"Allie—"
"So you see, Brandon, I have nothing to fear on that count. My child and I have already been dealing with the petty, small minds of this church-going community for the past four years."
Brandon didn't refute what she was saying. He couldn't. Watching her lean over him with this burning fire filling her eyes rather than sympathy or hurt was something he never could have imagined, especially as he searched his memory for the image of the young girl she'd been before. Evidently, she'd learned to fight for what she wanted during those intervening years. And she wanted him.
"Point two," she continued succinctly. "A gun hawk is unsuitable marriage material, I think that one was." A brittle smile twisted her full lips. "What does that make me, Mr. Gabriel? I put a bullet in a man—"
"His knee," Brandon was quick to remind her. "And not for money."
"—for you." Her breathing hitched, but she swallowed hard, never looking away. "And I will be sleeping with the Henry in my lap tonight again, on the off-chance that one of the Christian pillars of the community will decide to end it with you after dark, sneaking around like the jackals they are." She drew a deep breath, her eyes holding his. "I'd say, better a gun hawk – better alive – than dead; wouldn't you, Brandon? Or are you sorry to be here – alive?"
The rise and fall of her breasts tantalized him, only inches away from his mouth, shielded in their covering of chambray blue. He let his breath out slowly. Allie was so angry, so hurt, she hadn't noticed his growing desire. Nothing he could do about that. He gritted his teeth, keeping himself from moving toward her warmth.
She bent her legs back in a kneeling position, close to his outstretched limbs. Possessive; as if she belonged there, and always had.
He didn't answer her question, and he felt her fingers force themselves to a gentle hold on his flesh as she spoke again.
"As for point three." She leaned closer to him, her lips a scant hairsbreadth from his own. Anger blazed in her eyes like green flame, her body rigid with emotion. Making an effort to steady her voice, she went on.
"Point three is totally insignificant to me, as it should be to you. What difference should it make if your parents couldn't produce a marriage certificate? Love is the most important thing, not someone's right to look down on you because your parents weren't—"
"My parents probably didn't even know each others' first names, Allison," he said icily. "My mother was a Comanche prostitute – or so I'm told. My father? Who knows?"
"Yes," Allie whispered softly. "Who knows? Who's to say they didn't have love between them, Brandon? Even if there was no paper to show for it? Who's to say they didn't speak the things to each other we all long to hear? Look at each other as if—" She stopped abruptly.
The dogged determination to hold on to her naïve idealism shattered him. How could she think this way, with the circumstances of her own life being what they were?
"As if they were the only two people in the world," Brandon finished softly, reading that vision in Allie's features easily enough. It was what she yearned for – and she wanted him to be the one to share it.
The worst part was…what she said made sense. He wanted to believe her, to adopt her logical reasoning, but being born a bastard wasn't something he could ever change, no matter the circumstances. In the white world, it did matter.
She nodded, dropping her gaze. "Yes. For all we know, they were very much in love. For however long they had," she added. "And look what came of it, Brandon."
"Yeah—" he started, a caustic remark ready on his lips.
"See what I see – what I've always seen – when I look at you." Her fingers still held him lightly pinioned to the bed. Looking up at her, desire surged inside him. His only thought was to free his wrists and pull her to him. Maybe the only response was to roll atop her and take her, like the savage he was, under the civilized façade.
"What would that be, Allie?" he asked slowly, filled with his own yearning to hear the answer, and his fear of it that was just as strong.
Her fingers shifted on his skin, caressing him for an instant before resettling around his wrists. The angry fire was gone from her gaze, leaving only the brilliant sheen of tears.
"A good man." She ducked her head as the tears spilled over, falling on his chest. "Just – a good man."
"I'm Comanche—"
"You're white, too," she countered softly.
"I'm a hired gun."
"For good, Brandon. Only for good."
"I'm a bastard."
A hint of a smile touched her lips as she met his gaze. "Sometimes. And then, only by choice."
Brandon gave a short laugh. "Maybe so. But others won't see what you see. 'Just a man,' as you say. I don't want to see you get hurt because of me, Allie. You deserve to be happy."
"Then, I guess it's not meant to be." She started to relieve the pressure at his wrists. "You're the only one who can do that, Brandon; make me happy. I don't know what else I can say or do to convince you."
Brandon closed his eyes as Allie let go of his wrists. Her thumbs drifted over his pulse points in a slow arc as her fingers opened. His breath caught, and his hips arched up, giving her a taste of what it would be like if she didn't have those tight, perfectly fitting men's jeans on. He groaned in a mixture of frustration, want, and need.
"Did I hurt your hand?" she asked innocently.
"No. Not – my hand." His tone was sulky to his own ears, and he laid his left arm across his eyes.
"What, then?"
"I hurt all over," he answered after a few seconds.
"You've never complained."
"Not complaining now. Just – hurting." He moved up toward her, hungry to touch her again where their bodies met, then stopped himself with a muttered curse. He moved his arm from his eyes, looking at her.
"Maybe I could make it better," Allie suggested, "if you tell me where."
"Here," he said quietly, touching his mending cheek. His gaze held hers as she leaned forward solemnly and brushed her lips over the wound in a feather-light kiss. He sucked in his breath, letting it out slowly. "And, here." He touched the stubbled skin just under his chin, close to his jaw.
Allie braced herself, her arm across his as she moved to kiss his jaw, then his throat.
He gave a low groan. "Allie," he whispered, his eyes meeting hers as she lifted her head. "Here—" He put two fingers to his battered mouth, and her lips slanted over his in the sweetest, gentlest kiss he had ever known. He let her kiss him, let her explore his mouth with her tongue, and when he could take no more of her tender lips on his, he pulled her to him, and took control. His heart pounded as if he'd run ten miles, his breath shallow.
His left hand splayed across the shining silken curtain of her hair, spearing through it, winding it around his flesh, and pulling her even closer as his mouth played on hers.
He rolled with her, pinning her under his half-clad body. His hands found hers, pulling them over her head, in helpless surrender. He lifted his mouth to look into her eyes.
Every lovely dream he'd ever dared wish for was there, in the sweet look she bent on him. He shook his head as he felt her move purposefully against his hard arousal. "Brat," he whispered, just before his mouth met hers again.
She lay open, vulnerable beneath him, and he could feel her heart beating against his chest, her whole world depending on what he chose to do next.
He lifted his lips from hers, and she turned her head toward where his right hand grasped her left one. "You'll hurt your hand," she whispered, closing her eyes against his steady look.
"No. It doesn't hurt."
She shifted under him.
"Too heavy?"
She shook her head, still not looking at him. "No." She started to say something else, but didn't. She bit her lip, then finally opened her eyes to look at him.
"What is it? Talk to me, Allie."
"Don't you feel it? You and me – it's right, Brandon. How can you not know that?"
Slowly,
he released her fingers and lowered his head. There was no denying it. She understood him, knew all the good and bad within him – and yet, the love in her eyes remained undimmed. Could he live up to that love, give her the man she thought he was, and the life together with him that she dreamed of?
"I do know it," he murmured in a low voice. He sighed, shuddering as he let it go, allowing the reality of the dream he held to wash over him in the thrumming of his blood. How had he ever thought he could ride away from here, leave her behind? He might as well cut his own heart out. When had he fallen so hopelessly in love with her?
Ten years ago. When no one in the world had cared... No one, except Allie Taylor.
In her eyes, he found the same adoring look he remembered, that he'd never forgotten for a moment. He'd kept it in the back of his mind so that he could think of her once in a while, and remember there was someone in the world who loved him, even if she was just an eleven-year-old green-eyed girl.
"You're mine, Allie. You always have been. I've always known that, somehow."
"I never forgot it."
"I know."
"It took you a while to remember me," Allie teased.
Brandon shook his head. "No. I just wasn't in any shape to string more than one thought together. I didn't expect to see you here, much less have you save my hide from Smith and his men."
Brandon moved off her, grinning at her poorly concealed look of disappointment. "Hang on a minute. I want to show you something."
"You shouldn't be up."
"It's okay. It won't take long." He stood and crossed the room to where his saddlebags lay. Kneeling to open the latch on one side, he put his hand in to feel for something. He brought out a small leather pouch, and untied the leather cord which held it bound.
"Close your eyes," he told her, standing up, crossing back to the bed.
"It's not a frog is it?"
He laughed outright, remembering when he'd tried to share his find of a large bullfrog with her one day at the orphanage, and her look of dismay as she tried to work up some enthusiasm for his treasure.
"No. It's not a frog." He sat down on the bed and reached for her hand, dropping something soft into it, and folding her fingers around it gently. She opened her eyes, and looked into his face. Sitting up slowly, she relaxed her grip. A glint of blue ribbon peeked through the spaces between her fingers. It was the color of the Indian Territory summer sky on a sultry June day – like the day she'd given it away.
She made a small sound in her throat, and Brandon knew instantly that she'd recognized the length of ribbon she'd given him all those years earlier.
Tears filled her eyes as she held it up to inspect it more closely.
"I never should've taken it, when you offered," he said quietly, watching her. "It was the only one you had. And I knew how you loved it." He reached to take it from her again, running his fingers over the smooth, worn surface. Their hands met, the ribbon connecting them for a moment, before Allie let go of it.
"I loved you more," Allie whispered.
He smiled. "I don't know why. I didn't have anything to give you but a frog."
Allie wiped at her eyes. "I can't believe you've kept it all these years. You acted so—" She looked down at the bed and he finished for her.
"Rude?"
She nodded. "I figured you'd have lost it or gotten rid of it a long time ago. In fact, I doubted you cared enough to even keep it more than a day – a silly old girl thing like that." Her eyes were warm with a teasing light.
Brandon grinned. "Had you fooled, didn't I? I couldn't let you know I cared about you. You were a 'silly ol' girl thing' yourself, back then. Way too young for a man going on fifteen."
Her eyes locked with his. "And now? Would that be 'problem four'?"
Brandon shifted to reach for her. They settled back on the bed together, her head pillowed on his shoulder. "Somehow, I don't think you're going to allow that, either, after getting rid of one, two, and three."
She twisted carefully to look up at him. A teasing grin touched his lips before he became serious once more. "I'm starting to believe you, Allie." His voice was husky with emotion when he spoke, his heart bursting with the love he saw in her eyes for him. "I'm wanting to take hold of this dream and share it. But, I don't want to hurt you – with my selfishness."
Allie gently traced the hard set of his whiskered jaw line and chin, skimming over the places she'd kissed earlier. He closed his eyes, his breath coming ragged and uneven. She pushed herself up to kneel beside him. "You will never, never hurt me, darling," she whispered. "Not unless you leave me again."
He drew in a slow steadying breath and let it out on a long sigh as her fingers began to unbutton the shirt he'd put on earlier that day. "Don't close your eyes, Brandon. Don't shut me out. Never again. I'm here for you. I belong to you, and you to me." Her hands moved to the third button, and his eyes slowly opened as he lay back further on the bed to give her better access.
"Be sure, Allison."
She smiled at that, the way he used her full name as if to impress the importance of the decision she was about to make on her.
"I'm sure." She opened the final button and pushed the shirt to either side, revealing a slice of bronze muscled chest and torso with a wide swath of bandaging across the ribs.
"Because—" He swallowed hard as she started on his belt buckle.
"Because?"
"What I take from you this time will be a helluva lot more than a blue ribbon."
"I'll wager that's the truth." She gave him a saucy smile. "Though I realize now I gave that prize to you a bit prematurely."
"Allie—" Brandon reached to grip her hands as they competently opened his belt and started on the placket of his jeans.
"Say it. Just tell me this is what you want – that I'm what you want. Once it's done, it's forever between us, baby." His voice was low.
* * * * *
She nodded, swallowing her words until she found the right ones. Brandon wanted her as much as she wanted him, but trusting his heart – and hers – was not easy for him.
"I think I missed a spot," she murmured, her eyes holding his. "When I was kissing you earlier – the places where you were hurting."
"You did?"
"Uh-huh. The most important place of all, Brandon."
"Show me," he whispered roughly.
Very slowly, she leaned down, past his cheek, past his jaw and chin. She breathed in the scent of his skin – sunshine and pine and the wildness of the woods. Her mouth descended unerringly to gently kiss the warm flesh at the top of the white bandage across his chest, lingering there, for a long space of time just over his heart. If anyone could heal his heart, it would have to be her.
* * * * *
His breathing hitched and he closed his eyes, letting her sweet expression of love wash over him. No words she might have spoken could have ever been more eloquent than that gesture, but she said them anyway.
"I love you, Brandon Gabriel. I always have. I always will." She raised her eyes to his, finally. "I give you the only thing I have. The thing I was too young to give you before." Her lips curved slightly. "Myself. If – you want me. If you think we can make it work—"
He caught her to him quickly, his lips crushing hers, cutting off the rest of what she'd been about to say. How could he have ever left her in the first place?
An image of the serious young girl she had been all those years past flooded his memory. She hadn't asked him to stay, because she understood it would kill him to live in that hell another day. He'd convinced himself that her life had been better, easier because she'd been a girl. A white girl. But now, he knew better. She was offering him the greatest gift he could ever hope for, and he couldn't turn it down.
Her lips were firm yet gentle on his, and he knew she was remembering his injuries. He pulled back to look into her eyes, a faint smile touching his mouth.
"I think, earlier, I interrupted you," he murmured, brushing a strand of her hair ba
ck. "You were – helping me undress."
She gave a shaky, self-conscious laugh. "Shall I finish?"
"It's the only way I can hold on to that blue ribbon, love." He held up his bandaged hand. "Still can't use it properly."
"I guess I feel awkward, somehow." She nestled closer to him, tension in every line of her body. "Brandon, I've never done this before."
Chapter 14
He stiffened at that shy admission. Somehow, he'd thought she'd have had some experience in love. "Allie…I wish I could make it perfect for you." His voice was low and quiet. "I wish so many things for you."
"It will be perfect."
His lips quirked at her certainty. She began unbuttoning the placket again. "Close enough, sweetheart."
Her fingertips brushed the blunt hardness of him as she fumbled with the last two buttons. "God…Allie…" he muttered roughly. She slid the jeans down past his hips and pulled them off. He sat up and shrugged out of his open shirt, then leaned back against the pillows, his skin dark in contrast to the white bedding.
Allie stood at the foot of the bed, his jeans in a heap at her feet. Slowly, she reached for the row of buttons down the front of her shirt. Even though the air cooled her heated skin, her breasts flushed with passion, her nipples rising.
With shaking fingers, she unbuttoned the placket of her jeans and pushed them down, then stepped out of them.
Brandon held out his left hand to her and she took it. She tried to lie down gently beside him, but he was ready for her, moving closer. "I want to feel your skin on mine, Allie. Not just your fingers, or your hand, or your leg. I want to feel you next to me, all the way."
She nodded. "I want that, too."
He put rough fingertips to her cheek, his gaze drinking her in, memorizing every line of her features. Her breasts grazed his chest before settling lower against the bandaging. She gave a self-conscious laugh that brought a smile to Brandon's lips. He reached to touch the softness of her skin with his left hand, exploring the velvet curves and valleys of her flesh, the hollows of her ribs.
She moaned and thrust her hips forward in a silent plea.
"Easy, sweetheart," he whispered. "Gotta make it good if I'm gonna prove I deserve the prize, remember?" He rolled, his body covering hers exquisitely, his flesh flushed even darker by his heated blood that eclipsed the remains of his fever.
Gabriel's Law Page 11