by Nora Roberts
His head came up quickly, as she imagined an animal’s might when it caught a scent. And he had.
Though she was several yards away, he had sensed her, the trace of lilac, the subtlety of woman. He straightened, and just as she had looked her fill of him, he looked his of her.
She might have stepped from a cool terrace to walk in a garden. The wind played with her skirts and her hair, but gently. The backdrop of the setting sun was like glory behind her. Her eyes, as she walked toward him, were wide and dark and aware.
“You’ve got a way of moving, Duchess, that makes my mouth water.”
“I don’t think that’s what the good sisters intended when they taught me posture. But I’m glad.” She moved naturally to his arms, to his lips. “Very glad.” For the first time in his life he felt awkward with a woman, and he drew her away. “I’m sweaty.”
“I know.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at his face. “What are you doing?”
She made him feel like a boy fumbling over his first dance. “You said you wanted pigs. You need a pen.”
He picked up his shirt and shrugged it on. “What are you doing?”
“Watching you.” She put a hand to his chest, where the shirt lay open. “Remembering. Wondering if you want me as much as you did.”
He took her hand before she could tear what was inside of him loose. “No, I don’t. I want you more.” He picked up his gunbelt, but instead of strapping it on he draped it over his shoulder. “Why don’t we go for that walk?”
Content, she slipped her hand into his. “When I first came here I wondered what it was that had kept my father, rooted him here. At first I thought it was only for me, because he wanted so badly to provide what he thought I’d need. That grieved me. I can’t tell you how much.” She glanced up as they passed the rise that led to his grave. “Later I began to see that even though that was part of it, perhaps the most important part to him, he was also happy here. It eases the loss to know he was happy.”
They started down the path to the stream she had come to know so well.
“I didn’t figure you’d stick.” Her hand felt right, easy and right, tucked in his. “When I brought you out here the first time, you looked as if someone had dropped you on your head.”
“It felt as though someone had. Losing him… Well, the truth is, I’d lost him years and years ago. To me, he’s exactly the same as he was the day he left. Maybe there’s something good about that. I never told you he had spun me a tale.” At the stream she settled down on her favorite rock and listened to the water’s melody. “He told me of the fine house he’d built after he’d struck the rich vein of gold in Sarah’s Pride. He painted me a picture of it with his words. Four bedrooms, a parlor with the windows facing west, a wide porch with big round columns.” She smiled a little and watched the sun glow over the buttes. “Maybe he thought I needed that, and maybe I did, to see myself as mistress of a fine, big house with curving stairs and high, cool walls.”
He could see it, and her. “It was what you were made for.”
“It’s you I was made for.” Rising, she held out her hands.
“I want you, Sarah. I can’t offer you much more than a blanket to spread on the ground.”
She glanced over at the small pile of supplies he’d already brought down to the stream. She moved to it and lifted the blanket.
It was twilight when they lowered to it. The air had softened. The wind was only a rustle in the thin brush. Overhead the sky arched, a deep, ever-darkening blue. Under the wool of the blanket the ground was hard and unforgiving. She lifted her arms to him and they left the rest behind.
It was as it had been the first time, and yet different.
The hunger was there, and the impatient pull of desire. With it was a knowledge of the wonder, the magic, they could make between them. A little slower now, a little surer, they moved together.
There was urgency in his kiss. She could feel it. But beneath it was a tenderness she had dreamed of, hoped for. Seduced by that alone, she murmured his name.
Beneath her palm, his cheek was rough. Under her ringers, his skin was smooth. His body, like his mind, like his heart, was a contrast that drew her, compelled her to learn more.
A deep, drugging languor filled her as he began to undress her. There was no frantic rush, as there had been before. His fingers were slow and sure as they moved down the small covered buttons. She felt the air whisper against her skin as he parted the material. Then it was his mouth, warmer, sweeter, moving over her. Her sigh was like music.
He wanted to give her something he’d never given another woman. The kind of care she deserved. Tenderness was new to him, but it came easily now as he peeled off layer after layer to find her. He sucked in his breath as her fingers fumbled with the buttons at his waist. Her touch wasn’t hesitant, but it was still innocent. It would always be. And her innocence aroused him as skill never could have.
She removed the layers he’d covered himself with. Not layers of cotton or leather, but layers of cynicism and aloofness, the armor he’d used to survive, just as he’d used his pistols. With her he was helpless, more vulnerable than he had been since childhood. With her he felt more of a man than he had ever hoped to be. She felt the change, an explosion of feelings and needs and desires, as he dragged her up into his arms to crush his mouth against hers. What moved through him poured into her, leaving her breathless, shaken and impossibly strong. Without understanding, without needing to, she answered him with everything in her heart.
Then came the storm, wild, windy, wailing. Rocked by it, she cried out as he drove her up, up, into an airless, rushing cloud of passion. Sensations raced through her-the sound of her own desperate moans, the scrape of his face against her skin as he journeyed down her trembling body, the taste of him that lingered on her lips, on her tongue, as he did mad, unspeakably wonderful things to her. Lost, driven beyond reason, she pressed his head closer to her.
She was like something wild that had just been unchained. He could feel the shocked delight ripple through her when he touched her moist heat with his tongue. He thought her response was like a miracle, though he’d long ago stopped believing in them. There was little he could give her besides the pleasures of her own body. But at least that, he would do.
Sliding upward, he covered her mouth with his. And filled her.
Long after her hands had slipped limply from his back, long after their breathing had calmed and leveled, he lay over her, his face buried in her hair. She’d brought him peace, and though he knew it wouldn’t last, for now she’d brought him peace of mind, of body, of heart.
He hadn’t wanted to love, hadn’t dared to risk it. Even now, when it was no longer possible to hide it from himself, he couldn’t tell her.
“Lucius was right,” she murmured against his ear.
“Mmm?”
“It’s a pretty night.” She ran her hands up his back.
“A very pretty night.”
“Am I hurting you?”
“No.” She gripped her own wrists so that she could hold him closer. “Don’t move yet.”
“I’m heavy, and you’ve got some colorful bruises.”
If she’d had the energy, she might have laughed.
“I’d forgotten about them.”
“I put some on you myself last night.” He lifted his head to look down at her. “I don’t know much about going easy.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“You should.” Fascinated, he stroked a finger down her cheek. “You’re so beautiful. Like something I made up.”
She turned her lips into his palm as her eyes filled.
“You’ve never told me you thought I was beautiful.” “Sure I did.” He shifted then, frustrated by his own lack of words. “I should have.”
She curled comfortably against his side. “I feel beautiful right now.”
They lay in contented silence, looking up at the sky.
“What’s an enigma?
” he asked her.
“Hmm? Oh, it’s a puzzle. Something difficult to understand. Why?”
“I guess I heard it somewhere.” He thought of her diary, and her description of him, but couldn’t see how it applied. He’d always seen himself as being exactly what he appeared to be. “You’re getting cold.”
“A little.”
Sitting up, he pushed through her discarded undergarments for her chemise. She smiled, lifting her arms over her head. Her lips curved when she saw his gaze slide over her skin. When he pulled the cotton over her, she linked her hands behind his neck.
“I was hoping to stay warm a different way.”
With a laugh, he slid a hand down over her hip. “I remember telling you once before you were a quick study.” Experimentally he pushed the strap of her chemise off her shoulder. “You want to do something for me?”
“Yes.” She nuzzled his lips. “Very much.”
“Go on over and stand in that stream.”
Confused, she drew back. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nobody says that better than you, Duchess. I’ll swear to that.” He kissed her again, in a light, friendly manner that pleased and puzzled her.
“You want to go wading?”
“Not exactly.” He toyed with the strap. Women wore the damnedest things. Then they covered them all up anyhow. “I thought you’d go stand in the stream wearing just this little thing. Like you did that first night” “What first night?” Her puzzled smile faded as he traced his fingertip along the edge of her bodice. “That first-You! You were watching me while I-” “I was just making sure you didn’t get yourself into any trouble.”
“That’s disgraceful.” She tried to pull away, but he held her still.
“I started thinking then and there how much I’d like to get my hands on you. Had some trouble sleeping that night.” He lowered his lips to the curve of her throat and began to nibble. “Fact is, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I set eyes on you.”
“Stop it.” She turned her head, but it only made it easier for him to find her mouth.
“Are you going to go stand in the stream?”
“I am not.” She smothered a laugh when he rolled her onto the blanket again. “I’m going to get dressed and go back to the house to check on Alice.”
“No need. Lucius is keeping an eye on her.”
“Oh, I see. You’ve already decided that for me.” “I guess you could put it like that. You’re not going anywhere but this blanket. And maybe the stream, once I talk you into it.”
“You won’t talk me into it. I have no intention of sleeping outside.”
“I don’t figure on sleeping much at all.” He stretched out on his back again and gathered her close. “Haven’t you ever slept outside before, looked at the sky? Counted stars?”
“No.” But, of course, tonight she would. She wanted nothing more. She turned her head to study his profile. “Have you ever counted stars, Jake?”
“When I was a kid.” He stroked a hand lazily up and down her arm. “My mother used to say there were pictures. She’d point them out to me sometimes, but I could never find them again.”
“I’ll show you one.” Sarah took his hand and began to draw in the air. “It’s a horse. A winged horse. Pegasus,” she added. Then she caught her breath. “Look, a shooting star.” She watched, his hand held in hers, as it arced across the sky. She closed her eyes quickly, then made a wish. “Will you tell me about your mother?”
For a long moment he said nothing, but continued to stare up at the sky. The arc of light was gone, without a trace. “She was a teacher.” Sarah’s gaze flicked up quickly to his face. “She’d come out here from St. Louis.”
“And met your father?”
“I don’t know much about that. He wanted to learn to read and write, and she taught him. She set a lot of store by reading.”
“And while she was teaching him, they fell in love.”
He smiled a little. It sounded nice the way she said it. “I guess they did. She married him. It wouldn’t have been easy, with him being half Apache. They wanted to build something. I remember the way my father used to talk about taking the land and making it work for him. Leaving something behind.”
She understood that, because it was what she wanted for herself. “Were they happy?”
“They laughed a lot. My mother used to sing. He always talked about buying her a piano one day, so she could play again like she did in St. Louis. She’d just laugh and say she wanted lace curtains first. I’d forgotten that,” he murmured. “She wanted lace curtains.” She turned her face into his shoulder because she felt his pain as her own. “Lucius told me what happened to them. To you. I’m so sorry.”
He hadn’t known he needed to talk about it, needed to tell her. “They came in from town…eight, ten of them, I’ve never been sure.” His voice was quiet now, his eyes on the sky. He could still see them, as he hadn’t allowed himself to see them for years. “They lit the barn first. Maybe if my father had stayed in the house, let them shoot and shout and trample, they’d have left the rest. But they’d have come back. He knew it. He took his rifle and went out to protect what was his. They shot him right outside the door.” Sarah held him tighter, seeing it with him.
“We ran out. They tasted blood now, like wolves, wild-eyed, teeth bared. She was crying, holding on to my father and crying. Inside the barn, the horses were screaming. The sky was lit up so I could see their faces while they torched the rest.”
And he could smell the smoke as he lay there, could hear the crackle of greedy flames and his mother’s pitiful weeping.
“I picked up the rifle. That’s the first time I ever wanted to kill. It’s like a fever in the blood. Like a hand has ahold of you, squeezing. She started to scream. I saw one of the riders take aim at me. I had the rifle in my hands, but I was slow. Better with a bow or a knife back then. She threw herself up and in front of me so when he pulled the trigger the bullet went in her.”
Sarah tightened her arms around him as tears ran fast and silent down her cheeks.
“One of them hit me with a rifle butt as he rode by. It was morning before I came to. They’d burned everything. The house was still smoking-even when it cooled there was nothing in it worth keeping. The ground was hard there, and I got dizzy a few times, so it took me all day to bury them. I slept there that night, between the two graves. I told myself that if I lived until morning I’d find the men who’d done it and kill them. I was still alive in the morning.” She said nothing, could say nothing. It wasn’t necessary to ask what he’d done. He’d learned to use a gun, and use it well. And he had found the men, Or some of them.
“When Lucius came, I told him what happened.
That was the last time I told anyone.”
“Don’t.” She turned to lay her body across his.
“Don’t think about it anymore.”
He could feel her tears on his chest, the warmth of them. As far as he knew, no one had ever cried for him before. Taking her hand, he kissed it. “Show me that picture in the sky, Sarah.”
Turning, keeping her hand in his, she began to trace the stars. The time for tears, for regrets-and, she hoped, for revenge-was done. “The stars aren’t as big in the East, or as bright.” They lay quietly for a while, wrapped close, listening to the night sounds. “I used to jump every time I heard a coyote. Now I like listening for them. Every night, when I read my father’s journal-” “Matt kept a journal?” He sat up as he asked, dragging her with him.
“Why, yes.” There was an intensity in his eyes that made her heart skip erratically. “What is it?”
“Have you read it?”
“Not all of it. I’ve been reading a few pages each night.”
He suddenly realized that he was digging his fingers into her arms. He relaxed them. “Will you let me read it?”
Her heart was steady again, but something cold was inching its way over her skin. “Yes. If you tell me why you want to.”
He turned away to reach casually in his saddlebag for his tobacco pouch and papers. “I just want to read it.”
She waited while he rolled a cigarette. “All right. I trust you. When are you going to trust me, Jake?” He struck a match on a rock. The flame illuminated his face. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you ask Lucius to work in the mine?”
He flicked the match out, then tossed it aside. The scent of tobacco stung the air. “Maybe I thought Matt would have liked it.”
Determined, she put a hand to his face and turned it toward hers. “Why?”
“A feeling I had, that’s all.” Shifting away, he blew out a stream of smoke. “People usually have a reason for setting fires, Sarah. There was only one I could figure when it came to you. Somebody didn’t want you there.”
“That’s ridiculous. I hardly knew anyone at that point. The sheriff said it was drifters.” She curled her hands in her lap as she studied his face. “You don’t think it was.”
“No. Maybe Barker does, and maybe he doesn’t.
There’s only one thing on this land that anyone could want. That’s gold.”
Impatient, Sarah sat back on her heels. “But there isn’t any gold.”
“Yes, there is.” Jake drew deep on his cigarette and watched the range of expressions cross her face.
“What are you talking about?”
“Lucius found the mother lode, just the way Matt did.” He glanced at the glowing tip of his cigarette. “You’re going to be a rich woman, Duchess.”
“Wait.” She pressed a hand to her temple. It was beginning to throb. “Are you telling me that the mine is really worth something?”
“More than something, according to Lucius.”
“I can’t believe it.” With a quick, confused laugh, she shook her head. “I never thought it was anything but a dream. Just this morning, I’d begun to wonder, but-How long have you known?”
“A while.”
“A while?” she repeated, looking back at him.
“And you didn’t think it important enough to mention to me?”