Doc touched Jenna’s shoulder kindly, every line on his face deep with regret. “They won’t let you keep her Jenna, what with you being unmarried and all.”
Jenna’s big blue eyes locked on the baby. Tears washed their bright color and spilled onto her cheeks. Against his shoulder, the little one started fussing. He cradled her on her back in his two hands, and looked down into her face. On a little hiccoughing sob, she stared back at him, her midnight eyes brimming with desolation. He looked at Jenna, her eyes brimming with the same panicked desperation, and lastly at Doc.
His uncle didn’t look sad or upset, just expectant, the way he always did when he was waiting for him to do the right thing. Ah hell, they were ganging up on him. He handed the little girl to Jenna, who clutched her close, buried her face in the little one’s neck and whispered, “I won’t let them take you away.”
“So the bottom line is, without a husband, there isn’t a prayer in hell that Jenna can keep Button,” he said, watching the two women—one full grown and the other new, both too good to be true.
Doc’s “No” was matter of fact. Jenna’s “Watch me” was a growl of determination.
This growl from his timid little Jenna who never said boo to a ghost. She must want the baby very much. He tipped her chin up. When her gaze didn’t rise to his, he tapped her nose with his thumb until it did. “So I take it you’re dead set on keeping her.”
“Yes.”
“Then you need a husband.”
Panic flickered over her determined face. “I’ll find one.”
“Where?”
“There has to be someone.”
Brave words, but she had to know, as he did, that a barren woman with a half-breed child and no land or prospects would find few takers, and few of those would be the type that the town fathers would approve.
Except for maybe a half-breed man with more money than sense who needed a reason to continue more than he needed his next breath. That was if he was in the market to drag someone as sweet and kind as Jenna into his private hell.
“Seems to me Clint’s available and he’s made quite a spectacle about being in the market,” Doc pointed out helpfully.
Clint shot him a dirty look. Jenna intercepted the look, and the faint glimmer of hope on her face faded. He frowned. She couldn’t read him worth a plugged nickel. She obviously thought he was angered with Doc’s suggestion while in reality the unscrupulous, selfish part of him leapt for the opportunity to make her his, good intentions be damned. Having Jenna in his bleak world would brighten a few dark corners. Until she learned he didn’t have anything to give, and all that optimism faded to disillusionment.
Jenna ducked her face into the baby’s neck and whispered, “I’m not his type.”
“I wasn’t aware that I had a type.” Her grip on the baby tightened.
“Seems to me that’s why the boy’s been doing so much courting.” Doc offered. “Because he can’t settle on one.”
Jenna clutched the baby to her ample breasts. The little one grunted a protest, the sound almost but not quite covering her quiet reply. “He deserves better.”
She stroked the baby’s back with desperate intensity before vowing, “But I’ll find someone.”
Clint couldn’t imagine what she’d dredge up if she thought he was too good for her. “That won’t be necessary.”
“You serious son?” Doc asked.
Jenna straightened on the bed, her gaze clinging to his, her lips set between her teeth, looking so uncertain, so torn, so damned innocently optimistic that it hurt him to look at her. He’d meant to keep her free of his taint. It didn’t look like that was going to happen. In his experience, fate had made a habit of messing with his good intentions. Didn’t seem like it intended to stop now. That being the case, there was no sense bucking tradition. He reached out and ran his index finger down the deep crease of Jenna’s left dimple, rested his thumb against that tempting mouth, and sealed her fate to his.
“Yes. I am.”
Chapter Three
Jenna clutched little Brianna to her and stared at Clint. He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. He couldn’t mean that he was going to marry her. Clint McKinnely was a legend. People feared and admired him in equal parts. The same way they did his cousin. Half-breed or not, there wasn’t a woman in the territory who wouldn’t—hadn’t—thrown herself or her virgin daughter at his feet. All sacrificial offerings to his wealth and his strength.
And there was a lot of strength. She looked up, way up, his body as he stood before her. He was big, the muscles in his thighs pressing against his denims, his chest rising powerfully from his lean hips. She didn’t dare look into his face. Instead, she let her gaze slide across his massive shoulders before traveling down over the bulge of his biceps until it came to the strong bones of his wrists. The wrist attached to the hand on her cheek. He could snap her neck with a flick of that wrist, but his grasp, while firm, wasn’t angry. Still, it worried her. Especially when he cupped her cheek and his fingers slid around to caress the base of her skull. It was all she could do to sit still. He made her so nervous.
She bit her lip and considered her options. The McKinnelys were strong, bold, and possessive. Everyone knew that once a McKinnely claimed something as his, there was no going back, and woe to whoever tried to take it. The McKinnely men were hard, scary people, but when they decided something was theirs, they’d move heaven and earth to protect it. Which proved even more that Clint couldn’t mean what she thought he’d meant. He couldn’t be claiming Brianna.
Brianna fussed again. Her little belly no doubt empty. Jenna jostled her lightly, biting back a moan when the movement sent her muscles to cramping.
“Well what about it, Jenna?” Doc asked. “You going to marry the boy?”
Boy. She looked up at the breadth of Clint’s chest, her attention lingering on the point of his collar, still dark from Brianna’s sucking. Only Doc would consider Clint a boy. She forced the answer past her lips, wishing she was bolder. “No.”
She couldn’t bear for him to know how much she wanted the McKinnely name for Brianna. How much she wanted for her new baby the protection she’d never had. It would be too humiliating when Clint let Doc know that he hadn’t meant his words the way they had sounded.
To her surprise, it wasn’t Doc who answered, but Clint himself. His finger slid under her chin, the calluses dragging on her flesh as he tilted her face up, forcing her to meet the intensity of his deep black gaze. “Yes.”
“You don’t mean it.”
His gaze didn’t waver, demanding her compliance. “It’s not often I say things I don’t mean.”
“But what about Brianna?”
“Is that Button’s name?”
“Yes.”
“What about her?”
“You can’t…” She tried to duck his gaze. He wouldn’t allow it, holding her centered with the tip of his finger and the force of his personality.
“I can’t what?”
“You can’t want her.”
His left eyebrow rose. “Why not?”
“Because!” Because she was a throwaway. Worthless in the eyes of society. Because she’d always look more Indian than white. Like he did, except the world was harder on women, and so intolerant of differences. Because raising a half-breed little girl was not going to be easy. She wasn’t stupid enough to insult Clint openly by stating the obvious so she settled for, “Just because.”
“Not good enough.”
She patted Brianna’s back as her fussing became more insistent, and shifted her weight off of her aching leg, pulling her chin free of Clint’s touch.
“She’s mine.” She stared hard at the faded knees of his denims.
“No one’s taking her away from you.”
He had that right. She would fight with everything she had to keep Brianna, but the knowledge of how little that actually mattered almost overwhelmed her with hopelessness.
The floor creaked. Doc’s boots came in
to view a second before his capable hands slid around Brianna’s little chest. He pulled gently. Inexorably. Jenna held onto Brianna right up until the last second, reluctant to lose the buffer of her soft body, to trust her to someone other than herself. But Doc, for all his calm, gruff manner was a McKinnely, and once set on a course of action was not easily dissuaded. In two seconds, he had the little girl cuddled in his arms.
“Looks like you two have things to talk about, and this little one needs her diaper and her lunch.” He brought the baby to eye level. She froze, staring at his face.
Clint chuckled. “Don’t go scaring her, Doc.”
Doc smiled into the baby’s face. “She’s not scared, just admiring the family resemblance.”
As if to prove him right, Brianna gurgled and kicked her feet and waved her little hands. And her gaze did seem focused on Doc’s gray-streaked locks that stuck up off his head in a manner that was very similar to Brianna’s.
He settled her over his shoulder, grabbed up the nappy and asked, “Do you have milk for her?”
Jenna clenched her fists, not only against the pain eating at her ability to think, but also at the way events were whirling out of control. Maybe she should just take Brianna and leave. Start over somewhere else. But with what? She had no savings. She stared at that too thin, square little face and felt desperation squeeze at her heart. And where could she take Brianna that she’d be safe and accepted?
“Jenna?” Doc prompted, still waiting for a response.
“Milk is in the icebox downstairs. The bottles are in the bottom cabinet.” Out of sight so as not to arouse suspicions. So she wouldn’t be forced to make decisions she didn’t want to. So she wouldn’t be forced to fight a nearly hopeless battle.
“Then little Brianna and I will go get us a bit to eat.”
“Stay out of my torte,” Clint warned.
His tone, as quiet as always, had an undertone that sent a dart of fear down Jenna’s spine, and had her inching away. Danny whined and nuzzled her hand with his nose. Clint shot her a considering look, and Doc…well Doc merely smiled at the growl.
“Then I suggest you turn real sweet and convince the young lady that you’re worth taking on as a husband.”
“He doesn’t need to marry me.” Her first marriage had been bad enough, but at least when sober, Jack had been manageable. She’d never be able to handle someone like Clint.
Clint cut her another one of those looks out of the corner of his eye that sent a strange shiver through her. She worked farther back on the bed. Her leg immediately spasmed. The cry was past her lips before she could stifle it.
Clint swore under his breath. Doc shifted Brianna up and pulled the laudanum bottle out of his hip pocket. “I left the tea in the other room.”
Clint took the bottle. “I’ll get it.”
“Not too much,” Doc warned.
“I know.”
They were talking about her as though she wasn’t there. If she hadn’t been in such agony, she would have protested more strongly, but the most she could work up to was a gasped, “I’m not taking laudanum.”
The men continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
“A good dose of sugar will cover the taste.”
Jenna grabbed her thigh and took deep breaths as the muscles beneath her fingers writhed and contracted. Oh, heavens! This hurt.
“I am not taking that medicine.”
The only response she got was both men’s appraising glances settling on the grimace she couldn’t hide.
Doc frowned. “Take care of her right.”
“Never had any intention of doing anything else.” Clint stepped toward the bed and his big hand cupped Jenna’s shoulder, steadying her against his hard hip as she gasped at another surge of agony. “You take care of my daughter.”
Jenna knew from the pressure of his fingers that he hadn’t missed her start at his proclamation. Clint’s expression wavered through the tears she couldn’t suppress. Doc stared at Clint a minute, then he smiled and kissed Brianna’s spiky hair. “Never had any intention of doing anything else.”
Brianna kicked out her tiny feet and sucked in a wavering breath before letting loose with a wail. Clint touched her cheek with his lean callused finger. Brianna immediately turned and latched onto the tip, sucking for all she was worth.
Doc pulled her away, making a face. “Here now, you don’t want any of that. Not when we’ve got cake and milk downstairs.”
Clint’s finger dropped to Brianna’s chest where it rested dark and huge. He ran it over her ribs. His full lips settled into a hard line. “Better get her fed before she brings the house down.”
“She’s just hungry,” Jenna interjected quickly. “She’s usually very good.”
“I know.”
Clint moved his free hand across Jenna’s shoulder until his fingers stretched to stroke the nape of her neck. The gesture was strangely soothing. He was still touching Brianna, and for the one heartbeat before he dropped his finger from Brianna’s chest, he connected them both.
Brianna wailed louder. Jenna apologized again. “She’s very sweet normally, but she’s hungry.”
Clint met her gaze, his as usual, dark and unreadable, “I know.”
“And we’re going to do something about it right now.” Doc rubbed Brianna’s tiny head, causing the wild black tufts of hair to crackle and wave as he turned. Brianna worked up another decibel. Doc appeared totally unfazed, just stroking her head and murmuring, “I agree little one. We have been kept way too long from our dinner.”
He was out the door, Danny beside him, before the last word was finished, Brianna’s wail floating in his wake. Her little cry was full of nuance, the ones yanking at Jenna’s heart were the tones of desolation and confusion. She knew just how her little girl felt and she never wanted to hear that in her voice again. Jenna attempted to stand. She made it an inch before Clint stopped her with his grip on her neck. She struggled against his hand, moaning with the pain but not letting it stop her.
“She needs me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Let me go!” Not caring if he slapped her for it, only needing to get to Brianna she swung at his groin. He sidestepped the blow, catching her forearm on his thigh. She glanced up. He was frowning.
“You need to learn to fight.”
She could still hear Brianna’s cry. She yanked at her arm. It didn’t seem that he even felt her struggles.
“Let me go to her.”
“First, I take care of you.”
She didn’t need taking care of. She dug in her heels and pushed back. Pain seared her leg. She cried out. He let her go. She doubled her over, grabbing her thigh.
“She needs me,” she sobbed against her calf.
Clint unclenched her hands and removed her nails from her thighs. His fingers under her chin brought her gaze to his.
“Yes, she does.” His hand replaced hers on her thigh, covering much more area, its warmth seeping past her pain. “But not right now.”
Jenna could barely hear Brianna anymore. She tried to jerk her chin free. “Yes, now.”
Clint kept her chin right where he wanted it. She didn’t have any choice but to meet his gaze. “You aren’t any use to her like this.”
She hated him for pointing that out. “I’ll be fine.”
“Tomorrow you will be.”
“I’m not a cripple.” All her vehemence got was a rise of his brow.
“No you’re not, but you are in a lot of pain, and I’m not going to let that continue.” His fingers began a gentle massage. “Breathe, Jenna.”
She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath. She let it out on a shudder, and he worked the spasming muscles, seeming to read their intent with his hands and forestalling further rebellion. Controlling them the way he controlled everything around him.
“When I get you settled through this, I’m going to get you that tea, dose it with laudanum, and you are going to rest until your leg recovers.”
“I am?”
“Yes.”
“And who will take care of Brianna?”
“I will.”
“You can’t take care of a baby!”
His dark gaze dropped to her breasts with an intensity that shook her.
“If you were feeding her yourself, that would be true, but as you’re not, I figure I’ve got it covered.”
“You can’t want to do this.” What man wanted to take care of a fretful, crying newborn?
“It needs to be done.” Which told her nothing about how he felt.
The cramping was easing. She stretched her leg just a little, experimenting.
“Better?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers, expressionless as usual, not revealing anything to her while she felt he knew everything about her.
“A little.” It still ached, but the knifing pains had stopped.
“Good. I’ll get the tea in a minute.”
“I’m not taking that stuff.”
“You are.” He worked down by her knee at the base of the scar, and a driving pain ripped through her. She fell against him, needing his strength just for this moment, hoping that he would give it to her as he had once before. He did, turning so that she rested more comfortably against him.
“Breathe, Sunshine,” he whispered in her ear. “Just breathe and let me make this better.”
“You’re making it worse,” she gasped, her head resting weakly on his shoulder. She took a breath and inhaled the scents of pine and the outdoors. She recognized it immediately. It was etched into her brain from that awful night six months ago when he’d held her in his arms and driven her demons away. As he was doing now.
“Just for a minute.” The sympathy in his voice undermined her control. Tears burned behind her eyelids. She was so weak and he made it so easy to lean on him. To let him take over. As if he knew, his voice grew softer, his drawl slower. “Just for a minute more it’s going to hurt, Sunshine, and then you’ll be a whole lot more comfortable.”
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