The Redemption of Jefferson Cade

by BJ James

  But now the portrait was nowhere in sight, and the woman, who was more than a friend, was back in Jeffer­son's life. If anyone deserved a second chance, it was this strong but gentle man who would likely love but once.

  Turning on the heel of a stylish boot, Cristal stood with her feet apart, bracing for a battle. In a shaft of light falling through a window, she was elegance in black leather pants, black vest, and a russet blouse that made her look as if she belonged on the fashion runway, not in a saloon in Silver-ton.

  Unmindful of the picture she made or that she took a reluctant Goliath's breath away, she regarded each member of her captive audience. When it seemed she wouldn't speak, she broke the unsettling silence. "For once in his life, our illustrious sheriff is right about me. I did blunder into this. I thought I was visiting a friend. The last thing I expected in our quiet cattle country was to walk into the midst of clandestine affairs. The last thing I wanted was to make life difficult for anyone.

  "I don't know what this is about. But not knowing doesn't keep me from caring what happens to the people involved."

  She cast a look at Billy Blackhawk, green gaze met black and lingered. Cristal was first to look away, but only be­cause she had something that very much needed saying. "I can deduce enough to know that Jefferson and Marissa have a history. Perhaps there was an affair."

  She was skirting too closely to personal matters. Billy made a sound and a move as if he would stop her. Cristal ignored him. "But I really think not. Or else neither of you would have allowed the years of separation. I can't know what happened in the interim, except that Marissa lost her husband and her parents. For that, I'm truly sorry. I know, too, that she's in trouble. Trouble that brought Jefferson rushing to the rescue, with Billy not far behind. I know someone called Menendez is involved, and that he's a rich and vicious man.

  "Beyond that, I know very little. But I can tell you this, Billy and Jefferson, you both underestimate Marissa." An open palm held up toward Billy stopped the comment he wasn't going to make. "You act as if she's fragile. Griev­ing? Yes. Carrying unwarranted guilt? I imagine so. But fragile? Never."

  Saving the most important for last, Cristal faced Marissa squarely. Her hair was dark fire and her features contoured by pale light and darkness as the day grew older. As she accused, her voice lost its scolding tone. "As for you, young lady."

  Marissa waited, silently. Though they'd barely been in­troduced, and then not officially, an instant bond of respect had leapt between the two women, like the rare meeting of different yet kindred souls. A frisson of jealousy had be­come respect and she very much wanted to hear what this woman who knew the land and these men far better than she had to say.

  Seeing how intently the younger woman watched her, how quietly she waited, Cristal realized that what she said could be the resolving factor. Perhaps her judgment could

  be the catalyst that decided whether this fugitive from trag­edy and menace left the canyon, or if she stayed. If she listened and if she cared half as much as Cristal suspected, Marissa would never leave Jefferson again. "You misjudge, us. Billy. Me. Especially Jefferson. Whatever danger you might have brought to the canyon, it would never be more than these men, or even I can handle. .

  "Maybe neither of us has been through what you have. But we've each had our own losses and our own troubles. Our own trial by fire. We lived through it, we survived. And in the end we became stronger people. So will you, Marissa."

  "How can you know that, Cristal? On less than an hour's acquaintance, how can you say what I will be?" Marissa had studied this rare woman, and she'd listened. She spec­ulated that there was the wisdom of misfortune in her words.

  "I know you, because I know Jefferson. I know because I know the kind of woman he would be drawn to. The sort it would take to turn him into a brooding loner. Half the single female population of Silverton is in heat for him. Some not so single. None subtly. Yet in four years, he's never been tempted.

  "He wouldn't become involved simply for the sake of his masculine or even sexual gratification. And he isn't the sort to settle for a second-best love. He couldn't. He's waited four years for you. And if you think Jefferson Cade could let the woman he loves walk out of his life a second time for any reason but that she doesn't love him in return, lady, you don't know your man.

  "Here in the canyon you both have security and the pro­tection of those three riders Billy pointed out to us. And you have Billy, himself. If you leave the Broken Spur, Jef­ferson will leave with you. He'll go wherever you go, Ma­rissa. Into any danger. I promise you."

  Marissa was too stunned by Cristal's blunt assessment to think. She really wanted to look at Jefferson to judge his reaction. But she dared not. Not yet. "I don't want to bring harm to anyone, and I don't want to be a burden."

  "Danger is Billy's business and Jefferson won't be lack­ing when the chips are down. As far as being a burden, or intruding on Billy's time, don't worry. He needs more to do," Cristal asserted. "Then he wouldn't have time to ir­ritate me."

  Billy Blackhawk groaned softly, but said nothing. Nei­ther did Jefferson. Cristal was obviously on the right track and neither wanted to interfere.

  "As for me," Cristal continued. "I'm stronger than I look. And I'll be all right. Billy might very well like to break my neck himself at times. But he would kill anyone else who tried.

  "That's my two cents and change. I can't make up your mind for you. I can't make you stay. But I hope I've given you something to think about. Remember this hasn't been just your loss. It was Jefferson's, too, since the day he lost you. Now that you've found each other, don't waste time grieving over a past not of your making. I hope you'll stay, for Jefferson, and for me."

  "For you?" Marissa hadn't expected this.

  Cristal laughed. A genuine laugh that lightened the ten­sions pervading the room. "Hey! I need a friend and an ally. Who wouldn't dealing with these two? Now, I've had my say. I'm out of breath, and I'm heading home. I need to be in Silverton in time to close the saloon."

  With a hug for Marissa, a kiss for Jefferson, and a sassy wave for Billy, Cristal was gone. Only seconds after the last of her footsteps sounded on the stairs, the powerful engine of her convertible roared through the canyon.

  "Who is she?" Marissa asked as the sound faded. "How did she become so wise?"

  "No one knows very much about Cristal." Billy offered the answer. ‘‘She arrived in Silverton one day. Liked what she saw and decided to stay. She's a good listener, but she rarely talks much. Today was the most I've heard her say at once in the five years she's been in town. For all any of us know of her past, she might as well have been born the day she arrived in Silverton."

  "You've never run a background check?" Jefferson asked, though he knew all he needed to know about Cristal.

  "I could," Billy shrugged. "But I won't stoop to invading her privacy without due cause. Despite our conflict, she hasn't given any cause. Now, if you both will excuse me." He reached for his hat, which had rested on the mantel since he entered the house. "I have work to do, and you two have decisions to make. Jefferson, I've a couple of things to discuss, if you'll walk with me to the car."

  Sundown had long passed. Ruby cliffs turned to deep purple, then utter black. Long shadows casting puddles of darkness over the canyon had been swallowed by the night. A silver moon rode low in the sky and from the pasture a night bird called.

  The supper no one wanted was done and Marissa sat on the top step of the porch, with only Satan as her companion. The massive Doberman was given to wandering away for small chunks of time, but he always wandered back. Al­ways to Marissa. He seemed to sense when she needed him and when she didn't. Tonight he lay as close as he could get, his head rested on her thigh as he slept.

  This should have been a pleasant time, a time of accom­plishment for one who had reveled in the long hours in the saddle herding the canyon horses to home pasture. But as she stroked Satan's head, Marissa could think of nothing but what Cristal had said.r />
  "Then, lady, you don't know your man," she whispered the last of the most stunning statements.

  "She's right, you know." Jefferson stood at the bottom of the steps, watching her in the moonlight.

  After supper, with the untouched food put away and the kitchen in order, while Marissa excused herself to go up­stairs to soak her aches, he'd gone to the barn to check the horses close to foaling. For one this would be the first foal and the mare was restless and frightened. Marissa hadn't offered to help for she needed to think. And no one was better at soothing a skittish horse than Jefferson.

  "I didn't hear your footsteps." She looked down at him. Now that the sun had gone and he no longer needed the protection of his hat, his head was bare. Though his hair was wet and darkened, streaks of silver still gleamed in moonlight. His shirt was open, his belt unbuckled. She knew then he'd bathed in the creek. The vision of how he would look standing naked in water reflecting a thousand moons sent shards of desire spiraling through her.

  Suddenly insecure and uncertain, she said the first thing that came to mind. "You cut your hair."

  Jefferson didn't smile at the inane remark. "A long time ago. But so did you."

  His face was in shadow as he looked up at her, but she knew his intense blue eyes were watching every nuance of every expression. "It was easier shorter."

  "Yes."

  Her hand stopped stroking Satan. Her eyes strained to read what was in his face. But there was nothing she could distinguish. Drawing a long breath, she whispered, "Is it true?"

  Jefferson didn't pretend that he didn't understand what she was asking. "It's true."

  "You've waited all these years for me?"

  His head inclined a bare inch. "Until I heard from you again, I didn't realize I was waiting. But, yes, I have."

  ''You won't let me walk out of your life a second time?''

  "Only when it's safe, and if you don't love me." His hand was on the banister, but he made no move to climb the steps to her.

  "In return?" Marissa stared down at the lean shape he projected in the dark. "Cristal said in return."

  "I love you, Marissa. I have for longer than you know."

  It was simple declaration. And more beautiful for its simplicity. There were tears in her eyes, but this time she didn't blink them away. "Four years is a long time to wait."

  "I would wait longer. Forever, if need be."

  "If I ask you not to leave the ranch, would you stay?"

  "Not if you go."

  Clasping her hands at her shoulders, hugging herself, she murmured, "Even if I don't love you?"

  "Even then," he admitted, adding softly, "But you do love me, Marissa. I saw it on the plain. I saw it by the lake in Simon's valley. I've seen it here. I'm a part of every breath you take, every beat of your heart. As you are in mine."

  Her tears spilled at last, leaving tracks of wonder on her face. ' 'If I stay?'' she whispered hoarsely. ''What happens then?"

  "What do you want, love? Tell me and I'll try my best to make it happen. I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy."

  Marissa made a sound that was almost laughter. "You make me happy just by being Jefferson."

  That small sound released him from his self-imposed re­straints. With agile grace he climbed the steps to sit beside her. Gathering her in his arms, with only the lightest of kisses brushed across her forehead, careful not to go faster and further than she was ready to deal with, he held her. And together they watched the night.

  Neither knew how long they sat in the darkness. Neither cared. But after a time, she relaxed, curling into him. Breathing a sigh of longing, she murmured his name. And Jefferson stood, his arm outstretched as he whispered un-forgotten words from the past. ''Take my hand, sweetheart. If you truly want this. If you truly want me."

  Marissa's trembling fingers met Jefferson's strong clasp. Satan whimpered, but slept on as his master swept the woman for whom he'd waited a lifetime into his tender embrace.

  Eight

  Hands joined, fingers twined with Jefferson's, Marissa walked with him through the house. She wore a long, loose dress of a thousand tiny pleats reaching from shoulders to toes. A gift from Raven that had quickly become a favorite in those evenings she normally spent in her room after a soothing bath.

  But tonight, the walls of her room had also seemed to close in on her, driving her from its confines. To the porch, to the night. To Jefferson.

  The pressure of his clasp drew her to a halt, spinning her to face him, setting the thousand pleats rippling about her. Catching her free hand, then drawing both to his lips, be­tween small kisses trailed over her knuckles, he whispered, ''Did I tell you how beautiful you are tonight?''

  "Am I?" Was it vain, she wondered, to want to hear him say the words? To revel in them. Treasure them.

  "Since the first day I saw you." Opening her fingers one by one, he linked them around his neck. Drawing her body to his, he smiled down at her. "My brothers, Lincoln and Jackson, and I had come to Eden's Inn. And there you were, just coming from the garden. Your long hair wild and tangled from the wind, a basket of flowers in your arms.

  "Over what seemed like blossoms of every sort found in the lowcountry, and of every color, you looked at me like some enchanted creature. I'd never seen anyone like you. Or felt for anyone what I felt for you."

  "I didn't know. I didn't understand. Not then."

  "You weren't supposed to know, sweetheart. I was eight years older and you had your whole life ahead of you. Though not the life I expected. But that's the past." Slowly, with her arms still linked at his nape, and his at her waist, he began to move in the smooth, gliding steps of a waltz. "Do you realize that in all those years, we never danced together? I never held you in my arms, until it was too late."

  "It isn't too late now," she murmured, and leaned her head against his shoulder, giving herself up to the silent music guiding his steps. As naturally as if they'd always danced together, her body matched the tempo of his.

  In moonlight falling through a window, bodies close, hearts keeping time, Jefferson danced with his love to strains of music only they could hear.

  After a time, his steps slowed, his lips traced over the satin skin of her temples, then her ear. Softly, on a breath, he asked, ''What do you want, sweetheart?''

  Her head came up, her eyes met his. "I want you, Jef­ferson. I want forever. However long forever can be."

  "Yes," Jefferson agreed hoarsely. A single word that said everything. Then he was lifting her into his arms, strid­ing to his bedroom. A single lamp burned by his bed. In its pool of light he set her on her feet.

  When she swayed against him, he made a desperate sound and bent to kiss her with the hunger of years. His mouth was gentle and demanding, devouring and giving at once. As her lips parted, his kiss deepened. His tongue caressed hers. His hands spanned her waist, urging her closer.

  Marissa's fingers glided up the column of his neck, damp strands of his hair threaded through her fingers as she cupped her palms around the back of his head. She wanted to keep his mouth, his kiss, his intimate caress. She couldn't drink deeply enough of him. Or get close enough.

  His long, lean body was her bulwark. Her support. Her haven in the storm.

  He made her whole.

  Curling her fingers, catching fists of his hair, she drew him away. Denying herself what she wanted most, to say what she must. "Jefferson," she whispered as he looked down at her, a look she couldn't fathom on his face. His eyes, catching the little light, held the question he didn't voice.

  "I'm sorry." A tremor sounded in her soft words.

  She was so close, every nuance of her breathless words seemed to flow over him like a touch. Two words that would set the course of his life. Keeping her in his embrace, he asked gently, "What is it, sweetheart?"

  "I'm sorry for the years. For the hurt. I'm sorry for so many things." Bowing her head, she touched her forehead to his shoulder again. As she caught that ever-familiar calming breath, her br
easts touching his chest, she shivered, returning her gaze to his. "I'm sorry I didn't have the wis­dom and strength of Savannah Cody, or the vision of Cristal Lane."

  "And now?" Jefferson's palms skimmed slowly over her ribs, then her back, coming to rest at the curve of her shoulders. His splayed fingers touched her nape, her hair, her throat. His thumbs strayed over the line of her jaw to the corners of her mouth. Her lips, when he traced their shape, were still moist from his kiss. "Are you sorry now? For this?"

  Marissa's look moved over his face, touching every fea­ture, seeing the strength, the love. ''Only for the lost days, the lost hours, the minutes."

  "The seconds," he finished for her as his mouth took hers in another kiss, and another, as with his tender touch he made her forget about sorrow. About grief. "Time doesn't matter tonight. Tomorrow's a new day, a new start, a new life."

  "Together," she whispered softly against his throat as she stepped from the circle of his arms. The slender column of her dress swayed as she moved. The ripple of pleats molded her body and danced around her ankles. With a shake of her head her hair tumbled down her back.

  Jefferson had only a second to realize that as her breath came in uneven shivers her unfettered breasts strained against the pleats. Then, with the graceful crossing of her arms and the stroke of her palms, the dress was gliding from her shoulders and her arms, baring her body inch by glorious inch.

  When the supple garment lay in a forgotten pool at her feet, she didn't speak. She didn't move. Marissa, an en­trancing woman. A woman who knew what she wanted, and believed at last there was no guilt in the wanting.

  Jefferson's body shook, his chest rose and fell in harsh, uneven rhythms. His eyes never wavering from her, he shrugged from his shirt, kicked aside his boots. As quickly the rest of his clothing followed.

  He was fiercely aroused and he wanted her, needed her desperately. But not yet. Despite the heavy throbbing de­mand, he wanted to claim her first with his eyes and his touch. As a blind man who must see with his fingertips, he traced the line of her brow, the contour of her cheek, lin­gered long at the pulsing, fragrant hollow of her throat.