"I need you," Shane said huskily, drawing his mouth from her lips. He gathered her up into his arms and carried her toward the stairs. "I need you now, not tonight, Melanie. You move me in many ways with your sincere and generous ways. I am moved at this moment to make love with you."
Oblivious to servants standing in doorways watching, aghast, Melanie lay her head against Shane's powerful chest, the cotton of the shirt cool against her flaming cheek. She would not humiliate Shane in front of the servants by denying him this moment of need just because they were being observed. One humiliation a day was enough.
And wouldn't the servants have to get used to her presence in time? She and Shane were surely going to be married. In truth, wouldn't marriage be the answer to everything?
The bedroom reached and the door closed, Melanie stood before Shane, her blouse already unbuttoned. She became breathless as she observed him undressing, a garment at a time, matching those she removed from herself, until they were both standing nude before one other. "We truly ought to be studying the ledgers," Melanie said, laughing lightly as she moved into Shane's embrace. She began running her hands across his chest, scarcely touching his flesh, then lower, across his abdomen.
Shane sucked in his breath and closed his eyes as Melanie's lips and tongue began making a hot, wet trail downward from where his thudding heart lay beneath his chest, lower still, to where his muscled thighs stiffened with building need.
"Shane, I love you so," Melanie said, brushing light kisses along his thighs, then daring to kiss that throbbing part of him that would soon send her to paradise.
"Melanie," Shane said thickly, twining his fingers through her auburn hair, guiding her mouth closer . . . closer . . . .
Melanie placed her hands to Shane's waist and urged him down onto the pallet of furs. Settling on her knees between his legs, she continued to pleasure him, thrilling her as she heard him groan and moan with pent-up ecstasy.
"Enough," Shane said in a growl. He took her by the shoulders and gently drew her up beneath him. Entering her with one fierce thrust, he began his skillful strokes within her. His lips suckled on her breasts, his hands excited her body.
She raked her fingernails along his back, to his thrusting hips, then splayed them against his buttocks. She kneaded his flesh in rhythm with his strokes. She could feel his excitement peaking, matching her own.
Gently coiling his fingers through her hair, he guided her lips to his mouth. "You are all sweetness," he whispered. "How can I have found you? How is it that you are mine when everyone else hates me? How can you love me, Melanie? Do I not repel you at times when you think of my past? Most see me as an Indian lover and detest me for it. Tell me you don't, and never will, Melanie! Tell me!"
Melanie's eyes clouded with warm tears. She placed a hand to Shane's cheek. His lips were so temptingly close to hers, but for a moment she was denied the pleasure of being kissed by them.
"My darling, never doubt my love for you," she whispered, tracing the perfect outline of his lower lip with her forefinger. "How could I ever detest you, or be repelled by you? You are all that is good on this earth, and I am so lucky that you are mine!"
Shane gazed down at her for a moment longer, his eyes filled with dark emotion.
Then he buried himself more deeply within her and rocked with her, his muscles stirring and flexing down the length of his lean, tanned body.
Together they moaned, as a great surge of ecstasy claimed them both . . . .
Later, Melanie kissed his cheek softly. "Shane, whatever are we going to do about us?" she asked, giggling. "We shouldn't be here, you know. We have much to do. I have much to show you."
The magical spell between them was broken just as quickly as Melanie's words were spoken. Shane rose to his feet and drew on his breeches. "I will find out who killed the cattle," he said decisively.
He looked out the window, watching the thick, black smoke rising from the burning carcasses. "Surely it wasn't Josh. The longhorns belong to him, also. He wouldn't destroy something so valuable just to humiliate or scare me." He slipped into his shirt. "Yet, I don't really know my brother or what he is capable of, do I?"
Melanie began dressing. "And perhaps you never will," she said. "I've lived with Terrance all of my life and I still don't know him or how his mind works." She glanced at the window, shivering when she caught sight of the smoke. ''Perhaps I wouldn't even want to. The knowing might frighten me."
"Tonight I will spend the night outside, keeping watch," Shane said flatly, brushing his hair back from his eyes with his long, lean fingers. "If anyone tries anything, they will have me to answer to, personally!"
Fear grabbed Melanie at the pit of her stomach. She splayed her hands against his chest. "Shane, please don't take this on all by yourself," she pleaded. "It could be dangerous. Let me call in the authorities"
He interrupted her by placing a hand over her mouth. "I am my own authority," he growled. "It is partly my land. They are partly my cattle. I will protect it all in my own way. If anyone wants to kill any more of my longhorns, they will have to fight me to get to them!"
Chapter Nineteen
The moon was high, the hour late. Shane fought against falling asleep, pacing back and forth far enough from the longhorns so that his presence would not alarm them.
Peering through the shadowy night, he moved his eyes slowly so that he might catch any unusual, sudden movement in the pasture. Thus far, the night had been peaceful, disturbed only by the haunting, almost mournful cry of a loon in the distance.
Shane turned his eyes in the direction of the sound, and smiled, recalling the moment he and Melanie had watched the loon settle into its nest of eggs. The bird was patiently awaiting the birth of its offspring. Shane had to wonder if he would be as patient when he awaited the birth of his first
child. Would this child be born to him and Melanie? Would they ever have that chance?
Or would one humiliation and failure after another make Shane flee this life? If not for Melanie, would he have left before now? Was she, in truth, the only thing holding him there?
He doubled his fists at his sides and firmed his jaw. No. His pride was at stake here! His pride and his love for Melanie were keeping him at the farm. It was damn well not the inheritance, for he had never had these sorts of riches while living in the wilderness, and he had been happy. He knew for a fact that riches did not make the man, or happiness!
The proof was in his brother and Terrance. Both men were tormented, driven, and power-hungry. Shane was none of those things, and until he returned home to life as it had been handed to him, he had been content.
Uncurling his hands from their tight fists, Shane stretched his arms over his head and yawned. A shudder coursed through him as he suddenly realized how cold it was at this hour of night, when a faint streak of light along the horizon revealed that morning would soon be upon this land of wild beauty.
Licking his parched lips, then wiping a hand across his face and inhaling a deep, weary breath, Shane began walking toward his house. It was obvious that no one was going to do anything to his cattle and that he had forced himself to stay awake a full night for nothing.
He looked through the darkness and saw faint
lamplight in some of the windows of Melanie's house. She was supposed to arrive early again, to continue with her teachings. If Shane were lucky, he might get two quick winks of sleep before she arrived.
He smiled wickedly. If he were really lucky, she would come to his bedroom and awaken him. She would not get off all that easily. He would show her how he expected to be woken up every morning once they were married. Making love was the best way to begin a new day.
In a few days he would ask her to marry him, Shane thought, taking the front steps two at a time. It made no sense at all that she was in one house and he in another. They should be together. They would be. Totally! Ah-pah-nay. Forever.
He jerked the massive oak door open, frowning. He just could not put the Chipp
ewa language behind! It kept cropping up, as easily as breathing, it seemed!
Shane shrugged. The change could only be expected to be gradual. He stepped into the foyer, hesitated, and looked into the parlor. A kerosene lamp was dimly lighted, casting dancing shadows on the gilt-edged paintings on the walls, and onto the tall-stemmed crystal goblets that sat on a table against a wall that was filled with expensively bound books.
His gaze moved on around the room. The plushly upholstered sofa and matching chairs and the brocade drapes looked the sort of furnishings that Melanie would enjoy. This home would be hers, his wife's. Soon. Even if he didn't belong, she
did. She would brighten up the place, her laughter filling the house with sunshine.
Yawning again, Shane climbed the stairs, blinking his eyes to keep from falling asleep on his feet. He heard only a faint sound of footsteps down belowthe servants awakening for their full day of chores. Soon the smell of coffee would be drifting up into his room. Soon the sparrows would be singing in the trees just outside his window.
In an isolated part of Shane's pasture, a figure moved stealthily toward a lone longhorn bull standing with its head hung, its eyes closed as it dropped off into sleep. As the intruder drew closer, a knife poised in the air for the death plunge, a wooden pail carried in his other hand, he jumped with a start as the longhorn's tail began slowly swishing back and forth, as though the bull were fully awake again.
Taking quiet steps, moving in a wide circle around the longhorn, the man peered through the early morning light, testing the longhorn to see if it was alert enough to pick up on his scent.
Now directly in front of the longhorn, the man smiled devilishly, for again the bull's tail stopped swishing and his eyes were closed.
In a mad rush, knowing that hesitation could alert the bull and cause it to attack with its deadly horns, the intruder ran to the longhorn and plunged the knife into its side several times, so quickly that the longhorn did not even have a chance to let out a bellow of pain. Its body twitched and convulsed, then dropped heavily to the ground, dead.
Without hesitation, the man decapitated the longhorn, then set the wooden pail close to the bleeding carcass. He kept glancing over his shoulder toward Shane's house, then the bunkhouse, knowing that if he were caught, he would be shot on the spot.
After enough blood had dripped into the pail, the man moved stealthily across the wide breadth of the pasture, making sure to keep a healthy distance between himself and the remaining longhorns. One sniff of the blood and there would be a stampede, and this was not the time for it. If it became necessary, the stampede would come later.
The man climbed over the fence and tiptoed toward the stable. Smiling wickedly, he began pouring the blood across the ground in front of the stable, making a gruesome sight, and causing a hideous smell.
The pail empty, the man chuckled, then slipped away just as the morning sun began casting its golden rays across the land.
Carrying a wicker basket filled with fruit and cinnamon rolls, with a bottle of wine tucked beneath a red-checked napkin in the basket, Melanie left her house with a light step. Today, after she and Shane spent some time with the journals and looking over the herd, she would suggest they take time off for a leisurely picnic by the river. They needed as many light moments
together as possible, to outweigh the heavy ones. She wanted Shane to experience more good than bad in his new life. She wanted to fill his life with happiness!
A shawl draped around her shoulders to ward off the early morning chill, and attired in a cotton dress trimmed with fine white lace, Melanie went to the horse and buggy that she had asked to be readied for her while she was eating breakfast.
Placing the picnic basket in the buggy, Melanie started to climb in, then hesitated. Someone was whistling a tune somewhere close by. Whoever it was seemed mighty happy so early in the morning. She would have to find out who it was; she liked to have cowhands under her employ who enjoyed their jobs.
Holding her shawl in place around her shoulders, Melanie almost skipped across the narrow drive, following the sound of the whistling. When she reached the stable, she went inside, then stopped, eyes wide, when she found that it was not a cowhand at all.
It was Terrance!
Unnoticed, Melanie stepped back into the shadows and watched her brother for a moment. It was obvious that he was not drunk. He was as steady as a broomstick as he stood among the thick bed of hay, tossing it with a pitchfork into the horses' stalls. His eyes were bright. His skin was of a good pink color. He was full of all sorts of energy.
It was wonderful to see Terrance sober and taking part in the actual running of Stanton Farm.
But why the change? Why was he so happy?
Melanie firmed her lips when she realized why her brother was so chipper. Always when he won at poker she could expect him to be this carefree, this full of energy. More than likely he had won big the previous day. It had even given him cause to take a reprieve from drinking for a while, to enjoy the simple pleasures of life.
"Well, well, what have we here?" Melanie asked, stepping out into full view. "My brother is actually working?"
Terrance dropped the pitchfork and turned with a start. He took a handkerchief from his hip pocket and began dabbing his brow with it. "Damn it, Melanie, you scared the hell outta me," he said, his voice drawn. "What're you doin' up so early? The stable boy came for your horse a while ago. I expected you to be leavin' soon." He looked her up and down. "You're not dressed for riding today, so I expect you've got something more delicate on your mind." He screwed his face up into a frown. "Like maybe some lovin'?"
Melanie refused to let him goad her into saying something she would regret. Inching her way around him, she patted his rear pockets. "Where's your cards?" she teased. "How much money did you win, Terrance? You're acting like you won a million dollars. I haven't seen you this happy in a long time." She stood on tiptoe and talked into his face. "What if you had lost as much as you've obviously won? Did you ever consider that?"
Terrance looked down at her, puzzled at her meaning for a moment, then laughed smoothly. He placed a finger to her chin and lifted it higher.
"You won't tell me your little secrets," he said in a low drawl. "I won't tell you mine."
"Secrets?" Melanie said, jerking away from him. "What do you mean?"
Terrance's eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. "You damn well know what I mean," he said. He began pitching hay into the stalls again, this time with even more vigor. "What'cha teachin' Shane Brennan now? How to swindle his brother out of everything else he owns?"
Melanie's breath was stolen for a moment. Then she squared her shoulders and stared with contempt at her brother. "You are insulting," she hissed. "Terrance, I almost think I like you better when you're drunk! Your insults carry less meaning, for I attribute most of the things you say to alcohol. When you are sober, everything you say is from the heart, and sometimes your remarks are unbearable!"
Spinning around, suddenly sobbing, Melanie ran from the stable. Blinded by tears, she rushed to her wagon and climbed onto the seat. Flicking the reins, she ignored Terrance as he yelled at her, waving his arms frantically.
"You can't undo what you said," she whispered. "Oh, Terrance, what am I going to do about you?"
She made a wide turn in the lane and headed toward Shane's house. The sun was hotter than she had expected at this time of morning, and she slipped her shawl from around her shoulders and placed it on the seat next to her. She inhaled the wondrous fragrance of morning, suddenly exhilarated by it. She would place her thoughts of
Terrance aside. She would not let him spoil this day for her. It was another day meant only for her and Shane.
"I shall let nothing spoil it," she said, flipping her windblown hair back from her eyes.
As she grew closer to Shane's, her eyes widened in wonder when she saw the men congregating just outside the stables, staring at something on the ground. She was recalling the poisoned cattle.
Surely that vicious act had not been repeated a second night. Shane had even said that he was going to stand guard through the night. No one could have gotten close to the farm, much less have wreaked such havoc again!
But as Melanie brought her horse and buggy to a stop close to the men, she soon discovered how wrong she was. The air was putrid with the stench of blood. The ground was covered with it!
"What on earth?" she gasped, climbing quickly from the buggy. She made her way through the men and stared down at the ground turned crimson with blood.
Ken, one of the cowhands stepped to her side. "Miss Stanton, we found a decapitated longhorn in the pasture," he said. "Some sonofabitch slaughtered a prize bull and used its blood to scare the hell outta us, and he's damn well succeeded." He gestured with a wave of the hand. "Look at the men. It won't take much more to spook them into leavin'."
He glanced over his shoulder, at the house. "Josh needs to be here, damn it. Shane Brennan's done nothin' but bring us all a peck of bad luck."
He shuddered as he looked back down at the blood. ''This looks like some Indian hocus-pocus to me." He looked slowly over at Melanie. "Wouldn't you say so, ma'am?"
Melanie's thoughts rushed to Chief Gray Falcon. Had he succeeded at eluding Shane in the night? Was he the one responsible for this latest vicious act? She truly didn't know how an Indian's mind worked, what acts of revenge they might use against someone they loathed.
"I don't know, Ken," Melanie said. She looked around her, at the men, then up at the house. "Where's Shane? Has he been told?"
"I don't rightly think that he knows, or he'd be here angrier than a hornet's nest," Ken said. "I reckon he's tuckered out from his long vigil through the night." He cleared his throat nervously. "He warned us all last night that he'd be hangin' around, watchin' for intruders in the night," he remarked, slipping his hands inside his front pockets. "He told us to stay put all night so that we wouldn't be mistook for a prowler and probably be shot because of it. Damn if any of us took one step outside that bunkhouse, Miss Stanton, not to even take a piss in the weeds. I don't rightly trust a man who's been raised by Injuns." His eyes darkened. "Ma'am, I don't see how any of us should be expected to."
When Passion Calls Page 18