The scene was one of tranquillity, but Mary was filled with a vague restlessness that refused to leave her, and refused to be named.
She added a log to the fire and stirred the kettle of ham and beans simmering with squaw cabbage. There was no stove. The kettle hung from a thick iron hook hinged from a rod that allowed her to move the kettle. It was too early to make biscuits. She returned to the main room.
Here, too, the fire required replenishing. She stood for a moment watching the flames. Like the one in the bedroom, the large mantel was of stone. An old Spanish helmet sat next to an Indian pottery bowl filled with musket balls.
Mounted above the mantel was a stone-pointed spear tied with strips of rawhide, the remains of two black feathers hanging from the shaft. On one side was a cavalry saber, an inscription on the hilt that was far too dusty to read.
No feminine touches softened the room. On the inside wall, filled with bookshelves, stood a desk and a chair. She could picture Rafe sitting there, reading, the lantern turned up, but the image bore the stamp of loneliness.
The gray stone had the patina of years, and when she looked closely, she saw that no mortar had been used. Each stone was cut by a master’s hand and wedded to the one below.
A larger Navajo rug covered the floor. The massive chairs of yellowed pine were covered with soft tanned hides.
Mary had no sense of another woman’s presence here. If this was the house that Rafe had lived in with his wife and child. It was more than five years since she had left him. The reminder didn’t chase the feeling that Rafe lived here alone.
“I hope that curled hand is for a woman itching to attack this room with a feather duster.”
“Rafe.” She spun around. The vague restlessness disappeared as she raced across the room to his welcoming arms. She couldn’t stop saying his name. One hand cupped her head, the other was tight around her shoulders.
“Does this mean you’re glad to see me?”
There was laughter in his voice, and she jerked back to look up at him.
“He’s gone?”
“With luck, Shell will be in Socorro tonight.”
“Why did you do it, Rafe?”
“Why? You can ask me that? Was what I did so terrible, Mary? Haven’t you ever been so sickened by something that you refuse to do it again?”
“Yes. I can understand that.” Her hands slipped from his shoulders to grip his arms. She searched his face, looking deep into his eyes, unaware that doubts clouded her own gaze.
“But the risk, Rafe. You could—”
“The hell with trying to explain. I’ll have to show you why.” He barely controlled his anger. His hand closed over hers. He gave her no chance to pull away, but drew her along with him to the back door and brought her to stand in front of him.
“Look at her, Mary.” He enforced his demand with the hold he took on her shoulders. “She’s laughing. That is what I wouldn’t risk. I’ve finally brought my daughter home, and I don’t want more blood on my hands. I lied and I cheated this morning. The deck was fixed before I drew my card. There was no risk that I’d lose. And Shell got paid off.”
Before she said a word, he spun her around to face him. His fingers clamped on her arms.
“I won’t let you, or anyone, tell me that what I did was wrong. My daughter and I have known too little happiness. You understand that, Mary. I know you do. So what the hell good is knowledge and money if I can’t buy peace any way I can?”
“Stop, please, Rafe. Oh, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for doubting you. I should have known.” She rose on tiptoe, struggling for every inch she gained as she worked one hand up between their bodies so that she could touch his lips.
“I meant what I said to Shell. There will never be another man like you, Rafe McCade.”
He gazed into her lovely green eyes and wanted all traces of sad shadows gone. The anger had dissolved as quickly as it had risen.
“Are you sure, Mary? Even if I lied and cheated? Aren’t you afraid I might do the same to you?”
“Would you?”
“No. But all you have is my word on it. That and time.”
She looked away. His gaze was too intense. And when her answer came there was no reason to hide it from him. Rafe’s word…trust. She did trust him. Without any reservations?
“Mary, what is it that makes you hide from me?”
“I…” Say it. Tell him. But she couldn’t. She pushed against his chest. He wouldn’t release her. She was foolish to think of running. There no longer was a place she wanted to run to.
“Mary, what am I going to do with you? You won’t tell me, and I can’t plumb the depth of your female mind. Ask a man to climb the Divide unaided first. It’ll be a far easier task.”
His was a teasing plea, with real need beneath it. “I will tell you. I suddenly realized how much I trust you.”
He pressed a kiss to her fingertips. “Such a terribly hard admission?” There was no laughter in his voice.
“For me, it is.”
Rafe gentled his touch. He whispered in her ear, “I’m glad to hear you say the words, Mary. I’ve wanted your trust almost as much as I’ve wanted you.”
He knew his words pleased her. Her hand fell to the open edge of his shirt, fingers curled around the cloth. Her head nestled against his chest as tension seeped from her. He warmed her with his body and regretfully enforced his control on the desire that ripped through him.
As much as I’ve wanted you… She repeated the words. The evidence was undeniable, not only in the velvet whisper that never failed to excite her, but in the hardness pressing against her belly. She clung to him when she felt her body mirror the tiny shudders of desire rippling from his powerful body.
“Mary.” He kissed her eyelids, trailing his lips to her cheek. A wildness shook him at the way she clung to him. His lips wove a heated exploration over the soft shell of her ear.
“Rafe, don’t. Beth will see.”
“Remind me to share Beth’s secret with you, Mary. But later, not now.” Nibbling at the fleshy lobe, he blew softly at the moisture he left behind. Drawing her lobe between his lips, he gently scraped his teeth over the sensitive flesh. She rewarded him with a small, needy sound.
Above her head he saw that Beth had ended her play. Carrying her basket, she skipped toward them.
“Must I wait longer than tonight, Mary? Will you give me the ultimate trust a woman can give to a man?”
His lips silenced her with a brief kiss. He held Mary at his side when Beth came running.
“You’re kissing Mary.” Her bright smile included both of them. She giggled when Rafe winked at her.
“She’s in need of lots of kisses, don’t you agree?”
“Oh, yes, Papa. Lots and lots. I had the nicest tea party. Now will you show me the horses? You promised.”
“And what’s a man if he can’t keep his promises?” Rafe answered Beth, but he looked at Mary. “All of them,” he added.
“All of them?” Joy spread inside her when his eyes darkened and he nodded.
“Give me your basket, Beth. And you two go along.”
Rafe trailed his fingers along the curve of her jaw. Holding her chin, he once again pressed a light kiss to her lips. “To keep me. And think about what I said, Mary.”
“I—”
“No.” His warm gaze held hers, his lips creasing into a very male, very seductive smile as he shook his head. “I’ll wait to know your answer. The anticipation lends spice, Mary.”
“Papa.”
Beth’s impatience made him move. He scooped up his giggling daughter into his arms. They both looked at Mary.
She was reminded of the first time she had seen them. Two pairs of matching gray eyes watching her. But there was a definite difference this time. One pair was filled with love. The other with a heated promise.
Spice. The word wouldn’t leave her mind.
It went beyond her having heard Rafe’s husky voice filled with promise the f
irst time he said the word. Spice was sprinkled in his conversation, from his description of the two-year-old filly’s coat that Beth had picked out for her own horse to his compliments about supper.
Surprises lent spice to everything in life, he had remarked as he carried Beth to bed in her own room. The closed door had indeed held surprises. Beth’s infant cradle became Muffy’s and the kitten’s bed. Beth slept in a single, sturdily built bed against the wall. A rocking horse large enough for an older child took up one corner. The mane and tail were horsehair gathered from the herd. There had been no doubt in Mary’s mind as she trailed her fingers over the beautifully carved wood that Rafe had made this horse, too.
A child’s table and chair, the china tea set, tops and books, the exquisitely dressed French bisque doll—each one was a gift for the years he had missed being with his daughter to celebrate a birthday. He had murmured the words to her, sharing his child’s joy and his love. And he had caught her looking at his hands, those strong, long-fingered hands that could be so gentle. When she raised her eyes to meet his knowing look, warmth flooded through her.
It was a warmth that expanded beyond passion when Beth whispered the end to her prayers. “Let Papa and me have Mary to love us forever and ever.”
Spice. The scent of carnations, sweet and spicy, surrounded her from the French milled soap as she washed.
She glanced at the closed bedroom door. Beyond that barrier, Rafe waited for her.
Come to me, Mary. We’ve both waited too long.
She started, as if he were there in the room with her, whispering the words. Her toes curled against the rug. She brushed her hair and thought her reflection wanton in the candle’s light.
She had delayed as long as she could.
Mary wrapped her shawl over her nightgown. She was covered from neck to toe, from wrist to shoulder.
But she felt naked. Trepidation filled her. It was as if she had stepped back in time to her wedding night with Harry. Fear had been part of her dress that night. Fear of not knowing what to do, what would be expected of her.
But this is Rafe who waits for you.
You’re not a girl. You are a woman who made a choice of the man you want for a lover. A man you love.
And the excitement rose to lessen fears that she would somehow disappoint him. Rafe. She had never known such passion.
Her hand poised above the door latch. Perhaps she had never known what she could share with a man, because she had never truly loved with every fiber of her being.
She thought of the secret she withheld and swiftly buried it. She opened the door.
Rafe stood bathed in candleglow and firelight. One arm rested against the mantel, one leg raised with his foot braced against the woodbox.
He stared into the flames, and saw only images of Mary. Her eyes. Her smile. He heard her laugh. Her voice, needy with desire. He felt her touch and thought of all he yet hungered to know. Her scent filled his every breath.
He thought of the claim he would make this night, and for all the nights to come.
He sensed her nearness. But he didn’t turn.
Anticipation lends spice. His own words held him still. But there was more. He wanted the choice to be hers each step of the way.
It was agony to wait. He remembered how quietly she walked, but her scent was embedded inside him. He would know his Mary in the blackest of nights.
He looked at the half-empty glass of brandy he had sipped while he waited for her. Candlelight played within the liquor’s amber depths…the color of Mary’s hair, the potency of her kiss, the smooth glide of the liquor’s richness heating his blood. He could have it all with the touch of her lips.
He had debated about wearing a shirt. Twice he had snatched it up, only to discard it. And how would she come to him? He could wait no longer.
Firelight gilded his body with gold and shadows in a soft caress she wished was her own. He straightened as he turned to face her. His feet bare, black cloth hugging the long length of his legs, the lean hips and waist. Soft-looking dark hair curled over his finely honed chest. Her hands curled at her sides with the need to touch him. She stood no more than an arm’s width away from him. Her chin lifted and her gaze met his, while she wished she was young and beautiful for him.
He had told her once that she was a woman. She knew when a man wanted her. If she had ever a doubt about Rafe’s desire, he dispelled it this moment.
And he whispered the very words she had heard in her mind.
“Come to me, Mary. We’ve both waited long enough.”
He held out one hand to her. Her luminous eyes made the blood simmer wildly through his body. Even as he warned himself to go slowly with her, he felt the rush of his body changing to meet the honest femininity of Mary herself. He was filled with a need that was as basic and as necessary as breathing itself.
“I wish I was young and beautiful for you.” Her fingertips touched his.
“You are beautiful, Mary. But I can’t share your wish for youth. I wouldn’t have known how to love a woman like you.” His hand closed over hers and he slowly drew her to him.
Her bare feet sank into the thickness of the sheepskin that covered the rug. “You make me feel lovely and new. I wish I could bring that gift to you.”
“Is that what you want, Mary?” he asked in a passion-laden voice as his arms closed around her. He slipped the shawl from her shoulders and tossed it aside. The silky weight of her hair covered his arms.
Her breath shortened as his did. The thin barrier of cloth couldn’t hide the tightening of her nipples against his chest. He told himself she couldn’t truly burn cloth and skin, but he felt scalded by her nearness. A faint tremble passed over her and sank into him. He warned himself to bide his time a while longer, no matter the cost. Her choice every step of the way.
“Tell me what pleasure I can bring to you.” He stroked her spine with the tips of his fingers, resisting the need to trace the flare of her hips and bring her against him, hard and tight to ease his own aching flesh.
Pleasure. Yes, she could take all the pleasure she wanted, without consequence. And take and take, while giving him all the love she held in her heart.
He lost his breath when she tilted her head back to look up at him. He raised one hand to her cheek. Her warm breath fanned across his palm. Her gaze held his with questions. Then her lashes veiled them as his thumb touched the corner of her mouth.
She stirred against him, and the sweet scent of her body rose. His sigh was deep. With both hands he held her face and lowered his head. His kiss was as tender and cherishing as he could control himself to give her. It was an offering of himself, and it brought to life the need to hold her like this for always.
“So giving,” he whispered, barely lifting his mouth from hers. “Marry me, Mary. Let me—”
She silenced him with her kiss. Marry him? Every turbulent thought that ran through her mind poured into the heated mating of her lips with his. Her hands clung to his shoulders, savoring his strength, savoring, too, the slightly rougher texture of his skin.
But he broke the kiss, and she saw the fire highlighting the bladelike cut of his face, the very masculine curve of his mouth and the powerful, lean body.
As he gazed at her, Rafe knew he wanted this woman for his wife. He needed the commitment from her as badly as he needed to lose himself in her warmth. She watched him with hunger in her eyes.
“Say yes, Mary.”
He dropped to his knees before her, his hands sliding down to cradle her hips. He pressed his face against the soft curve of her belly. “Mary, marry me. I’ll swear to love you as no other ever could. I’ll fill your life with whatever makes you happy and fill your arms with babes. I spoke the truth to you before. But there is more. I have never loved, Mary. Not till now, not till you.”
And with a wound that set her heart to bleeding, she pressed his head against her, holding him tight while she found the courage to speak.
The love she bore him helped
steady her voice.
“But you promised me pleasure to share, Rafe. For this night, I want that more.”
“Do you think it’s passion that—”
“No. I know you meant every word, Rafe. I can’t. Don’t ask—”
“Mary, I’ve found gold where other men found nothing. Remember that. And I’m a man who found a woman for all his tomorrows. And I’ll show you that.”
He reached up to open the ribboned ties, holding her gaze with his. He wished Mary could see her eyes as he did, see the eyes of a woman in love, no matter what denial she spoke.
Barren woman. Worthless woman. Harry’s taunting voice shouting from the past.
Mary silenced it the only way she could. She sank to her knees and whispered Rafe’s name, bringing a kiss as intimate as they had ever shared to his lips.
She came to him with all her woman’s heat, all her softness, all her need and generous giving. And she gave. And gave. Before he could ask. Before he knew he needed. Her pulse was a wild beat beneath his hand. He drank the ragged sound she made. Her tongue sought his for a hungry kiss. His arms closed tighter around her, arching her into his body, bending the supple flesh more deeply to his, satisfying her instinctive need to match woman’s heat with his hard flesh.
The room spun around her, and she drifted along with it, taking the hot, dark taste that was Rafe as balm and arousal. He lowered her to the thick softness. He didn’t break the kiss, and she felt his weight, the ripple of his muscles, the blunt ridge of flesh, the hardness of his thighs. She trembled even as she pressed him closer.
“You’re trembling, Mary.”
“You are, too.”
“I’m shaking from the hunger of wanting you.”
“Show me, Rafe.”
He pulled open the last two ties and brushed aside the cloth and the fall of silky hair that hid her breast. Hammer blows of desire thudded inside him. The firelight licked over her pale skin. He envied it until he thought of how he would cover her flesh with a passion’s flush nothing else could do as well. The smooth rise of her breasts and the dusky rose nipples were a rich, lovely sight to feast his eyes upon. Passion sent hunger prowling, and he needed to see all of her.
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