Montana Wildfire

by Rebecca Sinclair

  "But... she's a lady."

  "So were you the first time I met you."

  Something in Little Bear's tone caught Amanda's attention. She glanced up in time to see Gail and Little Bear's gazes lock. Like the last time, unspoken words rushed between them. Unlike the last time, their silence spoke volumes.

  Amanda averted her gaze to the infant cradled in her arms, and pretended not to notice the sudden tightening in her heart. Their tones of voice, suggested Gail and Little Bear had been arguing before, though their words were strange and unfamiliar. Amanda had recognized Jake's name, and her own, but that was all she understood about what they were saying.

  She understood more about what their eyes said to each other. The looks they exchanged fascinated Amanda. Even while they'd been arguing, the love Gail and Little Bear felt for each other still burned brightly in their eyes. It rubbed Amanda raw to know she had never—would never—see that look in a man's eyes. That she would never know that kind of all-consuming love.

  Unbidden, her mind flashed her an image that had never really been far from her thoughts for days. It was a picture of Jake rising naked and proud and wet from a river. Amanda sucked in a sharp breath and pinched her eyes closed. It didn't work. In the pitch blackness behind her eyelids she could still see tiny beads of moisture clinging to a firm copper shoulder. Her fingers curled inward, lightly fisting the baby's small, pudgy hand. Even now, days later, she still ached to rub those glistening drops of water into Jake's skin.

  The chair creaked as she pushed the dirt floor with her foot, unconsciously urging it to rock faster.

  Another image sliced through her. In this one Jake was also naked... only this time he was arched over her, and a part of him was buried inside the most intimate part of her. For the rest of her life, Amanda knew she would remember the wondrous look on his face when he'd made that first breathtaking thrust, and how her body had flowered open to welcome him. She would never forget how, for just a while, it felt to be loved by a man.

  No, she corrected silently, not by just any man, by Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. There was a difference.

  "Penny for your thoughts, Amanda Lennox."

  "Hmmm?" Amanda's lashes flickered up, her dreamy gaze instantly pulling Little Bear into focus. She didn't realize she'd been smiling until she forced herself to stop. "I—What?"

  "Penny for your thoughts," Little Bear repeated as he settled himself in the chair he'd drawn up beside hers. "That was the first white-eyes phrase Gail taught me. I use it often. What were you thinking about?"

  "Nothing," she lied. "Nothing at all."

  Little Bear sat back in his chair and, crossing one deerskin clad leg over the other, nodded. "Gail has told me it is impolite to call the few guests we have liars, so I will refrain. I will, however, say that the women I know smile in that particular fashion only when they are thinking of a particular man. Were you thinking of a man, Amanda Lennox?" He slanted her a dark, probing glance. "Were you thinking of Blackhawk?"

  Amanda glanced guiltily down at the baby. Jacob was sleeping soundly, curled up in her arms. She stroked the tip of her index finger over his thick, dark hair, and said, "Why on earth would I be thinking of Jake? The man deserted me on your doorstep, for heaven's sake. That's a good enough reason not to waste my thoughts on him. As it is, I'm wondering at this point if he plans to come back for me."

  "Did he promise you he would?"

  "Yes."

  "Then he will."

  And that, Amanda suspected by the tone of Little Bear's voice, was that. To this man's mind, if Jake had promised to come back for her, he would come back. It was that simple.

  It wasn't so simple to Amanda. After all, she was the one Jake had said those ugly words to, not Little Bear. She was the one he had loved one minute, then cast aside the next. As far as she was concerned, she wouldn't believe Jake was coming back for her until she saw him sitting astride his white in the woods where they'd agreed to meet, and not a second sooner. Until then, she would cling to her doubts; they alone offered protection from the pain that sliced into her heart.

  They lapsed into a comfortable silence. The fire crackled and popped in the hearth. Kane, sleeping in the straw basket beside Amanda's chair, cooed sleepily. An icy wind rattled the window panes.

  "Where's Gail?" Amanda asked finally, feeling a sudden need for conversation. Though she felt Little Bear's contemplative gaze on her, she didn't look up.

  "Our mat. The children tire her." His pause was riddled with speculation. "You are good with children, Amanda Lennox."

  Amanda thought of Roger Thornton Bannister III.

  Her stomach tightened with equal measures of distaste and concern. "I like most children," she answered evasively.

  "My sons like you."

  She smiled softly. "They seem to, don't they?"

  "And you like them."

  "Yes, very much."

  "Even though they are only half white?"

  Ah, she'd wondered where he was leading this conversation. Now she knew. Amanda chided herself for not expecting Little Bear's bluntness. It was one of the first things she'd learned about this man; he was nothing if not direct. The second was that if he liked you, you knew it. Gail was the same way. However, where Little Bear had offered his friendship almost immediately after their rocky meeting had been put behind them, Jake's sister was still withholding hers.

  Amanda's chin came up, and she turned her head and met Little Bear's questioning ebony gaze squarely. "You know," she said, her voice low and edgy, "I'm getting tired of everyone demanding I look at the color of their skin before I decide whether or not to like them. And I'm equally as tired of everyone seeing me as 'white' and then deciding whether or not to like me. I'm not just white, dammit, I'm a human being. I have feelings and emotions just like everyone else. Why won't any of you see that?"

  "I see it," Little Bear answered quietly, apparently not at all upset by her outburst.

  Well, maybe he wasn't, but Amanda was upset by it. And ashamed. Ladies did not yell at one's host. She knew that, and yet... God, she was confused! She softened her tone. "I know you do, Little Bear. And I thank you for it, really I do."

  He reached across their chairs and patted the smooth white hand that rested atop his son's stomach. "Gail will see it, too. In time."

  "How much time? I won't be here forever, you know."

  "No. But you will be here until Blackhawk comes for you."

  Amanda chuckled derisively and shook her head. "Then I'll be here forever. I really don't think he's coming back."

  "You are wrong."

  Amanda pursed her lips; wanting with all her heart to believe it, yet not daring to—because of that same, aching heart. "You sound very sure of yourself, my strange new friend."

  "I have reason to be."

  "Do you? I don't suppose you'd share that reason with me?"

  "I know Blackhawk better than you do," Little Bear said with a dismissive shrug.

  Amanda heard his sigh, and she watched as he settled more comfortably in the chair, his gaze on the flames crackling in the hearth. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She would have sworn the glow of the fire hadn't put that devilish sparkle in Little Bear's eyes. His next words confirmed it.

  "Oh, and there is one other reason I know Blackhawk will return."

  She waited for him to continue. It took almost a full minute before she realized he had no intention of doing so. She decided to wait him out, refusing to be baited. Only one arched golden brow spoke of her curiosity. But Little Bear wasn't looking at her, he didn't see it. He said nothing and instead just continued to stare into the flames.

  The baby, sensing her anxiety, squirmed in her arms. Amanda crooned and stroked him. When Jacob had settled, and when she didn't think she could stand the suspense a second longer, she speared Little Bear with a sharp glare. "Tell me," she said finally, almost but not quite desperately. "Please. I need to know. How can you be so sure Jake will come back?"

  Little Bear's gaze
met hers, and he grinned broadly. "Because the wild bird has already flown home. Blackhawk is here, Amanda Lennox. He has been for hours."

  Chapter 14

  Three times Amanda came oh, so close to going outside the cabin and inside the barn. The temptation was there, undeniable and strong. So was the need to see and touch Jake again.

  Three times the humiliating words he'd slapped in her face after they'd made love held her back. No, she would not—could not—go to him. She refused to humble herself that way.

  That didn't mean she didn't want him. She did—physically, mentally, in any way she could have him, for as long as he would stay with her. Amanda wanted that so badly she ached.

  Again and again. The memory of those words were the only thing that kept her sane, that made the pain bearable. His promise burned like fire inside of her.

  As she lay in front of Little Bear and Gail's stone hearth, wrapped up in three threadbare blankets, Amanda remembered the passion-dark glances Jake had sent her after they'd made love, and she felt her blood flow hot.

  She tossed restlessly onto her back. The dirt floor felt hard and lumpy beneath her. She squirmed, trying to find a comfortable spot. There was none. With a frustrated sigh, she flung the back of one hand over her eyes... and remembered a time when the ground hadn't felt so hard, when the only lumps pressing into her were made up of corded male flesh.

  Wind rattled the window panes, sneaking through the cracks in the casing. A chilly rush of air skimmed the floor and whispered over Amanda. She shivered. The blankets and the crackling fire helped warm her. Of course, there'd been a time when Jake Chandler's body had provided all the covering she needed, all the heat she could possibly stand.

  Groaning, Amanda tossed onto her side. The fire warmed her cheeks and brow, caressing the golden curls that rested there. It was a peaceful feeling, warm and lulling. It might even have eased her into sleep, if her mind hadn't picked that moment to wonder if Jake had built his own fire in the barn. Had he dared? Or were his problems with his sister so irreconcilable that he'd rather sleep on the hard ground without a fire to keep him warm—just in case Gail spotted the telltale glow and came to investigate?

  Surely he wouldn't be so foolish, so stubborn.

  Surely she wasn't concerned about him!

  Yes, she was. Very concerned. The idea of him curled up and shivering on the hard, cold ground ate at Amanda. It shouldn't have—after all, it was his own mule-headed pride that forbade him from coming to his sister's cabin—but it did.

  Amanda tried telling herself that if Jake was cold and hungry, he had no one to blame but himself, as she kicked the blankets off and pushed to her feet. She told herself he was a grown man who was more than capable of taking care of himself, as she crossed the room, grabbed the cloak that hung drying on a peg by the back door, flung it over her shoulders and tied it hastily in place. She told herself that Jake was perfectly capable of lighting his own fire—God knows, he'd proven that point quite well!—and that he didn't need her to goad him into it, as she reached out, her fingers poised and trembling on the cold metal door latch.

  Finally, she told herself that what she was doing was wrong, that if she went to him now, she wouldn't respect herself for it come morning. What followed was a stern mental lecture on why self-respect had become so important to her, and why she would be a fool to sacrifice it over a man who clearly didn't want or need her as badly as she wanted and needed him.

  Her hand flexed, fisted, then dropped limply to her side. Leaning forward on the balls of her feet, she rested her forehead against the cold, rough door, and sucked in several deep breaths.

  Last, Amanda told herself that she would be a fool to fall in love with a man like Jacob Blackhawk Chandler. He had scars etched into his soul that she could never understand; scars that ran deep, that hadn't healed, that might never heal enough for him to love her back. Caring for a man like that would only bring her trouble. Not having her feelings returned would give her more heartache than she could endure.

  "Ah, Jake," Amanda sighed to the silent, empty room. She pushed wearily away from the door and started to turn, but was brought up short when the silent, empty room responded in a soft, familiar drawl that curled like sun-warm honey down her spine.

  "Yes, Amanda?"

  Had thoughts of Jake conjured up his voice? Had she wanted to see and hear and touch him so badly that her mind sought to soothe her by making her imagine he was standing behind her? And did she want to turn around only to find he wasn't there, his voice a figment of her wishful imagination? God, no!

  "Jake?" she asked hesitantly, hopefully.

  "Amanda."

  The soft, feathery touch on her shoulder was not her imagination. Her imagination wasn't that good. No, the feel of his hand was too warm, too vibrant to be anything but real.

  Her heart skipped as she turned her head, her gaze fixing on the masculine fingers hooked over her shoulder. Slowly, she traced his thick wrist to where the smooth copper flesh dipped beneath the cuff of his sleeve. Her gaze ran over the muscled forearm outlined beneath the clinging blue flannel, stopping only once she'd reached his enticingly familiar shoulder and the inky hair resting against it.

  Amanda inhaled deeply. Her eyes flickered closed as she savored the warm, earth-spice scent that belonged to Jake Chandler alone. On its release, she said softly, "I was just coming to see you."

  "I know."

  She hadn't heard him move, though he must have, because she suddenly felt the raw male heat of him seeping through her cloak, her bodice, her chemise. His warmth caressed her skin, and Amanda shivered. Though she couldn't see where he stood, she could feel it; if she turned fully around, her gaze would know exactly where to go to seek his out.

  "I've been watching you," he said, and his next step put his chest into sizzling contact with her back. "I know what you were doing, what you've been thinking."

  "No, you couldn't possibly," she said, and meant it. Jake couldn't know what she was thinking. He fancied her a lady, and ladies did not entertain the hot, lustful thoughts that had been churning in Amanda's mind tonight.

  His fingers tightened on her shoulder. "Do you doubt me, princess?"

  "I—no, I don't. If you say you know my thoughts, I—I believe you."

  "But do you believe in me, Amanda Lennox? That's the real question."

  Amanda swallowed hard, and leaned back against him. Jake's left arm coiled about her waist. He hauled her close, pinning her against his chest. She let his long, solid body hold her upright, because she could no longer do it herself.

  Jake was here. She could feel his heart drumming a frantic tempo against her shoulder blades. He'd come to her, come for her. What was there not to believe in?

  "Yes, Jake, I—"

  The words trapped in her throat when, without warning, he spun her around. Her skirt whipped around her ankles, and his hands settled on her shoulders. He held her at arm's length when she would have sagged against him, molded herself into him.

  "I told you once I'd know if you lied to me," he said, his tone low, strained. "Do you remember that?"

  She nodded weakly.

  "Good. Now look me in the eye, Amanda. I need to see your face when you tell me whether or not you believe in me."

  She didn't, couldn't. One of his hands came away from her shoulder. The warm, calloused crook of his index finger settled beneath her chin, gently tipping her face up.

  Her gaze had settled on his throat and the pulse leaping erratically beneath the copper skin there. Her attention slowly lifted, sweeping over his square jaw, his sensuously carved lips, his high-bridged nose. Swallowing hard, she met his gaze.

  The firelight cast half of his face in a soft orange glow. The other half was in shadows—chiseled and sharp. The muscle in his cheek was pulsating. Amanda had expected that. What she hadn't expected was the light of desperation she saw sparkling in his smoky silver eyes. That stunned her.

  "Tell me," he urged. "Tell me you believe in me, pri
ncess... more than I believe in myself."

  She nodded as, quite simply and softly, she said the words his eyes said he ached to hear. In her heart, she knew she had never spoken truer words in her life. "I do, Jake. I believe in the man you are, in the man I know you can be. I always have."

  His lashes flickered down for one moment of mingled pain and pleasure. Then the black fringe swept up, and Amanda was captured by eyes that were dark with a gratitude that tore her up inside... and with a desire that set her blood on fire.

  Gently, he cupped her face in his palms and pulled her face close to his. Leaning his body into hers, he rested their foreheads together. His breath puffed hotly over her cheeks and chin. His gaze burning into hers, he rasped, "There's something about you, Amanda Lennox. I don't know what it is, but it draws me. I can't stay away. I know I should. I know it would be better for us both if I did. Safer. But... ah, God, I can't do it."

  "I don't want you to stay away from me, Jake."

  His lashes were at half-mast, hooding the smokey gaze that burned over her mouth. His attention locked with hers, as though the deep green velvet of her eyes was his lifeline. "Don't say that. Don't even think it. Can't you see? I'm no good for you, lady."

  "Let me be the judge of that."

  His forehead ground against hers when he shook his head. "No. You aren't objective enough to know what's best for you."

  Her gaze narrowed. "Oh, I see. And I suppose you are?"

  Jake hesitated, then shook his head again. "No. When it comes to you, I'm not objective at all. I'm here now, aren't I? That should prove something to you."

  And it did. In fact, it proved a great deal. It proved that whatever had happened between Jake and his sister, it wasn't drastic enough to overshadow what was happening between Jake and herself. It proved that he had swallowed a smidgen of that over-inflated, misplaced pride of his, enough at least to seek her out here, in his sister's house, where he obviously was not welcome. And it proved...

  Amanda's gaze widened, searching his face. His expression was still tight, still strained, but his features were no longer a mask to her. Had Jake let his guard down on purpose so that she could see and read his expression? Or did she simply know him well enough now to look beyond the mask? It was difficult to say. Nor did she waste time analyzing it. It was enough to see in his eyes that he cared for her. Maybe not a lot, but a bit. It was enough for her to see that his desire for her had not been doused—as she'd feared—but whetted and aroused.