by BJ James
* * *
Dinner was served on the terrace. There were regional dishes served in colorful, glazed stoneware, vintage wine sparkling in crystal, and servants unobtrusively attending. In the background the slow strum of a guitar spun its web of musical magic and Patience felt she’d literally stepped from the desert into paradise. No place had ever been so lovely, and she’d never felt more beautiful in a flowing gown of jacquard silk in deepest amethyst. Maria had put up her hair, securing it with matching combs, deliberately letting it fall in curling tendrils around her face.
“Irresistible. Our stolid Matthew won’t know what hit him when he sees you,” she’d promised.
Indeed, Matthew’s gaze rarely left her. But she was no more irresistible than he. He wore black, stark, nearly unrelieved. Only the white of his open shirt broke the somber lines of jacket and trousers. Yet on Matthew they weren’t somber. His hair was combed back and tied, but without adornment. He held the wineglass with a sophisticated ease, as if he’d held it so thousands of times. There should have been no trace of Indian in the man who sat across from her, but he was there, the man of the desert, lying beneath the debonair facade.
He lifted the glass to his lips. As he watched her over its rim, savoring the finest wine, she hadn’t a glimmer of what he was thinking, nor what intentions lay behind his dark, solemn gaze.
Rafe was the perfect host. Dinner was unhurried, the wine endless, and the night air seductive. Despite the long nap she’d taken at Maria’s insistence, Patience found herself nodding, hiding yawns behind her hand. She barely roused when Matthew lifted her from her chair, chuckling as he thanked Rafe for a pleasant evening and bade him good-night for both of them.
“Matthew?” she asked drowsily as he lay her on her bed.
“Yes, love?”
“Is this my room?”
“It is, for now.” He took the combs from her hair.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting you to bed, dear heart, only that.”
“Do you like the dress?”
“Very much.” His fingers were busy with the tiny buttons that marched stubbornly from neckline to hem.
“Did you know it was bought especially for me when you called to say we were coming?”
“I know.” The last button was conquered. The dress fell away from her naked breasts and with it every good intention, and he feared he was lost.
“Matthew?” Her hand curled around the nape of his neck, her lashes fluttered over her cheeks.
“I’m here.” He ached to taste a rosy nipple and feel its bloom tighten to a bud on his tongue.
“Are you going to leave me?”
With a low, lamenting groan he came down to her then, gathering her to him. And into his waking passion there was woven a thread of regret. “No, love,” he whispered into her hair. “Not tonight.”
* * *
Something was wrong. Patience knew it before she opened her eyes. In a room so beautiful it should be shared, she was alone.
“Matthew.” She knew before she called that he wouldn’t answer. The answer she didn’t want was scrawled on the note lying by her pillow. Tearing it open she held it in trembling hands, finally gathering the courage to read it.
It was the mea culpa she anticipated, accepting all the blame for what had happened and none of the credit for her survival. “‘I wish you happiness, O’Hara,’” she read the last out loud. “‘Forgive me, Matthew.’”
Rising, she paced across the room, then wondered where she was going. Bleakly she crumpled the note in her palm. “How? How can a man who knows me so well know me so little?”
She was still standing, lost and alone, when Maria knocked and bustled in with fresh flowers. “Ah, you wake early. That’s good, there’s nothing prettier than sunrise in Sedona. Have you looked out?”
Patience pulled herself from her thoughts. “I didn’t think of it.”
Maria stopped arranging the flowers. “The letter, it is unexpected? It is bad news? From Matthew?”
“From Matthew, but not unexpected.”
“Perhaps it is a mistake?”
Patience looked up at her in surprise.
“Forgive me for presuming, but I have known Matthew for a long while. He is a regular and favored visitor. The clothing he wore to dinner, he keeps here along with others, for unexpected visits. I know him both as Patrick’s guest, and as a friend. More than that, I know him as only one Apache can know another. I see that he looks at you as he’s never looked at a woman before. Yet it makes no sense what else I see. Love is in his eyes and sorrow in his face. Then this morning he was leaving for the desert.”
“You saw him? He was returning to the desert? You’re sure?”
“Of course. He conferred with Simon in the study quite some time before he left.”
“Simon McKinzie is here?”
“He arrived by helicopter just at dawn.” Maria set the flowers aside. “He asked that I convey to you his invitation to join him for breakfast in half an hour.”
“Accept for me, please, Maria.” She glanced at the beside clock. “Tell him I’ll be there, precisely at eight.”
“Good.” Maria smiled. “Now if I may be so kind as to suggest an ensemble.” She flung open a closet, extracting a riding skirt of soft brown, and with it a black jacket with collar and lapels laced with matching brown leather.
Patience was reminded of the leather trousers Matthew had given her in the canyon. “It’s beautiful, Maria, but I doubt Jordana would appreciate a stranger wearing it.”
“Jordana has one similar, one she likes because she can see it in its textures. But this was purchased for you, also, in the little time we had before your arrival. I bought it myself on Matthew’s instruction. He remembered the other from a recent visit. He was quite taken with it when Jordana wore it,” Maria explained. “He felt that if I were fortunate in fulfilling his instructions, this would suit you and he hoped you would like it.” Letting it register that the ensemble was Matthew’s thoughtful choice for Patience, she asked, “Shall I put it away? Would you prefer to choose something else?”
Patience crossed to Maria. Stroking leather like satin, she shook her head. “Leave it. I won’t be choosing anything else. But, if you don’t mind, I’d like some time alone.”
“Surely.” Maria bowed in graceful consent. “I shall tell Simon to expect you.”
As she turned to go, Patience stopped her. “Maria, you said Jordana sees in textures. What does that mean?”
“You don’t know?” Maria observed more than questioned. Then, softly, “Jordana’s blind, she sees through the other senses.”
“I’m sorry.” Patience felt a stab of heartache for a woman she didn’t know. “I should have guessed.” She recalled the uncluttered paths, the gardens, the sunlight. All of them a veritable banquet for the senses.
“There was no reason you should know, but neither should you feel sorrow. Never for Jordana.”
“Patrick loves his wife very much, doesn’t he?”
“More than his life. He shows it in everything he does.”
Patience blinked back a gathering of tears. “It must be wonderful to know you’re loved so completely.”
“It is for Jordana. She wouldn’t trade a second of Patrick’s love for a lifetime of sight.” Maria hesitated, then suggested, ”Isn’t such love something you know, as well?”
Patience didn’t respond. How could she make Maria understand what she didn’t herself?
After a moment Maria smiled sadly, murmuring, “If there’s nothing else?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
Then Patience was alone with her thoughts of love and Matthew.
* * *
“Dr. O’Hara.” Simon McKinzie slid back his chair, rising with an old-fashioned gallantry as she stepped onto the terrace. He was a bearlike man with a shock of closely clipped silver hair. Behind him stretched a timeless landscape in varying shades of red. “Allow me to introduce myself, I’m Sim
on McKinzie.” He offered his hand. “I’m very glad you consented to join me.”
Patience touched his hand only briefly as she took the seat a servant pulled out for her. “I know who you are, Mr. McKinzie.” She folded her hands in front of her and turned a cold, green gaze toward him. “I know what you are. I know that Matthew works for you, and for The Black Watch. What I don’t know is why you sent him back to the desert knowing that he’d been ill, and that the Wolves will be waiting for him.”
Simon pulled his own chair back to the table abruptly. His eyes narrowed, the warmth was gone from him. “I think you’d better explain what you know about The Watch, and how.”
“Do you really want to discuss The Watch here, Mr. McKinzie? Would you like for me to discuss Jeb and Mitch, and Jamie McLachlan? Should I begin with Jamie’s hands? The hands of a gifted pianist, broken and crushed in the line of secret duty?”
Simon’s caustic suspicion eased a bit. He was pleased by her discretion and surprised by her spirit. Leaning back in his chair, he appraised and reevaluated. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”
“You’re wondering if Matthew told me what I know,” Patience continued with an angry edge still in her voice. “The answer is yes. Matthew told me quite a lot, but he didn’t intend it.”
“Matthew does nothing without intention,” Simon growled. “Nothing!”
“He was delirious, Mr. McKinzie. People say things they don’t intend in the throes of delirium. Even Matthew.” She saw the sudden change in Simon’s face. A poker face that only the greatest shock would crack. She drew a long breath and rescinded her first opinion of the leader of The Black Watch. “You don’t know,” she said at last. “He didn’t tell you about the rattlesnake, and the bite he took for me.”
“Good God!” Simon’s hands folded into massive fists, his voice was strangled. “Where was the bite? When?”
She answered each question as succinctly as it was asked. “His right forearm, just above the wrist. Nearly three weeks ago.”
“He can’t tolerate antivenom.”
“No, he can’t.” In that blunt statement she conveyed the agony and the loss Matthew suffered.
Simon flung back his chair to stalk to the terrace wall. In his effort for control, his grief was apparent. When he turned away from the panorama that reached to the horizon, his face was ashen, his eyes bleak. “He went to salvage what he could of the investigation. Just before he left he said time was running out for someone called Callie. She was his strongest reason for going back.” He paused and drew a long, harsh breath. “He went back to bring her out.”
“Of course.” Patience understood then why he’d left so hastily. “Callie.”
Simon approached the table again. “Do you know her? Is she part of the Wolves’ operation?”
“Callie’s a teenage girl with the mind of a child. She’s too uncomplicated and too honest to be part of anything so ugly. And too beautiful to bear the scar she must.”
“Scar?” Simon watched Patience closely. “What kind of scar? Physical, mental?”
“Both, but the most evident is physical. A man called Snake carved his initial across her cheek. A raw, ugly S, slithering from eye to chin.”
“Jocie,” Simon growled not quite under his breath. “In his delirium did he speak of her?”
“Only the name. In his rambling she was linked with Callie.”
The massive head tilted thoughtfully. “From what you’ve said, I can see that she would be. Jocie was a young girl in much the same circumstances as Callie. Her face was scarred, too. It was repaired, but every time she looked in a mirror she still saw it and was reminded of other horrors that had been done to her.” A square, hard hand raked through silver hair that shone in the sun. “She drove her car off the side of a mountain in North Carolina six months ago. It might have been an accident, but Matthew doesn’t believe so. He blames himself.”
Patience was bewildered. “Why would he?”
“Jocie was a runaway and he was searching for her. He’s convinced that if he’d found her sooner, if he’d helped her more later, she would have recovered. Jocie was not involved with the Wolves. Nevertheless, she is the reason he pretended to turn renegade, and why he wants so desperately to stop them.”
“Failing in that, to expiate his sins, he’s gone for Callie.”
“How is he? What didn’t he tell me?”
Patience knew then that she liked this gruff, overwhelming man. “He was very ill for some time. But his recuperative powers are nothing short of miraculous. He’ll lose some tissue in his right arm, and some strength, but he’s already compensating for it with his left. He’ll be all right if...”
Simon was at her side, lifting her face in his huge palm. “If he comes out of the desert?”
“Yes.” She wanted to turn away, to hide the pain and fear she felt. Simon’s bearish hold wouldn’t allow it.
“He’ll be back, and he’ll bring Callie out.”
“How can he?” Her cry was frantic. “There are too many of them. They usually carry only chains and knives, but there are other weapons. An arsenal of them.”
“Their weapons won’t matter. Matthew isn’t stupid, Dr. O’Hara. He isn’t going to stroll into their camp announcing he’s come for the girl, and he isn’t alone. Rafe had a sudden and convenient change of plans. Believe me, there isn’t a man alive I’d rather have at my side.”
“Rafe is part of The Black Watch?”
“No, but if I had a dozen like him, I could conquer the world.” Simon smiled and released her face, but only to take her hand. “Since neither of us has any appetite for breakfast, why don’t we take a stroll and become better acquainted. It’s my guess that once Matthew resolves a few problems, he’ll come for you. And I like to know the ladies in my agents’ lives.”
Patience caught her lip between her teeth and shook her head. “You’re wrong, Mr. McKinzie.”
“O’Hara.” He pulled her from her chair, tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and patted it affectionately even as he scolded her. “It isn’t just rattlesnake venom that loosens our wily Apache’s tongue, and you must believe me when I say Matthew isn’t stupid.”
He led her from the terrace and onto the grounds. Before the morning ended she knew more of Matthew’s sad childhood and his rebellious teen years. She knew of the great influence his grandfather had played in his life. And though he dismissed his own influence, by reading between the lines, she knew that Simon had been instrumental in Matthew’s reconciliation with the mother he thought had abandoned him.
“When he understood that she’d only done what was best for him when she left him at the reservation following his father’s burial, he stopped hating Sibella and the part of himself that wasn’t Apache. Without that hatred, he found he could live in both worlds,” Simon finished.
“In the end, he came to work for you.”
“He has for years. In some things I know him better than he knows himself.” Simon led her to a curve in the path they followed. “He’ll be back, O’Hara.” He used the name Matthew had given her naturally, as if he’d heard it many times in the hours before Matthew had left for the desert. “Give him a week. Patrick and Jordana always welcome anyone from The Watch, for any reason, and Maria would be delighted to have someone to fuss over.
“Stay,” he urged. “Rest. Call your family, tell them you’re all right.” He looked out over towering spires and rich red walls of rock. Beyond them lay the desert. “But above all, if you love him, wait for Matthew.”
* * *
Patience waited.
In the luxury of Patrick McCallum’s villa, she rested, and read, and walked. She arranged the return of Jesus’s truck, and for the horses to be kept at the villa stables until they could be returned to the range. She called her family and discovered that as accustomed as they were to various members being out of touch for indefinite times, they hadn’t thought to worry. She glossed over the adventure and mentioned Matthew only casually. She
read some more, and walked some more.
Simon called regularly from Washington. Once to say the information Matthew had gathered in the desert was enough to bring in the Wolves. They would be arraigned on a variety of charges. Some of their contacts were lost, but there would come a day, he promised. Matthew, he told her, continued to recover. The renegade who had never been had resigned from The Watch. And when a particular problem was resolved, and he stopped being hardheaded, he would surely be along. If she would wait.
Maria fussed happily.
Patience waited for Matthew.
On a bright morning of the second week, at the sound of the car stopping in the drive, Patience closed the bag Maria had reluctantly supplied then insisted on filling with clothing bought for her stay. Her goodbyes and her thanks had been expressed to the staff, so there was nothing left to do. “My ride waits. It’s time to go home.”
Sinking into a chair, she folded her hands tightly in her lap. “I’ll miss this.” She didn’t speak of the luxury, or even the beauty. She’d fallen in love with the stark land as she had with Matthew. “But there’ll be another place for me. Somewhere.”
But never another love. Never another Matthew.
The melancholy refrain rang in her thoughts as she stood, smoothed down the brown skirt, adjusted the black jacket, gathered up her bag, and stepped from her room.
The house was curiously quiet and, oddly, no one was around as she made her way to the front entrance. She was closing the heavy door behind her while she juggled the bag when a hand lifted it from her shoulder.
“Going somewhere, O’Hara?”
Patience spun around, her hands going to her mouth. She could hardly believe it was Matthew standing in front of her. He wore a rancher’s dress clothing, a tailored jacket, tailored trousers, handmade boots, and, incredibly, a hat. All of it magnificent on him. She realized then that he wore everything, or nothing at all, magnificently. “Matthew!” she managed when she found her voice. “What are you doing here?”
He set down her bag and moved closer. “My question first.”
Lacing her fingers behind her back, she leaned against the carved door. “Home.” She opened her mouth to say more, but nothing came to mind. “I’m going home.”