Remember Me (Defiant MC) (10 page)

Gaby began to look weary. “Christ, let’s cut the acrimony at the outset, shall we?  It’s been a long damn time and I’m glad you’re in one piece.  Let’s just go from there.” 

Maddox was really trying to not be terrible.  It was difficult.  Too difficult.  He shook his head and advanced on her.  “You’re mighty generous, darlin’.” 

The words appeared to hit her like a punch.  Maddox felt a small ounce of triumph as he knew she remembered where she’d heard them before.  From him on the night they’d met, only a short time after he’d almost run her down as he escaped with a case of stolen beer.  The Hassayampa was full of recently fallen rain and he was drinking on the banks with a few shitheads he ran with when she hiked casually toward them out of nowhere. 

“
Hola, senorita
,” he’d called, pleased to see her again. 

She’d cut him down quickly.  “I don’t speak Spanish, you fucking prick.”

He had figured she would hurry away but she didn’t and Maddox left his friends behind to walk with her.   Slowly he extracted pieces of information.  Gabriela de Campo was from Seattle and her mother had died recently.  Her father, who’d never been strong, shipped her back to his hometown of Contention City to finish out high school while he tried to tend to his grief. 

“De Campo,” said Maddox slowly.  “You’re Old Juan’s granddaughter?”

She nodded, kicking the river rocks fretfully.  “I am.  Papa is the sentimental sort.  Likes to say shit like ‘Before there was gold and before this country rose, there were de Campo’s here.’”  She shrugged.  “Like it makes any damn difference.” She frowned up at him.   “You didn’t tell me your name.” 

“Maddox.  People call me Mad.  A nickname and a state of mind.  Mad McLeod.” 

Gabriela stopped in her tracks.  “McLeod?”  Something like recognition lit her face as she looked at him more carefully.  “You have a brother.” 

“I do,” he said, surprised.  “You’ve already met Jensen?”

She nodded.  “He was in line behind me yesterday in Basha’s.  He spotted me a five when I was short on cash.  We got to talking.   He looks like you.  He’s nice.” 

“Oh,” Maddox smiled.  “Well, I’m not.  Nice, I mean.” 

“I know,” she said, fixing him with an indecipherable look in her dark eyes. 

He’d kissed her then.  Maddox had kissed more girls than he could easily count but there was never such a moment of pure impulse as he grabbed her and brought her close.  She had responded, leaning into him and answering with a tease of her tongue.  But when his hand traveled boldly under her shirt, she pushed him back.  He’d blinked, staring at her.  She had already begun to walk away.

“Don’t worry,” she called as she headed into the dusk.  “I won’t tell anyone about the beer you stole.” 

“Well,” he’d said, recovering somewhat and knowing he would need to find an answer, somewhere, to the hard throb in his pants.  “You’re mighty generous, darling’.” 

Ten years later, he faced her in Priest McLeod’s living room and remembered that night.  Her face seemed troubled and for that Maddox was pleased.   Let her be fucking troubled, he thought. 

Then he thought better of it.  He was a man now.  His father was dying in the next room.  It was time to let shit lie. 

“Well, Gaby,” he said carefully.  “I’m ready to move on from here if you are.”

She tilted her head archly.  “I don’t know about that.  Seems like you still hate me.” 

Maddox laughed.  “No, Gabs.  I never really hated you.  You shredded my fucking heart but I never hated you.”

Her eyes widened and then shifted away, her expression pained.  She seemed to hear the suffering behind his words.  He had one more thing to say and then he wouldn’t talk about it anymore.  Maddox moved within inches of her.  She had no choice but to look up to see him. 

“Just remember, Gabriela de Campo, you never knew me.  Not really.  Everything between us was nothing if you could turn your head so easily.”

“Mad-“ she started to say. 

“No,” he held up a hand.  “That’s it.  Jensen did what he did and you did what you did.  It’s over.”  He held out a hand.  He knew it was childish.  “Shake on it.” 

She wouldn’t.  She crossed her arms and sighed, then brushed past him to head down the hall and check on Priest. 

Maddox had been a dick after all but he wasn’t sorry.  He was glad he’d said it to her.  She could chew on that for a while.  These last few days of his father’s life would be the final ones he would ever spend in Contention City.  It would be the last time he would deal with any of them.  Already he longed bleakly for his boys.  He removed his phone from his back pocket.  He would call Brandon.  That guy could cheer him up even when he wasn’t freaking trying to. 

Mad didn’t want his words echoing through the small house with Gaby inside.  He opened the front door, intending to make the call outside.  There was, however, a boy standing there.  He was wiry and black-haired and had his mother’s eyes.  He smiled at Maddox shyly. 

“You’re my uncle, aren’t you?” he asked with a heartbreaking note of hope in his voice. 

Maddox leaned against the thin doorframe, feeling the strength drain out of him.  “Miguel,” he said.  “Miguel McLeod.” 

The boy nodded, staring up at him with obvious awe.

“Yeah, I’m your uncle,” he admitted, rattled by this confrontation with the flesh and blood embodiment of an old betrayal.  No, that wasn’t fair.  The boy was not to blame. 

“I’m glad to finally meet you,” Maddox said and he meant it. 

His nephew, Jensen and Gabriela’s son, smiled.

Con
tention City, Arizona Territory

1888

Lizzie Post was an interesting woman.  Her brisk knock startled Annika shortly before sunrise.  When she opened the door
, the woman’s bright green eyes sized her up in an instant.  Annika was glad to be used to greeting the day on dairy farm hours. After introducing herself, the caretaker of the Dolan boys nodded with satisfaction that Annika was already up and dressed.  

“Glad to have you, gal,” she said, shaking Annika’s hand hard as if they were men.  She stood a head shorter but her lean body spoke of a strength Annika could only wish for, even after a laborious girlhood on her father’s farm.   Lizzie Post jerked her gray head in the direction of a wobbly wagon tied to a pair of spry mules.  “Brought ya some supplies.”

As Annika assisted with the unloading, she was humbled and astonished by the array of provisions, not the least of which was a feather tick mattress for her bedframe.  The carefully canned food had to have been from Lizzie’s own personal supply.  Annika fingered the jars of pickled beets and gratefully accepted the bags of flour.  Lizzie saved the best for last, however.  With a gleam in her gray eyes she unwrapped a precious pane of glass for the single window in the teacherage. 

Once they had successfully placed the glass in the window Annika stood back, admiring it. Lizzie grinned at her.   With her hands folded behind her back, Annika awkwardly offered to pay her back for the cost of the supplies out of her teacher’s salary. 

Lizzie didn’t blink.  “That won’t be necessary.  I’ve heard you make quite an impression, Miss Larson.” 

Annika was never one to dance around a subject.  “Do you mean James?  He described you like a mother.  He’s been very kind to me since I arrived.”   

Lizzie’s weathered face split into a grin.  “James is a good boy.  But he ain’t the one who talks about you in a special tone of awe.”  She waited for Annika to catch her meaning.  When she didn’t respond, Lizzie raised her eyebrows.  “You seem like one capable of talking plainly.  Mercer seems to think so.  Don’t tell me we’re both wrong.” 

Annika swallowed, staring down at the dust covering the lower inches of her skirts.  “I know about Mercer,” she said quietly. 

Lizzie wasn’t phased.  “I know about Mercer too.” 

“Does James?”

“Maybe.” 

“Must put him in a fix, him being the law and all.” 

Lizzie Post considered that.  “You come from a more orderly place, Miss Larson.  Things ain’t so up and down here.” 

“Really?” Annika countered.  “Seems the miner hung recently for gold theft might be of a different opinion.” 

“You’re sharp,” she nodded, more to herself than to Annika.  “The boy said so.”  Lizzie took a bold step closer and looked directly into Annika’s eyes.  “He’s not bad,” the woman told her flatly.  “Just seems so at times.”  She waved her hand toward the recently unpacked supplies.  “All this, it comes from Mercer, you know.”  Lizzie Post abruptly climbed into her wagon, finished with the task she had set out for.  She gave Annika a brief smile.  “You ought to thank him.”  And then, with a yell and a jerk, she was on her way.

Annika stared at the array of supplies.  If they were indeed from Mercer Dolan it was an act of supreme generosity.  Perhaps he still felt some guilt over the stage holdup.  Or perhaps he expected something in return.  She touched the thick glass of the window pane.  Glass was expensive, especially this far away from the civilized cities.  Mercer had shelled out a pretty penny.  With a start, Annika realized the money he used had to have come from his outlaw deeds with The Danes. 

In her mind’s eye she saw him sitting on his horse with his face disguised and a pistol pointed at her.  The memory was equal parts revolting and fascinating.  Gritting her teeth, she walked briskly over to the schoolhouse and began to sweep the floor in preparation for the children. 

Soon the students began to arrive.  They were a wide mix of tempers and abilities.  It was a bit overwhelming, gauging the dissimilar educations of forty plus pupils. Astonishingly, some of the eldest students were scarcely literate. 

The day passed quickly and at the end of it Annika sighed and sat on the upside down water barrel which had been serving as a chair until something better could be arranged.  As she looked around the empty classroom she smiled at the memory of her students. 

“Pleased with yourself, are you?” 

The deep male voice caused Annika to gasp and topple from the barrel. 

Mercer Dolan stood in the doorway of the Contention City School and laughed at her. 

    Annika haughtily brushed off her dress and glared at him.  “Do you enjoy scaring the daylights out of me, Mr. Dolan?”

He walked toward her, still smiling.  “I thought we were done with formalities, Annika.” 

She swallowed, trying to calm her breathing.  She could not allow him to know how his presence rattled her.  “You take your hat off if you’re going to enter my school.” 

He obeyed, running a hand through dark hair which was a shade too long.  “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

“What if I say I want you to leave?”

“Then I would say you were being dishonest.” 

Annika closed her eyes.  Damn him, he could see right through her.  The dastardly outlaw of The Danes said nothing as she sorted through her thoughts.  If she were caught with a man in her quarters, let alone a man like Mercer Dolan, it would likely be grounds for termination of her position.  Being alone with Mercer risked not only Annika’s livelihood but her virtue.  Yet as she opened her eyes and met his intense gaze she also knew it would be impossible to turn him away.

“Would you like to join me for some supper, Merc
er?  Pickled beets and baking powder biscuits, if you can stand it.”

Mercer was the essence of politeness throughout supper.  He stretched his legs on the floor of the schoolhouse and claimed Annika was a fine cook.

“Liar,” she smiled. 

“No,” he answered, “not when it matter
s.”  He broke character and let his gaze skate over her in a studied manner.  “Annika?” he asked.  “What’s wrong?”

She had clasped her hands in her lap.  Suddenly the room felt very small.  Or else Mercer seemed very large.  “I don’t know.  I don’t feel well.” 

Mercer withdrew a silver flask and held it out.  “Drink this,” he said.  “You’ll feel better.” 

Annika took a reluctant sip of the burning liquid.  And then another.  It didn’t help.  Her gut was still que
asy and her heart lurched beneath her breasts.  “You’ll need to leave, Mercer,” she gasped.  “I’m suddenly quite unwell.” 

Annika did not look back.  She stumbled out of the s
choolhouse toward her room.  Once the door was closed behind her, she clutched at the bed frame, struggling to inhale.  A large hand was suddenly around her waist, pulling her insistently against the hard male body it was attached to.

Mercer wrapped her in both of his arms and drew her tightly against him.  Annika saw the bare skin on his heavily muscled arms and realized he had removed his shirt. 

“No wonder you’re unwell,” he growled in her ear, expertly undoing the buttons of her dress and pushing the fabric from her shoulders.  “You can’t breathe, Annika.” 

She was reeling against his touch.  It was too much.  She could not resist.  “Then help me, Mercer,” she whispered.

He wasn’t gentle when he broke the laces of her stays.  His hands immediately dove under the stiff corset once it was loose.  The way he kneaded her breasts was skillfully rough and Annika pressed his hands more tightly, vaguely hearing the low moan in her throat.  Mercer silenced her with his mouth, pushing his whiskey-tainted tongue into hers.