Heart of the Hawk

by Justine Davis, Justine Dare

  He knew what the town was thinking, knew what they assumed was going on in the mercantile after dark, when the lamps burned late. And he’d been surprised at their reaction when he’d taken care to let the truth be known for Kate’s sake; they had seemed almost disappointed at such a tame explanation as reading. And knowing people’s penchant for gossip, he was sure many of them had chosen to continue to believe in what they’d already decided rather than the much less interesting truth.

  What had surprised him was that they didn’t seem to hold this belief that he and Kate were carrying on against him. Or even Kate, who was in a much more precarious position than he. People expected no better from a man like The Hawk.

  People, Josh thought, were very unpredictable.

  “I don’t feel like reading tonight,” Kate said suddenly.

  Speaking of unpredictable, Josh thought. He looked at her curiously; he would have sworn she looked forward eagerly to their sessions. Her reading had improved dramatically even in such a short time. She’d only needed a little guidance. And very soon he was sure she’d be as adept at reading as she was at numbers.

  “I thought you wanted to read Little Women.”

  “No. I’d rather . . . ask you something.”

  Damn, Josh thought. She was going to start in on him again, about not heeding the warning in the book.

  “Ask me what?” he said warily, although he was sure he knew what was coming.

  “Why do you kiss me at night?”

  Josh gaped at her, unable to believe he’d heard right. “What?”

  “Why do you kiss me at night?” she repeated.

  “I . . . It . . .” He wet lips that were suddenly dry and tried again. “What kind of a question is that?”

  “One I’d like answered. Is it pity?”

  “Pity?” Josh exclaimed. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

  She shrugged negligently. “I’ve heard some men have . . . ideas about widows.”

  Josh’s mouth quirked. “Usually widows who have been widows for longer than a month.” And certainly not widows who were married to men like Arly, he added silently.

  “Then is it because you feel . . . obligated?”

  “I’ve never kissed a woman in my life because I felt obligated,” Josh snapped.

  “Then why?”

  Exasperation seized him. “Did it ever occur to you that I might just kiss you because I want to?”

  To his chagrin, Kate just looked at him thoughtfully. “I suppose that could be. Arly used to say any woman would do, if a man was in enough need.”

  “I would greatly appreciate it,” Josh grated out, “if you would never compare me to Arly Dixon again.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to compare you,” Kate said quickly, in a reassuring tone that somehow did little to reassure him. “You’re nothing like Arly. Why, I even like your kisses.”

  His anger drained away, disappearing like spilled water on desert sand. How could he be upset at a woman who looked at him so earnestly and told him she liked his kisses? Especially when all he wanted to do was grab her and kiss her right now, kiss her until she sagged against him again, until she made that tiny sound in the back of her throat that had nearly driven him mad every night this week.

  “Kate,” he said, a warning tone creeping into his voice as she began to tread very, very close to dangerous ground; he’d had to rein in his urges far too many times already to welcome another go-round.

  “Does a man only kiss a woman nicely, like you do, if he doesn’t . . . ?”

  “Doesn’t what?”

  “I mean, I know no man could truly . . . want, Arly’s leavings—”

  “You’re not Arly’s leavings,” Josh snapped.

  “I only meant that I know I’m not the sort of woman men like to look at anyway, and that’s the kind men want to kiss, but you’ve kissed me, and—”

  “Stop talking like that—”

  “—I just wanted to know if that’s why you kissed me so nicely, because you didn’t . . . you know.”

  “No, I don’t know. A man should always kiss a woman nicely,” Josh said, starting to feel a little beset.

  Kate looked puzzled. “Then how does a woman know what to expect?”

  “What to expect?”

  “How does a woman know if a man is just kissing her because he wants to kiss her, or because he wants to . . .”

  When she trailed off yet again, Josh let out an exasperated breath. “Kate, what in blazes are you talking about?”

  “I don’t want to say what Arly always said,” she explained patiently, as if to a child. “It was so crude and ugly, but Deborah said it didn’t always have to be that way, and I hope she’s right, but I don’t know. . . .”

  She finally ran out of steam. And Josh finally realized what she meant. “Kate,” he said carefully, “are you talking about sex?”

  She gave him a grateful look. “Yes. I know that when the need is on a man, any woman will do. But if kisses are always supposed to be nice, how does a woman tell if it’s that, or just . . . a kiss, like yours?”

  Josh stared at her for a long, silent moment. Damn you, Arly Dixon, he swore inwardly. How could you not see the beauty hidden in those eyes; how could you not see the treasure of that dauntless spirit? Or did you, and is that why you tried so damned hard to break her?

  “Is that what you think, Kate?” he asked softly. “That when I kiss you good night, it’s just a kiss? Maybe no more than a handshake?”

  Color flared up in her cheeks. “Isn’t it? I mean, I know . . .” She lowered her gaze, and he saw her swallow tightly before she stumbled on. “You get . . . like Arly did, but you don’t . . . you never . . .”

  He assumed she meant she’d known he was aroused when they kissed—it would be hard for her not to know, when it made him harder than he could remember being in his life, but what had she expected him to do about it? Grab her and throw her down while he had his way with her?

  A cold tightness knotted up his stomach. No doubt that was exactly what she’d expected.

  “You mean I never forced you?” he asked softly.

  Head still lowered, she nodded.

  “Only a coward forces a woman.” He reached out and lifted her chin with a gentle finger. “No matter who she is to him,” he added, anticipating the answer he saw in her eyes. “Even . . . no, especially, his wife.”

  Kate looked at him with an expression of wonderment.

  “I kiss you because I want to, Kate. And if . . . things were different, if I wasn’t who I was, I’d want everything you would give me.”

  “Give . . . ?” She sounded as she had looked, full of wonder at a new idea.

  “I may not know much about it myself,” Josh said, “but I remember my parents, Kate. They loved each other. My father would have cut off his arm before he would have hurt my mother.”

  Kate stared at him for a long, silent moment. Then, “Did you mean that? That you . . . wanted more? From me?” She sounded astonished.

  “I meant it,” he said gruffly. “But I also meant it when I said I’d never do anything you didn’t want me to.”

  “I heard . . . Someone told me that . . . it can be . . . pleasant. What happens . . . between a man and woman.”

  Josh nearly groaned; her wonder coupled with the innocent sensuality of her words sent the need he’d been battling for days surging through him in a wave that nearly staggered him.

  “It can, Kate,” he said fervently. “Oh, it can.”

  She swallowed again. Josh thought with a lurch in his belly that she wore an expression like a gambler who’d decided there was little left to lose. And when she spoke, she nearly brought him to his knees.

  “Show me,” she said.

  “Kate,”
he said, or tried to; it came out as more of a croak.

  “I know I’m being . . . awfully bold. Forward. But I’m not the kind of woman men . . . offer for. Any kind of offer. And now I don’t even have the mercantile to recommend me. I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Stop—” His protest at her belittlement of herself wouldn’t come out past the tightness in his throat; he could only guess at what courage it had taken for her to offer herself like this, when she thought herself so undesirable. He swallowed and tried again. “You don’t . . . mean it.”

  She trembled slightly, but her jaw was set. “For four years, Arly told me what I meant, what I wanted, what I was to do. And for the rest of my life before that, my father told me what I wasn’t to do, what I couldn’t do. I promised myself if I was ever free, it would never happen again.”

  “Kate, I’m not the kind who stays around. That lawyer wants to marry you, and even if you don’t want him, there are others—”

  “Did I ask you to stay? Did you ever think that maybe . . . maybe that’s part of the reason why? Besides . . .” She gulped, then went on in a rush, “the book says you’ll be dead soon.”

  He scowled. “All the more reason this is crazy.”

  “I’ve never done anything . . . crazy before. Maybe it’s time.”

  “But . . . why?”

  She gave him a look that was desperate but determined. And it struck him then, the irony of it; he’d been aching for her for days on end, and now that she seemed to be offering exactly what he’d been dreaming about, he was trying to talk her out of it.

  “Because I think Deborah was right,” she whispered. “It’s meant to be gambled, not hoarded.”

  His brows furrowed. “What is?”

  She shook her head. Then she drew herself up rather stiffly. “I know I’m not anything to look at, and I understand if you don’t want—”

  He cut her off with a growl. “Oh, I want, all right. And I’m damned tired of hearing you say that. But why me?”

  “Because . . . I know you can be gentle. Because no one has ever made me feel the way you do. Because no one has ever made me want to know if it can be something other than cruel. Because you won’t . . . talk about it. Because you’re going to move on to find the woman you’re supposed to find. You won’t stay and try to own me, and I won’t have to face you every day . . . after.”

  God, all those reasons; how long had she been thinking about this? Had all his nights spent in painful longing not been as solitary as he’d thought?

  “I thought I was supposed to die,” Josh said, seizing on that somewhat desperately.

  “And if you do . . . I’ll never know. I’ll always wonder.”

  “The lawyer,” he began, but stopped when she shook her head.

  “He doesn’t make me feel all tingly inside just by looking at me. He doesn’t make me forget to breathe.”

  Josh nearly forgot to breathe himself. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “After . . . your husband, you should be . . . running away from this, not after it.”

  “You’re not Arly,” she said simply, using his own constant reminder to defeat him. “And I need to know that . . . not all men are like him. Or I’ll be afraid the rest of my life.”

  His head was reeling. His body was already thoroughly aroused to the possibility of getting what it had been clamoring for for weeks now, and the cold, calculating part of his mind was telling him he was crazy for resisting an offer freely made, but his gut was tied up in knots; Kate had been hurt so much already.

  But she’d said she knew he’d ride on. That he wouldn’t stay. She’d even seen that as positive, not a negative reason for this wild idea. She’d taken every objection he could have placed before her and turned it around.

  Except one.

  “Kate . . . what if you . . . get pregnant?”

  She paled, and despite knowing it had had to be said, he wished he could call back the words. She lowered her head, and he saw her hands plucking at the folds of her faded calico dress.

  “I . . . won’t,” she said at last. “Arly, he . . . twice after he . . . got really angry . . . I lost babies. Deborah says I probably won’t . . . that I can’t . . .”

  So the bastard had taken that from her as well, Josh thought. Damn him.

  “So you see,” she said, her voice steadier now, “I knew all along I wasn’t the woman in the book. But I thought . . . perhaps that wouldn’t matter to you. Men need—”

  “Men need,” Josh agreed, tight jawed, “but only boys take.”

  She was silent for a moment, honey-gold eyes searching his face. He wasn’t sure what she saw in his expression, but she lowered her head.

  “I’m sorry. I was a fool to think you would want . . .”

  She turned away. As fast as if he were drawing his Colt, before he even thought about it, he reached out and took her arm, stopping her. He turned her around, gently but purposefully, and pulled her against him.

  “I want,” he repeated, his voice a little thick. “I’ve wanted ever since you faced me down with more nerve than half the men I’ve ever known.”

  She stared up at him. He lowered his head swiftly, taking her mouth without preamble, sparing only a moment to trace the soft line of her lips with his tongue before he probed forward, tasting again the sweetness that had been torturing him every night. He tilted her head back, threading his fingers once more through the thick mass of her hair, suppressing a shudder as he wondered yet again what it would feel like trailing over his skin.

  He deepened the kiss, careful not to crush her lips, yet unable to go slowly. She seemed startled, then a sigh escaped her as she seemed to go soft in his arms, soft and warm and willing.

  He probed deeper, searching, until his tongue met the hot, wet velvet of hers. She made that sound, that tiny, throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine and made his already aroused body surge to full attention.

  He shifted his hips, pressing himself against her, knowing she had to be able to feel him even through the layers of cloth between them. He heard her gasp, and pressed harder, rubbing this time.

  Then, with the greatest of efforts, he broke the kiss.

  “Be sure, Kate,” he said between the panting breaths he couldn’t seem to stop. “And if you’re not, say so now, before I carry you upstairs and—”

  “No!”

  Josh shuddered. He’d known she’d change her mind, that she’d drop this insane idea as soon as she was confronted with the reality. Kate might think she wanted to know what sex was like with someone less brutal than her late husband, but thinking and doing were two different things.

  He made himself release her, and backed up a step.

  “I didn’t think you really wanted this.”

  “No,” she said again, then added hastily, “I mean . . . I do, but . . . not there.”

  Josh stared at her. “What?”

  “Not in . . . his bed.”

  All his breath left him in an audible sigh. “Ahhh, Kate.”

  “I don’t want to be reminded of him. Ever.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide with so many emotions Josh couldn’t begin to name them all. He knew then that he was lost; he didn’t need her words to convince him. But when they came, when she looked at him with those eyes and pled softly, he resolved that he would do whatever he could to make her plea come true.

  “Make him go away Josh. Make him go away forever.”

  Chapter 19

  “LEAVE IT ON.”

  Kate looked at Josh in surprise. “You want the lamp on?”

  He gave her a look so hot she nearly gasped aloud. “I want to see you,” he said.

  She did gasp then. “Arly always said . . . this was only done in the dark—”

  “We wouldn’t be here if I was
Arly,” he said softly. “He forced you. I want you willing, wanting. He was fool enough to hide you in the dark. I want you in the light. He took his own pleasure, and cared nothing at all for yours. I want you to learn that it can be more than good between a man and a woman.”

  His words rocked her, and Kate held her breath as he took that last step toward her. He’d done everything she’d shyly asked; he’d locked the back door, checked the shades, and of his own volition restoked the fire and added half the store’s stock of blankets to his bedroll, trying to make it as comfortable as possible. He’d even taken off his vest, and then his precious Colt, although he kept it close to hand.

  But then he’d made it clear he had his own ideas about how to proceed.

  “Take down your hair, Kate.”

  She blinked, startled. “What?”

  “I’ve wanted to see it for so long. Please.”

  The soft, quiet plea made her shiver; she felt more helpless in the face of his gentleness than she’d ever felt when facing Arly’s cruelty. She’d been able to deny Arly, though it had often cost her dearly; she was powerless to deny Josh.

  She reached up and began to pull out the pins that held the tight bun at the back of her head. She felt the moment when the heavy weight of her hair shifted, and it spilled down over her hands to her waist. She heard Josh let out an audible breath.

  He reached out, slowly, stroked his fingers over her hair, then threaded them through the long mass, pulling some of it forward over her shoulders.

  “It’s beautiful. It feels like silk. I knew it would.”

  She stared at him, disbelieving; it was plain brown hair, not dark, not light, nothing special. She lowered her hands to her sides, afraid he would see them shaking.

  Then, as if in time with the pounding of her heart, he began to unbutton the high neck of her dress. She lowered her eyes in humiliation, for the first time in longer than she could remember embarrassed by her poor, shabby, and worn clothes.