Fire Brand

by Diana Palmer

  His big hands spanned her waist and jerked her closer as his mouth pressed down hard over hers and grew slowly, steadily more demanding. The darkness closed in on them. She felt his breath going roughly into her open mouth as his tongue teased her lips, tracing them until they parted in faint protest. And suddenly, without warning, his tongue pushed past them and deep into her mouth in a hard, slow thrust that made her legs shudder.

  She made a tiny sound deep in her throat, because he’d kissed her that way in the garage, and it was fiercely stimulating. But the hunger in it made her nervous, and when she felt his body begin to tremble faintly against hers, she started freezing up. He didn’t seem to notice, and that worried her. She put her hands against his broad chest. His lean fingers began to stroke upwards from her waist and toward the upward thrust of her firm breasts, until she panicked.

  This was the one thing she hadn’t counted on—that he might want more than a kiss. The feel of his hands against the sides of her breasts frightened her.

  “Bowie?” His thumbs were suddenly touching the outside of her breasts with an erotic rhythm far beyond her experience. “No, Bowie, you mustn’t!” she whispered, and began to twist in his embrace.

  He moved, drowning in his anguished need for her. She’d thrown him off balance and he was ravenous to touch her, to feel her soft body under him. He pinned her to the fence—not roughly, but firmly—his arms against the fence at her sides, his hard-muscled body holding hers immobile while he kissed her with feverish hunger. His lean hips brushed against hers. And in that close embrace, she felt the full force of his arousal and realized how dangerous the situation had become. There was a deserted barn not twenty steps away...

  “Bowie...please...no!”

  Her frantic plea got through the sensuality that had fogged his mind. He lifted his head, his body still pinning her hips, and stared down into her eyes with frustrated acknowledgement. Her fear was clearly visible.

  “Gaby,” he said gently. He forced his hips away from hers and leaned against his hands on the fence, taking deep, shuddering breaths while he fought for control. “It got away from me. I’m sorry.”

  Her tense body began to relax. The quietness of his tone, his lack of anger, reassured her. She leaned back against the fence, trembling a little, and watched him.

  “Have I...hurt you?” she whispered unsteadily.

  He managed a wan smile. “I won’t die,” he promised. He took another slow breath. “Don’t look so guilty. It’s a normal reaction to frustrated desire.”

  She lowered her eyes to the mouth that had kissed hers with such aching hunger, and delicious sensations washed over her. “It’s my fault. I didn’t want you to hit Mr. Courtland. But I didn’t realize that...that kissing you would,” she swallowed, “would do that to you.”

  He actually laughed, very softly. “My God.”

  “I don’t know much about men.”

  He laid a lean finger over her lips. “All you have to remember is that when you grind your hips against mine like that, you’d better want me on the spot, standing up,” he said, with a rueful smile at her blush. “I’ve been without a woman for a long time, and I have a rather potent reaction to you.”

  “Are you all right?” she asked softly.

  He nodded. “I will be, in a minute.” He leaned his forehead against hers while he got his breath back. “What frightened you?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes. “You pinned me against the fence,” she whispered, feeling the nightmares in the back of her mind. “I couldn’t get away.”

  He lifted his head and her eyes opened. He searched them quietly. “I won’t make that mistake twice,” he replied. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I won’t hurt you.”

  “Oh, I know that,” she whispered tearfully. “I’m so sorry, Bowie!”

  He gathered her close, leaving space between his hips and hers, his head bent protectively against her own. “We’ve got a long way to go, haven’t we, honey?” he asked quietly. “Trust is going to take time.”

  “It...it isn’t you,” she whispered. “Really, it isn’t. I have some old mental scars.”

  “I realize that.” He brushed his mouth softly over hers. “We’ll take it one day at a time. Don’t start running.”

  “I won’t,” she sighed. She couldn’t—he was already such a part of her life that it was painful to imagine his not being in it. She reached up and touched his hard mouth. “I’ve never been able to go that far with anyone else,” she told him, because it was important that he know.

  He frowned and sighed heavily. “Gaby, was it only my strength that frightened you?” he asked intently.

  She blushed, because she knew what he was asking. “Yes.”

  “That response,” he said quietly, “is something a man can’t help. It’s automatic. I can keep from letting you feel it, but I can’t stop it from happening.”

  “I’m not afraid of you...like that,” she whispered huskily. “It’s just that I don’t know if I’m capable of intimacy.” Her eyes searched his worriedly. “You understand? It’s the thought of giving in, of giving up control.”

  He pushed the damp hair away from her face. “You can learn to want me,” he said quietly. “I’m in no flaming rush for it to happen. I can wait. Does that reassure you?”

  “What if I can’t, ever?” she groaned.

  “Let’s live one day at time, honey.” He caught her by the waist and lifted her clear off the ground, smiling as he brought her soft, swollen lips on a level with his. “Kiss me and go inside. I’ve got some plotting to do.”

  “I won’t hurt you again?” she whispered worriedly.

  “Not if I know you’re going to do it,” he murmured dryly. “Come on, come on, I don’t have all night.”

  She laughed delightedly and put her mouth against his, floating as he returned the kiss gently.

  “I’m going to teach you what passion is one day,” he whispered into her parted lips. “That’s a promise.” He put her down abruptly. “Now, go inside before we create any more problems.”

  “All right.” She searched his eyes. “Bowie, you won’t ruin Aggie’s party, will you?”

  He sighed heavily. “No,” he said angrily. “But I won’t let up on Courtland. I have to protect her.”

  “I hope you’re right. Because if you aren’t,” she added, turning away, “she may never forgive you.”

  He knew that. He watched her go with a rough curse. Life was getting pretty complicated, and Courtland was the reason. Not that Gaby was going to be any less of a problem. If she really wasn’t capable of intimacy, he didn’t know what he was going to do. She was becoming necessary to him. But he knew himself well enough to know that he couldn’t settle for a platonic relationship with her. They couldn’t have anything together unless he could convince her that passion wasn’t the terror she thought it was.

  He turned and strode off down the path that ran along the pasture fences. He was too stirred up and furious at his mother and Courtland to go inside until he’d cooled down. He’d promised Gaby that he wouldn’t make trouble, but he was sure as hell tempted. The thought of losing Casa Río to an outsider was depressing. The thought of losing his mother to a gigolo was even worse.

  Gaby, meanwhile, was making her way through laughing guests when she came face to face with Aggie at the staircase. Aggie’s eyes were dark and apprehensive. “How is he taking it?” she asked, her face drawn.

  “Badly,” Gaby said. She’d gotten herself under control, except for a faint residue of embarrassment at her own boldness. She should have known better, she knew her limits. She’d just wanted so badly to overcome them. It looked as if that was going to be an uphill battle. She knew that Bowie couldn’t settle for friendship, but if she couldn’t get past her hangups, that was all she could offer him. She wanted to sit down and cry
.

  “I was afraid he’d dig his heels in,” Aggie said miserably. “It’s what I expected, after all.” She glanced toward Ned, who was talking to some of the other men. “Ned told me that Bowie was going to be a problem, but I hoped that my son might care enough for me to let me have what I need to be happy.”

  Gaby studied the older woman quietly. “What about what Bowie needs, Aggie?” she asked softly. “A child who feels loved isn’t going to react that way to a stepparent—is he?”

  Aggie actually went pale. “That wasn’t fair,” she said stiffly.

  “No, I suppose not, but is it true?”

  The older woman sighed and turned her attention to Ned. “Yes. I was never able to get close enough to my son to tell him that I cared about him. He’s so like Copeland was, Gaby—so reserved, so remote. He has this way of making you feel like an alien when you’re around him. I don’t know how to reach him.” She looked at Gaby levelly. “Do you?”

  Gaby did, but not on a conversational level. “You might try just talking to him,” she suggested.

  “I have. He changes the subject or walks away.”

  “Then, will you try to see things from his perspective?” Gaby persisted, glancing toward the very loud band playing country-western medleys. “You come home from a cruise with a man you’ve known less than two weeks and announce wedding plans in front of a crowd without giving him any idea what you’re planning. The man you’re going to marry is someone he doesn’t know and can’t find out anything about.”

  Aggie looked worried. “That doesn’t mean he’s a desperado or something,” she said restlessly. “He’s just a poor, working cowboy, but I don’t care.” She said it as if she were trying to convince herself. “I don’t care, do you hear? I can live in a line cabin if I have to.” She lifted great tragic eyes to Gaby’s. “I love him so much. He can’t be after my money, Gaby, he just can’t!”

  “I don’t like to think that he could, either, but none of us knows anything about him...”

  “You’re just like Bowie,” Aggie said with fierce anger, flushing. “You both think I’m a flighty old woman who hasn’t got enough sense to see people for what they really are! Well, Ned is my business, and if I want to marry him, I will. The two of you can go hang!”

  “We love you, Aggie,” Gaby protested.

  “No, you don’t! Bowie just wants to make sure a stranger doesn’t get his hands on Casa Río, and you’re afraid of the same thing. I can’t believe you could be so ungrateful—not after the way I took you in, without any questions about your past, and took care of you all those years!”

  Gaby lost all her color. “Aggie, I don’t want you to get hurt,” she began.

  “Ned wouldn’t hurt me half as much as my so-called family already has!” she said icily, then turned and walked away, leaving Gaby feeling as if she’d been kicked.

  Gaby had had enough. She went up the staircase with tears running down her cheeks. She’d rarely cried in her life, but she had good reason tonight. Bowie was going to hate her because she couldn’t even let him touch her, and now Aggie was furious with her. She didn’t think she could take much more pressure. Maybe she should go back to Phoenix tomorrow and let them fight it out among themselves. She was tired of being caught in the middle.

  Outside, Bowie was still smoking and grappling with his anger.

  The sound of footsteps nearby caught his attention. He turned to find Ned Courtland wandering down the path, bareheaded and scowling, with a cigarette in his hand. It was the first time Bowie had seen him smoke since he’d been at Casa Río...

  “Looking for somebody?” Bowie asked coolly. “Or are you just checking out the assets before you move in?”

  Courtland stopped just in front of him, his usual easygoing manner as absent as his casual attitude. “Don’t ever get the idea that I need your permission,” Courtland said curtly. “Not to move in here, marry your mother, or generally do whatever else I damned well please.”

  Bowie’s eyebrows arched. “Well, well. Gloves off, I gather?” he asked with a mocking smile.

  “Count on it.” The older man leaned back against the fence and smoked quietly. “Aggie promised me she’d tell you about the engagement before the party. She didn’t, I gather.”

  “Does that really make a difference?”

  ‘To me, one hell of a lot,” Courtland replied quietly. “The whole situation is getting out of hand. I came here so that Aggie and I could have some time together, away from people, to get to know each other. I wanted to see how and where she lived...”

  “I’ll just bet you did,” Bowie said insolently.

  “Keep pushing,” Courtland invited with eyes as cold as Bowie’s. “I’ve taken more from you than I’ve ever taken from another man. I’ve had enough of you and your damned sarcasm, and your cynicism is even getting a hold on Aggie. She’s started looking at me as if she expects me to take her for every dime she’s got and walk off.”

  “You mean it hadn’t crossed your mind?” Bowie asked.

  “The whole point of this trip was to make sure Aggie could accept me as I am,” he replied. “I didn’t want to rush into marriage with a woman who’d become infatuated with the idea of a poor, lonely cowboy on holiday.”

  “How did you afford Jamaica?” Bowie asked narrowly.

  “I saved up for years,” came the quiet reply. “It’s the first vacation I’ve ever had—the first time I’ve been out of Wyoming for any length of time since my wife died.”

  “Your wife?” Bowie asked, frowning. Aggie hadn’t said anything about his being a widower.

  “She died nine years ago of cancer,” he replied. He stared off at the distant house, his eyes narrow and thoughtful. “I hadn’t even looked at another woman until Aggie got lost.” He shrugged. “I spend most of my life looking out for stray things, mostly calves. She kept getting lost, and once a foreign tourist got a little too overbearing with her, and I stepped in. After that, we just sort of drifted together, both lonely, searching for something.” He sighed. “I got in over my head before I wanted to. Now I’ve got to work things out.” He glared at Bowie. “In spite of you and Gaby and your overprotective attitude. Hell, I don’t want Casa Río, I want Aggie!”

  Bowie didn’t like the man. It irritated him that he wanted to. “Maybe she’ll decide she doesn’t want you,” he replied coldly.

  “That’s her decision, not yours. If I could, I’d pack her up and take her home with me. But I’ve got a couple of spinster sisters living with me, and they’d give her the same treatment you’re giving me. I can’t do that to her.”

  “Sisters?” Bowie asked. “How about your own kids?”

  The look on Courtland’s face was puzzling. It was cold and hard, and then angry. He stared down at the ground, then suddenly flung his cigarette there and put it out under his boot.

  “I don’t have any kids,” he said shortly.

  “I’m sorry,” Bowie said curtly, looking away.

  “You love your mother, boy,” Courtland said heavily. “I can’t fault you for that. If I could have had kids, I hope they’d have loved me half as much.” He leaned wearily against the fence. “My wife used to cry in her sleep. She never let me see her do it, but I knew just the same how it hurt her to be childless. We had twenty wonderful years together, and I ran my pickup into the river the day she died.” He laughed bitterly. “But I had a man on the place with an overworked sense of responsibility. He pulled me out a few seconds too soon.”

  Bowie was getting a terrifying picture of this man—someone who loved so fiercely and completely that he’d rather have died with the woman he loved than to have gone on living without her. Bowie himself couldn’t conceive of that much emotion, that depth of commitment to one woman. He knew for a fact that his father hadn’t felt it for Aggie. Copeland McCayde wouldn’t have run his pickup
into a river if Aggie had died—he’d have been too busy cursing the funeral for keeping him away from work. That was a disloyal thought, and it made Bowie angry.

  “Aggie loved my father,” he said defensively.

  “Of course she did,” Courtland replied. “She loves you, too. But she’s still a woman. There are things she needs emotionally and physically that a son can’t give her.”

  Bowie glared at him furiously. “And you can?”

  “Yes, I can,” Courtland replied hotly. “And don’t you raise your fist to me unless you want it back in spades. I’m just as old-fashioned as Aggie is. We aren’t sleeping together, and we won’t until we’re married. I’m a churchgoing man.”

  Bowie unruffled, but Courtland had startled him. He couldn’t imagine his mother wanting a man.

  “When are you planning the happy event?” Bowie asked through his teeth.

  “God knows. Aggie’s got to be willing to live on a ranch in the Tetons, where she won’t be Mrs. Agatha McCayde of Casa Río,” he said resignedly. “I don’t like crowds and exotic places, and I’m not a partying man. The Tetons suit me. They’ll have to suit her, and so will being a ranch wife. A real one—not a figurehead dripping diamonds.”

  “My God, don’t tell me you’ll expect Aggie to milk cows!” Bowie exploded, because that was what it sounded like.

  Courtland arched an eyebrow. “Why not? I do.”

  “She’d be dead of overwork in a month!”

  “Oh, hell, she’d love it as much as I do. Half her problem is boredom. A rancher’s life is close to God. It’s better than what passes for life in the fast lane.” His dark eyes narrowed on Bowie’s hard face. “And you damned well know it. You’re no more a high roller than I am. You’re a rancher yourself. If you didn’t care about land and animals, you’d sell this place in a minute instead of fighting half of Southern Arizona to hold on to it!”

  Bowie didn’t have a leg to stand on. He glared at the older man. “I don’t want a stepfather,” he said finally.