When he met her eyes, she saw that whatever this thing was she felt, he was aware of it. Feeling it, too, and knowing she did. Her heart rate increased, and her stomach felt knotted with fear. She barely knew this man.
"Not much more to tell," he said, speaking low. Still holding on, his thumb now idly moving up and down on the back of her hand. "As soon as Turtle stepped onto solid ground again, I made him sit and I got down on my knees to examine his feet and tried to remember the number for 911."
Scourge chuckled at that remark. But Wes's eyes never left Taylor's. "But there wasn't a mark on him. Not a burn, not a blister. Nothing." Wes drew a deep breath. "Turtle pats me on the head like I'm a little kid or something and says, 'Raven Eyes, you have much to learn about shamanism."'
"And that was it?" Kelly asked.
"That was it," Wes said. "He just sat down in his usual spot, opened a fresh beer and acted like nothing had happened."
The fire popped loudly, and Kelly jumped a foot off the ground. Scourge leaned closer to her and said, "Boo," but she only scowled at him. Then Scourge shook his shaggy head and said, "That's intense."
"Yeah, it was intense, all right," Wes said. "Shook me up pretty thoroughly, I can tell you that much."
"It gave me chills just listening to you tell it," Taylor whispered, and when he looked at her, she knew exactly what he was thinking. That the chills running through her right now were not from his story, and that he was perfectly aware of it.
She gently took her hand from Wes's, and avoided his eyes. It was ridiculous, this sense that she knew him. That she…
Ridiculous.
The small group around the fire fell into a contemplative silence for a while, and first Kelly, and then Scourge withdrew into their tents, yawning and stretching as they went. The sounds of nylon zippers broke the incredible tone of the evening for Taylor, but she couldn't bring herself to call an end to it. Not yet. Not even when every alarm bell in her brain was ringing, and her practical mind was screaming at her to put some distance between herself and this mesmerizing man.
Instead she turned to him, studied his face, his black eyes. "Raven Eyes," she said softly. "Is that—?"
"It's the name I was born with," Wes said. "My mother gave it to me before she took ill and died."
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "But how did you end up with the Brands?"
He smiled. "I'm only half-Comanche, Doc. The other half is pure Brand." She frowned and tilted her head. "It's a long story."
"It's early yet."
His eyes danced over her face. "It's midnight." And then he touched her cheek with a forefinger. "And you don't like stories, remember?"
Taylor looked at her watch, and shook her head in disbelief. The time had flown past.
"But I'll save that one for another time," he said. "And as much as I'm enjoying sitting out here with you…"
"I know. You must be half-asleep."
"I've never been more awake in my life."
She felt her eyes widen, her pulse skip. "I … um…"
With one hand he touched her hair, very tentatively, just with his fingertips, catching a lock between them and rubbing it. He closed his eyes. "Where the hell did this come from, Doc?"
Panic took hold. Taylor got to her feet, reached for a pail of water and poured it on the fire, symbolically dousing the flames licking to life in her belly. "I'm not sure what you're talking about," she said, reaching for another.
"Yeah, you are." He heaved the third bucket onto the smoldering coals. The water smothered the fire, turning instantly into hissing steam. Wes stirred the remaining embers with the long stick he'd been poking the fire with all night. "But it's okay. You know you can bank the fire, but the heat's gonna stay around for a long while."
She didn't look at him. Couldn't. "Tonight was … unexpected."
"I know. For me, too," he said. Seemed as if he was going to let her off the hook then. Whatever this thing was between them, they didn't have to discuss it, analyze it, admit to it out loud. She didn't have to be vulnerable to him.
She wouldn't let herself be vulnerable to him. To anyone.
But even as she reminded herself of that, there was a part of her thinking how she'd never in her life enjoyed an evening the way she'd enjoyed this one.
"Our ancestors," she said softly, "really knew how to live."
Wes smiled at her, easing the tension with the warmth in his eyes. "That's arguable," he said. "Our ancestors would have followed this late night up with a freezing-cold bath in the water hole around dawn."
"Well, nobody's perfect." She examined the fire again, satisfied herself that it was safely extinguished and turned toward her tent. But she paused at the doorway. "You won't … leave or anything … during the night, will you, Wes?"
He turned from his tent flap to catch her gaze. "I'll be right here, Doc. I'll be right here."
She nodded once. "Thanks." Then she ducked through the opening of her dome tent, and pulled the zipper down to shut out the cold.
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
Wes Brand was scared half to death. He'd known a hell of a lot of women. Hell, he'd had a lot of women. But he'd never once felt this kind of chill set into his bones, way down deep where a man couldn't do a thing to chase it away. He'd never once looked into a woman's eyes and seen…
What had he seen in those onyx eyes that had him so thoroughly shaken? He closed his eyes and brought those gemstones into focus in his mind. And it was just like looking into them again. And he was seeing—himself, only the missing part of himself, that empty place that even finding his heritage hadn't filled. And he was seeing—damn, he was seeing hearts and flowers. Wanting a woman was one thing, but this was damned dangerous.
In his mind he looked deep into her eyes again. And he was seeing…
Babies!
Wes jumped to his feet, forgetting he was in a dome tent too short to accommodate his height, and poked his head into the top. Holy mother of God, what was the matter with him?
Lord help him, he was losing his mind.
He took some deep breaths and tried to keep from hyperventilating as he very slowly lay back down and slid into his sleeping bag. He just wouldn't think about her. That was all. He'd just think about the ranch. The old … uh … Cumberland spread. He'd plan—that was what he'd do. He'd lie here and plan his future until he fell asleep.
He didn't fall asleep. He couldn't focus on the ranch when he kept seeing her eyes, and the firelight on her face. And lying there alone, in the dark, his thoughts turned from hearts and flowers and—God help him—babies, to things of a more earthy nature. His mind wandered where it damned well shouldn't, so that every time he came close to drifting off to sleep, he started to dream of what she'd look like with all that hair hanging loose over her shoulders instead of bundled up in back the way she wore it. He'd start to wonder what she'd feel like naked and twined around him, and what kinds of sounds she'd make, and what her mouth might taste like, and…
And then he'd be wide-awake again, and aching. And wondering just when any man had been hit as hard and as fast as she'd hit him, like a mallet between the eyes.
All right, so he wanted her. Bad. It wasn't the end of the world. And it was no reason to give up on the job he'd come here to do. Right? No. In fact it was just an added motive to get the job done. He had to scare her away from here in order to save Turtle's life and—if he were very lucky—preserve his own sanity. And while he was at it, he might as well attempt to keep his hands and his thoughts to himself. All of which might be too much for one ordinary man. It surely would be too much for any man he knew.
But, he reminded himself, he wasn't one ordinary man. He was two men. Hot-tempered Wes Brand, and—stepping into a nearby phone booth—the mystical, legendary Wolf Shadow!
Surely between the two of them, one could manage to get the woman the hell out of here before it was too late.
Too late for what? he wondered.
; He pulled his sleeping bag up to his neck and tried to get some shut-eye. But as dawn crept over the encampment, he was still wide-awake.
She dreamed again that night. As she slept, Taylor felt the woman she'd always been slowly peeling away, layer by layer, until the woman who remained wasn't Taylor McCoy at all. She was Sky Dancer, a Comanche woman, sitting at the central fire of her village and listening to a brave named Raven Eyes tell stories that fascinated her. And she couldn't take her eyes from him, and she realized that he was looking at her just as often, just as intensely. He was the most intriguing man she'd ever known. And she wanted him.
This woman, this Sky Dancer, wasn't afraid of her feelings at all. So when the others retired to their beds for the night, and Raven Eyes rose to go to his own, she took his hand, and she told him with her eyes what she was feeling as she drew him slowly to her painted tepee.
He followed her, his dark eyes blazing, and inside, in the dimness, he swept her into his arms, and he kissed her hungrily, greedily, taking her mouth in a mimicry of lovemaking that made her insides melt and bubble. She threaded her hands through his hair, tugging loose the band that held it tied back. And when the satin masses spilled free, and he lifted his head slightly, she looked up at him…
And saw Wolf Shadow. His face frightening beneath its fearsome war paint. His eyes hard and distant. His touch cold, and his breath smelling of death.
She sat up in her tent, eyes flying wide, and she screamed in stark terror.
Almost before the sound died, her tent's zipper was yanked upward, and the flap shoved open. And then Wes Brand was inside with her, gripping her shoulders in the darkness, touching her face, asking her if she were all right. She didn't need the light to know who he was. The sound of his voice was burned into her mind, after hearing him tell those stories the night before. She knew him when he spoke. And she shamelessly clung to him, burying her face against his broad chest, holding him hard and trying not to cry.
She hated for anyone to see her cry.
He stiffened a little at first, but only briefly. In a moment his hands were stroking her hair, and her back and her shoulders, and he was speaking softly. "It's okay, Doc. Look, it was just a bad dream, all right? There's no one out there. And I'm right here. Okay? Hmm?"
Sniffling like a child, she nodded against his chest. Her nose and wet cheeks and lips brushing the bare skin as she did. Tasting the salt of it. Feeling its warmth. She went still, and so did he. Heat uncoiled in her middle and spread upward, downward, everywhere. She was sitting up, her legs folded to one side, her sleeping bag tangled beneath her. Apparently she'd fought free of it during the dream. He was kneeling, one hand at the small of her back, where only a tank top lay between her flesh and his. The other hand buried in her hair at the back. Her own arms had twined around his waist, and her face remained pressed to his hard, bare chest.
It was embarrassing to behave like this. She was a scientist. A professional.
She was burning up inside for a man she barely knew.
Her own breathing was getting soft and shallow. His heart pounded against her face.
"Are you okay?" he whispered.
"I … I think so."
"I'm glad one of us is."
He was waiting. Waiting for her. To move. To touch him, to kiss him or to pull away. Some signal. Some sign of what she wanted. And if she knew what she wanted, she might have given it to him.
Still he waited. And finally he said, "Doc, I'm clinging to my last shred of chivalry with my toenails. Another second and I'm gone."
Her fingers moved. Not away, though. Just splayed across his back. She moved her lips to speak, but only managed to caress his chest with them, emitting soft air and no words.
"There it goes," he whispered. He pulled back just slightly, looking down, catching her chin in one hand and tipping her head up. Parting his lips and moving nearer, and she thought that in an instant he'd be kissing her mouth, and then he'd push her back onto the sleeping bag, and he'd…
He stopped a hairbreadth from her lips. Clenched his jaw. Swore. "You're trembling. Your eyes are as wide as the Rio Grande. I'm scaring the hell outta you." And he backed away, took his hands away, his warmth, his touch. He sat there and pushed a hand through his hair, blowing air through his teeth.
Taylor was shaking even harder now. So she pulled the sleeping bag up over her shoulders. "I … I don't know what's happening to me."
"You're not the only one, Doc." He gave his head a shake, met her eyes. "You okay?"
She closed her eyes and nodded. "It was just a bad dream."
He looked around, fumbling until he found her lamp and some matches. He filled the tent with light, carefully set the lamp on a small stool and then turned to zip the flap closed. She sent him a startled look when he did that, and he said, "Bugs. Light draws them."
"Oh." She swiped at her cheeks, embarrassed by the tearstains he might see there. And she noticed he was wearing a pair of boxers, and not another stitch. He was incredible. Firm and lean and muscular. And she revised her earlier opinion that no man alive could look as good half-naked as Wolf Shadow did. Because the living proof was right in front of her.
Wow.
When she got around to focusing on his eyes again, she noticed they were glued to her chest. And she remembered she wasn't wearing much more than he was. A snug-fitting tank top and a pair of panties. No bra, and she figured he knew that by now. It was none too warm in here, and he'd been staring at her chest plenty long enough to see the obvious. Besides, a second ago he'd probably felt the obvious. She pulled the bag around her more thoroughly.
He met her eyes again. And his hair was loose. And she realized with a start just how much this little scene was starting to resemble her dream.
"I'm sorry I woke you," she said.
"I'm not." He looked her up and down. "I've been wondering what your hair looks like when it isn't bundled up in a knot."
Her hand closed reflexively around a tendril that hung down below her shoulder. "I—"
"Maybe I should stay," he said. "Maybe you'd sleep better. Hell, maybe we both would."
She felt her eyes widen and her heart trip over itself. "I … no. Look, I don't do this kind of thing, Wes."
She closed her eyes, shocked by her own blunt statement. But at least she'd made it plain. "I don't even know you."
He nodded. "That's not what it feels like."
"I know." She bit her lip, shook her head slowly. "I didn't come out here looking for … I don't even want…"
"And you're scared witless. What I can't quite figure out, Taylor, is what scares you most. Wolf Shadow? Me? Or yourself?"
"You don't need to figure that out, Wes. It doesn't matter. Because this kind of thing isn't going to happen again."
"Are you sure? 'Cause I'm sure as hell not."
She didn't answer. Instead she got up, too hot, needing air, leaving the sleeping bag to puddle on the floor. She pushed the tent flap open and gazed outside. "The sun's going to be up in a few minutes," she said softly.
A low groan brought her head around, and she saw Wes's eyes roaming up and down her body. She bit her lip, reached for an olive drab button-down shirt and pulled it on. "Sorry," she said. But the wanting was still in his eyes, and she was more shaken by it than by Wolf Shadow in all his glory. "I think I'll do what my ancestors did and take a dip in the pond this morning."
"It'll be freezing," he told her.
"The colder the better," she said.
"I heard that."
She swallowed hard. "I just need to be by myself for a while. You … um … you aren't what I expected to find out here. This is all coming out of left field for me."
"Me, too," he told her. "Just so you know. I'm as … I'm as blown away by whatever the hell this is as you are." He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes in resignation.
A deep fear gnawed at her stomach. Taylor met his eyes. "Don't be. This is nothing. Look, Wes, I don't want to mislead you. I don't … I don't do r
elationships."
A frown creased his brow, but he said nothing, just watched her, waiting.
"I came here to do a job. When it's over, I'm leaving."
"I see." But he didn't. He couldn't. She was confused as hell, because she was feeling something here, something she hadn't felt before. But it was physical; that was all. So her hormones were raging, raising hell after a lifetime of lying around all but dormant. This didn't mean anything. It couldn't. She wouldn't let it.
When you loved … when you trusted … when you believed in other people, you got hurt. It was the way it was. She'd spent years drumming that lesson into her heart, and she wasn't going to forget it now. Not now. Not ever.
Wes was still studying her face. But after a long moment he sighed heavily and turned toward the flap. "I'll get the hell out of here and leave you alone, Doc. I didn't mean to … shoot, maybe I'll take the next turn at that icy pond water."
"Just so long as you wait until I get back here first," she said. "And do me a favor, Wes? Keep the A-Team from wandering out there for a while?"
"They'll wander out there over my dead body, lady." He smiled at her, but it wasn't a real smile. All for show. He seemed as mixed up right now as she felt. But the sight of that fake smile made her stomach clench all the same. Then he ducked out into the graying dawn.
Do it. This is your chance.
Dammit, Wes thought. I can't. I can't. There's something about her … I want her. I want to…
No. I have to get her the hell out of here. Make her leave. I don't like the way I feel when I look at her. It's too intense, too…
But she was leaving anyway. She'd made that perfectly clear, and Wes was damned if he knew why the idea bothered him so much. It was what he wanted. And it would be better for him, far better for him, if she left here sooner rather than later. Because if she stuck around much longer…
Maggie Shayne - Badland's Bad Boy Page 6