Defiant (38 page)

“You keep telling me that,” she retorted rebelliously. “I'm not a child.”

“No one knows that better than I do,” he said softly, regretfully. “Dammit, Mary Jo, you gave me so much more than I had any right to have. Now give me this. Make it easier for me to do what has to be done.”

She looked up at him, and in the moonlight, he saw the tears hovering in her eyes. There was still defiance in that face, but realization, too. She stretched up until her lips met his, and she kissed him with such poignant sweetness, he thought his heart would shatter. He knew better, he knew much better, but his lips responded and the kiss turned fierce and hungry and desperate. She was already leaning into him, but now his manhood responded, growing hard and wanting, and she pressed into him until he wanted to moan with longing for her.

“Oh God,” he whispered, his lips moving away from hers as he stared at her.

“I want to stay with you tonight,” she said.

No!
But the word didn't leave his mouth, and they were moving toward his small quarters in the barn. He wasn't sure who was guiding. He didn't care. He just knew he didn't want to let go, that he needed this night just as she did.

“Jeff?”

She hesitated. She turned to him, putting her hand on his face. “I'll see him to bed, then come to the barn.”

“Are you sure, Mary Jo?”

“I've never been so sure of anything in my life,” she said and fled before he could make any more protests. Not that he was capable of any.

23

Mary Jo checked Jeff's cuts before sending him off to bed. He was more subdued than usual.

“Ma,” he said as she started for the door, “Wade says he's leaving.”

“I know,” she said.

“Can't you make him stay?”

“I don't think so.”

“I'll miss him.”

“I know, love. So will I. Good night now.”

He turned over, and she sensed he wasn't at all satisfied with her answers. Neither was she. She wished she could come up with a way to change Wade's mind.

She waited a little while until she thought he was asleep. She brushed her hair and left it down and looked in the mirror. Her heart thumped as if she were sixteen with her first beau. Deep inside, she knew what she was about to do was foolish. Going to him tonight would only place him more securely in her heart and soul, only make his leaving worse. Yet it would give her memories, too. She swallowed hard and went out the door, almost running.

Once inside the barn, Mary Jo let her eyes get accustomed to the darkness. There was only a faint light coming from under his door. She followed that slim trail of light and pushed the door open.

He was stretched out along the cot, one knee bent. He wore no shirt, only the white sling against his skin. His chest wasn't as bronze as a month ago, but in the light of the kerosene lamp it seemed to glisten with the golden hair she now loved.

He moved, sitting up and placing bare feet on the wood boards of the floor. There was grace to each of his movements, an easy fluidity that had always captivated her. He'd shaved, she noticed, and changed to the deerskin trousers. They were easier to discard, she'd discovered. She wondered briefly if that was why he had changed, and dismissed the idea. He'd been riding the entire day when he'd come in, had been sweaty and dirty from the horse and trail dust.

“I thought you had changed your mind,” he said.

“No,” she said in what sounded like a croak to her. “Jeff was wondering whether there was any way to make you stay.”

“I'll miss him.”

“I'm afraid he might do something foolish again.”

“I'll watch out tomorrow, but you'd better keep him in sight.”

She nodded, still standing where she was. He stood and walked over to her. “I prayed you wouldn't come.”

“Prayers don't seem to be doing either of us any good.”

His hand took a lock of her hair and played with it. He smelled like soap and leather. An enticing scent. An irresistible one.

“I like your hair,” he said, his voice husky now. “I like it this way, down, where I can run my hand through it.”

She wished she could move. She couldn't. His eyes were devouring her. There was nothing blank about them now, nothing secretive.

Mary Jo closed her eyes, memorizing everything about him. The sound of his voice, the scent of him, the way he felt, and the texture of his skin against hers, the soft breeze of his breath against her hair. All these, and more.

She felt his mouth touch her skin with such tenderness she shivered with the wonder of it. And then he trailed kisses down to her throat, and his tongue explored her pulse there, sending desire rushing through her blood.

His left hand was touching the back of her neck, his long fingers kneading the muscles, relaxing her even as his tongue excited. The sensations played against each other, tumbling her emotions along rapids and waterfalls. She heard herself moan with the sheer sensuality of his touches.

And then his fingers moved from her neck to the front of her dress, and she felt the buttons go, and the dress opening, felt his hand touch her breast, felt them swell and ache. He leaned down and his mouth played with her left nipple, sucking on it until she cried out with torment. Then the next as he pushed away the dress and it fell to her hips. She could only stand helpless under the magic of his hand and mouth.

She opened her eyes and looked down. His trousers were bulging with his own need and her hand went down and untied the leather laces.

Together they stepped out of their garments. Her chemise came over her head, everything else was dropped, and they were standing there in the flickering light of the kerosene lamp, their bodies touching, then melding, fitting into each other so naturally. He glided his hand over her hair, watching as it tumbled over her shoulder. He buried his face in it with a soft cry, then took her hand and led her the two feet to the bed. She seemed to float, the magic was so strong between them.

His hand guided her down to sit on the bed, and then, he moved next to her. She shifted slightly and touched his face, closing her eyes. She was memorizing the feel of it, of every little crease and curvature, every small crevice. And then she did as he had done, covered that wonderful face with kisses, tasting him now as he had tasted her, and when she reached his lips, they met and challenged and consumed.

And loved. Together, they lay down on the bed, their bodies twisting together with a hunger of their own. Because of his arm, almost unconsciously she slid on top of him, and as their lips gentled she felt the hardness of his need below her. She moved slightly, positioning herself, and he came into her, gently at first, both claiming each other in the most intimate and wondrous of ways. They held one another, savored the closeness of the act, but then a familiar urgency took hold. Hot. Intense. Desperate. Even angry. She sensed it in him, that anger.

“No,” she whispered. “It's right. It's so right.” She moved until he filled her so completely she thought she might break with the sublime joy of it. He moved, beginning a primitive rhythm that swept her along, intensifying until they were both locked into a swaying, explosive world of feeling.

Mary Jo heard her own moan mix with his cry as passion erupted brilliantly. She lowered herself until her bare skin touched his. Sensations continued to ripple through her body. His body was quivering ever so slightly, and his eyes closed as his good arm wrapped around her, and he held her tight. She laid her head next to his heart, heard its loud beat. So strong. So fine. She would always believe that.

Her hand went up to his hair. Thick and damp now, it curled slightly around her fingers.

“I love you,” she said.

His chest heaved, and she felt its quake all the way through her.

Wade didn't say anything, but his hand ran down her back, his fingers gently saying things he couldn't say. He couldn't allow more. He couldn't think how much he wanted her, needed her. How much he would miss her, miss that sparkle in her eye, that tentative smile that so often hovered on her lips, that heart that gave so much and asked so little.

He didn't want to move. She felt so fine on him, his chin resting on that mass of auburn hair, her body wrapped so intimately with his.

He would never feel like this again, and he wanted to savor every second of it. He wanted to remember the feel of her breath on his chest, the glazed look in her eyes as she studied him so solemnly. He felt so unworthy. If she knew …

But she didn't, and he was too much of a coward to tell her, too greedy for that trust she handed him so easily. He swallowed hard, as he leaned his chin against her head, thinking nothing could be this silky, this intoxicating. But then everything about her robbed him of his ordinary caution and common sense. He had been so damn determined not to spill his seed in her, but that, as before, had been impossible.

I
love you
. And loving him was the worst thing that could happen to her. All of a sudden, he wanted so much. Part of him had remained numb from years of brutal guerrilla warfare. He'd become afraid to love, and the deaths of Chivita and Drew had nearly destroyed what small thread of hope had survived.

Mary Jo had taken that thread and weaved it into something he wanted desperately. He knew that Mary Jo and Jeff could revive those embers of life he thought he'd quenched so long ago. But it was too late. Much too late.

He held her that entire night. She snuggled in his arms, and they made love again, this time slowly and gently, as if hoarding every tender moment. There was a bittersweet anguish to each touch, each kiss.

They rose, dressed, and went outside to watch the sunrise together, the gold spreading over the eastern horizon, “Don't go,” she said. “Don't go because of me.”

“It's not for you anymore,” he said. “It's for me. I've been running so damn long.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “If the sheriff wants to know, just tell him what you did before. That you know me as Wade Smith, your fiancé's brother. Stick to it. Tell Jeff to do the same.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Stop running,” he said softly. “No matter what you hear about me, remember one thing. You are the best thing that has happened to me.” He turned abruptly toward his horse. He hadn't wanted her to watch him go, but she'd stood next to him as he saddled his horse, and now she stood at the barn door as he walked his horse to the gate. He mounted, then looked back one last time before digging his heels in the gray's side and riding toward Last Chance.

Despite what he told her, he knew he wouldn't come back, couldn't come back no matter what happened. He couldn't say goodbye again.

Last Chance seemed even more dilapidated or maybe it was just his mood. During the last two hours, he'd steeled his thoughts to the task ahead. He would be walking a fine line.

One mistake, and Kelly might go after Mary Jo. Another, and the law might go after her.

He wished she'd never spread the story about a Wade Smith, the brother of the man she almost married, but it was too late now to take it back. He could only concoct a tale to cover it, and Mary Jo. He'd met Wade Smith in Denver, heard his tale about going to help out at a ranch, and then the man had been killed. Wade had taken his name and used the ranch as a hiding place.

The number of lies was mounting, as were the number of names. And then there was a second problem: getting a gun to Shepherd and making sure the man didn't kill anyone. Wade had enough blood on his hands without adding that of the sheriff's.

He had two choices. He could tell Matt Sinclair what was happening and hope the man believed him, or he could free Shepherd and then hope to hell Sinclair would hear him out.

If only Wade knew where Kelly was. He was out there, and he was deadly. Kelly's years as a guerrilla had made him wily and dangerous. The sheriff would never find him.

Wade went into the saloon and was greeted by several men he'd met previously. His eyes skimmed the few daytime drinkers. “The sheriff?”

“In his office,” the barkeep said. “Has a prisoner, real desperado, I hear.” He eyed Wade curiously. “How's Mrs. Williams making out?”

“Just fine. She found some good hands.”

“You staying?”

Wade shook his head. “Getting a little restless. I don't like to stay anyplace very long.”

“Sorry to hear that. Abbot said you were real good with horses.”

“Not with this arm.”

“That's not what he said.”

Wade wondered how Abbot knew. He'd been with the man only a few hours that day Mary Jo had bought some beeves. Tuck, maybe?

He drank the glass of whiskey he'd ordered. It tasted bitter. But then everything tasted bitter now. Everything but what he'd left hours ago. But even then, he'd seen Kelly's leering face in his mind's eye, approaching Mary Jo as those miners had approached Chivita—

The glass broke in his hand, and he looked up to see the barkeep staring at him. “Sorry,” he said, tossing several coins to him.

“Better get that hand tended, mister,” the barkeep said, scooping up the coins. Wade looked down and saw the blood. Strange, it didn't hurt. Nothing could hurt again.

He nodded and went through the swinging doors to the street. He looked up at the sun. A little after noon. Hell, he might as well get it over with. He took off his bandanna and wrapped it around his left hand. No one was paying him any mind and he slipped into the shadow of a building. He took his gun from his belt and stuck it in the sling he was wearing, and then led his gray over to the railing in front of the sheriff's office. There was a small house next to it, with a bay hitched in front. The sheriff's, he supposed. He hoped.

The door to the sheriff's office was locked, and he knocked. He saw Sinclair peer out one of the front glass windows, protected by bars. Then heard his footsteps approach the door, and a bar opening. The sheriff looked tired, but his blue eyes glanced quickly around Wade, before opening the door wide for him. “Mr. Smith?”