mary Jo’s hand caught his good one, pressed her fingers between his with a desperate possessiveness.
“Promise me, Mary Jo. Promise me you won’t put Jeff in danger.”
“Go to the mountains,” she said. “I can talk to Matt.”
“And tell him what? Your foreman is not Wade Smith. That you’ve been harboring a murderer? How would you explain knowing there might be a bank robbery?”
He could almost see her mind working. She was not a devious person, but she was trying to be for him. Dammit, he didn’t want to corrupt her as he had been corrupted.
“No,” he said. “Don’t even think of ways. They wouldn’t work, and this is my problem.”
“What are you going to do?”
“It’s better you don’t know,” he said quietly.
“You keep telling me that,” she retorted rebelliously. “I’m not a child.”
“No one knows that better than I do,” he said softly, regretfully. “Dammit, Mary Jo, you gave me so much more than I had any right to have. Now give me this. Make it easier for me to do what has to be done.”
She looked up at him, and in the moonlight, he saw the tears hovering in her eyes. There was still defiance in that face, but realization, too. She stretched up until her lips met his, and she kissed him with such poignant sweetness, he thought his heart would shatter. He knew better, he knew much better, but his lips responded and the kiss turned fierce and hungry and desperate. She was already leaning into him, but now his manhood responded, growing hard and wanting, and she pressed into him until he wanted to moan with longing for her.
“Oh God,” he whispered, his lips moving away from hers as he stared at her.
“I want to stay with you tonight,” she said.
No! But the word didn’t leave his mouth, and they were moving toward his small quarters in the barn. He wasn’t sure who was guiding. He didn’t care. He just knew he didn’t want to let go, that he needed this night just as she did.
“Jeff?”
She hesitated. She turned to him, putting her hand on his face. “I’ll see him to bed, then come to the barn.”
“Are you sure, Mary Jo?”
“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” she said and fled before he could make any more protests. Not that he was capable of any.
23
Mary Jo checked Jeff’s cuts before sending him off to bed. He was more subdued than usual.
“Ma,” he said as she started for the door, “Wade says he’s leaving.”
“I know,” she said.
“Can’t you make him stay?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’ll miss him.”
“I know, love. So will I. Good night now.”
He turned over, and she sensed he wasn’t at all satisfied with her answers. Neither was she. She wished she could come up with a way to change Wade’s mind.
She waited a little while until she thought he was asleep. She brushed her hair and left it down and looked in the mirror. Her heart thumped as if she were sixteen with her first beau. Deep inside, she knew what she was about to do was foolish. Going to him tonight would only place him more securely in her heart and soul, only make his leaving worse. Yet it would give her memories, too. She swallowed hard and went out the door, almost running.
Once inside the barn, Mary Jo let her eyes get accustomed to the darkness. There was only a faint light coming from under his door. She followed that slim trail of light and pushed the door open.
He was stretched out along the cot, one knee bent. He wore no shirt, only the white sling against his skin. His chest wasn’t as bronze as a month ago, but in the light of the kerosene lamp it seemed to glisten with the golden hair she now loved.
He moved, sitting up and placing bare feet on the wood boards of the floor. There was grace to each of his movements, an easy fluidity that had always captivated her. He’d shaved, she noticed, and changed to the deerskin trousers. They were easier to discard, she’d discovered. She wondered briefly if that was why he had changed, and dismissed the idea. He’d been riding the entire day when he’d come in, had been sweaty and dirty from the horse and trail dust.
“I thought you had changed your mind,” he said.
“No,” she said in what sounded like a croak to her. “Jeff was wondering whether there was any way to make you stay.”
“I’ll miss him.”
“I’m afraid he might do something foolish again.”
“I’ll watch out tomorrow, but you’d better keep him in sight.”
She nodded, still standing where she was. He stood and walked over to her. “I prayed you wouldn’t come.”
“Prayers don’t seem to be doing either of us any good.”
His hand took a lock of her hair and played with it. He smelled like soap and leather. An enticing scent. An irresistible one.
“I like your hair,” he said, his voice husky now. “I like it this way, down, where I can run my hand through it.”
She wished she could move. She couldn’t. His eyes were devouring her. There was nothing blank about them now, nothing secretive.
Mary Jo closed her eyes, memorizing everything about him. The sound of his voice, the scent of him, the way he felt, and the texture of his skin against hers, the soft breeze of his breath against her hair. All these, and more.
She felt his mouth touch her skin with such tenderness she shivered with the wonder of it. And then he trailed kisses down to her throat, and his tongue explored her pulse there, sending desire rushing through her blood.
His left hand was touching the back of her neck, his long fingers kneading the muscles, relaxing her even as his tongue excited. The sensations played against each other, tumbling her emotions along rapids and waterfalls. She heard herself moan with the sheer sensuality of his touches.
And then his fingers moved from her neck to the front of her dress, and she felt the buttons go, and the dress opening, felt his hand touch her breast, felt them swell and ache. He leaned down and his mouth played with her left nipple, sucking on it until she cried out with torment. Then the next as he pushed away the dress and it fell to her hips. She could only stand helpless under the magic of his hand and mouth.
She opened her eyes and looked down. His trousers were bulging with his own need and her hand went down and untied the leather laces.
Together they stepped out of their garments. Her chemise came over her head, everything else was dropped, and they were standing there in the flickering light of the kerosene lamp, their bodies touching, then melding, fitting into each other so naturally. He glided his hand over her hair, watching as it tumbled over her shoulder. He buried his face in it with a soft cry, then took her hand and led her the two feet to the bed. She seemed to float, the magic was so strong between them.
His hand guided her down to sit on the bed, and then, he moved next to her. She shifted slightly and touched his face, closing her eyes. She was memorizing the feel of it, of every little crease and curvature, every small crevice. And then she did as he had done, covered that wonderful face with kisses, tasting him now as he had tasted her, and when she reached his lips, they met and challenged and consumed.
And loved. Together, they lay down on the bed, their bodies twisting together with a hunger of their own. Because of his arm, almost unconsciously she slid on top of him, and as their lips gentled she felt the hardness of his need below her. She moved slightly, positioning herself, and he came into her, gently at first, both claiming each other in the most intimate and wondrous of ways. They held one another, savored the closeness of the act, but then a familiar urgency took hold. Hot. Intense. Desperate. Even angry. She sensed it in him, that anger.
“No,” she whispered. “It’s right. It’s so right.” She moved until he filled her so completely she thought she might break with the sublime joy of it. He moved, beginning a primitive rhythm that swept her along, intensifying until they were both locked into a swaying, explosive world of feeling.
Mary Jo heard her own moan mix with his cry as passion erupted brilliantly. She lowered herself until her bare skin touched his. Sensations continued to ripple through her body. His body was quivering ever so slightly, and his eyes closed as his good arm wrapped around her, and he held her tight. She laid her head next to his heart, heard its loud beat. So strong. So fine. She would always believe that.
Her hand went up to his hair. Thick and damp now, it curled slightly around her fingers.
“I love you,” she said.
His chest heaved, and she felt its quake all the way through her.
Wade didn’t say anything, but his hand ran down her back, his fingers gently saying things he couldn’t say. He couldn’t allow more. He couldn’t think how much he wanted her, needed her. How much he would miss her, miss that sparkle in her eye, that tentative smile that so often hovered on her lips, that heart that gave so much and asked so little.
He didn’t want to move. She felt so fine on him, his chin resting on that mass of auburn hair, her body wrapped so intimately with his.
He would never feel like this again, and he wanted to savor every second of it. He wanted to remember the feel of her breath on his chest, the glazed look in her eyes as she studied him so solemnly. He felt so unworthy. If she knew …
But she didn’t, and he was too much of a coward to tell her, too greedy for that trust she handed him so easily. He swallowed hard, as he leaned his chin against her head, thinking nothing could be this silky, this intoxicating. But then everything about her robbed him of his ordinary caution and common sense. He had been so damn determined not to spill his seed in her, but that, as before, had been impossible.
I love you. And loving him was the worst thing that could happen to her. All of a sudden, he wanted so much. Part of him had remained numb from years of brutal guerrilla warfare. He’d become afraid to love, and the deaths of Chivita and Drew had nearly destroyed what small thread of hope had survived.
Mary Jo had taken that thread and weaved it into something he wanted desperately. He knew that Mary Jo and Jeff could revive those embers of life he thought he’d quenched so long ago. But it was too late. Much too late.
He held her that entire night. She snuggled in his arms, and they made love again, this time slowly and gently, as if hoarding every tender moment. There was a bittersweet anguish to each touch, each kiss.
They rose, dressed, and went outside to watch the sunrise together, the gold spreading over the eastern horizon, “Don’t go,” she said. “Don’t go because of me.”
“It’s not for you anymore,” he said. “It’s for me. I’ve been running so damn long.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “If the sheriff wants to know, just tell him what you did before. That you know me as Wade Smith, your fiancé’s brother. Stick to it. Tell Jeff to do the same.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Stop running,” he said softly. “No matter what you hear about me, remember one thing. You are the best thing that has happened to me.” He turned abruptly toward his horse. He hadn’t wanted her to watch him go, but she’d stood next to him as he saddled his horse, and now she stood at the barn door as he walked his horse to the gate. He mounted, then looked back one last time before digging his heels in the gray’s side and riding toward Last Chance.
Despite what he told her, he knew he wouldn’t come back, couldn’t come back no matter what happened. He couldn’t say goodbye again.
