River Song

by Sharon Ihle

  Sensing the undercurrents, the tension in her words, Cole pushed the remnants of the picnic aside and snuggled up next to her. "Something's upset you. Is it Nathan? I know my father has been less than friendly."

  Shrugging, she hedged. "He does not disturb me. I understand how most white men feel. I also understand there is nothing I can do about it, so I do not think about it."

  Her candor touched his heart, and his sense of injustice. Why should one as beautiful and sensitive as Sunflower have to accept anger or even indifference from anyone, but especially from the father of her lover? Had he encouraged, or even bowed to Nathan's prejudice by practically ignoring Sunny since they'd arrived at the ranch?

  Troubled to think he may have added to her feelings of rejection, Cole drew her down beside him and traced the outline of her strong proud jaw with his fingertip. Trying to provide an explanation for her, and most likely for himself as well, he said, "Dad's problem has nothing to do with you. He's had a pretty rough time with Indians, and because of it he has a hard time understanding they're not all the same."

  Knowing she'd be taking a chance, but too curious and proud not to ask, Sunny looked him straight in the eye. "And you, Cole Fremont? How do you see me?"

  "I see the most beautiful woman I've ever laid these unworthy eyes on," he said truthfully.

  "That is not what I meant. Am I Irish, a half-breed, or do you think I am the same as all Indians, as your father does?"

  "Now there's a hell of a question," he said with a lusty chuckle as he buried his lips in the hollow of her throat. But when he looked up and saw the midnight clouds building in her eyes, he realized she wasn't teasing. She was demanding real answers. Leaning back, Cole scrutinized her features and thoughtfully murmured, "Let's see, we have a pair of gracefully arched raven's wings perched over the most incredible shade of blue eyes I've ever seen, a small upturned nose, and the enticing lips of an angel. No," he laughed deep in his throat, "I see nothing about you to remind me of Geronimo, so that leaves 'all Indians' out."

  He moved his mouth lower, to the entrance of the valley between her breasts, and pressed his lips against her softness. "Charlie White at the livery stable has skin about the same color as yours, but his never made me crazy just by looking at it, or touching it.” Cole took a deep breath, then groaned as he exhaled, "And the scent never fogged up my entire brain like yours does, so that also leaves out any thoughts of 'all half-breeds.'"

  Concluding his mission, Cole reached for the buttons on her white cotton blouse. Slowly releasing them one at a time, he was rewarded by tremors of her heating flesh as he tenderly whispered, "What's my last choice—Irish?" His mustache curled up on one side when he gave her the crooked grin that always melted her heart. "I suppose of all those descriptions, Irish fits you best, especially when you're calling me names or chasing me with a hunting knife."

  Aware of the heat rising in her entire body, of the sudden spear-like pain of desire, Sunny fought against the feelings and persisted. "Are you saying when you think of Sunflower Callahan, you think of an Irish woman?"

  Uncertain what she wanted to hear, not sure he could give her a completely honest answer, he told her what was in his heart. "When I think of you, I don't see Indian or Irish or anything in between. You remind me of spring and summer, wind and water. You're one of a kind, Sunshine, the most beautiful woman and person I've ever known. There are no mere words to describe you."

  Stunned by the depth of his words, by their meaning, Sunny couldn't speak for several seconds. Her mind was satisfied and her body was begging for the same consideration, yet all she could manage was a breathless, "Oh, Cole."

  Passion, thick, dark, intense beyond comprehension, swept over them at that moment, drove them into each others arms with near hysteria. Both incapable of speech, they communicated in a timeless fashion with their hands and mouths.

  Sunny's long legs slid up along Cole's thighs and she arched her hips against his as shudders of urgency tore through her, and this time she made sure he knew he held no awkward innocent in his arms. The woman she'd become knew what she wanted and how to get it.

  "Holy hell," he rasped as her tiny hands found his belt buckle—and more. "Slow down, Sunshine. I can't last this way."

  "No. I cannot," she whispered, struggling for breath, wondering if a demon had taken over her body. This was different, so completely different than two nights ago when he'd showed her how a man comes to a woman. Then, she'd also wanted him, knew something inside cried out for fulfillment, and that somehow Cole could provide the relief she sought. But now she was out of control, focused only on her man and her burning need for him. Tugging at the steel buttons on his jeans, she again said, "I cannot wait any longer."

  And because her enthusiasm, her demands, had pushed all rational thought from his mind, Cole dove into her, vaguely aware of flying petticoats and tattered trousers, of filtered sunlight and the scent of damp spring grass. He immersed not only his body, but his entire being in Sunny, wondering for a brief moment if he might not die from the experience, and understood that he cared little if he did. To hell with their differences. To hell with his father's prejudices and concerns for his only chance at having pure white grandchildren. To hell with tomorrow. All that mattered now was Sunflower Callahan and, he finally had to admit if only to himself, the love he felt for her.

  Sunny's last lucid thought after he filled her was the sensation of being levitated, of being carried to incredible heights by a suddenly volatile sun, of being blinded by the flash from its exquisite glare, then of being warmed as the sunset gently lowered her back to earth. Wondering if she'd lost consciousness, if she were even alive, she lifted one lazy eyelid and found Cole's blond head bobbing up and down on her heaving breasts. Still unable to speak, she moaned and wound a damp wheat-colored curl around her finger.

  He heard her voice through the haze, felt her touch through the web that seemed wrapped around him, and finally Cole was able to open his eyes. He looked around, stunned for a moment to discover he was in an open field in broad daylight. Then he whipped his head around and stared into those incredible midnight-blue eyes.

  "Sunny?" he whispered, his grin crooked, embarrassed. "I don't know what happened. Are you all right?"

  But her sensuous smile, the lazy love-saturated expression on her lovely features, told him more than her slow nod and dreamy sigh. Cole glanced down at their attire and shook his head. They almost hadn't bothered to undress. Sunny's blouse, trousers and drawers were tossed on the bank, but she still wore her chemise and skirt. He on the other hand, was fully clothed, except his jeans had been pushed down around his knees.

  Giving in to another urge, too weak to fight it, Cole rolled over on his back and began to laugh in a deep throaty tone.

  The sound brought Sunny out of her fog. She sat straight up and looked down at him. "What is so funny, Cole Fremont?"

  "Nothing," he chuckled. "Everything. I always figured I'd die with my boots on, but never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd do this in them."

  While she waited for his laughter to subside, Sunny scanned the length of his body, allowing her gaze to linger on his midsection and the thatch of light brown hair protecting his loins. He looked so different now than he did a few minutes ago, so harmless, she had to wonder at what point during this magical act had he changed and grown? What exact event brought about such a dramatic difference in this nub of man flesh she gazed upon?

  His amusement played out, Cole furrowed his brows as he noticed her expression. Afraid he may have hurt her feelings, he explained, "Do you understand what I meant about my boots?"

  "I think so," she said absently, still distracted by his manhood. "You are saying that you have never come to another woman's bed wearing your boots." She directed her gaze to his eyes in time to see him nod, then asked, "Is this an honor you pay me?"

  Again he burst out laughing, but this time he pulled her down on his chest and wrapped his arms around her. "I suppose," he said betwe
en chuckles, "you might call it an honor, if you want to."

  "And so I shall, but please tell me this. What does it mean to you, Cole Fremont?"

  There was no humor shining in her dark eyes, only a quest for the truth. His expression sober, his heart open, he said, "It means I've never wanted any woman, or anything for that matter, bad enough to forget I was wearing my boots."

  Sunny's breath rattled in her throat and whistled out through the tight passage as her pulse hammered against her temples. Did it mean he loved her the way she loved him? Afraid to say the words, to find that he might not share her feelings, Sunny pressed her mouth against his chest instead and murmured seductively, "Would you like to keep your boots on this time, or shall I remove them for you?"

  Chuckling softly, he reached down and flicked the end of her nose with his fingertip. "I wish that were possible, you greedy little rabbit, but I'm afraid I'll have to rest awhile before we worry about whether or not I wear my boots."

  Running her fingers through the soft down on his chest, Sunny thought about resting, then about the way she was feeling at that moment, and knew he had only to touch her and she'd be on fire again. Dismissing his suggestion, she said, "I am not tired. I would rather make love with you once more."

  Trying not to laugh again, Cole pressed his lips together and explained, "You have me at a disadvantage, Sunshine. You can make love all day if you want to, but men need to rest a while before they're capable again. Understand?"

  She raised, lowered, then drew her brows together as she tried to make sense of his words, but still she could not understand. She wanted him now. She wanted him to want her. It seemed a simple enough thing. He could rest some other time. Determination twitching in her jaw, Sunny's eyes twinkled with mischief as she inclined her head and allowed the bulk of her hair to drape across Cole's chest. Then she lowered her head and began nibbling kisses, punctuated by little nips, as she made her way along the hairline leading to his navel.

  "Sunny," he warned, "didn't you hear me?" But the next words were sucked back into his lungs as her delicate hands skimmed like tiny butterflies across his lower abdomen and upper thighs, and came to rest between his legs.

  When she felt the flesh of his stomach quiver against her lips, Sunny guessed if the event were to happen, it would happen now. Turning her head slightly, she watched the magical transformation taking place before her eyes, felt her insides dissolve and spill over like warm sarsaparilla as she recognized her feminine power. Rest indeed, she thought with a delicious grin. How badly did he want this rest now?

  Tremendously proud of herself, Sunny lifted her head and her body, slid caressing fingertips along the length of his desire, lingering for a moment at the tip, then stood up and looked down at him.

  Although her heated blood was thundering through her veins, Sunny casually said, "Well, I think I shall leave you to this important rest you must have. I believe I will take a walk in the meadow."

  "Sunny," he muttered. "You know I'm in no mood to rest now. Get back down here."

  Quickly sidestepping his extended fingers, she strolled away from the blanket. "Oh, no sir," came the breathless reply over her shoulder. "I would not dream of robbing you of this nap men must have."

  Awkwardly sitting up, he cautioned, "Sunny, I mean it. Now quit playing around. You can see how much I want you."

  She turned around at this, the corners of her mouth turned up in amusement. "The Irish have a saying that is beginning to remind me of you. They say what cannot be had is just what suits."

  "Sunny,"he warned.

  "How much do you want me, Cole Fremont?" she said playfully. "You tell me bad enough to forget you are wearing boots. Do you also want me bad enough to catch me with your trousers down around your ankles?" Then, laughing like a child playing in the river, she turned and skipped off through the tall grass.

  Struggling with his jeans, Cole tried to get to his feet, but stumbled and fell several times. He could hear Sunflower's laughter echo through the nearby canyons, whisper through the leaves of the palo verde trees, and the sound only inflamed him further.

  When he finally got his pants up far enough to catch one button near the waist, he took off after her, alternately shouting promises of what he would do when he caught her and muttering harmless curses. Twice he caught a bit of material between his fingers when her skirt swirled past as she dodged him, and twice she shrieked and bolted, laughing even louder.

  The third time his grip held, and the two of them tumbled into the sweet grass amid the sounds of ripping fabric.

  And the surprising crack of rifle fire.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sean spent a miserable afternoon on the trail. Although the rain had long since ended its saturation of the powder-dry earth, his damp boots and clothing kept him chilled and shivering as he tried to get his bearings and find a place in which to camp.

  Whiskey made slow progress through the cactus-riddled canyons, making the Triple F ranch out of reach for one more day. After passing between a particularly high range of mountain walls dotted with black, unidentifiable shadows, Sean decided to make a final climb for the night. Heading up the side of the hill, he kept watch on the chollas, a pale sage-green species of cactus which had turned a ghastly hue in the twilight. Sprinkled throughout the road and along the steep mountain-sides, several of these chollas were nearly as tall as Sean, and each branch sprouted huge appendages which resembled a human head.

  He shuddered as he passed by the ghost-like plants. In the vague light these heads seem to be nodding, beckoning him to come impale himself and Whiskey on their vicious spines. Knowing the long and painful night he'd be in for if he should accept the sinister invitation, Sean found a suitable clearing while he still had enough light to make certain he didn't bed down in the crawling or jumping version of these especially nasty cactus.

  After tying the mule near a safe patch of grass, Sean settled down and tore into the supper packet Eileen had prepared for him. He thought of her unhappy life as he ate, wondering what the future held for such a timid and browbeaten young woman, then recalled the kiss he'd stolen. Caught off guard by his advances, Eileen's upturned mouth had been soft, her lips slightly parted when he pressed against them. Sean closed his eyes with a sigh as he remembered the taste, the fresh scrubbed aroma of her skin and hint of citrus laced throughout her hair. Warming as he thought of her, he shifted his position on the damp earth and chewed on a soft biscuit spread with honey.

  Still, he thought of her, of her glorious flaming hair, of her full bottom lip and the perpetual pout it gave her expressions, of what it would be like to hold her in his arms in a soft bed of fresh-cut hay. But those thoughts were forbidden to take form, their fulfillment impossible for a half-breed such as he. Although well-regarded in Yuma as the son of an Irish immigrant, as the heir to the Callahan farm and even as a man, that respect vanished when talk of women dominated the conversation. The son of Moonstar would be thrashed soundly for even thinking of fine white ladies, much less trying to court one. And the brief kiss he'd given Eileen was grounds for hanging. Or worse.

  Restless and troubled, more at odds with his dual heritage than he'd ever been in his life, Sean fell into a fitful sleep. He slept long past light of dawn. When he awoke, he pushed all thoughts of Eileen out of his mind and began to concentrate on his true purpose—rescuing Sunny and extracting his revenge on her captor. Guessing he was very close to her, he chose to breakfast on leftovers from Eileen's package and wait until the late morning sun finally warmed his chilled bones before resuming his journey. Now was not the time for reckless actions or mindless revenge. He would be one against many at the ranch, a lone warrior whose work would have to be done under cover of darkness. He would proceed slowly from here on out, and take great care to avoid detection.

  Sean had traveled less than an hour before he discovered he'd veered too far to the northeast during his detour to the Hobbs ranch and subsequent journey from there. Stopping near the top of a butte, h
e scanned the countryside and made some calculations. If his senses weren't deceiving him, all he needed to do was turn to the southwest and the Triple F Ranch would stand directly in his path. To make certain of his position, Sean tied Whiskey to a cottonwood tree and hiked to the crest of the butte for a view of the horizon.

  Focusing his vision due east, he spotted the red waters of the Verde River dead ahead. His calculations were, in his estimation, nearly perfect. With a somber grin of determination, Sean turned to collect the mule, but stopped when he heard the high-pitched screams of a woman in distress. Was the wind playing tricks on him? Whirling around, he cocked his head and listened intently.

  Again, he heard the screams.

  Shading his eyes from the noon sun, he looked out over the meadow just as a half-naked woman burst from the trees and shrubs near the water's edge. She ran headlong into the meadow, her long black hair streaming out behind her. Shortly after that, a man emerged from the same spot, his objective all too obvious.

  "Sunny?" he said, his throat raspy and constricted. Even at this long distance there could be no mistaking his beloved sister. The statuesque appearance, the way she ran dodging the man, and the ribbons of ebony hair trailing down her back all belonged to Sunflower Callahan.

  Sean dropped to the ground, the sour taste of hatred and vengeance rising in his throat, and slithered back through the cottonwoods to where Whiskey stood. He quickly removed his rifle from the scabbard, then crawled back to his vantage spot at the crest of the hill. Sunny's cries met his ears just as his vision picked out the man as he bore down on her. Bringing the gun to his shoulder, Sean struggled to frame the man in the rifle sights, but by now the pair struggled together as one, making it impossible to chance a shot. When they collapsed amongst the tall grass and weeds, Sean did the only thing he could do from so far away.