She kissed him greedily, her hands restless and arousing as they moved up and down his back and arms, slid over his chest, caressed his cheek. And then she took his hand and pressed it over her breast, and he was lost.
His hands were trembling as he undressed her, his breath catching in his throat as her body was bared to his gaze. She was unbelievably beautiful, her skin clear and unblemished, her figure slender and perfect.
She flushed under his gaze but didn’t look away, didn’t try to shield herself from his eyes. “You are pleased?” she asked.
“You’re beautiful, Tessa. More beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.”
She smiled with pleasure, and then she began to undress him. He noted that her hands, too, were trembling as she slid his shirt off his shoulders and somehow, that made it all seem right.
He tugged off his boots and socks, lifted his hips so she could slide his jeans and long handles down his hips.
And then there was nothing between them but desire.
For a moment, his gaze moved over her, unable to believe she was there, his for the taking and yet, deep inside, he had known from the moment he first saw her that this moment was inevitable.
He cupped her cheek. “Tessa…”
She smiled at him, her eyes glowing as she drew him down beside her. “Love me, Wolf Shadow,” she murmured.
“I do,” he replied, his voice husky with desire.
“Then show me. Show me now.”
Gathering her in his arms, he kissed her, worshipping her with his hands, his lips, his voice. She was fire and honey in his arms, warm and willing as she teased and tempted him, her hands learning the contours of his body, her teeth nipping at him. She purred with pleasure as his hands moved over her. She loved his hands, big and brown and ever so gentle as they glided over her skin, arousing her until she was mindless, breathless.
“Now,” she whispered, her voice ragged. “Now, Wolf.”
With a low growl, he rose over her. She gasped with mingled pleasure and pain as his body became a part of hers. And then she was lost in a dizzying world of sensation as he began to move deep within her. She clutched at his shoulders, reaching for something elusive, afraid she wouldn’t find it.
“It’s all right, honey,” he murmured. “I know the way. Just follow me and let yourself go.”
Clinging to his shoulders, her legs locked around his waist, she closed her eyes and following him over the edge of abyss into paradise.
* * * * *
Chance brushed a lock of hair from Teressa’s cheek. “You all right?”
She looked up at him, her eyes cloudy with spent passion, her lips slightly swollen from his kisses, her expression that of a woman who had been well and truly pleasured.
And then she laughed softly. “I am better than all right.”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed out loud. And then he drew her into his arms and hugged her tight. Lord, but it felt good to laugh.
“Wolf?”
He drew back, frowning at the hesitant note in her voice.
“What is it, honey?”
“Have you…?” Her cheeks turned rosy as she cleared her throat. “Have you done this with many women?”
“Not many.”
“More than one?”
“Tessa…”
Her gaze slid away from his but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes.
Chance swore under his breath. How could he make her understand that none of them had meant anything to him? Would she believe him if he tried? Dammit, he had to do something to wipe that look from her eyes.
“Tessa, those other women, they didn’t mean anything. I never really knew what making love was all about until today. Making love to you was like making love for the first time.”
She looked at him, wide-eyed with hope. “Truly?”
“Truly.” He stroked his knuckles over her cheek. “You’ve ruined me for all other women.”
She smiled at him. It was a decidedly feminine smile, filled with just a hint of self-satisfaction.
“From now on it’s just you and me, darlin’,” he murmured.
And then he kissed her, aware that this kiss was vastly different than all the others he had showered on her. They had been filled with passion and excitement; this one was a mark of possession, a brand. She was his now, and it changed everything.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chance and Teressa bathed in the stream, splashing and laughing like a couple of kids playing hooky, and then, submerged in the shallow water, they made love again. Tessa had no words to describe how it felt to feel his body sliding against hers while the water eddied and flowed around them. If the first time had been ecstasy, the second time bordered on sheer rapture. She cried his name aloud as, with one last thrust, he carried them both over the edge.
Happiness bubbled up inside Teressa, burst forth in a wave of laughter when she looked up and saw a squirrel staring down at them.
“What’s so funny?” Chance asked and then, following her gaze, he laughed, too, laughed until he was breathless. It was cleansing, somehow, to lie there in the water with Tessa and laugh.
And when the laughter died away, he drew her into his arms. Holding her close, he felt all his hatred melt away, and with it the relentless need for vengeance that had driven him for the last nine years of his life. In the back of his mind, he heard the voice of Kills-Like-a-Hawk. You will never find the peace you are seeking until you put your hatred behind you.
“Wolf?” Teressa stroked his back. “Is something wrong?”
He shook his head. “Not anymore, sweetheart. For the first time in years, everything is just right.”
“We didn’t find any stray cattle,” Teressa mused later, as they dressed.
Leaning forward, Chance stroked her cheek. “I found something much better.”
It was near dusk when they returned to the ranch. Rosalia was standing out on the front porch when they rode into the yard.
Rosalia’s gaze rested on Teressa’s face for a long moment. Then, her lips tightening, she looked at Chance. A last glance at Teressa and then she turned and went back into the house.
Teressa turned anguished eyes in Chance’s direction. “She knows. How can she know?”
“She doesn’t know anything,” Chance said, but they both knew he was lying.
Dinner was a strained and silent affair. Troubled by her mother’s silent disapproval, Teressa went up to bed immediately after dinner.
Chance was sitting in his office, going over some papers, when Rosalia entered the room and closed the door behind her.
“I know my daughter thinks she loves you,” Rosalia said, getting right to the point. “Perhaps you think you love her.”
When he started to speak, she silenced him with a wave of her hand.
“Teressa is very young. Until today, she was an innocent. I want you to leave my daughter alone, Signore McCloud. Her father and I have plans for her future. In two weeks, we will be on our way home. Do not fill her heart and mind with empty promises.”
“And what if she doesn’t want to go with you? What if she has plans of her own?”
Rosalia lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “I am her mother. Teressa will do as she is told. I am warning you for the last time. Leave my daughter alone.”
She eyed him for a moment, then opened the door and swept regally out of the room.
Muttering an oath, Chance sat back in his chair, wondering how to play the hand Teressa’s mother had dealt him. Did he respect Rosalia’s wishes, or follow the urgings of his own heart?
Rising, he paced the floor. Time and again he headed toward the stairs, and time and again he turned away. Tomorrow, he thought, he would talk to Rosalia tomorrow when they’d both had a chance to cool off.
* * * * *
Chance ate breakfast with the cowhands the next morning, then rode out with Dreesen to check on the river that ran through the east pasture. A tree has fallen across it, blocking the water’s
flow. He sent Dreesen back to the ranch to get a couple of men to drag the tree out of the way and cut it up for firewood, then he rode out to line shack number six to look in on the men. They were running low on supplies and he made a note to restock their larder.
It was near dark when he returned to the ranch. Dismounting in front of the barn, he removed the saddle and blanket from his horse. He checked the gelding’s feet, gave the animal a good brushing, then led the horse into the barn and into a clean stall.
Outside, Chance spent a few minutes watching the stallion prance back and forth. He shook his head, remembering how easily Teressa had charmed the wild stud. Tomorrow, he would try his hand at breaking the horse one more time; if he didn’t have any better luck than he’d had in the past, he would turn the horse loose.
Walking up to the house, he noticed that there were no lights burning. No smoke rose from the chimney.
Worried now, he ran up the walkway to the porch. He took the steps two at a time, flung open the door.
“Teressa?” Standing there, listening to his voice echoing off the walls, he knew there was no one in the house.
Muttering an oath, he climbed the stairs and pushed open the door to her room. Even in the dim light, he could see it was empty.
“Damn. Damn, damn, damn!” Removing his hat, he ran his hand through his hair, resettled his hat on his head, and went back downstairs.
Going out the back door, he crossed the yard to the cookhouse. “Cookie?”
“Yeah, boss?” Cookie looked up from the dough he was kneading for tomorrow’s bread.
“The women…”
Cookie punched his fist in the dough. “They lit out this morning, right after you did.”
“Thanks, Cookie.”
“I reckon you’ll be taking your meals with the men again.”
“Reckon so.”
With a nod, Cookie covered the ball of dough and began punching up another one.
Chance stared at him for a moment, then went back to the house. So, he mused as he paced the floor, that was that. Rosalia Bryant had packed up and quit the field, no doubt deciding her daughter was safer in Buffalo Springs than under his roof.
He ran a hand over his jaw. “Oh, hell,” he muttered. Maybe it was for the best.
“Best for who?” he muttered. Rosalia? Teressa? It certainly wasn’t the best for him. Dammit, the house had never felt so empty.
A short time later, Cookie rang the dinner bell, but Chance had no appetite, and no inclination to sit around making small talk with the men. Going into his den, he sat down at his desk and tried going over the ranch accounts, but for the first time in his life, he couldn’t summon any interest in the ranch.
Closing the books, he went to stand at the window. The bills were paid. They’d had a successful calving season. The new bull was everything he had hoped it would be. The stock was healthy. The rivers and waterholes were full, there was plenty of grass, hay enough to see them through the winter.
He grunted softly. Now would be the perfect time to resume his search for Finch but even bringing the last of his mother’s killers to justice failed to spark his interest. His every thought was for Teressa. He had been determined to keep her at arm’s length, determined not to let her get under his skin, yet she had done just that. He had told himself he didn’t have time for a woman, that he had nothing to offer her, that she was too young, too innocent. All in vain. He had been lost from the moment he’d first looked into her eyes, and now, thanks to her mother, it seemed she was really lost to him.
Moving away from the window, he went outside. For a moment, he stood on the porch and then he descended the stairs and made his way toward the corral that held the wild stallion.
As he drew near, the horse snorted and bolted to the far side of the corral. With a shake of his head, Chance folded his arms across the top rail and watched the stallion pace back and forth, fox-like ears twitching, nostrils flaring to test the wind as though searching for Teressa’s scent.
“Yeah,” Chance said ruefully. “I miss her, too.” Lifting the latch, Chance opened the gate wide. “Go on, get out of here.”
The stallion stared at him, then pawed the ground.
Striding into the corral, Chance approached the horse. “Go on,” he said, making a shooing motion with one hand. “Get before I change my mind!”
With a toss of its head, the stallion pranced toward the gate, then bolted out of the corral. A moment later, the horse was swallowed up by the darkness.
“What the hell,” Chance muttered as he returned to the house. “At least one of us will be happy.”
* * * * *
Teressa clung to the side of the wagon seat, unable to believe that her mother had practically dragged her out of Wolf’s house, or that they were now on their way to Crooked River to wait for the train that would take them to San Francisco. She had cried all the way from the ranch into town, had begged her mother to turn around, to let her tell Wolf Shadow goodbye or at least leave him a note, but Rosalia had been adamant. They were leaving and nothing Tessa had said would change her mother’s mind.
She groaned as the wagon lurched over another rut in the road. She was beginning to think the man her mother had hired to take them to Crooked River was deliberately looking for ruts. Given a choice, she would have preferred riding a horse to bouncing around in the wagon.
The road, such as it was, stretched out for mile after mile ahead of them. Teressa stared out at the ocean of tall grass that surrounded them on all sides. A few trees were scattered here and there as well as occasional outcroppings of rock. The driver—Jacko Kilkenny—had told them it would take four days to reach Crooked River. Four days of this, she thought, and her backside would be black and blue! It was a good thing their belongings were tied down in the back, else they would have bounced out long ago.
She slid a glance at her mother, who sat between Tessa and the driver. Rosalia stared straight ahead, one white-gloved hand clutching the edge of the seat, the other hand holding her floppy-brimmed hat in place. In spite of the dust and the wind and the bumpy road, Rosalia looked serene and unruffled.
Tessa looked out at the countryside again. What had Wolf thought when he returned home and found them gone without a word? Tears stung her eyes as she recalled the night they had made love. She had, on occasion, overheard Eagle Lance and Mountain Sage being intimate late at night. She had sometimes wondered at the muted sounds she had heard. Now she understood the soft expression in her mother’s eyes the following morning, the smile that had always teased her father’s lips, the way they had looked at each other, the little touches they had exchanged.
She closed her eyes, remembering the wonder of Wolf’s kisses, the tingling excitement of his touches, the way her whole body had come alive when he caressed her. She had tingled all over when she touched him in return, exploring every inch of him, reveling in the way his muscles quivered beneath her fingertips, the way his body had moved, lithe and sensuous. She had delighted in the hard planes of his chest, the ridged muscles in his flat belly, the latent strength in his broad back and shoulders. He had treated her so gently, so tenderly. He could have crushed her with one hand, yet she had never been afraid, not for a moment. She had known he would never knowingly hurt her; indeed, he had done everything in his power to make her first time as wonderful as she had hoped it would be. She smiled a secret smile. The second time had been even more wonderful.
And now she was miles away from him. What must he think? Surely he would know she hadn’t left because she wanted to. Hope burst within her as a new thought occurred to her. He would come after her. He had to. He loved her. He had told her so in every way possible.
At dusk, Jacko pulled into a stagecoach way station for the night. It was a ramshackle building, long and low, with a flat roof and a chimney with a decided list to the left.
“Will we be welcome here, Signore Kilkenny?” Rosalia asked dubiously.
“Sure, long as your money’s good.” In spite
of his bulk, he jumped lightly to the ground. Tossing the reins over the hitch rack, he turned to offer Teressa his hand.
As she placed her hand in his big, sweaty, grimy one, she wished she had taken her mother’s advice and worn gloves.
She glanced around as Kilkenny assisted her mother from the wagon. In addition to the long, low building, there was a corral filled with horses, and a large barn. A third building, large and square, stood behind the barn.
Rosalia was trying to shake the dust from her skirts when the door of the way station opened and a woman peered out.
“Land sakes,” she exclaimed, “I thought I heard horses. I told Jed we had comp’ny but he said no, the stage ain’t due for another two weeks.” She hurried out of the building, one hand extended. “I’m Mrs. Morganstern. Me and the Mister run this place.” She stared openly at Rosalia and Teressa. “My, I ain’t seen such pretty clothes in a month of Sundays. Come on inside you two, you must be about wore out, riding in that wagon.”
Smiling broadly, she ushered them inside. “Sit down, make yourselves to home.”
Rosalia took a place on one of the benches. Removing her gloves, she placed them in her skirt pocket, then unpinned her hat and placed it on the table.
Teressa sat down on the opposite bench and stared out the window.
“Can I get you some cold buttermilk?” Mrs. Morganstern asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Rosalia replied politely.
Teressa shook her head.
“How about a sarsaparilla?” Mrs. Morganstern offered.
“I…I don’t know what that is.”
“Land sakes, child, you’ll love it.”
The woman hurried off, only to return a moment later with two mugs.
Teressa accepted the mug the woman offered and took a small sip of the contents. She smiled, pleased by the faintly sweet taste.
Mrs. Morganstern beamed at her. “I reckon you ladies are right hungry. Well, supper’s just about ready. You just rest yourselves, and I’ll be back directly.”
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