Taming Blackhawk

by Barbara Mccauley

  Grace felt her cheeks warm at his implication. “That’s not what I meant. Your clothes are soaked and I just thought you’d want to change into something dry.”

  “I’ll get out of them, all right,” he murmured and smiled at her. “You’re so damn cute when you blush.”

  She blushed deeper and ducked her head so he wouldn’t see. He pulled her against him and tucked a long strand of wet hair behind her ear.

  “Grace,” he said, his tone suddenly somber.

  Not now, she thought, closing her eyes. Please not now. If he gave her the lone-wolf, I’m not the type of guy to settle down speech, she didn’t think she could stand it.

  “You did good down there in the canyon.”

  She looked up at him, saw the sincerity in his eyes.

  “Between the horses coming at you,” he said, “the rising water, and getting back up that trail in the storm, it would have been easy to panic. You didn’t.”

  “I was too scared to panic,” she said truthfully.

  “You’re an amazing woman, Miss Grace Sullivan.”

  His compliment warmed her, though she truly didn’t see where she’d done anything out of the ordinary.

  “I was with you, Rand.” She touched his lips with her fingertips. “I knew you could do it. That’s why I wasn’t afraid.”

  His eyes narrowed and darkened as he met her steady gaze, then he reached for her, dragged her mouth to his for a long, searing kiss that sent ribbons of heat curling all the way to her toes.

  “How many minutes did you say you needed?” she asked in a ragged whisper.

  He answered her question by sliding his hands to her hips and moving under her. Breathlessly she followed his lead, then took over until they were both clutching each other, both gasping, both shuddering.

  I love you, Rand Blackhawk.

  But this time she didn’t say it out loud. She kept it to herself, praying, hoping that somewhere in his life and in his heart, he might find even the tiniest place for her.

  They slept in the cab of the truck, in each other’s arms, until the storm passed over. When they finally woke, Grace pulled on a fresh T-shirt and jeans and struggled to do something with her hair while Rand shucked his damp jeans and shirt and dragged on dry clothes. The sun was already starting to peek through the clouds when they stepped from the truck. The scent of damp earth filled the clean, fresh air.

  The stallion reared at the sight of humans; his mares and foals whinnied and huddled nervously close by. Sidestepping and without making eye contact, Rand slowly approached the horses and tossed them an armful of alfalfa before he retreated again. They scattered and snorted, but the scent of the alfalfa won the animals over and soon they were all pushing and nipping at each other to gain access to the treat. When Rand carefully tossed two flakes of hay down, they scattered a second time, but eased back to the food once again and ate hungrily.

  From a rock on the other side of the camp, Grace sat and watched the animals eat. The mares were roans, the foals, one bay and one chestnut. They were all thin, with patches of hair missing on their dull coats. The mares and foals had bite marks on them, the method by which the stallion kept his herd in line.

  Wild mustangs were not the most attractive horses, but to Grace they were beautiful.

  Rand came up behind her and slipped his arms around her. He smelled like hay and horses and man. She breathed in the scent of him and smiled.

  “They would have died down there,” she said quietly.

  “They didn’t,” he said simply.

  “Because of you.”

  “Not me, Grace. In case you’ve forgotten, I turned you down when you first asked me to come here with you. You were the one who never gave up, the one who really saved them, not me.”

  She didn’t agree with him, but she didn’t want to argue, either. It was too perfect a day, too perfect a moment. She laid her head back against his chest and simply let herself enjoy their success.

  “He’s pretty bossy,” Grace said, watching the stallion move between his mares and foals while he ate, nipping at them and pawing the ground.

  “He just wants to make sure they stay close,” Rand said. “He’s stronger and smarter than they are. It’s his job to protect them.”

  “Spoken like a true man,” Grace teased. In the horse world, though, what Rand said was true. The lead stallion was the strongest and usually the smartest animal in his herd. Grace, however, did not believe that axiom transposed into the human world. She watched the stallion shake his mane and bare his teeth at one of the mares and was quite thankful that she was not a horse.

  “The foals are pretty little things, aren’t they?” Grace said absently. “We shouldn’t have any trouble adopting them out.”

  She felt him stiffen. Furrowing her brow, she angled her head and glanced up at him. He stared at the horses, his lips hard and thin, the expression on his face solemn.

  “Rand?”

  He was silent for a moment, then sighed heavily. “I was just thinking about Lizzie. That it would have been the same for her. She was so beautiful. I can only imagine there would have been a long line of people wanting to adopt her.”

  It made sense that he would see the correlation between the wild horses and his siblings. And now, since he knew his sister and brother were alive, that he would wonder and worry what had happened to them.

  “Who did she look like?” Grace asked, turning her gaze back to the horses.

  “She had my mother’s blue eyes,” Rand said softly. “Her hair was lighter back then, not as dark as mine or Seth’s. My mother used to say our sister had hair the same color as our Grandma Cordelia in Wales. Not a true black, but a deep, dark, sable brown. Even as a baby, Lizzie had an exotic look about her.”

  “She’ll remember you, Rand,” Grace said with resolution. “Maybe not as clearly as Seth will, but when she meets you, she’ll know in her heart who you are.”

  When she meets you. Grace’s words made Rand’s heart slam in his chest. He hadn’t made that decision yet, hadn’t even allowed himself to think about it since he’d told Grace last night about Lizzie and Seth.

  Grace stroked his forearm with the tips of her fingers, and Rand felt himself relax under her touch. She’d cried for him last night, he remembered. In his adult life, no woman had ever done that for him before. There’d been tears of anger, tears of frustration and tears intended to manipulate, but never tears for him.

  And she’d told him that she loved him.

  He knew that she’d said the words in a moment of exhilaration after they’d brought the horses up from the canyon. Had she truly meant them?

  Of course she hadn’t. She’d just been caught up in the moment, he told himself. Even if she did think she loved him, he didn’t believe she really did, or that she could. They were too different, from two different worlds. In time those differences would overshadow any feelings she thought she might have for him.

  He’d be leaving soon, going back to San Antonio, and she’d be going back to Dallas. But he knew he’d never forget her.

  He pulled her to her feet, and she went into his arms. Tenderly he kissed her. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” she said, her voice soft and breathless.

  “I wouldn’t have come here if it hadn’t been for you. Mary was right when she told me I needed to do some thinking. A place like this puts things in perspective.”

  “Does that mean you’ve made a decision about going to Wolf River?”

  He nodded. “I’ll stop there on my way back to San Antonio. At least listen to what that lawyer has to say.”

  “Oh, Rand.” There were tears in her eyes when she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. “I’m so glad.”

  But there was sadness in her eyes, as well. He saw it, knew she understood they would each be going their own way soon.

  The realization at how close that time was hit him like a two-by-four. He dragged her against him and kissed her hard. She clung to him, kissing him b
ack with the same desperation.

  There was only one place for this kiss to lead, but he didn’t back away from it. He welcomed it, deepening the kiss as he lifted her and started for the truck.

  They’d gone no more than a few feet when the sound of an engine reverberated off the rocks and shook the ground. Rand froze, then swore and set Grace back on the ground. The horses lifted their heads and pranced nervously.

  The truck came into view a moment later. A large black truck pulling an eight-horse trailer.

  With a groan Grace dropped her head onto Rand’s shoulder.

  “They’re here,” she said weakly, then stepped away from Rand and watched as her brother and another man drove up, then parked their rig and got out of the truck.

  “I’ve never heard anything like it,” Tom said, shaking his head in amazement after Grace told him how they’d brought the horses in by themselves. “I wanna hear this again, only this time slow down and give details.”

  Arms folded, Rand leaned back against his truck and listened while Grace told her brother and Marty, in detail, what had happened down in the canyon. Her elaborate and animated description of the mare’s capture embarrassed Rand a little, but the light in her eyes and the smile on her lips was worth hearing her account, not once, but twice.

  Tom appeared to be a likable enough guy. He was tall, probably around six-two. He had Grace’s green eyes, but his hair was dark-brown instead of auburn, and he had a face that most women would take notice of. Rand had sensed some hostility in him when they’d first shaken hands, but that was certainly understandable. Rand knew that if Grace were his sister, and she’d just spent the past few days gallivanting around Texas with a stranger, he’d be hostile, too. No doubt that if Tom knew what else had gone on, he’d be a hell of a lot more than hostile.

  There were some things that brothers were better off not knowing.

  Rand rolled his eyes when Grace embellished her description of him as he’d come galloping around the rocks with the mare beside him and the stallion on his heels. The only things she left out were his eyes shooting lightning bolts and his mouth spitting flames.

  With the extra hands and equipment the men had brought, all the mustangs were now secured and the chance of any of them escaping was very slim. Tom and Marty had also brought enchiladas and rice from the base camp, plus homemade guacamole with chips and a six-pack of beer in a cooler. Marty, an older man with a bushy white mustache, had been busy laying the food out on a folding table beside the fire while Grace related the accounts of the day—minus what had happened in the truck, of course.

  “Once we take these strays back and assess their condition,” Tom said when they’d all filled a plate, “we can move the herd to an adoption ranch in Amarillo. Shouldn’t take more than four or five days in all, then we can head for home.” Tom swiveled a look at his sister. “After this trip, Gracie, that must sound pretty good to you.”

  Grace glanced up at her brother. She knew him well enough—the tilt of his head, the tone of his voice, the subtle narrowing of his eyes—to read between the lines of his casual comment. Tom wasn’t dumb, and he wasn’t blind. He knew her just as well as she knew him, and he obviously sensed something was going on between her and Rand.

  He wanted a reaction, she knew, but he wasn’t going to get one. She was a big girl, after all. The last thing she needed was her brother sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Whatever had happened between her and Rand was her business.

  “A long, hot shower would be lovely,” she said with a smile, and bit into a chip loaded with spicy guacamole. “I just might feel human again.”

  “How ’bout you, Rand?” Tom turned his attention to Rand. “You coming to the base camp with us?”

  Grace felt her heart jump, then sink when Rand shook his head. Of course he wouldn’t come along. He was going on to Wolf River. Which was exactly what he needed to do, she knew. She’d been a fool to hope for even a second that he wouldn’t be on his way as soon as possible. And she was selfish to wish for anything different.

  Well, so she was selfish, dammit. She attacked another chip. So she did want another few days with him. Another few hours, even. Everything between them had happened so quickly, and it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

  Much more.

  He didn’t look at her, and she was glad. After the day they’d had, and as tired and strung out as she felt, she might have started with the tears again. That was all she needed to complete her humiliation. To start crying like a baby not just in front of Rand, but her brother and Marty, as well.

  “Grace?”

  “What?” She jerked her gaze up at the sound of Tom’s voice. She’d been so lost in thought, she hadn’t been following the conversation.

  “The fund-raiser? You know, the one Mom and Dad are giving for the foundation?”

  “What about it?”

  He lifted a brow. One of those, so-there-is-something-going-on brow lifts. Terrific, she thought with a silent groan, and knew that the ride back to Abilene with her brother was going to be a long one.

  “Mom thought you’d want to know that Bradshaw declined the invitation.”

  “I was hoping that the third time would be a charm,” Grace said with a sigh.

  She’d known that the man wouldn’t come. Bradshaw was one of the wealthiest ranchers in Dallas, and the most mysterious. Rumors ran rampant about the man, from the story that he was disfigured and never went out in public, to the more romantic, though melancholy, version that he’d never left his house after his wife had died years earlier. His age was between twenty-five and seventy-two, based on who was telling the most current version of the man’s life. Grace had invited Bradshaw to the last two fund-raisers, but he’d always declined, then sent an eye-popping donation the next day. But if she could get him to actually come to the event in person, she knew that the attendance would double, as would the donations.

  She shook her head and shrugged. “I’ll try him again next time.”

  “Dylan Bradshaw?” Rand asked casually. “From the Rocking B?”

  Everyone went still and looked at Rand. Even Marty, who’d seen and done most things, Grace knew, looked surprised.

  “You know Dylan Bradshaw?” Grace asked.

  Rand took a bite of rice. “I know him.”

  “You mean you’ve met him,” Tom said.

  “It’s pretty hard to know someone if you haven’t met them,” Rand pointed out, then added, “We worked together a while back.”

  Not, I worked for him, Grace noted. But we worked together. She wondered what “a while back” meant, but it would be rude and pushy to start grilling Rand with questions about his past and how he knew Dylan Bradshaw.

  “Yeah, well, maybe you could give him a call and get him to change his mind,” Tom said with a grin, clearly joking.

  “Maybe.”

  Tom’s grin faded. Even Marty had stopped chewing. Grace knew that her brother didn’t really believe that Rand could just pick up a phone and get the man to go to the fund-raiser. Still, there was a mixture of awe and disbelief in both Tom’s and Marty’s eyes that she found extremely humorous.

  But whether Rand could or couldn’t get Dylan Bradshaw to attend the fund-raiser didn’t matter to her. At the moment she wasn’t concerned with or interested in any man other than Rand.

  If Tom and Marty hadn’t driven up when they had this afternoon, he would have made love to her again. It would have been their last time, she thought, knowing that there was no way they could be together now that her brother and Marty had joined them. Her body still tingled from earlier, and she could still feel the texture of his rough hands as they’d slid over her skin and the hard press of his mouth on hers. She was thankful they’d at least had those few hours alone.

  She watched him talk with Tom and Marty, saw his expression change from serious, as they discussed the upcoming auction, to smiling, when Marty piped up and told a joke about a cowpoke and an amorous heifer.

  All of
this should have been perfect, the sun setting in ribbons of reds and golds, the soft nickering from the horses, the ripple of the nearby creek. Talking and laughing around a crackling fire. It would be perfect, except for the tiny little detail that the man she loved would be gone from her life by morning.

  Damn you, Rand.

  Needing to keep busy, Grace offered to clean up after they finished eating. While Rand and Tom settled the horses down for the night, Marty prepared the trailer to haul the mustangs out the next morning.

  The frogs were out in full chorus when Grace went down to the creek with a metal bucket. The air had cooled, and a light breeze carried the scent of damp earth and mesquite. She bent to fill her bucket with water when a huge bullfrog jumped in front of her and croaked.

  Grace frowned at the frog. “If you think I’m going to kiss you, just forget it, buster. I’m a little sour on fairy tales and happy endings at the moment.”

  She scooped up water, then stood. When she turned, she bumped into Rand. He reached out a hand to steady her when she stumbled.

  “Talking to frogs now?” he asked her with a smile.

  She felt her cheeks warm and hoped he hadn’t heard what she’d said. But even if he had, she decided, what difference did it make? He already knew how she felt, and like the saying went, once the horse was gone, it didn’t do much good to lock the barn door.

  “I thought you were with the horses.”

  “I was. I’m here now.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I can see that.”

  There was a long, awkward moment between them. It was obvious that he wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how.

  With a sigh Grace ran a hand through her hair. “Just say it, Rand. Whatever it is, just say it.”

  “I’m leaving.”

  Her chest tightened, as did her grip on the bucket handle. It was one thing to know he was leaving, and another to hear him actually say it. “You mean now?”

  “If I get out of here before dark, I can make Wolf River by two or three in the morning.”

  “Okay.” Only it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay at all.