Tall, Dark, and Texan (21 page)

When he looked up at her, she smiled. “Teagen, I’ve missed our talks. Can we go back to being friends?”

“No lies.”

“I’ll never tell you another lie. I promise.”

He realized how much he’d missed her. “All right. We can try.” He’d never open up to her as he had before, but they could talk about things like the girls and the land. They might even talk of books.

She nodded as if she knew it wouldn’t be the same for a while, maybe ever. The easiness between them was gone.

She curled back into the chair beside him, and neither said a word for a while.

Finally, he said so low he wasn’t sure she heard him, “Jessie, you don’t have to be afraid of me. Not now, not ever. No matter how angry I was, I would never hurt you or the girls.”

“I know, Teagen,” she whispered back. “I’ve always known.”

After he’d thought about what she’d said, he stood and told her it was time for her to go to bed.

When she reached the stairs, she turned and kissed him lightly on the cheek. The gesture was awkward, but it was a start.

Teagen went to bed thinking they might never be as before, but at least there was a peace between them. Maybe that was the best he could hope for.

JESSIE LAY AWAKE MOST OF THE NIGHT THINKING OF Teagen. She thought of how he’d kissed her the night she’d curled into his arms and wondered if they’d ever be that close again. She liked being close to him . . . the way he smelled of leather and earth and hard work . . . the way he touched her as if she were priceless and he had to be very careful . . . and how sometimes she saw a need in his eyes that only she could fill.

The next morning, she was surprised to see him at breakfast. In the month since they’d been married, he’d lost a few pounds. She knew he made coffee before anyone got up, and he ate supper after everyone went to bed, but she doubted he had anything in between.

Martha filled his plate with pancakes and handed it to Jessie to deliver. She touched his arm to let him know she was near before she set the plate in front of him. The muscles of his shoulder tightened, but he didn’t look up.

When she sat down beside Sage, she overheard her say, “We’ve moved most of the stock, what else can we do?”

Teagen started to answer, then noticed Jessie. For a moment, their eyes met, before he said, “You don’t look like you’re sleeping, Jess. There are dark circles under your eyes.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Jessie tried to ignore his observation, even though it was true. She’d felt a sickness deep inside from the beginning of this pregnancy. She’d blamed it on grief and fear, but deep down she knew something could be wrong. If she refused to face it, the problem might go away.

She changed the subject. “Is there a problem on the ranch?”

Teagen didn’t say a word.

Sage poked him. “She’s a McMurray now. She’s got a right to know.”

Both Teagen and Jessie faced Sage. It was obvious that neither had thought of Jessie as a McMurray. In the month since the judge called them man and wife, no one had referred to her by her new last name.

“All right,” he whispered. “I might as well tell you both all I know. Trouble’s coming as sure as fall. We need to make a few plans. I’ve already moved the stock, except for the breeding mares too close to giving birth to make the run.”

“What about the cattle?”

“All but two milk cows are in the north canyon. They’ll be all right. Anyone coming, if they plan to come fast with enough men to overrun us, will have to come from the bridge.”

Sage glanced at Jessie. “Which means they’ll have to ride past the house.”

Jessie didn’t have to hear more. They were telling her that they might have to make a stand at the house. If so, it wouldn’t be a safe place to be.

Teagen waited until she looked up at him and then added, “We might want to think about getting everyone into town. It would be dangerous making the trip, but you’d be safer once you’re there. Mrs. Dickerson would probably be glad to put you and the girls up.”

“Whisper all you want to,” Martha shouted from the stove. “I can hear every word, and I can tell you right now, Teagen McMurray, I’m not leaving this place. If trouble comes I’ll go to the cellar, but no farther. I haven’t stepped foot off this property since I arrived, and I’m too old to move now, so you best figure out a way to keep me safe.”

“I’ll stand with you and the men.” Sage’s tone held no argument.

“So will I,” Jessie said, wishing she was half as sure as Sage. “The girls can wait out whatever happens in the cellar with Martha. If these raiders are planning to steal your land, they’ll stop at nothing. I’d be in more danger in town than here. If they kill you and Sage, it makes sense they’d come after me next.”

Teagen looked like he’d already had this discussion with himself. “All right, we all stay, but Sage, I want you to teach Jessie to shoot a rifle today. If trouble crosses the bridge, I want her upstairs in one of the windows where she’ll be well protected.”

They continued to whisper as Martha made more pancakes. When she finally called the little ones to breakfast, Jessie leaned back, too nervous to eat. Teagen and Sage lived in this world, but it was new to her.

She’d read his letters describing trouble on the ranch. It had always seemed like a grand adventure. Now it seemed only frightening.

When Teagen stood to leave, he looked at her plate and frowned.

Jessie lifted her chin. He might try ordering her to eat, but he couldn’t make her keep it down.

He walked out without a word.

Jessie rubbed her hand over her belly. The morning sickness should have been over a month ago. She’d never been sick so long before. The baby had been moving for two weeks now, but she still hadn’t felt a solid kick, just slight tapping a few times a day. Something was wrong; she knew it in her heart.

“Are you feeling well?” Sage asked as if reading her mind.

“I’m fine,” Jessie lied. “Just a little tired.” This family had enough to worry about without her problems piled on top. She told herself she’d get more rest, drink more milk, prop her feet up at least for a few minutes every morning. She’d take care of this problem herself, and in a few weeks she’d feel as perfectly normal as a pregnant woman can feel.

“Do you feel like learning to fire a weapon?”

Jessie nodded. “Martha’s making gingerbread men this morning. When the girls are busy helping, we’ll slip out.”

Sage agreed, and an hour later the women laughed as they slipped from the house and walked through the barn and out into the pasture beyond. Sage took her time showing Jessie each step in loading the gun and firing. It wasn’t as easy as Jessie thought it might be and, after a half dozen shots, her arm and shoulder ached.

Sage talked her into firing a few more times, then they crossed back to the house. Sage stayed behind in the barn where Teagen had brought in a lame colt. Jessie returned to the house.

To her surprise, she found Tattor Sims in the kitchen helping with the baking, or at least trying to help. Jessie noticed that Martha didn’t seem upset by his presence, so she passed through without comment.

The old Ranger was in the middle of a story about his wild days down on the Rio Grande. He didn’t seem to notice her pass by.

Jessie tried to ignore the pain in her shoulder. She was turning into a bundle of aches and pains. She felt like the lonely old man who used to come in the bookstore every day with a new medical problem.

By noon her shoulder still throbbed. While Martha fed the girls, Jessie slipped into the downstairs bedroom and unbuttoned her blouse until she could push the material off her shoulder and examine her skin in the mirror.

Just as she’d suspected, between her throat and arm were bruises. Long blue lines the width of the back of the rifle.

“What’s wrong?” Teagen startled her.

She tugged her blouse up and stared into the mirror as he walked through the doorway. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“This is my room.” He stared at her in the mirror, a more direct look in his eyes than he might have given her if they’d been facing each other.

Jessie knew that this room was now his, but he was here so little she seldom thought of this space in the house as a bedroom. Some nights the bed wasn’t slept in, and no personal belongings cluttered the room.

“Oh,” she finally said but still didn’t turn around. His reflection was hard enough to stand up to; she wasn’t sure she wanted to face the real thing. “I was just looking in the mirror at the bruises from my lesson.”

He moved closer, reached over her shoulder, and gently tugged the collar of her blouse open.

She didn’t have to look at him to know he was frowning.

Stepping up behind her, he said, “You should have kept the butt of the rifle snug against your shoulder.”

“I know that now.”

Still reaching over her shoulder, he pulled the material until he saw all the bruises. “I could give you some liniment to put on it to ease the muscle pain.”

“I’ll be fine.” In truth, she no longer felt any pain. He hadn’t been so close to her in a month, and the fresh, welcoming smell of him she’d grown used to in weeks past was better than any perfume ever sold at the fancy stores. He was so close behind her she could feel the heat of his body through both their clothes.

She expected him to step away, but he didn’t. He rested his calloused hand lightly on her tender skin, letting the warmth in his fingers relax her.

A sigh escaped before she could stop it, and she felt herself wishing he’d never back away. He must have known what she wanted for his hand tenderly moved over her skin, pushing the blouse off her shoulder.

She swayed, and his other hand braced her as he continued brushing away the pain with his touch.

Long fingers moved from her throat down to her shoulder. Hardly able to stand, she took deep, slow breaths and felt his hand brush lightly over the swell of her breasts above her camisole. Closing her eyes, she smiled as he unbuttoned another button of her blouse and pushed the material wide. Then, as she knew he would, he went back to touching her. Starting at her collarbone, he feathered soothing strokes over her exposed skin. This big, hard man seemed to know how to apply just the right pressure so that her flesh warmed.

“I hate the blue marks,” he whispered against her ear. “But you feel so soft, Jess.”

She stepped back against him, and his hand lowered over her breast once more. Though she was fuller than usual and tender, her body ached for him to continue. It felt so right to have him touch her.

He lowered his face against her hair and tugged her camisole slowly away. She made a little sound of pleasure and rocked gently against him.

He replaced his hand where the lace had been and tightened his fingers. Jessie opened her mouth to cry out, but no sound came. He pressed his palm over her fullness, gripping her with tender pressure. She parted her lips to cry out again. If he hadn’t been holding her, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to stand.

He kissed her hair. “Jess,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “Open your eyes.”

She forced her eyes open a fraction and saw his tanned hand molded around her pale flesh.

“Do you want this?” he said.

“Yes,” she answered, knowing she should be embarrassed but unable to deny the way he made her feel.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“No,” she said, wishing she could put into words how wonderful he made her feel. “Don’t stop.”

His kiss against her forehead was tender, his grip over her flesh firm.

“Unbutton the rest of your blouse.” His words drifted through her hair.

She fumbled with the last few buttons, then watched as his hands moved along her sides and pulled her camisole open.

“You’re beautiful.” His fingers moved over her once more. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He traced the fullness of each breast with his fingertips.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder and moaned softly as he continued to caress her body as though he’d found a great treasure. He lowered his mouth over her bare throat and tasted where her pulse pounded as his hand tenderly branded its way from one breast to the other. Nothing had ever made her feel so alive. When he brushed his knuckles between her breasts, she whispered, “Please.”

He moved to her ear. “Please what, Jess?”

She bit her bottom lip. Her breath came fast, rising and falling with the feel of him. “Please more,” she whispered.

His laugh was low in her ear and his hands hungry for the feel of her.

The sounds from the kitchen reached them, and he reluctantly pulled away. Without a word, she began buttoning her blouse. When she looked up in the mirror, she saw his eyes and knew he’d watched every movement. His steel-blue gaze was full of longing and promise.

Turning away, suddenly shy, she finished the last button. When she looked up again, he was gone.

All day she thought of the way he’d touched her. When she closed her eyes she saw the hunger in his gaze. There were so many things he was—strong, good, stubborn—but today she’d seen something else. She’d seen a need in him. A need for her.

That night, when he didn’t return for supper, she knew he was staying away because of her, and she understood; he didn’t want to want her. He was a man who prided himself in needing no one.

She waited up for him until midnight.

He didn’t return.

At breakfast, Sage commented that they both looked tired. Jessie promised she wouldn’t wait up again, but the next night she was still awake when she heard him come in. It took every ounce of her determination not to run downstairs to him.

By the third night, her need to see him won out over her pride. She waited until he turned out the lamp in the kitchen and tiptoed down the back stairs, hoping to watch him walk to his room or study his silhouette as he smoked his cigar on the porch. She’d promised herself that just watching him, if only for a moment, would be enough.