Only Mine (18 page)

The thought of what it would be like to be awaiting the birth of his own child went through Wolfe like lightning, leaving only darkness in its wake. He set down the valises and turned to leave. His steps brought him past the bed. He stopped, held by something he could not name.

Jessica stirred and shivered with the residue of winter that still gripped the house. Despite her chill, she didn’t awaken. Instead, she huddled around herself as though understanding even in sleep that she must hoard her own warmth, for there was no one to care for her.

Jessi…damn it, what are you doing to us? Let go of me before I do something that we’ll both regret to our dying breath.

The soft fur blanket settled as lightly as a sigh over Jessica. Wolfe drew the blanket up to her chin, stared at the beauty of her hair against the lustrous fur, and then left the room in three long, silent strides.

*   *   *

“W
HY
am I called Reno?” he asked, repeating Jessica’s question.

“Oh dear,” Jessica said quickly, looking up from a plate of Willow’s delicious food. “Was it rude of me to ask? I’m still not certain of your customs.”

Reno smiled. The flash of his teeth against his black mustache was vivid, but not as vivid as the green of his eyes framed by thick lashes a woman would have envied. Like Willow and Rafe, Reno’s eyes were slightly tilted, almost cat-like in their impact. Unlike Willow, there was nothing the least bit feminine about Reno. He was as big and hard as Rafe.

And life Rafe, Reno had been captivated by the delicate British elf whose ice-blue eyes and coolly accented English were at odds with the fire buried in her glorious hair.

“Red, you couldn’t be rude if you tried.”

As Reno spoke, he kept an eye on the huge basket of biscuits that was making the rounds of the dinner table. If he didn’t watch closely, Rafe would make off with more than his share.

“A while back I was looking for gold over in the Sierra Nevadas,” Reno said absently. “I came across an old Frenchman who had had some bad luck with a gold claim he called Reno’s Revenge. Later, I found the men who had the Frenchman’s gold and explained how much the old man needed it for his granddaughter. They thought it over and gave the gold back. After that, people started calling me Reno.”

Wolfe made an odd sound and put his napkin to his mouth. Nearby, Caleb choked quietly on a mouthful of venison. Jessica didn’t need to see the unholy laughter in Caleb’s amber eyes to realize she hadn’t heard the full story of how Matthew
Moran had come to be called Reno.

“Dammit, unhand those biscuits,” Reno complained.

“I haven’t had thirds yet,” Rafe said.

“Over my dead body.”

“Whatever you say.”

Willow thumped her husband’s broad back and at the same time buried her face in her napkin, muffling her own laughter. After a moment, Caleb turned, captured Willow’s hand and brushed it against his lips. She lowered her napkin and curled her fingers through his as he returned his hand to his lap. Husband and wife resumed eating one-handed, for neither wanted to separate their closely linked fingers.

“Pass those biscuits along, boys,” Caleb said dryly. “There’s more in the kitchen.”

A curious sensation went through Jessica as she glanced from the corner of her eyes at the slender hand that was so carefully held in Caleb’s much more powerful grip. The longer Jessica watched Caleb and Willow, the more she realized that there was a genuine and quite baffling affection between husband and wife. Despite the fact that Willow was so heavy with the results of Caleb’s rutting that she could barely rise unaided from a chair, Willow watched her husband as though expecting the sun to rise in him at any moment. He watched her in the same way, his love very plain in his golden eyes.

Yet at one time Caleb had cared so little for Willow that he had given free rein to his baser nature, knowing full well that the result would be her agony in childbed. Caleb didn’t have the excuse or requirement of duty forcing him to put his wife at risk in such a way. There was no need for Willow’s
painful fate, for Caleb had neither titles nor wealth nor ancient bloodlines to pass on to another generation. Yet Willow was pregnant just the same. Even more baffling, she appeared quite happy about her state.

Frowning, Jessica tried to reconcile Willow’s dangerous pregnancy with Caleb’s obvious love for his wife. It was even more difficult to reconcile Willow’s obvious pleasure in a man who had so little regard for her welfare. Yet there, too, Jessica had no doubt of the reality of Willow’s emotions. She did not shrink from her husband’s touch. Rather, she sought it in subtle ways, crossing the room just to stand close to him when he laid the evening fire.

“You sure that’s how you got your moniker?” Wolfe asked neutrally.

“Close enough,” Reno said.

“That’s not even close enough for horseshoes,” Wolfe retorted.

As Wolfe spoke, he snatched a handful of biscuits before passing the basket on down the table. A week of watching the two brothers steal Willow’s biscuits had taught Wolfe to grab first and worry about manners later.

“Way I heard it,” Wolfe continued, splitting a steaming biscuit, “was that old Frenchman found himself a glory hold and went to work cleaning it out. When he was finished, four men jumped him, left him for dead, and took off with the old man’s gold.”

Jessica looked up, caught by the thread of amusement and something else that ran through Wolfe’s words. It took her a moment to identify the emotion. It was affection. The camaraderie between Wolfe and Reno was as real and, in its way, as deep as that between Reno and Rafe. The same
emotion extended to Caleb. The mutual respect was striking, for it was based not on family or name or position, but on each man’s assessment of the others as men worthy of friendship.

“You found that Frenchman, nursed him, then tracked the claim jumpers,” Wolfe continued. “You walked into the saloon, called them thieves and cowards and some other names not fit for the dinner table, and then you demanded they return the gold they had cleaned out of Reno’s Revenge. Instead, they went for their guns.”

When Wolfe said no more, Jessica made an impatient sound and asked, “What happened?”

Wolfe’s smile was as cool and clean as the edge of a knife. “Way I heard it, Reno waited until they got a grip on their guns and started pulling them out. Then he drew. The first two claim jumpers never even got their guns clear of their belts. The rest of them got their guns out, but never got off a shot.”

Jessica gave Reno a startled look. He was pouring an intricate pattern of honey over a steaming biscuit, ignoring the conversation completely.

“After that, folks started talking about Reno’s Revenge and a man who was pure hell with a six-gun,” Wolfe concluded. “Pretty soon they were just talking about a man called Reno, a man who would help you if you drew short cards in a rigged game, a man who didn’t look for fights but didn’t back away when one found him. I liked what I heard, so I looked Reno up.”

When Reno turned toward Wolfe to reply, Jessica calmly filched a biscuit from Reno’s plate. Rafe saw, winked, and passed her the honey. Jessica smiled and looked sideways at Reno. She knew his quick green eyes had seen the small theft, just as
she knew he could have retrieved the biscuit before she had a chance to blink. Reno had the fastest reflexes of any man she had ever met.

“Pass the biscuits,” Reno said. “A certain small redhead stole one of mine.”

“She’s just trying to keep you from getting fat,” Rafe said blandly.

“Then she better eat yours, too. Much more of Willy’s cooking and the only thing that will fit around your waist is that long bullwhip you fancy.”

Jessica looked from one hard, lean Moran brother to the other. She put her napkin over her mouth, but mere cloth couldn’t muffle her snickers. Reno heard and turned toward her.

“Are you laughing at me?”

Peeking over the napkin, Jessica nodded her head.

Reno’s face softened into a smile. “Sassy as your hair, aren’t you?”

Wolfe’s hand tightened around his fork as he saw Jessica’s eyes sparkle with amusement. He told himself that Reno couldn’t help being handsome as sin and lethal as hell. Nor could Rafe help his fallen-angel good looks and potent male charm, both of which he showed in abundance around Jessica. Neither Moran brother would have touched any man’s wife, much less the wife of a friend like Wolfe Lonetree, and he knew it.

Yet day after day of watching Jessica respond to their masculine teasing like a flower soaking up warm rain had worn Wolfe raw. He couldn’t remember the last time Jessica had turned toward him with light in her eyes and laughter on her lips.

And that’s the way it has to stay.
Wolfe reminded himself savagely.
It’s been hard enough sharing a bed
with her for the past week. If she looked up at me and smiled and held out her arms…

A shudder of raw desire went through Wolfe. He told himself he was a fool for not sleeping with Rafe and Reno in the small cabin that had served as Caleb and Willow’s home while the big house was being built. If Wolfe had been in the cabin, he wouldn’t have lain awake for long hours, listening to the soft breathing of the girl who lay so close to him, yet never touched him at all. If he had been in the cabin, he wouldn’t have lain rigid with a need that grew greater every moment, his body demanding what his mind would not permit him to take.

And if Wolfe had been in the cabin, he wouldn’t have heard Jessica’s broken whimpers and muffled cries, wouldn’t have felt the erratic stirring of her body as she fought within the coils of a dark dream that came every night, waking her, waking him.

What is it, Jessi?

Nothing. I don’t remember.

Damn it, what is it that frightens you so?

I’m foolish, my lord bastard, but not stupid. I’ll give you no more weapons to turn against me.

So at night they lay side by side, stiff, sleepless, listening to the wind moan over the battleground between winter and spring.

“F
ISHING
?” Jessica asked, looking up from the mending in her lap. “Did I hear trout fishing mentioned?”

Caleb and Wolfe were sitting at the dinner table, studying a map Caleb had drawn, showing the range of several nearby mustang herds. He turned away from Wolfe and looked at Jessica, who was mending one of Willow’s dresses by lantern light.

“Do you like to fish?” Caleb asked.

“No,” she said calmly. “I love it. I will walk through fire barefoot to get to a good trout stream.”

Caleb raised black eyebrows and looked at Wolfe.

“It’s the truth,” Wolfe admitted. “She’ll be out working a piece of water on a stormy evening when everyone else is in front of a fire talking about the one that got away.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Caleb asked Wolfe. “There’s some good trout water nearby.”

“It’s too early for trout to be out of their winter torpor.”

“Not along parts of the Columbine. There’s enough hot-spring water mixed into the stream that certain stretches of it come alive long before anything else does.”

“Truly?” Jessica asked.

Caleb grinned. “Truly.”

“Wonderful!”

Jessica set aside the mending and ran into the bedroom. When she returned, her hands were full of small boxes.

“What do the streamside insects here look like?” she asked eagerly, opening boxes and setting them on the dinner table in front of the men. Tiny, carefully tied flies rested within the boxes. “Are they light or dark, big or small, colorful or drab?”

“Yes.”

She gave Caleb a slanting, sidelong glance. “Yes?”

He nodded gravely. “They’re light and dark, big and small, colorful and drab.”

“Caleb, stop teasing Jessica,” Willow called from the back of the house.

“But I’m getting so good at it.”

Jessica tried not to smile, and failed. Caleb was indeed getting quite good at teasing her.

There was the sound of the wind slamming the back door, followed by footsteps as Willow walked through the kitchen into the living room. Sleet glistened in the wool shawl she had worn to the privy.

She shook the shawl and hung it on a peg near the door for the next trip, knowing it wouldn’t be long before necessity overcame her reluctance to face the cold scouring of the spring wind. The more pregnant she became, the more frequently she was forced to visit the privy’s drafty comforts.

“Jessi gets quite enough ribbing from my brothers,” Willow continued, yawning. “Why don’t you try protecting her, instead?”

“That’s Wolfe’s job,” Caleb said, giving the other man an amused look, “and God help the man who gets in Wolfe’s way.”

Wolfe looked back impassively.

Caleb’s grin was rather feral. No matter how hard Wolfe tried to conceal his irritation at the handsome Moran brothers’ gallant attentions to Jessica, Caleb sensed the jealousy that seethed just beneath Wolfe’s calm surface. Caleb would have had more sympathy for his friend, but he didn’t understand why Wolfe was so hard on his young wife.

“I don’t mind the way Rafe and Reno tease,” Jessica said as Willow walked in from the kitchen, patting back another yawn. “I never had any brothers or sisters. I had no idea how much fun it could be.”

“No siblings?” Willow asked, surprised. “You poor darling. How lonely it must have been for you.”

Jessica hesitated, then shrugged. “It was all I knew. And I had the firth and forest to roam.” “I can’t imagine having only one child,” Willow said, shaking her head. “I want a house full of kids.”

“I imagine many women feel like that before they experience childbed.”

The barely muted horror in Jessica’s voice created a pool of silence that expanded and deepened until she realized her mistake and changed the subject with a determined smile.

“Do you like to fish, Willow?”

“Caleb is the fisherman in the family. He’s very good at it.”

Caleb gave Willow a lazy, sidelong glance and a crooked smile. Though not a word was said, her cheeks turned a revealing shade of pink.

“I’m a fair fisherman,” he admitted. “Don’t care much for fishing rods or lures, though.”