Nighthawk & The Return of Luke McGuire

by Rachel Lee

  “That good, huh?” Esther asked her. “Well, I hope you’re prepared for the consequences, Guin. There are always consequences.”

  “Esther,” Craig said, “this is my sister’s husband, Enoch Small Elk.”

  Esther found herself looking at a man who was considerably shorter than Craig but with a strong, stocky build that reminded her somehow of a workhorse. His hair wasn’t quite as dark as Craig’s, and it was worn short. He also had a pair of friendly brown eyes that made Esther feel immediately at ease.

  “Sorry,” Enoch said, “but Mop just wouldn’t let your dog go. I finally decided to bring them both because I sure couldn’t see any other way to get your dog home.”

  “Oh, that’s perfectly all right,” Esther assured him. “But will Mop go home with you? What are you going to do without your sheepdog?”

  “Oh, he’ll come with us all right,” Craig said, an amused glint in his eye. “He just doesn’t listen to Enoch.”

  “Why ever not?”

  Enoch smiled. “It’s just that I work with Bucket and Craig works with Mop. Believe me, Bucket doesn’t listen any better to Craig than Mop does to me.”

  “But they both listen to Paula,” Craig said.

  “They listen to her broom,” Enoch corrected.

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  Esther found herself laughing at the men’s repartee, forgetting all the dark things that had been making her so miserable only minutes before. “May I offer you orange juice, Enoch? I just made it.”

  “Actually, Paula and the kids are out in the truck so I’d better be going. But thanks.”

  Hardly even hesitating, Esther said, “Why don’t you ask them if they’d like to come in, too? I’m sure I have cookies somewhere for the children, and I can certainly make more orange juice….”

  Paula Small Elk was a beautiful woman with a round, friendly face and her brother’s hair and eyes. The children were adorable, although Esther had little experience of young children and didn’t quite know what to say to them. They seemed perfectly happy to sit at the table with juice and cookies, though.

  “It’s about time we met,” Paula told her warmly. “I know we haven’t been the best neighbors, but that’s only because we’ve been so busy trying to get the sheep operation up and running.”

  “I’ve been busy, too.”

  “Oh, I know! Craig says you’re a painter. Do you have anything hanging in the house that I could see?”

  Esther always got a little embarrassed when anyone wanted to see her work, but Paula’s smile was so open and friendly, and so eager, that she answered, “Well, I do have one hanging in the living room.”

  She took Paula to see the picture while the men watched the children. Craig’s sister was instantly appreciative of the painting of seagulls above the gray waters of Puget Sound.

  “You have a love for nature.”

  Esther nodded. “It’s so…perfect, in its own way. Oh, I’m not saying there’s no ugliness in it, but it’s just…I guess what I’m getting at is that there’s no malice.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Paula argued seriously. “I’ve watched a cat play with a mouse it caught. Is that really so very different from when a human bully picks on a weakling?”

  “But cats are only obeying their instincts.”

  “So, unfortunately, are bullies.”

  Esther started to argue, but then thought better of it. It didn’t matter. Besides, maybe bully was the best description for men like her father who picked on women and children. She willingly would have bet that her father never beat up another man his size in his entire life.

  “I think there’s an instinct,” Paula said, “to kill those who are smaller and weaker. Or to drive them away. You see it in a lot of animals when the runt of the litter is pushed out of the nest and not allowed to nurse. Unfortunately, I think the instinct sometimes goes a little out of whack in humans.”

  Esther nodded. “And of course, we’re supposed to be civilized.”

  Paula laughed at that. “Civilized? If you ask me, that’s very superficial. It sure disappears quickly enough when people get upset about something.” She turned her attention once again to the painting. “You find peace in nature. That must be what Craig is drawn to.”

  Esther felt her heart skip two beats in rapid succession. Craig was drawn to her?

  “Oh, you’re very pretty,” Paula hastened to say. “Don’t misunderstand, please. But Craig avoids women, even pretty women, and I was wondering what made you so different.” She indicated the painting with a jerk of her chin. “Now I know. Do you have many more?”

  “Oh, they’re all out in my studio in the barn. I’m getting them ready for an exhibition in London.”

  “London? You must be a big deal.”

  Esther quickly shook her head. She didn’t like to think of herself that way. “It’s just that my paintings sell better in Europe than in the States.”

  Paula smiled. “You’re a big deal. I can tell. Well, sometime you come over and have dinner with us, okay? And sometime I’ll come over here and you can show me some more of your paintings.”

  They returned to the kitchen to find that the children had finished their cookies. Craig was washing Mary’s hands at the sink, and Enoch was using a damp paper towel to clean Billy up.

  “There’s a beautiful painting of seagulls in the living room,” Paula told her husband. “Go look at it while I finish cleaning Billy.”

  “It’s a beautiful painting,” Craig offered. “I was admiring it last night.”

  “Thank you,” Esther said, feeling embarrassed. As her paintings went, it was not one of her best executed, nor one of her most brilliant. She kept it simply because she needed to be reminded that even on the grayest of days gulls soared freely.

  A short time later the Small Elks departed, explaining that the children needed to go to bed. That left the two dogs and Craig, and the dogs didn’t seem interested in anything but one another. They lay side by side on the cool tile floor of the kitchen and watched the world from sleepy eyes.

  Feeling suddenly awkward, Esther looked at Craig. He was staring at her, his gaze resting at a lower point on her body. Instinctively she looked down and saw that the swelling of her nipples plainly showed through the layers of her bra and her blouse.

  All of a sudden she couldn’t breathe. She knew what he was thinking and she was paralyzed, torn between conflicting fears. She was terrified he would touch her and terrified he wouldn’t, and she didn’t know which possibility scared her more.

  He apparently had no qualms. In three strides he was across the kitchen and standing right in front of her. She backed up a half step and came up hard against the counter. There was nowhere to go.

  He could have trapped her with his body against the counter, but he didn’t. Instead he trapped her another, easier way, by the simple expedient of reaching out and running his index finger in a small circle around her nipple.

  It was the lightest of touches, but the effect was electric. She gasped and let out a small whimper as arcs of pure delight shot through her.

  Never had she dreamed that a touch could bring such pleasure. Walls almost as old as she was began to crumble as she realized that a man’s touch could be gentle and giving. As she realized how much she could want it and more.

  He smiled at the sound of her whimper, not a satisfied or triumphant expression, but one that suggested he was enjoying her pleasure as much as she. His finger continued to trace tight little circles around the hardening bud of her nipple until she thought her knees were going to give out.

  As if he sensed it, he lifted her onto the counter and stepped between her legs. She didn’t have time to panic over being lifted, and now that her insides were turning into warm syrup, she didn’t especially care that she was trapped. Just please don’t let him stop!

  Now he traced both nipples in the same maddening way, his brow furrowed as if he were concentrating inten
sely. As her womanhood began to dampen and throb, it was at once frustrating and seductive the way his hips held her legs open. She wanted, needed, to bring her knees together, but his body prevented her. The openness of her position, though, made her feel more incredibly soft and feminine than she would have imagined possible.

  More! Oh, please, more! her mind cried out.

  But he continued to taunt her with those maddening little circles, until of their own volition her hips began to rock gently, almost imperceptibly. She needed something more and she hardly knew what.

  “God, you’re so responsive!” he said huskily. “So warm and willing and…” He trailed off.

  The brace, she thought with a sudden burst of panic. He’s thinking about my brace!

  But no such thought had entered his head. Instead he reached for the concho belt around her waist and released it. It fell to the counter with a clatter that seemed unnaturally loud. Esther stopped breathing.

  Slowly, slowly, he lifted the hem of her peasant blouse.

  “Lift your arms,” he demanded huskily.

  She couldn’t have protested to save her life. Something magical was happening here and she didn’t want to miss it. Once, just once, and damn the consequences. Slowly, wondering how she managed it when her muscles felt like thick syrup, she raised her arms.

  He continued to lift the hem of her blouse slowly, and it was the most exquisite sensation she had ever known to feel the fabric whisper across her skin, revealing her secrets.

  She had always believed that if this moment ever happened, she would be mortified by her own nakedness. Mortification, or even mild embarrassment, never entered her head. Instead she was filled with impatience, wishing he would hurry and show her all the delights that awaited beyond the threshold she had never crossed.

  But he was in no hurry. He whispered softly to her, as if his voice had deserted him and speech required almost more breath than he had. “I won’t hurt you,” he said. “Trust me, Esther…trust me….”

  She was rapidly getting past the point where trust mattered. She just wanted that damn blouse over her head now! It covered her face briefly, concealing him from her, but even as it did she knew that her breasts in their lacy bra were revealed. The knowledge sent a sharp spear of pleasure straight to her core, causing her womb to clench almost unbearably.

  Then the blouse was gone and she could see him looking at her breasts. With helpless fascination, she looked down and watched as his fingers brushed over the lacy cups of her bra, exciting her. Enticing her. She caught her breath in anticipation, wanting more, so much more….

  Suddenly he tucked the first two fingers of both hands inside her bra. They felt scalding hot and she gasped at this new sensation against her virgin flesh. Grasping her bra, he leaned forward, gave the clasp an intent look, then released it.

  Her breasts spilled free, and in that instant she became an absolute wanton. Arching her back, she offered herself to him, eager for the mysteries she had only read about.

  “Esther…” he whispered raggedly. “Esther…” His dark eyes lifted to hers, holding her gaze as if seeking some kind of answer there. At the same time, he lifted his hands and cupped her in heat.

  She drew a sharp breath and felt another wave of delight wash over her. So intimate, so…good. When his finger brushed across her nipple, the sensation was so sharply exquisite that she arched sharply and a soft whimper escaped her.

  “Oh, it’s good isn’t it,” he murmured huskily. “So good to be touched like this…”

  His thumbs played with both nipples now, suspending her in a pleasure like none she had ever known. She wanted it to go on and on and never stop…except that she began to feel other needs, needs for harder, deeper touches in other, even more intimate places.

  “Put your hands on me, Esther,” Craig asked huskily. “Touch me, too….”

  Her eyes were heavy-lidded with desire, her thoughts scattered to the four winds. A moment passed before she comprehended what he wanted, and when she did, a sudden shyness overtook her.

  “It’s okay,” he coaxed when she hesitated. “I like to be touched, too.”

  Finally, finding her courage, she lifted her hands to his shoulders and slipped them within the collar of his shirt.

  “Open my shirt,” he demanded hoarsely.

  The snaps ripped open with a loud popping noise, baring his chest to her. And suddenly she didn’t need courage, because she wanted nothing more than to touch his smooth coppery skin and learn its contours and textures.

  Oh, he felt so good! And the freedom to caress him felt even better. He leaned into her tentative touches as if they felt as good to him as his felt to her. Esther was transported, caught on a wave of pleasure that seemed to come from both what he was doing to her and what she was doing to him.

  Then, oh then he drew her close to him, so that her breasts met his hard chest—such a wonderful feeling—and he bent his head to take her mouth in a kiss so deep she felt she was drowning in him.

  She shifted, trying to get closer, and pinched the skin of her thigh between the strap of her brace and the counter. It was a sharp pain, out of place, and it jerked her back to reality as abruptly as if she had been dunked in ice water.

  Suddenly she was pushing desperately at him, needing to be free of his hold, afraid of what she was doing and where it might lead. Oh, God, she couldn’t allow any man to have control over her ever again! Not even control of this sweet kind!

  “Esther…Esther, what… Honey, what’s wrong?”

  He backed up quickly and watched with concern as she burst into sobs and tried to cover herself with her hands.

  “Here,” he said hoarsely, yanking off his shirt and draping it around her. “It’s okay. Sweetie, I’d never hurt you. It’s okay.”

  But she could hardly hear him. Her mind was suddenly full of memories of her mother and how she had given her life into the hands of a man only to wind up dead at the foot of a staircase. Maria Jackson had made the mistake of trusting a man’s hands to be gentle, but they were only gentle when they wanted to be. Other times they wanted to be hard and hurting. Buried deep in her mind in a place no reason could reach was the memory of the sickening sound of a fist hitting human flesh hard, and of a woman’s keening cry.

  “Esther…Esther…”

  Gradually she became aware that Craig was calling her name and that Guinevere was whimpering nervously. Returning to herself she wanted to die with humiliation.

  “Oh, God! Oh, God, I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s okay,” he said soothingly. In fact, he had a pretty good idea that some memory of hers had been triggered and sent her into a panic, because there had been no mistaking her enjoyment of their mutual exploration. He had to confess, though, that he didn’t know what in the hell he was going to do about it—if anything. It wasn’t his problem, after all. At least as long as he didn’t make it his problem.

  And damn, what was he doing getting himself tangled up with this woman anyway? For the love of Mike, he ought to know better.

  But his heart twisted with sympathy for her. She looked so damn miserable huddled there on the counter trying to hide in his shirt—which she actually could almost do. When had she become so tiny, and why hadn’t he noticed it before?

  Because she was so straightforward. Because she stood tall and never let the world see the frightened woman inside her. Well, not precisely. There wasn’t any way to explain it. Esther Jackson just somehow seemed like a woman who could handle damn near anything. Only she couldn’t. Some things could sneak up on her and overwhelm her before she had a chance to stiffen her spine and rally her defenses.

  Like now. Whatever had just happened had occurred without warning. It had come up and latched on to her like a shark out of the deep. That was the only reason it had gotten the upper hand, of that he was sure. If she had known it was coming, it never would have overwhelmed her.

  Now she was probably more embarrassed by her reaction than upset at whatever had
caused it. He had the worst urge to reach out and wrap her in his arms, but he knew from experience that wouldn’t be wise.

  Damn, he felt so helpless, and there was nothing he hated more than feeling helpless. Finally, not knowing what else to do, he pulled out a chair and sat at the table. The two dogs, fully sensing the tension, looked from him to her in a quandary.

  “Oh, hell,” Craig finally said, tired of soulful brown eyes accusing him. “Get out of here, you two.” He opened the back door and let both dogs run out. They went with evident relief.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Esther sniffled.

  “Why the hell not? I don’t think Mop is going to make her any more pregnant than he already has. Besides, they won’t go far. Mop’ll bring her back soon.”

  She kept her head bowed. “How can you be sure of that?”

  “Because he’s a sheepdog. He’ll herd her.” Thank God she was talking again.

  She looked up, and a fugitive smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “As well as he herds Cromwell?”

  “Cromwell is an exception to every rule.” He felt his heart twist again as he looked at her. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her nose was swollen. She looked perfectly miserable, but like some warrior princess she was trying to put the best face on it. Trying to move past it bravely. He admired the hell out of her.

  “Yes, I suppose she is.” Clutching the shirt around her, she looked miserably around as if she wanted to find a way out.

  He hesitated, not understanding, then realized, she couldn’t get down from the counter without using her hands, which were fully occupied trying to keep her covered with the shirt.

  He stood up quickly. “I’ll just…go into the next room while you, uh, get your shirt on.”

  The look she gave him was unabashedly grateful. “Thank you. My legs are going numb up here.”

  He waited in the living room until she called out, “Okay.” Then he hurried back wondering what the next stage in this fiasco was going to be. Surely it couldn’t be simple.