RenegadeHeart (22 page)

When the meal was over, Tyree and her father returned to the
parlor, leaving Rachel to tidy up the kitchen. She cleared the table and washed
and dried the dishes, hardly conscious of what she was doing. Instead, she was
haunted by the memory of Tyree bending over her, his amber eyes alight with
desire, his hands gliding over her flesh, arousing her, pleasing her…

Thrusting the image aside, she began to sweep the kitchen
floor, but Tyree’s swarthy countenance kept intruding on her thoughts. All too
clearly, she could picture his dark handsome face and recall the way his body
felt pressed against her own. He had a handsome physique, as well, all hard
muscle and bronzed flesh. True, he carried a multitude of scars on his back and
chest from old wounds, but somehow they did not repulse her or mar his
appearance in the least.

She spent the rest of the morning baking bread and doing a
few chores, always conscious of Tyree’s presence in the house.

After lunch, Tyree and her father got involved in a game of
five card stud while Rachel sat in a chair near the fireplace, a pile of
mending in her lap. A fire blazed cheerfully in the hearth, and only the sound
of the men’s voices and the sharp crackle of the flames disturbed the
companionable silence of the room. Somehow, it seemed right for Tyree to be in
the house, and Rachel felt strangely content each time she glanced up and saw
him comfortably slouched in the chair across from her father.

Dinner passed peacefully, with the men talking amiably about
politics and the rising price of beef. Rachel said little, but she did not feel
left out of their conversation. Indeed, she felt warm and secure, seated
between the two men she loved best in all the world. For she did love him, in
spite of everything.

About ten o’clock, Rachel and her father bid Tyree good
night, leaving him alone in the parlor. Alone for the first time that day,
Tyree pulled off his boots and rolled a cigarette. Staring into the fireplace,
he tried to remember when he had spent a more pleasant day.

Halloran was good company and he had enjoyed talking to the
old man. But it was Rachel who had made the day special, even though they
hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words. Nevertheless, he had been acutely
aware of her presence in the house, even when she was in another room. Once or
twice, it had taken every ounce of his willpower to keep from reaching out to
touch her, and it was only the fact that her father slept in the room next to
hers that kept him from going to her now.

Stripping off his shirt, Tyree stretched out on the rug in
front of the hearth and closed his eyes, only to snap to attention as someone
tiptoed into the room and closed the door.

“Rachel!” Tyree murmured, surprised. “What are you doing
here?”

“I…I forgot something.”

Tyree lifted one black brow. “That so?” he asked, his voice
suddenly husky.

Rachel nodded. She looked beguilingly beautiful standing
there in a lacy white nightgown embroidered with dainty pink rosebuds. Her long
honey-gold hair fell over her shoulders in wild abandon. Her deep blue eyes
were wide and scared.

Afraid he would frighten her off, Tyree made no move toward
her, though he wanted desperately to go to her, to take her in his arms.

Rachel coughed nervously. Coming here had seemed like such a
good idea when she had been safe in her own room. She wanted Tyree. She
admitted it freely, and so she had padded down the hallway, her heart pounding
with excitement and anticipation. But now, with his eyes on her face, she felt
shy and uncertain.

“I left my…my book in here and I…please don’t make this hard
for me, Tyree,” she whispered plaintively. “We both know why I’m here.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, and held out his arms.

Rachel let out a breathy sigh as she moved into Tyree’s
arms. She spread her hands across his bare back, her face burrowing into the
hollow of his shoulder. For long seconds he held her close, his hand moving
soft as a whisper over her back and shoulders. She could hear the faint beating
of his heart, feel her own heart pounding a quick tattoo as his fingers
threaded through her hair. She drew a deep breath and the scent of cigarette
smoke and leather and man filled her nostrils, stirring her desire.

Gently, he tipped her face up, his head descending toward
hers, blocking everything else from her sight. His eyes were like a deep yellow
flame, and when his mouth closed over hers, she felt the fire of his kiss all
the way to her toes. His lips played across her face, as gentle as rain, nourishing
her desire. Her limbs felt suddenly weak, her pulse was racing, her stomach
fluttering wildly.

“Tyree.” She breathed his name, her voice shaky, her eyes
clouded with passion.

“I know,” he murmured huskily. “I know.”

Carefully, he stretched out on the rug, drawing her down
beside him. His hands and lips were gentle, unhurried, as though she were a
rare treasure that must not be handled roughly, a fine wine that must be sipped
to be appreciated.

Sensations and emotions swirled through her, wrapping her in
a cocoon that knew nothing but Tyree’s touch, nothing but the pleasure of his
kisses.

He caressed the nightgown from her shoulders, his mouth
savoring each inch of her skin, his amber eyes telling her she was beautiful,
desirable. She ran her fingertips over his back and shoulders, across his broad
chest, over his hard, flat belly. She uttered a wordless cry of protest when
she encountered his trousers and he shrugged them off, grinning at her
impatience, then gasped with pleasure as she stroked his thigh.

At last, when she could stand the sweet pain of wanting no
more, she drew him close, her arms and legs wrapping around him, certain she
would die if he did not satisfy the desire he had aroused.

They came together with a rush, mouths fused together, bodies
joined in passion’s embrace, as wave after wave of pleasure broke over them.
There was no past, no future, only their love, as old as time, as new as the
dawn.

For the second time in as many days, Rachel woke in her own
bed with no recollection of how she had arrived there. But this morning she
felt no shame for what had gone on the night before, no regret, only a warm
sense of fulfillment.

Stretching languidly, she gazed out the window, and sighed
heavily as her joy turned to ashes. The storm was over and a brilliant sun was
rising in the east. Flouncing over onto her stomach, she punched her fist into
her pillow. Tyree would be going home now. The words, “Home to Annabelle”
whispered in the back of her mind, filling her with bitter despair. How could
she have forgotten Annabelle?

She dressed slowly, putting off going downstairs because she
didn’t want to know if Tyree had already gone. So long as she was in her room,
she could pretend he was downstairs in the kitchen, drinking coffee with her
father.

She brushed her hair carefully, just in case Tyree was still
in the house, applied a bit of color to her mouth. Squaring her shoulders, she
started down the stairs. If he was gone, he was gone, and if he wasn’t, she was
wasting precious time.

Happiness bubbled inside her when she entered the kitchen
and found Tyree sitting at the table. He seemed to be in no hurry to return to
the Slash W, but spent the morning in the kitchen, chatting with her father as
he drank one cup of black coffee after another.

Rachel left them there while she moved through the house
doing her regular morning chores. For some reason, she found herself singing as
she worked and she realized with a start that she hadn’t felt like singing
since Tyree left the Lazy H months ago.

Damn Logan Tyree! Why was it that he was the only man who
had the power to stir the passion in her soul? Why didn’t she feel the same
quivering excitement in her flesh when Clint held her tight? Why was it that
Tyree had only to look at her to make her blood sing and her heart beat like a
wild thing caught in a trap?

She puzzled over her feelings while she made the beds and
dusted the furniture. Tyree was going back to the Slash W. Back to Annabelle’s
voluptuous charms. The Lazy H was on the verge of being wiped out. They had no
livestock left except their saddle horses, a few pigs and chickens; no cash
money to speak of, no prospects for the future. But she was singing, and all
because Logan Tyree was in the house!

She had missed Tyree. She had worked hard at hating him ever
since he had gone to work for Annabelle Walsh, reminding herself time and again
that he was a killer, a hired gun with no scruples and no conscience to speak
of. He had promised to marry her and then changed his mind, never telling her
the reason except to say that Annabelle had made him a better offer. He had
ridden out of her life without so much as a backward glance, offering no
explanation for his behavior, no apology. Now, without rhyme or reason, he was
back, threatening to steal her heart a second time. Oh, it wasn’t fair!

Still, for the first time in months, her heart was light and
she was happy, and she knew it was all because Logan Tyree was sitting in the
kitchen. Just knowing he was nearby made her feel vibrant and alive, and she
hurried through her chores, anxious to return to the kitchen, always afraid he
would leave without saying goodbye.

Breathless, she almost ran into the kitchen. Tyree was still
there, his long legs crossed negligently in front of him, his hat pushed back
on his head.

Tyree’s hand reached out to brush hers as she moved to the
countertop and began slicing apples for a pie. His touch went through her like
an electric shock.

“I don’t know what we’ll do, come spring,” her father was
saying. “I owe Mort Walker a sizeable debt. I’d planned to pay him out of next
year’s calf crop, but now…” Halloran shrugged and stared out the window, his
brow furrowed. If Lew Harris over at the Cattleman’s Bank wouldn’t give him an
extension on their loan, they would have to sell the ranch to pay the mortgage.
The thought rankled. Ellen was buried here. And Tommy. Rachel’s roots were
here. It was the only home she had ever known. He could not let the place go.
He just couldn’t. Discouraged, Halloran muttered something to Tyree about going
out to check on the horses and left the house, his steps heavy with defeat.

Rachel concentrated mightily on the ingredients she was
measuring into a bowl, keenly aware of Tyree’s eyes on her back, and of the
fact that they were alone in the house. Where only moments before she had been
glad that Tyree was still here, she now wished he would just go and get it over
with.

She heard the scrape of a chair as he pushed away from the
table and her hands began to tremble. He was standing behind her. She could feel
his presence there and she grew suddenly tense as she waited for him to take
her in his arms. She knew a moment of swift disappointment when nothing
happened.

Abruptly, she whirled around. His yellow cat’s eyes trapped
hers in a long, lingering gaze filled with desire and Rachel felt her knees go
weak as he reached for her. She experienced a moment of panic, not because he
was going to take her in his arms, but because she was so helpless to resist
him. Her feet felt rooted to the floor and she swayed against him, powerless to
stem the powerful urgings of her own heart.

Tyree’s kiss was gentle, his hands light on her shoulders as
he drew her close. Time seemed to stand still and Rachel wished that she could
stay thus in his arms forever.

With a muffled oath, Tyree turned away and strode out the
back door, leaving Rachel to stare after him. For a moment, she was speechless,
and then she ran out the door after him, calling his name.

Tyree stopped, waiting for her to catch up. His expression
was cold when he turned to face her.

“I love you,” Rachel said in a rush. “Please don’t go back
to Annabelle.”

“Don’t waste your love on me, Rachel,” Tyree said in a rough
tone. “I’m not worth it.”

“You are!”

“No. I’m all the things you accused me of being when I first
came here.”

“I don’t believe that. Not anymore.”

“You believed it well enough then.”

“Please stay, Tyree. I’ll make you happy. I’ll live and die
for you. Please don’t go.”

“Rachel, I…” He swore under his breath. The love shining in
her eyes reached out to him, warmer than the summer sun, trusting as a young
child who believed wanting something bad enough could make it so.

Tyree gazed into Rachel’s eager, upturned face. He had never
intended to make love to her. He had only wanted to see her, make certain she and
her father were doing all right. Even when he had kissed her that first night,
he had expected nothing more, but she had been on fire for him, her arms
stealing around his neck, her body pressing against his, arousing his own. What
had happened that night and the next had seemed so right at the time. But now,
when he was about to return to the Slash W and Annabelle, it all seemed so
wrong.

Feeling like the worst kind of heel, Tyree turned and walked
quickly toward the barn.

Rachel did not follow him.

Annabelle was furious when she found out where Tyree had
weathered the storm. She ranted and raved for three days, calling him all
manner of names, names no decent woman should even know, let alone speak aloud.
Tyree let her carry on until, at last, she ran out of steam.

“I’m going into town,” he said the morning of the fourth
day. “You want anything?”

“Town?” Annabelle queried suspiciously. “What for?”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business how I spend my free
time,” Tyree drawled, grinning at her in a way that made her eyes flare with
anger.

“Well, you’re wrong!” Annabelle shrieked. “You don’t have
any free time. I bought your time, gunfighter. And paid for it.
All
of
it. And don’t you forget it.”