The Ruby Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy) (23 page)

Nor for her either. He had irrevocably changed the melody of her life.

He took a sip, then handed her back the glass. She savored the soft velvet-bodied wine with a hint of plum. “My parents, Scott, and I attended a charity ball on New Year’s Eve. We were on our way home when a vehicle hit us head on. Dad was driving. I was in the back seat with Scott. Our car plowed through a fence. A plank sheared off and smashed through my window. A chunk lodged in my neck barely missing the carotid artery. The car stopped when we hit an oak tree.”

“Car?”

“Vehicle, transportation, conveyance, carriage.” She gestured, caught in a game of charades.

“You can explain later. Go on.”

“The impact knocked me out. When I came to, my parents were dead. Scott was still alive, but a piece of fence had impaled him. I called nine-one-one.”

“What’s nine-one-one?”

“People with red bags. People like me.”

“There was no medicine in your bag for him, was there?” For a moment, Cullen glanced away, grew distant, as if looking into his past.

“Scott’s only hope was getting to the hospital. All I could do was hold him and tell him help was on the way. He died before the ambulance arrived. He saved my life that night in the barn, but I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save my parents. I’d been trained to save lives, but I couldn’t save the three people I loved most in the world.”

“Your parents were dead. Your Scott had a piece of fence in his chest. You’re not God. They were in His hands, not yours.”

“You don’t understand. I was trained—”

“I
do
understand. You’ve set yourself against an impossible standard and perceive anything less as failure. You didn’t fail. You did what only you could do. Provide comfort and hope during the last moments of his life. You have to let it go. His death wasn’t your fault.”

It
was
her fault. All of it was her fault. She was living a life she never should have had all because of a damned ruby brooch. She jumped to her feet and ran toward the river. Cullen ran after her. “Kit, stop.”

“Go away.”

“Without you, we would have lost most of the folks on the wagon train. You saved our lives. That has to count for something.”

“Every life is important. Saving one person doesn’t negate the guilt of being unable to save another.”

He spread his arms wide. “You think I don’t know that? God knows I’ve been trying most of my life to make up for failing my sister, but at some point we have to move on.”

“When I get home—”

He pulled her into his arms. “Don’t go.”

“I don’t belong here.”

He kissed her, tasting of sweet wine. Her fingers combed through his thick hair, effortlessly—so easy, and so right. She heard the unsung lyrics of her heart’s song.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the blanket. “I have every intention of making love to you. Stop me if you must, but stop me right now.”

If I only have one night, one night will be enough
. “I couldn’t live with the regret if I stopped you now.”

CULLEN SNUGGED KIT into the curve of his long body and regarded her for several moments. “Are you sure, lass?” A worried frown creased his brow.

“You are what I want.”

His thumb slid over her cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She traced the shape of his prominent brow, down his nose, across high cheekbones, then down the line of his square jaw to kissable lips, putting to memory the chiseled planes of his face. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He swept a wild lock of hair away from her face. “Nae, lass, ne’er cannae disappoint this Scotsman.” The timbre of his voice bore the sound of the land that had informed him. “You’re a beauty.” His hand trembled as he unbuttoned her shirt, then tenderly slipped the fabric off her shoulder.

Her nipples tightened beneath the camisole and pressed against the silk.
Kiss me.
She had no breath to ask.

He blew warm caresses across her skin. “I don’t want to frighten you.”

“You won’t.”

His thick dark lashes lifted. “Kiss me,” he whispered against her lips.

She nibbled at his mouth, then slipped her tongue inside and tasted the plum-flavored merlot, tantalizing and succulent. She breathed him in, fully expanding her lungs with the first deep breath she had taken in months, maybe years.

In his arms, she lived.

The pieces of her jumbled brain snapped into place, creating a perfect picture in warm, amber tones. Their meeting was not an engineered meeting of two souls, but a re-alignment of the stars to put lives back to the way they should have been.

Cullen unbuttoned her trousers. His hand moved lower, gliding over her abdomen, brushing her skin with his fingertips. Her stomach muscles tensed, and she squirmed to help him. “There’s no hurry, lass.” His warm chuckle poured over her with tingly heat.

She understood now that her virginity was not a result of a teenage pledge, but because she had never truly been in love. Until now. Until Cullen.

Cool air breezed across her naked skin, but a flame burned inside, warming her with each touch of his hand, his tongue, his lips, creating an aching need. She tugged on his shirt, desperately wanting his skin next to hers. “Take off your clothes.” Her voice was demanding and unrecognizable.

His shirt came up and over his broad shoulders. His trousers slipped from his solid form. And then he was naked. She’d seen other men undressed, but there was something uniquely beautiful about Cullen. His beauty went far deeper than rippling muscles, or patches of thick black hair, or long legs, or the pulsing arousal resting against his abdomen. His beauty came from beneath the skin, from his very soul.

He possessed her lips, feasting on her. He nuzzled her neck, ran his hands through her hair, teasing every strand with his sensuous touch. She melded into him until it was impossible to know where she ended and he began.

His arms and shoulder muscles rippled as he lowered himself between her legs. A tiny, high-pitched sound slipped from her lips. “Cullen—”

There was a hitch in his breath. “I’m here.”

Frantic need drew her to a bridge she’d yet to cross to a place she’d never been. She writhed beneath him as she stepped onto the bridge. Her muscles tightened as she ran toward the other end and the release she desperately sought and willingly embraced.

“Let go, lass. Let go.” His husky voice was a sliver of light in the darkness.

A wave of immense pleasure washed over her and fulfilled her deepest longing.
I love you
.

He kissed her, capturing her lips with voracious hunger. He slipped into the cradle of her thighs and welcomed her hot moisture that drenched him as he nudged inside her tight opening. When he reached her maidenhead, he paused, and held himself to a level of unnatural restraint, giving Kit a moment to prepare. “Only a wee bit of pain, lass.”

He took her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep within her as he thrust through the thin barrier, splitting it in two. Swallowing her scream, he stilled until her trembling ceased. Then he watched her intently, holding his breath until her tightly drawn lips relaxed and a slow smile spread across her face. Joy reflected in her eyes, and her silky skin vibrated against him. With panting gasps, she wrapped him in her legs and convulsed. Within the sound of her pleasure, he found the only woman he had ever loved, and he heard a new melody.

A melody written for his heart alone.

Awed by the vividness of her release, he arched his back and in a state of euphoria plunged at a fevered pitch until he erupted, sending his seed deep into her body.

My God, he loved her, and he would never let her go.

SLEEP CAME QUICKLY for Kit, but it didn’t last long. An hour before dawn she woke entwined in Cullen’s arms, her palm resting on his chest, feeling his heart thump. She loved him, but he would never be hers. One night was all she could have. The wagon train was two weeks from South Pass. She didn’t know what she would find there, but she knew it would end her time in the nineteenth century.

She gazed at him with a touch of tears in her eyes.
You are an extraordinary man Cullen Montgomery, and it will break my heart to leave you.

Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip swollen from his kisses. He stirred and pulled her closer to him. His musky scent mixed with the earthy smells of early morning. She wanted to make love again. But she couldn’t. Even now, walking away would be hell, although survivable. If she stayed in his arms, spent the next two weeks where she truly wanted to be, she’d never be able to leave. She should go now, eliminate the temptation.

Quietly, she lifted his arm and rolled away.

He reached for her. “Where’re you going?”

“I have to go.”

“Hurry back.”

“I’m not coming back.”

He sat up and brushed his hair off his face. “What do you mean?”

She slipped on her shirt. “I’m going home.” She reached over him for her trousers, but he grabbed them out of her hand.

“Don’t do this.”

She moistened her lips with a flick of her tongue. “I don’t belong here. This is not where I’m supposed to be. This is your life not mine. You have a woman waiting in San Francisco and an office with your name on the door. The life you’ve planned is waiting.” She reached for her trousers. “Let me have my pants.”

“Give me time to work this out, Kit.” His voice shook. Maybe it was the early hour. Maybe it was doubt that he could. She couldn’t tell and wasn’t sure it mattered.

“There’s nothing to work out. I’m staying until we reach South Pass. Then I’m going home.” She paused and swallowed a giant knot in her throat, a knot that squeezed her breath. “What happened last night can never happen again.”

“Why can’t you stay until we reach Oregon?”

She tried to grab her pants. “Please give them to me. It’s almost daylight. I have to go.”

“Why not Oregon?” A puzzled expression knitted his brow. “You’re lying again.”

“Give me my pants.” Good God, she couldn’t tell him about the wagon train at South Pass. What if he found it too soon? The murderers could kill him, too. Fear crunched in her gut like ice in a melting lake. “Don’t accuse me of lying when you’re the one who’s marrying one woman and screwing another.”

Shock scrawled across his face. He handed the trousers to her. “I thought you trusted me. I thought you finally punched through the wall guarding your heart. Maybe you did and it sealed back up in your sleep.”

She wrenched her gaze from his soul-deep eyes.

“Go on home, lass.” He stood and dressed in a hurry, foregoing the shirt’s buttons. His jaw tensed, and she saw pain in his eyes, but she couldn’t help him.

He slipped his foot inside his boot and hopped away, putting on the other.

I didn’t just punch a hole in the wall. I knocked it down and let you in.

Chapter Twenty-Three

THE WAGON TRAIN was camped in the meadow at Three Crossings when Braham reached a new level of suspicion that something had happened between Cullen and Kit. In fifteen years, his friend had never been private or reluctant to share his thoughts. Until now.
Did I do the right thing not telling Cul about Abigail?
If he told him now, Braham would land smack in the teeth of a gale. He’d battled worse storms before. The time had come to batten down the hatches and confess.

He rounded the circle of wagons and spotted Cullen sitting at their campsite reading by the light of a lamp perched on the small table at his elbow.
This might be my best opportunity
. He pulled up a chair next to his friend, sat, and threw one leg over the other. “Sarah invited us for a slice of Kit’s apple pie.”

Cullen’s chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “I’m not hungry.”

“How could you not be hungry for pie?”

Cullen puffed on his cigar, sending the rich tobacco’s fragrance into the air between them. He turned the page, much too quickly to be reading. “Leave it alone, Braham.”

Cullen removed his spectacles and pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. A look of pain traveled across his face, and Braham almost regretted intruding. Almost. Gathering his thoughts he said, “I could help.”

Cullen closed the book, carressing the cover. “I told you. Leave it alone.”

Braham let go a philosophical sigh, an unlit cheroot poking from the corner of his mouth. “I’ll ask again tomorrow. I’m not going to quit.”

“I’m heading out in the morning.”

Braham swallowed back an uneasy sense of guilt that had formed a fist around his throat. “Then I’m going, too.”

Cullen gave Braham a speculative look. “Suit yourself. I’m leaving before sunup.”

That went well.

BRAHAM AND CULLEN camped at Rocky Ridge, a stony formation flanking both sides of the Sweetwater River. Braham couldn’t sleep. Instead of tossing about, he sat by the river and skipped rocks, pondering the predicament he’d put himself in with all the best of intentions.

It’s time.

He stomped back to his bedroll, rubbing the nasty ache in his arm. “Cullen, you asleep?”

“Yep.” Cullen’s black hat covered his face, and his fingers lay knitted on his chest.

“You got something weighing on your mind, and I got something to tell you,” Braham said.

Cullen unlaced his fingers and tossed his hat aside. “Sounds like we need some of that good old Pennsylvania rye whiskey. If you’re wanting to talk, then I’m sure you’ve got a bottle to share. He emptied the coffee dregs from his cup. “Fill it up and tell me what needs telling.”

Braham shook his head. “The rule’s always been that the one with the whiskey gets his choice—first or last.” He took a bottle from his saddlebag and poured the liquor into their empty coffee cups. “You go first.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What happened with Kit?”