The Redemption of Jefferson Cade

by BJ James

  Then his quest moved lower, discovering her breasts were a perfect fit for his cupped palms. As he cradled them gently and leaned to taste first one taut nipple, then the other, his gentle suckling was rewarded with her quaking sigh. Her body swayed and the sigh became a low cry as his questing caress trailed over her midriff to her waist. Then down her hips to clasp her buttocks as he had her breasts, drawing her to him, at last.

  She was beautiful, as beautiful as in his memory. She was tawny grace and long, lean elegance. A temptress, an awakening wanton. A mystery to unravel again and again. A treasure to hold, to keep, to protect. Forever.

  Then she reached for him to work her own sweet magic. Setting his heart pounding in a wild erratic rhythm, she was the siren whose silent song was her touch. A touch that left nothing undiscovered, nothing unworshiped. In the space of a shivering gasp, he was beset by torture that was as artless as it was provocative. As beguiled as it was beguil­ing. A madness drawing him ever deeper into the storm.

  She was wonder and agony that had him crying, '"Enough. Dear heaven! Enough."

  Then he was sweeping her into his arms to take her, at last, to his bed. A bed that once had known the passion of other lovers, yet in his time had been solitary—but no more. Even as he regretted laying her on a bachelor's util­itarian counterpane when she should have silks, he knew she must understand this couldn't be just one night. Or two, or even a dozen.

  Not once he made love to her. For when he did, he knew he couldn't let her go a second time.

  Brushing her hair from her face, he stood looking down at her. "I've dreamed of this." His voice was hoarse, strained, as he struggled for the last of his control. "I want you more than anything. More than life. But only for for­ever.

  ''Tell me now, Marissa. Tell me what you want. Say the words. I need to hear the words."

  Lying so quiet with her taut, shallow breath hardly a ripple in the stillness, she met his look. As he had kissed her and caressed her, in a smoky whisper he had called her beautiful over and over. But he was the one of true beauty. Rugged, masculine, virile beauty. His face less pretty and more handsome with age.

  His body had grown leaner and harder and strong. His features bore the mark of sun and wind. But he had weath­ered the onslaught well. The frown lines, the crinkles and creases only served to make him more intriguing. The dark­ening of his skin defined the power of brawny muscles. Hours in the saddle kept his stomach flat, his hips lean, and corded his thighs with muscles.

  He was a man who had chosen to live in a harsh, un­forgiving land, yet had never succumbed to the harshness.

  He was all she hoped. "Forever isn't long enough."

  "No?" he asked, his voice rough with need.

  "Not nearly." She laughed softly as she took his hand. "But if you promise to love me as I love you every day of forever? Then forever's a promise I'll take, and give in return."

  "So will I." Jefferson smiled as he came down to her. And as his body joined with hers, as the ease of heartache began in the healing of love, into the enchanting fragrance of her hair he murmured, "Forever, indeed, my heart."

  Long into the night he made love to her and she to him. Sometimes with whispered words. Sometimes with wan­dering caresses and gliding kisses. Sometimes in the raw and intimate hunger of joined bodies, gleaming with the sheen of the sweat of exertion, seeking to be closer, deeper.

  Kindling again and again the flames that licked at them until the firestorm swept them over the edge into mind-shattering rapture.

  Just before dawn, they fell silent and still. Too weary to do more than whisper the last of countless words of love. Too weary to move, it was in a lovers' embrace that sleep claimed them.

  At dawn, Marissa rose, plucked her dress from the floor and tiptoed from the room. When she stepped onto the porch and into the cool predawn air, she slipped on the dress and sank to the top step to watch the canyon wake. There was light on the horizon, turning the sky and the canyon walls astonishing colors, long before the sun truly rose.

  Marissa didn't know how long she'd sat without moving, falling in love with the canyon all over again, when Jef­ferson's footsteps sounded behind her. Even as she looked up, he was bending down to sit beside her. His chest and arms were naked, and only jeans covered his lower body.

  "Mornin', darlin," he drawled in his best Southern ac­cent. "I missed you when I woke up. Then I decided that maybe you were running for cover."

  Smiling, Marissa didn't rise to the teasing challenge. "Never running. Only enjoying the morning."

  Jefferson's palm at her chin turned her face to him. His blue gaze studied her carefully, looking for any hurt he might have inflicted with a passion that, in retrospect, seemed too strong even to him. "Don't play games, sweet­heart. Did I hurt you? When I was thinking straight again, I was afraid..."

  Marissa's hand came up between their bodies, her fingers folded over his mouth, stopping his words. "Last night was beautiful, not painful. Loving me could never hurt." She smiled then. "I'm a little tired, pleasantly achy, and I've never felt so wonderful in my life."

  He laughed then, a low sexy chuckle. His fingers slipped from her face to her hair, raffling it as he planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. He couldn't really kiss her. Not if he meant to keep from tumbling her back on the porch and taking her again.

  "Too tired to take Gitano and Black Jack for a ride later?" His fingers left her tousled hair to skim over her lips. If he couldn't kiss her, at least he could touch her. "I have a surprise for you."

  "A surprise?" Her breath came in short, little gasps as the touch of his fingertips on her tender lips sent sensations racing to the most achy part of her body.

  "Don't ask, for if I tell you, it won't be a surprise." Rising from the porch, he held out his hand. "In the mean­time, how about a swim and a bath in the stream?''

  "A swim?" Marissa couldn't remember anywhere the stream was more than hip or waist deep.

  "There's a place beyond the pasture where the creek is fed by a small waterfall. For electricity, Steve put in a small generator and harnessed the power of the fall. Then, he did some excavating, adding irrigation and landscaping to cre­ate a small lake as a special gift to Savannah."

  In her weeks in the canyon, Marissa had never had any inkling there was more water than the two streams she'd seen. "Is that where you bathed last night?"

  "No." The barest move of his head accompanied his denial. ' 'I was saving the lake for a special occasion. This one."

  Giving him her hand as her assent, she rose to stand beside him. "How do we go? Walk? Horseback?"

  "Neither, my love." Jefferson was laughing as he tugged her down the steps. "We go by the cowboy's second-best steed."

  "The track," Marissa supplied. Then, her gaze raking down his body, she wondered out loud, "If we're both going as we are, it should be interesting if more unexpected visitors arrive."

  "Doesn't matter." His grin teased. "If anyone dares in­trude, I'll just have Satan eat them."

  "Right."

  Then there was no time for more and he dragged her to the truck. The pleated dress swirled and danced around her legs while the supple fabric played touch and tell, teasing the sensitive points of her breasts. When he helped her into the truck and climbed in beside her, she knew he should've looked ridiculous dressed in only jeans and Stetson. But the truth was he looked like nothing but what he was, magnif­icent, sexy, and all male.

  "Ready when you are," he said, his fingers hovering over the key already inserted in the ignition.

  Marissa knew he was giving her one more chance to back away. One last chance to avoid the lovemaking that would be an inevitable part of their interlude by the lake. "I'm ready now."

  The drive was slow, uneven, a wonderful adventure. Ma­rissa saw a different view of the canyon. At first sight, from the rim, it had appeared cloistered, closed in by the very walls that protected it. From the floor, the canyon was a veritable mix of ecosystems. Her first look at the waterfal
l that fell an incredible distance into a small cul-de-sac, and she realized she had seen it all along. But from the distance of the house and barn, she had never recognized it as a fall, assuming it was another quirk in striations of rock walls that were constantly unique.

  When Jefferson brought the truck to a halt, he waited a minute to let her take in the wonder Steve had created for his wife. "Amazing, isn't it?"

  "More than amazing." Marissa looked from palms to ferns tucked in shady alcoves, to brilliant tropical flowers. "But no more amazing than Sunrise Canyon, itself."

  "The secret is water, sweetheart. Men have been known to kill for it in this land." Gripping the steering wheel, he turned from her. "That was a part of why Jake Benedict coveted the canyon for most of his life. Likely he still does. Even though it belongs to his daughter and her husband. Offer a man gold or good water out here and only a fool would take gold."

  "Steve Cody was no fool," she ventured. "But how did a down-on-his-luck rodeo man come to have it at all?"

  "It was a gift. Steve saved a friend's life at the risk of his own. A fellow rodeo man and an old nemesis of Jake's who had better things to do than battle the old man."

  Marissa heard respect in the name. Old man. "You like him. Jake Benedict, I mean."

  "I do." Jefferson's attention seemed to be riveted on the tumbling fall of water, yet his mind was on the past, when he was a young runaway looking for a home. "He can be a son of a bitch. But he goes after what he wants fairly. As Savannah did."

  "Savannah wanted Steve?"

  Jefferson laughed. "Eventually." Opening the door, he crossed to Marissa. When she stood beside him, he said, "Despite the temperature, the water will be cold. A lot of dynamics figure into the reason, but I like Savannah's best."

  "Which is?" Marissa was beginning to realize how fond Jefferson was of Savannah Cody, as well. She hoped some­day she would meet and know the legendary woman.

  "She thinks, quite simply, the water outraces the sun."

  "And, therefore, is never warmed by it."

  Jefferson nodded, turning to her. "Ready to skinny-dip?"

  * * *

  The water was as cold as he'd warned, but invigorating. Even restful. Later, sitting on a grassy bank covered by a bath sheet Jefferson had taken from his truck, Marissa soaked in the heat, finding peace in a manmade desert oasis. A gift of love. A secret trysting place for that love.

  Jefferson sat beside her, a towel draped at his waist. "Nobody intrudes. Which isn't surprising since few people know it's here. This was Savannah's place. Steve wanted her to have the freedom to do whatever she wished here."

  "Like this?" With a turn of her face and a tilt of her head, she touched her lips to his shoulder. With the lave of her tongue, she felt the heat of the sun on his skin and the clean, exciting taste of him. When he went still and tense, she laughed wickedly, letting her breath cool the moisture left on his shoulder by her tongue.

  In a swift move he turned to her, his hands at her shoulders bearing her down on the velvet of the sheet. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he muttered, "Or this."

  Then his hands and lips were everywhere. Stroking, petting, seeking out new, maddening, undiscovered responses of her body. Adding them to the old, blending old with the new. Sending sensation after sensation rocketing through her.

  Jefferson's long legs tangled with hers. Using their mus­cular power he turned, lifting her high above him. Then gradually he lowered her to him. There was a fierceness in her now. And she was sweet and hot as she took him, riding him like the Cossack she'd been named. Wanting even more, she leaned over him, her fingers in his hair, her breasts a caress of their own against the hard plain of his chest.

  When the first nuance of release fluttered through her, with incredible strength he surged upward, matching her rhythm with powerful thrusts. When she cried out, in his own final passion he gathered her to him and held her through the euphoria.

  In the return of serenity, as she fit so perfectly in his arms, he found peace he'd never expected to know again. She was the light in his darkness. Perhaps his way back to all he'd lost.

  Then, with one hand tangled in the spill of her hair, the other flung across her body as if he would watch over her and keep her forever, Jefferson drowsed in the heat of the day. When he felt her relax in the abandonment of sleep, he slept as well.

  "Wake up, sleeping beauty." Jefferson leaned over her, loving the way she woke. Quickly, completely, but with a dreamy, remembering look in her eyes.

  "Jefferson." As she looked up at him, she touched his face, her palm cupping his cheek, her fingers curling at the tender skin at his temple. "Good morning."

  "It was, wasn't it?" He laughed softly and kissed the tip of her nose.

  "Was?" Her fingers slipped into his hair, loving the shining blend of silver and deep gold.

  "Nearly." He tilted his head to kiss the tender line of her wrist. "It's almost noon."

  "Then we have hungry horses."

  "No, Sandy Gannon has seen to them. I spoke with him about it last night." There was no one Jefferson trusted more than the foreman of Jake Benedict's Rafter B. He would trust Sandy with his life. And if all else failed, with Marissa's.

  She laughed, suddenly. She'd forgotten the nearly un­used telephones in the house and the tack room of the barn. "You planned this, and here I was thinking it was spon­taneous."

  "Let's just say, I hoped." Leaning closer, kissing her eyes, her nose, then lingering at her mouth, he murmured against her lips, "Any complaints?"

  Marissa's answer was to tug at his hair, bringing his kiss closer, deeper. When she let him move away, the laughter in her eyes was enticing. "Does that answer your ques­tion?"

  "Oh yeah." He grinned down at her, savoring the easy camaraderie of lovers who, for one short and passionate interlude, lived together in a world apart. "If I had the stamina, I would show you exactly how much. But alas."

  When he left the rest for her to remember, she laughed again and ruffled his hair. "Poor baby."

  A look he couldn't fathom flickered over her face. It came, then was controlled so quickly, he would have missed it if he hadn't been watching closely. In a dreaded moment he feared it was grief and unmerited guilt for lov­ing him in every sense. "Hey, sweetheart, what is it?"

  "It's nothing." A minute shake of her head accompanied the denial. As she saw his need to be assured she had ac­cepted the past as something she couldn't change, and that her grief for her parents, for Paulo, was finally without guilt, she smiled. "It truly is nothing, Jefferson. Except, maybe I'm a little sad that days this wonderful were so long coming for us."

  "They're here now, to stay. And each will only get bet­ter," he promised. "As soon as—" Breaking off, because he didn't want to sully this place and this morning with the name of danger, greed and murder, he changed the subject. "I have another surprise, if you're up to another ride. This time on horseback."

  "Black Jack and Gitano," Marissa recalled.

  "Want to try? It won't hurt the young horses to have the day off, and Sandy has seen to the rest of our chores. While we're gone the riders on the rim will watch over the ranch."

  "We're riding out of the canyon?"

  "Yeah." He grinned again. "There's something I want to show you."

  "Another lake?" she drawled.

  Rising to his feet, he scooped up his towel and secured it around his waist again. Then, he turned, his hand reach­ing out to her, waiting for hers. "Not another lake," he assured as he drew her up and back into his embrace for a quick kiss. "But something I think you'll like even better."

  As the crow flies, the trip would have been much shorter. There was even another faster, more direct route. Because Jefferson didn't want to tax Marissa any more, so she wouldn't be staggering from fatigue, he led her across eas­ier terrain. Along the way, he pointed out interesting rock formations, birds and animals, and plants. Especially the cacti. A common thing in Arizona, a rarity on the plains of Argentina. Finally at
the rim of a low bluff, he reined Gi­tano to a halt.

  Leaning on the pommel of his saddle, he smiled as Ma­rissa came to join him. With a wave of his hand, he offered his surprise. "As promised. Today and weeks ago."

  Below the rim, a little distance away, a weathered cabin sat at the far end in a small cul-de-sac. There were two corrals. One attached to a barn as weathered as the house. Another by a trickle of a stream. There were no animals, no people. Yet on this hot day, smoke drifted from the chimney. Someone cooked.

  Marissa turned from the scene below, her eyes sparkled. "Jake Benedict's newest acquisition." It wasn't a question and she didn't wait for an answer. "Juan, Marta, and Ale­jandro. They're here."

  "Two days ago. One to travel in, one to settle down." Seeing her so happy twice in one day made it a great day for him. "Shall we ride down, say howdy and welcome to Arizona?"

  "Yes. But first, thank you."

  Shifting in the saddle, Marissa reached across Jefferson. Clasping a hand at his nape, she brought him down to her kiss. Her lips were soft, giving, sweet. If this was gratitude, he knew he could never have enough of it.

  When she moved away, he knew the kiss had had the same effect on her. "You know something, sweetheart," he began in a roughened voice. "This bonfire of ours is turning into an eternal flame."

  "Would you have it any other way, my love?"

  "No," he admitted when he could breathe again. She had never called him anything but Jefferson, and in rare times, Jeffie. The endearment, spoken in sudden gravity, added to the hope that burned in his heart. "Never any other way."

  Jefferson touched her face, his eyes filled with desire. Then he remembered that people who were special to her waited for this day as eagerly as she had. He satisfied him­self with a feather light tap on her lips. The promise of other kisses. Then, smiling, he gathered up his reins. "Shall we ride, my love?"