Mustang Annie (17 page)

“The day we buried her was the day I knew I couldn't stay any more. My brothers were all gone by then, either married or courting, and I couldn't stand the thought of living in that house with such a hateful man. So I packed a bag and left.

“By the time I was twenty, I had more money and property than I knew what to do with. I'm not proud to say that when boys were gambling with their lives during the war, I was gambling with everything they'd left behind.”

“Did you ever go back?”

“Once, after the war. The place had been burned to the ground, the horses gone, my brothers dead. I found my father living in a sanitarium with tuberculosis. Even to the end, with nothing left to claim as his own, he refused to acknowledge me as his son.”

For a long time, as the creek rushed through the canyon and songbirds serenaded the summer from their perches, neither spoke.

“So now you know,” Brett finally said. “Even if I wanted to change anything, I couldn't, seeing as how I'm the only one left. The last of the Corrigans.”

Annie grappled with the unspoken promise she'd made to the young boy who wanted her to wait for him to grow up so he could marry her. If she kept quiet, she'd be committing as great a sin as Brett's father.

“No, not the last. There's still Dogie.”

“Dogie?”

“Your son.”

He looked as if she'd pole-axed him. “Where in the hell did you get a crazy notion like that?”

“He told me.”

“And you believed him?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Didn't it occur to you that he was probably pulling another shine on you?”

Quietly, Annie asserted, “His mother's name was Molly. You met her over fourteen years ago at a dockside brothel. The man she worked for had gotten angry because she refused to satisfy one of his more brutal customers. You stepped in and challenged the man to a hand of poker—if he won, she'd pleasure the man; if you won, she walked out with you.”

With each sentence, he'd grown paler. “This is unbelievable.” He raked his hands through his hair.

“Surely you didn't expect to be able to sow your seed all over the country without a few taking root?”

“I was always careful,” he insisted.

“Apparently not always. And if you deny him now, you'll be no better than your own father. Don't make him live with the same mistake you had to live with.”

She knew when the words registered. His expression nothing short of awestruck, he unfolded himself from the grass and wandered toward the creek. “My God, I have a son.”

For a moment Annie wondered if she'd done the right thing, poking her nose where it didn't belong . . . betraying Dogie's trust. . . .

“Why did he tell you this and not me?” Brett asked. “In all the months he's been with the outfit, he never said a word.”

“Maybe because like you, he expected a father would know his own child without being told.” It wasn't a criticism, simply an observation. “Why do you think he pulls all those pranks? Why do you think he tried riding that horse? He only wants your attention.”

Brett nodded. “I suppose it makes sense.” He then squinted into the sun. “Did he . . . did he ever tell you what happened to his mother?”

“She and her husband were killed in a storm three years ago. That's when Dogie began his search for you.”

He closed his eyes and a bittersweet smile tugged at his mouth. “At least she got what she wanted. All she ever talked about was making an honest woman of herself.”

“You were fond of her.”

The first genuine smile she'd seen on him in days transformed his face, giving her a glimpse of the charming rogue she'd met so many weeks ago.

“I met her after my father died. I guess I was feeling pretty reckless at the time, maybe a little arrogant when I made that wager. I helped her set up a bakery and she paid me back by—” He cut off the sentence and Annie swore she saw his cheeks grow red. “Well, let's just say that Molly was the first woman who treated me like a man.”

Dreading the answer didn't stop her from asking the question. “Did you love her?”

“I've loved all the women I've been with. But I've never been
in
love. . . .” His smile faded, and he pinned her with a look that made Annie's heart speed up. “Until you.”

Annie stared at him for several stunned moments before he averted his gaze, then crouched beside the creek. His denim jeans pulled taut against his thighs and the curve of his rear. He snatched his kerchief from around his neck, dunked it in the water, and pressed it to his face.

He couldn't mean what she thought he meant. Men like Corrigan didn't fall in love, they fell in lust, and pretended it was more to get what they wanted.

But . . . was that so bad? she wondered, envious of his ability to be so free with an emotion she'd felt only once. Despite herself, an ache built inside her to be one of those women. To feel free to touch and be touched. To need and be needed. To love and be loved.

It didn't matter that the love would be superficial. And it didn't matter that once this job was over, he'd move on to his next conquest.

In fact, maybe that was better. No strings, no emotional ties—just a convenient arrangement, a simple using of each other's talents. Her talent was with horses; his was with women.

Suddenly a need consumed her to be like the old Annie, the fearless one, the passionate one—if only for a little while. Long enough to ease the restlessness she'd been feeling since this journey began. A restlessness
he
had awakened.

Brett had once said he'd overcome his fear by taking control. If it had worked for him, maybe it would work for her, too.

She sat up, then rolled to her feet and walked toward him. Her hand to the back of his head made him drop the kerchief from his face.

“You once said you wouldn't touch me again without an invitation.”

He stared up at her, puzzlement plain in his eyes.

Feeling strangely emboldened, Annie flicked the buttons of her shirt open. “I'm invitin'.”

Chapter 21

B
rett's jaw fell.

As many times as he'd pictured Annie wearing nothing but bare skin, his imagination came nowhere near the perfection before him. Her breasts were full and high, the nipples dark and erect.

In awe, he watched them tighten and her breath quicken. “You . . . are so incredibly beautiful.”

“Well? You've been after me for weeks—what are you waitin' for now?”

Her fingertips grazed down her flat stomach. God have mercy. A cautious step brought him closer to her.

“I'm almost afraid to touch you.”

“But I want you to.”

Brett lifted his hands and, fitting her face in his palms, looked deeply into Annie's eyes. He had no idea what had brought on such boldness, and didn't want to question his good fortune. Yet he had to know. “Are you sure? Because I'm not a saint, Annie. Once I start, I may not be able to stop.”

“I'm sure.”

Seeing only his own desire reflected in the flawless blue depths of her eyes, he lowered his head. The first brush of his lips against hers sent a sweet charge of need coursing through his veins. One taste became two, then a third, then his mouth settled on hers, and Brett moaned, savoring the taste of summer winds and sweet promises. His palms slid down her neck, his thumbs grazing her throat. At her collarbone, he splayed his fingers against her smooth skin. Her breath quickened, and her breasts swelled. Her reaction to his touch had the blood surging in his groin.

Brett drew back, swallowed heavily and touched his forehead to hers.

He couldn't believe how nervous he was. He, who had pleasured more women than he could count, in more ways than he could remember, felt as if he'd never touched, never kissed, never stroked a woman. He had to laugh at himself. “It feels like the first time.”

“Me, too.”

The glow of her smile caressed him like sun shine.

“I'll try to be careful and not put a baby in you, but we both know how far good intentions go.”

“That's one worry you'll never have with me. I'm barren.”

So that was what she'd meant when she said no children. What a shame. He wouldn't mind having a few blonde-haired, blue-eyed daughters to bounce on his knee.

The thought disappeared as Annie took a step closer and licked her lips.

Brett's mouth went dry. He tilted his head and kissed leisurely, tenderly. Her arms came around his neck. He groaned as the heat of her breasts burned through his shirt to his chest. She parted her lips beneath his and tightened her embrace.

His kiss turned hungry, searching, his tongue slipping inside the warmth of her mouth to glide across hers. She returned the play with equal greed as her fingers curled into the hair at his nape.

Brett reached behind her and wrapped one arm around her slender waist while the other hand searched for the thong holding her hair back. Silky strands spilled into his palm. He crushed the tresses in his fist and drew her so close to his body that it felt as if they were melded together, and still he couldn't get close enough.

Clothes, he thought hazily. In the way.

In a single motion, he swept Annie into his arms and carried her beneath the shade of a cottonwood tree a short distance away. He fell to his knees, his mouth never breaking contact with hers, and lowered her to the ground. Only when she lay in the grass did his mouth seek the taste of her jaw, her throat, the swell of her breasts. She arched her neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. Soft moans of delight floated on the breeze.

Brett yanked his shirt over his head and released the button on his trousers, then lay down beside Annie. Her pert breasts seemed to plead for his touch. Tracing one with his hand, he marveled at its shape, its eagerness; cupping it, molding it, becoming intimate with its texture before guiding one swollen nub to his mouth.

Annie cried out his name and bowed upward as his mouth closed over her. Her fingernails scored his scalp, his neck, his shoulders. . . .

Even as he repeatedly drew her breast in and out of his mouth, suckling it, circling it with his tongue, Brett straddled her leg and pushed himself against her. The supple flesh of her thigh against his erection fed his hunger.

His mouth left her breast and once again sought her lips. Eager fingers reached for the fastening of her trousers and tugged.

He knew the instant she withdrew from him. Not physically, for there wasn't an inch of skin from the waist up that wasn't touching. But emotionally, he felt her pulling away from him.

Brett stilled, one hand buried in her hair, the other at the opening of her pants. His labored breaths wafted against her cheek.

“Brett?” She gave him a quizzical look. “Why are you stopping?”

“I've never taken a woman against her will in my life—and I'm not about to start now.”

The bloom in her cheeks faded. “Do you see me fighting?”

“No, I see you detaching yourself.”

“I didn't realize—I'll try harder.”

Releasing her, he sat up abruptly and turned away to stare at the clouds sliding across the sun. Even now he couldn't please her. While his body throbbed with desire more powerful than he'd ever felt before, she had to
try
to enjoy his touch. “Don't do me any favors.”

Her hands came to rest on his shoulders; her bare breasts flattened against his back. “Brett . . . don't stop. I want this. I need this.” She pressed desperate kisses to his shoulders. “I want to remember, I need to forget.”

He released a dry laugh. “You aren't making any sense.”

“
We
don't make any sense.”

No truer words had ever been spoken. “You're driving me insane.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I don't want you to be sorry,” he spat over his shoulder, anger beginning to replace the humiliation. “If you don't want me, just say so.”

“I do.” Her lips blazed a path from one shoulder to another. “I do.”

Brett clenched his eyes shut and tried resisting the temptation. But he'd wanted her so damned long. He'd wanted her to want him for so long.

He turned and searched her face. She was scared to death. He saw it in the paleness of her skin, the pinch of her lips, the flare of her nostrils.

Yet there was a strength of purpose about her too, in the set of her shoulders and courage in her eyes. How could he deny her? How could he deny himself?

Honored that she'd chosen him, he took Annie in his arms, vowing to please her as she'd never been pleased before. Because he wanted her to forget, and he wanted her to remember—this night, only him.

Filled with fierce determination, he licked and stroked and caressed and kissed her from ankle to brow, staking his claim, proving to her that every inch of her belonged to him.

Only when he had her writhing and begging did he remove his trousers. He entered her slick folds with a single thrust. Annie's head rocked from side to side. Her fingers ripped out the grasses on either side of her by the roots.

Clasping her buttocks, he plunged into her over and over, his seed amassing with such force he feared he'd explode before she did.

Higher they climbed. Harder he pumped.

Annie met his thrusts with wild lunges of her own until finally, an animalistic growl of sheer pleasure tore from her throat.

Only then did Brett allow himself to let go. His mind spiraled into uncontrollable bliss as he spilled himself into Annie's wet heat.

Annie's hold on him loosened and her arms drifted limply to her sides, her fingertips resting lightly on his bare hips.

His arms shaky, his muscles quaking, Brett lowered himself atop her, feeling her damp skin against his, and drew her close. His mind whirled without thought. Star patterns created a confusion of numbness and bliss.

His throat was dry, his mouth parched, yet he'd never felt so content in all his years of bedding women. With Annie, it felt like the first time, only better. With Annie, it wasn't bedding, it was loving.

He used to think he was the one who held all the power. Not anymore. Annie owned it all.

“I love you, Annie.”

She brushed her fingertips across his temple and whispered, “I know you do.”

 

For a long time after Brett fell asleep, Annie lay beneath his solid weight, staring at the inky branches above her.

She'd wanted to remember—that incredible sensation of being touched, of heat climbing through her body, of nerves quivering with need.

And she'd wanted to forget—the horrid taste of helplessness. Of invasion. Of having choice and dignity stripped away at another's whim. . . .

Annie knew if she hadn't experienced the wonder and joy of intimacy before that night four years ago, she might not ever have wanted to share her body with a man again. Knowing that the last vision that had filled her husband's eyes were of his wife submitting to another man in a vain attempt to save his life had filled Annie with self-loathing so deep it had become a part of her. She hadn't thought herself capable of anything else.

But almost from the moment she'd set eyes on Brett Corrigan, desire had flared to life. And had grown. And built. Now that she'd allowed herself to give pleasure and receive it in return, a numbness took its place, uncurling in her belly, spreading outward, slowly invading her bloodstream until not one vein was left untouched by the hollow sensation.

She grappled for the bliss felt only moments ago; tried to seize it. When that failed her, she sought refuge in the numbness that had been her friend and companion since that night—only to find that it, too, had deserted her.

She'd lain with a man.

She wanted so badly to think it didn't mean anything, that she hadn't enjoyed being with Brett. That she'd simply used him to fight her demons. To prove. . . . something.

But she couldn't lie to herself. If there was ever a time Annie had felt so complete, she couldn't remember it. Her life had begun and ended with Sekoda. Everything before and everything after had remained a foggy sensation, a cloudy memory.

Yet in Brett's arms, life felt precious again. She could almost believe in second chances.

Almost.

Carefully, Annie slipped from beneath Brett so as not to disturb him. Chance and Fortune watched as she wandered toward the creek, wind whipping the shirttails about her legs.

She climbed onto a sheet of shale overlooking the ravine. She folded her legs, rested her cheek on her knees and watched the diamond-tipped current chase itself around a bend. Her throat felt swollen and raw, her eyes painfully dry.

She'd been with a man. For the first time since that night, she'd lain with a man willingly, giving of herself that which had before belonged to one and one alone.

And the worst thing was, she'd do it again.

Already she missed Brett's warmth, the scent of his skin, the touch of his hands on her body—and the knowledge filled her with such shame she could hardly bear it.

She shut her eyes and whispered, “Forgive me, Koda.”

How could she not only have welcomed Brett into her arms, but boldly invited him? How could she have thought for one minute that being with one man would help her remember another, and forget still yet another?

When had Brett become his own entity, his own memory, his own . . . force?

Annie had no idea how long she sat struggling with her own confusion before an odd instinct compelled her to open her eyes. Her breath trapped itself in her lungs as, like specters of ancient old, a band of thirteen white stallions approached the water's edge several hundred feet away.

Slowly she lifted her head in amazement.

She'd heard once of the band of bachelor al binos up near the Canadian River . . . what would bring them to the Palo Duro?

Another, deeper, sense of foreboding drew her notice to the towering formation of Lighthouse Rock. On a narrow ledge bridging the canyon wall, a dark, shadowy phantom stood silhouetted in wan moonlight, watching the band below with a ferocity that touched Annie down to the soul.

Suddenly the band went on alert, ears high and perked forward, bodies chillingly still. In the next instant, they broke into a gallop away from the stallion.

Not a sound had broken the stillness, not a motion had stirred the calm. The only thing that remained of the vision was a settling of dust near the side of the creek.

Had it been an apparition?

Or a forewarning?

Dread stole through Annie's bloodstream as she realized that the number of white stallions equaled the number of months she'd spent with her husband before he was slain. But what—or who—did the black stallion represent?

Her past?

Or her present?