A Touch of Passion (boxed set romance bundle)

by Uvi Poznansky

  Now, Rose’s arm was around Max’s small shoulders, hugging him to her side. She brushed his hair back, gently kissing his forehead and then his cheek.

  At first, Max’s wiggled uncomfortably until she whispered something in his ear; then he sighed, laid his head on her shoulder and let her love him.

  Anne had no doubt about what Rose had shared. On the other hand, Clint’s curious stare, one she deciphered as, what’s that all about, made her shrug.

  Rose, not too stupid, picked up on the exchange and sent a pleading look Annie’s way that plainly urged her—tell him.

  Not being able to think clearly, her face burning and still swelling from the earlier pounding it had taken, she nodded and looked away.

  Clint, sitting by Rose on the other side of the bed, his hand gently stroking her blanketed leg, waited until all the explanations had been shared and then in a no-nonsense voice, he said, “Kids it’s time for bed. Debbie, say your goodnights and Anne will come and tuck you in. Max, I want to speak with you in your room. Now!”

  Max tried to catch her eye. She felt him begging silently from across the room but ignored it. A mother knew when her child has gone too far. In this instance, what Max had done had been dangerous and stupid. His intentions were well-meant but he’d reacted without thinking. Leaving Clint to straighten it out was the hardest thing in the world—harder than having to tell him Max probably reacted just like his daddy would have.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Max, quit glaring at me and sit down here. I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “You can’t. My maman wouldn’t let you.”

  “Hell, I’ve never hit a kid in my life, but you’re making it kinda difficult to keep that record. Now…sit down.”

  Max cautiously made his way around the other side of the bed and sat. Then he paled when Clint followed and hunkered down in front of him. “You yelled at my maman all the way home. Her face got punched and she was in pain. She didn’t need you to be acting like that.”

  Clint’s voice rose. “I never yelled at her.”

  “Yeah, you did. Just like you’re yelling at me now.”

  Oh, for Chrissakes! Clint felt his bile rising and knew the kid was getting to him. Funny thing, all he really wanted to do was have a good stiff whiskey and thank the Lord for helping him find that trailer with this little hotshot riding along like some kind of an underage bounty hunter. Instead, he was trying to play the father role. How the hell do you get yourself into these situations, anyway?

  He twined his fingers to hang between his bent knees. Something had to stop him from touching the boy, whose uncertainty made him feel awkward. Truth to tell, it hurt his feelings that buddy here didn’t trust him. He took some deep breaths and measured his words, so he could be clear but not sound angry. “You did wrong, Max. I have to explain that to you, so you won’t be tempted to do anything so doggone foolish again.”

  Max hung his head. “They were stealing Blackie.”

  “He’s just a horse, Max. Just a horse!”

  The boy bit his lip before he answered. His voice came out lower, forcing Clint to lean closer. “But he’s your horse.”

  When Clint was a little older than Max, he’d been kicked in the chest by a pony and he’d thought nothing could ever stun him like that again. He was wrong. The hair on his neck demanded to be rubbed. Sensations quivered inside, warning him to get ready for something important, something world-changing; but even he never would have guessed his life would change completely with Max’s next words.

  “Max, look at me. Why does it matter so much that he’s my horse? What are you trying to tell me?” Clint held the boy’s arms and shook him gently. “You can tell me, son.”

  Max’s control fled as tears spilled out of from remorseful eyes. “You call me son. But you don’t even know you’re my real papa.”

  Clint held on as every nerve in his head screamed with delight, fear and disbelief. They were all jumbled inside. He landed on his butt on the floor and stared at the waiting child, holding his breath, praying he wouldn’t mess this up.

  Doubts sprang out of his shock, making him want to dispute the claim, but something kept him quiet. It was a memory of a night when he’d fallen in love.

  “Come ’ere.” He pulled the boy into his arms and held on for dear life. He rocked him back and forth, neither saying a word, both sniffling, both clinging. Finally he held him away and kissed his forehead. “Bed. Now.”

  “Yes, sir!” Max’s grin could have lit up a stadium.

  Clint went to leave the room and was stopped at the door by Max’s request.

  “Can Maman come and say goodnight?”

  Clint went back and picked up his boy and held him in his arms. He stared at him, a message passing from one to the other. “Don’t think so. She’s going to be pretty busy, Max. She has lots of explaining to do. Goodnight, kid.”

  “Goodnight, Clint.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “An-nie!”

  She heard Clint calling for her, and a little voice, that she stupidly ignored, told her to run. “I’m here. In my room.” She stood halfway into the hallway, leaning out of the doorway, waiting until he turned to see her. Then she waved.

  Oh, oh! He looked like a wild man ready to lose it. Quickly, she tried to get inside her room and get the door locked, but he got there before she had the chance. His big shoulder stopped her from being able to shut it completely.

  “Go away.”

  “You let me in, or I’ll bust through. We’ve got some serious talkin’ to do and it’s not getting put off. You owe me an explanation, lady.”

  Anne knew exactly what had happened, and why Clint’s normally tanned coloring had faded to a pale imitation. Max must have shared the happy news.

  “I’m tired tonight. We can talk in the morning.” She’d say anything not to have to face him in the state she was in right now. Her defenses were somewhere between low, and non-existent. Rose’s collapse had been the final straw. Her heart wept for her friend’s deteriorating condition, and she knew her son’s actions earlier hadn’t helped. Her nerves were raw and she had nothing left but tears.

  Clint loomed over her. The small portion of his face that she saw through the opening changed, taking on an entreaty so unlike the man’s usual proud expression.

  “Annie, unless you want me to be up all night, seething, we’d better get this over with now.” His demand didn’t sway her at all, but his next line cut the legs right out from under her. “Sweetheart, I need to know.”

  She released the door and walked away from him, hugging herself to stop from breaking down. With him so tall and intimidating, righteous and spitting mad, it would be impossible for her to stand up to him. Her defenses were still strained from the fright of Max being in danger, and then seeing Rose looking so poorly. She had nothing left. “Not tonight, Clint. I can’t take anymore. Look, Max is sorry he got into trouble, and I’ll punish him tomorrow; I promise.”

  He came up so close behind her that she felt his warm breath on her neck. Wisps of her hair moved and the sensation was driving her crazy. Aching for him to take her in his arms, she stayed facing the wall. No way did she want him to read the yearning she felt through every tingling fiber of her trembling body. If he saw her eyes, he’d know and she couldn’t live with his pity.

  “He told me.”

  She stiffened. The tone of his voice said more than the stark words. Her head bowed and she prayed she wouldn’t embarrass herself. “If you’re waiting for me to say I’m sorry, you’ll be there until hell freezes over.”

  From his movements, she visualized him rubbing his lips and then one side of his cheek; a habit he had when faced with a problem. Still, she wouldn’t turn.

  “You must think me the biggest fool on earth, Annie, but I honestly never knew there was even a chance that I might have gotten you pregnant. It was the night of the dance at the tavern; the night I was so drunk, wasn’t it?”

  �
�And you think I took advantage of you.”

  “No! Yes! God, I don’t know what to think. All that’s going through my head is why? Why didn’t you tell me, Annie? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Anger had begun to sound in his frustration, and she wasn’t about to stand there and let him rant. She’d had it! And he couldn’t say she hadn’t warned him, because she’d tried when he’d first come to her door.

  She swung around, and obviously her speed stunned him from the way he stepped back. Her finger drove into his chest with all her pent-up anguish unleashed. “Don’t you stand there, so virtuous, and question me about what I did or did not do. I won’t talk to you when you use that tone with me. If you want answers, go ask Rose. And get out of my room.”

  By now, she had him in the hallway, and with one last push, she slammed the door on his astonishment, and locked it tight. With her back against the wall, she slid to the floor and wrapped her arms around her bent knees. Would he knock? Her heart pounded so hard she lifted her hand and checked her chest to see if the thudding inside could be felt on the outside. Scared, she listened to him not moving, visualizing his uncertainty. Finally, she heard his footsteps receding.

  Mon Dieu! She’d never expected it to be so hard, seeing him every day, near enough to smell the hand soap he used, or see his overly long hair brush his collar, or the curls hanging on his forehead. Succumbing to his powerful charisma, once again, wasn’t part of the plan. Hadn’t she learned anything from the past?

  The man didn’t want her and never had. But now that he knew about Max he’d feel trapped, and she couldn’t bear the idea of his discomfort. After all, what he’d said was perfectly true. Something she’d always known. Clint had never taken advantage of her. Realistically, it had been the other way around.

  That night, she’d been well aware that he’d had a lot to drink; and even though he’d sounded like he was in his right mind when they were together, he’d had no control over his responses, and had never once thought about any consequences. Clint might have been wild in those days, but no one could ever accuse him of being irresponsible.

  That had been her role entirely.

  Now she had to face him and explain. And how the heck could she tell him without admitting to her crush? Mind you, it had been almost nine years ago. Nothing said she had to still feel the same way today. At least he didn’t have to know the truth. It was her shameful secret to bear. The fact that she’d stupidly fallen for one man so long ago, and, since then, his memory had forced every other male she’d ever met to take second place.

  And it was all because no one could live up to her dreams of the one night they’d danced to an achingly beautiful song, and later, brought the sweet words of that music alive. The night she’d tenderly loved the man of her dreams and given him her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  In his den, Clint paced the floor, downing first one whiskey and then another. There were so many emotions passing through him that he felt sick to his stomach. When he picked up his glass for yet another refill, he hesitated, looked at the tumbler and threw it onto the desk. Hell, this was the same poison that had gotten him into such a mess during that long-ago summer.

  Plus—the last time he’d caught his wife cheating, he’d gone berserk on booze. Since then he’d stayed away from the poison. By some miracle, he’d stopped before following through with his raised hand, and the shame of how close he’d come to hitting a female clinched his decision. From then on, he’d only allowed the occasional beer. Here tonight, he’d returned to his old tricks and was disgusted at his weakness.

  He went into the kitchen, brewed himself his favorite coffee and carried it back to his room. Finally, slumped in his black leather office chair, he leaned back and put his feet on the desk.

  He savored his hot drink, rested his head against the padding of the chair and let his mind drift.

  Earlier, when Annie had spurned him, he’d been furious. How the hell could the crazy woman refuse to explain what he couldn’t remember? At least not clearly. She’d borne him a son. And rather than tell him how that came about, she’d kicked him out of her room! Gritting his teeth, he deep-breathed to calm the racing urges to go back upstairs and bang at her door until she opened it to him.

  He remembered her fondly as being a little spitfire that summer and it seemed she hadn’t changed one bit. Only now, as a woman she had a lot more power and knew how to use it. What the hell are you grinning about? Remembering how she hadn’t hesitated to jump into the battle earlier, gouging with her fingers, trying to help him; dammed if a smile didn’t warm up his insides. She’s still a little spitfire.

  He let his mind drift back in time. Over the years, one tantalizing night had continued to haunt him. It was when Cathy had let him down once he’d agreed to sing at the neighborhood bar. She’d been after him to take her to the city, and had stomped out, furious, when he’d explained he’d promised to help out his buddy who wouldn’t be able to appear that night. Since the locals were always on him to perform; they’d been thrilled when they heard he’d be the replacement.

  At the beginning of the evening, he remembered watching for Cathy, getting madder and madder when she didn’t appear. He’d been so sure she’d break down and support him. Hell, if he’d known then what he knew now, there wouldn’t have been any doubt that she’d go and do exactly what she wanted. But in those days, women didn’t treat him that way. In his smug drunkenness, he’d woken up in the morning believing that, later, she’d come to find him at the ranch.

  The next time he’d been with her, he’d mentioned how special their lovemaking had been; how she’d pleased him with her generosity, and she’d never denied it. So, he’d stayed happy in his bubble of belief. Now when he thought back, Cathy must have thought him either nuts, or a cheater; though neither seemed to have made any difference to her.

  Finally, he had an answer to the question he’d asked himself over and over. The only night he could have been with Annie was the very night that had continually haunted his dreams. Every time he’d woken from the recurring visions, he’d felt strangely bereft, and a few times he’d even experienced tears. As if he’d lost something precious, but couldn’t quite figure out who or what. The images were of arms holding him in a way no one else’s ever had, with such loving gentleness that he’d felt like a king. The kisses were like nothing he’d ever experienced, before or after. Her lips had been so soft and giving, whispering sweetness that had embellished their coupling.

  He’d always suspected he’d fathered a baby that night. But Cathy had let him believe she’d been the mother. And it had made Debbie that much more precious. Plus, it was those memories that had led him to try so hard to make his marriage work. All he’d ever wanted, prayed for even, was the chance to re-enact that incredible encounter, so he could, once again, feel that special connection with a woman.

  From that night on, Cathy had been more attentive, and when she’d given him the news of her pregnancy; he’d been happy to do the honorable thing. Shaking his head, he surmised that the only thing worse than a young fool was an old fool. Debbie might not be his daughter but Max was his son. Now he had to make things right with Annie. And with Max! Holy smokes! He was a father!

  His heart sank when he thought of all those special moments he’d missed with the boy. Before anger could take hold, he curbed the emotion and just lingered in the joy of knowing that the wonderful child upstairs was his flesh and blood.

  Suddenly, he heard a noise at the door and glanced up to see Rose in her housecoat and slippers, hair tousled from sleep, watching him warily. He remembered Annie’s words. “You want to know why I didn’t tell you—ask Rose.”

  “Ma, you okay?”

  “I just couldn’t get comfortable. Guess between your trailer being stolen and Max’s stunt; I got a bit overstimulated.”

  He jumped up to help her to the opposite chair and fetched the knitted lap rug she sometimes used when she sat with him in the evenings.

 
“Thank you, Clint. You’re a good boy. Always looking after your ma.”

  He grinned as she’d intended. “You make me feel like a snot-nosed kid again.”

  “In my eyes, you’re a composite of all your ages.” She started laughing. “I can still see you as a toddler, running outside stark naked, wearing only a pair of your father’s old boots that came up to your waist. When I caught up with you and asked where in the sam-hill you were going, you said, ‘Goin’ to help my Daddy in the barn.'’

  They both chuckled. Clint was delighted with the picture she’d painted for him about his childhood. “It’s nice to see you’re happy now.”

  “It’s been quite a day. I guess I’m just counting my blessings that everything turned out fine.”

  “You sure it’s not something that Annie might have shared with you about Max that’s putting the extra sparkle in those big blue eyes of yours?” He watched her furtive expression as she glanced everywhere in the room but at him.

  “What in the world are you getting at, Clint? Can’t an old woman get a bit nostalgic without you giving her a hard time?”

  “Not when that crafty old lady knows something she ain’t telling. You can let it out, Ma. Max told me he’s my boy.”

  She chortled with delight, her hands clapping together and asked, “Annie just told me today. Best dang news I’ve heard since…well…forever. You’re a daddy and I’m a grandmother. A real grandmother.”

  Absolute silence struck. Clint swiveled to level Rose with a frown meant to question, and it seemed to do the job.

  “I know that Debbie isn’t really your child, Clint. I’ve known for quite some time.”

  “But how…?”