Lone Star Loving (16 page)

“I–I did.”

Satisfaction–ah, it was wonderful. All of a sudden, they were ravenous, craving nothing but each other. Hawk ripped open her bodice, his fingers conquering the heavy mound of one breast. She leaned in to his touch. It became more insistent; he increased the pressure on her nipple. “Don't. Stop. Don't stop,” she whimpered. He did not.

“Play with me, sweet Charity..”

She did. He bade her to touch him; her fingers swept aside his breechclout. Overly ready for her eager fingers, he felt the release of his first drop of seed as her fingers slid back his foreskin. Hawk couldn't breathe, much less think.

Suddenly her fingers pulled back from him, and she wailed, “I can't forget your deceit! And now–! What are you doing to me?”

He tucked the hem of her skirt into what was left of the dress's bodice and guided her upward, her hair cascading around him. Her womanly place sank and tightened around his shaft. At last he replied, “I am ravishing you.”

Thoroughly sated yet still hard of heart, Charity eyed her exacting lover. In the aftermath of their bareback coupling, they stood on the ground. Hawk, having ravished her body, now attempted the same with her heart. His voice a seductive growl, his eyes insistent, he demanded, “Admit you love me.”

Her inner thighs warm and sticky from their lovemaking, she backed away. The heel of her slipper caught on a rock and prevented her escape. Thankfully Hawk didn't close the distance between them; he stood, arms at his side, his bare chest heaving.

“You've proved yourself a master of my passions,” she finally replied. “I grant you that.”

“Your passion is tied to your love.”

Was it? Her love had been tied to trust and friendship–and lies, as it turned out. “Hawk, just leave me be. Please.”

“What if my papoose grows within you?”

She had given thought to this possibility many times since leaving Uvalde. Each time she reacted the same way. Uncertainty battled with delight. Her future was clouded . . . She was alone in the world . . . But she would love any child of her body.
His child
. too. What they had shared before she discovered his perfidy was wonderful, perfect. But this wasn't a perfect world.

“The babe would want for nothing,” she replied, vowing that she would make life easy for the little one, even if it took bowing and scraping to Papa. “And mind your own business.”

“Any child of ours is my business. I'd do right by you both. If that doesn't sway you, think of this. If you do carry my seed, and if the courts deal with you favorably and both you and the babe are allowed to live, Gil McLoughlin would make it his business to see that his grandchild is born with a proper name.”

She blanched at his grim declaration. Backing into Firestorm, she grabbed the horse's saddle to steady herself. “I won't be pushed into anything,” she asserted wanly.

“Would it take my pushing you to let me become your attorney?”

Incredulous, she stared at him. Her lawyer? After all that had happened between them, he thought to insinuate himself into her life by acting as her counsel–as the defender she would have to trust with her life? And possibly their child's?

She laughed dryly. “That's an insane idea.”

“I don't think so.”

“Even if I did agree, which I won't, wouldn't it pose a conflict of interests? An attorney shouldn't be bedding his client.”

“I haven't had you in a bed.” His eyes, now smoky with desire, penetrated her. “Not yet.”

In spite of everything, a wicked and wanton part of her yearned to be abed with Hawk, a soft mattress at her back, sun-kissed linens musky with their mating surrounding them. And, Lord have mercy, she ached for another journey to that wondrous place where there was no beginning nor end, where a moment's breathlessness erased all thoughts of right or wrong or in between.

“Will you let me represent you in court?” Hawk asked.

She studied the ground; beneath her slippers were patches of grass parched by the relentless heat of late summer. Autumn would soon make its brief appearance in these surrounds. Without a friend in court, where would the dying season find Charity McLoughlin? She had few avenues. Broke, desperate, deceived, betrayed, possibly with child, she had to face facts.
I am a criminal.

If a seed grew within her, she must protect it.

Yet . . .

Her eyes leveled on Hawk's high cheekbones and bronze visage. “I will not allow anyone whom I do not trust to serve as my advocate,” she said.

“Without me, you will hang, Charity McLoughlin. You will swing from the rafters of some courthouse in Texas. Probably the one in Laredo. In full view of Senator Blyer and his son. Do you know what happens when a person dies by the noose? Their face turns purple from lack of air. The neck snaps. And their bowels loosen. Will you have that for yourself, Charity McLoughlin?”

Cringing, she turned from Hawk. Her eyes surveyed the hilly wilderness, devoid of humans save for herself and the Osage lawyer—a couple torn asunder by lies but united by damnable passions. Where did they go from here? And she wasn't thinking about the craggy hills of Texas.

“How would you plan to represent me?” she asked.

“By a plea of innocent. We would tell the truth and beg the jury's mercy.”

“Others have never been disposed to believe me.”

“Trust your fate to my hands. I will free you.”

Once more she turned to him, searching his eyes, seeing in them unshakable confidence. Yes, Hawk had infinite self-assurance, while she had none. “You aren't a criminal lawyer. You are a lobbyist, a man of government.”

“You have no idea what I am capable of.”

She laughed nervously. “On the contrary. I know very well. Lies. Deceit. Cunning. Wiles. Molestation.”

“All the qualities of a good attorney, angel mine. All the qualities.” He took a step forward. “I'll serve you well.”

A slick tongue had he, yet she would fight her weakening resolve. “What about your work in Washington? Surely that needs to be addressed.”

“Washington is over and done with. I mean to become a Texas lawyer.”

“You can't be serious. Why?”

“Like you, I have broken with my people.”

For once, she was speechless. After a moment she realized she was staring at him open-mouthed. “How can that be?” she finally asked. “Mutti said you are your people's most stalwart advocate, that you worked night and day, not only for the Osage nation but for other Indians as well.”

“I did. But they have no more use for me. And I am through with them. They have settled for what the Great White Fathers have doled out. And I would never have settled for anything less than fair play.”

Sadness laced his eyes as he squinted into the sun. “When you said I was born too late, you were right. The eighteenth century would have been the time for me.” He laughed ruefully. “Or better I should have been born an Apache. They are neither peaceful nor subdued. Unlike my people.”

“But you aren't an Apache and this is the nineteenth century. What do you plan to do with the rest of your life?”

“After defending you, I'll open an office in Austin. As your father advised.”

“Papa gave you advice?”

“You find that hard to believe?”

“Well, I ...” She shuffled her feet. “P-papa does have his prejudices. Of course,” she rushed on, “you are mostly white; I'm sure he thinks of you as such.”

“He doesn't.” Curt were Hawk's words. “Senator McLoughlin knows I am, and will always be, proud of my Indian blood.”

“As well you should be,” she commented. “And please don't take offense at my words. I know my father as a very obstinate man.”

“He is that.”

Thinking aloud, she said, “From what I've heard, you are–or were–a man of high ambition and dedication. I'm sure that appealed to him.”

Charity recollected all her jabbering about Wild West shows. She had been asking a brilliant attorney to form a motley crew of entertainers. How ridiculous.

Blood rushing to her cheeks, she swallowed the lump in her throat. Unable to meet his gaze, she pointed out, “Good lawyers expect compensation. I would never allow any McLoughlin to have a hand in it. And I have no money to pay you.”

“I think something can be worked out.” His lips twitched into a lascivious grin. “Services for services.”

She scowled at his brazen offer. If there was anything to be thankful for, it was that there had been no further talk between them of honorable intentions, marriage-wise. She would die before accepting any shotgun wedding!

“If–if!–I agree to retain you as my defender, we must get something straight. You will be paid in cash alone.”

“Really? Did you happen upon a pot of gold between Uvalde and here?” His teasing tone grated on her nerves, especially when he added, “Or did you fall in again with someone like Adriano Gonzáles?”

She wouldn't dignify his questions with an answer. “You will be paid in time. For now, though, understand that I will not allow what happened in that park in Uvalde and atop that stallion to happen again.”

“You didn't enjoy the sweetness of our flesh... together as one?”

The leavings of him still painting her womb and thighs, she longed to answer the call of her desires. If she did, she would be powerless against any whisper he issued, any touch that he elected to give.
Don't let him!
For too long she had been a pawn in the tournaments of others. No more. “I will have you for my attorney. If you agree to keep your distance.”

“Charity ... in Uvalde, you said you loved me.”

“I lied,” she lied.

Hawk took a backward step to fold his arms over his chest. “Then you are a bigger liar than myself. You've tarnished your halo.”

“Is this how you mean to start our client-attorney relationship, by questioning my word and degrading my character?”

“A lawyer needn't think his client is honest in order to give good representation.”

His remark cut to her marrow. “We are not discussing my part in the Shafter debacle, are we?”

“You're absolutely right.” His eyes now as hard as brown bullets looked her up and down. “Okay, we'll do it your way. We keep our distance, at least where the needs of our bodies are concerned.” He scanned the wilderness around them before he uttered another syllable. “Charity, I promised not to make you face your father. I won't. We have alternatives. We can head back to Laredo. You must turn yourself in before word gets out that you were involved in the Gonzáles gang.”

“Ian may have informed on me already.”

“If that's the case . . . well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Hawk rubbed his brow. “We're nearly to Kerrville. Better we should go on to there before turning back. We need proper clothes and you need a horse of your own.”

They reached Kerrville before dusk. Charity waited on the far side of the Guadalupe River while Hawk visited Schreiner's store as well as the livery stable. Twilight was beginning to fall when he returned with the goods.

“We've got trouble,” he announced without preamble. “There are wanted posters nailed all over the place. Your name is on them.”

She shuddered and trembled, feeling as if the earth had opened to toss her into the pit of perdition.

“Charity, we've got to get your family involved. You need their help as never before.”

The Four Aces Ranch.

Charity and Hawk reached the McLoughlin property three days after they had crossed the Guadalupe. She'd vowed never to approach the place again, but that vow she would have to break–for herself and for her child. If there was one. She couldn't take any chances.

Nevertheless, it took all her strength of will to ride, head held high, up the carriageway leading to the mansion on the hill. The two-story limestone structure was encircled by roses, spreading oak trees, and close-clipped grass; it was to the untrained eyes, she supposed, a beckoning scene. But home had never seemed so forbidding. Papa was here.

She slowed the mare Hawk had purchased for her in Kerrville and glanced at him. Gone was his Indian garb, left behind on the banks of the Guadalupe. Proud of his heritage he might be, but he meant to downplay it here for her benefit. No jury would be impressed by a breechclout and bare chest. And Papa remained to be faced.

“We mustn't tarry,” Hawk said, walking Firestorm close to Charity's mount.

Her courage failed. Her eyes closed. “I–I can't do it. I can't go on.”

“Yes, you can. You can and you will. You've got to make peace. Your very life depends on it.”

Would Papa back her, though?

Her gaze settling on Hawk, she saw that he was assessing the house as if he had never seen it before. Pulled out of her melancholy, she said, “You seem to be looking at the place in a whole new light.”

His brown eyes welded to the blue of hers. One palm flattened on his thigh, the other clutching Firestorm's reins, he winked at Charity. “You're very perceptive. In a way, I haven't seen it before. When I was visiting, it was merely a mansion on a hill, a place that showcased great wealth. Now I see it as the home where you were reared.

“I see a small girl, growing up amidst horses and privilege. Alone in a large family. Misunderstood and mistreated. Perhaps not intentionally. But what does it matter, the intent? It hurt you, living in this palace.”

Charity found herself taken aback at his insight. And at that moment she felt a certain oneness. She wanted to make peace with Hawk. That didn't mean going hog wild for the love of him, or revealing to him that she still carried a torch. They needed to settle a few differences, it was true. But it seemed important that she understand the man she had once taken to friend.

“Will you tell me about your childhood?” she asked impulsively.

A hint of a smile played over Hawk's chiseled lips. “I'm pleased to hear you're still interested in me.”

“Don't make too much of it. I'm curious, that's all.”

“So you say,” he murmured. “I'm flattered by your curiosity. But you do have more pressing business at the moment.”

Her regard turned to the house on the hill. “Yes. Papa.” She put her heel to the mare's flank. “I'd better talk to him by myself.”

“Agreed.”