The Gift of Love

by Lori Foster

  Hooking her thumbs under her waistband, she shimmied out of her shorts and panties while he watched, riveted. When she was naked, she propped herself up on her elbows, waiting to see what he wanted from her now, but all he wanted was to look.

  “God,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

  “So are—ahhh—”

  “And your smell. What’re you trying to do to me?”

  He wedged those wide shoulders between her knees, spreading her wide, and then his mouth was on her, right where she needed it most, and everything else went dark and silent.

  The pleasure grew, notching higher and settling into a delicious pulsing knot, until finally the waves broke over her, so piercing and delicious she couldn’t have stifled her cries if she’d tried.

  Keenan. God, Keenan.

  The ripples were beginning to fade and her head to clear, when Keenan shifted again, so that she was on top. It took a minute to refocus her vision and take in the breathtaking sight of him beneath her, hers for the taking. Now it was her turn to give pleasure, and his to receive.

  Flicking her gaze up to his, she curled her lips in a wicked smile and felt his heart thunder when she put her hands on his chest.

  Oh, yeah.

  “Let’s take these off.” She slid her hands low on his taut belly, underneath the elastic of his track pants, and felt his upper body stiffen. But they’d come too far to let doubts overwhelm them, no matter what happened from here, and she wasn’t about to turn back now.

  So she tugged the pants and black briefs down, past his erection and thin hips, all the way to his atrophied thighs and wasted legs. Sudden tears burned her eyes, even though she’d thought she was braced and ready for this moment. She wasn’t. To see the ruined parts of this vital man’s body hit her hard, right in the gut, and she needed a minute to catch her breath.

  But…

  Keenan was watching, waiting for her reaction; she could feel his new stillness.

  Anyway, she loved all of him. Had waited years to physically love him.

  So she raised her head and smiled to reassure him, stroking the outsides of his long legs even though he couldn’t feel her touch. “I love you.”

  Levering himself up on his elbows, he blinked furiously, trying to speak. “Diana.”

  “Shhh,” she said.

  She didn’t need to hear it, whatever it was. Everything he felt was written all over his face.

  Exhaling a huge breath that made his lungs heave, he smiled back, just a little, and that was all she needed. Lowering her head, she took him into her mouth.

  He groaned, clamping his hands in her hair, anchoring her, and she worked over him, her head bobbing, until her mouth and tongue were tired and his breath raspy.

  “Now,” he said. “Now.”

  Pausing only to grab and open the condom he’d laid on the nightstand, she rolled it on him, working quickly. And then she slid up and over him as he eased onto his back, and angling her hips and taking him in her hand, she sank down until he was buried deep inside her.

  Ahhh…God.

  Leaning back and thrusting her breasts into his palms, she let the pleasure wash over her again. Nothing had ever felt this good, or ever would again; she had been born to accomplish this single thing on earth: making love with Keenan.

  After a moment’s adjustment for both of them, his breath hissed and he gripped her hips, encouraging her to move. She did. Faster when she wanted fast, slower when her hips and thighs got tired. Judging from his earthy sounds of encouragement, it was all good to him.

  He couldn’t move with her, and it didn’t matter. Not even a little.

  Only that point where he joined her body mattered, and the excruciating friction.

  The contractions began again in her belly and crested over her, so rhythmic and powerful the breath died in her throat and her cries were silenced. She collapsed over him, gasping, and he caught one of her dangling nipples in his mouth, pulling hard. She pumped her hips again—once … twice … and then he said, “Diana,” and his neck arched back, into the pillow, and he shuddered beneath her.

  Exhausted, sated, she buried her face in the sinewy hollow between his neck and shoulder, and sank into absolute, joyous oblivion.

  Maybe she slept; there was no way to know for sure. When she raised her head again, it was to see that the shadows had shifted across the walls and the night had deepened. Turning slowly, trying to be careful not to wake him if he was asleep, she looked to Keenan.

  He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, lost in thoughts she couldn’t begin to imagine. As she watched, a single bright tear trickled from the outer corner of his eye, down his temple, and onto the white pillowcase.

  Oh, no.

  Had she hurt him or done something wrong? Was he disappointed?

  She tensed, just a little, a half-formed apology on her lips. He looked around at her, and their gazes connected.

  He smiled then, a glorious smile of such hope and happiness that he was almost a stranger to her—it altered his features that much.

  She waited, frozen, not wanting to speak or do anything to ruin this.

  “Hi.” He smoothed her hair out of her face, his touch unbearably gentle.

  “Hi.”

  “You’re a miracle,” he told her. “You know that?”

  “One of us is a miracle, yeah.”

  His smile widened, then dimmed, and she could feel the warnings coming, and the buildup of disclaimers and whereases.

  “It may not always go that smoothly. You know that, right? We may have problems—”

  Reaching up, she tapped two fingers on his lips, silencing him because she didn’t want to hear it. As far as she was concerned, there was only one issue that needed to be addressed.

  “Will it always be you here in this bed with me?”

  He didn’t hesitate, not even for a millisecond. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Easing closer, she moved her fingers aside so she could kiss him again. “Then we haven’t got any problems at all.”

  the redemption of brodie grant

  LISA COOKE

  For Mom and Dad, thanks for always believing I could do it.

  one

  EAST TEXAS, 1886

  Whoever said love was blind must have overlooked a few other senses, starting with the sense God gave a goose and ending with the sense to come in out of the rain.

  Brodie Grant tapped his fingers against his leg as he watched his kid sister marry a first-rate bastard. Sara claimed she loved Leo Stover, but Brodie had thought their momma had raised her better than that.

  “Does anyone have just reason why these two can’t be joined together?” the preacher asked, and Brodie held his tongue. He knew at least a thousand reasons, including the fact Leo was a lying son of a bitch. But he stayed quiet. Quiet and fidgety. Quiet and fidgety and pissed and …

  “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  Hell.

  His mother squeezed his arm, bringing him back from his general state of pissiness.

  “She’s so happy,” Momma said.

  Brodie looked toward the front of the church, where Leo was kissing his sister, and regretted for the thousandth time that he hadn’t returned home sooner. Maybe if he had, he could have kept her from marrying a man that clearly wasn’t good enough for her.

  “You could act happier for her sake,” Momma said, and Brodie didn’t doubt that for a minute.

  “You know how I feel about Leo,” he said.

  Momma patted his arm. “That was a long time ago, Brodie. Things change.”

  No doubt about that either. Things had changed in an instant ten years ago when all hell had broken loose, and Brodie had been blamed for it. Now, everyone looked down their noses at him like he was scum. Anger boiled up in his gut again, but his sister’s blinding smile calmed it. Damn, if she didn’t look happy, hurrying down the aisle on Leo’s arm.

  “You’re staying for the reception, aren’t you?” Momma’s statement sounded more l
ike instructions than a question.

  He sighed. “Yeah, I’ll go for Sara’s sake, but Leo had better stay the hell away from me.”

  “Brodie, you’re in the house of God,” Momma said, tugging him into the aisle. “Watch your language.”

  Hell, he had watched his language.

  MAGGIE Stover Walls waited patiently as the guests in the little white church filed into the aisle to leave. Everyone in town had attended her brother’s wedding. A marriage between a Stover and a Grant was something to see. There had been bad blood between the families ever since Brodie had burned down the Stover’s barn, killing a bull that was worth a fortune. Leo had said he thought it was an accident, but that didn’t help things any.

  The expensive incident almost cost her family everything they had. It had taken years for her father to save enough to buy the bull, and losing him before he’d sired a single calf had been devastating. Her pa had counted on that bull to produce the best breeding stock in Texas.

  Because of Brodie’s malicious act, Maggie’s family struggled for years to regain their losses. Thank goodness he’d left the area the day after the fire and hadn’t returned. Being civil to him after what he did would have taxed every bit of Christian charity she had in her possession.

  Standing, she brushed her hands down her bodice and turned to step into the aisle. From her position near the front of the sanctuary, she could see most of the people leaving for the reception, including the back of Sara’s mother and the large man escorting her. Maggie paused. A strange sense of familiarity washed through her. Could it be?

  Nah, Brodie wasn’t nearly that tall and broad when he’d left ten years before. Besides, what were the chances he’d return after what he’d done? She leaned in an attempt to get a better view of the dark-haired man, but all she managed to do was step on Lenore Mills’s toes.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Mills,” Maggie said, still straining to see the stranger.

  “That’s all right, honey. I can’t blame you for trying to get a look at Brodie. He’s changed quite a bit, hasn’t he?”

  Maggie hoped her face didn’t show the shock she felt. “Are you sure it’s Brodie?”

  “Yep,” Lenore said. “He came home yesterday, just in time for the wedding.” Lenore then tipped her gray head toward Maggie and grinned. “He sure grew into a handsome man, didn’t he?”

  Looks had never been Brodie’s problem. Even at nineteen, he’d been fine to look at, and Lord knew, Maggie had done her share of looking. To a twelve-year-old girl, Brodie Grant was just about perfect… until he ruined their lives. She slowed her step so she wouldn’t have to speak to him just yet. Seeing him unexpectedly had churned up feelings she’d tried to forget, and she needed a few moments to regain her composure.

  Unfortunately, a few moments were all she had. The reception had been set up in the yard outside the church. Tables with food and drinks lined one side of the yard, and several chairs and benches lined the other; the center area had been left clear for dancing. Maggie glanced around the crowd until her gaze landed on Brodie. He stood, somber and quiet, leaning against a tree, watching the crowd as though daring someone to speak to him.

  He didn’t smile. He didn’t interact or attempt to mingle with the others. He just stood, glaring from beneath the brim of his Stetson. He hadn’t looked at her, not yet, and she was prepared to look away the second he did, but for now, she couldn’t drag her attention away from him. Shifting his hand to hook on to the front of his belt, his jacket pulled back enough to expose the gun strapped low on his hip. What kind of man wore a gun to his sister’s wedding?

  Brodie had changed. And not in a good way.

  “Maggie?”

  Maggie flinched and whipped her head toward her brother. “Leo,” she said, laying her hand against her heart, “you startled me.”

  Leo frowned and nodded in Brodie’s direction. “Have you talked to him yet?”

  Heat crept up Maggie’s neck. Her first thought was to ask who Leo was referring to, but obviously, he’d seen her staring at Brodie. “No.” She patted a tendril of hair back into her chignon. “I have nothing to say to him.”

  “Our families are connected now. Holding a grudge against him doesn’t seem to make sense.”

  Her jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you said that. He ruined our lives, Leo.”

  “Did he?” Leo shrugged. “It was a long time ago, and I think we’ve done fine. Besides, it was an accident.”

  “You don’t know that for sure. Pa has always said he did it on purpose.” She lowered her voice when she realized others could hear. “If it was an accident, why did he leave so quickly?”

  “Can you blame him? Pa was looking to kill him.” Leo glanced to where his father stood, talking to some of the men before he added softly, “I would have run, too.”

  Maggie started to argue that their pa wouldn’t have killed Brodie, but she wasn’t sure that was true. Their father’s temper was legendary. He’d never raised a hand to her or her mother, but she’d seen him whip Leo until he couldn’t stand just for leaving a gate open. In his furious state the night of the fire, he very well might have killed Brodie.

  “But that’s all behind us now,” Leo said, taking her hand. “It’s time to move on.”

  It took Maggie a second before she realized Leo’s intention. She didn’t feel like dancing, but Jeff Powell’s fiddle was humming, and Leo didn’t give her a chance to refuse. Forcing a smile, she allowed him to drag her into a lively square dance—unaware until it was too late that Sara had done the same thing with Brodie.

  A barking of calls and the dancers changed partners rapidly, stopping, as luck would have it, when Maggie was in the arms of Brodie Grant. He led her through the moves with little effort and even less enthusiasm until the dance ended. Then he turned toward her, truly looking at her for the first time. The corner of his mouth lifted softly as he raked his gaze across her face, his eyes landing on her lips, which were parted slightly from the exertion of the dance. He watched her mouth far longer than he should have before he turned his attention to her eyes. Deep and dark, hooded by the brim of his hat and something primal, his eyes held her frozen to the spot.

  She’d never felt a gaze before, but she felt that one. It fluttered her pulse, warming her more than the dancing had, and for a brief instant, she forgot the last ten years. She forgot the fire, the anger, the hardship. She forgot her husband’s death, her mother’s illness… all of it. For just an instant, she was a twelve-year-old girl with a wild crush on her brother’s best friend, longing for a kiss she’d never gotten.

  Then he ruined it.

  “I’m Brodie Grant,” he said.

  The turd didn’t even remember her.

  BRODIE hobbled back to the tree, trying to figure out why the pretty little brunette had kicked him in the shin. He hadn’t stepped on her toes or insulted her. Hell, he hadn’t even looked at her until the dance ended. Maybe that was why she was mad. Maybe she didn’t like being ignored. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have ignored her, but he’d been dragged into the dance by his sister, and it had taken a few minutes before he’d loosened up enough to look at his dance partner.

  Cheeks pink, curls brushing her face, her lips parted and looking like they needed kissing … it had taken all his willpower not to taste her mouth. But he hadn’t because he didn’t know her and they were in the middle of a crowd; otherwise, not knowing her probably wouldn’t have made a difference. Luckily, he’d refrained from stealing a kiss. If she kicked men just for introducing themselves, she probably would have gutted him for kissing her.

  He fought the urge to rub the knot on his shin as his mother walked over to talk to him. “Why did Maggie kick you?” she asked, handing him a cup of cider.

  So, the woman’s name was Maggie. “Haven’t a clue.” He took a long drink of cider, all the while eyeing Maggie as she talked to a group of friends near one of the tables.

  “I thought maybe you said something about Leo.”r />
  “Why would she care—” He stopped. Couldn’t be. “Maggie Stover?”

  “Who’d you think I meant?”

  Slowly, Brodie returned his attention to the curvy, shin-kicking woman standing by the cookies. That couldn’t be Maggie Stover. The Maggie Stover he knew was a skinny, freckle-faced tomboy, who wore boy’s britches, rode bareback … and would have kicked him in the shin in a heartbeat.

  “Holy hell,” he muttered.

  “You didn’t recognize her?”

  “She didn’t look like that the last time I saw her.” A quick calculation put Maggie at about twenty-two years of age. “Is she married? I don’t see a husband hanging around.”

  “She was for a short time, but her husband was killed a couple of years ago by a rattlesnake. She’s Maggie Walls now.” Momma looked up at him, a little twinkle in her eye. “She grew up to be right pretty, didn’t she?”

  He had to agree, not that it mattered. Maggie could’ve been the prettiest woman in East Texas, and she still would’ve been off-limits. Leo’s kid sister would hate him like the rest of the Stovers did, and if there was one thing Brodie had learned through the years, it was that it was a waste of time to try to convince people of something they didn’t want to hear.

  “Oh, there’s Louise Thompson,” his mom said. “I need to ask her something.” She hurried toward Louise, leaving him alone under the tree, but he barely noticed. His attention was riveted on Leo’s father, John. The big man was headed Brodie’s way, and based on his expression, it wasn’t to welcome him home.

  “You got a lot of nerve to show up here after what you done.” John Stover never was one to mince words.

  Brodie forced his jaw to unclench before he turned his head slowly to look Leo’s father in the eye. At one time, John Stover struck the fear of God in Brodie, but that time was long gone. Ten years as a scout had Brodie’s hide tough enough to take anything the man wanted to dish out. “My ma needs me to help at the ranch.”

  “Then, you’re staying?” Stover said as though he couldn’t believe Brodie’s audacity.