The Heiress and the Sheriff (14 page)

“Are you trying to tell me you have morals?”

He actually grinned. “I am the sheriff of this county.”

She sipped her coffee as she felt her insides begin to quiver. Seeing Wyatt again, standing this close to him, smelling his skin as his shoulder brushed against hers, was like standing at the gates of heaven looking in on the pleasures inside.

“Does that mean you always do what's right?”

“I try. But I am human,” he drawled.

Her eyes lifted and met his. The dark glow she saw there made her breath catch in her throat. The desperate urge to taste him and touch him had been building from the moment she'd seen him walk into the room, and she wondered if he could read on her face what she was feeling.

“Wyatt, I—”

Suddenly she didn't have to wonder anymore. His hand clamped around her upper arm. “Let's go outside.”

She didn't say anything as she set her coffee down and allowed him to lead her across the large room to the curved glass doors leading out to the courtyard. Along the way, she felt certain all eyes were on the two of them, but a quick glance as they went out told her no one had even noticed their exit.

Wyatt didn't stop until they were deep into the shadowed recesses of the courtyard, where tall pampas grass hid them from view, and the night blossoms of moonflower vines filled the air with their scent.

“Wyatt—” she began again, but stopped when he jerked her into the hard circle of his arms.

“Dammit, do you know how much I've been wanting you?” He breathed the words against her neck.

She swallowed and closed her eyes as the sweet sensations of having him next to her swamped her. “You make it sound like a sin.”

“It is!”

His teeth sank into her earlobe, and his hands delved beneath the hem of her T-shirt and didn't stop until they were on her breasts, kneading their fullness, teasing the nipples to hard buttons.

“You said you were a man of morals,” she reminded him between gulps for air.

“Not where you're concerned. I've been fighting with myself for nearly three days to stay away from you and this. I can't!”

“Why would you want to?”

Her simple question made him groan and crush his mouth over hers.

“You taste so good. So good,” he whispered, his teeth nipping at her lips, her tongue, her cheeks.

She clung to him, her legs shaking, her body on fire. “I've missed you, Wyatt. You can't know how much.”

Yes, he knew. But he could hardly admit it to himself. Much less to her.

His hands splayed across her bottom and jerked her hips up against his arousal. “I want you, Gabrielle. God, how I want you!”

She groaned and searched for his mouth in the darkness—

A few feet away, the sound of a man clearing his throat drifted to their hidden alcove. Wyatt instantly put her from him and cursed under his breath. “I forgot about the men guarding the house. We'll have to leave.”

“Wyatt! We can't leave the ranch tonight. Not after what's happened! The Fortunes might need you later on.”

“I need you right now!” he growled.

To underscore his words, he kissed her fiercely, his tongue plunging into the warm wetness of her mouth. Gabrielle was lost long before he lifted his head.

Taking her by the hand, he led her out of their dark, fragrant lair and down the walkway, until they reached the door leading into her room. She quietly opened the glass enclosure, and Wyatt followed. There was a small lamp burning on a desk near the bed. But dark shadows filled the sitting area where they stood.

Wyatt carefully locked the door behind them, then nodded toward the door that opened onto the hallway leading back into the house. “Can that door be locked?”

For an answer, Gabrielle crossed the room and twisted shut the dead bolt. Then, with her heart throbbing in her chest, she returned to him.

“Wyatt, what if—” she began in a whisper.

“Don't worry. Don't talk,” he interrupted thickly as his hands spanned her waist. “Just let me love you.”

With his lips on hers, his hands still on her waist, he propelled her backwards until her back met the wall. Then
his fingers were on the front of her jeans, releasing the button and tugging down the zipper. Once he got the denim down past her hips, the jeans fell to her ankles and were quickly followed by her panties.

Then he crushed her between him and the wall as his lips captured hers and his tongue began a mating dance that fired her senses to the boiling point.

Vaguely she heard the slice of his zipper as he released himself, and then he was plunging into her, deep and swift. Gasping with stunned pleasure, Gabrielle wrapped her arms around his neck.

With a guttural sound of pleasure, he clutched her bare bottom and lifted her against him, then began to move urgently, desperately toward the release they were both seeking.

The explosion between them was too frantic to last long. When it ended, Gabrielle was panting hungrily for snatches of air while her legs were trembling to the point of collapse. Wyatt fastened her jeans back in place, then lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed.

The dim light cast upon the bed allowed him to see that her hair had fallen to her shoulders; her lips were puffy and had darkened to the color of a ripe strawberry. Yet it was her eyes that grabbed his heart. They were wet, flooded with the overwhelming emotion that had just passed between them. Wyatt had tried not to feel it, had tried to simply concentrate on the pleasures of her body. But his mind, his heart had also poured into her. And God, how that scared him.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly.

She swallowed, then nodded. He pushed the tumbled hair from her face, then bent and gently kissed her lips.

Her hand went weakly to the back of his head and she sighed against his neck as her heart cried,
I love you. I love
you, Wyatt.
Aloud she asked, “Why did you wait so long to come to the ranch—to me?”

He eased her head back against the mattress, then cupped her flushed cheek with his palm. “Because I knew what would happen.”

Her shadowed eyes fell to the badge pinned to his shirt pocket. “It makes you unhappy to want me, doesn't it?”

That odd pressure was back in his chest, making him long to cradle her in his arms. “I don't want to need anyone or anything. Even you,” he added bluntly.

She tried not to blanch at his words. After all, she'd understood how he felt long before he'd ever touched her. “I guess not needing would make things easier for people. The Fortunes wouldn't be miserable right now if they didn't need to get their loved one back.”

“You make me sound like a rock. I do feel, Gabrielle.”

His remark had her hazel eyes slowly searching his dark, handsome face. Oh, yes, he felt, she thought sadly. A few moments ago, he'd shown her just how passionate he could be. But it wasn't about love. And she was beginning to see that was the thing she needed most from this man.

Not wanting him to read the thoughts behind her eyes, she turned her face away and fought to gather her spent body and scattered senses back together.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked after a moment.

Angry? Dear Lord, she would make love to him all over again this very minute if only he asked with a word or a touch. Turning back to him, she lifted her fingers to the front of his shirt. “No.”

The corners of his mouth turned downward as he studied her sad face. “But what we shared a few moments ago isn't enough for you. Is that what you're trying to tell me?”

“I understand it's all you have to give.”

He groaned with frustration. She was being agreeable.
She seemed to know and understand him better than he did himself. Yet her easy acceptance of his attitude didn't make him feel happy or contented. Some perverted part of him wanted her to slap his face, to tell him what a sorry bastard he was—taking her body and giving her nothing in return.

Another thought suddenly struck him, and he turned his back to her and wiped a shaky hand over his face. “I may have given you something neither of us bargained for,” he muttered lowly. He glanced over his shoulder at her. No woman had ever made him lose track of himself. She made him forget everything. Everything but
her.
“I didn't use any protection.”

Gabrielle had realized their recklessness long before he'd shuddered to a climax inside her. But by then she'd known it was too late for either one of them to do anything about it.

“Don't worry. I'm pretty sure it's the wrong time of the month for anything to happen. And anyway, I wouldn't…hold you responsible.”

Maybe she wouldn't, Wyatt thought. But he sure as hell would. The whole idea made him realize he was getting in deep. Far too deep.

Gabrielle could sense him drawing away from her even before he rose from the bed and tucked his shirttail back inside his jeans. But she recognized that to try to cling to him now would only send him running faster.

Sitting up on the side of the bed, she said, “I don't know who I am. Or what I am. I don't even know where I'll be next week or the week after that. Maybe—” she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as she shoved back her tousled hair “—maybe it isn't a good idea for us to have a physical relationship.”

“It
never
was a good idea,” he snapped. “But it's kinda late in the day to be worrying about that now.”

Gabrielle had to agree. Because this time she had made love to him with her heart, too. She couldn't continue to lay it out in the open, only to have him unconsciously crush it.

“It's not too late to stop it.” The words felt like roofing tacks in her mouth, but she had to say them. Her past was blank; her future was no better. She couldn't face it with a broken heart. Not if she intended to survive.

He turned and his gaze held hers. “Is that what you want?”

She lifted her chin and prayed the tears at the back of her eyes would remain there. “It's what we both want. I just said it for you.”

“You're right. I don't want or need this,” he said, but he was lying. His mind could see his deceit. Every inch of him felt it. But did she?

He headed toward the door, then paused with his hand on the knob. “Don't leave town without letting me know,” he said gruffly. “As a sheriff I'm not finished with you.”

But as a man he was.

And it was all Gabrielle could do to hold back her sobs as he walked out the door.

T
wenty-six years had passed since Marilyn Grayhawk had disappeared. From past police records, Wyatt couldn't find a missing persons report that had been filed during that time. Nor had any unidentified female bodies been discovered in the area. If Leonard had killed his mother, he'd hidden the body well.

But Wyatt refused to believe his father had been that sadistic. The man had been a mean son of a bitch, all right. But not a murderer.

The day his father had told him his mother was gone, Wyatt could remember going into his parents' bedroom. Clothes had been strewn on the floor, the bed, the dresser. Drawers in the chest had been partially open, with things spilling over their edges. At the time he hadn't been old enough to understand what the messy scene had meant. But now the dim image in his mind told him someone had packed and left in a hurry. But had she left of her own accord, or had someone forced her to go?

With a heavy sigh, Wyatt propped his elbows on the cluttered desk in front of him and glanced out the dusty windowpanes looking over Red Rock's main street. Twenty-six years ago there had been no relatives of his mother or father living in this area. At least, not any that a five-year-old boy could recall seeing or visiting. Who would still be around here that might remember his mother?

Dammit, why had Gabrielle ever put this fool notion into
his head! It wasn't like the whole thing had happened two weeks ago, or even two years ago. The way he figured it, Marilyn had gotten damn tired of living with a lazy drunk and a half-breed kid. She'd wanted out of the whole mess. And one night she'd finally taken flight without so much as telling her son goodbye.

Was that the easy way to look at it? he wondered. Gabrielle had said so. But then, Gabrielle hadn't known his parents or the way his life had been back then. Hell, she didn't even know her
own
parents.

Or did she? He wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

Groaning, he swiped a hand across his face. He hadn't seen her in almost a week. In spite of his busy job, the time had crawled at a tormenting pace. He didn't want to eat. He couldn't sleep. All he could think about was Gabrielle. Her face, her voice, her body as he'd buried himself inside her. And then her parting words before he'd left.

At thirty-one, Wyatt had been in lust more than once. And he'd certainly had a case of it for Rita. But this was not like those times. Gabrielle was not those women. Just looking at her, hearing her voice, pleased him in ways he didn't understand. When he was with her he felt things, thought things he never had before.

He refused to believe he could be falling in love with her. Hell, he didn't know how to fall in love, or even what that expression was all about. But he had to admit that he wanted her with a fierceness that refused to die.

But now she didn't want him. Or so she said. Wyatt hadn't been expecting anything like that from her. At least not this soon. She'd given herself to him so wildly. So willingly. If her words hadn't told him how much she'd wanted him, her body had certainly conveyed the message. Over and over. So what had prompted her to put a stop to their relationship? Had she started to remember her past
and hadn't wanted him to find out about it? Or perhaps she had never forgotten and was planning to hightail it once her mission here was accomplished? If only he knew what that mission might be. And why the hell did any of it matter to him?

Rising from the comfortable leather chair, he walked across the small room and poured himself a cup of coffee. Doughnuts and sweet rolls were stacked on a paper plate by the coffeemaker. An enticement put there by his secretary, Alta, who thought he was wasting away of late from the heavy workload.

Thank God, the older woman didn't know about Gabrielle. She was a matchmaker of the worst kind. She'd already married off three of his best deputies.

Ignoring the sweets, he carried his coffee over to the window and gazed out at the shops and passing traffic. He needed to forget about Gabrielle, and turn his thoughts back to the hunt for his mother. Not that it was ever a hunt. A hunt had to begin somewhere—and he had nothing to begin with.

He needed a link. Something or someone that might have a clue as to where she'd gone when she left here. But he'd only been a small boy then. He hadn't known any of her friends. No one had ever come to their house. Maybe Marilyn had been embarrassed of the place or her husband. Or maybe even of her son, he thought with a cringe.

He did remember she'd been a waitress at a café. He'd even gone there once or twice with his father. What had been the name of the place? He strained to conjure up the image of the plate glass on the front—the name printed there. And what had his mother called it? Merle's? Berle's? Yes,
Berle's.
Maybe he'd write the café owner and see if he or she knew anything—

The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. The glowing
button at the bottom told him that it was his secretary calling from her office in the adjoining room. He lifted the receiver to his ear and punched the connection. “Yes, Alta. What is it? Isn't it time for you to go home?”

“Five minutes. But who's counting? There's a young woman here asking to see you. Says her name is Gabrielle Carter. You got time for her?”

Wyatt's hand gripped the receiver as his heart plunged off a cliff. “Plenty. Send her in.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

He hung up the telephone and tossed away the cup holding the last swallow of coffee. She knocked on the door before he could take a seat behind his desk.

Standing at one corner of the messy desktop, he called, “Come in.”

Gabrielle opened the door and quietly stepped inside. Her gaze darted around the small confines of the room, then settled on him. Wyatt felt as if he'd been whacked in the chest with a two-by-four. His breath refused to go in or out, and for a moment he wondered if his lungs had been paralyzed by the sight of her.

She was a sight in white linen slacks and a white silk blouse that fluttered against the tips of her breasts like teasing fingers. Pearls, or the equivalent thereof, glistened against her throat and hung from her earlobes. More gifts from the Fortunes, he supposed. And then it struck him that he hadn't given her anything. Except that part of himself he'd wanted to keep.

“Hello, Wyatt.” She moistened her lips with her tongue, then took a step closer. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

Only his misery. “How did you get here?”

“Rosita let me borrow her car. I drove here by myself.”

He was finally able to breathe, and the air escaped him
so fast that it nearly whistled past his teeth. “You haven't driven since your wreck. You must have wanted to get away from the ranch pretty badly to venture out on your own.”

“I wanted to see you.”

His lips flattened to a thin line as he turned away from her and returned to his vigil at the window. Only this time when he stood in front of the dusty panes, he wasn't seeing a thing except the dirty glass.

“Really?” he asked with sarcasm. “That's not what you said before I left the ranch the other night.”

Behind him, he could hear her sighing, and then her soft footsteps approaching his back. It was all he could do to keep from turning and grabbing her.

“I didn't say anything about not wanting to see you. I said—”

He whirled around, his features tight and edged with anger. “I know what you said! Do you honestly think you can separate the two? Do you think we can be in each other's company without making love?”

This was the second time he'd called it love, Gabrielle thought. Once the other night in her room, and just now. But she knew better than to put much stock in his words. To him it was a figure of speech, not a reality.

“We are civilized human beings,” she pointed out.

He damn well didn't feel civilized whenever she was near him. He felt downright savage. And maybe he was, he thought grimly. That's what Leonard used to call him: a little half-breed savage. His father had thought the title amusing, but Wyatt was beginning to believe it was fitting. Strange that Gabrielle had made him see the truth about himself.

“What do you want, Gabrielle? I don't have time for chitchat.”

His hard bluntness made her wince inwardly. She stepped around to his side and looked up at his brooding face. He wasn't wearing his hat, and the hank of hair falling onto his forehead glistened blue-black beneath the fluorescent lighting. There were sunken shadows beneath his eyes and gaunt hollows in his cheeks. He didn't appear to be a happy man. But then, she doubted Wyatt had ever been truly happy. And that was the thing that hurt her most.

“I wanted to—to put your mind at ease.”

His eyes remained on the window. “You think I've been worried about something?”

“Yes. What happened the other night at the ranch. Our—uh…well, you don't have to be concerned about an unwanted pregnancy. My monthly cycle has come and gone.”

Unwanted. Unwanted!
If only someone had wanted
him
as a child. And if Gabrielle had become pregnant, would he have wanted her baby? Their baby? In any case, the chance was gone now. The same way she soon would be. The same way everything had come and gone in his life.

“You could have told me that over the phone,” he said flatly.

Her eyes widened at his suggestion. “That isn't something I wanted to discuss over the phone! I wanted to tell you to your face. But you don't even care enough to look me in the eye! I was right the other night,” she went on, her voice growing low and wobbly, “when I said we should end things. You can't—”

Like a flash of lightning, he turned and gripped her upper arm. “You know I can't look at you without wanting you! And yet you come here like Eve, tempting, wanting me to take a bite anyway. What is it with you, Gabrielle? Do you want to torture me? Is that your intention?”

Her lips parted as her wounded gaze searched his twisted features.

Torture was being without him, she thought. Didn't he understand that? “The last thing I want to do is torment you, Wyatt,” she said hoarsely. “You probably don't believe me, but I can't help that. I'm trying to do what's best for both of us. And I can see our relationship can go nowhere. Not with you feeling the way you do.”

He sneered. “Just what do you want, Gabrielle? A marriage license stating everything is legal and binding? What would that really give you?”

She swallowed as she fought the urge to fling herself against his chest and kiss him until neither of them could breathe or think beyond the next second. “Nothing, if it wasn't bound in love. I want a man who will believe in me, stand behind me, love me and give me one child or ten. You can't do that. So I'm not going to waste my time asking.”

His fingers bit deeper into her flesh as his face dipped down to hers. “You knew how I was before any of this ever started! Before I took you to my bed, I reminded you I wouldn't make you promises. You said it didn't matter!”

Her head swung from side to side as she stared up at his embittered face. “I didn't think it would. But then I…I started to care about you.”

His laughter mocked her words and the ache in her heart. “Care! Oh, God, tell me another one! The only thing you care about is what you can get out of the Fortunes. And me.”

Her hand reared back to slap him, but he instantly caught her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back. The movement caused her upper body to thrust forward and crush her breasts against his chest.

“You're despicable!” she lashed at him between gritted teeth. “Hateful! And I—”

“And you want me anyway,” he growled, his eyes glinting with raw hunger. “We both know just how much.”

His accusation should have infuriated her. But she couldn't be angry because he'd simply spoken the truth.

“Wyatt. Oh, Wyatt,” she whispered achingly. Then, before he had the chance to do anything, she raised up on tiptoe and covered his mouth with hers.

For a moment he was stunned motionless, and then nothing else mattered except that she was in his arms again, kissing him, murmuring his name as though he were the most precious thing she'd ever known.

Outside his office and down the hallway he could hear an arrestee cursing one of the deputies. And in the next room, the
tap, tap
of Alta's keyboard. Beyond, in another room, a phone was ringing. Yet the outside world made no difference to Wyatt. He tasted her with his lips, his teeth, his tongue. And all the while she clung to him and whispered his name.

It wasn't until the phone on his own desk began to ring that he was finally forced to put her away from him.

Through watery eyes Gabrielle watched him go to the desk and pick up the receiver. When he started to speak, she walked to the door on shaky legs and let herself out. To stay would be like begging him to break her heart. But the ache in her chest said she was too late.

When Gabrielle returned to the Double Crown, she peeked into the large study, hoping to talk to Matthew. He was sitting at a long oak desk, and didn't appear to be doing any work. Rather, he was staring off into space, his features pinched and weary.

For a moment Gabrielle considered backing out of the open doorway. The young doctor had a lot to worry about, and she didn't want to burden him any more than necessary.
But before she had a chance to leave, he spotted her and motioned for her to come in.

She approached the desk where he remained seated. “I don't want to disturb you, Matthew. And you looked like you were deep in thought.”

“You're not disturbing me. Besides, thinking about my problems won't make them go away.”

There was a leather armchair positioned at a comfortable angle in front of the desk. Gabrielle sank into it and folded her hands on her lap. “I wanted to talk to you about my health.”