Hawk's Way: Callen & Zach

by Joan Johnston

  CHAPTER SIX

  REBECCA WAS EXHAUSTED. She smelled of hay and horses, and it wasn’t delicate female perspiration that trickled down between her shoulders but plain old hard-working sweat. She kept glancing over her shoulder at Zach, who was working on the other side of the barn, doing the same job she was, forking hay to the children’s ponies.

  She had sent Mr. Tuttle into town to buy supplies, insisting that she would rather fork hay than face the crowd at the supermarket. Zach had caught her doing Mr. Tuttle’s job and joined her without a word of reproof. She had rewarded him for his forbearance and understanding with a beaming smile of approval. But the whole time they had been working, he hadn’t said a word to her. Something was obviously troubling him.

  She had a pretty good idea what it was.

  Zach had been wearing a frown ever since he said goodbye to Pete. The two of them had spoken only briefly before Pete boarded a chartered plane that was headed back to Dallas with the dozen campers who had completed their week at Camp LittleHawk. Whatever had been said had obviously upset Zach.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Zach didn’t answer, just kept forking hay.

  Rebecca set her pitchfork against the door to a stall, crossed to Zach and touched him on the shoulder. He whirled at the contact and would have stabbed her with his pitchfork if she hadn’t jumped backward. She lost her footing and landed hard enough on the cement floor to elicit a cry of pain.

  Zach said a word she hadn’t heard all week. He leaned his pitchfork against the wall and stalked over to stand towering over her.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “My hip…”

  He dropped to one knee and with unexpected gentleness began massaging her hip. Rubbing the muscle as he went, he worked his way around to her buttock. “Is that better?”

  “Much.”

  She watched his hand, mesmerized by its strength, by the feelings coursing through her at a touch that wasn’t intended to be intimate. Suddenly, all movement stopped. Her glance shot to Zach’s face. He was staring at her as though he were seeing her for the first time.

  She reached up a hand to brush a curl from his forehead.

  He flinched but didn’t jerk away. His dark eyes smoldered.

  She let her hand drop to her side and lowered her gaze to escape the heat of his. Abruptly, he stood and tugged her to her feet. For a moment she wasn’t sure her hip was going to support her. She leaned into Zach and heard him hiss as her breasts came in contact with his chest.

  His hands tightened on her wrists to steady her—and to separate their bodies. Once she had her balance, he let her go and took another step back from her. She peeked up at him from beneath lowered lashes.

  The frown had become a full-fledged grimace.

  Well, it was just too bad if he didn’t like being touched. He was in for a lot more touching before she was through. Then she remembered the frown that had been there earlier, the one that had caused her to approach him in the first place. “Zach, is something bothering you?”

  He stuck his thumbs in his back pockets. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’ve had an awful frown on your face ever since you said goodbye to Pete at the airport. Did he say something to upset you?”

  Zach gave a snort that was somewhere between derision and disgust. “The kid’s dying, and he tells me he’s looking forward to seeing me next summer. What was I supposed to say? Yeah, sure, kid, I’ll see you next year. If you’re still alive!”

  Rebecca caught a glimpse of the anguish in Zach’s eyes before he turned his face away.

  “I can’t handle this,” he said quietly. “You’ll have to hire another hand to help you with the camp. And keep those kids away from me.”

  He turned to leave the barn. He hadn’t taken two steps before Rebecca planted herself in front of him, her fisted hands on her hips.

  “Don’t you dare walk away from me!”

  Zach stopped, but his irritation was apparent. “Don’t push me, kid.”

  “Push you? Do you think it’s easy for me to work with those kids?”

  He looked startled. “Isn’t it?”

  “Heck, no! The first year I was a nurse at Children’s Hospital I spent half my time crying. Then I learned that crying didn’t change anything. They kept right on dying whether I cried or not. I don’t cry anymore, Zach, but the hurting has never stopped. I don’t think the hurting ever goes away. But you learn to live with it. You learn to keep on going in spite of it.”

  Zach shoved a hand through his unruly hair. “So what made you come up with this insane idea for a camp?”

  “Is it crazy to want to bring sick kids a little happiness? When I see the smiles on their faces, when I see the shine in their eyes, I feel so good inside that I’m able to deal with the fact that, for some of them, their time is short.”

  “It doesn’t work that way for me. The little bit of joy can’t make up for the pain. I quit, kid. Find another fool to do the job.” He sneered. “Knowing you, that shouldn’t be hard.”

  Rebecca paled at the insult, but stood her ground. “You can’t quit, Zach.”

  “Watch me.”

  Zach brushed past her and was nearly to the barn door when one whispered word stopped him.

  “Coward.”

  Zach turned, his eyes narrowed, his face white with furious disbelief. “What did you call me?”

  “You heard me. Coward.” Her voice was full of the scorn she felt. And the despair. If he didn’t learn to deal with the fear of being hurt that was experienced by every person who made a commitment to care, the pain that was always a possibility when one person opened himself to another, his heart was never going to be free to love her. And her marriage was doomed.

  “Go ahead, turn your back and leave. Sure, it’s easier not to care, but you’ll be left with an awfully lonely, terribly empty life. And I won’t be a part of it.”

  Zach reached her in two strides, grabbed hold of her shoulders in a painful grip and shook her until she was dizzy. She knew the exact moment he realized what he was doing, because he stopped so abruptly her chin jerked forward and her teeth snapped together with an audible snick.

  He released her instantly and stood before her, his chest heaving, his eyes feral, his nostrils flared. A muscle in his jaw spasmed as he gritted his teeth.

  “I’m no coward,” he said in a low, menacing voice.

  “What else do you call a man who won’t stand and fight?”

  “Fight for what? To watch a lot of kids suffer? Forget it!”

  Fight for us! she wanted to cry. For our future together!

  “I guess I should have expected this,” she taunted. “It isn’t the first time you’ve turned tail.”

  “What the hell are you talking about now?”

  “I’m talking about Cynthia.”

  “She’s not a fit subject for discussion.”

  She reached a hand toward him but, much as she craved some connection, didn’t actually touch him. She let her eyes caress him as her hands yearned to do.

  “You’re running from the pain of losing her, Zach. You have been for years. You’re so afraid of getting hurt again that you won’t let yourself care about anyone. That’s why you really advertised for a wife. It was the most impersonal way you could think of to connect with another human being. No danger of caring. No danger of being hurt. Until you stand and face the pain of losing the woman you loved, accept it and move beyond it, you’re never going to be over her.”

  “I’m over her,” Zach said bitterly.

  “Then why is her picture still sitting on your dresser?”

  Zach’s mouth opened and shut again before he spoke. “I’m no coward.”

  “Prove it,” she challenged.

  “I don’t have to prove anything to you or anyone else.”

  “What about proving something to yourself?”

  “I…” Zach hesitated.

  She set the flat of her hand on his chest near h
is heart. It was beating frantically. “You can do it, Zach.” Her heart leapt to her throat, making it difficult to speak. “Don’t quit now.”

  “Hell, kid. I’ll take the damned picture off my dresser.”

  “That isn’t enough, Zach.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  I want your love. But there was no way she could tell him that. He had to figure it out for himself. “I want you to keep your promise to help me with the camp this summer.”

  A callused hand shoved its way through rumpled black hair. “Fine. I’ll help with your damned camp. Are you happy now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I leave without getting another arrow in the back?”

  She managed a crooked smile. “Sure, Zach. I’ll go with you. Mrs. Fortunata insisted on fixing supper again. Some kind of pasta, I think. It should be ready about now.”

  And I want to see Cynthia’s picture—and her memory—finally laid to rest.

  ZACH NEVER WENT NEAR THE BEDROOM until long after his wife had showered and gone to bed. They hadn’t made love all week, but she had told him earlier that day, with a blush he had found enchanting, that they could resume lovemaking that evening. After the altercation in the barn, he wondered whether she would let him near her. Not that he had forgiven her for what she had said. There had been just enough truth in her accusation to hurt. But he needed her—the relief of her body, he amended—and he didn’t think he could wait another night.

  He had postponed going to bed, hoping that she would already be asleep. He had discovered over the past few months that if he kissed her into arousal, when she awoke she wouldn’t be thinking of anything except making love to him.

  But she wasn’t asleep. She was turned on her side facing the doorway, and he could clearly see by the lamp she had left burning on his dresser, that she was awake. Slowly, methodically, he undressed himself until he was naked. He felt her eyes on him, felt the beginnings of arousal. But there was no invitation for him to join her, no sign at all that she would welcome him in bed.

  He knew what she was waiting for. She wanted him to put away Cynthia’s picture. She wanted him to face the pain of his loss and move past it. Hah! If she only knew! He hated Cynthia Kenyon and always would. Nothing was going to change that. He was glad she was dead.

  Except, his firstborn child had died with her. Or maybe she had lied. Maybe it was some other man’s bastard.

  Zach picked up the picture and noticed his hand was shaking. He crossed to the closet door and opened it and stuck the picture facedown on a high shelf. He stepped back and closed the door. He leaned his forehead against the cool, lacquered wooden surface and held on to the knob for dear life.

  He had no explanation for his labored breathing. And the shaking had gotten worse. His whole body was suffused with it.

  “Come to bed, Zach.”

  He couldn’t let Rebecca see him like this. He turned to tell her he wasn’t ready for bed and saw her arms opened wide to him.

  Like a honeybee that sees a particularly spectacular bloom, he was drawn to her. On uncertain legs he made his way the few steps it took him to reach the bed.

  There was nothing sexual about the way he crushed her to him. He needed to feel close to another human being, to have the warmth of another body take the chill from his own.

  He felt her hands against his face, in his hair, at his nape. Her touch brought fire, and yet the shaking grew worse.

  “Oh, my darling. My sweetheart. It’s all right. I’m here.”

  He heard her crooning to him, calling to him, and yet he seemed to sink farther into a deep abyss. He was so cold. He could feel himself shivering with it.

  He burrowed his face against her throat, but he needed to be closer still, so he shoved her legs apart with his knees and thrust inside her.

  She was warm and wet. He felt himself sinking farther into the well, into pitch blackness. There was nothing now but him and the promise of her.

  And the pain.

  It was the pain that made him tremble, the pain that sucked at him, drawing him deeper into the gloom.

  His body drove into hers as he fought the pull of the darkness. He felt the sharp sting of her fingernails in his shoulders, her heels in his buttocks, dragging him back to the surface. He heard the guttural moans issuing from her throat and smelled the scent of her arousal as he fought his way back to her, to the light.

  He felt his body tighten, felt the primitive urge to claim his mate. He could see the light a little way beyond him and fought his way toward it. His lungs heaved to bring him precious air, his body arched as it spasmed, and he cried out into the night as he spilled his seed into her.

  He burrowed his head close and squeezed her tightly. He had fought the demons and won. He had found the haven he had sought. She was warmth and brightness. She was life and happiness. She was everything he had ever wanted.

  Don’t let yourself be fooled. Remember the pain. Feel the pain. If you feel the pain you won’t be vulnerable to the dangerous clutches of love.

  He held on to her, held her so tight he could feel her heart thumping erratically against his own, feel her ragged breath against his throat, feel the slickness of her skin as their sweat-streaked bodies lay intertwined.

  “Thank you, Zach,” she murmured.

  “For what?”

  She didn’t say anything, and he knew she meant for putting away the picture.

  “It doesn’t change anything,” he said brusquely. “I won’t forget her. And I won’t fall in love with you.”

  He felt her tense briefly before she relaxed against him.

  “I went into this marriage with my eyes open, Zach. You don’t have to keep reminding me how you feel.”

  But he had to keep reminding himself. It would be so easy to love her. It was so tempting to let down his guard. If he did, disaster was certain to follow. He had to keep reminding himself of that, had to keep himself from loving her.

  When he woke the next morning, he looked automatically for the picture of Cynthia. It wasn’t there. Like a drug addict, he needed his daily fix of hate and distrust, but it was difficult to manage without a face to focus on. He might have sought out the picture, taken it down from the top shelf of the closet to glance at it, except Rebecca’s eyes never left him the entire time he dressed. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing he had been using the photograph as a crutch.

  “I’ll go start breakfast,” he said at last, conceding defeat.

  She crossed to him and slid her arms around his neck and raised herself on tiptoe to find his mouth. Her lips were soft and pliant and tasted like nectar.

  “What was that for?” he murmured against her lips.

  “Just because.”

  He read the understanding and approval in her eyes and felt…uncomfortable. He didn’t want her feelings about him to matter. Pretty soon he would be doing things just to please her. That sort of behavior led a man down the garden path to danger…to disaster…to love.

  “I’ll join you in the kitchen in a few minutes, all right?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  Once Zach was gone, Rebecca heaved a huge sigh of…relief…despair…she wasn’t sure what.

  He had actually done it. He had taken the picture of Cynthia off his dresser and put it away. So why didn’t she feel more hopeful about their future together?

  It was the desperation she had seen in him, in his lovemaking, that had left her feeling so disconcerted. He must have loved Cynthia even more than she had thought to be so distraught at giving up the chance to look at her picture every day. If he still loved another woman that much seven years after her death, maybe he really wasn’t ever going to get over her. Maybe she had been a fool to marry him.

  But she couldn’t give up now. They had the whole summer ahead of them to work and play together. She was willing to bet that a flesh-and-blood woman could beat the pants off a ghost any day of the week when it came to loving a man.

  He’s m
ine now, Cynthia. Let him go.

  Rebecca shuddered as a draft of cold air wafted across her face. She stopped and stood still as an eerie feeling rolled through her. She looked up and saw she was standing directly under an air-conditioning vent. That had to be the source of the draft. What a silly widgeon she was to imagine Cynthia haunting Zach’s bedroom.

  She didn’t really believe in ghosts, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the other woman was still around. Maybe it had been that picture sitting there all these months. Maybe now she could relax and forget about Cynthia Kenyon.

  There’s no need for you to hang around here any longer, Cynthia. Zach belongs to me now.

  The vertical blinds on the sliding glass door rippled.

  Rebecca looked up at the air-conditioning vent and gauged the distance to the blinds. She pursed her lips and shook her head.

  Naw. She didn’t believe in ghosts.

  She glanced back one more time at the bare spot on the dresser where Cynthia’s picture had stood.

  “It’s a start, Zach. It’s a darn good start.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE HOME, ZACH,” Rebecca said. “Sam called, and your sister is in labor.”

  Rebecca watched the quick grin come and go from her husband’s face. He was obviously happy for Callen and Sam, but also reminded by the imminent birth of the Longstreets’ third child that after six months of marriage his own wife remained barren.

  “I’m sorry, Zach.”

  “For what?”

  “You know what.”

  “These things take time.”

  “Half of mine is gone.”

  “You don’t have to remind me.” Zach yanked off his Stetson and shoved a hand through sweat-damp hair. “How is that new wrangler working out?”

  Rebecca saw how neatly Zach had changed the subject and conceded that perhaps it was better not to discuss what couldn’t be changed with words.