Another Dawn

by Sandra Brown

  Then she knew the reason for and extent of his agony. "Jake?" Her voice wavered. Tentatively she touched the fly of his pants.

  His breath hissed through his teeth. "I'll be all right in a minute, only..."

  "Only what?"

  "Banner," he said hoarsely, "lift your head away from me."

  "Why?"

  "Every time you move... ahhh, God... and I can feel your breath. That's not helping the situation, sweetheart."

  She gazed up at his tortured face for a moment, men lowered her eyes to what was directly in front of them. Her hesitation lasted no longer than a heartbeat. She kissed him softly.

  "Ahh—"

  His fingers tunneled through her hair until all ten settled on her scalp and held her head. But he didn't push her away. Nor did he urge her forward. He looked like a man who couldn't decide what to do, like a man torn by agony but experiencing ecstasy. His breath rushed raggedly through gnashed teem. His eyes were pinched shut.

  Banner kissed him again. This time her lips stayed. And stayed. And moved.

  Incoherent sounds slipped through Jake's lips until they finally formed her name. He repeated it over and over with every unselfish pass of her lips up and down that ridge of his masculinity.

  Her hands were as light and quick as the beat of a butterfly's wings. Buckles, buttons, cloth didn't deter her. Even the sky heard the low mating sound Jake made when he felt her breath against bis flesh, the first glance of her soft, soft lips, the timid touch of her tongue.

  "Banner, Banner."

  The name was chanted in the dearest tones. So sweetly did she caress him he wanted to die, for life would never again afford him such pleasure.

  One of his hands disentangled itself from her hair and combed down her throat and chest to fondle her breast. Then, working his way under the layers of petticoats, he found her knee above her garter, the smooth length of thigh, the lacy edge of her pantaloons. His hand wandered blindly upward, grappling with ties and buttons until he met with flesh as smooth as warm satin.

  The nest of dark hair ensnared his caressing fingers as surely as her being had trapped his heart. Then he found her soft and yielding, liquefying against his fingers, responding to his caresses with movements as elemental and old as time.

  Her mouth gave him a prolonged glimpse of heaven. But man can only stand so much bliss and Jake's heart and loins were bursting with it. When he had almost exceeded his limit, he repositioned them and covered her body with his. He found that sweet channel with one swift thrust.

  Their eyes met and locked while long, slow strokes carried him deep within her, brought him back to the portal, only to sink into her again.

  Never had their loving meant more. Her body echoed each loving motion of his. It was as though they were being rocked in a giant cradle. It overturned and tipped them into a shining new universe when the time was right. They sailed, they soared, their hearts sang. The celebration seemed endless. Then they gently grided back into this world.

  They roused to find themselves wrapped in each other's arms, their clothes sticking to them uncomfortably, due to the sheen of perspiration that glossed their bodies.

  Weakly, Jake raised his head from her shoulder. Her face was an ever-changing pattern of shadow and sunlight as the leaves of the tree overhead shifted in the breeze. Her eyes came open languidly. Swirling combinations of green and gold captured each sunbeam.

  Still sheathed by her, he whispered earnestly, "You are my woman, Banner. None else. You."

  Her smile was unsteady, her ringers shaky, as she reached up and touched the lips that had spoken the words. Love for him spilled through her like a river of golden wine.

  But tike an imp that wouldn't be banished or laid to rest, a thought nagged her. Did his vow include her own mother?

  * * *

  It took some doing, but they set their clothing aright. Banner did her best to brush twigs and leaves from her hair. There was no help for the green stains on the yellow dress. She helped Jake gather the remains of their picnic and walked with him hand in hand back to the wagon where the horse stood by peacefully grazing.

  "I think we ought to go tell your folks." Jake had waited until they were on their way to make the suggestion. As soon as the words were out, he turned his head to gauge her reaction.

  "I'd like that. I want to shout it to the whole world."

  He was less optimistic. "They might not take it too well, Banner. We'll have to break it to them gently, maybe tell them about getting married, but save the news about the baby for another day."

  "They love you, Jake. They have since they've known you."

  "Not as a son-in-law. I'm particularly worried about Ross's reaction," he said grimly.

  Banner smiled confidently. "Let me handle Papa if he proves difficult." Then she laid her hand high on his thigh. "It won't make any difference if they approve or not. You're my husband and nothing's going to change that."

  Her optimism was infectious. By the time they parked the wagon and poled across the river on the makeshift raft, Jake was feeling relieved that he wouldn't have to hide his feelings for Banner any longer. He could touch her whenever he wanted to without glancing over his shoulder first. By God, she was his wife, and he couldn't wait for everyone to know it.

  He assisted her up the incline and kept his arm around her as they walked toward the yard. When they reached the gate, he bent down and softly kissed her mouth.

  "Does my hair look too bad?"

  He plucked a clover from the recalcitrant strands. "No."

  "Liar. Do you think they'll know what we did between here and town?"

  He leaned down and laid his mouth against her ear. "Do you care?"

  "No." She giggled. He hugged her to him tightly.

  "Just what the hell is going on?"

  Ross's voice boomed around them. They jumped apart guiltily. Ross had been sitting on the porch, smoking the pipe Banner had brought him from Fort Worth, when he saw them coming up the lane. Delighted that they had come in time for supper, he had made his way toward them. But before he could hail them, he witnessed the intimate exchanges.

  He didn't see his daughter with his old friend. He didn't see the tender, loving expression on their faces. All he saw was his daughter in the embrace of a man who had no right to be touching her like that. Ross's blood had already reached a boiling point long before he strode through the gate and faced them like a warlord.

  "Get you hands off her."

  "Papa, that's Jake you're talking to!"

  "I know damn well who I'm talking to."

  "Ross—" Jake began.

  "Banner, go in the house," Ross ordered. He intended to beat the hell out of Bubba Langston and he didn't want his daughter to see it.

  "I will not. And stop glaring at us. I'm not a child, Papa, and—"

  "You're my child," he roared. "And I won't have any man pawing you like some common crib girl."

  "That's enough, Ross," Jake said tightly. "Calm down and let me explain."

  "I don't need an explanation. I know what I saw."

  "We're married," Jake announced quietly. "I married Banner this afternoon."

  Ross was in the act of stepping forward threateningly. He came to a halt so suddenly he swayed. "Married?" His eyes sawed back and forth between them. His chest began heaving. He dropped the pipe into the dirt and his fists clenched at his sides. "You're old enough to be her father."

  "But I'm not. I'm her husband. Let's go in the house—"

  "You must have had a damned good reason for getting married," he snarled. "I know how you feel about women. They're all fair game for that pecker of yours."

  "Papa, stop!" Banner cried.

  Several cowboys had heard the shouting and had come from the bunkhouse to see what the commotion was. Banner's cheeks flushed scarlet as she glanced around.

  "Having a wife would cramp your style, Bubba. There's only one reason why you would take a wife and by God that better not have happened. Have you... ? Did
you... ? You bastard, I believe you did!" He came rushing toward them. "You were supposed to be taking care of her, you low-down sonofabitch."

  He took a swing at Jake that connected with a sickening thud against the younger man's jaw. Banner screamed and hastened out of the way as Jake went reeling back and careened into the fence.

  "What's going on?" Lydia, her skirts hiked almost to her knees, came running down the steps of the porch. Ma was close behind her, a dishtowel still in her hands. Lee and Micah rushed forward to take Banner by the hands and pull her protestingly out of the way.

  Jake hadn't had time to recover from the first blow before Ross's fist found his belly and sent him flying sideways into the dirt. He rolled to his knees and shook his head to clear it. He hurt all over, but thought he should be grateful that Ross wasn't wearing his gun. He would be dead for sure by now. And, he supposed, it was just as well he hadn't strapped his holster back on after his and Banner's picnic. Any minute now he was going to get mad.

  "Ross, I don't want to fight you, but if you hit me again—"

  He never got to finish. Another powerful fist came flying toward his head. He deflected it before it could do more damage than split his lip open.

  That was all his temper would let him take without fighting back. Doubling over, he barreled into Ross with a vengeance, They fell to the ground, a melee of thrashing limbs, flying fists, kicking feet, gouging knees. Blood and sweat mingled in the dirt beneath their twisting, grappling bodies.

  Their spectators stood in speechless dismay at seeing the two friends fighting. Lydia twisted her hands. Tears rained from Banner's eyes. Micah stood with a pained expression on his face, knowing intuitively what the fight was about. Ma shared his intuition, her mouth set. Lee couldn't believe his eyes.

  Everyone was so engrossed in the fight that no one noticed a horseman who reined up just beyond the gate. He was surprised himself by the spectacle that greeted him. But he smiled. In a few moments, their fight would be of little consequence. He went unnoticed until he called out in a loud voice:

  "Sonny Clark!"

  Ross's head snapped up. Befuddled, his eyes scanned the half-circle of faces surrounding him. They stopped on Lydia. Dreamlike, everything went into slow motion. He saw her eyes go wide with disbelief, saw the color drain from her face, saw her look of horror as she raised her eyes from his to gaze at a point beyond his shoulder. He saw her lips form the word no.

  Ross leaped to his feet in a crouching positon. Even as he turned in the direction of Lydia's gaze, he slapped his hip, instinctively reaching for the holstered pistol that wasn't there. He got a vague impression of a man on horseback with a rifle raised to his shoulder.

  Then the blast rent the air.

  Lydia and Banner screamed.

  Some of the hands ducked for cover.

  Others groped for weapons.

  Jake was the only one who acted reflexively. He lunged for Micah. As he knocked the unsuspecting boy to the ground, he whipped Micah's pistol out of its holster. Rolling over twice, he came up on one knee.

  With an aim Ross Coleman had helped him perfect, he planted a bullet square between the eyes of Grady Sheldon.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Sheldon was dead. His gloating expression became his deathmask.

  Jake didn't wait to see how long Sheldon's body sat astride the horse before it finally toppled to the dusty ground. He wheeled around and rushed to Ross's side. Lydia was bent over him, screaming his name as she frantically clutched at his hand. Jake shoved the dumbfounded ranch hands out of the way.

  "Oh, Jesus," Jake breathed. It amazed him that Sheldon could have gotten off such an acurate shot. If the bullet missed Ross's heart at all, it couldn't have been by more than a hair. The bullet had punctured a small neat hole in the middle of his chest, close to another scar above his left breast. Jake shuddered to think what his back looked like.

  "Lydia?" The garbled, liquid sound bubbled from Ross's mouth.

  Lydia raised her head. Her face was devoid of color. Her eyes looked vacuous and sightless. "He's hurting, Bubba. Do something," she pleaded almost silently.

  Jake looked down at his friend. Ross's eyes were closed. But he wasn't dead. Yet.

  "Let's get him in the house." He motioned his brother and some of the other hands forward for assistance. Lee seemed to be petrified with shock. He was standing nearby, looking at his father as though he had never seen him before. Banner stood beside her half-brother, clutching his arm. Her face was white.

  Jake knew the risk they were taking in moving Ross, but he wasn't going to let his friend die in the dirt. With a man at each shoulder, two at his hips, two at his feet and Jake holding his head, they lifted Ross up and with slow, measured steps carried him into the house. Lydia followed them like a sleepwalker.

  They didn't dare take the stairs, but carried Ross into his office. Ma, as though perceiving beforehand what Jake had inteneded to do, was already spreading a quilt over the leather sofa. The men lowered Ross onto it gently.

  "Go get a doctor, that younger one," Jake ordered no one in particular. He tore open Ross's bloodstained shirt. "And the sheriff. Let Sheldon rot in the sun till then." The cowboys shuffled out respectfully, muttering softly among themselves.

  "What do you need?" Ma wedged her way to the couch where Jake worked over Ross. He was unaware of the bruise over his own eye, his swelling lip, and the bleeding abrasion on his cheek. He didn't even remember their fight.

  Jake glanced up at his mother. His eyes told her that there was nothing they could do. Then they shifted to Lydia, who looked as pale as her husband and as severely wounded. Her face was shattered and bleak. For her benefit he said, "Hot water, some bandaging."

  Ma, without comment, headed for the door. She called upon that strength within her that was as enduring as the mountain that had spawned her. She had buried five children and her husband. Just when she had been sure she would die of grief, she had surprised herself by continuing to live. She glanced back at Lydia and offered up a prayer that the younger woman would find some source of courage to survive what fate had deemed she must.

  "Will you cut the bullet out?" Lydia asked Jake in the small, high-pitched voice of a child.

  His eyes locked with hers. "No, Lydia. It's too close to his heart. That would kill him for sure."

  A sob escaped her trembling lips and she collapsed to her knees beside the couch. Again she pressed Ross's hand between her own. "He's strong. He'll live. I know it."

  Ross had blessedly slipped into unconsciousness. Now his eyes fluttered open. He seemed to have difficulty focusing on anyone except his wife. His eyes went to her unerringly. Somehow he found enough strength to reach up and touch her hair.

  "Stay... with..."

  "I will. I will." Tears ran down her cheeks and into her lips. She licked them away and leaned over to kiss Ross. "I'll never leave you. I'll always be with you. Always."

  Banner was standing at the end of the sofa with her hands clasped beneath her chin. She stared at her father's massive chest. The skin that was usually tanned and healthy now looked spongy and pale. The carpet of black hair covering it was a stark contrast. The wound was below the scar that she had always been curious about. Her parents had told her he had been wounded in the War Between the States. Now she wondered. Because everyone had heard Grady call out another name just before he fired the rifle.

  Sonny Clark.

  Her father had raised his head. He had recognized that name. Mama had too. What was the secret that bound them? Who had fathered that baby her mother had borne in the woods before Jake found her? And who, really, was Papa?

  Did it matter? Lord, why had she dwelled on that for all these years? Why had she let such a trivial thing bother her? Her papa was about to die and it didn't matter what his name was or how he had come to marry her mother. She loved him and a vital part of herself would die when he did.

  Life without Papa, without his strength, without his flashing white smile beneath the must
ache that tickled when he kissed her? No!

  And, oh, God, they had been arguing just before Grady shot him. Grady, Grady, may you burn in hell! her mind screamed. Tears blurred her vision. She closed her eyes. The tears ran unchecked down her cheeks in twin streams. This was her second wedding day to end in tragedy.

  Jake bathed the wound with the water Ma carried in in a tin bowl. He stanched the flow of blood as best he could with strips of an old sheet. Ross's chest lifted and fell like an unreliable bellows. He struggled for each breath and his respiration rattled in his throat.

  But he was alert now, aware of what was going on around him. And as a consequence, aware of the pain as well. He gazed up at Jake. The green eyes were fogged with pain, but not vacant with delirium. Ross had several things to do before he died. He was going to see that they were done.

  "Call Lee and Banner," he gasped. It cost him his strength to say even mat, but no one dared dispute him. Ma motioned Lee forward, and he came on stumbling feet, made even more clumsy by the tears standing in his eyes. He couldn't reconcile that his father, who had always seemed as tall and sturdy as an oak, able to ward off any danger or threat, was precariously clinging to life.

  Banner sank to her knees on the floor beside her mother and laid her hand on her father's shin. Lee took up her position at the foot of the couch. Jake and Ma moved aside.

  Ross's eyes focused on Lee. He nodded his approval of the tine son he had sired out of Victoria Gentry. Lee himself had struggled to live those first few days after he was born. It had made him strong.

  The green eyes traveled to Banner. Ross smiled, remembering all the times she had crawled into his lap, begging him to tell her a story. He could still smell her flannel nightgowns fresh from the clothesline and remember the feel of her little pink toes as he warmed them in his hands. Now she was a woman, a beautiful woman, as vibrant as her mother.

  Lydia. He looked at her now. It seemed he had been engaged in that occupation for as long as he could remember, looking at Lydia. Her face filled his declining vision. God, how he loved her! How he hated to leave her. Nothing in heaven would compare to the joy he had found with her.