by Jillian Hart
A dream. It was only a dream and yet he could taste the sweetness of Marie’s kiss and feel her heat on his body. He was iron hard and aching for her, and he cursed the cruel fate that made her his dream and not his reality.
The night held the crisp hint of the autumn to come. The last of the apples and plums ripe on the tree scented the cool air as he stumbled out into the darkness. His erection strained against his drawers as he leaned his forearms on the coarse fence rail and breathed deep.
The solitary hawk circled high ahead, crying once, the sound of his loneliness shooting across the face of the full moon.
Why tonight? Why after all he’d given up and all his self-control did his mind betray him now?
He’d seen her today in town through the window of the little schoolhouse. That’s what made him dream of her tonight.
He was a wise man, and so he did not think of her again. But he feared his body would remember this dream and his mind would never forget.
Marie bolted upright in bed. Her breath came in great gasps as if she’d been running for miles. She pushed off the muslin sheet and felt her way to the window, where the light of the moon tumbled between the billowing curtains.
The cool air smelled of the night, of mystery and promises made. What had she been dreaming of tonight? She could feel the image just beyond her reach, like a memory on the brink of being recalled.
A shadow flashed across the bright disk of the moon, wings spread with majesty, and the bird’s loneliness haunted her.
Would she be always alone? All her friends had married, finding men to provide them with security, homes and children. But there was more to life.
After she’d returned from his ranch the final time, her father had been outraged. A scout had spotted a twister north of Night Hawk’s land. What if she’d been caught in it? Henry had roared.
Then school started, and she spent nearly every waking hour working. After classes ended, there was the schoolhouse to clean and lessons to plan. She had twenty children, nearly all of them at different levels and with different needs. Many could barely speak English.
She hadn’t stopped thinking of Night Hawk. She wanted the chance to make things right between them.
Troubled, she watched the lone hawk glide across the golden moon.
The Saturday afternoon was hot, and she’d promised Henry she wouldn’t go far. But before she knew it, she was at the lakeside where fragrant ruby berries were ripe and ready to pick. The trail that would take her to Night Hawk was not far away.
Maybe she’d finish filling her basket and then—
Something rattled the bush at her feet. She jumped back and the basket tumbled from her fingers.
It wasn’t a snake or anything dangerous. The limb kept shaking. Curious, Marie knelt down and pushed the branch aside. She saw a huddled lump burrowed against an exposed root, shaking with fear. The breeze ruffled against it, lifting soft down, and her heart stopped. It was an injured hawk.
Blood stained the ground, and Marie tried to ease into the narrow space. The bird lifted one wing and tried to flee, but it cried out in pain and collapsed. Breathing heavily as if certain it was about to be killed, it ducked its head, no longer looking at her, trembling so hard every feather visibly quaked.
Poor helpless thing. Maybe she could get it into her basket. She reached out, and it struck with its beak. Pain tore through her fingertip.
It was terrified enough of her to fight. She couldn’t save it, but she couldn’t leave it here. What should she do?
The hawk trembled harder, daring to gaze at her over his bloody wing.
Night Hawk. She was on her feet and running along the lake until she found the familiar trail.
Meka’s bark welcomed her the moment she crested the last rise that gave way to meadow. Seeing the big dog loping toward her and the man turning from stacking hay made her skid to a stop.
Was she welcome here after what Henry had told him?
Fallen leaves tumbled through the air between her and Night Hawk, and the sun held a hint of a chill. She squared her shoulders and faced the man who approached, pitchfork in one hand, his shirt in the other. His bare chest fascinated her. How strong he looked with every muscle delineated beneath bronzed skin.
“I didn’t think I would see you again.” He drove the tines of the fork deep into the ground with a powerful ripple of his biceps, then pulled on the shirt he carried. “You shouldn’t be here.”
How many weeks had she wanted to explain? Now there was no time. “I found an injured hawk in the meadow by the lake. I thought you might know how to help.”
Night Hawk stared at her, his face a mask of stone, his gaze nothing but shadows. “Show me.”
She led the way down the trail and along the lakeside to where the bushes edged the sparkling water. With every step she took, she could feel him only a pace behind her, feel his stoic reserve and his powerful masculinity.
“He’s here.” Marie knelt and pushed aside the low bough so that Night Hawk could see the hawk huddled beneath.
“Looks like he’s taken a bullet.” Night Hawk knelt close. The iron-hard length of his shoulder and arm, thigh and knee pressed against hers.
Heat engulfed her. A thrilling spiral of flame and desire consumed her. The feelings inside her raged hotter and brighter.
Night Hawk calmly reached for the bird. Didn’t he feel the conflagration that blazed between them?
“You mean someone shot him?”
“Maybe on purpose. Maybe not.” He crooned to the hawk in his native tongue, using low, soft sounds.
The creature tried to escape, but the moment Night Hawk held the bird in his hands, wings tucked down and legs held tight, there was no more struggle.
“More likely a duck hunter missed his target. Unfortunately for this fellow.” Night Hawk cradled the bird to his chest and stood. “I’ll take care of him. Meka will take you home.”
“But I—”
“You belong at the fort and not alone with me.” There was nothing polite in his steely stance. Nothing civil about the wind lashing his long black locks and molding his cotton shirt to his wide chest.
He looked like a warrior. She longed to deeply know the man. “Is that what my father told you?”
“He said many things.” Was that sorrow in his voice? “I agree with him.”
“Maybe I don’t.”
Night Hawk cocked one brow in surprise.
“He doesn’t dictate my life, although he won’t stop trying. Did he mention wanting a West Point graduate for a son-in-law?”
A hint of a grin touched Night Hawk’s mouth. “He did mention how important it was for you to make an advantageous marriage.”
“He wouldn’t know one if it hit him square in the forehead.” Marie watched Night Hawk’s stony visage crack into a hesitant smile. “How will you take care of the bird?”
“Come. I’ll show you.”
Those words simply spoken made her spirits soar higher than any bird. Or ever would.
His body hadn’t forgotten the forbidden dreams that had tortured him night after night. And as he tended the hawk with Marie at his side, he fought his hunger for her.
A desire tore at his steely control every time Marie’s sleeve brushed him, every time a lock of her hair caressed her face. Every time his gaze clasped on the shape of her mouth or the soft, round fullness of her breasts.
“You know a lot about birds.” Marie’s fingertips brushed his as she handed him a strip of muslin soaked in herbs. “I’ve never known anyone who could handle a wild hawk before.”
“All it takes is knowledge.” Night Hawk swiped the bloody wounds along the bird’s left wing. “I found a baby hawk when I was a young boy.”
“You had a pet hawk?”
“I raised her. I taught her how to hunt. And released her when it was time.”
“Did she ever return to you?”
“No, but I did see her now and then when I was on a hunt with my father.” Memori
es ached with both pain and warmth. “She would call to me from the sky and when I woke in the morning, she had left some of her night’s hunt on the doorstep to my lodge.”
“So she did return.”
“Not as my pet. That was a long time ago.” He didn’t want Marie to ask any more questions, for he knew where they would lead. Away from that treasured time of his boyhood to the turbulent years of the war when his people had won their battle for this land, but the cost had been high. Too high.
He could not think about those losses. Of the brothers who did not return, and his father, who paid with his blood for this land. This land Night Hawk would never leave.
“I’ve done the best I can.” He pressed the last of the soaked cloths to the wound and bandaged them. “There’s nothing more to do but wait. We’ll see if he lives.”
“I’m glad I came for you.” Her fingers lighted on his wrist.
Her touch felt right. His heart thundered with the knowledge. His blood beat with it. He gritted his teeth to keep the moan of want trapped inside his chest. She was young and innocent. She had no idea how he felt, how a man felt when he thirsted for the woman who would make him whole.
“It’s late.” Dusk was falling and so it was the excuse he used. “Your father will be displeased.”
“My father doesn’t run my life.”
“I cannot afford to anger him.” Night Hawk untied the makeshift tethers. “You can’t risk your reputation. What about an advantageous marriage?”
“Night Hawk.” Her hand found his. This time her touch was not a brief caress but a lingering claim. “I don’t want what my father wants for me. The only man I will ever marry is the one I love with all my heart.”
She didn’t want him. He was sure of it. She would never want him.
And yet her slim fingers slid between his and clasped tightly. Locking them together. Making him wish…
No. It was not to be. She was young and impressionable, that was all. He didn’t have the strength for more heartbreak.
He pulled away from her touch, denying her claim and telling himself it was the right thing to do. “It’s too dark to send you home with only Meka. Wait here while I call my horse.”
“You don’t want me to stay?”
He fisted his hands, helpless against the hurt glinting in her eyes. Hurt that he’d put there by pulling away. By doing the right thing.
“It isn’t what I want. It can never be what I want.” The competing forces of desire and integrity, of loss and yearning threatened to tear him apart. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to love her. He wanted to slake this carnal need for her once and for all.
She was too innocent to know about the desire tormenting him.
He escaped to the blue-gray shadows of twilight and let the cool wind drum against him. Even though he fought to control it, the fire within him raged.
Her skirts whispered behind him. “Will the hawk need care through the night? I could stay.”
“No. I will tend him.”
“But I wouldn’t mind.” She stepped into the shadows at his side. “I found him. I feel responsible for him.”
“He is warm and fed because of you. You’ve done more than most. You’re bleeding.”
She stared down at her fingers. He had to have noticed her wound earlier, when she held the basin while he cleaned the bird. It was too dark to see her wound now. “It’s better.”
“I can bandage it.”
He led her to the house on the small rise, dark and lonely. She waited as he lit a candle and then another. Flame tossed gentle light across handwoven rugs and a polished wood floor, honeyed walls and carved furniture.
Home. Every piece of her being cried out with the certainty. This man. This land. This house.
“Come.” He held out a chair in the kitchen and she settled into it.
Tingling with the excitement of being near him, she watched while he lit a lantern and gathered a basin and supplies from a drawer. Everywhere she looked she saw beauty—grape leaves carved into the chair backs, the scrollwork on the cabinetry, carvings and Indian blankets hung on the walls.
He cradled her hand with his, lifting it toward the light. “This may sting.”
“I’m brave.” That made him smile. His touch was firm but gentle. Her heart raced as he swabbed a scrap of clean cloth across her injured knuckle.
This is how it would feel to be loved by him. To know his touch on her skin.
He rolled a strip of muslin around her finger, leaning close to tug it tight. The pulse beat in the hollow of his throat fast and frantic. His chest rose quick and light.
Just like hers.
“Done. Now we can take you home.” Gone was the mask of stone and the distance. Night Hawk smiled, his entire heart showing.
The greatest joy filled her, buoyant and sweet. When he pressed his lips to her palm, she knew.
This was the man she would love for the rest of her life.
It was wrong. He knew it. But that didn’t stop him from holding out his hand and helping Marie onto Shadow’s back. He meant to settle her across the stallion’s withers, sidesaddle style, and cradle her in his arms.
But she had other ideas. She slid into place between his thighs, riding astride, and all reason fled. Her soft backside fit into the cradle of his thighs, and she was all heaven and tempting woman.
Her silken hair brushed the sensitive skin against his throat. Her warmth touched him from thigh to chin, and desire cannoned through his entire being.
Instantly hard, he fought to control his body’s raging demands. Marie stiffened, and he knew she’d felt his desire for her.
Shame engulfed him. She was a maiden. To react to her like this showed her great disrespect. What on earth would he say to explain? That his steely will melted like ice in the sun when she was near?
“It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. A mysterious smile touched her lips.
Night Hawk strangled on a groan and sent Shadow streaking across the darkening meadows. The horse’s gait rocked Marie intimately against him, mimicking an even greater act. Need hammered through him as his hands curved around Marie’s hips, settling at her slim waist.
She didn’t protest; she pressed boldly against him.
They were like a tree and the wind, moving together, one caressing the other, in a rhythm as old as time. Every rolling step Shadow took brought them closer as dusk gave way to night. Stars glittered on the eastern edge of the world where darkness gathered and lit their way.
He didn’t dare breathe for fear of shattering the moment. Of waking up to find this was only a dream. That he would awaken to find her fading like mist from his arms when he wanted to hold her forever.
Too soon, the fort loomed shadowy and ominous in the clearing ahead. The settlement was quiet, and they were alone as he guided Shadow down the lane toward the closed gates.
With regret, he slid from the stallion’s back. His feet touched the earth, ending the dream.
Even in the darkness, he could see her face, the hint of a smile as she leaned into his hands. He caught her arms and cherished the feel of her one last time as he lifted her safely to the ground.
“I’d like to come in the morning and check on our hawk.”
“I’ll send Meka to meet you.”
“You could meet me.” She lifted her chin, breathless with her own brazenness.
His knuckles brushed her cheek. “I will.”
She craved a deeper, bolder touch. Her entire being felt aflame, and she longed for the feel of his arms again. For the hard wonder of his chest against her back and the powerful thighs cradling hers. For the thrust of that part of him that now strained at his trousers.
She’d done that. It seemed impossible that this noble and exceptional man wanted her.
“Your father will be angry.”
“Probably.”
Night Hawk’s gaze dropped to her lips. Even in the dark, she could see his pupils dilate.<
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She wanted his kiss more than anything. And no polite demure kiss, either. She wanted one intimate and tender, deep and passionate. The kind lovers shared.
As if he read her thoughts, Night Hawk bent closer. Yes. She tilted her chin to meet his kiss. Her lips tingled with anticipation and a bright joy gathered deep in her heart.
His mouth hovered above her own and lingered. All Marie could hear was the pulse of her heart and the moan in her throat when, instead, he leaned his forehead to hers.
“I’ll stay until you’re safely within the gates.” His breath mingled with hers and the intimacy lashed through her.
Tomorrow, she vowed. She would kiss him tomorrow. The beautiful light of this love she felt for him blazed bright enough to blind her. She would not be ashamed of her feelings or of the honest passion that thrummed through her veins.
“Good night, Marie.” He spoke and his words rumbled through her. He stepped away, and her skin burned with his heat.
She watched while he hopped onto his stallion’s back. It took all her self-control to turn and knock at the closed gates. In the seconds it took for the soldier to call out, Night Hawk stood guard, a part of the night, mysterious and magnificent and—she hoped—her one true love.
Then the gate swung open. She returned to her world. Leaving Night Hawk to return to his.
Chapter Eight
Night Hawk watched as dawn came in gentle awakenings. Of light. Of life. Of color. The light frost on the grasses shimmered like diamonds as the new sun peered above the horizon with an eye-stinging brilliance.
He’d been up all night tending the hawk but his thoughts kept drifting to Marie. He was torn apart over how he’d treated her. He’d been weak last night. Weak and needy and playing with fire.
Nothing good could come from wanting to make love to the colonel’s daughter. He could be honest with himself—he hadn’t only wanted to kiss her last night. He’d wanted to lay her down in the shelter of the trees and love her as he’d done in his dreams.
Was he that weak? Lacked that much self-control? Angry with himself, angry at this life he’d chosen and his unbearable loneliness, he took off for the stables.