Unspoken

by Lisa Jackson

  Shelby dismounted, tied the gelding’s reins to the fence and opened a gate that creaked as she passed through. Long, dry grass brushed her legs, and burrs clung to her shorts.

  In the newer section of the plot she found her mother’s grave, one of the few that looked as if someone had cared. No weeds encroached on the headstone that had been engraved long ago with Jasmine Cole’s date of birth as well as the date of her death. Inscribed over an etched bouquet of flowers and ribbons were the simple words: Loving wife and mother.

  “I’m sorry,” Shelby whispered, her throat clogging at the thought of the pain her mother had endured. Being married to Jerome Cole would test any woman’s spirit; loving him had been a curse.

  Shelby had no flowers, no token of remembrance, and she felt a sensation akin to guilt for not returning to this gravesite in so many years, but the truth of the matter was that she hardly remembered her mother. The images of the woman who had borne her that were ingrained in her memory were more likely from snapshots she’d seen, a few family videos she’d watched and memories embellished by stories she’d heard from her father or Lydia.

  She listened to the sound of a songbird, hidden and warbling from a clump of mesquite, as she stared dry-eyed at the ground. “I wish I’d known you,” she admitted. “Oh, Mom, I think you would have helped.” There was no gravestone for her baby. She’d flung ashes—she now didn’t know from what—over the hills, thinking her child had died. There had been no stone set into the graveyard because, she’d thought, her father had been so ashamed of his unwed and pregnant daughter. Now, she realized, there was no stone because her baby hadn’t died. Thank God. “I will find you, Elizabeth,” she vowed, her throat thick. “I will.”

  Tossing her tangled hair from her face, Shelby stiffened her spine, left the cemetery and noticed the storm clouds darkening in the horizon.

  She untethered her horse, mounted and took off over the hills more determined than ever to find her own child. She rode by instinct, knowing she had one more place to visit before she turned back.

  Her heart beat crazily as she passed the old cabin, so dilapidated that she hardly recognized it. Most of the old timbers had fallen, the roof had caved in, and aside from the rock chimney, it was little more than a pile of century-old memories. She kneed the gelding and his legs stretched longer as he loped through the dry grass and weeds. Wind bearing the scent of rain screamed by, pressing hard against Shelby’s face as she guided the sorrel along a ridge and down a gully to the creek where she and Nevada had made love.

  She swallowed hard at the memory, the feel of his hands and lips on her body, the cool caress of the rain. She’d told him then that she’d loved him and never since had she felt the same about any man.

  She’d believed—oh. God, how she’d prayed—that the baby she’d conceived that night belonged to him, that the child was evidence of their love, that she wasn’t the daughter of Ross McCallum.

  But did it really matter? As Shelby searched for her child, Elizabeth’s paternity became less and less of an issue. Reining up, she noticed dark spots of sweat on the gelding’s coat. “Good boy,” she whispered, patting the game horse’s neck. She dropped to the ground and walked along the creek bed, her mind spinning with thoughts of Nevada, her heart pounding with the same love she’d felt ten years earlier.

  “Silly woman,” she muttered and settled onto a rock to stare at the dry creek bed. A jackrabbit bounded into the woods, and a hawk circled high overhead.

  Shelby reached into her pocket, and her fingers scraped against the set of keys she’d had made. She pulled out the new set, gleaming and rough-edged, held together with a bent paper clip. What would she find in her father’s office? Her stomach clenched. More damning secrets?

  Would she finally be able to locate her daughter?

  Or would she discover evidence of other moral and ethical lines that had been crossed? What about Lydia? Why wouldn’t the housekeeper confide in her? And why was Ross McCallum a free man now, at the same time she was contacted about Elizabeth?

  She’d been in Bad Luck over a week, and she felt as if the entire time she’d been spinning her wheels, chasing after ghosts, no closer to finding her child than she had been when she’d first driven into town. Stuffing the keys in her pocket, she was about to leave when she sensed, rather than saw, someone approach, not from the ranch, but from the other direction, where government land abutted the north end of the property—the direction Nevada had used years ago.

  She stood as she saw him walking swiftly, long, jean-clad legs eating up the ground. Her silly heart lifted at the sight of him and she told herself, yet again, that she was the worst kind of fool—a smart woman who knowingly fell for the wrong kind of man.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” he said as he neared. His lips were flat against his teeth, the brackets surrounding his mouth severe, the lower half of his face covered with the dark shadow of his beard. A muscle worked near his temple, and he looked as if he could strangle a grizzly bare-handed.

  “On foot?”

  “My truck is parked back there a piece.” He hitched his chin toward the north, the same direction he’d parked it so long ago.

  “You thought I’d be here?”

  “No, I thought you’d be at the Judge’s house, or somewhere in town tracking down dead-end leads looking for your daughter, or maybe even on a side trip out of town, but I was running out of places, so I gambled and came here.”

  “The back way.”

  “Didn’t want to take a chance that the Judge might be at the ranch and throw me off.” He grabbed her arms in strong, angry hands and pulled her close. “When I called the house, Lydia said you’d left upset, that you had to get away, and so I remembered that you used to either swim or ride whenever you wanted to work out a problem. You weren’t at the house, so I thought you might have come to the ranch to ride.” His gaze drilled deep into hers. “And if you rode the hills, I figured you might come here.” He lifted a shoulder. “It was just a lucky guess.” Some of the tension seemed to drain from him and he rested his forehead against hers. “Damn it, Shelby, I was hoping I’d find you here.”

  “Were you?” Her bad mood faded as she stared into his eyes, both gray, one pupil slightly larger than the other, the result of a knife wound from Ross McCallum. “Any particular reason?” For a reason she didn’t understand, she couldn’t help baiting him.

  “Don’t jerk my chain.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Like hell.” His fingers tightened again, dug deep into her forearms as the Texas heat seemed to rise from the dry ground. “You’d take any chance you could.”

  “Geez, Nevada, don’t you ever get tired of hauling that massive ego of yours around with you?”

  “You’re doing it again,” he warned.

  “Sorry.” She lifted an eyebrow and tried not to respond to the warmth of his body, the flame of desire in his eyes. “I just can’t help myself.”

  “Me neither,” he admitted, and his lips crashed down on hers so swiftly that she couldn’t draw a breath. The stubble of his beard brushed her skin, and as his tongue pressed hard against her lips, his arms surrounded her and she opened herself to him, just as she always had, just as she always would. Nevada Smith was in her blood. Now and forever. It was her blessing as well as her curse.

  Closing her eyes, she kissed him with the same wild abandon she had as a teenager. Her blood heated, and deep inside she hungered for more. She felt his weight drag her downward to the carpet of dry grass and wildflowers. Her fingers climbed up his arms, touching the sinewy muscles that bunched at his shoulders. Skin stretched taut over hard flesh, and he groaned when she tore off his T-shirt.

  He lifted his head and she kissed his chest, her hands running down his back. She kissed a nipple buried deep in the springy coils of his chest hair and he groaned, then curled his fingers in her hair and pulled her head backward so that his eyes could clash with hers. “What is it about you?” he demanded
as the wind picked up, ruffling his hair. “Why can’t I stop?”

  “Why can’t I?”

  “I’m serious, Shelby. This is insane.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Emotional suicide.”

  “Yep.”

  He released her hair. “You don’t care.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” she said with a sigh as the leaves in the branches overhead rustled over the soft nicker of her horse and the thudding of her heart. “I care, Nevada,” she admitted. “I care too damned much. That’s the problem.”

  “Same one I seem to be havin‘, darlin’,” he admitted.

  She didn’t dare believe him, refused to fall back into that ravine of sorrow and pain, and yet she couldn’t stop loving him. Staring deep into her eyes, he kissed her hard. As he removed her T-shirt and shorts, his strong, calloused hands, scraping off her clothes, sent tingles of delight through her limbs.

  A million reasons to push away from him crowded through her mind, but she shoved them aside and reveled in the feel of his honed, masculine body rubbing against hers. His hands and mouth were everywhere, touching and caressing, causing goose bumps of anticipation to rise on her skin and stirring a whirlpool of hot desire deep within her. Somehow he managed to kick off his boots as she opened his fly in a series of quick pops.

  “You’re askin’ for trouble,” he warned.

  “So? Am I gonna get it?”

  Nevada’s chuckle was as deep as the coming night. He kicked off his jeans, revealing his rock-hard body and muscles sculpted from hours upon hours of hard labor. “Oh, yeah, Shelby. You’re gonna get it big time.” They fell to the ground.

  His lips found hers again. Hot, hungry, anxious. He tasted faintly of alcohol and smelled of soap. Their tongues touched and locked as he unhooked her bra and her breasts spilled into his hands. Work-roughened thumbs caressed her nipples in circular strokes.

  The world started to spin, the sounds of the hillside faded. Shelby kissed him as wildly as he kissed her. She wanted him. Now. Forever. Or just for the moment. It didn’t matter. He kissed the crook of her neck and something inside her broke. A hot tide of desire swept through her veins.

  “Hold on, Shelby,” he whispered as he lowered himself and ran his tongue over already puckering nipples.

  She shuddered and bucked. He slid her panties over her buttocks, tossed them aside, then touched her with expert fingers, opening her, massaging a spot deep inside that made her wriggle and cry out. Pleasure, with just a hint of pain, made her want more, oh-so-much more.

  “Nevada,” she whispered hoarsely, the world spinning crazily, her every need centered between her legs.

  “Let go, darlin’.”

  “Oh, God, I can’t—” She closed her eyes. Swallowed. Felt a spasm building as he rolled her over and forced her to straddle him. In one thrust, he drove upward, his thick erection filling her. She cried out, holding on to his shoulders as his hands were planted firmly on her hips, forcing her to move with him, causing a thrill to erupt deep in her soul as he slid in and out and she melted around him.

  Faster and deeper he moved, his breathing as shallow as her own as the sky darkened and sweat sheened her body. “That’s it ... that’s my girl,” he whispered hoarsely as she convulsed and the sky seemed to splinter behind her eyes. “That’s it ... that’s it.” He was breathing hard, his hips flexing as he grabbed her and jerked violently upward. “Oh, God ...” She fell against him and his arms surrounded her, held her tight, as they both fought to take in air and quiet their jack-hammering hearts.

  She nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder and felt his lips brush against her forehead. Only when his breathing had slowed did she lever up on an elbow and feel the wind climb up her spine. Her hair fell to one side of her face as she gazed at him. “Okay, cowboy, was there something you wanted?” she asked, swallowing a smile. “Or were you just out looking for a desperate woman who looked like she couldn’t resist you?”

  “That was it,” he said, a slow, steady smile crawling across his jaw.

  “I figured as much.”

  He squeezed her, let out a long sigh, then kissed her temple. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he admitted.

  “Uh-oh, now we’re in trouble.”

  His chuckle rumbled through the gulch. “You mean more trouble.”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.” She touched the tip of his nose with her finger and, quick as a rattler striking, he grabbed her wrist.

  “I’m serious. I want you to move into my place.”

  “What?” She searched his face with her eyes, looked for any trace of love, felt her heart rise in anticipation. “Why?”

  “For protection. Until all this is over. Until we find Elizabeth and sort everything out.”

  Her lovesick heart fell onto the cold, hard stones of reality. “Protection?”

  “I got another phone call today—no one answered. I also saw McCallum driving through town, and I’ve just had a feeling that we need to be careful.”

  “You mean I need to be careful,” she clarified angrily as she reached for her clothes “Why? Because you think I’m some helpless woman who can’t take care of herself?”

  He grabbed her arm again, pulling her hard against him. Staring up at her, he said slowly, “You were the one who was raped, Shelby. I just want to make sure that history doesn’t repeat itself.”

  “It won’t,” she asserted. “But not because of you, Smith. I don’t expect any noble act from you. I’m not a damsel in distress, and I certainly don’t need a white ... or for that matter, black, knight coming to my rescue.”

  “What do you need, Shelby?” he asked, his eyes as serious as they’d ever been.

  “Other than to find my daughter, I don’t know,” she said, glaring at him. “But more to the point, what is it you need, Nevada?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “So do I.” She whipped her hand away from him and started dressing. What had she been thinking, making love to him all over again? As if she were one of those idiot women with no mind of her own whenever she was kissed by Mr. Right or, as in this case, Mr. Oh-So- Wrong. Throwing on her T-shirt, she fumed inwardly, then hiked her shorts up to her waist.

  With a soft chink, both sets of keys fell out of her pockets.

  “You’re losing your—”

  She scooped up the damning key rings and stuffed them both into her pocket. Nevada was watching her with suspicious eyes. “Wouldn’t want to lose these and end up stranded at the ranch,” she said glibly.

  “Shelby—” He reached for her again and she rolled away.

  “Look, I’ve had kind of a rough day already. I don’t need any more grief, okay?” She was on her feet and starting for her horse. The sooner she put some distance between herself and Nevada Smith, the sooner she’d think straight again.

  “What happened?”

  Struggling into his jeans, he caught up with her, grabbed her wrist and spun her around to face him. His face was etched with concern, and if she was one of those goosey women she detested, she might actually be led to believe that he loved her. He didn’t, of course. Certainly he cared, she wasn’t stupid enough to deny what was painfully evident, what he’d just admitted, but love her? No way. Not Nevada Smith. Never Nevada Smith.

  “I found out that the reporter who’s been poking around town, rattling everyone—”

  “Katrina Nedelesky?”

  “That’s the one.” She lifted a finger and winked as the shadows of night started to fall. “Well, it turns out she’s not just a freelance reporter for Lone Star magazine. Nor is she just a woman intent on writing a tell-all, part-fiction, part-fact book about Bad Luck.”

  “What?”

  “No, indeed,” Shelby insisted. “She just happens to be my half-sister, daughter of Nell Hart, a waitress the Judge had an affair with, then paid to leave town before their love child was born.”

  “Wait a minute—”

  “And that’s not the wors
t of it. Nope. It just gets better and better,” Shelby said, speaking so rapidly that the words tumbling out of her mouth were beyond her control. “Nell Hart’s baby, Katrina. is the reason my mother committed suicide. That’s right, she didn’t accidentally overdose one night after drinking too much. No, she was so depressed and suicidal that she took a lethal dose of sleeping pills and booze and then ... and then my father ... the goddamned Judge covered up any hint of scandal, never recognizing his own daughter, never acknowledging that his wife, my mother, was in so much emotional pain that she would take her own life.”

  “Oh, honey—”

  “Don’t!” she said as he reached for her. “Just don’t touch me and don’t tell me everything’s going to be all right and don’t ever ... don’t ever tell me what to do.”

  Over her protests he folded her into his arms, held her tight against him and didn’t flinch as the first sob burst from her throat. Tears tracked from her eyes and her fingers curled in his chest hair as she fought to control her runaway emotions. “Oh, for the love of God,” she finally sniffed, “I didn’t mean to break down like some pathetic, weak female. Damn it, Nevada, why does this always happen?”

  “Don’t know.” His arms tightened over her and he laughed. “But believe me, Shelby, of all the things I’ve ever thought about you, ‘pathetic, weak female’ has never entered my mind.”

  “Good.” Swiping at her nose with the back of her hand, she shook her head to clear her mind. Darkness had settled over the countryside, and far in the distance a coyote howled.

  “But if I indulge any more displays like this, you’ll have to change your opinion.”

  “I doubt it.” Arms linked behind her, he leaned backward to meet her eyes. “But I’m worried about McCallum.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “Shelby—”

  “I’ll be fine,” she promised, refusing to be intimidated and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “He’d be a fool to try anything with me again.”

  “Yeah, well, as far as I know, he hasn’t earned any intelligence awards lately and besides, we’re not talking about a rational man.”