Night Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (23 page)

      
Melanie sensed the change in him from brutal predator to gentle seducer. Every nerve in her body seemed stretched tight, no longer in terror but now in some new unnamed and unknown way. She heard his whispered endearment, but the words didn't register because the warm, probing magic of his lips and tongue had taken her reason away. She could feel the bone-crushing hold he had on her wrists loosen then relent as he moved his hand downward, between their bodies to trace a scorching pattern around her bared breast. The nipple contracted in a frisson of pleasure, and she found herself arching up for yet another caress.

      
Her fingers ran through his shaggy black hair, then clutched convulsively at his shoulder when he deserted her lips and moved his head lower to her breasts. Slowly, like a man unwrapping a treasure, he eased the camisole all the way down, baring both rounded globes with their hard rosy points. He circled one tip with his tongue while his hand continued to caress the other.

      
Melanie heard a whimper of pleasure and dimly realized it was her own voice. Now, her writhing was not in protest but in ecstasy. Never had she felt anything like the sensations flowing through her body, which seemed to have a will of its own, instinctively reacting to his practiced hands and mouth. She clung to him, letting him bare her breasts and suckle them, run a lean, callused hand down her thigh and reach beneath her skirts. Then, he stroked back up her sleek little leg toward the warm, liquid core of her body. She arched and pleaded incoherently.

      
Lee sensed her acquiescence. Unpracticed but eager, she was instinctively sensuous and passionate. He lost himself in her soft rose-sweet flesh, so intent on discovering the delights of her body that he did not hear the approaching horsemen until they were practically upon him.

      
“Lee, what the hell are you doing?” Jim Slade's unmistakable gravel drawl interrupted the lovers.

      
“Velasquez, I'll kill you for this.” Rafe Fleming's silky voice held a deadly menace for all its quietness.

Chapter Twelve

      
Rafe Fleming slid from his big sorrel stallion with the effortless grace of a Comanche, his movements sinuous and swift. Before he could reach Lee, Jim Slade intercepted him with a restraining hand on his shoulder.

      
“Don't do anything you'll regret, Rafe,” he said in a low, intense voice.

      
Lee quickly rose from the dusty ground and pulled Melanie up behind him, shielding her from the prying eyes of the half-dozen riders still mounted behind Slade and Fleming.
Damn, as if they haven’t all seen enough!

      
Fleming's black eyes glowed like embers as he looked from his daughter's torn clothing to Lee's scratched face. “The son of a bitch attacked her, Jim.” Rafe saw only what he wished to see, his cold voice and tightly coiled manner belying the white-hot rage hammering inside him.

      
Jim, who had seen the girl ardently returning Lee’s attentions, was decidedly the calmer of the two, afraid only that Rafe would try to kill his childhood companion before the situation was clarified. “Let's just discuss this before we decide anything,” he replied easily.

      
Melanie could feel her father's eyes assessing her disheveled state as he walked past Lee and took her in his arms. She frantically tried to pull the shredded blouse up with one hand while smoothing down her wayward skirts with the other. Silently, he slipped his buckskin vest off and offered it to her. Although far too large, it did at least hold her silk shirt together at the shoulder. Cringing in shame and shock, she listened to the men's strident voices as if she were overhearing them from a great distance.

      
Lee turned from the father and daughter to face Jim Slade. “I followed her to keep her from getting killed. She was ready to ride after one of the Comanche who shot those wranglers.” He gestured across the creek to the campsite.

      
Seeing the slain men left by the rustlers, Jim barked terse orders, “Wash, Asa, check and see what's gone on over there and wait for us across the creek.”

      
As the mounted men wheeled their horses and departed in mute embarrassment, Jim looked quickly between Lee and Rafe, knowing he had to stay calm and keep control of the situation. “All right. I know Wash sent you after her, and I know what she was up to; but that doesn't explain how we found you.” He cast Rafe a quelling look, praying the arrogant Creole would not act precipitately.

      
Lee took a long, steadying breath, trying to gather his badly scattered wits. How to explain the unexplainable, the insanely irrational? “I won't make excuses, Jim. She pointed a gun at me and when I took it away from her we struggled. Then, oh, shit, I lost my head, and—”

      
“And tore the clothes from her body because she defended herself?” Rafe interrupted with deadly softness.

      
“It wasn't quite that simple, Fleming,” Lee replied angrily. “She was out here on a fool's errand and tried to shoot me for the trouble of saving her hide—and, I might add, it's not the first time since she came to San Antonio that I've had to keep someone from killing her.”

      
“That doesn't give you the right to manhandle her,
mano
,” Jim replied levelly, knowing there was much more to the encounter than Lee was revealing.

      
“I regret my actions and I apologize,” he said woodenly, looking at Melanie's small dazed face, now smudged with dust. Her eyes were downcast and her lips were bruised from his fierce kisses. He felt a renewed surge of that bizarre combination of desire and fury rise in him once more.

      
“So,” Rafe said, releasing Melanie and stepping up to confront Velásquez, “you apologize, do you? After half a dozen cowboys from Bluebonnet saw her pinned to the ground under you and you with your filthy hands all over her body. I'd say it's a little late for regret.” His voice finally rose a notch.

      
Two sets of fiery black eyes clashed. Looking at the men, Melanie was shocked at how alike her father and Lee were, tall, dark, and hard-looking—dangerous. She knew Lee was a killer, and she had heard rumors about Rafael Flamenco's early days in Texas. Then Lee's words jarred her from her ruminations.

      
“I can't undo what's done and I won't crawl for it, Fleming. Anyway, you and all the others could see the lady wasn't exactly fighting me when you happened on us. She gave me the distinct impression she was enjoying what we were doing.”

      
Melanie let out a gasp of indignation, coloring at the shameful accuracy of his words. “You border ruffian! You—”

      
Rafe lunged toward Lee, but Jim interposed himself between the two. “Now cool down, both of you. Look, Rafe, I hate to say it, but, well”—his amber eyes flashed at Melanie’s crimson face for a moment—“she did seem to be, er, responding to him, not fighting him.”

      
“He dishonored my daughter, Jim. I'm sorry he's your friend, but he can't just tip his hat and walk away,” Rafe said through gritted teeth.

      
“I never intended that he should,” Jim said, a wicked white grin slashing his tanned face as he looked from one set of hard, dark features to the other. He had done some quick calculating while Lee talked, watching Melanie's reactions and replaying the scene between the two lovers over in his mind. There was no doubt that they had been loving, not fighting. “The only honorable thing for Lee to do is marry Melanie.”

      
Everyone grew silent for a second, then spoke at once; but Melanie's shriek of indignation cut across all the rumbling baritone voices. “Wait a minute! Everyone here—every
man
here has had his say. I'm a twenty-two-year-old adult, and I have some small stake in this, too! I wouldn't marry him if he'd ravished me in front of a whole company of Texas Rangers!”

      
“I think by the time we get back to San Antonio every ranger and civilian between here and California will have heard about it,” Rafe said, eyeing his furious daughter speculatively. She had allowed Velasquez's liberties, unless his eyes were going bad, which he doubted.

      
“I can't marry her, Jim. I'm already engaged to Larena, your cousin Larena, in case you've conveniently forgotten,” Lee said.

      
Remembering Lee's relationship with his first dutiful Hispanic wife, Jim said tersely, “Break your engagement,
mano.
”

      
“I second the motion, Velasquez,” Rafe said with the beginning of an evil smile tugging at his lips.

      
“Papa! You can't mean to go along with this insane scheme!” Melanie turned beet red, then chalky as she looked from man to man.

      
Jim's amber eyes and Rafe's obsidian ones both locked on Lee's set face, united now in their purpose. All three ignored the woman.

      
“You think this'll solve anything?” Lee questioned incredulously, looking from Rafe to Jim.

      
“The way I see it, you owe a debt of honor, Velasquez. You do have a fine old family name in these parts and a respectable ranch—and you are free to marry my daughter. That's one way to settle it. The other way—”

      
“There won't be any other way, dammit,” Jim cut in, the famous Slade temper finally getting the better of him. “How the hell will it help Melanie's reputation if you kill each other? Don't either of you mistake it—you'd both lose. I know you too well.”

      
“I'm not standing here and listening to another minute of this rubbish. You can all three shoot it out—and them, too,” Melanie yelled, gesturing broadly to the men across the river, as she whirled and stomped toward the base of the bluff where her horse was tethered.

* * * *

      
“Oh, Rafael, I don't know. This is so sudden, so crazy.” Deborah laid their infant son, Joey, in his crib and turned to face her husband. She looked pale and shaken. They had just arrived at the boardinghouse when Obedience had rushed out with some insane story about Melanie pursuing a band of outlaws to get a newspaper story.

      
“You're exhausted, darling,” Rafe said as he took her in his arms. “It's been only six weeks since Joey's birth. I knew we should have waited longer before you traveled so far.”

      
“I'm fine, only worried about Melanie. If we hadn't come, what would have happened to her? What
will
happen, Rafael? She can't marry a man she's only met a handful of times in her life.” Deborah's violet eyes were wide with apprehension.

      
Rafe turned and paced, running his fingers through his shaggy black hair. “Hell, Deborah, you knew me only a few weeks before we married,” he replied ruefully.

      
“And it took us only seven years to work things out,” she countered acerbically. “I've known Lee since he was a boy and I've always liked him. But since the tragedy of his first wife's death, he's grown into a hard, dangerous stranger.”

      
Rafe quirked one elegant brow at her. “I seem to recall you thought the same thing about me when I found you at this boardinghouse!”

      
“But that was us, Rafael. This situation is different. They're not committed to each other. There are no children to consider.”

      
“If we hadn't come along when we did, there might have been,” Rafe said darkly.

      
Remembering Melanie's torn clothing and disheveled state when she returned to town that afternoon, Deborah nodded. “Yes, yes, I know it must have looked awful. I always suspected she inherited your passionate nature and simply directed it in channels acceptable for a female.”

      
“Well, it certainly emerged today! Anyway, there's nothing wrong with her showing some natural womanly feelings. She's twenty-two years old. And Lee Velasquez is a solid figure in the community, good family name, educated, owns a prosperous ranch. He's settled down from his renegade days and he's a strong enough man to handle Melanie.”

      
“Our daughter is a handful, I'll grant you,” Deborah said with approval in her voice. “But she is also a grown woman, as you just pointed out, and we can't force her to marry him. This is 1852, not the Middle Ages!”

      
“It's best for her,” he replied arrogantly. “Her reputation is in shreds here in San Antonio. If she refuses, the only alternative is to send her back to your father in Boston.”

      
Deborah heard Joey fret in his sleep and knelt by his crib to give him a reassuring pat. Shaking her head, she sighed. “If she let him take such liberties, she must love him whether or not she realizes it. But does
he
love
her
?”

      
Rafe snorted in derision. “He was giving one hell of a good imitation of it when we caught the bastard!” Seeing his wife's distress, he pulled her up gently and whispered, “Don't worry. I've talked to Wash and Obedience. They know Lee and Melanie both. They think it'll work. We really have no choice, Moon Flower. If Melanie's too stubborn to acknowledge her own feelings after today, someone's got to force her to confront them.”

* * * *

      
Ever since they were eighteen-year-olds, Lee Velasquez and Charlee McAllister Slade had been as close as siblings. Of course, as he thought of it now, Charlee had been a lot more grown up at eighteen than he. But that was ten years ago and he wasn't the carefree boy who lived at Bluebonnet Ranch anymore. Still, here he was riding out to see Charlee and seek her advice once more.