He's Got His Daddy's Eyes

by Lois Faye Dyer

  Josh stood, watching the three as they crossed the barn lot and disappeared into the house. A queer ache lodged just beneath his breastbone; JJ. skipped and hopped, holding his mother’s hand, chattering nonstop, while Sarah, her hair gleaming silver-blond beneath the hot afternoon sun, alternately bent to listen to J.J. or turned to speak to Caitlin. They created a charmed circle, and he felt left out, unbearably lonely at being excluded from their warmth.

  Rum whined and shoved his wet nose into Josh’s palm, demanding his attention.

  “What’s the matter, boy?” Josh smoothed his hand over the big dog’s fur. Rum whined again, tail wagging as he gazed at the ranch house’s empty doorway. “They’ll be back to play with you tomorrow. Till then you’ll just have to make do with me.

  The Lab gazed sadly up at him; his tail and even his ears seemed to droop.

  “You’re pitiful, Rum.” Josh turned purposefully toward the corral, the big dog walking disconsolately beside him. “I hate to admit it, but you remind me of myself.”

  Josh ignored the emotions roiling in him, as usual, from any contact with Sarah, and returned to work.

  Sarah couldn’t sleep. The memory of Josh smiling down at J.J. tortured her and she tossed and turned, tangling and twisting the sheets until she finally threw them aside in irritation and slipped out of bed. Moonlight threw a bar of pale light across the floor, and Sarah padded through its cool glow to stand at the window. Outside, the night was as quiet as the house, still and silent under the light from the half-moon.

  Too restless to bear the confinement of four walls, Sarah pulled the light blanket from her bed and left the room. The big grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight just as she tugged open the door and stepped out onto the porch.

  The night air was chill; goose bumps rose on her arms and legs, left bare by the thigh-length, scoopnecked, sleeveless cotton nightie she wore. Sarah swung the soft blue blanket around her shoulders for warmth as she padded barefoot across the cool porch boards. The white wooden swing creaked when she sat, the chains uttering a soft groan of metal link against metal link as they took her weight. She swung her feet up onto the seat and tucked the blanket around them, nestling inside the warm cocoon of blue cotton.

  What am I going to do about Josh? The memory of his gentle smile as he gazed down at J.J. was just as vivid in the open air of the porch as it had been in her room. Still, it wasn’t only his obvious affection for J.J. that was destroying her sleep. For the first time in five long years, Sarah struggled with physical attraction.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned silently. Ever since that fateful night when violence had altered her life forever, her primary reaction to men had been an overwhelming need to put as much distance as possible between herself and them. She’d become so accustomed to being frozen, both sexually and emotionally, that this thawing was shocking and painful. The violent reawakening of long-dormant sexual feelings was torture. Her body ached for Josh, and vivid memories of the times they’d made love refused to leave her alone, no matter how she tried to avoid them.

  The memories of the passion they’d shared were torment, especially since she knew that even if he didn’t hate her, she was incapable of physical contact—even with Josh.

  The muffled clip-clop of a horse’s hooves reached her ears; Sarah’s eyes opened and she searched the dark corral, but couldn’t see the black bulk of a horse.

  The sound grew louder and she realized that it. was coming from the lane that led to the county road.

  What in the world? Frowning, she leaned forward to scan the lane. A lone rider moved slowly toward the ranch buildings, the dark shadow of a big dog trotting beside the bigger bulk of the horse. The trio was yards away from the house when the smaller form of the dog left the horse’s side and loped toward the porch. Within seconds Rum nudged his nose against Sarah’s blanket-covered feet and softly whined a greeting, his tail wagging with delight.

  “Rum?” She smoothed her palm over his big head, and he responded by wagging his tail even harder. Her gaze raced to the rider sitting motionless atop the black horse, and for one wildly fanciful moment she thought her tortured desire had summoned him from the night.

  Josh halted Baby outside the open gate. Rum was standing beside the porch swing, his black coat making him nearly invisible in the shadows; a blanket-wrapped figure was curled up on the wide seat.

  “Josh?”

  Sarah’s voice was hushed, carrying undertones of disbelief and bewilderment.

  Josh didn’t answer. Unable to sleep, he’d finally saddled Baby and gone riding, but the hours he’d spent under the night sky had only tired his body; the physical exercise hadn’t done a thing to lessen the restless, never-ending, hot need that drove him.

  He dismounted, the saddle leather creaking as it shifted under his weight, and strode silently up the walk to the porch.

  Sarah stared at him. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and his black hair was mussed by the wind. Moonlight illuminated one side of his face, catching the gleam of his eyes beneath dark brows and the taut, hard line of his mouth. He took the steps two at a time and stalked to within a foot of the swing, a dangerous edginess charging the air around him. Sarah had to tilt her head back to look up at him, and she caught the scent of wind and sage mixed with the faint odor of leather, horse and aftershave.

  “What are you doing out here—alone—in the middle of the night?” he demanded, his voice harsh.

  “I couldn’t sleep. I was worried about Mother” She uttered the white lie for self-protection without a twinge of guilt “Why are you out?”

  He stared at her for a long, charged moment “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Oh.”

  Sarah heard her heart beat in time with the swift tick of the big old clock in the hall inside while Josh held her gaze for what felt like an eternity. Then he cursed under his breath and spun away from her to prowl across the porch to the railing.

  “Too bad you aren’t awake for the same reason I am,” he said without turning.

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  He shifted to face her, leaning his hips against the railing and crossing his arms across his chest With the moon at his back, his face was in shadows and Sarah couldn’t read his expression.

  “I was remembering how good you were in bed.” He ignored Sarah’s soft gasp. “And you were good, Sarah—better than good, you were incredible. I’ve never been with a woman who was quite so good at convincing the poor bastard she’s with that she’s out of her mind with pleasure. You should have gone on stage, Sarah. You’re a great actress.”

  “I wasn’t acting.”

  “No?” His tone was bitterly self-derisive. “You mean all those little throaty moans I heard in my ear when I was buried inside you were real? You had me so crazy with wanting you that I. would have taken you in the middle of Main Street in broad daylight.” He slowly unfolded his arms and pushed away from the railing to move closer until he was looming over Sarah, his hands clenching the. wood swing on each side of her, powerful arms bracketing her. “From the first time when I actually believed you were a virgin until the last time we were together, you had me completely convinced that I was the only man in your life,” he snarled. “And we both know that’s not true, don’t we, Sarah?”

  His face was only inches from hers. Wounded and dangerous, Josh radiated anger. His eyes gleamed with feral heat in a face that held no softness or gentle consideration, only hard angles and the unrelenting fury of betrayal.

  Still, it didn’t occur to Sarah to be afraid of him.

  “I’m sorry, Josh.” A wealth of emotion, regret and impending tears filled her voice. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her eyes were dark pools of pain in the pale oval of her face close beneath his, the soft curve of her mouth trembling. Josh’s fingers clenched over the wood boards of the swing as he fought the urge to drop his head and cover her lips with his.

  ’Telling me you’re sorry is too little and way too late,” he finally
said, his voice rough with the effort it cost him to speak. “It was too late when you left my bed for someone else’s.”

  He forced his fingers to release the wooden slats of the swing, his movements jerky as he pulled his arms away and straightened. He strode across the porch, one hand closing with punishing force over the support post next to the steps.

  “Josh, I didn’t…” Without conscious thought, Sarah was out of the seat and across the porch, her hand reaching for his bare forearm. She grabbed the porch post instead, unable to actually touch him.

  He jerked, his big .body going stiff, the muscles in his arm jumping in reaction. He turned slowly and looked at her. Wild, out-of-control emotion raged in his eyes and Sarah froze, suddenly aware that the near touch of her hand had pushed him over some invisible line—and that he was dangerous.

  “But you did.” The words were barely audible, spoken as they were through clenched teeth. “Damn you, Sarah.”

  Swift as a striking cobra, he caught the back of her head in one big hand, his fingers fisting in her hair to hold her still, and his mouth dropped to cover hers.

  Sarah didn’t have time to protest. He didn’t touch her except for his hand in her hair and his lips against hers. For endless seconds his mouth punished hers, the pressure of his kiss forcing her head back against his palm. Suddenly his mouth gentled against hers, moving with slow, drugging persuasion while his lips relearned the taste, textures and sensitive curves of hers.

  She was drowning in sensation, the world narrowed to the coaxing, arousing movements of his mouth against hers.

  Just as abruptly as he’d taken her, Josh ripped his mouth away. She staggered, disoriented by the sudden shift from sensual fever to awareness, her fingers clenched over the porch post.

  He stepped back. “That was a mistake.” He ground the words out harshly, his breathing fast and heavy, loud in the still night air. “It won’t happen again.” He turned and strode swiftly away, mounting Baby and riding away without looking back.

  Would it have hurt him less if I’d told him the truth? Sarah dropped onto the swing and watched him go, unaware that tears coursed down her cheeks. Would he hate me less if he knew that I was raped?

  Sarah stared, unseeing, at the moonlit, silent cluster of buildings. She was remembering herself checking in to a motel in Great Falls five years ago. She hadn’t heard the man behind her, didn’t know she had been followed from the checkin counter at the motel office until the man forced her inside her room. He ripped her purse and car keys out of her hand, but when he began tearing at her clothes she fought back. The ensuing assault was brutal, leaving her unconscious from a blow to the head.

  When she was found by the motel cleaning staff two days later, she was still drifting in and out of consciousness from a concussion. She reacted hysterically to any male that came near her, from the EMTs to the hospital staff doctors. Contacted by the police, her mother rushed to her side.

  When she was released from the hospital, Patricia rented a small house to enable Sarah to attend the intensive therapy designed to help her deal with the trauma of the attack. Emotionally distraught, consumed with shame and guilt, Sarah was unable to face Josh and had contact with no one except her mother, her counselors and her doctors. It wasn’t until three weeks later that she realized she was pregnant; her mother immediately insisted that she have an abortion, but Sarah refused. She didn’t know if Josh or her attacker had fathered the child, and she couldn’t bring herself to destroy a baby that she and Josh might have created. Patricia finally conceded that Sarah’s emotional and physical health was too shaky to face such a decision, but insisted that her daughter give the child up for adoption at birth.

  Sarah had felt confident that she would know immediately if Josh were the father when her child was born. The genes that gave Josh his crow black hair and deep blue eyes would surely dominate over the genes that carried her own silvery blond hair and blue eyes. But by the time she’d carried the child in her womb for nine long months, she knew that regardless of the identity of the father, she couldn’t bear to give her baby to another woman to love and raise. Unfortunately for her peace of mind, her little boy was born with distinctive, unfamiliar tiptilted green eyes and Sarah’s silver-blond hair, and didn’t look like either Josh or the man who had assaulted her.

  Furious at Sarah’s determination to keep the baby, Patricia told her that she would have to stay in Great Falls, because she couldn’t bring the child home to Butte Creek. Patricia’s reputation would be ruined, the disgrace unbearable.

  Sarah acceded to her mother’s ultimatum, but only because she knew that she couldn’t live near Josh. She loved him deeply, but was still unable, even after intensive therapy, to endure physical contact with a male. It had taken months for her to control the instinct to flee from men, or flinch from the most innocent of contact. She was convinced that she would never be normal, never be able to satisfy Josh in an intimate, male-female relationship.

  Beyond that, she couldn’t bring herself to face Josh and tell him that she’d been raped. The barely concealed disgust she’d seen on her mother’s face when she’d awakened in the hospital had been devastating. She couldn’t bear to see the same shock and accusation on the face of the man she loved.

  She was also convinced that he wouldn’t want her now that she had a child. Well aware of the damage done to Josh by his father’s alcoholism and his mother’s desertion of the family when he was barely four, Sarah had understood why he was so adamantly set against having a family of his own. Still, she’d been sure she could change his mind with enough time and love—but that possibility was destroyed by the assault and her pregnancy.

  Josh hadn’t wanted children, and Sarah could never give up her baby. Josh was an intensely passionate man, and Sarah could no longer bear to be touched.

  Nearly a year had passed before she had finally given up all hope that she could find a solution that would allow her any hope for a future with Josh. She’d written to him—a carefully polite, purposely vague letter, in which she told him that she had moved on with her life, and that she hoped he had, too.

  Four years had gone by before her mother suffered her stroke and Sarah had been forced to return to Butte Creek and face Josh.

  She’d known it was going to be hard, but she’d badly misjudged just how difficult, it would be.

  Sarah sighed and brushed a hand across her face, surprised at the dampness on her fingers and palm. Inside the house, the clock chimed the hour and she pushed herself upright, staring out over the dark land.

  If she told Josh the truth, would he be less tormented by a past they couldn’t change or make right? Would he hate her any less for denying him knowledge of J.J. if tests proved that the little boy wasn’t his biological son?

  The dark night held no answers, and only stillness met her silent, anguished cry.

  Sarah left the waning moon behind. It wasn’t until she was in bed and nearly asleep that she realized she hadn’t panicked when Josh kissed her. Stunned, she sat upright in bed and struggled to understand what had happened. Not only had he kissed her, but he’d wound his fingers in her hair and held her captive—and she hadn’t fought wildly to be released. Nor had she been truly afraid of him. On some basic, subconscious level, she trusted him.

  What did it mean? Was there a possibility that she was incapable of physical contact only with men other than Josh?

  Tolerating a kiss is minor compared to actually making love. Sarah forced herself to face the likelihood that she’d been caught off guard by the swiftness of Josh’s forced kiss—and the fact that it had been over nearly as soon as it had begun.

  Practicality quenched the brief flash of hope and she lay down again, pulled the covers up beneath her chin and ordered her racing mind to cease its struggles and let her exhausted body rest.

  Over the next several days J.J. and Caitlin, happily shadowed by Rum, raced off to the barn to find Josh the moment Sarah brought them home each afternoon. Although Josh h
ad a three-year-old nephew, he hadn’t quite realized what he was letting himself in for when he’d told J.J. and Caitlin that they could do chores in exchange for riding lessons. He’d visualized a simple job or two a day; the kids, however, zealously pursued him for job assignments from the moment they got home until Sarah called them for dinner. He was hard-pressed to find enough to keep them busy without endangering them, particularly the determined J.J.

  Sarah was well aware that her son could be a handful, and the relatively short time that she’d spent with Caitlin had taught her that the twelveyear-old could be difficult without half trying.

  Her curiosity as to how Josh was coping with the junior dynamos had her strolling to the barn late one afternoon to call the children for dinner, instead of ringing the old dinner bell on the porch. Caitlin was perched on the top rail of the corral, Zach Colby’s tall figure leaning against the rails beside her. Inside the corral, J.J. was in the saddle atop a brown gelding, his eyes bright with excitement while Josh led the horse in slow circles.

  “Faster! Faster!” he demanded. Josh obediently walked a little faster, the gelding plodding a little more quickly behind him.

  Sarah reached the corral and leaned her forearms along the top of a rail to watch. “How’s he doing?”

  Caitlin twisted to look down at her, a quick grin curving her mobile mouth upward and echoing the sparkle in her green eyes.

  “Hi, Aunt Sarah.” She glanced back at J.J. “He hasn’t fallen off yet. Josh won’t let him take the reins by himself until he stops bouncing around in the saddle.”

  “Ahn.” Sarah nodded in understanding. Her gaze went past Caitlin to Zach Colby’s profile. “Good afternoon, Zach.”