Montana Mavericks, Books 1-4

by Diana Palmer

  “But I’m not one of them. You love me, honey. You proved it last night.” He leaned closer, until their lips lightly brushed. “Want me to help you prove it again?”

  A strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, came out of her mouth. She raised her hands to his chest, but didn’t push him away. “I can’t think straight when you get so close.”

  “Good.” He licked her bottom lip. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

  “The food, Jackson—”

  He shoved the tray off the bed, chuckling at the way she flinched when it crashed to the floor. “To hell with the food and the mess and what anyone else thinks.” Grasping her by the shoulders, he lay back, pulling her on top of him. “You belong with me, Maggie. Let me convince you.”

  She rested her forehead against his, giggling when he snuck one hand under the hem of her shirt and squeezed her bottom. “Oh, you fight dirty, Mr. Hawk.”

  “And you love it, don’t you, Ms. Schaeffer?”

  “I guess that will depend.”

  “On what?”

  “Whether or not you can convince me.”

  He rolled her onto her back and gazed into her laughing eyes. Then he straddled her hips and nuzzled the side of her neck while he pushed the T-shirt up to her armpits. What followed was a joyous romp that left the bedclothes hopelessly tangled and both of them weak and satiated.

  Raising himself up on one elbow, he tucked a finger under her chin, coaxing her to look at him. When she did, he said, “Move in with me, Maggie.”

  She studied him for a long moment, then nodded gravely. “All right, Jackson. But I don’t want you to hover over me, or talk about my mother, or the future. Okay?”

  “No. I don’t understand.”

  She laid a finger across his lips. “I need time to think, Jackson. I want to finish my report and present it to the tribal council. When it’s all done, then we’ll see where we are. That’s my best offer. Take it or leave it.”

  He didn’t like her offer much, but he could see by the stubborn set to her chin that she meant every word. He might be setting himself up for another broken heart, but it was too late to back out now.

  “I’ll take it.”

  Twelve

  Maggie moved in with Jackson later that afternoon, phoned her father to tell him about Beverly, and for the next two weeks enjoyed the sort of idyllic existence most people long for, but rarely achieve. When Jackson left for the office in the morning, she settled in at the kitchen table with her notes and her laptop computer. What had started as a monumental jumble of comments, complaints and vague impressions slowly began to take on a coherent shape.

  She took a break at noon every day, driving into Laughing Horse to have lunch with Jackson and Frank if she needed to clarify something for her report. Other days, she visited her grandmother and Aunt Rose to learn more about her mother and the rest of her relatives. Then she went back to work, until Jackson came home and coaxed her away from the computer with a kiss and a hug, which usually led to more passionate pursuits.

  They cooked together, took long, rambling walks together, worked in his yard and planned his garden together. If occasional doubts and worries about the future crept into her mind, it was easy enough to banish them in the haven of Jackson’s arms. And while she knew similar doubts assailed him at times, he kept his promise and never mentioned them.

  Instead, he taught her more about her people—their history, their religious traditions and beliefs, what he remembered of their language. He opened his heart and his mind and his life to her in a way no one had ever done before. Each day and each night, she fell a little more deeply in love with him.

  The words of love and commitment she knew he desperately wanted to hear trembled on the tip of her tongue every time he made love to her. But something, some invisible force, or perhaps an unrecognized fear, continually held the words back. She couldn’t understand or explain it. It seemed that all she could do was wait for some kind of a mystical sign that would tell her what she must do.

  And so, she loved him and worked and waited.

  Finally, on the twenty-third of April, the afternoon arrived that would tell her whether or not she had accurately captured the tribe’s needs and aspirations on paper. Frank Many Horses reserved the gymnasium at the Indian school for a special meeting of the tribal council. Any other interested members of the tribe were invited to attend and participate, as well.

  Maggie surveyed the crowd during Frank’s introduction. Realizing practically the entire population of the res had come to hear what she had written, she felt her palms grow damp. She looked at Jackson, who was sitting beside her, and found him looking back at her with such love and support in his eyes, her throat tightened with emotion.

  Of course, that was the precise moment Frank chose to end his introduction. Taking a deep breath for courage, Maggie rose to her feet and approached the microphone. Her voice trembled a little at first, but gradually the rows and rows of faces became elders she had interviewed, teenagers she had tutored, friends and relatives. They listened with rapt attention, encouraging her with solemn nods and sporadic applause.

  When she finished, a thoughtful hush filled the big room. When she asked for questions or suggestions for revision, fifty hands shot into the air. Jackson brought her a glass of water. Frank came to the podium to help her call on people by name.

  For hours, the people debated point after point, amazing Maggie with their recall of the details in the report and their determination to be heard. She wished the members of the U.S. Congress could see this living example of participatory democracy in action. Though individual concerns were passionately expressed, the discussion remained doggedly focused on what was best for the tribe as a whole.

  By the time the meeting adjourned, Maggie felt as if the people had made her report their own and accepted her into their hearts. She walked across the street to the tribal offices with Jackson and Frank, alternating between exhaustion and exhilaration. While Frank went into his office to check the answering machine, Jackson pulled her into his arms and kissed her as if he were starving for the taste of her.

  Then he moved on to nibble at her earlobe, murmuring, “You were wonderful today.”

  “Yes, I was,” she agreed, taking giddy delight in sharing her triumph with him. “They all seemed really excited.”

  Pulling back, he smiled. “Of course they were. You acknowledged their problems, and then you made them look beyond the problems to the possibilities. You have a rare gift for bringing people together and helping them find a consensus, Maggie.”

  “More, more, tell me more.” Chuckling, she wrinkled her nose at him. “My ego loves it.”

  “I’d rather kiss you again.”

  “Mmm…That sounds nice too.”

  Before she could collect her kiss, however, Frank loudly cleared his throat and came back out to the reception area. “Sorry to interrupt, but there was a message for Maggie from Baldwin’s office in Whitehorn. The lady said it was urgent.”

  Sighing with resignation, Maggie settled for a quick smooch, then took the pink message slip from Frank and went into his office to make the phone call. Her eyes met Jackson’s when she turned to close the door, and something in his gaze made her hesitate. It wasn’t anger, exactly. No, it was either frustration or impatience—perhaps a combination of the two.

  Whatever it was, it clearly said her time for thinking was running out. Very soon now, he would demand an answer to his proposal. Unfortunately, she didn’t have one to give him. Not yet, anyway.

  As Jackson watched, Maggie’s eyes opened wide for a moment before she quickly closed Frank’s office door. Well, good, he thought. And he didn’t feel a damn bit guilty because of that look of reproach she’d managed to squeeze in the instant before the door had shut completely.

  He’d been as patient as any man could hope to be for the past two weeks. In some respects, they’d been the best two weeks of his life. Living with Maggie, making love with her, sl
eeping and waking up with her in his arms, had been about as close to heaven as he figured mortals were ever allowed to get.

  Oh, he knew they’d been on some sort of a pseudo-honeymoon since she’d moved in with him. If they continued to live together, sooner or later they’d get on each other’s nerves and have a spat now and then, like any other couple. That was reality, and he could cope with it fine.

  What he couldn’t cope with was the constant worry that if they had a spat now, she wouldn’t feel committed enough to stick around and work it out. Every day he loved her more and put a bigger chunk of his heart at risk. He knew damn well she loved him, so why wouldn’t she just come right out and say so?

  He’d been miserable enough when Nancy had left him. If Maggie left him, too…God, he could hardly stand to think about it. But he couldn’t not think about it, either. In fact, the longer she refused to discuss the future, the less he could think about anything else.

  “Well, nephew, what do you think of our Little Fed now?” Frank said. “Looks to me like you two are gettin’ mighty close.”

  “Yeah.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jackson sat on the edge of the reception desk.

  “You’re in love with her.”

  “Yeah.”

  Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Frank muttered something in Cheyenne. “So? What are you gonna do about it?”

  “I’ve done everything I can do about it, uncle. Maggie’s the one draggin’ her feet.”

  “You’ve already asked her to marry you?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  Jackson briefly explained the situation, then added, “She’s really tied to the white world, through Baldwin and her father. I don’t know if I’ve got enough to offer her to convince her to stay.”

  Frank came over and gave Jackson’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “It’s a big decision for her. You’re wise to give her time to think it over.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s drivin’ me nuts,” Jackson grumbled.

  “Maybe if I offered her a job coordinating our social programs—”

  “I already did that,” Jackson admitted, with a sheepish grin. “I figured you’d go along with it.”

  “After today, there’s no question the tribal council would agree,” Frank said. “Be patient a little longer. I believe this will work out.”

  “I hope you’re right. But something’s eatin’ at her, you know? I wish I knew what it was.”

  Frank nudged Jackson with his elbow and waggled his eyebrows. “You take her home and love her up good. She’ll forget about it, whatever it is.”

  Before Jackson could reply, Frank’s office door opened and Maggie hurried into the reception area.

  “It’s a good thing we had the meeting today,” she said. “Congressman Baldwin wants the report on his desk by Tuesday morning. I’ll have just enough time to revise it and get it there by express mail.”

  Frank reached out and grasped both of her hands. “Before you go, I want to say thank-you. We all appreciate your work very much.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s been a wonderful experience for me,” Maggie said.

  “We don’t want you to leave, Maggie. When you’re all done, you come talk to me about a job with the tribe.”

  Pulling her hands away, she shot Jackson an accusing look. “You promised—”

  “I didn’t bring it up,” Jackson said. “Uncle Frank thought of it himself.”

  Frank nodded vigorously. “You handled yourself so well today, and the things you wrote were so helpful, I’d have to be crazy not to offer you a job. You think about it, Maggie. The offer stands, whether you marry this guy or not.”

  “Oh, you talked about that, too?” she asked, shooting another accusing look in Jackson’s direction.

  “A reservation’s like any other small town,” Frank said with a chuckle. “Everybody minds everybody else’s business, but there’s no harm intended. It’s easy for those of us who know Jackson to see he’s a man in love. You should put him out of his misery.”

  “Come on, Maggie. Let’s go home,” Jackson said, silently adding, Before Mr. Big Mouth gets me in big trouble.

  But it seemed that he already had. Maggie accompanied him out to the pickup without saying another word. Jackson allowed the silence to continue for five long miles. Then he said, “I’m sorry if Uncle Frank made you feel uncomfortable, Maggie. He didn’t mean to—”

  “Oh, I’m sure he didn’t.” She scowled at him, then looked straight ahead again. “I just don’t appreciate being discussed when my back is turned.”

  “I understand, but he’s right. Now that you’re living with me, it’s obvious to everyone something’s going on. My uncle asked how things stood between us, and I told him.”

  “You agreed we wouldn’t discuss this until I’d finished my report.”

  “I agreed I wouldn’t bring it up with you,” he said. “I didn’t promise not to talk to anyone else. Uncle Frank cares about both of us, and you’re damn near done with the report, so what’s the big problem?”

  “Oh, never mind,” she muttered, folding her arms over her midriff.

  “Damn it, Maggie, don’t sulk. I’ve really stuck my neck out here, and you’ve kept me danglin’ for two weeks. Surely by now you’ve got some idea of what you want to do.”

  “Don’t push me, Jackson. When I’m ready to talk about this, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Though her words reeked of defiance, Jackson heard a hint of strain in them, too. Aw, nuts. This was hardly the way to get her to open up to him. He didn’t want to fight with her or spoil what should be an occasion to celebrate. Forcing himself to take deep, calming breaths, he turned into his driveway.

  “All right,” he said. “I won’t mention it again.”

  “I’m not trying to make you miserable, Jackson. Please, believe that.”

  “Do you love me at all, Maggie?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, her voice soft and husky. “Quite a lot, actually.”

  Though he wanted to whoop with delight, Jackson forced himself to maintain his dignity, for fear of scaring her off completely. He reached across the seat and squeezed her hand. “Then that’s all I need to know. For now.”

  Parking next to the house, he jumped out and ran around the front of the pickup. She had her door open by the time he reached the passenger side, making it easy to scoop her off the seat and kiss the daylights out of her. Using his foot to shut the door, he carried her into the house.

  “Jackson, I should work,” she said when he headed up the stairs to his bedroom.

  “Later.” He paused and gave her another soul-melting kiss. “I can wait to talk, but I can’t wait for this.”

  He climbed the rest of the stairs and set her on her feet beside the bed. She looked up at him with such aching tenderness in her eyes, it was tempting to crush her against him and beg her to stay. He couldn’t do that, of course, but there were ways to communicate without words.

  Sliding his fingers into her hair, above her ears, he kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her stubborn little chin. She sighed and let her head fall back, raising her lips in a silent demand for attention there. He kissed the underside of her chin instead, then followed the graceful curve of her neck until he reached the top button of her blouse.

  Freeing the buttons one by one, he kissed his way down to the waistband of her skirt. Since he was already in the neighborhood, he undid that button, too, and slowly lowered the zipper while he kissed his way back up to her mouth. Her lips parted eagerly for his tongue, and while he dipped inside for a taste, he stripped away her blouse and dispensed with her bra.

  Oh, this was what he loved, filling his hands with her soft, warm skin, drinking in her sweet moans with kiss after kiss, inhaling her light, floral scent until he made himself dizzy with it. She reached for the pearl snaps on his white Western shirt, but he captured her hands and pushed them down to her sides.

  He w
asn’t gonna let her get all impatient and distract him into losing his head this time. Since she wouldn’t give him a commitment, there might well come a day when memories would be all he had left of her. So this time, he was gonna store up as many memories as he could, like a squirrel getting ready for a long, cold winter.

  It only took a little push to make her skirt slide over her hips, but the panty hose she wore underneath called for more aggressive tactics. Sneaking his thumbs under the elastic, he leisurely kissed his way down her neck again and across the swell of her breasts while he peeled the panty hose down her legs, managing to snag her lacy little scrap of panties along with them. He went down on one knee, lifting her left foot, then her right, leaving her as naked as Maheo had made her.

  She was exquisite.

  He sat back on his heel and let his eyes feast on her beauty. And when his eyes were finally satisfied, he raised his hands to fondle and caress and memorize the curves and indentations that so delighted him. Then his lips demanded their turn. Holding her hips, he rubbed his face over her skin, letting her gasps and moans guide him.

  Her breasts were luscious, her nipples like sweet berries that begged for his tongue. Her belly was shy and ticklish, but he wouldn’t allow it to shrink from his touch. No, he nuzzled it and kissed it all over, following it down and down, to the soft folds where her legs came together.

  She grasped the sides of his head, holding it tightly, as if she didn’t know whether to pull him to her or push him away. He warmed her with his breath. Smoothed his hands over her hips and down her thighs, stroking them, gently coaxing them to part.

  As if of their own accord, her hips tilted forward to meet his eager mouth. He loved and nibbled and drank in her sweetness until her knees quivered uncontrollably and her ragged breaths and cries filled the room. Lifting her onto the bed, he kissed her mouth, letting her taste herself on his lips and tongue. When he tried to pull back, she grabbed his braids and refused to let go.

  He kissed her again, slowly, hungrily. Stroked his hands over her breasts and sides. Fondled the plump, moist flesh between her thighs.