Malachite (The Jewels of Texas Historical Romance Series Book 5)

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  “And the curse of Diablo? Do you believe in it?

  Malachite glanced sideways. “Do you?

  Gil chewed his lip. “I don’t know what to think. But I sure would like it all to be over.”

  “So would I, Gil. So would I.” He thought again about Millie and her daughters and the fact that they were all alone. To keep his mind off them, he forced himself to study the trail. He and Gil rode for hours, high in the mountains, before they were forced to admit that the mustangs were nowhere to be found.

  “I think maybe it’s time to head home,” he said.

  The two turned their horses toward the lights of town.

  * * *

  Millie finished pouring the last batch of candles, then glanced toward the swiftly gathering darkness outside the windows. The days had begun growing shorter. Soon she and her daughters would be confined to the house, with only an occasional brisk walk to Durfee’s Mercantile to break the monotony. The long ride to school would be out of the question.

  She dashed outside to gather the clothes from the line. Within minutes her fingers were stiff with cold. While she worked she found herself thinking, as she did so often, about Malachite. How was he faring in the hills that ringed the Jewel ranch? There were steep, perilous peaks and deep, ominous caverns where a body wouldn’t be discovered until the snow finally melted under the prodding of spring rains.

  The thought was too chilling. She refused to dwell on it.

  She gathered the last sheet from the line, struggling in the bitter wind to hold on to it. It flapped and fluttered as she folded it, until it was small enough to fit on top of the other clothes. Then, lifting the basket, she turned. And nearly collided with a shadowy figure.

  “Oh.” She jumped back. For the space of a heartbeat she merely stared at the heavily bearded man. Then, recognizing him, she let out a cry. “Malachite. It’s been nearly three weeks.”

  She wasn’t aware that she dropped the basket. Wasn’t aware that her voice was choked with emotion. She was no longer aware of the cold or the darkness. But when he opened his arms to her, she flung herself into them. And held on.

  He pressed his lips to a tangle of hair at her temple and breathed in the clean, spicy fragrance. “You’re freezing,” he muttered. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”

  Keeping one arm around her shoulder, he lifted the basket. Inside he was greeted by the wonderful aroma of meat roasting and bread baking. He stood very still for a moment, as though taking it all in. The fire crackling in the fireplace. The table set for supper. The three little girls lying on the hearth, heads bent over their slates.

  They looked up. Spotting him, May and June dropped their slates and hurried over to greet him.

  “Malachite. You’re home.” Little June pointed to his bristly beard. “Look, Mama. Malachite has more hair than old Mr. Winslow.”

  Millie was looking. She couldn’t seem to stop staring at him. Even with the beard and his long hair tied back with a strip of rawhide, he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

  “You’re just in time for supper,” May added.

  “I am? Now, how did I plan that?” he asked, tousling their hair.

  He glanced across the room to where April still knelt, watching him over the slate she was clutching in her arms. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “Did your fever ever return?”

  She solemnly shook her head.

  “Good.” He smiled easily and patted his bulging pocket. “I have something for the three of you. Something I found up in the hills.”

  May and June could hardly contain their excitement. A gift. It was so unexpected, and so rare, they began dancing around him. April merely stared in silence.

  He pulled three stones from his pocket and set them on the table. Each was smooth and bright green.

  “They’re just like yours,” little June said with a trace of awe.

  He nodded. “Do you see this?” He pointed to the darker veins in the middle of each stone that were shaped like an eye. “The People believe that this is the ‘third eye,’ which will ward off danger. Those who wear it will be kept safe from all harm.”

  “Ooh.”

  Both May and June picked up a stone and held it in the palms of their hands. Even April’s curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she ambled over to watch.

  “Would you like one?” Malachite held the third stone out to her.

  She backed up and hung her head.

  “All right. I’ll keep it for you.” He dropped the stone into his pocket, then withdrew three strips of rawhide from another pocket. “After supper, if you’d like, I’ll fashion them into necklaces for each of you.”

  “Oh, Mama. Did you hear that?” June began dancing around. “Let’s hurry and eat so Malachite can make our necklaces.”

  “All right, now.” The excitement was contagious. Millie had to fight to restore calm. “Girls, put your slates away and then wash up for supper.”

  “Yes’m.” The little girls needed no coaxing. Even April, Millie noted, seemed to be moving at a faster pace. But she resolutely kept her eyes downcast, refusing to look at Malachite.

  When they were seated around the table and had offered up a blessing, May added, “And we thank Thee for bringing Malachite home safely.”

  “Amen,” the others intoned.

  Though the moment passed quickly, Malachite found himself deeply touched.

  “Did you see any bears or wildcats?” June asked as she spooned potatoes onto her plate.

  “Several wildcats. Only saw one bear.”

  “What did you eat?” May asked.

  “Rabbit. Elk. Fish from the mountain streams. But I sure did miss your mama’s cooking,” he said with a smile. “Especially these biscuits.”

  “Weren’t you cold at night?” June managed to ask over a mouthful of potatoes.

  He nodded. “It’s bitter up in those hills. But I usually managed to find a cave or a deserted shack.”

  “But what did you do when you couldn’t find shelter?” Millie asked in alarm.

  “I curled up in a buffalo robe. I told you, Comanche are used to surviving.”

  “Did you find the herd of mustangs?” May asked.

  He shook his head. His mood suddenly darkened.

  “No tracks?” Millie, pouring milk, paused to look at him.

  “There were tracks. But a fresh snowfall put an end to them. Young Gil joined me for the last day. He’s a fine tracker. Maybe the best I’ve ever seen. But even with his help, we couldn’t find the herd.” He leaned back and gave a sigh of contentment, determined to keep the conversation light. “This was worth waiting for.”

  At his words, Millie flushed with pleasure. “There’s apple cobbler.”

  “I’ll take mine later, if you don’t mind.” He drank his coffee before shoving away from the table. “I left my horse and gear outside. I’d better tend to them.”

  Millie watched him walk away. And wondered why his return should cause such a strange sensation around her heart. How was it that this man had the power, simply by his mere presence, to make her feel almost giddy with pleasure?

  She’d missed him. Terribly. And he’d only been gone a few weeks. Byron’s warning rang in her ears.

  How would she feel when he went away for good?

  Chapter Ten

  “Will you please make our necklaces now, Malachite?” June put away the last of the dishes and dried her hands.

  The three girls had completed their evening chores in record time. May and June, twitching with excitement, had a race to see who could make it to the parlor first. April trailed behind, carrying her slate.

  Unwilling to miss the fun, Millie picked up a basket of mending and joined them.

  Malachite was seated on the sofa. On the table in front of him were the three stones, which he had been polishing to a high shine.

  May and June sat on either side of him, watching with avid interest. April sprawled in front of the fire and began writing on her slate. Bu
t every so often, when she thought no one was looking, her gaze would stray to the man sandwiched between her two sisters.

  Millie sat in a comfortable chair drawn up in front of the fireplace. By the light of the fire she began to sew.

  “What are you doing now?” June asked.

  “I’m going to drill a hole in each stone.” Malachite picked up a small sharp tool and began to probe the first stone with his fingers.

  Within moments he set the stone aside and reached for the second. He repeated the process until all three stones were perfectly drilled. Then he took a length of rawhide and rolled it in his fingers until the end was lightly wound. Threading it through the small hole of the first stone, he pulled it until the stone was centered. Then he did the same with the other two.

  “Here are your necklaces,” he said.

  “Thank you, Malachite.” The two little girls held them up.

  “Oh, look, Mama.” June moved the stone this way and that. The highly polished malachite caught and reflected the firelight, shooting prisms of color across the walls and ceiling.

  Millie dropped her mending to admire the display. April’s slate lay forgotten as she lifted her head to watch.

  “Will you tie it around my neck, Malachite?” The little girl hurried to his side and lifted her red curls out of the way.

  When June’s was tied, May followed suit. Then both little girls, excitement rippling through them, paraded around, watching the way the stones picked up the light of the fire and shot it around the room.

  “How about you, April? I’ve made you one, too.” Malachite held out the third necklace to the little girl, who sat cross-legged on the hearth, watching in silence.

  “Wouldn’t you like to wear it, honey?” Millie asked gently.

  Very slowly, April nodded.

  It occurred to Malachite that she was approaching him the way a forest creature might approach a human. When she was still an arm’s length away, she held out her hand. Malachite placed the necklace in her open palm.

  She stared, mesmerized, at the glowing green stone that seemed alive with light.

  “Thank you,” she whispered shyly.

  “You’re welcome. Would you like me to tie it around your neck?”

  “Mama will do it.” She crossed the room to her mother’s chair and lifted her hair as her sisters had done.

  As Millie tied the rawhide, she glanced up and caught a glimpse of Malachite’s eyes. For just a moment she thought she’d glimpsed a flicker of something. Pain? Sorrow? But just as quickly it was gone, and she wondered if she’d imagined it.

  “There you are, honey. It’s really beautiful.”

  The little girl closed a hand around the stone and was surprised by the heat it gave off. It seemed to pulse, as if it were a living thing.

  “It’s warm,” she said in astonishment.

  Malachite nodded. “The People believe that the stones are possessed by the spirits that dwell in the earth. These are good spirits that nurture us, feed us and keep us safe.”

  “I wish Pa’d had this,” she said on a sigh. “Maybe he’d still be here with us.”

  Then she joined her two sisters, and the three little girls admired one another’s necklaces.

  “May we wear them to bed, Mama?” June asked.

  Millie smiled. “I don’t see why not.”

  In a burst of enthusiasm, May and June rushed to Malachite and hugged him.

  “Thank you,” they both said.

  “You’re welcome. Sleep well.” He glanced over their heads to see April standing in the doorway, one hand on the warm stone at her throat, the other clutching her slate. “Good night, April.”

  “Night,” she said. Then she ran ahead of the others up the stairs.

  Millie put aside her mending and followed. A few minutes later, after hearing their prayers and tucking them into bed, she returned to the parlor. In the doorway she hesitated.

  Malachite was standing by the window, staring out at the darkness. From his profile, she couldn’t tell if he was angry or sad.

  As if suddenly sensing her presence, he composed his features before turning.

  “You must be tired, Malachite.” She crossed the room and picked up her sewing basket. “I’ll say good-night.”

  “Don’t go yet.” He took several steps toward her, then seemed to catch himself. “I... .just want to look at you for a moment longer.”

  She felt her face flame. “Don’t talk like that.”

  He could see her embarrassment. It only added to her charm. “And why not? You’re a beautiful woman.”

  Beautiful. She hadn’t been called that in such a long time. She glanced down at her work-worn hands, the frayed cuffs of her gown. There’d been a time when she had felt beautiful. But that was before. When she’d been so young, so filled with a spirit of adventure.

  For some strange reason, she wanted to weep.

  He took a step closer and studied her in the light of the fire. Without thinking of the consequences, he lifted her chin. The flare of heat between them was instantaneous.

  “Why can’t you believe that you’re beautiful?”

  “It’s just...” She stared up into his eyes and could see herself reflected there. “I have three children. I’m a drudge. And a workhorse. And...”

  His kiss was as gentle as a snowflake. The merest brush of lips to lips. Whatever she’d been about to say was wiped from her mind.

  “You have a face like an angel,” he murmured against her mouth. “There’s a goodness, a sweetness in you that I thought I’d never see in anyone.”

  His fingers combed through her hair and he gave a low growl of pleasure before his mouth devoured hers.

  She was unprepared for the raw passion of his kiss. It frightened her even while it excited her. There was a barely controlled savageness in him that had her trembling.

  Mick’s lovemaking had always been... careful. As though he were taking great pains not to shock her delicate sensibilities. She couldn’t recall a single time when he’d been so overcome with desire that he’d kissed her in this fashion.

  Malachite’s hands were moving over her with a possessiveness that had her breath catching in her throat. He was touching her in ways that had her sighing and molding herself to him. And all the while his mouth, that wonderful, clever mouth, was taking her higher than she’d ever been before.

  “On the trail, all I thought about was you... this.” When he brought his lips to her throat, a moan escaped her, and she arched herself in his arms. He ran soft, moist kisses along her skin, before burying his lips in the sensitive hollow between her neck and shoulder.

  His hands moved up her sides, then paused at the swell of her breasts as his thumbs stroked her nipples. Deep inside contractions began, until her blood flowed like lava and her mind was spinning in dizzying circles.

  “Malachite. Oh, Malachite,” She could hardly speak over her clogged throat.

  He bent his head. Through the fabric of her gown his lips closed around one erect nipple and he suckled until she thought she’d go mad from the pleasure. Exquisite pleasure that bordered on pain.

  She could feel the trembling in her limbs, could feel her knees begin to buckle.

  He supported her in his arms as he lowered her to the floor. And then his mouth was on hers again, and she was lost.

  His lips, his tongue, his fingers were bringing such incredible pleasure. She felt as though she had just stepped off a cliff and was falling through space. Losing herself in him. Losing her senses, losing her will.

  “Wait—Malachite.” She put a hand to his chest and could feel the wild thundering of his heartbeat. “We... can’t do this.”

  She sat up, her clothes in disarray, her hair tumbling about her face and shoulders. When he reached for her she drew back, avoiding contact with him. “I can’t think when you touch me.”

  “Then don’t think.” His voice was rough. “Just let me hold you.”

  “No.” Oh, did he know how desperate
ly she longed to be held, to be loved?

  Despite the trembling in her limbs she struggled to her feet. “I have to think of my reputation here in town. And that of my children. I think...” The words nearly stuck in her throat, but she forced herself to say them. “I think you should go.”

  For a moment there was only a shocked, terrible silence. When he spoke, his voice was a rasp of anger. “Are you suggesting I leave for good?”

  She swallowed. Her heart was beating so wildly she feared it would break clean through her chest. “I think that would be best.”

  He walked to the fireplace, where he stared for long moments into the flames. He’d almost convinced himself that he was staying here for her sake. So that she could earn enough to take care of herself and her daughters. But maybe it was time to face the truth. And the truth was far different. Without a doubt he was a danger. To her. To her reputation.

  When he turned, his eyes were cold, his voice devoid of any emotion.

  “You’re right, of course. It was selfish of me. And careless. I’ll move out in the morning.”

  In the morning. She’d thought—hoped—that he would give her a good reason not to leave. His pronouncement left her stunned and reeling. Swallowing, she managed to say, “Where will you go? To your father’s house?”

  “No.” His tone towered dangerously. “I’ve told you before. I want nothing to do with anything belonging to Onyx Jewel.”

  “Then where will you stay?”

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been on my own for a long time now. I’ll survive.”

  He crossed the room and brushed past her. He paused for a moment and touched a hand to her cheek. It took all of her willpower to keep from reacting to his touch. A part of her wanted to catch his hand between hers and beg him to stay. To tell him that this had all been some horrible mistake. But another part of her argued for common sense. She had her reputation to think of. And that of her daughters.

  Without a word he left the room. A moment later she heard the door to his bedroom close.

  Hugging her arms to herself, she stood, listening to the sounds of silence. Since Mick’s death, no man had affected her like this. No one had even tried, except Byron Conner. But Byron’s prim, almost prissy ways put her off.