Hawk's Way: Rebels (12 page)

Until she had jilted him her senior year for Harry Warnecke, who had a bright future running his father’s bowling alley.

Lou had been gentle but firm in her rejection of him. “I don’t love you anymore, Mac. I love Harry. I’m pregnant, and we’re going to be married.”

Mac had been livid with fury. He had never touched
her, had respected her wish to remain a virgin until she graduated from high school and they could marry, and she was pregnant with some guy named Harry’s kid and wanted to marry him.

It had taken every ounce of self-control he had not to reach out and throttle her. “Have a nice life,” he had managed to say.

His anger had prodded him to hunt up the first available woman and get laid. But his pain had sent him back to his dorm room to nurse his broken heart. How could he make love to another woman when he still loved Lou? If all he had wanted was to get screwed, he could have been doing that all along. His dad had always told him that sex felt good, but making love felt better. He had wanted it to be making love the first time.

His final year of college, after he broke up with Lou, he went through a lot of women. Dating them, that is. Kissing them and touching them and learning what made them respond to a man. But he never put himself inside one of them. He was looking for something more than sex in the relationship. What he found were women who admired his body, or his talent with a football, or his financial prospects. Not one of them wanted him.

It wasn’t until he had been drafted by the pros and began traveling with the Tornadoes that he met Elizabeth Kale. She was a female TV sports commentator, a woman who felt comfortable with jocks and could banter with the best of them. She had taken his breath away. She had shiny brown hair and warm brown eyes and a smile that wouldn’t quit. He had fallen faster than a wrestled steer in a rodeo.

She hadn’t been impressed by his statistics—personal
or football or financial. It had not been easy to get her to go out with him. She didn’t want to get involved. She had her career, and marriage wasn’t in the picture.

Mac didn’t give up when he wanted something—and he’d wanted to marry Elizabeth. As the season progressed, they began to see each other when they were both in town. Elizabeth was a city girl, so they did city things—when they could both fit it into their busy schedules. Mac wooed her with every romantic gesture he could think of, and she responded. And when he proposed marriage, she accepted. Elizabeth made what time she could for him, and they exchanged a lot of passionate kisses at airports where their paths crossed.

He had care fully planned her seduction. He knew when and where it was going to happen. He was nervous and eager and restless. By a certain age—and Mac had already reached it—a woman expected a man to know all the right moves. Mac had been to the goal line plenty of times, but he had never scored a touch-down. He was ready and willing to take the plunge—figuratively speaking—but now that he had waited so long, the idea of making it with a woman for the first time was a little unnerving. Especially with Elizabeth, who meant so much to him.

What if he did it wrong? What if he couldn’t please her? What if he left her unsatisfied? He read books. And planned. And postponed the moment.

Then he broke his leg.
Shattered his leg.

Mac tasted bile in his throat, remembering what had happened next. Elizabeth had come to the hospital to see him, flash bulbs popping around her, as much in the
news as his girl friend as she was as a famous news caster. She listened at his bedside to the prognosis.

His football career was over. He would be lucky if he ever walked again. He would always need a brace on his leg. Maybe he could manage with a cane.

He had seen it in her eyes before she spoke a word. The fear. And the determination. She said nothing until the doctors had left them alone.

“I can’t—I won’t—I can’t do it, Mac.”

“Do what, Elizabeth?” he asked in a bitter voice that revealed he knew exactly what she meant, though he pre tended ignorance.

“I won’t marry a man who can’t walk.” She slipped her wide spread fingers slowly through the hair that fell forward on her face, care fully settling it back in place. He had always thought it a charming gesture, but now it only made her seem vain.

“I can’t go through this with you,” she said. “I mean, I…I hate hospitals and sick people and I can’t…I can’t be there for you, Mac.”

He had known it was coming, but it hurt just the same. “Get out, Elizabeth.”

She stood there waiting for…what?…for him to tell her it was all right? It wasn’t, by God, all right! It was a hell of a thing to tell a man you couldn’t stand by him in times of trouble.
For better or for worse.
It told him plenty about just how deep her feelings for him ran. Thin as sheet ice on a Texas pond.

“I said get out!” He was shouting by then, and she flinched and backed away. “Get out!”

She turned and ran.

His throat hurt from shouting and his leg throbbed
and his eyes and nose burned with unshed tears. He shouted at the nurse when she tried to come in, but he couldn’t even turn over and bury his head in a pillow because they had his leg so strapped up.

Mac forced his mind away from the painful memories. There had been no seductions during the past two years, though he had spent a great deal of time in bed. He had been too busy trying to get well. Now he was well. And he was going to have to face that zero on the score board and do something about it.

He could find a woman who knew the ropes—there were certainly enough volunteers even now—and get it over with. But he found that a little cold and calculating. The first time ought to be with a special woman. Not that he would ever be stupid enough to fall in love again. After all, twice burned, thrice chary. But he wanted to like and respect and admire the woman he chose as his first sexual partner.

Lately his dreams had been unbelievably erotic.
Hot, sweat-slick bodies entwined in twisted sheets. Long female legs wrapped around his waist. A woman’s hair draped across his chest. His mouth on her—
He shook off the vision. Now that he was finally healthy—meaning he could get out of bed as easily as he could fall into it—it was time he took care of unfinished business.

Jewel’s face appeared in his mind’s eye. He saw the faint, crisscrossing scars from the car accident that had left her an orphan and had never quite faded away. Her smile, winsome and mischievous. Heard the distressed sound of her voice when she admitted her breasts
kept growing and growing like two balloons. And her laughter when he had offered to pop them for her.

With Jewel he wouldn’t have to be afraid of making a fool of himself in bed. Jewel would under stand his predicament. But she was the last person he could ever have sex with. Not after what had happened to her.

He was sure she would see the humor in the current situation. Jewel had a great sense of humor. At least, once upon a time she had. He could hardly believe six years had passed since they had last seen each other. They had both been through a great deal since then.

Mac hoped Jewel wouldn’t mind him intruding on her this way. But he was coming, like it or not.

P
ETER
“M
AC
” M
ACREADY WAS THE
last person Jewel Whitelaw wanted to see back at Hawk’s Pride, because he was the one person besides her counselor who knew her deepest, darkest secret. She should have told someone else long ago—her parents, one of her three sisters or four brothers, her fiancé—but she had never been able to admit the truth to anyone. Only Mac knew. And now he was coming back.

If she could have left home while he was visiting, she would have done so. But Camp Little Hawk was scheduled to open in two weeks, and she had too much to do to get ready for the summer season to be able to pick up and leave. All she could do was avoid Mac as much as possible.

As she emerged from a steamy shower, draped herself in a floor-length white terry cloth robe and wrapped her long brown hair in a towel, she learned just how impossible that was going to be.

“Hi.”

He was standing at the open bathroom door dressed in worn Levi’s, a Tornadoes T-shirt and Nikes, leaning on a cane. He didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. A grin split his face from ear to ear, creating two masculine dimples in his cheeks, while his vivid blue
eyes gazed at her with the warmth of an August day in Texas.

“Hi,” she said back. In spite of not wanting him here, she felt her lips curve in an answering smile. Her gaze skipped to the knotty-looking hickory cane he leaned on and back to his face. “I see you’re standing on your own.”

“Almost,” he said. “Sorry about intruding. Your mom said to make myself comfortable.” He gestured to the bedroom behind him, on the other side of the bathroom, where his suitcase sat on the double bed. “Looks like we’ll be sharing a bath.”

Jewel groaned inwardly. The new camp counselors’ cottages had been built to match the single-story Spanish style of the main ranch house, with white washed adobe walls and a red barrel-tile roof. Each had two bedrooms, but shared a bath, living room and kitchen. As the camp manager, she should have had this cottage all to herself. “I thought you’d be staying at the house,” she said.

“Your mom gave me a choice.” He shrugged. “This seemed more private.”

“I see.” Her mother had asked her if she minded, since Jewel and Mac were such old friends, if she gave Mac a choice of staying at the cottage or in the house. Jewel hadn’t objected, because she hadn’t been able to think up a good reason to say no that wouldn’t sound suspicious. As far as her parents knew, she and Mac still were good friends. And they were.

Only, Jewel had expected Mac to keep his distance, as he had for the past six years. And he had not.

Mac’s brow furrowed in a way that was achingly
familiar. “I can tell Rebecca I’ve changed my mind, if you don’t want me here.”

Jewel struggled between the desire to escape Mac’s scrutiny and the yearning to have back the camaraderie they had once enjoyed. Maybe it would be all right. Maybe the subject wouldn’t come up.
Yeah, and maybe horses come in green and pink.
“I…”

He started to turn away. “I’ll get my bag.”

“Wait.”

He turned back. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Jewel. I won’t talk about it. I won’t even bring up the subject.” His lips curled wryly. “Of course, I just brought up the subject to say I won’t bring it up, but I promise it’ll be off-limits. I need a place to rest and get better, and I thought you might not mind if I stayed here.”

His eyes looked wounded, and her heart went out to him. She crossed to him, because that seemed easier than making him walk to her with the cane. His arms opened to her and she walked right into them and they hugged tightly.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in her ear.

“This feels good,” she admitted. “It’s been too long, Mac.”

There was nothing sexual in the embrace, just two old friends, two very good friends, reconnecting after a long separation. Except Jewel was aware of the strength in his arms, the way her breasts felt crushed against his muscular chest and the feel of his thighs pressed against her own. She stiffened, then forced herself to relax.

“You’re taller than I remember,” he said, tucking her towel-covered head under his chin.

“I’ve grown three inches since… I’ve grown,” she said, realizing how difficult it was going to be avoiding the subject she wanted to avoid. “It’s a good thing, or I’d get a crick in my neck looking up at you.”

He had to be four inches over six feet. She remembered him being tall at nineteen, but he must have grown an inch or two since then, and of course his shoulders were broader, his angular features more mature. He was a man now, not a boy.

He was big. He was strong. He could physically overwhelm her. But she had known Mac forever. He would never hurt her. She reminded herself to relax.

The towel slipped off, and her hair cascaded to her waist.

“Good Lord,” Mac said, his fingers tangling in the length of it. “Your hair was never this long, either.”

“I like it long.” She could drape it forward over her shoulders to help cover her Enormous Endowments.

“I think I’m going to like it, too,” he said, smiling down at her with a teasing glint in his eyes.

She gave him an arch look. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Macready?”

“Who, me? Naw. Wouldn’t think of it, Ruby.”

Jewel grinned. In the old days, he had often called her by the names of different precious gems—“Because you’re a Jewel, get it?”—and the return to such familiarity made her feel even more comfortable with him. “Get out of here so I can get dressed,” she said, stepping back from his embrace.

The robe gaped momentarily, and his glance slipped
downward appreciatively. She self-consciously pulled the cloth over her breasts to cover them completely.

“Looks like they’ve grown, too,” he quipped, leering at her comically.

She should have laughed. It was what she would have done six years ago, before disaster had struck. But she couldn’t joke with him anymore about her over generous breasts. She blamed the size of them for what had happened to her. “Don’t, Mac,” she said quietly.

He sobered instantly. “I’m sorry, Jewel.”

She managed a smile. “It’s no big deal. Just get out of here and let me get dressed.”

He backed up, and for the first time she saw how much he needed the cane. His face turned white around the mouth with pain, and he swore under his breath.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“No problem,” he said. “Leg’s almost as good as new. Figure I’ll start jogging tomorrow.”

“Jogging?”

He gave her a sheepish look. “So maybe I’ll start out walking. Want to go with me?”

She daintily pointed the toe of her once-injured leg in his direction. “Walking isn’t my forte. How about a horse back ride?”

He shook his head. “Gotta walk. Need the exercise to get back into shape. Come with me. My limp is worse than yours, so you won’t have any trouble keeping up. Besides, it would give us a chance to catch up on what we’ve both been doing the past six years. Please come.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“Pretty please with sugar on it?”

It was something she had taught him to say if he really wanted a woman to do something. She gave in to the smile and let her lips curve with the delight she felt. “All right, you hopeless romantic. I’ll walk with you, but it’ll have to be early because I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“Figured I’d go early to beat the heat,” he said. “Six-thirty?”

“Make it six, and you’ve got a deal.” She reached out a hand, and Mac shook it.

The electric shock that raced up her arm was disturbing. It took an effort to keep the frown from her face. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to be physically attracted to Mac Macready. They were just good friends.
Yeah, and horses come in purple and orange.

She closed the bathroom door and sank onto the edge of the tub. She had always thought Mac was cute, but he had matured into a genuine hunk. No problem. She would handle the attraction the way she had from the beginning, by thinking of him as a brother.

But he wasn’t her brother. He was a very attractive, very available man. Who once had been—still was?—her best friend.

She clung to that thought, which made it easier to keep their relationship in perspective. It was much more important to have a friend like Mac than a boy friend.

J
EWEL REPEATED THAT SENTENCE
like a litany the next morning at 5:55 when Mac showed up in the kitchen dressed in Nikes and black running shorts and nothing else. The kitchen door was open and through the screen
she was aware of flies buzzing and the lowing of cattle. A steady, squeaking sound meant that her youngest brother, Colt, hadn’t gotten around to oiling the windmill beside the stock pond. But those distractions weren’t enough to keep her from ogling Mac’s body.

A wedge of golden hair on his chest became a line of soft down as it reached his navel and disappeared beneath his shorts. She consciously forced her gaze upward.

Mac’s tousled, collar-length hair was a sun-kissed blond, and his eyes were as bright as the morning sky. He hadn’t shaved, and the over night beard made him look both dangerous and sexy.

Without the concealing T-shirt and jeans, she could see the sinewy muscles in his shoulders and arms, the wash board belly and the horrible mishmash of scars on his left leg. He leaned heavily on the cane.

She poured him a bowl of corn flakes and doused them with milk. “Eat. You’re running late.”

“Oh, that I were running,” he said. “I’m afraid walking is the best I can do.” He hobbled across the redbrick tile floor to the small wooden table, settled himself in the ladderback chair opposite her and began consuming cereal at an alarming rate.

“What’s that you’re wearing?” he asked.

She tugged at her bulky, short-sleeved sweat shirt, dusted off her cutoff jeans and readjusted her hair over her shoulders. “Some old things.”

“Gonna be hot in that,” he said between bites.

But the sweat shirt disguised her Bountiful Bosom, which was more important than comfort. “Hungry?” she
inquired, her chin resting on her hand as she watched him eat ravenously.

“I missed supper last night.”

She had checked his bedroom and found him asleep at sup per time and hadn’t disturbed him. He had slept all through the afternoon and evening. “You must have been tired.”

“I was. Completely exhausted. Not that I’d admit that to anyone but you.” He poured himself another bowl of cereal, doused it with the milk she had left on the table and began eating again.

“Nothing wrong with your appetite,” she observed.

He made a sound, but his mouth was too full to answer.

She watched him eat four bowls of cereal. That was about right—two for dinner and two for break fast. “Ready to go walking now?” she asked.

“Sure.” He took his dish to the sink and reached back for hers, which she handed to him.

Seeing the difficulty he was having trying to do every thing one-handed, so he could hang on to his cane, she said, “I can do that for you.”

“I’m not a cripple!” When he turned to snap at her, he lost his one-handed grip on the dishes. His cane fell as he lurched to catch the bowls with both hands. Without the cane, his left leg crumpled under him.

“Look out!” Jewel cried.

The dishes crashed into the sink as Mac grabbed hold of the counter to keep from falling backward.

“Damn it all to hell!” he raged.

Jewel reached out to comfort him, but he snarled, “Don’t touch me. Leave me alone.”

Jewel had whirled to leave, when he bit out, “Don’t go.”

She stopped where she was, but she wanted to run. She didn’t want to see his pain. It reminded her too much of her own.

He stared out the window over the sink at the endless reaches of Hawk’s Pride, with its vast, grassy plains and the jagged out crop pings of rock that marked the entrance to the canyons in the distance.

“It must be awful,” she whispered, “to lose so much.”

His eyes slid closed, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. He slowly opened his eyes and turned to look at her over his shoulder. “This…the way I am… It’s just temporary. I’ll be back as good as new next season.”

“Will you?”

He met her gaze steadily. “Bet on it.”

She knew him too well. Well enough to hear the sheer bravado in his answer and to see the unspoken fear in his eyes that his football career was over. They had always been deeply attuned to one another. He was vulnerable again, in a way he once had been as a youth—this time not to death itself, but to the death of his dreams.

“What can I do, Mac?”

He managed a smile. “Hand me my cane, will you?”

It was easier to do as he asked than to probe the painful issues that he was refusing to address. She crossed to pick up his cane and watched as he eased his weight off his hands and onto his leg with the cane’s support.

“Are you sure it isn’t too soon to be doing so much?” she asked as he hissed in a breath.

He headed determinedly for the screen door. “The only way my leg can get stronger is if I walk on it.”

She followed after him, as she had for nearly a dozen years in their youth. “All right, cowboy. Head ’em up, and move ’em out.”

He flashed her his killer grin, and she smiled back, letting the screen door slam behind her.

It was easier to pretend nothing was wrong. But she could already see that things were different between them. They had both been through a great deal in the years since they had last seen each other. She knew as well as he did what it felt like to live with fear, and with disappointment.

She had worked hard to put behind her what had happened the summer she was sixteen and Harvey Barnes had attacked her at the Fourth of July picnic. But even now the memory of that day haunted her.

She had been excited when Harvey, a senior who ran with the in crowd, asked her to the annual county-wide Fourth of July celebration. She’d had a crush on him for a long time, but he hadn’t given her a second glance. During the previous year, her breasts had blossomed and given her a figure most movie stars would have paid good dollars to have. A lot of boys stared, including Harvey.