Defiant (30 page)

“I have to,” he said.

“Not tonight.”

“Not tonight,” he agreed. He felt her body shiver and he knew it wasn't from the cold, but he pretended it was. He moved next to her, pulling her close and wrapping the buffalo robe around them. And then he found his lips touching her cheek, her eyes still wet with tears that clung to the lashes.

“I thought I was strong,” she said in a low voice. “But I'm not, not where Jeff is concerned.”

His arm tightened around her. She was the strongest woman he'd ever met. The most independent, and that independence made her current surrender dear beyond measure. He supposed that was where Jeff got his gumption. Nothing seemed to daunt them, not a nearly dead man lying in the prairie who said he was a murderer, nor a rundown ranch without hands, or even Indians she'd once feared. The woman and boy just met each obstacle the best they could.

It was folly, this touching her. But he couldn't stop himself. He wanted to absorb all the fear she'd felt in the past several days. Hell, he wanted to take it all away. He meant to hold her just until the shivering stopped, but her lips reached up and touched his. Searching. Questioning. Needing.

And he needed her, God, how he needed her. He had from the day he'd left the ranch and realized how much she and the boy had come to mean to him in those few short weeks. He'd stayed with Manchez longer than he'd intended, trying to work out a way to solve the problem of her need for horses and the threat of Kelly without returning to Cimarron Valley. But there were no solutions. He could completely abandon them, and leave them and everything they had unprotected, or he could risk not only his physical survival but what was left of his soul.

But he couldn't turn down what was being offered now, to the damnation of that very soul. His tongue licked her lips, and her mouth opened to his. They were suddenly engulfed in a whirlwind, a wild, sweet lunacy as their mouths opened to each other. Their bodies moved together and they reacted and hungered, carried by needs so great they transcended every screaming warning in him.

His good hand touched her hair that was part fire, part sun. He tasted the dried tears on the side of her lips, and relished the woman scent of her. He felt the passion in her, and it made him feel invincible.

Wade closed his eyes and drank in the essence of her, savoring every sensation she aroused in him. He hadn't done that before; their lovemaking had been too sudden that day in the barn, and he'd been stunned by both his recklessness and the emotions he'd felt. But now he knew he wanted to capture these memories and keep them forever.

Her hand was touching his face, slightly bearded now since he had not shaved since he came here. It had been too difficult with his bad hand and there had seemed little purpose.

Now he felt rough and dirty. Her hand didn't leave his skin, but played around the bristle, hesitating here and there as if to place it forever in her mind. There was such tenderness in her touch, even as it conveyed a desperate urgency.

Then her hand moved, going down to his manhood, and her fingers hesitated on the outside of his tight deerskin trousers. He felt the swelling, the need, the deep ache for release. Her hand went to the laces, somehow undoing them under the buffalo robe, and he sprang free. Her touch was like cool rain on a heated rock, sizzling and welcome. He'd never felt such tender passion as she explored every part of him, making him quiver with need. He felt like a fiery volcano ready to explode.

Her hands left him for a moment, and then he felt her bare skin against him, and he moved over her, hesitating just a fraction of a second before plunging in, feeling her intimate channel close around him, dance with him, love him, consume him. Her legs went around his, drawing him even closer to her, until he was so deep in her that he felt he was touching her heart.

She leaned up, her lips touching his face, kissing its rough exterior, then met his lips again and the kiss deepened as he plunged again and again into her, and small whimpering sounds came from deep in her throat. Her body moved with his, arching against him. as they sped toward the zenith of sensation, cherishing each star-step along the way. Then the shattering explosion came, and he knew she experienced it at the same splendid moment as he. He felt her quivering inside as waves and waves of pleasure washed through them, soothing, comforting, healing.

He bent his head, holding his cheek next to hers, hoping that his rough skin didn't abrade her. At the same time, their hearts seemed to touch and pound in concert. He'd never known this kind of exquisite bond with another, not even with Drew. He had been so terrified of caring and losing again, of burying people he loved, that he had pushed Drew away.

That was part of the immense guilt he felt. If only he had taken Drew hunting with him on that warm summer day when the birds were singing and the squirrels were playing …

Mary Jo, awash in rippling aftershocks of pleasure, suddenly realized she was losing him again. His cheek still lay next to hers, his hand still wound in her hair, and yet … part of him, the important part, was like a ghost leaving the body, drawing away from its shell. It terrified her. She'd always known he felt he couldn't stay, and these last few minutes, when they so naturally became one, made her realize how much she would lose.

She moved her hand to the back of his neck, playing with the thick hair and tracing circles on the golden skin. She wanted to bring him back to her, but how? Words wouldn't do it. She could only hope that he would come to believe, as she had, in the magic of faith and love. For now, all she could do was relish being with him.

He was still inside the core of her, and she tightened around him. He groaned, and she wasn't sure whether it was protest or renewed need or something else altogether. She knew parts of him so well, yet others remained aloof and alone and elusive.

I
love you
. The words were locked in her heart, unable to be spoken aloud, for fear that he might leave her in body as well as mind. But she hoped that somehow they might filter into his consciousness as the gift they were meant to be, as the acknowledgment of that enchantment between them.

He rolled over on his side, easing his weight from her but tightening his arm around her as if indeed he had understood those unspoken words. She felt his tenseness, the struggle inside him, and then she heard the curse, low and desperate, as she felt him hardening inside her again, felt the first rhythmic movements stir and tease the ever so sensitive core of her. The exquisite electricity, that stimulation of every nerve end, ran through her body again, racing and heating her bloodstream with expectation so strong she trembled with it.

She felt herself moving a half turn until she was on top of him. He became so strong inside her, so large, so compellingly … complete. His smallest movement ignited such incredible feelings, she felt like an eagle racing toward the sun, toward a golden glory so splendid she'd give everything for it. He moved slowly at first, and then with an urgency that met her own, and that sun came nearer and nearer until the world as she knew it exploded in thousands of radiant streaks, each one sending glorious sensations surging through her body. She felt his warmth flood her, his seed rush into her, and then his hand, which had been holding her, dropped, and she heard his deep sigh. She fell down next to him, their bodies now separating. She lay next to him, her hand on his heart. She felt its beat, rushed, hurried, as was his breathing.

He was still now, so still. She wished they could whisper to each other, exchange soft expressions of love, but those words didn't seem to exist for him. So she clasped them to herself and waited. Waited for the self-condemnation she felt in him, the dismay, the reluctance.

It didn't come. He pulled her close to him, as close as they could get without him entering her again, and he just held her. It was suddenly as if the world held its breath for her. She kept expecting him to say what he had expressed several other times. This was wrong. This was a mistake. He didn't. Instead, it seemed as if he clung to her for his life.

She wanted to turn and look into his face, but it was too dark to see his eyes, and she didn't want to do anything that would make him take his arm away, that would break the closeness that cloaked them so snugly. She didn't dare shatter it with words, or movements, or promises, or pleas. She closed her eyes instead, relishing this wonderful sated contentment that settled around her like a beam of sun on a cool day. Wrapped in that glow, she closed her eyes and, cosseted by his warmth, she allowed sleep to settle gently around her.

Wade didn't move for what seemed like hours. His shoulder ached some from leaning on it when he made love to her, but that was a minor ailment. His heart was a major one.

He'd discovered tonight that he loved Mary Jo Williams, that somehow she had crawled into his heart and soul and gut. He suspected she would stay there forever.

He'd loved Chivita, but it had been different. It had been like loving a friend who was good to you. It had none of the passion and wild sweetness and need that he'd just experienced, none of that incredible oneness he'd just shared. He'd felt as if two people had become one, that they'd exchanged fundamental parts with each other.

He lay awake the rest of the night, nestling her against him, wondering how he could leave her, knowing he must. In his mind's eye, he saw those thick brown lashes shielding those eyes that were so damned honest. Why couldn't he be as honest with her?

Because then he'd lose her sooner than he was prepared to do.

Mary Josephine, he uttered in his mind, caressing each syllable. If only it wasn't too damn late for him.

He was gone when Mary Jo woke the next morning. She looked with dismay at the empty place he had occupied and prayed that he did not regret those moments last night. She stretched, her body still glowing. The memories lingered in her mind, then she remembered Jeff, and she shook her head to remove the remaining lethargy.

She shook away the buffalo robe and took stock of herself. Her split skirt and shirt were sitting in a wrinkled pile. Her hair, unbound by Wade last night, was a mess of knots. She was glad she didn't have a mirror. Dear Heaven, she was the thirty-two-year-old mother of a twelve-year-old son who thought he was a man, and she'd acted like a wanton last night.

Still, she thought lazily, being a wanton felt rather nice. Wonderful, in fact, as she remembered the delicious warm sensations that had filled her last night.

She groaned at the stiffness in her body as she managed to get to her knees and then up on her legs. She wasn't sure whether it was the lovemaking or sleeping on the ground, but she suddenly felt twenty years older.

She found a comb among the few belongings she'd brought with her and raked it through her hair, then braided it carelessly. She had long ago lost her pins. She tried to smooth out her shirt and then the divided skirt.

She found herself increasingly anxious to see Jeff, and she wanted to try to find Wade. She was full of questions: When could she return home? How soon Jeff could ride? Would Wade accompany them? He'd said nothing about the horses that he'd used as an excuse to leave them days ago.

But now Jeff was the most important concern.

She stooped and lifted the flap and faced the bright sunshine.

The camp was fragrant with smoke. There was the rich smell of meat roasting and another more astringent smell of curing hides. The women seemed to be in perpetual motion. Only a few men were around, and she wondered whether any were still looking for her son. She prayed no harm had come to any of them.

She walked swiftly over to Manchez's tent, and hesitated, but then Shavna appeared and smiled happily at her, holding open the flap. Mary Jo leaned over and went inside. Jeff was sitting up, and now he wore a deerskin shirt. His face had some scratches but he managed a painful grin.

“Jeff?”

“Manchez and Shavna gave me a shirt.”

“I noticed,” she said seriously.

“It feels real good.”

“How do
you
feel?”

His grin faded. “All right,” he replied. He tried to sound brave and adult, but his effort was undermined by the faintest quiver of his lips. “Manchez says there'll be a horse race tomorrow. Can we stay?”

“Tuck and Ed will be worried,” she said.

“Oh no. Wade said Tom Berry would take them a note.”

“Tom Berry?”

He nodded. “He's a famous mountain man.”

“I know who he is,” she said dryly, not mentioning her less than comfortable journey up here. She couldn't imagine him doing a favor for anyone, particularly a “pilgrim.”

“He's a friend of Wade's,” Jeff explained, then winced as he moved slightly.

Wade was becoming more and more of a mystery. The more she knew about him, the less it made sense. He had seemed so much a loner, yet these Utes had put aside everything to find her son. For him. Because he had asked. A man who indicated he had few if any attachments appeared to have more than most, and some of them most unlikely ones.

“Let me see your shoulder,” she said, and he obediently lifted his treasured shirt. His obedience, she thought wryly, probably stemmed from his desire to stay to see the horse race. She didn't undo the poultice tied to the wound, but she inspected the skin around it. It looked pink and healthy, at least the area that wasn't blue and purple with bruises and abrasions. He would be hurting for a few more days.

“If you ever do that again …”

He looked sheepish. “It wasn't very smart, was it?”

“About as smart as going fishing after a rainstorm.”

The sheepish smile deepened. “I didn't get scared.”

“Not even a little?”

He hesitated, obviously torn between bravado and honesty. “Maybe, just a little, but—”

“You knew Wade would find you,” she finished wearily. She fumbled with his shirt, pulling it back down. “You can't always depend on him,” she said carefully. “What if I hadn't found him?”