Fire Brand

by Diana Palmer

  She cried out and he lifted her, his hips pinning her to the wall. A kind of explosion of heat shot through her veins like pure fire, and she all but lost consciousness. She held on to Bowie as tightly as she could, barely aware of his own terrible stillness, his heavy shudder, the harsh groan that seemed endless. And then she felt his weight, all of it, crushing her, but even that was reverent, somehow.

  She was trembling. She couldn’t move, and she could hardly breathe. She held him tight, shaking, feeling him shake, too. The water was cold now and uncomfortable, but her mind was only beginning to grasp that fact.

  His lean arm reached out and turned it off. “Thank God we washed the soap off first.” he whispered with a weary laugh. “I hate cold showers.”

  “Yes. So do I.”

  He moved away at last, and she averted her eyes quickly from his body and blushed.

  He chuckled at her embarrassment. “We don’t have any more secrets from each other,” he mused. “That was the last one—the mystery of passion. And now you know how it feels, don’t you?”

  She lowered her eyes to his broad chest. “Oh, yes,” she whispered, drowning in the memory of the pleasure she’d felt. “It was...unbelievable.”

  “Yes.”

  He dried her and then himself, chuckling at her fascinated gaze. “Why, Mrs. McCayde, you’ll make me blush,” he murmured.

  She laughed delightedly. “Not a chance,” she said. “Oh, Bowie, it was wonderful, and I wasn’t afraid!”

  “I did notice.” He picked her up lazily and carried her into her bedroom, putting her gently on the sheets. The covers had been turned down before she went into the bathroom. “I don’t like your bed. It’s too short.”

  “Are you going away?” she asked sadly.

  “Only if I take you with me,” he murmured, smiling. “Want to sleep with me from now on?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Then, we’ll have to find you a robe. You won’t need a nightgown,” he added with a wicked glance.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll borrow a towel. We can have Tía Elena move your things into my room tomorrow.” He got a towel and wrapped it around his lean hips, then stuffed Gaby into a robe. He picked her up like a pirate, grinning from ear to ear, and carried her down the hall to his own room, pausing to lock the door behind them.

  He laid her down on the bed and searched her eyes gently. She reached up to him. He unfastened the robe and whipped off his towel and followed her down.

  She learned things then that she hadn’t known before about him. Tenderness seemed as much a part of him as his black eyes, because he wooed her, slowly and with great patience. He made her wait for fulfillment until she was crying with her need, pleading with him for relief, and still he refused it. Not to salve his ego, he whispered, but to increase her own pleasure until the culmination was so violent that it all but left her unconscious. Afterwards, she lay in his hard arms and wept for several minutes, so overcome with the ferocity of pleasure that she could barely get her breath.

  “Better now?” he whispered, drying her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered back, reaching up to kiss his eyes closed. “It’s just that it was so incredibly sweet...and violent...and devastating...”

  “I can think of a few other adjectives,” he whispered at her lips. “Reverent would be the first. You and I touch heaven when we do this.”

  “Yes.” She nuzzled her face into his warm, damp throat. “I’m not taking anything.”

  “I’m not using anything.” He brushed his mouth lazily over her forehead. “I love you. If a child comes of that love, it won’t bother me in the least. How about you?”

  She smiled. “I’m twenty-four. I’ve had my adventures, and a long taste of freedom. I wouldn’t mind a baby—especially yours,” she whispered huskily. “I love you, too.”

  He took a deep breath, swelling with pride and possession. “No more nightmares?”

  “None.”

  “No more buried fears of intimacy?”

  “Not anymore.” She laughed mischievously.

  His arms tightened around her and he tugged the sheet over them. “If you get pregnant, are you going to keep on working?”

  “For a while,” she said. “But reporting isn’t really a fair profession for a mother. I might have to put it on hold until he’s school age. I could do features, or in-depth pieces, of course, just to keep my hand in.”

  “He?” he probed, glancing down at her. “Until he’s school age?”

  She shifted. “I like little boys, don’t you?”

  “I like little girls just as much, you female chauvinist pig,”,” he murmured dryly.

  She laughed, hugging him close. “I’ll do my best to have twins—one of each.”

  “Good girl. That’s what I like—an equal opportunity mother. Come here.”

  He wrapped her up tight, kissed her gently, and turned off the light. She was asleep almost at once, so close to heaven that she could almost hear harps.

  She hadn’t told Bowie what was going on. She had meant to, but she’d been so lazy with pleasure that the unpleasantness was pushed to the back of her mind. She’d tried not to think about the past, and she’d shut out the story and its aftershocks. She didn’t really want to tell him until the story was in print and she was sure that Bio-Ag wasn’t going to try and slide out from under the charges.

  As it turned out, she didn’t have the chance to tell him. He was called out of town again on a construction job up in Scottsdale, which kept him tied up all day Tuesday. He stayed in Phoenix overnight and didn’t get back until late Wednesday. By then, Gaby had an eyeful for him.

  When she handed the paper to him, with its banner headline proclaiming the truth about Bio-Ag, he sat down heavily and let out an explosive breath. The look on his face was worth all the secrecy.

  “You told me you were digging, honey, but you never mentioned this,” he said accusingly.

  “We were too involved Monday night for my mind to work properly,” she said with a wicked grin. “And you were gone yesterday and most of today.”

  “Does Aggie know?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll tell her today. She’s been mooning around, waiting for Mr. Kingman to come back. They keep the phone lines busy.” She smiled. “They’re very happy.”

  “So are we,” he mused, smiling at her. “This is a hell of a story,” he added, after he’d scanned it. “I knew you were good, cupcake, but this is exceptional. I don’t think I’ll let you give up that newspaper career, even if you insist. You’re too good to keep in the kitchen.”

  “Montoya wouldn’t like me in there, anyway,” she assured him. She sat down in his lap with an easy affection that wouldn’t have been possible for her even weeks ago. “I was so afraid somebody was going to put a bullet into you,” she said seriously. “Thank God it’s all worked out now.”

  “Amen. But you’ll be sued to hell and gone, you know.”

  “I don’t think so. Bob has good lawyers, and Mr. Samuels wasn’t raving about being found out. He was very philosophical. He’ll find another community,” she added quietly. “He said there were other places.”

  “There are, and it will be up to the people who live in them to decide if they want progress at such a price.” He searched her soft eyes. “I’d almost have done it for you,” he said. “I’ll try to come up with something to make it up to Lassiter. I’ve got contacts of my own. You can help.”

  She put her mouth lovingly to his. “I’d be delighted.”

  “Speaking of delight...”

  She was being kissed breathless before Aggie came in and interrupted them, with Ted Kingman holding her hand.

  “Don’t mind us,” Kingman mused, chuckling when Gaby extricated herself and stood up, flushed and
laughing, while Bowie grinned at her.

  “Don’t worry, we won’t.” He handed the paper across the desk so that Aggie and her beau could get a good look at the headline. They read it, and Kingman laughed with pure delight.

  “I told you he was right,” he told Aggie.

  Kingman stared at Bowie and then smiled. “That’s great, both of you,” he returned. He colored a little and turned to Aggie. “Suppose we go unload the car.”

  “You didn’t bring the plane?” Bowie asked him.

  “Well, it wouldn’t fit in the trunk of my car,” Kingman pointed out.

  Bowie chuckled, taking Gaby’s hand as they followed the older couple outside.

  There were fireworks all over town when the paper hit the stands Thursday morning. The local radio stations aired the story, and the telephone rang off the hook at the newspaper office. The mayor was apologetic; the city councilmen were shell-shocked. Even old man McHaney called to apologize again for what had happened, and to tell Gaby how much he appreciated Bowie dropping the charges against his son. Gaby, who hadn’t known, was delighted to see that her husband didn’t hold grudges, even when he was justified.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  AGGIE AND TED announced that they were flying up to Jackson to spend a few days with his sisters. Ted drew Aggie close to his side with a warm, loving smile. “They’ll like you,” he told her. “You’ll fit in very well at the ranch. Ilene’s already said that she and Joanne plan to move into the big guest house after we marry. We’ll see them, of course, but they want the main house to be strictly ours.”

  “They won’t resent me, will they?” Aggie asked worriedly.

  “No. They were convinced that I was going to live and die alone for the rest of my life. They’re delighted about the wedding.” He grinned at Bowie, who was talking to Montoya nearby. “Your son has them starstruck. They’d like to have him visit again.”

  Aggie laughed and so did Gaby. “I think he might be convinced to do that. You might have to take him to a ball game or something, though,” Aggie said, tongue in cheek.

  Kingman smiled. “I wouldn’t mind that at all. I’ve enjoyed being around him. He’s intelligent and honest. Those are good qualities.”

  “I think so, too,” Gaby agreed, her heart in her eyes as she stared at her husband.

  “Was he surprised when he read the paper yesterday?” Aggie asked.

  “Shocked to the back teeth,” the younger woman replied. “And very pleased, I think.” She sighed. “I hope I don’t get Bob Chalmers sued, but Harvey and I can verify everything we printed. It’s so hard doing a story like this. I hate to see the jobs lost, but the ecology would have suffered terribly.”

  “There will be other enterprises,” Kingman said. “I hope your politicians learned something from this. Industry is important, but the quality of industry is the prime criterion.”

  “I think they’ll remember the lesson they’ve learned,” Gaby said. “Most people are getting ecology-minded. None of us can afford to take the environment for granted anymore—the planet’s getting too small. Still,” she added wistfully, “it’s hard to explain that to people with children they can’t feed properly.”

  Bowie joined them in time to hear her last remark. “I agree wholeheartedly,” he said, smiling down at her. “And I’ve got a couple of ideas about that. I’ll tell you when I work them out.”

  “Are you going to get secretive now?” she teased.

  “Stand back and watch me.” He hugged her close, and she knew they’d never been quite as happy as they were now. She felt completely at peace with herself. If only the past wasn’t still hanging over her like a sword.

  She and Bowie spent the weekend exploring the area. They visited Tombstone and walked in the footsteps of the Clantons and Earps and Doc Holliday. They saw the huge rose tree and the old courthouse and the Bird Cage Saloon and the Crystal Palace. They drove down to Bisbee and looked into the awesome Lavender Pit, and had coffee in the Copper Queen Hotel, which had been a mecca of civilized comforts in the late 1800s. They paused to walk around the old country store at Pearce, look at the memorabilia, and talk to the proprietor, and then they struck out for Douglas and had lunch in the Gadsden Hotel. There were marvelous stained glass windows there, one done by Tiffany. Legend had it that Pancho Villa had ridden his horse up the marble staircase, and the chips in the clear surface attested to the tough treatment.

  “There’s a lot of history in Douglas,” Bowie told her as they paused on the town square. Many of the stores were deserted now, and there were only a few pedestrians milling around. “Back during Villa’s day, the townsfolk would rush up onto the rooftops to watch the fighting across the border in Agua Prieta. There’s a rumor that they changed armbands when the politics changed over the border, so that they wouldn’t be accosted for supporting the wrong side.” He grinned. “There’s another rumor that when Pancho Villa wanted to buy something, he put down a treasure chest and told the shopkeepers to take what they needed for their supplies. It’s colorful, even if it isn’t all true.”

  She clung to his hand. “Can we go over into Mexico?”

  “Sure, if you want to.”

  They drove past the small border station and down into Agua Prieta where they bought colorful serapes and carved wooden candles and figurines. When they started back to the border, however, Gaby wanted to cry. Mexican children stood in a line almost all the way, offering for sale such items as homemade candies and food, proffering their services as car washers and window washers. Their huge black eyes pleaded with the well-dressed American tourists, and it was all she could do not to empty her purse out the window.

  “The annual income down here is so low it would shock you,” he told her as they stopped at the border station and then crossed back into Douglas. “Jobs are few and far between.” He sighed. “Just like in Lassiter, only worse.” He glanced at her. “I suppose you’ll never forgive me for blowing up your idealistic hopes for the unemployed?”

  “On the contrary,” she said gently. “I think you were extraordinarily brave for sticking to your guns despite all the opposition—especially when Mr. McHaney started shooting. Why did you drop the charges?”

  “McHaney’s got a wife and two kids,” he said simply. “I offered him a choice between staying in jail or giving me five minutes with him out behind his house.” He smiled faintly. “I got even, believe me. He won’t be shooting at me again.”

  She laughed. “You’re a surprising man.”

  “I’m a happy man,” he corrected, glancing her way. “And there will be some jobs for Lassiter. I’m working on that.”

  She gave up asking about his plans, because it was obvious that he wasn’t going to tell her.

  * * *

  EVERY NIGHT SHE slept in his arms, and on Sunday, they went to church. It was sublimely sweet, sitting next to him in the pew and thinking about bringing their children here later on to Sunday school and church. Family life might be outdated in some places, but it was alive and well in Lassiter, and Gaby thanked God that she and Bowie had found each other. A career alone would never have suited her half as well as having Bowie’s children and living at Casa Río, although reporting was still close to her heart, and she’d continue to do it.

  Monday morning came all too soon. At work, things seemed a little tame after the big exposé. The morning went so smoothly that the last thing on her mind was complications. They came suddenly.

  As Gaby returned to her office after lunch, she found a message on her desk, with a number for her to call. She wasn’t sure where the call was from, so she looked up the area code in the telephone directory. It was Lexington, Kentucky.

  Gaby sat down heavily, shaking all over. It couldn’t be them—surely, it couldn’t be—but who else in Kentucky would want to get in touch with her? It had to be about what had happened ten y
ears ago. They wanted revenge, that was it. They’d finally tracked her down, very likely from the wedding picture of herself and Bowie, and now they were going to make trouble. But the trouble wouldn’t be just hers—it would affect every single person she loved. It might even destroy them.

  She could hardly bear the pain, but she knew what she was going to have to do. If they knew she was living at Casa Río, she had to leave—quickly. She had to do it without a trace, and let no one know where she was going—especially Bowie.

  Her eyes closed and she began to cry—great heaving sobs of pure misery. There was a possibility that she was pregnant, and she and Bowie had shared a happiness that surely few couples truly knew. Now it was all over. The past had finally caught up with her, with a vengeance. There wasn’t anyone she could turn to. She hadn’t a friend in the world, except for Bowie himself, and he was the last person on earth she could tell.

  Harvey was out covering a story, and Bob Chalmers didn’t know anything about the telephone number when she asked. Judy did.

  “It was a woman,” she told Gaby, frowning. “She sounded elderly, and very gruff. She asked for you, and when I told her you weren’t here—it was while you were out getting that ad from the drugstore—she left the number and asked to have you call her back.”

  “Was that all?” Gaby asked with false cheer.

  “Yes. She wasn’t very talkative. She didn’t give her name, either.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Gaby said, staring at the piece of paper in her hand.

  “You look terrible,” Judy said, concerned.

  “It’s just the heat,” Gaby hedged. “I’ll be fine. I’ll, uh, return this call at home.”

  She got through the rest of the day, praying that the woman wouldn’t call again. It must have been Mrs. Angus Bartholomew, the grand dame of the racing family, who’d hired Gaby’s father. The old lady’s son had been killed, and Mrs. Bartholomew wanted Gaby to pay for it. No doubt she’d been looking for her all these long years, and the hatred had grown until it had reached flashpoint. Gaby didn’t know what she was going to do. If Mrs. Bartholomew was her old self, she’d probably think nothing of calling the media in and giving them the story.