Malachite (The Jewels of Texas Historical Romance Series Book 5) (18 page)

“Not as much as I missed you.” He drew her face to his for another long, leisurely kiss. “Knowing you were here, just a few steps away, is what kept me warm out in the barn. What kept me sane.”

He’d come here in a fever, needing desperately to satisfy the hunger for her. But now, lying with her, holding her, he felt all the tensions draining away. In their place was a calming, soothing feeling, seeping into every pore.

He needed this more than she would ever know. Needed tenderness after the raw, uncontained violence he’d experienced in the past. Needed to prove, not only to her, but to himself, that he wasn’t as wild, as primitive as the creature he’d captured. And so he stroked and soothed and pleasured her. And himself.

Millie felt his heartbeat begin to accelerate as she brushed kisses across his chest. Could feel the control he exerted over his muscles as they bunched and tensed.

When he rolled her over she wrapped herself around him like velvet, her movements fluid, languid. And as their arousal grew, he took her on a slow journey of pleasure.

The sky outside the window was thick with clouds and black as midnight. A cold north wind gusted, flinging snow like pebbles against the house. In the corral a mare whinnied, and there was an answering call from the barn. But inside the ranch house they were aware of none of these things. Here, there was only a man and a woman and a love so deep, so compelling they were lost in it.

Her body seemed boneless, soft and pliant and as fragile as silk. When at last the need became so great they could no longer wait, he took her with a slow, measured rhythm that had her gasping his name. She opened for him, then drew him close and began to move with him.

She whispered his name as she arched, tensed, then slipped over the edge.

Overwhelmed by the sweetness, the tenderness, the simplicity of what they had shared, he followed.

* * *

“Cold?”

“No. Not with your arms around me.”

Neither of them had moved. Neither was willing to shatter the fragile mood that still enveloped them.

“Can you stay the night?” She traced a finger around his lips. Such strong, firm lips. She’d waited such a long time to taste them. “Or do you have to go back and tend your horse?”

“Diablo’s fine in the barn.” He pressed his mouth to a tangle of hair at her temple. “The worst is over. I think I’ve earned the right to sleep in a bed tonight.”

“Have you missed it so much?”

“Not the bed. I’ve missed the woman who shares it.”

“Anyone I know?”

He chuckled. “You wouldn’t recognize her. By day, she’s a sweet, simple boardinghouse owner. By night, she’s a temptress.”

“Sounds dangerous. You’d better be careful.”

He framed her face with his hands and bent to taste her lips. “It’s too late. I’m already in over my head.”

He kissed her. Long and slow and deep. She wrapped her arms around his waist and returned the kiss.

Suddenly he was on his feet and she was in his arms as he strode across the room.

“Now what?” she asked.

“I’ve had enough of cold, hard floors. It’s time to try that big feather bed upstairs.” He smiled down at her. “Mind waiting a minute for another kiss?”

“I guess I can wait. But I’ll expect you to make it up to me.”

He gathered her close and started up the stairs. “You can count on it.”

T
he storm had blown over. The Texas sun, free of storm clouds, began to work its magic on the drifts of snow. Water dripped from the roof, running in little rivers down the icicles hanging over the porch.

With the bitter wind retreating and a gentler breeze warming the air, Malachite recruited the three girls to help in the barn.

“What do you want us to do first?” After the days of confinement, five-year-old June, dressed in her warm coat, scarf and mittens, couldn’t wait to get started. She was eager to explore ranch life, which was far different from her life in town.

“You can let the chickens out and scatter some grain in the yard for them. They’ve been cooped up in here too long.”

Malachite turned to May. “You can search the straw for eggs and take them to the house for your ma.” He winked. “Maybe she’ll make us one of those fancy custards for supper.”

The two tittle girls raced off to complete their chores. When Malachite turned to April, she visibly tensed. He could tell she wasn’t happy about being here. But curiosity, and perhaps boredom, had won out.

“I thought maybe you could muck the stalls,” he said casually.

She shrugged. “I figured I’d get the dirty work.” She picked up a pitchfork and headed toward the first stall. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll give you a hand.”

She wasn’t happy about having to work alongside him, but at least she wouldn’t be doing the chore all alone. “What about Diablo’s stall?”

“Leave that for me.”

Malachite set to work, pitching the manure and matted straw into a cart. Beside him, April worked in silence. When the first stall was empty, they moved on to the next. Soon, all the stalls had been cleaned except Diablo’s.

Malachite led the stallion to an empty stall before tackling the job of cleaning this last one. While he worked, April climbed to the top of the railing and watched.

“Will you turn Diablo over to the town now that you’ve caught him?”

Malachite peeled off his cowhide jacket and bent to his task. “Why would I do that?”

“Because there’s a bounty on him. Mrs. Thurlong said the town was offering a reward to any cowboy who caught him.”

He lifted a forkful of manure. “What do you suppose the townspeople will do after they pay the reward?”

She shrugged. “Shoot him, I guess.”

He turned to glance at her. “Why would they destroy such a fine piece of horseflesh?”

“So the devil in him can’t get loose to cause any more trouble.”

Malachite shoved the pitchfork into a pile of straw and rested his hands on the handle while he studied her. “You don’t really believe that silliness, do you, April?”

“I don’t know what to believe.” She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “Folks said he’d never be caught. And that if he was, he’d never allow himself to be saddled and ridden.”

“Looks like folks were wrong. Now what?” Malachite persisted. “Should he be killed even though they made a mistake?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Malachite went back to his task until the cart was loaded. Then he pushed it outside. After that he began to fork fresh straw into each stall.

April climbed down from her perch and began to work alongside him. “If you’re not going to give Diablo to the town, what will you do with him?”

“I thought I’d keep him. He’ll make a fine ranch horse. He’s the smartest animal I’ve ever worked with.”

“Aren’t you afraid of what will happen to you if you keep him?”

Malachite shot her a sideways glance. “You mean you still think a horse can cause terrible things to happen?”

“Not if he’s just a horse. But if he’s a devil...”

“That does it.” He set down his pitchfork and caught her by the hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

He led her to the stall where Diablo stood watching. At the sight of the stranger, he snorted and backed away.

“Stand right here,” Malachite commanded as he entered the stall.

April stood at the entrance, ready to bolt if the horse made a move toward her.

Malachite approached slowly, his voice soothing, and allowed the mustang to take his scent before getting closer. When he had hold of the lead rope, he beckoned April to approach.

“Don’t make any sudden moves,” he commanded.

Her hand went to her throat. Without realizing it, she closed her fingers around the smooth, round stone of her necklace. Malachite had once told her it would protect her and give her courage.

“All right,” Malachite said softly. “Come here.”

Though April was frightened, she did as she was told. When she stepped closer, the stallion lowered his head and nuzzled her hand.

“He wants you to pet him,” Malachite said.

She brushed her hand over his nose. When Diablo didn’t move away, she boldly moved her hand up along his neck.

“I... think he likes me.” Her voice was filled with awe.

“Of course he does. I told you he’s the smartest horse I’ve ever known.”

“Do you think I could... ever ride him?”

“I don’t see why not. But we’ll wait until he becomes accustomed to the saddle.” He pulled a carrot from his back pocket. “He likes his treats. Would you like to be the one to give it to him?”

She held out the carrot and watched in fascination as the stallion took it from her and began to chew contentedly.

“Look, Malachite. He let me feed him. Did you see?”

He nodded. He had “seen” something else. Something far more important. A light in a little girl’s eyes, where before there had only been doubt and unhappiness. And had heard something as well. An inflection in her voice that signaled excitement.

“Can I go tell May and June?”

“Of course you can.”

“I’ll be right back,” she promised. “I don’t want you to think I’d leave without finishing my chores.”

Malachite stood absently petting the stallion while he watched her dance out of the barn as though she had wings on her feet.

“You may not be a devil,” he muttered, “but you’ve definitely just worked a miracle.”

* * *

“What have you done to April? I haven’t seen her this happy in years.”

Millie and Malachite were lying in the big bed in his father’s room. The only light came from the glow of hot coals in the fireplace.

This was their refuge from the day’s chores. At night, after the girls went to sleep, they would steal away to this room, eager to hold each other, to whisper. To love.

They both looked forward to this special time, when they could forget about everything except each other.

“I didn’t do a thing.” He nuzzled her neck. “It was Diablo.”

She pushed a little away to stare at him. “Aren’t you the one who told me he was just a horse, without any special powers?”

“Did I say that?” He drew her back down into his arms and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Maybe I was wrong. All that mustang had to do was let April pet him, and she walked around all day with the biggest smile on her face.”

Millie pushed away again, this time sitting bolt upright. “She touched that horse? And you didn’t stop her?”

“I was the one who encouraged her.”

“You risked my daughter’s life with that—that creature?”

She was halfway out of bed before he caught her and dragged her back. Holding her firmly against him, he wrapped his arms around her waist and muttered fiercely, “Do you honestly believe I’d risk harming any one of the girls?”

Millie held herself stiffly in his arms. But his words were already softening her resolve. “Of course I don’t.” She turned, touching a hand to his face. “But Diablo’s a wild thing. You said yourself you didn’t want the girls going near him.”

“When I’m not around. But when I’m with them, there’s nothing to fear. Pretty soon he’ll become so accustomed to people, he’ll be as gentle as an old barn cat.”

She opened her mouth. But before she could issue a protest he kissed her, hard and quick. “Diablo’s not a killer. Or a mystical creature. He’s just a wily, beautiful mustang that needs a little time to adjust to people. And you said yourself he made your daughter happy.”

She relaxed and melted against him. “I think you’ve just convinced me.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Now, Mrs. Potter, maybe I can convince you that you’d be more comfortable without that nightgown.”

“I think, Mr. Jewel, you’ve already won all the arguments you can hope for tonight.” She laughed, a clear tinkling sound that wrapped itself around his heart.

He lowered her to the pillow and covered her mouth with a hot, hungry kiss. And found himself praying that it would always be this easy to bring the lilt of laughter to her lips.

* * *

Something dragged Malachite up from the depths of sleep. He stirred briefly, then began to slip back. Then he heard it again. A shattering, heart-wrenching sound. A moan. A sob. A cry. He felt movement beside him, and the shifting of the mattress.

At once he sat up. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out Millie’s figure across the room, standing by the window.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

She didn’t speak. But he could see the way her shoulders shook as she continued crying silently.

Tossing aside the covers, he went to her, wrapping his arms around her. She didn’t return the embrace. She continued to stand, rigid, unyielding, swallowing back hot, scalding tears.

“Tell me what’s happened, Millie. Was it a dream?”

“I... yes.” Her voice was muffled against his chest.

The very thought of anything hurting her, even a dream, had him feeling fiercely protective. “Have you had the dream before?”

She let out a sigh. “Too many times to count.” She touched him then. Just a hand to his cheek. It was cold as ice.

“Come back to bed, Millie. You’re freezing.”

“I’m afraid to go back to sleep.”

Without even knowing what the dream was about, he hated it. “We don’t have to sleep. We’ll talk.”

She started to shake her head.

“We don’t even have to talk, then. We’ll just warm each other.”

At that she allowed him to lead her back to bed. When he plumped the pillows, she leaned against them, drawing the blankets up to her chin.

He lay, one arm under his head, the other clasping her hand. By the faint light of the embers he could see the tears still wet on her lashes.

“The dream was about your husband, wasn’t it?”

She nodded.

“About the way he died?” When she didn’t respond he said softly, “It might help if you talk about it.”

She looked at him, then away. “I’ve never talked about it. Not to anyone.”

“Why?”

“Because there wasn’t anyone to tell. The townspeople all knew. When word came in that Mick had been found thrown from his horse, they had plenty to say among themselves.”

Thrown from his horse. No wonder she had seemed so tense and edgy when he’d gone after Diablo. But she hadn’t said a word. She’d let him go, even though she must have been terrified.

She continued in that soft, breathless tone. “No one really talked to me about Mick’s death. April and May were too young to understand. All they knew was that their father was never coming home again. And all I knew was that I had to find a way to take care of myself and my two children and the baby that would soon be born. There was no time to grieve. The same day I buried Mick, I took in my first boarder. And I’ve been working ever since.”

She fell silent for a few moments before saying softly, “I’ve always thought that if I had been with Mick, tending him after the fall, he wouldn’t have died.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference.” His tone was flat, lifeless.

“How can you say that with such certainty?” She was suddenly angry, restless. For the first time she looked at him. And saw a look in his eyes that mirrored her own pain.

“Answer me,” she said. “How can you know Mick wouldn’t have died if I’d been there with him?”

Instead of speaking, he slipped out of bed and crossed the room. When he located his tobacco, he rolled a cigarette, held a match to the tip and inhaled deeply.

Millie watched as he walked to the window to stare out at the blackness.

When he finally spoke, the words seemed pulled from somewhere deep inside him. “I was with my wife and child when they died in Montana. But I couldn’t save them.”

Wife and child. She felt as if she’d been slapped. All this time they had spent together, he had never mentioned them. This was the first that she’d heard of their existence.

“What...” Her throat was dry as dust, the words bitter on her tongue. “What was her name?”

He continued to stare out the window. His tone was flat, emotionless. “Her name was Anna. Her father was a rancher. A very powerful, very wealthy rancher. He had forbidden us to marry, but we were young and headstrong. She said she didn’t care that I was a Comanche. But her father cared. He sent a sheriff to arrest me. I spent six months in jail until a federal judge came to town for the trial. He ordered the sheriff to turn me loose. Said I hadn’t committed a crime. And despite threats from her father, Anna left her ranch and came back to live with me.”

“And your child?”

“A son. Barely two months old when he contracted the fever. I used all of my medicines, but he only got worse.”

Millie thought about the concern he had shown when April had her fever.

“Then my wife grew ill. Each day was worse than the day before.”

“Were there no doctors in Montana?”

He did look at her then. The look in his eyes was so bleak she felt a knife twist in her heart.

“There was a doctor. In the town where we lived. But he refused to treat the wife of a Comanche. He called our union unholy. The work of the devil.”

Millie felt all the breath leave her lungs. “Couldn’t her father persuade the doctor to see her?”

“Her father said his daughter was already dead to him. He actually said she would be better off dead than married to an Indian.”

Millie’s hand flew to her mouth to hold back the gasp of outrage. “But the baby was an innocent party to all this. That baby was his grandson.”

Malachite shook his head. “The hatred had choked his heart and soul. He no longer acknowledged his daughter. Or his grandson. When they died, I buried them alone. And then I turned my back on the town that had turned its back on them. I moved up into the hills, away from people. Away from their hatred.”