Blue Dalton

by Tara Janzen

  Anyone with an ounce of common sense would have backed down right then and there. He was easily twice her size and had shown little hesitation in his dealings with her. He’d caught her, tied her, and uncovered the last of the string of clues she’d been following for five years. No one else had done as well—and lived to tell about it.

  The chilling thought came out of nowhere and brought her anger up short. She blanched, suddenly remembering everything she’d fought to forget during her desperate escape from Lake Agnes. There had been blood, lots of it. Her glance fell to her bandaged hand, and her breath lodged in her throat. With a soft gasp, she sank back onto the couch. She’d killed a man. “Oh, my Lord,” she whispered.

  Three

  Walker watched in growing confusion as the terror of the Rawahs crumpled before his very eyes. Something bad was happening to her. One second, she’d been fighting him with those devilish dark sparks in her eyes, and in the next she’d gone limp and lifeless, slipping to the couch in total defeat.

  “What’s wrong?” He strode across the room as he spoke, trying to get there in time to catch her if she fell. “Blue?”

  The horrible scenes flashed through Blue’s mind. She didn’t hear the concern in his voice as he called her name. She didn’t hear his approach or feel the touch of his hand on her shoulder.

  “My God, my God,” she said with a moan, burying her head in her hands. For the first time the full impact of what she’d done hit her. She’d run before, consumed only with escaping. Now she had no choice but to face the truth: She’d shot and killed a man. It didn’t matter that he’d have done the same to her—after he was finished with her. “I killed him. . . . I killed him.” The whispered words caught on the sob welling up in her throat, but Walker heard them and felt a moment’s relief. He understood the effects of delayed shock, how it could creep up on a person or drop from nowhere like a ton of bricks.

  He knelt and grasped both of her arms with his hands, squeezing her tighter than he meant to, but, Lord, she’d given him a scare. He’d never seen anyone go so white.

  “No, you didn’t,” he said, looking up at her and giving her a little shake. “Listen to me, Blue. You didn’t kill him,” he repeated with more force. But she was too far gone. Her choking sobs filled the cabin, heavy sobs accompanied by her tears. The wet trails ran down her face, matting her lashes and tracing tracks in the dirt smudged across her cheeks. She trembled in his hands, and his heart did something strange. Mentally he tried to pull away from her, and much to his surprise he found he couldn’t. He was trapped as surely as he was kneeling there, trapped by her sadness and the unexpected evidence of remorse streaming down her cheeks.

  Walker had seen a lot of female tears, usually on the tail end of a good-bye—his good-bye—and if anyone had asked, he’d have said he was exempt from their particular pull on a man’s heart. But a crying Blue Dalton, damn her hide, made him feel helpless. There were no easy answers for what he felt, and he wasn’t in the mood to think about the more complicated ones.

  So he did the only thing he could think of doing, the thing all those other women had wanted and he hadn’t given: He wrapped his arms around her, well aware of how foolish he felt. His hands felt awkward; he didn’t know what to do with them, a problem he’d never had with a woman before.

  Blue slumped against him, hiding her face against his shoulder and crying as if her heart would break. He had no choice but to pull her off the couch and into his lap. Her slender body molded itself to his much larger frame so naturally, so easily, he didn’t know quite what to make of it. He’d expected her to feel bony, all knees and elbows, but she didn’t. She felt soft and delicate . . . fragile.

  How many more times was she going to surprise him, he wondered, his hands sliding around her back and waist. How many more times was he going to let her? His shoulder became wet with her tears, her body shook in his arms, and still he held her, and still he wondered.

  The tears flowed from Blue’s eyes unheeded in the morass of emotions swamping her. A tenuous blanket of shock had insulated her from her memories for three days. Now the threads had unraveled, leaving her open to the graphic pictures in her mind: the man’s leering face, his slack mouth whispering dirty promises of pleasure and pain—his pleasure, her pain. The knife, the subtle change in his eyes before he’d made his move, her rifle shot, everything came back to her in living color and stereophonic sound.

  An involuntary shudder coursed through her body. Her fingers gripped the broad shoulder under her hands, and she felt the arms around her flex and draw her closer yet, surrounding her, giving her a strength she couldn’t give herself. She was so tired, so very tired, weary to the bone from running.

  “Shh, Blue,” he whispered in his strangely gentle voice. “You didn’t kill him.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” she said on a sob. “He was awful . . . awful, but I wasn’t going to kill him, I swear. His knife . . . he cut me. I—I pulled the trigger.” She ended on a soft wail, shaking her head against the shoulder supporting her.

  “You didn’t kill him.”

  “Blood everywhere, all over the floor . . . the walls.”

  “You didn’t kill him.”

  “I—”

  “—didn’t kill him.” The tracker’s voice spoke softly in her ear, close and warm, reinforcing his words with assurance. Backed up by that voice, the words finally sank in but didn’t make her feel any better. She was too exhausted ever to feel better. Nothing made sense. Not her tears, not the overwhelming weakness of her mind and body, and certainly not the man holding her.

  “I should have,” she whispered between the catches in her breath. “He was going to . . . going to—”

  “Shh, Blue. It’s over now. You’re safe.” Another lie, he thought even as he spoke. She wasn’t safe. Half of Jackson County was looking for her, and who knew how many more men like the one at the cabin were looking for her—men like himself, looking for the key to Dalton’s Treasure.

  Walker had stopped entertaining any illusions about himself a long time ago. In truth, he didn’t have much argument with the sheriff’s summation of “no-account.” By most standards he was. He’d rather the world saw him that way than as what he really was, a man fighting and sometimes losing a long battle to hold on to what was his. What Jack Evans hadn’t drunk away in the last twenty years of his life he’d left to his only son: the shadowy remains of a once-great ranch, more mortgage than land, and no cattle left to run on the latter.

  But to be put in the same category with a man who had beaten a dog and tried to rape a woman—well, that didn’t set well. It didn’t set well at all.

  Of its own accord his body stiffened at the meaning of his thoughts, transmitting his unease to the woman in his lap. Her sobs stopped suddenly, her muscles tensing beneath his hands, and she raised her tear-streaked face to look at him. An arc of blond hair tangled over her brow, mussed against his shoulder by her crying. Wetness dampened her cheeks and pooled in the corners of her mouth, that sweetly curved mouth mere inches from his own. Luminous brown eyes stared into his very soul, heartbeat after slow, heavy heartbeat, warming him in all the wrong places in all the right ways.

  She swallowed softly and lifted her bound hands to wipe away a tear, without ever releasing him from her dark and vulnerable gaze, and Walker thought, Dear Lord, I’m going to kiss Blue Dalton.

  The thought barely formed before the action followed. His hands didn’t have any trouble sliding up to cup her face. They didn’t hesitate to pull her closer, his thumbs brushing across the satiny skin of her cheeks. He paused for a second, his gaze meeting hers, telegraphing his intent and giving her a chance to escape, a chance she didn’t take. Then his eyes drifted closed and his mouth opened over hers.

  She tasted warm and sweet, salty from her tears, and infinitely better than any other woman he’d ever kissed. Her lips parted on a soft gasp, and he slipped his tongue inside—and then he forgot she was Blue Dalton. All the honeyed sweetness of her
chased the name from his mind. His tongue delved deeper, stroking hers with gentle, consuming thrusts. He opened his mouth wider, wanting more, asking her to do the same. When she did, the warmth turned to heat. And when her tongue caressed his, the heat turned into a slow, hot flame.

  Blue slipped mindlessly from confusion into sensation, her only attempt at refusal a weak and insignificant gasp, which he’d turned into a melting assault on her mouth. His tongue filled her, and the most incredible feeling spread throughout her entire body, shimmery and potent. She touched him in turn, and the feelings doubled over on themselves, welling up in a wave of desire.

  Walker groaned his pleasure, and his hand slid down to her waist and back up under her T-shirt, but only far enough for him to feel the silkiness of her skin. He wanted to fill his palm with her breast, but he didn’t want to scare her off. At least he had that much sense left. He didn’t want her to stop what she was doing: those lazy, teasing tracks of her tongue through his mouth. He didn’t want her to realize what she was doing to him, not when she felt this good . . . not when she seared him with each hesitant touch and built a licking fire in his loins . . . not when she did it so effortlessly, so quickly. What he wanted was more of her, closer, and closer still, until she put out the fire.

  Blue was lost and losing more ground with each new angle of his mouth over hers. He kissed her, kept kissing her, and she kept kissing him back. The tracker was stealing her thoughts and giving her feelings, feelings unlike any she’d known before. The heat of his body surrounded her. The wet heat of his mouth invaded her. She never wanted to stop, to stop feeling the caresses of his lips, the gentle sucking of her tongue into his mouth, and the resulting languor he created deep down inside her body.

  She lifted her bound hands to his collar, held him to her, and captured his husky groan with her mouth. The sound echoed in her mind, igniting her passion with his, and she found herself moving restlessly against him, wanting him closer in ways she didn’t dare admit.

  Walker felt the change in her streak through him like a high-voltage current. Her bottom rubbing against him and her ragged sigh totally seduced him, pushing him over the edge. He half caught his breath and pulled her tighter, pressing her against him. His body hardened, and he gave up on restraint. It was too easy, too simple to kiss a woman and feel everything inside himself coalesce into one driving need. He wanted her now, to the point of no return.

  But one damnable doubt kept him from taking her. She gave too much. She wasn’t teasing him, she wasn’t holding anything back, and she wasn’t asking for anything more than he wanted to give. So even as his hand slid up to cup her breasts, his other hand tangled through her hair and gently eased her lips away from his.

  The intimate touch, the satiny fullness filling his hand, caused his eyes to close on a sigh of pleasure. She fit perfectly, was so soft. Her heart raced beneath his palm, her forehead rested on his, and her short breaths matched his in intensity and need.

  “Blue, I’m going to make love to you,” he murmured between quick, soft kisses. “Do you understand?”

  She nodded, the slightest of movements. Yes, she understood. Her unfathomable need for him was the only thing she did understand about the night. The tawny-haired giant with the beautiful face and the shocking heat in his touch wanted her. She didn’t understand the how or why, but she understood the need.

  “Right,” he drawled with the barest hint of a smile, as if he were reading her mind. “I don’t understand that part myself. But I do understand this”—he brushed his thumb across the peak of her breast and watched her oh-so-thick lashes half-close over dark eyes—“and I know I want more, that I want to give you more. That’s enough for me tonight . . . if that’s enough for you.” His voice trailed off with the admission of his doubt. He wasn’t used to giving second chances, and the hesitation he felt in her made him wish he hadn’t given her an out. “Don’t make any rash decisions,” he said softly, drawing her closer until his lips rested at the corner of her mouth. “Just kiss me again. Kiss me, Blue, like you did before.”

  She was incapable of making decisions, especially with his mouth so close to hers. She turned her face a bare inch and found his tongue tasting her lips. Her last shred of reason drowned in a wave of pleasure. She sank against him and melted like sugar in the rain.

  Walker gathered her close and melted right along with her, lowering them both to the floor. Then she surprised him again. Suddenly free hands tunneled through his hair, but he didn’t stop her sweet kissing to ask her how she’d unloosened the belt. Instead, he pressed against her, letting her feel the arousal she’d given him, and he kept kissing her, deep and long and slow, savoring her soft moans of desire. It was crazy, the whole thing was crazy, and he never wanted it to end, not until he was deep inside her and her soft moans turned into a cry of release. He’d be with her then, completely.

  “Blue,” he said with a groan, his voice raw. “Lift your hips.” He made his request again, but with a thoroughly different intent. When she hesitated, he moved his mouth to her neck and grazed his teeth up to her ear, gently gnawing a path of destruction on her doubts. “You can say no, Blue. Anytime you want to,” he promised, and wondered fleetingly if he meant it. “Do you want to?”

  Not when he did that she didn’t. He’d started something inside her she didn’t know how to finish. Something she didn’t know how to run from.

  Walker felt her soften beneath him, and he shamelessly pressed his advantage, swirling his tongue through the delicate shell of sensitive skin and sucking on her earlobe. “Lift your hips, sweet Blue. Take off your jeans.”

  Blue died a little inside at his intimate nibbling and the tenderness in his voice, but when she spoke, she spoke the truth, breathlessly. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t?”

  “Too scared.” And she was, for no reason she could explain any more than she could explain how they’d gotten this far, or what he was doing to her.

  She hadn’t believed him when he’d used those words, but Walker believed her. He didn’t want to, but he did.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Blue,” he said softly. “We’re going to make love. You and me. If it’ll help, I’ll take my jeans off first.” He levered himself up on one elbow and reached for the top button on his fly; her hand grabbed his and stopped him. A sharp breath caught in his throat; she was so close to touching him where he needed her to touch him. He slipped his fingers around through hers and held her there for a long, sweetly torturous moment, slowly raising slumberous eyes to meet hers—and just as slowly moved her hand down the front of his jeans. Sweet, hot pleasure spread through his body and forced his eyes closed. “Take off your jeans, Blue,” he growled.

  “Walker,” she gasped his name, barely making a sound. The raw need in his voice frightened her; the fullness filling her hand excited her, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t reconcile the two. “This is crazy,” she said to herself, unaware she’d spoken aloud.

  “I’ve done crazier,” he answered, holding her to him, kissing her brow, her cheeks, and lingering at the corner of her mouth. “Do you want to say no?” She shook her head. “Can you say yes?” She shook her head again, and he let out a deep, pained breath, fighting a silent battle with his hormones, a battle he’d never lost, not when a woman said no. He pushed off her with a groan and sat up with his back against the couch. Squeezing his eyes shut in frustration, he rested his head on the cushions.

  Blue watched him force his breathing into a steady rhythm, all of his thoughts and emotions plainly written in the vulnerable expression on his face. He’d been ready to make love, more than ready, and he’d willingly lowered his defenses in anticipation. The act of trust overwhelmed her.

  “I’m sorry, Blue,” he said softly. “I didn’t know you were a virgin.” She’d surprised him again. Damn.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” she whispered, embarrassed by his assumption.

  His amber eyes opened and burned a golden path
up her body, before finally meeting her gaze with a wry glint of humor. “Apparently everything.” He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “Let’s not do this again. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she agreed softly, blushing a rosy hue beneath her tan.

  Without taking his eyes off her, he pulled his shirt out of his jeans, his smile fading. When he was covered, he stood up with a slight wince. “Come on. I’ll take care of your hand. Then you and the dog better get out of here.”

  “You’re letting me go?”

  “At this point, I’m begging you to go,” he drawled, walking past her toward the kitchen.

  “I’m not going without my map,” she warned, struggling to her feet. She’d die of embarrassment later, when she was free.

  “You’ll go without the map, or you’ll go to jail.” He picked the map up as he passed the desk and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.

  “You won’t find anything without me.”

  “Just make sure I don’t find you again.” He disappeared into the kitchen. “Get in here, Blue.”

  The embarrassment refused to wait. She felt the heat racing up her cheeks, and she felt her body pulsing with all the other sensations he’d created out of thin air with his touch. She pushed a hand through her hair and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. What had gotten into her? She’d never done anything like that in her life.

  Walker Evans’s kisses got into you, Blue. The answer came easily. Get out of here while the getting is good.

  “Don’t make me come in there after you,” he called from the kitchen, sounding completely back in control and so damned sure of himself.

  Mortified, she squeezed her eyes closed tighter and shook her head. The last thing she wanted was for him to come after her. “I . . . uh . . . you don’t have to fix my hand,” she answered. “I’ve got a first aid kit in my pack.”

  “And your pack is two miles up the mountain, in the dark, in a beauty of a storm.” His voice became clearer, closer. “Even I couldn’t find it tonight, and I know where it is.”