Defiant (23 page)

“I know.”

“Do you, Mary Jo?” His voice seemed to croon her name. It was deep and husky and sensual.

She realized suddenly she didn't. Some part of her had hoped one day would stretch into two, and two into seven and a week into a month and …

But now it didn't matter, nothing mattered but feeling the warmth of him, easing the aching loneliness in her. Nothing mattered but his touch, and the craving he always ignited deep inside her, reminding her she was a woman.

“Where're the others?” he asked, the huskiness even deeper.

“Jeff … Jeff, Tuck, and Ed went into Last Chance to get the branding iron and some fence posts.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “This is crazy, for you and me.”

She knew it. She knew she was risking everything, most importantly her heart. But she would take these minutes, this promise of magic.

Mary Jo felt his hand take hers and he led her into his tiny room in the barn. He closed the door and looked at her, his hand moving from her hand to her cheek, his fingers running up and down it, lightly, gently, as if touching something precious and breakable. His fingers hesitated as they reached her chin, and then dropped to her blouse, to the opening at the neck. Again he hesitated, and she found herself unbuttoning the top buttons, welcoming the feel of his large hand as it moved inside her chemise and rested on her breast.

She felt it swell and grow tender under his caress. The craving inside her quickened, became more demanding, searing.

Their lips touched and although they had met before there was a new exploration, a savoring of feelings, an enchantment that spun her into a world without boundaries or rules or fears. His mouth ignited a warmth that seeped throughout her, settling into the core of all her feeling, both contenting and exciting her.

She wanted more. More of the cascading sensations he created, more of his strength. She wanted to give and she wanted to take, and she wanted them both in the most terrifyingly urgent way.

He was trailing kisses down her throat, and she shuddered with spasms of desire and pleasure. Every nerve was so alive, every part of her responding in wanton, hungry ways. His lips dropped down to her now bared breasts, caressing, arousing until she thought she would go mad with wanting.

He guided her to the bed and finished unbuttoning her shirt with his left hand. Every touch seemed to burn right through her, fueling the fever that was sweeping up both of them. He dropped next to her, and she found her own hands unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers' catching in the hair that formed an arrow down toward his waist. It was still damp with perspiration from the ride.

She felt his hand move behind her, and then her hair was falling away from the braid and down her shoulders. “You always smell like flowers,” he whispered. “I'll always remember that, that and your damn stubbornness.”

Mary Jo felt pain so deep she almost doubled over with it. He was telling her again he wasn't staying, no matter what happened now, or in the next few minutes. He was warning her one last time. She was beyond warning, though. He had already become a part of her heart, her soul. She knew she would take whatever he offered.

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?”