He shook his head and swallowed. "If I stay," he whispered, "I'm going to end up making love to you."
Her dusky green gaze rose to his. Her eyes were soft and bottomless with yearning. "I know," she answered.
His breath caught in his throat and he stared at her. "That is isn't why I brought you here."
Shea nodded and came to kneel beside him. Slowly she lifted his hand and curled his fingers around the top button in the row that ran down the front of her bodice.
"Shea?" he managed to whisper.
She inclined her head.
Desire condensed inside him like breath on glass.
Cam slipped one whorled pewter button from its buttonhole. With fingers that trembled, he undid a second and a third. Shea's bodice began to part, revealing a long, ivory white V of skin, and the wash-softened folds of her underthings.
He reached to skim that soft freshly exposed throat, the creamy billow of her breasts above the neckline of her chemise. He pulled the satin bow at the neckline of the quilted jaconet she'd worn for warmth, and loosened the hooks along the front.
Then he pulled her against him and kissed her, slow, sweet, sensual kisses.
They parted long enough to finish removing their clothes. His vest and shirt, her bodice and jaconet. His boots and trousers, her skirt and flannel petticoats. They paused in their disrobing to touch and savor and fondle. But the cabin was chill, and soon they sought their bedrolls.
There beneath the blankets they came together skin to skin, opened mouth to opened mouth, a sweet damp heat mingling between them. She tangled her fingers in his hair and he stroked his palms down the length of her back.
There was such delectable comfort here, such tenderness and warmth and communion. Such joy and forgetfulness, such ease and sustenance. This was what he'd wanted—to be with her, to have her be with him. To lose themselves for a little while.
Kisses that had been filled with sweetness and succor became sleek and erotic. Touches flowed, bodies seethed with heat and provocation.
Cam lifted his hips against her mound. Shea moaned deep in her throat, soft and enticing. They began to move together in a slow erotic dance, their hands gliding and caressing, encompassing and exploring collarbones and bellies, breasts and thighs, shoulders and spines and hipbones. His sex and hers.
He had never made love to a woman he cared about the way he cared about Shea, and there was richness and delight in cherishing her. He gave of himself freely and for her sake, courting her pleasure. Shea gave of herself as well, communed with him with that same selfless generosity.
They played together until the worry and the weariness receded to the very periphery of their thoughts, and their senses were fogged with each other.
As she welcomed him into herself, Cam shivered with the heat and passion of that deep communion.
The sentient bonds drew taut between them, but they were linked by far more than the promise of pleasure. It was as if the boundaries between them had melted away, as if they were one flesh, one need, one soul.
They moved in a slow, sliding, sinuous measure, heads bowed to each other, their hips rolling in a rhythm men and women had shared forever. They were swept up in a deep mesmerizing voluptuousness, a communion without words, a search for sensation as much for each other as for themselves.
At length the tempo of their movements heightened. The friction of skin against skin, tongue against tongue, male into female became exquisite pleasure. That pleasure expanded, swelling from the places where their bodies joined, rising hot in their chests, leaping along their nerves, setting their hearts to thundering.
They cried out as completion rolled over them. He came, spilling himself into her, filling her, completing her. She came a moment after, drawing him deep into herself, binding him to her in ultimate and unconditional embrace.
They tangled together in the aftermath, petting, murmuring, drifting, replete. Cam had never known such fulfillment, such a sense of peace and satisfaction.
He wanted to tell Shea what that meant to him, what she meant to him, but he didn't know how. As he struggled to find the words, the haze of languorous perfection deepened, and together they drifted into dreamless sleep.
* * *
Shea awoke stiff and cold and alone amidst their tumbled bedding. She sat up with a start, the thick stew of worry bubbling inside her chest even before she'd opened her eyes. Was it light yet? Had the snow stopped? Were they going to be able to find Rand and Ty?
Shea scrambled from beneath the covers and wriggled into the clothes Cam had been thoughtful enough to gather up and set near the fire. As she fumbled with the buttons and hooks that had opened so easily the night before, she did her best not to think about Cam or about the marvelous and terrifying thing they'd done together.
Yet the merest thought of him brought a strange warmth to her chest and an anticipatory tightness to her belly. She did her best to dispel those feelings. She bundled and tied up their blankets, put water on to boil, and sliced up the last of the bread and cheese.
She was making their tea when Cam pushed open the door. A blast of fresh mountain air rolled into the cabin. Shea looked up and saw him standing in the doorway, tall and dark and magnificent against a world of shimmering white.
And in that instant she knew she loved him.
The realization rolled over her like ocean breakers roaring toward shore, stunning her, leaving her reeling and exhilarated. It shook her perceptions of him, of the world. Of herself. Her heart skipped hard beneath her breastbone, and she hastily averted her eyes, terrified that he would see what she was feeling. She busied herself setting out food and fumbled for something to say to him.
"Has—has it stopped snowing?"
Cam stomped the slush off his boots and came into the cabin. "Not only has it stopped snowing, but the temperature's risen forty degrees. Everything's melting."
She could smell the thaw, the warmth and earthiness that had swept into the cabin at Cam's heels.
"When are we leaving to look for the boys?"
"As soon as I get the horses saddled." He hesitated. "Is that all right?"
"Finding Rand and Ty is why we came," she answered and thrust the mug of tea at him.
Cam hunkered down beside her in front of the fire. He took a sip from his cup, then paused to tuck back the cluster of errant curls that straggled against her cheek. His touch was gentle, intensely intimate.
Though she shivered, the brush of his fingers against her skin sent heat blossoming at the pit of her stomach. Feverish agitation climbed up inside her ribs. Her throat went dry as tinder. It was a moment before she could raise her gaze to his.
When she did, he was close enough that she could see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the tenderness in the bowing of his mouth. For a moment she thought he meant to kiss her, but she managed to maneuver the plate of food between them.
Quirking one eyebrow, Cam retreated, helping himself to a slice of bread and a piece of cheese and settling down on one of the bedrolls to eat.
Shea set the plate on the floor between them and took a piece of bread for herself, but she was too overwhelmingly aware of Cam to swallow more than a mouthful.
She had fallen in love with him. One quick glance from beneath her lashes elicited the same clutch of elation she'd felt when he opened the door, the same fierce joy and warmth, the feverish awareness and possessiveness.
Only now that she recognized what this wondrous feeling was, she was forced to acknowledge everything that made loving him impossible—starting with the fact that he had adopted her child.
Cam must have sensed her uneasiness and edged closer again. "Shea?" he asked, his voice deep and tinged with concern. "Is everything all right?"
Shea started at the question. "Fine," she answered. "Everything's fine."
"Are you sure?" She could feel how closely he was watching her. "You're not sorry that we—"
"No!" Shea's head came up. She couldn't let him think that she re
gretted for a moment what might well be the most wonderful night of her life.
In truth they had come together because they were cold and tired and worried half to death about the boys. They'd needed the comfort of touching and bodies tangled close. They'd needed the solace of kisses and desires so deep they kept the world at bay. But in the end, what had passed between them had been something else, something extraordinary.
Shea had never known a man to offer up so much of himself in making love. Cam had courted her with the patience of his caresses. He had devoted himself to fulfilling her needs and desires. As they'd made love he had opened himself to her, showing her his innate loneliness and his longing for companionship, his joy in touching and being close, his willingness to reveal the most secret and fragile parts of himself to her.
Shea had never felt so revered and treasured as when she lay in Cam's arms. She'd never felt so connected to another human being—or so undeserving of his trust.
Her unworthiness stood out like a broadside, in the light of day. From the moment she'd realized Rand was her son, she'd been lying to Cam. She'd deliberately courted his confidences, then manipulated him to have more time with her boy. She'd even lied to him about her reasons for wanting to come up here with him. Even as she'd been taking shelter and comfort in his arms, she'd been nurturing the seeds of his betrayal in her heart.
Pure, gut-twisting guilt ate at her as she looked hard and long at what she'd done. She loved this man. She'd lain in his arms and shared the most tender intimacies a man and woman could have together. And all the while, she'd been keeping a secret that could destroy his world.
Then, all at once, Cam pushed to his feet and stood over her. "Well, then," he said, "if you're packed up and ready to head out, I'll go saddle the horses."
As he bent to grab up their saddles, the need to tell him the truth rose in Shea like a flood tide. The words she'd guarded so carefully sprang into her throat. The declarations burned like pepper on her tongue. She couldn't leave this place without telling him the truth about his boy, about her son. Without telling him the truth about herself.
When she'd revealed her secrets to him the last time, he had accepted them and comforted her. She couldn't imagine he would respond the same way now.
She turned to him while the resolution was burning hot in her belly. "Cam?"
He paused, silhouetted in the brightness of the open doorway. "Yes?"
For a moment the words were wedged tight in her throat, packed close by tears. Then she took a breath and revealed all of her secrets, all of herself. "I believe Rand is my son. I believe he's the child I gave away."
He stared at her, his eyes gone suddenly to flat blue planes, his expression stark and unreadable.
"He's exactly the same age as my son would be," she pushed ahead. "He came west on an orphan train to St. Joseph, Missouri, during the fall of 1866—just as my son did. Rand's eyes are almost the color of mine. He has that same special way with horses that both his father and my brother had. I believe he's mine."
"He's not your boy." Cam's voice was toneless, implacable.
She raised her chin. "I've never felt such an affinity for another child."
Cam didn't so much as question her. He just looked at her as if he didn't know who she was.
"He isn't yours," was all he said. Then he turned and went to saddle the horses.
* * *
Rand wasn't her son!
Shea was wrong. She'd made a mistake. What she claimed was impossible.
Cam was shaking inside, breathless and aching and coldly furious as he spurred his horse up the trail through the melting snow.
What could have possessed Shea to make such a claim? What was she thinking? How could those few coincidences and a handful of physical similarities convince her Rand was the child she'd given up?
It was ridiculous, preposterous.
It wasn't as if she'd tracked Rand down, arrived at the farm in search of the child she'd given up. She'd come to them by accident, by the purest chance.
Or the hand of fate.
Cam scowled and squinted into the snowy glare that lay ahead, and eased his horse along the slippery, twisting trail.
He didn't believe in fate. He didn't believe in miraculous reunions. He didn't believe Shea was right about who Rand was.
He sheared a glance back to where Shea was resolutely following him deeper and deeper into the mountains. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, but beneath the shadow of her hat he could see that her mouth was set in a thin determined line.
She really did believe that Rand was her child, goddamn her. She wouldn't lie about something as important as this, not something that could shatter so many lives. Shea might keep secrets, but she didn't lie.
Of course she didn't have proof of what she was claiming, either. Yet even if she'd come to him with sworn oaths and affidavits, he wouldn't have believed her, wouldn't have given up his son.
He couldn't give him up, even if he'd wanted to. Cam himself might love Rand as if he were his blood and bone, but that boy was Lily's life, the center of her world, the very bedrock of her existence. He couldn't let Shea—or anyone else—threaten his family.
He wouldn't ever let Shea take Rand away.
Not that she could. If Cam knew one thing, it was the law, and Shea had no rights at all before the bar. She had no way to prove she was Rand's mother. She'd forfeited her claims to him when she'd left him on the steps of that foundling home and walked away. It didn't matter that she'd gone back; it didn't matter that she'd been searching for him all this time.
What mattered was that Cam had taken Rand as his son that day in St. Joe. He had the papers the Children's Aid Society agent had given him, granting him custody. He had gone on to adopt Rand, all legal and proper. Rand was his, his and Lily's.
He stole another glance at Shea and his chest went tight. He thought that when they'd touched and kissed, they'd been sharing something fine and pure and extraordinary. He thought she'd offered herself to him because she had yearned for tenderness and communion as fiercely as he, because she sensed the bond that had been growing between them. How could she have made love to him with such sweetness and abandon just last night, then told him what she believed about Rand this morning?
For the brief, sweet whisper of time when they'd lain together, he felt as if he'd wrapped his hands around something solid, something worth having, something just for him. Now everything he thought he'd found had crumbled in his grasp leaving him with nothing.
Leaving him with less than nothing. Where once there had been burgeoning hope that Shea was something special, there was now a cold hard knot of suspicion that she had lain with him for reasons of her own.
Whatever had made her do it, at least she hadn't told either Lily or Rand what she suspected. Somehow he'd have to find a way to convince her not to tell them, find a way to make her promise—
"Cam, I see them!" Shea cried out.
He jerked around and looked toward where she was pointing. Three riders were picking their way down a snowy incline that breached the rim of the next rise. Though they were still some distance away, Cam recognized Jasper's reddish hide and the size and shape of his son astride him.
Feeling shaky and light-headed, Cam cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hullo, Rand!" he shouted.
His voice echoed off the high rock walls, and Rand waved back. The gesture was extravagant, filled with confidence.
Damn fool boy! Cam found himself thinking, anger chasing hot on the heels of relief. To his son all this had been a grand adventure. Now he'd have to persuade Rand otherwise, perhaps with the help of a hickory switch.
"Oh, Cam!" Shea breathed from where she'd pulled up beside him. "They're safe!"
Cameron turned to her and was unsettled by the shimmer of tears on her cheeks and the gleam of possessiveness in her eyes as she watched his son picking his way toward them.
As they waited, he reached out and clasped her wrist. "Not a word to Rand of wha
t you told me this morning," he warned. "I don't want him knowing about this until I've had a chance to look into your claims."
She stiffened, her eyes wide with reproach. "I would never do anything to hurt Rand," she averred. "Or Lily, either."
At least she understood what was at stake.
"Then see that you don't!" he hissed at her.
"Cam. Oh, Cam," she whispered so softly he wasn't sure she had meant for him to hear. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen the way it did."
Cam didn't have a chance to ask her what she meant, because Rand came loping toward them.
"You didn't need to come all the way up here, Pa!" he shouted. "We'd have been home tonight."
Cam rode out to meet his son, thinking how much older Rand suddenly seemed, how insufferably pleased he was with himself.
But as Cam closed the distance between them, Rand must have read the worry in his face. In the space of a heartbeat Rand's demeanor changed. He became a child again, one who'd suddenly realized just how much he'd displeased his father.
"Geez, Pa, I'm sorry," he began. "I'm sorry if I worried you. I didn't mean to. I'm really sorry. I didn't think—"
Cam drew rein beside his son, reached across, grabbed him, and hugged him hard. He needed the contact, the feel of his tall gangly boy against him, the reassurance that his son was safe. Rand's cheek came cold on his, and there was the smell about him of onions, tobacco smoke, and bacon grease. They were threatening smells, somehow, and Cam hugged him harder.
"Just what the devil were you thinking about, boy?" he demanded the moment he let Rand go. "Coming all the way up here, just you and Ty? Your aunt Lily's been beside herself since we found your note. How could you be so reckless?"
Rand bobbed his head. "I'm sorry, Pa. I didn't mean to make Aunt Lily worry. But when Ty said he was headed up into the mountains after his pa, I figured I couldn't let him go all by himself."
Cam scowled at the boy. "Ty's your friend; he isn't your responsibility. You deliberately left home without permission. You went somewhere you knew you shouldn't go and put yourself in a situation that might have been dangerous. It's only by the grace of God that you and Ty didn't get hurt or lost or frozen to death. Once we get back to the house, we're going to have a long talk and decide on your punishment."
Painted by the Sun Page 22