Lone Wolf's Lady

by Beverly Barton

  I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. He could hear her voice repeating the words over and over, like the mournful lyrics to an old blues song. Maybe she was sorry for what she’d done. Maybe she did want to make amends. But what she didn’t realize was that she was too late—much too late. All the apologies in the world couldn’t make things right. Even if they discovered the identity of Rayburn Atchley’s real killer, nothing would change. Deanna had betrayed him. He had spent five years in prison. Their child was dead. And as long as he lived he would be Baxter McClendon’s quarter-breed bastard, who wasn’t worth being loved.

  Luke moved silently as he turned the corner of the cottage, his common sense telling him he was a fool. What the hell was he doing hanging around outside? If he wanted her, all he had to do was knock on the door and wake her. She wouldn’t reject him, not as long as he didn’t humiliate her again. If all he wanted was sex, she’d give it to him. At the thought of taking her, his body hardened.

  The bedroom window was open and the white curtains fluttered in the night breeze. He glanced inside, but could make out only dark shapes and shadows in the moonlight.

  “Damn!” Luke cursed under his breath. Sometimes he went weeks, even months, without a woman. And here he was panting after Deanna as if he couldn’t go a night without having her. This raw, hot need had been what had nearly gotten him killed once. He wasn’t going to give in to his need for her, no matter how hard that need drove him.

  Luke turned to walk away, but before he’d taken a step, a loud, terrified scream rent the night air. Luke stiffened immediately, the hairs on his neck rising. Deanna! Deanna had screamed! He rushed over to the long, narrow bedroom window and looked inside.

  “Deanna?”

  He noticed movement—the outline of Deanna’s body—on the bed. Then she moaned deeply.

  Luke raised the window farther, flung one leg over and vaulted into the bedroom. He stumbled over a chair, cursing when his big toe hit the chair leg.

  He found the lamp on the nightstand and turned it on, filling the room with a soft, dim light. That’s when he saw her, sitting in the middle of the bed, trembling, tears streaming down her face. Good God, what had happened to frighten her so?

  Luke sat down on the bed, reached out and pulled Deanna toward him. She slapped at him, fighting him, then looked at him through misty eyes and sobbed wildly as she threw herself into his arms.

  “Oh, Luke...Luke. It was horrible! Horrible!” She clung to him, her sweat-soaked body quivering.

  He threaded his fingers into her hair and grasped the back of her head, lifting her upward so that he could see her face. “What was horrible? What happened, Deanna?”

  “The dream,” she gasped. “I had another one of those dreams.”

  “One of those dreams?”

  “About—about the night—” she licked off the tears clinging to her lips “—the night Daddy was killed.”

  “Was it a dream or a memory?” Luke asked, his big hand cradling her head.

  “A dream,” she said. “But it might be a memory, one that I won’t let myself remember when I’m awake.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  Deanna pulled away from him and wiped her face with her fingertips. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was out taking a walk and heard you screaming.”

  Deanna glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “You were out taking a walk at two o’clock in the morning?”

  “Yeah. It’s not unusual for me. I roam around Montrose all hours of the day and night. Just ask anybody.”

  Deanna grabbed his arm. “Luke, the dream was so real.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  Deanna scooted to the edge of the bed, slid her feet off the side and sat beside Luke. “Mother was in the dream. And Eddie.”

  “Eddie Nunley?”

  She nodded. “Mother was screaming and crying. And Eddie was telling her that she had to get hold of herself, that she couldn’t fall to pieces.”

  “Where were Eddie and your mother?” Luke asked.

  “We—they were at the stables on the Circle A. And Daddy was there, too. He was lying on the ground with—with—” Tears lodged in her throat, choking her.

  Luke slid his arm around her shoulder, but didn’t draw her into his arms or look directly at her. “He was lying on the ground with the pitchfork stuck in him.”

  Deanna gulped down a deep breath. “Yes. And I was just standing there staring at him. Mother slapped me. She was nearly hysterical. Eddie said...Eddie said...”

  “What did Eddie say?” Luke squeezed her shoulder.

  “He said, ‘Dammit, Phyllis, can’t you see she’s in shock? We need to call the sheriff and then get a doctor over here to see about Deanna.’ And then—then we were in the courthouse, at your trial. And you were sitting there, looking at me, accusing me with your eyes. And I wanted to tell you why I was there, why I had to tell them what I knew. But I didn’t say anything. I just picked up the pitchfork and rammed it into your chest! Oh, God, Luke, I killed you!”

  She fell apart in his arms, sobbing, clutching his naked shoulders, saying I’m sorry over and over again.

  Luke didn’t want to feel sorry for her. Dammit, he didn’t want to feel anything. Not even hatred. Not anymore. All he wanted was to feel numb. Blessed numbness. He had survived five years at Huntsville by keeping his emotions numb, by burying them so deep he sometimes wondered if he had destroyed everything but the hatred. Now he knew he hadn’t.

  “You didn’t kill me, Deanna.” He lifted her hands off his shoulders and laid them on his bare chest. “I’m very much alive.”

  She glanced up at him, her blue eyes swimming with tears. And more than anything on earth, he wanted to take away her pain and fear.

  “Feel my heart beating.” He pressed her right hand over his heart.

  “But I did kill you. That day in the courtroom. I could see it in your eyes. Your beautiful green eyes were void of any life. I destroyed the man I loved.”

  “You didn’t destroy me,” he told her. “I survived.”

  “Did you, Luke? Did you?”

  He realized that Deanna was eaten alive with guilt. She blamed herself as much as he had always blamed her. Wherever she’d been these past fifteen years, whatever she’d been doing, she had been living with that guilt. Maybe she’d been trying to run away from her feelings, her memories, just as he had.

  “What else do you remember about my trial?” Luke asked, his breath tickling her lips.

  “Only your eyes. That’s all, I remember. I saw your dead eyes staring at me and I knew you hated me.”

  Luke licked her lips, softly, tenderly, running a damp line around her mouth. Deanna sucked in her breath. Her hands spread out over his chest. He eased the thin straps of her gown off her shoulders, then circled the back of her neck with his hand and drew her toward him. Deanna sighed his name. Luke eased her onto the bed and came down on top of her.

  Chapter 7

  “Luke, please don’t. Not again. I don’t think I could bear it.” Deanna looked up at him, his big body hovering over her, his eyes glowing with desire. And something else? No, it wasn’t possible. Luke couldn’t be looking at her the way he used to, with a passionate yearning, so strong and powerful—and yet so very loving.

  Luke slipped his fingers underneath the straps of her gown and slowly slid the satiny material down over her breasts, exposing them to his view. Lowering his head, he took one jutting nipple into his mouth and laved it with his tongue. Deanna moaned as tingling pleasure spiraled from her breast to her feminine core. Clutching the sheet beneath her, she quivered when he moved to the other breast and gave it equal treatment.

  Was he loving her or tormenting her? Was his aim to give her pleasure?—or simply to torture her before he took her roughly and uncaringly, as he’d done last night.

  She shoved against his chest. He stopped, lifted his head and looked at her.

  “I know that I agreed t
hat you could...that we would have sex whenever you wanted me, but not...not the way it was last night. Please.” She knew her fate was in his hands. Not because he was bigger and stronger and capable of physically forcing his will on her. Luke never would do that. Not even this hard, cold, ruthless Luke who was little more than a stranger to her. But he could bend her mind to his will, take her if he wanted her and she would be powerless to stop him. Because she wanted him, wanted him touching her, loving her, plunging himself into her. She had been wild about him since the first moment she saw him, and heaven help her, nothing had changed. Just one look, one touch, one word and she was his. And he knew it.

  “Not like last night,” he said, the words a low growl.

  Luke lifted himself off her, and for a split second she thought he was going to leave her. But he didn’t. He slipped his hands under her hips and dragged her gown down and off, baring her body completely. She lay there before him, naked and exposed, her nipples tight, her breathing ragged. He made no move to remove his jeans. He didn’t even unzip them.

  Before she had a chance to think about what was happening, Luke straddled her hips, burying his knees on each side of her. She shuddered. He grasped her wrists and drew them over her head, pinning them to the bed. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed deeply, the act offering her breasts to him. She watched him carefully, wondering and waiting and hoping. If this man was the old Luke—her Luke—he would pleasure her until she was half out of her mind, then he would make love to her like a madman until they were both spent completely. But this wasn’t the old Luke. This was the new Luke—the man her betrayal and five years in prison had created.

  Lowering his head, he covered her lips in a hard, hot kiss. She cried out, the sound captured by his mouth. He thrust his tongue inside, then retreated. When he repeated the act, Deanna rose up off the bed, her body pressing intimately against his. He was aroused, his sex pulsating against her through the barrier of his faded jeans.

  He ravaged her mouth, kissing her until she was breathless, until she was ready to beg him to take her. But when he removed his lips from hers, he didn’t prepare himself for sex. Instead, he ran his hands down her arms and back up, then over her breasts, lifting them, examining them.

  “Luke, please—” She tried to shove him away, but couldn’t budge him. He was too big and strong.

  “Hush, babe.”

  She struggled, thrashing her head from side to side, tugging on her wrists, twisting her body. “No, don’t. I—”

  “Hush!” he said roughly, then flicked his thumbs across her nipples and bit softly into her shoulder.

  Deanna shivered. Every nerve in her body came to full alert. She ached with the wanting, with the need for fulfillment. Was he going to bring her to the very edge and then walk away, leave her hurting, the way he had last night?

  His mouth replaced his thumbs, playing with and then tormenting her nipples. He caressed the curve of her hip with one hand, while he held her waist with the other. When he slipped his hands between her legs, she knew his destination. Without hesitation, she opened her thighs for him. As he stroked the dark V of her hair that protected her feminine core, Luke continued caressing her breasts with his tongue. Laving, nibbling, sucking. And all the while, Deanna lay beneath him, her arms at her sides, her palms opened flat against the bed.

  The pleasure was almost beyond bearing, but a dull aching doubt throbbed inside her head. Was he going to stop abruptly and leave her wanting? Was this loving just a form of punishment for her?

  His fingers danced over her intimately, seductively, playing with her, toying with the tiny kernel that pulsed beneath his touch. Turning her head to the side, she moaned into the sheet. When he eased his finger inside her while his thumb stroked her, Deanna cried out as her hips lifted in a pleading gesture. Asking for more. Needing all he had to give.

  “Easy, babe. Easy.”

  Luke smoothed his other hand down over her stomach when he removed his fingers from inside her. He flipped her over onto her stomach. She gasped.

  His tongue began a snake dance across her shoulders, slowly licking over and across and then down. No one had touched her like this in years—not since the last time Luke made love to her. She had forgotten how wonderful it was to have a man worship her body, taking his time to savor every inch. While he painted a moist path over her back and buttocks and thighs, his fingers explored, entering and retreating, then entering again. She was mindless with need by the time he turned her over again and began a similar waltz from her collarbone down over her throbbing breasts, into her navel and onto her inner thighs.

  Deanna flung back her head, pressing it into the bed. If he didn’t take her—and soon—she would die. How much more of this torture did he think she could endure?

  Reaching up, she caressed his chest, her fingertips rubbing his male nipples until they peaked. He groaned, the sound deep in his chest.

  “I want you,” she told him. “I want you so much.”

  “You want this!”

  Scooting off the bed and onto his knees, he dragged her with him. When he lifted her legs and placed them over his shoulders, Deanna tried to protest, tried to beg him not to take her any further before he deserted her. But the moment his mouth covered her, tasting her, his tongue darting out to seek and find her richness, all coherent thought left her mind.

  His hard, insistent tongue and soft, loving mouth brought her to the edge. Her body tensed, waiting for that one final stroke that would release her. But Luke kissed her inner thigh, leaving her aching painfully.

  “No, Luke. Oh, please. No.”

  She tried to rise from the bed, to reach out and touch him, but he held her in place by covering her breasts with his big hands.

  “Don’t fight me!” Luke’s voice was harsh and ragged.

  Sweat coated his face and bare chest. He looked like a man who had taken part in a heated brawl.

  The moment he pinched her nipples, she cried out. His mouth returned to her, moving around and about, inside and out, creating a great tidal wave of energy. And once again, just as she started to peak, Luke eased off and left her panting for more.

  She struggled, thrashing and twisting, pounding her fists into the bed. She had begged him not to do this to her, not to—oh, oh, oh. His mouth encompassed her. His tongue massaged steadily until her body tightened like a thin wire coil. And then Luke gave her that final stroke, that much needed caress that plunged her headlong into an earth-shattering climax. All the while she unraveled around him, he continued his attentions to her, drawing every ounce of tension from her body. Luke lifted her legs off his shoulders and pushed her gently toward the center of the bed. The aftershocks of her release tingled through her. She held out her arms for him. She wanted to give him as much pleasure as he’d given her. She needed to feel him moving inside her, taking her with fast fury.

  But Luke stood and turned his back to her. Lifting her head, she watched him move toward the open window.

  “Luke?”

  “Go back to sleep, Deanna.”

  “But you—you aren’t going to—to...”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not going to.”

  He crawled back out the window and disappeared into the darkness. Deanna rushed to the window, wanting to call him back. He had given her such intense pleasure and taken nothing for himself. She felt as if she had used him, as if—

  At the realization of why Luke had pleasured her without taking anything for himself, Deanna cried out. Covering her mouth with both hands, she slid to the floor and rocked back and forth as tears misted her eyes. So, that was the reason why. Her heart rejoiced at the thought that there was hope for Luke, that he wasn’t completely, irrevocably lost.

  His giving her pleasure had been a form of apology. Even if he didn’t know it yet, Luke was sorry for the way he had treated her at the motel. He had needed to vent his anger that night, to seek revenge by humbling her the way he had been humbled fifteen years ago. If he was the unfeeling monst
er others had warned her he had become, he wouldn’t care that he had brutalized her emotions, that he had used her for his own satisfaction. But he did care. His actions tonight proved it. He had given her fulfillment, but not himself.

  Luke had given, not taken. A complete reversal of his actions at the motel. A payment in kind.

  Deanna hugged herself as tears of relief trickled down her cheeks. What was going on in Luke’s mind? How had he rationalized what he’d done? Did he have any idea that he had revealed a secret part of himself to her, that she realized some of the old Luke still existed inside the supposedly heartless man he was today?

  For the first time since she had returned to Stone Creek, Deanna thought it was possible that things would work out all right. With the revealing nightmares continuing and Luke agreeing to help her, she had a good chance of regaining her memory. If she could clear Luke’s name, he might be able to forgive her. And if Luke forgave her, he would, at long last, be free.

  Deanna lay down in bed and pulled the sheet up to cover her naked body. She closed her eyes and sighed. Go to sleep, she told herself. It’ll be morning soon. A new day. Tomorrow. And sometime, Luke would come back to the guest house—back to her.

  Luke’s alarm went off at five o’clock. Groggily he opened his eyes just enough to see the digital box, then slammed his hand on top of it, shutting off the buzzing noise. He’d gotten what, less than two hours’ sleep? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he had functioned without a good night’s rest. He showered and dressed hurriedly, then made his way through the dark house into the kitchen. The timed coffeemaker that Alva prepared nightly before she went to bed held eight cups. He’d drink at least three before he checked on the six hands who would be at work by five-thirty. He was glad Montrose wasn’t in the dairy business. If they were, he’d have to get up before the crack of dawn and so would his hands. Milking on the ranches was done before daylight.

  Four of the Montrose hands lived on the ranch. The two bachelors, Jim and Herb, shared quarters in the old renovated bunkhouse and the two married men, Les and Bud, who’d been with the McClendons for nearly twenty years, lived in houses a couple of miles down the road. The two college kids, who worked part-time, lived in town and came out after their classes every day. He knew when he’d first hired Randy and Chris that they’d both wanted to play cowboy, and he’d wondered if they’d stick with it. They had, and had turned out to be valuable employees.