by Firebrand
“I suppose you told Will that you were here as—to—to be my private stud? That must have given him a big laugh. You couldn’t have picked a more perfect person to share our plans with. You see, Will Fleming was your biggest rival. If I’d belonged to his church, we probably would have married long ago. As it is, he almost had your job. Maybe I should have chosen him.”
She hadn’t meant to say that. She didn’t even think of Cade in those crude terms. As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she’d made a mistake. Cade McCall would never be anybody’s stud. He was a man, a proud man, who’d given up his plans for his own life to make a better home for his child. He was exactly the kind of man she’d choose as a father for her child. And what was she giving him? A cruel, mean-minded shrew.
“Cade—” she began.
“Forget it, Mrs. Wilder,” Cade said coldly. “You didn’t choose him. You picked me, and I have a contract that I intend to hold you to. Either way, I figure I can’t lose. I’ll be married to the wealthiest woman in the state, and I’ll have an unlimited supply of sex.” He picked up his contract and folded it carefully. “I’d better take good care of this. It’s worth a lot of money.”
He strode out of the room without a backward glance.
Rusty watched in stunned disbelief. A log in the fireplace broke and set off a shower of sparks.
What had she done?
Six
The night was silent. Not a quiver of movement broke the quiet; not a shiver of wind brushed against the window. To Rusty it was as if the valley had pulled the mountain on top of itself to hide. She paced the floor restlessly.
Not since Ben’s death had she felt so lost and out of control. Her careful plans had vanished in a blaze of fire. From the moment she’d met Cade McCall in the airport, she’d been caught on an emotional roller coaster—feeling wild anticipation one minute and desperate anxiety the next. She’d allowed Cade McCall to overshadow every plan she’d made and every thought she had. Instead of Silverwild being the focus of her existence, Cade McCall had become her first thought in the morning and her last thought at night.
Never before had she met an obstacle she couldn’t see a way around. She’d prided herself on being able to define the problem, look for an answer, and implement the steps necessary for a solution. But now Cade was the problem, and the steps she needed to take to get past her fascination with him entailed the very action she’d hired him for—sharing his bed. And now he’d taken that option away from her.
Across the open courtyard opposite Rusty’s room, Cade strode back and forth, racked with a raging consternation he couldn’t shake. For the first time since he’d come home and found Janie gone from their apartment, he was floundering. Even learning about Pixie and assuming responsibility for a child he didn’t know he had was nothing compared to the cloud of indecision that had fallen over him now. He didn’t know why he’d insisted on the marriage remaining intact. He’d thought once that he had been in love. He’d been wrong.
Loving homes with peace and satisfaction were myths. This time he wasn’t even married to the woman, and he was churning with anger, with frustration. He felt great concern for his child, who already viewed Rusty as Glenda, the good witch, who gave pleasant good-night dreams. Could he control his wild desire for a hot-tempered witch who was determined to rule her own little kingdom?
If only he could find an answer, a temporary answer, one that would give him time to work out another solution. Not only for himself and Pixie, but for Eugene as well.
A temporary solution. A vision of Rusty flooded into his mind. There was a roaring in Cade’s ears that blocked out all rational thought. He tried to draw in a deep calming breath, but his heartbeat seemed to accelerate. With a roar of fury he pushed open the door that lead to the patio and plunged into the icy night air. He peeled -off his sweater and dropped it to the floor, welcoming the feel of the icy air on his chest. Ice and cold he could deal with.
He leaned his head over the bannister and drew in a long desperate breath, then lifted his head, his eyes catching the light in the room across from him.
A shadow was moving back and forth—pausing, turning, then pacing again. He could feel Rusty’s distress as if he were standing in the room with her. They were tearing each other apart. She too was in great pain, and he was the cause. Before he gave rational thought to his actions, he broke into a run around the patio, hugging the U-shaped house. He reached her door and turned the knob.
It opened.
Rusty stopped, wide-eyed and surprised, her lips mouthing his name. “Cade.”
His hands were suddenly on her shoulders, stroking the heat of her skin. He moved his fingertips around her neck, found the zipper beneath her hair, and pulled it down, letting the dress puddle in a pink cloud at her feet. Lacy white underwear was torn away, and she was standing before him, dewy white skin, fiery red hair tousled wildly, green eyes glazed with passion he’d never expected to see.
His hand, still resting on the nape of her neck, lifted the heavy mane of her hair, threading it through his fingers, across her shoulders, and down her breasts. His rough fingertips circled one nipple, studying her as if he’d never seen a woman’s body before.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, “every part of you. A flame ready to flare up at my touch.” His other hand caressed her body, lifting the breast, holding her so that he could lean forward and rub his chest against her. He felt her shudder and hoped that it signaled the heat that constantly simmered beneath her deceptively cool exterior.
“You,” she whispered, threading her hands in the rich fullness of his hair. “I want to touch you.” Her hands plunged down his chest, lingering at the waist of his jeans before unsnapping them and sliding her hand inside, touching him, circling the solid evidence of his desire. He groaned, then pulled her hand away.
“Cade, please.” She caught his waistband in her hands and pulled his jeans down, freeing him to thrust forward in blatant arousal. She gasped, then reached for his briefs and pulled them down legs that were corded with muscles.
Cade’s body, still cold from the patio, was like ice against her feverish need. His feet were already bare. He stepped out of the jeans and gave them a kick, sending his and her clothes across the floor in a wild tangle of lace and denim. As their bodies touched, every sensation was more acute, more alive, more demanding than she’d ever known, and Cade was responding in kind.
Fire met ice.
The sizzle was almost audible. Cade muttered a garbled curse and claimed her lips with a violence that was met with equal force. Probing, possessive, arching tongues demanded and received as Cade dropped to the floor, bringing Rusty to the carpet beneath him. For a long moment he raised himself on his elbows and glared at her, not in gentle need but in a fury that was fed by passion.
Then he lifted himself over her and stared down into her eyes. A blaze of a thousand sensations ran through his veins and settled with a thud in his heart. Even as he devoured her with his eyes, he knew that whatever happened in their crazy bargain, he was in love with this woman. He wanted her, yes. But he wanted her for always, and six months of making love wouldn’t be enough.
Beneath him, Rusty felt as if she were being devoured by the wild passion of Cade McCall. There wasn’t a part of them that wasn’t fused. There was no plunging in and withdrawing. Even as he pulled back, she lifted herself and moved with him. His hands, now beneath her body, held her to him so they were never apart. It was the rhythm of life, of giving, of total surrender.
And when the climax came, it ripped through them like the reverberating shudder of an avalanche in the wilderness, rolling on and on, then gradually dying in the wonder of its splendor.
Their making love was more than a simple touching, it was a merging of two souls.
And then he pulled away.
The powerful sensation subsided, the heat cooled and left two people, still touching, yet more separate than before.
Rusty opened her eyes into the dark de
pths of Cade’s—acceptance? Defeat? She couldn’t be sure. She only knew that they’d overpowered each other, extracting and claiming what might have been refused if they hadn’t been on fire.
“You’ve won,” he said as he pulled away and stood up. “I can’t stay away from you. You’ve hired yourself a man. But if this relationship has a chance of working, sleeping with you won’t be enough. I have to find a place for myself here.”
“Cade, I want—”
“You want. I want. You’ve branded me with fire, and we’ll destroy each other if we don’t find a common ground. I’ll give you your six months. For now, I’m just like that bull—bought.”
He pulled on his jeans and slipped out the door into the night. Rusty felt moisture in her eyes. She should have felt triumph at her success, but at this moment she felt only sadness. She crawled to her bed and lifted herself into its protective covers, snuggling deep inside like a small child afraid of the dark.
She felt drained. She felt ashamed.
Then if flickered, a tiny warm sensation somewhere deep inside. Even as she acknowledged its presence, she felt it begin to glow. Cade was wrong about her having taken his soul. She’d only borrowed it for a while, to comfort hers and give it life. She pulled the other pillow into her arms and buried her face against it.
Cade. She wanted him again, here, in her arms. And she’d find a way to make it so. Rusty Wilder McCall—the name had a nice ring to it. Maybe a compromise would be possible. Will Fleming would never have fit, in her imagination, or her arms. In the end he’d married his childhood sweetheart, Ann-Marie. They belonged together.
Maybe she and Cade McCall belonged together too. Maybe not. But Cade McCall was real. She smiled. Cade McCall was a lot like Pretty Boy—awesome.
Cade didn’t leave the next morning. But he might as well have. For the next week he spent all his time on the range with Doak and the men, leaving before Rusty got up and returning late at night. He found every crook and corner of the distant range to ride in during the day. He ate with the hands, and where he slept she wasn’t sure.
Rusty let him go. She knew that she had to let him find a way to live on the ranch. Finally she was obligated to send word to Cade by Letty that the dance they were attending was to be a formal affair. She offered to order a tux, but Letty said that Cade’s reply was that he understood and he’d make his own arrangements. He did, however, ask for use of the truck when he needed it, and Rusty agreed.
Until the plane was repaired, Rusty was forced to rely on the Jeep or remain on the ranch. There was a large black limo that had been used when Ben was alive, but Rusty hadn’t ridden in it since the funeral. She spent her time in her office, working on the computer, entering figures, making business calls, and trying to decide how best to convince her fellow ranchers to make use of Pretty Boy’s skills. Hefty stud fees would go a long way toward easing the shortage of ready cash in her bank account.
Breeding a new line was as important to her competition as it was to her. For it was her water that they wanted for their cattle. It was her water that the melon and wheat farmers wanted too. But she didn’t have an answer for that yet.
The spring thaw had already begun up in the mountains. The runoff would soon reach the valley. She glanced out the window. The mountains were like steps with great dry areas in between. The water from above melted, ran across the dry stretch of land too hard for too long to absorb it, and found its way to the river. If somehow that water could be captured without interfering with the flow of the river, many of the problems between Rusty and the other ranchers could be solved.
As Rusty peered out the window, she caught sight of Pixie dancing across the courtyard toward the corral. In her hand was an after-school treat, a cup of milk and a piece of jelly cake. She reached the fence separating the corral from the rest of the barnyard and stopped. Rusty could tell she was talking to someone, but the corner of the house kept her from seeing who was beyond the fence, until—
“Pretty Boy!” The bull ambled into view, gave a snort and pawed the ground for a moment, then stuck his head between the posts and began nibbling at the cake in Pixie’s hand. Rusty ran out the patio door and began to cross the yard in a rush.
She decided not to call out. Any word might set the bull off, and Pixie could be hurt. Even now, as hard as they’d tried, nobody had been able to get a hand on the wildly excitable animal. Yet now he seemed perfectly content to lick Pixie’s hand and listen to her chatter. Rusty drew to a stop.
“And then, Pretty Boy, my daddy and Miss Rusty are going to get married and have lots of babies. We’ll live here forever, and I’ll never have any more bad dreams. Rusty is a good witch, you know. She makes the bad dreams go away. If you would be nice, she’d make you smile too. Now drink your milk.” She giggled. “I sneaked some of Eugene’s tonic in it. It’s good for what ails you.”
The child held out the cup, and the bull began slurping noisily. “That’s enough now. I have to save some for the kitties.” Pixie patted the animal on the head and began walking down the fence toward the barn. “I have to go now, Pretty Boy. When the kitties are strong enough, I’ll bring them out to play with you.”
Rusty watched as Pixie disappeared into the barn. The bull stood watching, too, then gave a satisfied swish of his tail and walked slowly away. Rusty wouldn’t have believed what she’d just seen if she hadn’t been there. The bull was gentle and easy with the child. But then everyone responded to Pixie that way, including herself.
Turning back to the kitchen, Rusty found Letty stirring something on the stove and singing loudly. It took Rusty a minute to identify the song as “I’m Getting Married in the Morning.”
“Letty, I hate to interrupt your concert, but do we have a litter of kittens in the barn?”
“If they’re still alive. Doak said they came night before last, puny-looking little things. Their mother crawled in there half starved. He tried to feed them, but he doesn’t think they look too good. Why?”
“Pixie appears to be feeding them.”
“Oh, yes. She asked for extra jelly cake and milk. Those little things can’t eat yet, but I didn’t think it would hurt her to try.”
“I’m afraid it wasn’t only the kittens she was feeding the cake to.”
“Oh? Well, if she wanted seconds, she only had to ask.”
“No, it wasn’t for her either. She fed that cake to the bull. And you know what? He licked it from her hand.”
Letty dropped her spoon and turned to Rusty in alarm. “You mean that creature from hell you brought here?”
“That’s what I said. Do you by any chance have any of Eugene’s Tundra Tonic in here?”
“Eh—well, maybe I do. Why?”
“I want to have a look at it.”
Letty looked a bit guilty as she reached under the sink and pulled out a long-necked brown beer bottle with a cork. “Humm, seems a bit lighter.”
Rusty took the bottle and opened it. She took a big sniff. There was little odor. She pursed her lips, took a deep breath, and turned the bottle up, taking a sip of the clear liquid. There was little taste until the liquid hit her stomach, and then she knew.
“Moonshine! Eugene’s Tundra Tonic is pure moonshine. I didn’t know anybody made this stuff anymore.”
“I’m sure you’re wrong,” Letty protested. “It’s a special tonic Eugene brews from Alaskan herbs and berries. He got the recipe from the Eskimos.”
“I’ll just bet he did. No wonder that bull became so docile. No wonder he ate out of Pixie’s hand. He’s becoming addicted.” Rusty slammed the bottle on the table and strobe out the kitchen door toward the barn. She’d just have a little talk with Eugene, and with Doak, and with Cade. This was no way to tame a wild animal.
By the time she reached the barn, the warm glow in her stomach had intensified, setting off waves of fullness that undulated throughout her system, forcing her to slow her step. Inside the barn she heard Pixie’s voice and followed it to a back corner of the hay
loft.
There she found the child with the mama cat in her lap and the kittens nursing contentedly. The mama cat was lapping the last of the milk from the cup that Pixie was holding.
Rusty kneeled down beside her. “Pixie, do you know what’s in Eugene’s tonic?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s the essence of life. He puts it in a bottle, and when a person, or an animal is feeling poorly, he gives them a dose. They always feel better. Look at the mama kitty. She’s purring because she’s very happy now.”
Rusty took a long look at the cat. She did appear to be happy. She certainly didn’t look like the puny cat that Doak had described. Neither did her kittens, whose coats shone with a slick glow. Of course, that was a possible result of drinking moonshine. After all, it was made from sugar and fermented materials, all ingredients that could build up an animal’s strength. Rusty shook her head. She’d have to go to Cade. There was no other answer. She couldn’t have Eugene parceling out alcohol as medicine.
She stood up, ruffling Pixie’s hair as she moved away. For now, that would have wait. She had to get ready for the Cattleman’s Ball. She’d take up the issue of the Tundra Tonic afterward—providing Cade remembered that he was to be her escort.
Three hours later, as Rusty walked down the hallway to the center steps at the curve of the U-shaped house, she met Cade McCall at the top.
He’d remembered.
Cade McCall in jeans and boots was spectacular. But Cade McCall in a tuxedo was mesmerizing. Except for his white shirt everything was black—his jacket, his trousers, his formal boots. The only color he wore was his tie, a flame-colored satin scarf looped into a knot at the neck and falling down to touch the top of the V of his brocade vest. He looked like a man of danger. She could only stare at him and wait.
Cade walked slowly toward Rusty. Tonight she was wearing a royal-blue lace and sequin dress that covered her as though it were her skin. Only because of the slit in the side that reached almost to her hip could she walk. Like a woman from a painting, she wore her copper-colored hair piled on her head, held there with ebony Spanish combs. She wore no jewelry. It would have paled into obscurity in contrast with her hair and the vibrant color of her skin.