Texas Love Song

by Jodi Thomas

  He felt a strange kind of pride about what she’d done at Lacy’s home. She could have caused a scene the entire town would have heard. But she hadn’t. His proper little general had been kind. Kinder maybe than any other woman would have been.

  Gripping the sides of the loft opening, Sloan fought the desire to go down and be with her. He could almost feel McCall’s pain, knowing that her husband gave his love to another over her. The watch had been proof. Lacy was his lifelong love, not McCall. She was only his widow.

  Sloan watched her take care of her horse in the moonlight. If she were his wife, he’d never go to another. How could Holden have been so blind?

  But McCall didn’t want him any more than Holden wanted her. Sloan might stay near her a day, maybe two, but then he’d have to leave. They’d never said a word about the future, and Sloan didn’t know where to start.

  He moved to the center of the loft and gripped the beams, fighting himself to keep from going down. She’d be in the little dugout by now. With only the light of the lantern, she’d probably be undressing. He could see her every curve in his mind’s eyes. The perfection of her would haunt him the rest of his days.

  Why hadn’t he touched her all afternoon while they’d been alone? If he’d told her how deeply he wanted her, maybe…

  Sloan slammed his fist against the beam. She’d left him! How much more did she have to do to tell him she didn’t want him? What did it matter? A few weeks ago he hadn’t known she existed; now the loss of her was ripping him apart. Why couldn’t she have been a woman like Lacy? A woman with little in this world who welcomed men into her bed easily. Why’d he have to care about the great Widow Harrison, whose heart was as big as her legend, it seemed, but who had no room for him? She deserved more than he’d ever be able to give. He was only marking himself an idiot for trying.

  “Sloan?” Her call broke into his thoughts. “Are you up there?”

  He didn’t answer as he heard her climb the ladder.

  “There you are,” she said as she stepped onto the loft floor. “I looked for you in the house. Still not speaking to me, I see. I guessed you’d sleep up here by the opening. It’s the most strategic spot on the place.”

  Sloan wasn’t sure he could talk to her without making a fool of himself. He stared out at the stars from the loft door.

  “I wanted to say good night and see if you needed anything.” She dropped a blanket. “I thought you could use another quilt.”

  He could hear her moving closer, but he didn’t let go of the wood.

  “I’d like to thank you for staying to protect me. It’s kind, but not necessary. If there is one thing I’m fairly good at, it’s taking care of myself. You’re free to leave if you like tomorrow.”

  He could feel her standing just behind him, close enough to touch.

  She took a deep breath, as if determined to say what must be said. “You asked me this morning why I left you at the station. I didn’t answer. I’m not sure. I think I was hating you as well as myself.”

  He raised his head, wishing he knew the right words to say. But how does a man beg a woman not to regret loving him? He could never do such a thing.

  The ranch house and the land stretched before him in the moonlight. Until today he’d never realized the difference between them. She was leaving to ruin more than he’d ever own. This was the kind of place he used to dream of having to raise horses. But that was before the war, when he allowed himself to dream.

  “Do you have everything you need?” She took a step away.

  Sloan nodded once, biting his lip to keep from telling her how much he needed her.

  “Well, good night, then.” She moved another step away. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Closing his eyes, he didn’t want to see her walk away. He didn’t want to hear her leaving him. He felt like he’d lived a lifetime since he’d met her, and if he heard her leave, he’d be dying. He hadn’t the energy to fight anymore. She didn’t want his loving, and he was too proud to ask again.

  Sloan let out a low groan and gripped the wood until it splintered. He wouldn’t watch her leave. He couldn’t say good-bye to the only person he’d cared about.

  McCall stood in the blackness of the loft, watching him. She should go, she told herself. He didn’t want to talk to her. But she couldn’t leave. The power of this silent man fascinated her.

  His shirt was stretched so tightly across the muscles of his shoulders, he looked like a man made of granite. She guessed he was still angry. She couldn’t blame him. Though she’d said it would be a blessing if he didn’t talk to her, she wished he’d at least say good night. He was the most frustrating human she’d ever met. For a man others said was without honor, he had his share of pride.

  He didn’t seem to live by the same rules she always thought men lived by. He thought talking to Winter was as important as talking to an adult. He’d saved a horse no one else would have bothered with. This afternoon he’d helped her toss out expensive things that he saw as worthless if they made her unhappy.

  She moved a step closer. Now, alone with her, he seemed his most interesting. She could almost smell the wild passion within him, but when he touched her it had been hesitantly. McCall couldn’t help but wonder how he’d touch her if he were secure in her response. She couldn’t ask him to stay longer, not after he’d made it so plain that coming here was a mistake. He was a drifter who wanted no ties.

  Suddenly, he broke and ran to the ladder. Before she could call him back he was to the ground and running out the door toward the room they’d found. McCall watched from the window as he slowed when almost to the trees. He walked a few steps closer to the opening, then turned around and walked slowly back, his head down, his shoulders defeated.

  He climbed back up the ladder and spread the blanket she’d brought out on the hay. Then he moved to the loft door again and looked out once more, as though staring at the dugout. She could see his back clearly in the moonlight, but his face was in shadow. She could feel the tension in the air, like the kind of energy that sparks before a lightning storm.

  Silently moving closer as he ran his fingers through his hair, she watched him grab the frame once more above his head. He looked so young. His movements were quick, almost jerky, showing indecision and youth. His lean body was not yet to midtwenty, though his eyes seemed years older.

  A board creaked beneath her foot and she felt him tense, but he didn’t go for his gun. His senses were too keen to panic.

  She advanced, watching him closely.

  His eyes were closed but she guessed he knew she was there. He reminded her of a wild animal, feeling someone near. Not needing sight.

  She moved behind him, knowing he was probably still angry with her for leaving. Anger had driven him to follow the stage and anger had flavored his kiss this morning. But she needed to be close to him. When she’d watched him run half the distance to the dugout, she saw he needed her also. If he wouldn’t take the last few steps, she would.

  Very lightly she touched his back and felt him tighten, as though her fingers burned. Slowly, she moved her hand down his back.

  He didn’t turn, but she knew he felt her. She touched his back again, more boldly, almost expecting him to pull away.

  He remained stone.

  Pulling his shirt out at his waist, she placed her hands on the bare flesh of his back and moved gently upward.

  He arched slightly, but didn’t turn around or say a word. From his stance, she couldn’t tell if her touch brought him pleasure or pain.

  McCall’s fingers moved around his waist and unbuckled his gun belt. The weight of it surprised her. She lowered the weapon to the floor carefully, wanting to disarm him of more than the Colt.

  She leaned against his back as she unbuttoned his shirt. His body warmed her and the smell of soap and leather blended with the passion that always surrounded him. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons. Each time her hands moved against his chest, she felt him stiffen more.

>   There was so much that needed to be said between them. But she didn’t know where to start. All she knew was that she needed to touch him. She needed to make a lie of what Lacy and Holden had believed about her. And more important, she needed to feel him holding her so tightly she thought he might never let go. He was the only one who’d ever held her like that, and she craved the touch once more.

  When his shirt was unbuttoned, she pulled it open so that her hands could move across the hardness of his chest. She wanted to feel him, really feel every part of him. She spread her palm over his heart as she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. She could hear the pounding with her ear against him and feel it with her hand.

  If he didn’t like her touch, all he had to do was say one word to stop her. But he remained still, accepting her caress as silently as he’d accepted the beating the night they’d met.

  She pressed her body against his back as her hands moved below his belt and over his pants. He jerked slightly as her fingers slid over the center of his need. He didn’t have to speak; she could feel his desire.

  Pulling his shirt off his shoulder, she tasted his skin. From the look of him, she couldn’t tell if she were bringing him joy or sorrow. But touching him was bringing her pure pleasure.

  The taste of him sparked a hunger deep within her. She suddenly wanted the taste of his mouth as well. She pressed her hands around his chest and raked gently across his skin before suddenly stepping away, leaving him gulping for breath.

  Sloan stood in place for a long time, then turned slowly. He took a deep breath and plowed his fingers through his hair as though trying to control himself. Moonlight shone in his hair and reflected off the long line of tan skin beneath his open shirt.

  He took a step toward her. “What are you doing, McCall?”

  She had pulled off her boots and was unbuttoning her short riding coat. “I’m getting ready for bed,” she answered, as if she’d said those words to him every night for years.

  “McCall!” He tried to talk but his mouth felt like it no longer knew how to form words.

  She turned then and met his gaze. Her beauty almost stopped his heart.

  “I need to sleep in your arms,” she whispered in a voice that was almost childlike.

  But the look she gave him was all woman.

  “Just any man’s arms?” He couldn’t be just the “any man” she ran to after learning her husband was unfaithful. What happened between them tonight couldn’t be about another.

  “No,” she answered and dropped her jacket on the hay. “I want to sleep in your arms.”

  Sloan moved slowly, still not sure. “But you ran from my arms two days ago.”

  “I know, and I may run again.” She unbuckled her belt. “But I’m not running now.”

  She slid her riding skirt to the floor, leaving only a thin layer of cotton to cover her legs.

  Sloan could do nothing but watch. She was doing it again. Changing from one person into another. An hour ago she’d yelled at him and told him to mind his own business. Now she was undressing in front of him as if she’d done it all her life. Half the time he didn’t know who she’d be when he next looked at her. But right now, as she opened her blouse to reveal the lace of her camisole, none of the general remained. The person before him was all woman, from the lift of her breasts above the lace to the long length of her black stockings. She was more woman than he’d known or ever hoped to hold.

  Grabbing her arm, Sloan pulled her roughly to him and kissed her soundly. He’d half expected her to pull away, but she moved her fingers into his hair. His boldness hadn’t frightened her.

  He kissed her again, and his kiss was hard and demanding, as if he were daring her to step away. But she moved her body into his and twisted her fingers into fists with his hair intertwined.

  He molded his hands down her body. Pressing into her softness, he never hesitated. If she wanted to be in his arms, she’d be there by his rules tonight. He felt like he was on fire with longing for her. He wanted no games between them.

  Shoving her blouse aside, he pulled her camisole open with a tug.

  He looked down at her closed eyes and slightly opened mouth as he widened his stance and pulled her against him. With his hands covering her hips, he kissed her passionately. Sloan slid his hands up her body, pulling her arms over his shoulders so that he could move his hands along the sides of her breasts. He paused along her rib cage and pressed slightly, swallowing her cry of pleasure without letting her mouth free. Her soft breasts moved slightly against the bareness of his chest, making him deepen the kiss.

  When he finally pulled away, her breath was coming in short gasps, lifting and lowering her full breasts to his view.

  But he didn’t touch her there. He gripped her shoulders and pushed her onto the red blanket she’d brought to him. A moment later, he was next to her. Spreading his hand over the flesh of her stomach, he pressed slightly. She drew in a breath, flattening her abdomen even more and lifting her breasts.

  “I want you to have my children,” he said, without thought that she’d hear the words. “I want my seed to grow inside here, so that every time I look at you I’ll see you as you are now.”

  He moved his hand lower atop the undergarment. She arched slightly as his fingers spread between her legs, feeling her boldly. “I want all of you, McCall. If you stay here tonight, there’ll be no holding back. Come to me whole or not at all. I can’t just love a part of you.”

  He lowered his mouth over hers and kissed her as his hand slid across her warm flesh, tugging the cotton of her undergarment lower. “Let go,” he whispered as he moved to her throat. “Let me love all of you. Give all your passion to me…or none.”

  McCall raised her arms above her head and moved to his touch. His hands were warm and strong over her skin as he cupped her breasts, then traced a line down to where cotton still covered her. When his mouth claimed her breast, she cried out in surprise, but he didn’t stop. His hand on her leg tightened. The weight of his side held her still as he pulled the softness of her mound into his mouth.

  She struggled for a minute as the warmth of his advance flowed over her. When she began to move with him, he lifted his mouth and returned to her ear. “That’s the way, darlin’, relax and let me have all of you. You’re beautiful and you taste of a passion deep. Give yourself to me, McCall. I want all of you tonight.”

  Part of her wanted to cover herself and run. She was sure respectable people never did what he was doing to her. But it was too late. The need for him was too great. Lacy was wrong; there was a part of her, a need basic and raw, that demanded satisfaction. The kind of satisfaction only Sloan could give.

  He turned to her other breast, pulling it into his mouth and tasting until she stopped trying to move away and accepted the pleasure. He was doing it again, giving her the feeling that he’d swallow her whole and consume all of her if she’d allow it. Tonight she not only planned to take all he offered, but demand it.

  When she was rocking slowly back and forth beneath his strokes and responding to his kisses, he rose above her suddenly and rolled her over. His hands moved her hair away from her back. Slowly his fingers traveled from her shoulders down. Feeling. Molding. Branding.

  “Relax, darling,” he whispered as his hands worked across her flesh. “Relax and let me touch you, all of you.” She shivered and he added, “I’ll warm you when I’m finished.”

  The need to feel her warmed his palms as he stroked her with long, hungry hands. When she would have rolled toward him, he stopped her, longing to touch her fully. He moved above her, caressing her until she relaxed and allowed him the freedom he craved. His touch grew bolder, his mouth hungrier for the taste of her as she whispered his name in a voice thick with need.

  Finally, he lowered his body over hers, pushing her deep into the soft hay. His hand moved between the blanket and her until it closed around her breast. While those fingers tightened around her fullness, his other hand twisted into her hair and pulled
gently, exposing her neck. His open mouth found her throat as he moved against her hips in need.

  Mindless with the feel of him over her, McCall whispered his name over and over. The smell of him blanketed her, drugging her with desire. The feel of him covered her back while his hand circled her breast. His mouth feeling the pulse in her throat was maddening. Pure need for him throbbed through her body, stronger than a drum. She was lost in his passion, captured completely in his desire. When she cried in pleasure, he pressed harder against her and closed his grip in total ownership over her breast. All her senses were of him. All her thoughts were of him.

  “Say it!” he whispered in her ear as he tugged at her hair, forcing her face closer. “Ask me to love you!”

  “Love me,” she whispered as he stroked her boldly. “Please, love me.”

  “Say you need me, McCall.” He combed his fingers over her hair gently and released her breast.

  “I need you,” she whispered as he moved to his side.

  Moving his hands lovingly along her back and over her hip, he added, “Again…say it again.”

  “I need you.”

  Suddenly he was gone, and she cried out for his touch. “Love me, Sloan, please love me.” For a moment she thought he’d gone, leaving her.

  Gentle hands rolled her over to her back and tugged at her legs. “I do, darlin’,” he whispered as he kissed her mouth softly. “And I will.”

  McCall wrapped her arms around him as he entered her and cried out in joy as he moved above her.

  Like riding wild, she held tight and rode the storm of passion. Her body was damp and hot, her heart pounding. She held tighter, demanding more. Faster and faster she rode, until suddenly the world shattered and for a moment she left the ground and rode among the clouds in paradise.

  Sloan held her tightly as she lowered back to earth. He stroked her hair and whispered words she couldn’t grasp in her ear. McCall smiled and closed her eyes, loving the feel of his arms, loving the nearness of him. Loving the way he touched her as if he’d always touched her, as though they belonged to one another.