by Rita Karnopp
"Want company?" Brett asked.
Willow turned toward his voice and smiled. "The boys asleep?" she asked.
"Warm as two brothers can be, with White Buffalo nestled between them.” He chuckled. “That's going to be one spoiled rabbit. Let's take the blindfold off. Keep your eyes closed and when I tell you, open them slowly. It'll be fuzzy for a little while. You should make out the moon and the shadows."
While he untied the cloth, she felt his warm breath, and she closed the distance, pressing a slow, drugging kiss upon his lips. He responded with a gentleness that spoke of love.
"Keep your eyes closed," he said. "Now, slowly, open them. Allow the light―"
"I can see! The moon is there." She pointed. "Wow, look at the silent, silvery landscape. It's beautiful."
"Yes, it's definitely beautiful," he whispered, watching her.
She turned to Brett and read his heated, loving expression. Happiness filled her and she moved into his arms. "I’ve never felt this comfortable in the arms of a man. In all those years no one has made me feel as alive as you have."
"I never expected this. When we left to go after the boys, I wanted to blame Lance for the scheme. Now I think it was Lance who kept them safe and sound for us. He's a remarkable boy. You did a fine job raising him, Willow."
"Thank you. I think the same of Sean."
"I was wrong to condemn Lance because he's Indian. I had all those prejudices thrown in my face my whole life, but I wasn’t just a half-breed, I was a bastard half-breed. I thought if I hated Indians enough, I would be thought of as white. I figured if I became a vet, I’d fit in. People would respect me for my status, and they'd forget about my bloodline. I didn't realize the repercussions of my actions until now."
"A long time ago I came to the conclusion that no one will accept me, until I accept myself. I think you should be a vet, but not for the reasons you mentioned. It's what you want to do and it's what makes you happy."
"You're right, of course. Sounds good, but it's not all that easy. Besides, I've got more pressing matters to face. I'm at a crossroads right now. Either I find out who is trying to ruin me, or I lose everything. It's as simple as that."
"I think Wyatt either killed Gordon or he knows who did. And I think what's been going on at your ranch has something to do with Gordon's death. Wyatt said he has some kind of proof regarding who killed Gordon. As soon as we're back and the boys are settled in, I'm going to visit Wyatt and find out what he's holding back."
"Like hell you will. That man is a loose cannon. If he's behind all this, I'll find out."
"Now just one minute. We're both forgetting something really important here."
"And that being?" Brett asked.
"Us. We aren't alone any more. We can think in twos. I could go to Wyatt's and you could back me up. Well?"
"You're right," he said, wrapping his arms tighter around her.
"Brett, doesn't it scare you?"
"Doesn't what scare me?"
"Us. Aren't you afraid we'll end? The feelings, I mean. I'm worried that one day you'll realize the sizzle is gone."
He laughed, and she wondered what she'd said to make him laugh.
"Sizzle, huh?" He kissed her neck with hot, fiery kisses, then drew her lips into his, demanding a response. "Sizzle!" He moved his palms around to cup her bottom, guiding her against his hardness. "Sizzle, indeed!"
"Brett, you're impossible," she said, giggling. "I was serious."
"I don't think this much sizzle could ever cool off," he answered, smothering her with a burning kiss.
She had a million questions and none of them came to mind. His lips spoke and hers answered. His body called out and hers responded. No thoughts or questions stood in the way.
"Maybe you're right. I rather like the sizzle. Now, we’d better get some rest," she said, pulling out of his embrace and getting to her feet. She reached back and took his hand, then slowly walked back inside the cave. "How should we sleep?"
"Like last night," he suggested. "Might be best if you kept your shirt on, though."
Smiling, she kicked off her boots and slipped into the bag. A quick glance at the sleeping boys satisfied her motherly concern. Brett got in beside her and pulled her back into his chest, sharing his warmth. It was comforting to have him hold her breast beneath the covers.
"Good night, love," he whispered in her ear.
She stretched her neck back and leaned her face toward him, taking the kiss she knew awaited her. Immediately, she felt the heat of need shoot through her body. Turning in his arms, she clung to him, pressing, pleading for more. His uneven breathing matched hers.
"I want you," he whispered.
"I want you too." Wiggling against him, she encouraged him to slide her shirt higher, giving her breast to him with need. Again she checked the boys, and then turned back to the pleasures Brett had to offer.
Arching her back she gave him freedom to kiss, touch, and suckle. It brought such joy that she couldn't get enough. "I need more, Brett. This is torture."
"Yes, love, it's wonderful torture." He gave the boys a quick look. "They're sleeping good and hard."
"What if we woke them? It'd be mortifying." She pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it. He followed suit. The touch of skin against skin created an even deeper need. She allowed him to unsnap and unzip her jeans. He slid them down and brought his palms upward, straight to the parting of her legs. She gasped as he rubbed against her panties. An immediate moistness made her ready.
She fumbled with his large buckle until he worked the magic with it himself. She pushed down his jeans to his thighs while he raised himself to help.
"We shouldn't be tempting ourselves," she whispered.
"Who’s tempting," he asked, sliding a finger beneath the thin material of her panties.
Willow gasped, and her pelvis rose on its own. He used his finger to touch her first. Sliding in, he took control of her body, giving her pleasure unknown before. She cried out, stifling the sounds as best she could. He touched, in and out. He moved his hand to work magic, an electrifying ecstasy that sent her writhing beneath him.
He paused to guide her hand to him. Shyly she touched him, uncertain what he expected.
"Touch me," he encouraged. "Move around me with your hand. It will give me the pleasures I'm giving you." He kissed her hard, yet unbearably tender.
Willow felt his member move under her fingertips. Gripping her palm around him, she moved her hand up and down, realizing he responded with great enthusiasm. His breathing increased as hers had, he raised his hips in response. He gave her a low, throaty moan, expressing his pleasure. She'd never experienced anything like it.
Again he moved his finger into her moistness and this time she moved her hand in rhythm with his movements. "I want more, Brett," she begged.
"So do I, love," he said in a breathless tone, "but I think we'll save it for a special time when it's just the two of us."
She understood, knowing he was right, but at this moment the disappointment felt like a rejection. He masterfully moved his hand, and soon she forgot everything, except the incredible pleasure he created. He took her nipple and suckled. She rose to give him all.
He slid her panties down to her jeans. Using his palms, she felt him touch every inch of her. He kneaded her flesh, exciting the skin as he moved from place to place. He pressed his thumb into her moistness and she gasped, clutching him, feeling a higher excitement shoot through her. He pumped his hand in simulation and she could only accept and respond in the fury of it all.
She breathed heavily against him. He returned breath for breath. She felt the moisture of his skin and it excited her. Everything about him excited her. She heard the boys adjusting their blankets and tensed.
"You're not making this easy on me," he whispered. "I want you so much it aches."
"I'm not the one doing all the touching," she teased in a throaty whisper. "You brought us to this."
"It was you who turned around
and started wiggling against me. What's a man to do?"
"Oh, so it's my fault, is it? Then explain . . . what's his name―"
"Everest."
"Everest? You've named your penis Everest? Good Lord," she giggled. "Is there a reason?"
He pulled her panties and jeans in place. "I didn't exactly name him―"
"What," she interrupted.
"It's a guy thing. We were watching a movie in school and most of my friends thought of holding their books low. I didn't give it too much thought until Joey, my best friend of course, made a comment about Mount Everest. Ever since then I thought of him as Everest!" he chuckled. "It's a better name than what Joey got. Cynthia Hanson came to school with the word marshmallow. I decided Everest had him beat."
"A guy thing, huh? And to think I almost―"
"Almost what? Everest will be willing to shake your hand anytime you care to."
She feigned shock. "Brett Turner, the way you talk." She pulled on her shirt and slid back into the warmth of the sleeping bag, waited for Brett to redress, and then snuggled her body into the inside curves of his.
* * *
"Morning, Mom," Lance shouted.
Willow peeked open her eyes and saw her son watching her from across the lively fire. "Morning."
"You have your blindfold off. Can you see?"
"Sure can. You boys sleep well?" she managed to ask, struggling to wake.
"Yeah. You two sleep together?" Sean asked.
"It got cold last night. Shared warmth was only logical."
"Shared warmth is good," Sean said.
She glanced back at a sleeping Brett. "Wake up sleepy head, the boys are getting restless."
"Dang, White Buffalo pooped in our sleeping bag," Lance shouted.
"Gross!" Sean added, laughing in spite of it all.
"Gross," Lance repeated, dropping to the bag, laughing, and then moaning as he grabbed at his skull.
"Come quick," Sean shouted. "Lance is having one of his headaches."
Willow and Brett sprang from the sleeping bag.
"Lance, honey, where does it hurt?" she asked, pulling him against her.
"Right in back, like always," he cried, accepting her comfort.
"You sure it's just a headache?" Brett asked.
"I just had him in for a checkup. I told Doctor Helter about these pains and he wasn't the least concerned. He said some kids get more headaches than others do. Lance has never had seizures or passed out, so there doesn't seem to be any concern by the medical field."
"He's pale. His bottom lip is turning blue. I don't like this one bit, Willow." Brett placed his wrist against Lance's forehead.
"I've told Doctor Helter all about it, and he checked him over and said Lance is in great shape."
"Let him stay in the blanket and rest," Brett said. "It's really early and we won't start out for another good hour. I noticed the boys had a small coffeepot for heating water. I'll make some coffee and hot chocolate. They even have paper plates and plastic utensils. I'll scramble eggs and bacon, how does that sound?"
"Sounds great. Bringing burnable dishes must have been Lances' idea. He hates dishes. Of course it's better than no dishes," Willow said. "Where do you plan on getting bacon and eggs?"
"Bacon is wrapped in wax paper at the bottom of my pack. The eggs are dehydrated, but with some of the bacon grease, they taste remarkably good."
"And he cooks, too," Willow commented, holding Lance.
"You stay put, I'm sure he finds comfort in your arms," Brett said. "Sean and I will be the cooks today. You two can make supper when we get home."
"That's a deal. Our place is closest, and it'll be late by the time we get back. You're welcome to spend the night."
Sean looked first at his dad, then at Willow. "Wow, you two should share the warmth more often. You've stopped yelling."
"Yelling wouldn't help Lance's headache," she said. "Why don't you check on the horses?"
"Hey, you're releasing my help crew,” Brett protested. “We'll cook, and then check on the animals."
Willow smiled, realizing he didn't like his authority being challenged.
* * *
It took several hours before Lance's headache eased enough for them to travel. Willow kissed the top of his head, wishing she could eliminate his pain with the loving gesture. Finally, they arrived at the Arrowhead, tired, cold, and hungry. Willow adjusted her sleeping son in her numb arms. It had become increasingly difficult to hold him in the saddle in front of her. "You as tired as me?" she asked Brett.
"No doubt about it. Lance sleeping as hard as Sean?" He swung his leg over his mount, holding his son up in the saddle, then down into his arms.
"Yes. I'm not sure I can carry him anymore," she admitted.
"Stay put. Boys are a bit big for this, but they're exhausted. I'll take Sean in, then I’ll come back for Lance."
"Lance's room is up the stairs, far room on the right." She watched Brett carry his son and the picture presented a fatherly one, something she hadn't experienced with Gordon.
She waited in the still, cold night, holding Lance. She felt an excitement when Brett appeared back in the doorway. He had no way of knowing how truly handsome a man he made. He reached up and she lowered Lance into his arms.
"Feels good to have two sons," Brett said, turning back into the house.
His words echoed in her mind and words sank into her heart. She thought about the past couple of days with him and allowed herself a tired smile. "Brett Turner, I've waited my whole life to find you. Strange, you were right next door and I didn't even know it."
"I didn't know you were that close either." He reappeared and swung her down into his arms.
"I didn't mean for you to hear me. How'd you get back so soon?"
"The thought of you sitting on your horse, waiting for me, well, I found energy I didn't know I had. Funny thing about love, huh?"
She laughed softly. "Put me down before we both fall. Are you hungry or just tired?" she asked, as they went into the house.
"Tired. I'll miss holding you in my arms."
"You can sleep in the room across from the boys. It's not large or fancy, but it's clean. There are extra towels in the bathroom cubby. You'll see them. I think Gordon's razor and stuff is still on the top cubby shelf. Help yourself to whatever you need. I imagine the boys are sleeping with their coats and shoes on, I'll take care of them and I'll shower after you're through."
"We could save water," he hinted.
"I'm afraid not. If Lance or Sean needed to use the bathroom and heard us, well, it wouldn't be right. Kids learn by example, we need to set a good one."
"You're right, but I can't help being disappointed."
"Go on, quit pouting. Won't do you any good." She led the way up the stairs. He stopped at the bathroom and she continued down the hall to the boys.
She moved into the room, leaving the door open for light, and had to chuckle at their exhausted snores. She tossed first one, then a second coat and pair of boots to the floor. Even though she didn't approve of animals in human beds, she allowed White Buffalo to snuggle down between the boys, this one time, she told herself.
Willow sat watching the boys sleep. She heard the water from Brett's shower and longed to join him. Finally she heard Brett close the door to his room. She rushed to the bathroom, eager for a clean, refreshing shower and a decent tooth brushing. An hour later she felt remarkably better. Slipping into her robe, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen.
"Hi." Brett took a large bite of his sandwich. "I called my mom. She'd been pretty worried. She'll sleep better knowing the boys are back safe and sound."
"I'm glad you thought to call her. I'm sure she's been worried sick. I'm glad my folks left before the boys pulled this trick. They didn't have to worry. That sandwich looks good," she added in a light tone.
"I remembered the poor horses after my shower. The buffalo family is looking remarkably well. When I finished in the barn, hunger set in. I helpe
d myself."
"I'm clean, now I need a piece of apple pie," she confided. "Pies are my one weakness. By the way, nice robe."
"I hope you don't mind. I’m sure Gordon never used it. It looks brand new."
"No actually," she stifled a giggle, “it's one of mine. But that's okay, you're welcome to it."
"It's black and manly. You’re kidding, right?"
She shook her head. "Stop worrying. If it were pink I'd laugh, but black works." She giggled in spite of herself.
"Listen to you, now you're sounding like Sean. Black isn't all that works," he said, pulling his fingers through her long, damp hair. "It's incredibly beautiful loose."
"Brett, did you know your friend Sheriff Ferrell smokes cigars?"
"What's that suppose to mean?" He dropped the handful of hair and turned toward his sandwich.
"I was thinking about that cigar butt you found in your water truck bed. I was also thinking about Wyatt having told me about Gordon's death the night before. How did Wyatt know? Either he killed Gordon or someone told Wyatt that Gordon was dead. Who would think cigar butts were evidence if the sheriff was walking around smoking them?"
"I've known Mike all my life. We went to school together. What reason would he want Gordon dead? We need something incriminating. We need solid proof. Besides, we need a motive, and I can't imagine Mike having one."
"Then we need to work at it from a different angle," she said, taking a bite of pie. "What if Gordon stumbled onto something that Wyatt and Mike were doing?"
"What if Wyatt has something on Mike and is blackmailing him? That would explain why he's involved. I can't imagine him trying to sabotage me, but he might have had to look the other way when it came to Gordon's death."
"But what about the cigar butts?"
"Does look suspicious. What secret might Wyatt have on Mike to make him do all this? He's always been one to uphold the law, no matter what." Brett teetered on the back legs of his chair.