Wish Upon a Cowboy (19 page)

The woman turned and disappeared into the mob of people just as Hannah slipped through the rails of the fence and hurried across the grass to where the men stood in a small tight knot.

His eyes scrunched up tight, teeth gritted, Billy groaned and held his left arm gingerly. Stretch Jones stepped aside for Hannah and she moved up beside Jonas as he took Billy's arm in his hands to inspect the injury.

"What happened?" she asked, and Jonas didn't even look at her.

"Burn," he muttered. "He fell into one of the irons."

She looked at the young cowboy's features. Face pale, sweat streamed along his cheeks and down his neck. He bit down hard on his bottom lip to keep from crying out again.

Hannah laid her hand gently on his shoulder and angled her head to one side, looking down at the reddened, blistering skin of Billy's forearm. Her stomach pitched and her eyes welled up in sympathy. But as she watched, Jonas began moving his hands over the boy's skin, as if testing the depth of the burned flesh.

"Not too bad," he muttered, and Hannah couldn't help wondering what he would have considered a serious injury. Then she realized he was talking for Billy's sake. Trying to ease the boy's mind. Her gaze softened as she looked at the Mackenzie while he kept up a steady stream of reassuring words.

"I've seen worse, Billy," he was saying as his fingers dusted the edges of the wound. "This won't earn more than a day or two off of work."

Billy forced a too-hearty chuckle.

"You'll have a heck of a scar to brag about," he said, continuing his careful examination of the wound.

It was working. Billy no longer looked like he was going to faint. But what no one but she seemed to notice was that as Jonas touched the edges of the burn, the injury seemed to lessen. The raw, scarlet skin lightened to a dark pink and some of the blisters flattened out, smoothing into undamaged skin.

"Hell, this is nothing, Billy. Get you a bandage and you can sit under the trees, telling the ladies all about the dangers of ranch work."

"Maybe I should better help him with that, boss." Stretch offered, and several of the men laughed. Stretch was always willing to entertain the ladies.

As his pain eased and his drawn features relaxed, Billy managed to open his eyes and see the wound for himself. Relief shone in his gaze as he said thankfully, "It don't look too bad, does it?"

Jonas shook his head and released him. Glancing past him, he saw an older man in a black coat hurrying toward them. "You'll be all right. But the doc's here, so he can put a dressing on it." Taking the young cowhand by the shoulder, Jonas gave him a shove toward the fence and said, "Go sit down somewhere and try to stay away from fires."

"Yessir, boss," Billy said, wincing slightly.

Over the commotion in the crowd, one loud voice shouted, "All right folks, this seems as good a time as any to stop for dinner, so come and get it."

The crowds slowly drifted off toward the food table, and Jonas and Hannah were alone. The fresh, clean scent of lemon washed over him and something inside Jonas turned over. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but in a couple of short weeks, this tiny blond with her outlandish stories had inched her way past the walls he'd built around himself. Every time she was near him, he felt another brick in the wall tumble free, exposing him to things he never again wanted to feel.

On that thought, he gave her a brief nod and turned away. Leaving her standing in the center of the now empty pen, he climbed through the fence rails and strode off in the opposite direction of the crowds.

The gathered herd was much smaller today. Though still a couple hundred animals strong, most of the cattle had been divided and driven to their home ranges. But for the first time in years, his mind wasn't on the cattle. Or the ranch. Or his grand plans for this place he'd carved out for himself. No, his thoughts were centered on Hannah. Having her. Holding her. Caressing the naked flesh he'd already seen and continued to dream about.

Grumbling, he hurried his pace, his long legs carrying him quickly around the edges of the herd, while his mind raced.

"Jonas Mackenzie," Hannah called out from behind him, and he sighed heavily. He should have known she wouldn't let him go. "Wait for me."

If he'd had a horse handy, he might have made a run for it. As it was, he wouldn't let his neighbors see him being chased in circles by a woman he was afraid to be alone with. He stopped dead, keeping his gaze focused on the far mountains. She came up beside him and stopped, laying one hand on his forearm. The heat of her touch drove straight to the heart of him, sizzling every inch of his body until he felt as though he'd been burned far worse than Billy.

"Jonas," she said, demanding his attention.

Unable to avoid it, he looked down at her windblown hair, flushed face, and wide, green eyes. And in those vivid, emerald eyes, there were shadows of children and picket fences and long evenings of loving.

Lifting his head, he gritted his teeth and curled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. "Leave me be, Hannah. For both our sakes, leave me be."

"I can't," she whispered, shaking her head. Then, smiling softly, she added. "And even if I could, I wouldn't."

He stepped back from her touch and his insides mourned the lack of her. He reached up and pushed his sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead.

"Folks are eating," he said finally, hopefully. "Shouldn't you be helping the other ladies?"

"They won't miss me," Hannah said, her gaze locked on his features. "I wanted to talk to you…"

"Hannah…"

"… about Billy," she finished.

Frowning, he shifted his gaze back to hers. Obviously surprised, he asked. "What about him?"

"Didn't you see?" Was it possible that he still hadn't noticed his own power? His own strength? Was he purposely blinding himself to the truth?

"Of course I saw," he shook his head, impatient now. "It looked like it might be a bad burn, but it wasn't. He was lucky."

Stepping up close to him, Hannah laid both hands on his chest, feeling the throbbing of his heart beneath her palms. She trembled slightly, then steadied herself. She had to make him see. Before it was too late.

"He wasn't lucky, Mackenzie," she said quietly.

He snorted and held her wrists, pulling her hands from his chest. "Don't know what you'd call it. But that iron could have taken off layers of skin and didn't."

She glanced at his hands, still encircling her much smaller ones, before staring up into his eyes again. "It was you, Jonas. Not luck. You helped Billy."

"I kept his mind off the pain until the doc could get there."

"No," she smiled up at him, willing him to believe her. "It was your touch and your words that kept his wound so slight."

"What're you talking about?" He let her go before taking a step back. "Everyone was there. They all saw it. Hell, you saw it."

She nodded and closed the distance between them. "I saw your hands moving over the injury. I heard you repeating. 'It's not bad,' like a chant. And as you talked, Billy's wound healed."

"Stop, Hannah."

"Telling me to be quiet won't change what is."

"So now I can heal with a touch?" He snorted a choked laugh that sounded as though it was strangling him. "Hell, why don't I get rid of the ranch and buy a snake-oil wagon? I could travel the country, selling salvation in a bottle! A touch."

Frustration and fury rode him and Hannah felt the anger and something else—panic?—surrounding him. Like a muffled roar from a muzzled beast, thunder rolled in from miles away.

And for the first time, Hannah wondered if Jonas's emotions were affecting the weather. Every time he got mad at her, which was fairly often, thunder crashed and lightning flashed in the sky.

But that was a question for another day. Now she had to concentrate on reaching him. Making him accept who and what he was. Before it was too late for all of them.

"You‘re only a witch, Jonas," she said, reaching for him again and wincing slightly when he stepped back. "You can't work miracles. But you can make a difference. And you did. For Billy."

"I did nothing, damn it," he rubbed one hand across his mouth, swallowed heavily.

"You did," Hannah said, her voice quiet but determined. "And pretending differently won't change anything."

In the distance, thunder growled. His features drawn and tight, he looked like a man on the edge of madness.

"I'm not who you want me to be," he said, his fingers digging into her flesh through the soft fabric of her yellow shirt. "And what's more. I don't want to be that man."

She felt for him. His world as he'd known it was gone forever. Despite the fact that he was still arguing the point, she saw a glimmer of terrified acceptance in his eyes and responded to that.

"Fate doesn't often give us the choice Jonas," she said, reaching up to cup his face in her palms. "And whether you like it or not, ours is a shared destiny. One that cannot be ignored for much longer."

"Why won't you give up?" he asked, his whispered voice full of confusion and pain. "Why won't you stop doing this—to both of us?"

"I can't," she said, meeting his gaze and willing him to understand. "For both our sakes. I can't."

Chapter Eleven

"Is he back?" Hannah spun about, eyes wide, to face the man opening the door.

Hours had passed since Jonas had ridden off. Long after the other ranchers had gone home, she'd waited, long after twilight deepened into night, she'd waited.

But he hadn't returned and a small corner of Hanna's heart wondered if he ever would. Yet even as that thought niggled and worried inside her, a storm raged outside. Wind tearing at the trees. Thunder and lightning slashing across the sky. And she knew, despite her anxiousness, that Jonas was close—and still angry.

In the hours he'd been gone, Hannah had brought to mind every time she'd angered him in the last couple of weeks—an innumerable amount, she was forced to admit. And each time his temper flared, she recalled, clouds gathered and lightning flashed. Apparently, Jonas's anger was enough to shake even heaven.

So the fact that a storm seemed to be hovering over them almost gave her comfort.

Elias stepped into the kitchen, took off his hat, and pulled out a chair. Soaked to the skin, his movements slow and weary, he looked every one of his years. The cracks and crevices in his face looked as though they'd been carved with a heavy hand. Tossing his hat onto the table, he sat down heavily and peered up at her.

"Yeah," he said. "He's back. Riding night herd. God help the man who gives him any trouble tonight."

"Angry, is he?" she asked, glancing once at the pelting rain slamming against the windowpane.

A tired half smile curved Elias's mouth briefly was gone again. "Angry?" He shook his head. "If you call a howling Comanche out for hair angry, then I guess you could say that."

"Did he say anything to you about why he's mad?"

Elias's gray gaze narrowed on her thoughtfully. "No, he didn't. But I'm willin' to bet it's got somethin' to do with you."

Only everything, she thought and felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She'd made such a mess of things. What had gone wrong? Back in Creekford, this had seemed so simple.

Come to the Mackenzie. Point out his duty. Marry him and conceive a child.

And yet… nothing was working the way she'd expected it to. He should have been happy to discover his abilities. Anyone else would have been. And if her own magic hadn't deserted her completely, Hannah would be sorely tempted to whip up a love potion or two.

But no. She'd so hoped that being near a powerful warlock would help her abilities grow. Instead, they seemed to have drained from her altogether. Just as, she reminded herself, the witches in Creekford were being stripped of their powers by Blake.

But Jonas Mackenzie hadn't deliberately taken anything from her. He didn't even want his own powers, let alone hers.

"I have to talk to him," she muttered, more to herself than to the man still watching her from the table.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Elias told her quietly.

Her gaze snapped to his, drawn by the warning implicit in his tone.

"When you first came here," he went on, his work-gnarled fingers toying with the brim of his hat, "I tried to get rid of you as fast as I could."

"I know, but—" Briefly, their encounter in the alley into her mind. She'd seen then the depth of the older man's love for the Mackenzie and had understood the instinct to protect him. She still did; she only wished that Elias would see that she meant Jonas no harm.

"Then," Elias continued, raising his voice to drown out hers, "I saw how Mac was around you. Saw a spark in him I hadn't seen in a long time."

Spark was a good description of what happened between them when they were together, she thought. And when they kissed… sparks and fires and lightning strikes and the sweet, full rush of his magic swarming over her.

Elias looked at her, saw her eyes go soft and dreamy, and barely managed to swallow back a groan. He was too late to intervene between the two of them. He realized that whatever lay between her and Jonas had gone further than he'd suspected. Reluctantly, he let go of the half-baked plan he'd come up with on his wet ride back from the herd.

After seeing Jonas and the misery the man was in, Elias had thought to scoot Hannah away from the ranch and have her gone and out of their lives before morning, though he'd become fond of the girl, he wasn't willing to sit idly by while she made Jonas's life a torture.

Should have known it wouldn't work, he told himself grimly. Should have remembered that when a fellow came back to life after being so long closed up inside, there would be pain as well as joy.

Well, however this hand of cards was played out, it would be up to Jonas and Hannah to settle it. Still he had to offer at least a word of advice.

"You'd best keep something in mind, missy," he said and waited until she looked at him to continue. "Sparks don't just start up a nice, cozy fire in a hearth. They can explode into a wildfire that destroys all it touches."