The Texan (12 page)

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Ren jerked as Blackjack touched her shoulder. “Just remembering—” She cut herself off, but not before a light flared in his eyes.

“It’s been a long time, Ren. Too many years. I want you. I always have, and I always will.”

Oh, he was a wily-tongued devil. How did he know
just the right thing to say? She walked away from him and slid open the gate between the two corrals, watching as the stallion, head up and tail flowing, danced into the corral with the mare.

Ren felt Blackjack join her as they watched the two animals circle one another, felt his big body tense as he watched the violent, bestial coupling.

The mating of stallion and mare was never civilized. To someone unschooled, it might even seem brutal, a fierce, powerful animal claiming its mate. But sex was necessary for the survival of the species. And while people might want to mask the ferocity of the act, animals never did.

The stallion’s teeth bared and clamped on the mare’s throat as he mantled her, his front hooves finding surface on her gleaming coat, their manes flying in the wind as he plunged into her. Their bodies glistened with sweat and their eyes rolled wildly, as he demanded she take his seed.

Ren grasped Blackjack’s forearm, her fingernails biting hard into his flesh, as the stallion neighed in triumph. She was shivering, shuddering, when the animals finally uncoupled. She didn’t resist when Blackjack pulled her into his arms, and she burrowed her face against his powerful chest and slid her arms around his waist and held on tight.

“I didn’t kill Jesse, Ren,” Blackjack said. “You have to believe me.”

She had only his word for it. Even his own son suspected him. He’d threatened to kill Jesse only three weeks before her husband had died. Ren remembered his exact words:
I should have killed you a long time ago, Jesse
. What if he’d done it? She’d seen enough examples
of Jackson Blackthorne’s willingness to make hard choices when he was after something he wanted.

The bank he controlled refusing loans to struggling ranchers. Flooding the market with beef and lowering the price, causing more disaster, and gobbling up small ranches when they went belly-up.

She wondered if he’d been so ruthless when she’d met him thirty-five years ago, or if he’d only become that way as he’d fought against adversity over the years to survive and succeed. Would Jackson Blackthorne have become a different—more compassionate—man if she’d relented and married him?

Over the years, the Bitter Creek Cattle Company had become a gigantic ranching empire, until the only property within a hundred miles that Blackjack didn’t own was Three Oaks. Had he murdered Jesse to get it? Or was she what Blackjack had wanted? Was he guilty, as his son had accused him of being? Or as innocent as he professed?

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “I have to believe you. I can’t give you up. Not now that we’ve found each other at last.”

“You don’t have to,” he replied. “I’m yours, Ren. Always and forever.”

She forced herself to step back and look at the man she loved. Had always loved.

He’d aged well. At fifty-five, there were crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes and harsh lines drawn on either side of his mouth. His jawline was still straight and firm, probably from the arrogant thrust of it all these years, she mused.

He was only an inch or two taller than Jesse, but his shoulders were broader, more powerful. His waist was
still trim, and he was as lean of hip as he’d ever been. He looked weathered, like a piece of wood that had met wind and sun and only been polished to a brighter sheen. She still wanted him. Lusted after his body, as only teenagers were supposed to do.

It was foolish for her to be feeling all the hopes and dreams of youth. She was fifty-one. Her periods were irregular. She had gray hair at her temples and in other places she wished she did not. If she were a brood mare, she’d already have been put out to pasture. And yet, inside, she still craved the feel of his body on hers, still wanted to join with him, still yearned for the savage need, coupled with tenderness, that he’d shown her that long-ago day.

But she wasn’t a teenager. She was a mature woman, who’d lived a long life and learned lessons from it.

Ren felt a place inside her shrivel up, as though it had been touched by fire and burned to ash. She imagined years of lying in bed at night untouched. It didn’t bear thinking about. But what other choice did she have? Blackjack wasn’t free to love her. He had a wife.

“I think it would be best if we kept our distance from one another until your divorce is final,” she said.

“That could take years!” Blackjack protested. “Every day is precious. And life is too damned short!”

Ren hadn’t forgotten the heart attack that had nearly killed Blackjack two years before. “Are you all right?” she asked, laying her hand on his heart.

“My heart will be fine. So long as you don’t break it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t bear sneaking around like this. I won’t openly commit adultery with you. That isn’t fair to my children. Or to yours.”

She could see the struggle on his face to find a reason
she would accept to continue the clandestine meetings that had begun only a month before. So far, she’d managed not to have sex with him. But she didn’t think she could resist much longer. Quite simply, she didn’t want to resist.

“This is crazy, Ren. I won’t give you up.”

“Then hurry up with that divorce,” she said with a smile meant to ease the pain she could see in his eyes.

“Eve wants too much,” he said. “She wants it all,” he amended.

“Is Bitter Creek so important to you?” She knew the answer to her question before he gave it.

“I wouldn’t know who to be without the ranch,” he said. “And I can’t pay Eve what she wants without selling it.”

He leaned over and touched his lips to hers with so much gentleness that she couldn’t help but feel his desperation.

“I’ve got a hunting cabin where we could meet,” he urged. “It hasn’t been used since Trace left for Australia. No one would know. Please, Ren. I’m fifty-five,” he reminded her with a self-deprecating grin. “Who knows how much longer I’ll be a virile man.”

She laughed, as she knew he’d intended. She wanted to give in. She wanted to be with him. But she wanted more than just sex. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

She laid her palm on his cheek and said, “I want more, Jackson. I want to share the joy of living day to day with you. I want the right to sleep beside you at night. And I want to grow old with you, the two of us sitting in rocking chairs on the back porch, when our bones are too brittle for sex.”

She saw the bleak look in his eyes and almost gave in. But there was too much at stake. “You’ll have to choose,” she said. “Between her and me.”

But what it really came down to was a choice between Bitter Creek and Ren. She could see the struggle on Blackjack’s face. He knew exactly what she was asking.
Is a piece of land—all right, eight hundred thousand acres of land—more important to you than I am?

“You’re the one who married Jesse, when I begged you not to,” he said angrily.

It was hitting below the belt. Fighting dirty. She should have known he would. He was fighting for his life. She wrapped her arms around herself and said, “You know why I did that. I was carrying his child. It wasn’t his fault that I did what I did with you that day at the creek.”

“I love you, Ren.”

She swallowed hard. “I know.”

“But that isn’t enough for you, is it?” he said in a harsh voice.

“No,” she said softly. “It’s not.”

“You can send Smart Little Doc home when he’s done here,” he said.

And then he was gone.

Ren gripped the top rail of the corral with both hands to keep from running after him. She was doing the right thing. She had to keep believing that. Especially over the long, lonely nights to come.

BILLY HAD FELT SICK TO HIS STOMACH AS HE WATCHED
Owen Blackthorne drive away. He had immediately turned to Summer and said, “You should be going.”

“He won’t say a word to my father,” she said. “Owen isn’t like that.”

“You should be going anyway. My mother will be home soon with Emma.”

He watched as Summer wrinkled her nose like a child smelling burnt toast. “What have I ever done to make your mother dislike me so much?”

“You’re rich,” Billy replied.

“That’s not fair.”

Billy snorted. “Who said life was fair?” He slid his arm across her shoulder like a brother might. He yearned to make the touch a caress, but he didn’t dare.

He had nothing to offer her as a prospective husband. He’d never been to jail, but he’d come close too many times to count. And he had a steady job, though it was the worst kind of menial ranch work. Yet he did it, to keep his mother and sister fed and to make what few repairs he could on the ranch with the limited funds he had left.

In the year since his father had died, he’d been a model citizen. But it was way too late for anyone in Bitter Creek to see him in another light. He was “Bad” Billy Coburn. Always had been and always would be.

Which was why he had to get out of here. Anywhere else would be better. He hated his home. Hated the memories he had of growing up here. He would have left a long time ago to seek his fortune, but he hadn’t been willing to abandon his sister while she still needed him. Once Emma graduated from high school in the spring and could get herself a job, he’d be gone. One year. He had one more year to wait.

If he was ever going to have a chance to make something
of himself—to make himself worthy of becoming Summer’s husband—he had to go. But he was afraid, with good reason, that Summer wouldn’t be here waiting for him when he got back. Her father was intent on selling her to the highest bidder, and Billy lived in fear that one of these days Blackjack might offer her a suitor she took a hankering to. And then she would be lost to him forever.

But he couldn’t ask her to wait. She had no idea his feelings for her went as deep as the ocean. She thought they were just good friends.

“You have to go,” he repeated.

She slid her arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. He forced himself to relax, so she wouldn’t feel the sexual tension caused by her closeness. He couldn’t help breathing in the smell of her shampoo, something flowery and feminine. He let himself kiss the top of her head, because that was the sort of thing a friend might do.

She wrapped her other arm around him and turned to put them body to body. He edged his hips away, so she wouldn’t discover his reaction to her touch was a great deal more than friendly.

She sighed and said, “I wish you didn’t have to go away next year. I don’t know how I’m going to survive once you’re gone.”

They’d talked often about their plans for the future. It was her dream to run the Bitter Creek Cattle Company one day. That had become a lot more likely when her eldest brother Trace inherited a huge cattle station from a distant relative and moved lock, stock, and barrel to Australia. Neither Owen nor Clay had any interest in
running the ranch. Which left her as her father’s only choice.

Yet he still didn’t seem all that anxious to choose her.

Billy’s dreams were all about becoming a rich and powerful man, so he could prove how wrong everyone had always been about him all his life—and so he would be worthy of the woman he loved.

“You’re the only one who seems to care that my daddy’s willing to trade me in marriage for more land,” she said.

“All you have to do is say no,” Billy said in a voice that was more harsh than he’d intended.

“It sounds easy when you say it like that. I love my daddy. I feel like I’ve been a disappointment to him, getting thrown out of so many colleges. Of course he should have known better than to send me away. Everything I want in life is right here in Bitter Creek.”

“You might be sorry one of these days that you didn’t get an education.” Billy would have given anything for the opportunities she’d thrown away.

She shook her head. “Education doesn’t have to come from a book. Daddy could teach me how to run Bitter Creek, if he wanted to. But he doesn’t think I can do the job. Then I go and do something stupid, like what I did last night, and prove him right.”

Billy felt her shudder in his arms.

“I almost killed Ruby and her foal,” she said in a tremulous voice. “Thank God for Dr. Creed.”

“You’ve told me you won’t make that mistake again,” Billy said. “So you learned something from the experience.”

She looked up at him, her hazel eyes misted with
tears. Billy felt his soul connect with hers, as he lost himself in those deep golden orbs.

Summer’s brother Owen would have known instantly what drew Summer Blackthorne and Bad Billy Coburn to one another, if he’d ever seen in Summer’s eyes what Billy was seeing now. Billy recognized the look, because he’d seen it so often in his own mirror. A need for acceptance. A desire to please someone you feared you could never please. And a feeling there must be something wrong with you, something that, if you only knew what it was, you would fix, because then you could get the acceptance you craved.

“I just want Daddy to see how capable I am,” she said, staring up at him. “I want him to teach me how to run Bitter Creek someday.” She nuzzled her face against his shoulder. “He only sees a brood mare he can mate with some expensive stud and get him a
grandson
to follow in his bootsteps.”

Billy pulled her snug against his body, forgetting his arousal in the urgent need to give her comfort.

He felt her stiffen, sought the reason, and realized she must have felt his erection. She shoved him away with the flat of her palms and stared up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. Or maybe shock was a better word.

Billy knew instantly what he’d lost. The wariness in her gaze spoke for itself. She’d always trusted him implicitly. Like a brother. But it was a lover’s body she’d felt. He could see she was astonished that he’d become aroused by touching her.

He let his hands drop to his sides. He didn’t think excuses would work, but he was willing to give them a try. His mouth curled up on one side in a cock-eyed grin.
“Sorry about that. The feel of a female body does that to a man, whether he wants it to happen or not.”