Breed True (14 page)

In an effort to finish him, she wrapped her legs around his waist and took the last of his cock deep. It was enough.

His release swept over him and pulsed into her. He lifted her buttocks, tilting her to give him even deeper access until she felt him spill his seed in the secret recesses of her womb. Then he groaned, slumping over her for a moment, before he rolled away and left the bed.

Alone again, she stared into the darkness, stifled by the pressure of fear. Now that he was gone, her breath rasped out in panicked bursts.
Please don't let a child take root
inside of me.

She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, to plead with fate. If she willed it hard enough, surely her body would obey. Hastily she rose, cleaned herself and used the chamber pot, as she tried to expel his seed.

She paced the room and worried. Long after their silent coupling, she remained awake. Finally, aware of the long day in front of her, she lay back down and fell asleep counting the items in the room.

Dresser, washbowl, hook, bed …
Emerald's cry of hunger brought her awake at dawn. Had it not have been for the ache in her thighs, she would have thought the midnight coupling a dream.

Chapter Eleven

But it wasn't a dream, and she was more aware of that, when after the breakfast meal, instead of leaving with the other men, Grady Hawks remained behind.

Julie cleared the table, avoiding his glance, although he sat staring at her. Abruptly he stood and walked to the fire where Emerald and Amethyst were propped, one at one end of the cradle and one at the other. He picked up both, and they gurgled happily, arms and legs kicking and flying, delighted to be cuddled.

Julie watched the man who had all rights over her for a year. He returned to his chair with her twin daughters. Grady Hawks made it clear he had something to say. She cleared the table around him, fiercely ready for him to be gone.

When Emerald began to fuss, ready for her own food, Amethyst did likewise. Julie had fed them in front of him dozens of times in the last month.

In fact, she had become so comfortable in his presence that she had often forgotten that he was in the room with her when she tended them. But his visit the night before, his lips surrounding her teat, his mouth suckling against her flesh, were still fresh in her mind.

Reluctantly, she sat on a chair at the table and unbuttoned her gown. When she lifted Amy and put her to feed, he scooted closer with Emma and watched. Then, eyes still on the baby tugging hungrily, he told her, "I always wondered what it tasted like."

Heat scorched through her in a flood of embarrassment that spread from belly to scalp. He cupped her second breast and lifted it, careful not to jostle the baby feeding on the right. A drop of milk pearled on the tip of the teat.

His own cheeks were flushed as he lifted Emma and placed her to feed. Julie cradled both babies as they rooted happily, enjoying their meal.

He walked across the room and shrugged into his coat before he told her what he'd stayed behind to say. "I've found a wet nurse. You won't be feeding the babies from now on."

Had he struck her a blow, she couldn't have been more stunned—or angry. But, she'd learned over the years of dealing with men to keep her mouth shut and assess the situation before she revealed her thoughts. She repressed all the rage inside and asked,

"Why?"

"You haven't bled yet," he told her. At first she didn't know what he meant. Then she flushed at the intimate statement.

She didn't know what to say. Her menses hadn't resumed, and she'd been glad to be rid of the monthly ordeal. She hadn't had a doctor to consult, but since she wasn't pregnant or sick she hadn't been concerned.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Julie tried to remain calm and not scream at him. Feeding the babies was the best part of every day.

"You won't come fresh and catch, as long as they're at the teat. Make up your mind whether they go on cow's milk or you want a wet nurse to feed them. Let me know tonight. This is the last day they nurse from you."

"I hate you," she gasped before she could stop the words. It was good that he wore his knife sheathed at his thigh and hadn't left it on the table near to her hand. She would have killed him right then if she'd had the weapon close.

*

Grady wished he could forget the look of horror and betrayal that Julie had shown him before she grabbed her emotions and hid them away. He swallowed the shame that threatened to make him recant his decision.

Damn it, I brought the woman here for one reason. I can't be waiting any longer. I
bought a year of service. I've already wasted a month.

At first, he'd told himself, he wanted to take no chances that she already carried another man's seed. He watched her closely at first, expecting her to flirt and carry on with the ranch hands who came to meals.

After her skirmishes to get a
thank you
for her cooking, she'd ignored them right back, convincing him that she had no interest in any of them at the table—including him.

On the morning of her second day there, she'd stepped up to him toe to toe and announced, "You get me these ingredients, and you won't need to buy poorly made bread that is stale by the time you eat it." She'd thrust the list at him, and he'd been so surprised, he'd not even read it before he passed it to Rowdy.

"Ride into town and bring this stuff back." Rowdy had been scheduled to ride the fences, but no one questioned the change in plan.

Once the ranch hand was ready to leave, Grady added, "Pick out some cloth."

Rowdy looked uneasily around. "What kind of cloth?"

Grady stood pondering, then pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to Rowdy. "Give that to Comfort Quince and tell her my women need clothes. She'll know what's best."

When Rowdy had returned, he brought a stack of baby nightgowns, picked out by Comfort Quince for the girls, and two dresses, a blue and a pink, for Julie. She'd taken them without a word and retreated into the cold bedroom. Later, cooking for dinner, she'd been wearing the blue dress that fit well enough.

"Thank you for the dresses and the baby things," she'd told him politely when she set supper on the table. That was the end of their discussion about clothes. But he'd seen her fingering the material and had watched her smile at her reflection in the glass of the windowpane.

Cooking seemed to make her happy, so he made sure there were plenty of
ingredients
on hand for her to play with while he and the others were at work. As soon as she received the makings, the cabin was changed, having absorbed the aroma of baked bread and the other enticing scents that mingled with the smell of hot rolls.

He'd made a lot of progress in getting her to trust him. When she forgot that he shared her space, she'd sing to the babies, and most of the time, when she was setting the bread to rise before going to bed, or when she was fiddling with the knotted rug she'd begun, she hummed. But watching her with her babies gradually erased his fear that he'd tied himself to a round-heeled woman who'd mistreated her young.

She'd filled the empty silence of his home, with the sounds of contentment and harmony. His increased intimacies had found a passionate woman who tried to hide from his determined seduction. He'd thought he'd begun to make headway there too.

He admitted to himself that he'd hoped to win her trust so that she'd stay with him to raise their son when the time came. Her words to Hamilton Quince had killed that notion.

He hadn't lied when he told Julie that he'd found a wet nurse. The Apache woman, Dawn, had lost her own baby on the trek from New Mexico territory with her man. She was at the camp in the hills, and he intended to bring her to the ranch today.

He was in the saddle and heading for the high-range box canyon where trouble waited, before he allowed himself to think about the night before. And then, he wished it an indulgence he'd forgone. His cock swelled and ached mightily, squeezed between his groin and saddle leather.

He'd looked in on her every night as she lay with the twin girls and slept peacefully.

The tense look that had made her features appear hard had all but disappeared in the month since she'd arrived.

But as he'd stood over the bed and listened to all three females breathing softly the night before, she'd turned, as though sensing his presence. The blanket had fallen back, exposing a naked breast, teat filled and leaking milk.

He hadn't even questioned his motives or want. He'd dropped his clothes on the cold floor and climbed in too.

His mouth watered, remembering the taste of her.
One taste, that's all,
he'd told himself. But it hadn't been enough. She'd come awake and blinked up at him, surprised, but not fighting or reluctant.

Grady shook off the mesmerizing memory and nudged his horse into a lope that sent snow flying and fast diminished the distance between him and trouble.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
As he rode, the rhythm of the horse's gait matched the cadence of the words in his head.

Did it matter? Granted, he didn't want to wrestle the woman to the bed every night and have his way with her. That thought brought the memory of her heat as it had surrounded him. His cock swelled bigger and harder, and he couldn't shake the need to be in her again.

She hadn't fought. Hell, she'd even wrapped her legs around him and took him deep.

He pulled his hat low and tucked in his chin, to ward off the chill wind, but he wasn't cold. An involuntary groan escaped his lips, the sound mingling with the creak of leather and pounding hoofbeats.

Tonight—he'd have her again tonight. That settled in his mind, he turned to thoughts of the Apache camp he approached.

He was harboring renegade Indian warriors who were being sought by the U.S.

government. Meanwhile, he had women and children in the camp, not fighters, but refugees of war.

Come spring, they had to be gone, before the town of Eclipse and the surrounding ranchers found out, or regardless of shared fear of Alan Michaels, the white citizens would turn on him faster than two heartbeats. It was only the distaste for the Eastern businessman that kept the lynch mob from screaming for his neck right now.

Some of the old men who waited in the box canyon camp had once raided and killed settlers in this area. Grady would feel bad about that if he didn't know that at the time, the Indians had been protecting
their
space, the same land the ranchers now called home. The tribal use of broad tracts rather than fenced allotments had been an easy way for settlers to maintain that the land was unclaimed and open to settlement.

And somehow in this whole tangled mess, Hawks Nest Ranch had become a conduit for one of the sub-tribes of the Apache nation—the Kiowa considered this a place of safe passage as they fled federal reservations and headed for Mexico.

At first, it had been braves, remnants of decimated tribes. Some had stayed, like Navajo Leonard. Others rested and drifted on, searching for lands to call home.

Recent appointments of government Indian agents had disrupted the treaties and set even more Indians off their lands. Now, Rowdy reported that there were women and children holed up in Aerie Canyon. Winter was here, evidenced by the snow shifting under his horse's hooves.

How to deal with the hungry bellies to be filled…

He let his thoughts spiral back to the woman who'd lain under him last night and accepted his attentions. He'd held back coming, savoring the intense pleasure, but when his release was finally on him, he'd collapsed on top of her, oblivious for moments. Hell, she might be carrying already as fertile as she appeared to be—two babies at once. Every time he looked at the little girls, he was amazed.

The night before, after his release, he'd slumped on her and come back to himself, with her stroking her hand up and down his back. She hadn't complained of his weight, although he had to be at least twice her size. He'd have liked to stay the night, but the bed was small and already crowded with the three of them.

He'd move them into the bigger bedroom with him, he decided. She'd sleep with him every night.
That way, I can access her and plant my seed regularly until she takes.

That settled his thoughts, and he turned back to the trail, climbing through scrub pine as he slowed his mount to a careful walk along the slippery path that was quickly filling with snow.

The cave was deep and hidden in the shadows and crevices of the sheer cliff face.

There was nothing in the canyon to give away the truth. He urged his horse up the shale path, icy now but still navigable. Before he reached the top, a shadow loomed before him, and the Apache husband of Dawn materialized.

"We are ready." That was all the man said, but he left no room for dissent. If the woman was going to the ranch, so was her man. It would do no good to argue, so without stopping, Grady turned around, and joined by the two others, retraced his journey.

It occurred to him later that the Indian hadn't wanted him to enter the cave. Maybe that was good. He didn't want to count heads. The ones he already knew about had him worrying night and day.

By the time he got back, the storm that had been threatening had set in for a hard blow. Snow whipped around the three riders and collected until the horses had to wade through four-foot drifts the last stretch to the ranch.

Grady slid off his mount, his legs so cold that his feet felt like they might splinter when he hit the ground. Bent almost double against the press of the wind, he stomped down the snow in front of the barn door and pulled on it till it opened. The Indian woman and her man rode through, leaving him to pull the door closed.

It was black as pitch inside when he led his horse through the doors, but he could hear the man murmuring words of assurance to his woman. Grady felt like an eavesdropper and fumbled to find a lantern to light.
"Light of Morning,"
the Chiricahua man spoke her name as it was in the Apache language. "You will come back to me now."