And he still wanted her. His flesh as hard and hurting as if he had not joined with her.
He covered her mouth with his.
Desperation. Something they both felt.
And need.
An outrageous, wild need to taste. To touch. To belong.
There was nothing between them. Flesh to flesh. Heat to heat. Hard to soft. He felt her quivering response all the way down to his bones. Hunger prowled his body, and he trembled with its force.
She called his name in a voice raw with need.
Her body convulsed against him.
He gave her no time. Gave himself less. He was over her, pulling her legs around his hips, pressing against her. And she held him tight in response as he sank into her. Her imploring whisper sent him over the edge. He could not fight her and himself. Now, he did not want to.
“Give me your mouth,” he demanded.
His tongue drove into her sweet mouth with the same driving rhythms he used to take her body.
Sarah’s head thrashed back and forth. He was filling her until she cried out.
“I can’t!”
“Yes. Yes, Sarah. You wanted everything. All of me.
Then heated sensation shimmered and burst inside her. She clutched at his shoulder, slippery with sweat as he pushed into her, slamming her against the mattress. There was no pain. No fear. She held on to Rio against the spinning world where ecstasy waited.
He buried himself so deep inside her that she felt every pulse beat, before her senses exploded without warning.
Sarah tore her mouth from his. She bit her lip to still her cry as the force of his seed spilled into her. A guttural sound came from his lips. She held him tight, knowing that she had all, nothing held back and that Rio was there to ride out the last of the storm.
Together.
Touching.
Belonging.
Slowly, very slowly, Sarah tumbled back to reality. She was back in her bed, in her room. They were bathed in sweat. His lips caressed her bare shoulder, and she barely managed to stroke back his damp hair. She buried her face against his salt-damp skin, and he cradled her close. Words, for the moment, appeared to be beyond them.
But not feelings. She felt rich, and warm, and blissfully sated. She had loved. And Rio, without words, had loved her.
He stirred, taking his weight from her, but instantly drawing her against him. Harsh breathing was the only sound in that room.
Rio recovered first. “Listen, Sarah. The rain has stopped.”
She murmured some sound. Her ear was pressed to his chest and the only thing she listened to was the beat of his heart. She opened her eyes for a few moments, it was still dark.
She felt him pull the quilt up and over them, tucking it close behind her. She felt his hand as he gently brushed her tangled hair back from her face.
Every touch was tender. She felt herself drifting off to sleep and tried to fight it. Every moment was now precious. All to be savored and treasured against the time he would leave. But Rio’s dark, murmuring voice lulled and soothed her to sleep.
Rio held her a little while longer, then, with reluctance, he eased away from her. These past few hours with Sarah had taken the edge off the tension that rode him so hard.
He knew it would not last. Just as he knew that loving Sarah, the forever kind of love, was not a choice offered to him.
He was going to leave her. He would finish his quest for revenge, then somehow he would find a substitute for the peace that pervaded his mind and body now.
Sarah. A gift of benevolent gods and spirits. Or was this loving, giving woman a messenger sent from she who was gone. For all his dual upbringing, he still respected the Apache way of not thinking or speaking the name of a departed one.
Sarah. He could not stop himself from leaning over her, his lips touching her forehead. There was no guile in her.
The thought of keeping her was not as selfish as it seemed. She was a woman for a man to love.
He reached down and very lightly touched his palm to the curve of her belly. She had shared her secret with him, he had shared her grief, and she had wanted and taken all of him without thought of tomorrows.
And he, with less thought than a boy of fifteen with his first woman, had spilled his seed.
What if Sarah carried his child?
Could he leave her?
Would he turn from his set path to stay with her, protect her, love her?
And what of his sons?
Tormented questions for a tormented man.
Rio eased his body away from Sarah. He gathered his clothing and, with a look of regret, left Sarah to her dreams.
Lucas barely stirred with a sleepy murmur when Rio took the rifle away and urged him to sleep. He covered the sprawled form of Gabriel, and stood silent as he watched his sons for a few minutes.
Was Sarah right? Did his plan of running with them into Mexico lead to doom?
Everything had been so clear. He was going to steal the horses, take supplies and leave. Why had he let this widow woman draw him into staying?
In the kitchen a sullen grayness speared into the room from the windows. The rain had indeed stopped. Outside was muddy ground. He added kindling, stirring the few coals until the wood caught fire. He reset the stove plate and heated the coffee left from last night.
With his fingers curled over the edge of the dry sink, he stared out at the muddy yard. His options were limited to staying or running again.
Rio did not spare himself. Running out on Sarah was a coward’s answer. But staying would bring more pain to a woman who had had more than her share.
But how could he leave her with the threat of two more killers on his trail?
What if they came here looking for him and found Sarah alone?
He squeezed his eyes shut, but nothing would block out the sight burned into his mind of what he had come home to find.
And if he stayed, maybe, if Coyote was off doing his mischief to some other poor soul, he could protect Sarah and his sons long enough to have his revenge.
And if they come and kill you?
“Then Sarah and my sons would be at their mercy,” he whispered in answer to the double-bladed question. “But those men have no mercy.”
He had lingered here too long. His own need, the silent one that pleaded with him from Sarah’s dark eyes, trapped him as surely as had the weather.
What the hell was he going to do?
And what made him think that Sarah wanted him to stay?
What did he have to offer any woman? Nothing. He owned the clothes on his back.
Sarah deserved more.
He never heard her come up behind him. Her arms slipped around his waist. Her hands sent a jolt of heat through him when she pressed them against his belly. His fault. He never buttoned the shirt.
“Did you make coffee?” she asked in a soft voice, pressing her cheek against the warmth of his back.
“Last night’s. It should be hot by now.”
“Rio? Why did you leave me?”
“I made no promises. We both had needs. There is no more than that.”
Bastard! How you can lie to her? Is that what your grandfather taught you? Is this the honor of your mother’s people?
To his surprise, Sarah did not release her hold on him. He had to do something. Say something.
“It was a long, long time since I was with a white woman.” And never like you, Sarah. “You said there had been no other man. Six years at least.”
His knuckles showed white. She did not utter a sound. He gritted his teeth. He was hurting her. And he was going to go on until she ordered him out.
Coward!
No! he wanted to shout his denial. It was the only way he could protect her. With him gone, if those two left came here and questioned her, she had to hate him. It had to show how unwilling she’d been to have him there.
“Nothing to say, Sarah? I performed my good deed last night. One a day is all I allow.”
Sarah froze. What had happened? Where had this cold, angry stranger come from?
“I know you’re pushing me away, Rio. I just don’t understand why.” Her arms fell to her sides, and she stepped back and away from him.
“You’re right. There were no promises. And no, I’m not in need of stud service this morning.” She bit her lip, hating what she was saying, what she was making of what they shared. “That’s what you wanted to hear, what you practically forced me to say.” His silence, his hunched-over position, all grated on already-frayed nerves. She wanted to strike out at him. How could he turn what had been so beautiful for her into something cheap and ugly?
Sarah stood for a few minutes more, hoping he would face her, hoping that he would take her into his arms. She desperately needed to hear him say he hadn’t meant a word of what he had said. The man she had trusted could not be so cruel.
Silence. A rigid back. Bowed head. No words. No move.
There was no pain. Not now. But she wrapped her arms around her waist as if to hold herself together.
She wasn’t a coward. It wasn’t her way to walk away from anything that mattered to her.
But his silence defeated her.
She started to back away, then spun around to leave him. She wouldn’t run. Couldn’t All she thought about was needing time. Time to figure out what was going on with him.
She couldn’t have been so wrong about the man she trusted, the one who made love to her. She just could not be wrong.
But what if you are wrong? What then?
Now she ran, through the hallway, up the stairs with that odd, choked little voice asking those same questions over and over again.
Chapter Nineteen
The heavy, brooding quality to the overcast day suited Sarah’s mood perfectly. She had a strong feeling that it suited Rio and even his sons, too.
Lunch was finished, and she was no closer to finding an answer to what had made him turn and lash out at her. She was not about to give up. Quit was a word she had banished once free of Judd.
She looked up and out the window to see that Gabriel, lost in his own imaginary game, worked his way over the planks that formed a path to the barn. His arms were straight out at shoulder height, one foot set directly in front of the other, every step punctuated with a body wobble that set his arms to waving to keep his balance.
Beyond him, the horses milled about the corral while Rio worked to muck out their stalls.
For a few minutes she indulged herself in a flood of resentment that he had taken over her chores, especially the care of her horses. Then she chided herself. If he felt anything like she did, busy work, separated busy work, was all that prevented them from a shouting match.
Or maybe it was just her that it stopped.
“Sarah? Sarah, there is no more to wash.”
Lucas’s voice jerked her from her thoughts. She looked down at the dishpan of soapy water to see that he was right. There was nothing left.
“Thank you for helping me, Lucas.” She did not look at him, he reminded her too much of Rio’s face. It took a while before she realized that he was still there.
“Did you want something? Ask, Lucas. If I can help or give you whatever it is, I will.”
“The drawing paper. You have more?”
“No. But as soon as the road dries out a little bit more I’ll go into town and get some for you.”
She glanced at him then, puzzled to see his head lowered, his shoulders hunched. He looked as if she had beaten him in some way. Looking down, she saw the way his hands clenched the dish towel.
Sarah lifted her hands from the water and, rather than take the towel from him, wiped them down the sides of her pants. She hesitated before she lifted his chin.
“I know you’re disappointed, but I have a feeling it’s more than that. I have no right to ask you to tell me what it is, but Lucas, the offer to help you still holds.”
She had to fight the urge to draw him into her arms. If ever a boy needed a hug, needed more than words, Lucas did. His eyes were painful to look at. Wounded, confused. Sarah wasn’t even sure what she was seeing. She had the growing feeling that something was terribly wrong.
Her hand fell back to her side. “Tell you what, why don’t we take a walk. Maybe then you’ll feel like talking.”
“He does not want you to leave the house. He said it is not yet safe for you.”
Mentally she backed up and smothered the flare of anger his words brought. There was no question of who he was—Rio, of course. Rio giving orders about her and what she could do.
A deep breath helped calm her. Rio had a right to worry about two killers who still could track him here. She understood where his concern came from, but it didn’t sit easy on her shoulders. He didn’t want her, and she didn’t want any man to be accountable for her well-being.
None of which was easy to explain, even if she had an urge to do so. Especially not to Lucas.
Where did that leave her? She couldn’t take the boy to task for his father’s well-deserved fear, she couldn’t make an issue of it at all.
About to say as much, she caught a flash of misery in Lucas’s eyes before he glanced away.
“Since you and your brother helped me get the house in order and the soup’s on for supper, why don’t you and I sit and have a talk.”
Sarah ignored the lack of response and took the towel from his hands. She snapped it free then folded it over the bar to dry. Moving toward the table, she encouraged him to join her. She found herself having to ignore his sullen glance, because he did come over to sit near her.
“Something is troubling you, Lucas. I’m not the wisest woman, but I know how to listen. I’m not related to you, but I can be your friend. I’m not a stranger in the sense that I know a little of what has happened to you, your brother and your father.
“I also promise you, Lucas, that whatever it is I won’t say anything to anyone unless you want me to.”
“You want me to trust you?”
Sarah sat up straight, her gaze directly on the boy. She opened her mouth, then closed it as she quickly changed her mind about what to answer him.
“How ’bout I talk, and you listen?” His curt nod did little to reassure her that some minor thing was bothering him.
“I know how you lost your home and your mother. And I’m not saying that to be cruel. I lost someone dear to me, too. I do understand how the hurt stays, how you can feel guilty that you didn’t do enough, or that you did something to make it happen. In my case that’s true, but not in yours.”
He frowned, watching her with narrowed eyes. Sarah felt out of her depth here. But all she could do was try.
“You don’t want to tell me. Fine. What about being at the mission school. From the little that Gabriel told me—”
“He had no right.”
“Please,” she said, reaching over to touch his shoulder. Lucas shrugged it off, and she didn’t try again. “Gabriel told me how it was for him. He said he hated it there. Hated being with boys that taunted him because he wasn’t a full-blooded Indian, and because he was Apache. The boys were cruel, but all children—” She broke off. “Go on, say it.”
“I’m not a child.”
She looked into his eyes and slowly nodded. “You’re right and I’m wrong. You were forced to stop being a child. But still, Lucas, your brother is one and he found some comfort in talking to me. There is nothing I can do to make the past go away. I can’t bring your mother back, or your home. I can’t give back the pride that was stolen from you.”
“Never. They took my clothes, cut my hair and forbade me to speak a word of she who is gone, or to speak the words of her people. I didn’t care when they punished me. Their feeble little stick could—”
“What little stick?” Sarah demanded.
“The cane. All the mission women had one.”
“Oh, Lucas. I’m sorry. So sorry that you had to go through that. They didn’t know—”
“They knew.” He glared
at her, his teeth clenched, one hand folded over the other that formed a fist. “It was as the others said. They took all that mattered to us and punished us when we fought back. They wanted us to learn their way. They wanted us to forget our people, forget all we were taught.
“When I asked why they wanted to do this to us, I was hit. I tried to understand why. I didn’t want to be like them. I had a…a brother and a father. I was not like the others who had no family.”
“And you missed your father,” she said, hurting for him and not knowing how much talk or touching he would allow.
“No. I didn’t need him. He did not want me. He did not want Gabriel. He only wanted his whiskey.”
Sarah saw through the lie. The wounds were there. Lucas had been taken from his father’s side, stripped of his learning of two worlds, forced to behave against what he had known and act against all he’d been taught.
Oh, yes. The wounds and the anger still burned deep and bright.
“Lucas, someday you’ll be a man, and hope to love a woman as your father loved your mother. And I hope that you’ll both grow old together and keep that love. But when someone you love more than life itself is taken from you, long before you believe it is right or time, the hurt that you feel can make you forget there are others that love you, others that need you.
“I’m not saying that’s what happened to your father. But I think it’s true. I think he loved your mother so much that he forgot how much you and your brother needed him. That’s how badly he was hurting. He knows now that the whiskey didn’t help and never will. Now he hurts because he has to face what he did. He can never bring back what was. But he can try to begin again with you and Gabriel.
“But Lucas,” she pleaded, reaching over to cover his hands, “he can’t do it alone. He needs your help. He needs you to talk to him. I know he loves you. I know that he—”
“How?”
“Lucas, he told me. I can see for myself that it’s true. I think you know it, too. He never stopped loving you, he stopped loving himself. You can’t give love to someone else unless you care about yourself first It would be like…” Sarah paused. She struggled to find a way to chase the bewildered look he wore.
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