By the end of the evening they were all having a fine time, tensions forgotten, joking and laughing over Fitz’s outrageous renditions of bawdy Irish Christmas carols. It didn’t matter that he called them Jamie and Janet and chatted on as though he were as young as they, and his long-ago friends were just down the road waiting to be well met for a holiday pint.
Rhiannon had never felt more at home. Like she belonged. As though they were all a family, three people who truly liked and cherished each other.
The glow of the holiday magic, the soft fall of snow on the windowpanes, the mellowing effect of the Christmas grog, how she wished it would go on forever.
She didn’t notice when Fitz yawned and Hawk took him in to get ready for bed, and was startled when she glanced up from watching the crackling fire in the woodstove and saw Hawk gazing down at her, a determined look on his face.
“Shall we go up?” he said. It wasn’t a question.
Instead of answering, she lay back on the thick Indian rug she was sitting on next to the warm stove and stacked her hands under her head.
“Tell me what the doctor said about Fitz,” she said.
Hawk’s mouth turned down, and for a moment she didn’t think he’d answer but pull her to her feet and march her up the stairs to an uncertain fate.
But then he said, “The bad news is there’s nothing much we can do about his downward progression, no other medication. The doc says it’s unpredictable how fast or slow it’ll go. The good news is he’s healthy as a horse and as long as he’s happy and there are no complications we should be fine.”
She pressed her eyes closed. “Thank God. I can deal with answering to ‘Janet’ as long as he’s all right.”
“Yeah,” Hawk agreed. When she opened her eyes again he had moved to her side. “Let’s go upstairs,” he repeated.
“Relax,” she said, feeling a teasing smile steal back over her lips. “What’s the hurry?” She waved a hand at the steady snowfall outside. “Looks like we’re not going anywhere anytime soon. We have all night and probably tomorrow, too, to talk.”
His brow hiked.
Such a man. So gruff and serious. She almost giggled, but managed to hold it in.
“Or whatever,” she added with another sweeping gesture, just so he’d smile again. She loved when he smiled. His eyes lit up, and fan-shaped crinkles appeared next to them, his cheeks hollowed, and he looked so deadly sexy she could hardly stand it.
Except he didn’t smile. “How many eggnogs did you have tonight?” he asked, his lovely forehead creasing into a frown.
“Not nearly enough,” she pronounced succinctly. “But clearly more than you.”
His frown deepened. The man was obviously conflicted. He wanted her. Oh, yes, she could see it in the tension of his muscles, barely restrained. But if he thought she was drunk, his sense of honor would never let him take what he’d consider advantage of her.
Too bad. Tonight she felt like being taken advantage of.
The warmth and happiness of the evening filled her with a sense of infinite possibility. As though nothing they could do together would be wrong. As though everything would turn out right and well, and they would never have another bad day again.
She realized with a start that he’d gone to the kitchen and was returning with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“Here, drink this,” he ordered, holding it out to her.
She didn’t move. “Why? So I’ll be sober when you seduce me?”
He scowled. “I’m not going to seduce you. I told you that this morning.”
“Hmmm,” she hummed. “Such a shame.”
Setting the cup aside, he stepped over her, planting his feet on either side of her legs. “What are you saying, woman?”
“I’m saying I want to go to your bed, and I know exactly why, and what we’ll be doing there,” she said, shocking herself with her boldness. And honesty.
His nostrils flared. “Would you still want to even if you’d drunk your eggnog straight up, no whiskey?”
She let her gaze slide slowly up his long, lean legs and slim hips, over his flat abs and broad chest, up to his meltingly sensual mouth and expressive black eyes. “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “That I would.”
He continued to stare down at her, a myriad of emotions parading across his face. “I don’t understand you,” he said at last. “But I’d be a damn fool to turn you away.”
He helped her up, and she kissed him. To her surprise she sensed hesitancy in his touch.
“I’m not drunk,” she said softly, stroking her fingers over his tight jaw. “I’m happy. It’s been a wonderful evening and I can’t think of a better way to end it than with you.”
He nodded, his expression gentling just a little. “I agree,” he said, and for a brief moment she wondered if she wasn’t making a mistake. She wouldn’t marry him because he didn’t love her. But was this the way to make him fall in love? Or would sleeping with him without his emotional commitment simply make him take her for granted?
Too late now. And to be honest, she didn’t care at the moment. All she wanted was to be in his arms and feel his body moving in perfect harmony with hers. To have his powerful strength all around her, to feel it within her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, unable to stop the emotions pouring from her lips, her tongue, to his.
She despaired. How could he not sense her feelings for him? The love she carried in her heart for this amazing man who gave everything he had, and much more, to keep those who depended on him safe?
What would he do if he knew her true feelings?
He urged her up the stairs and she forgot her qualms as he undressed them and eased her onto the mattress below him, slid between her legs and entered her with a single fierce thrust.
“I’m a fool for you, Rhiannon,” he murmured, pounding into her again.
“And I for you,” she sighed, clinging to him, wrapping her legs about his waist, pulling him deeper inside her with every hard thrust.
He groaned, and she threw her head back, opening herself to him completely.
It was different this time. The sensations more vivid. The actions more violent. The emotions more desperate.
And when it was over, the touches were more achingly sweet. The kisses more lingering. And the knowledge in her heart more certain…More certain that if this ended badly and she was forced to walk away from him, that she would never recover. That she would end her days, wherever she was, alone and dreaming of this man, just as Fitz still dreamed of her mother.
“Darlin’?” he whispered into her hair, rubbing her back with long, loving strokes. “You okay?”
No, she’d never be okay again. Not until he loved her.
“Yes,” she said, snuggling closer, smoothing her hand over his heaving, sweat-slicked chest. She could feel his heart hammering like the drumbeat at an Indian powwow he’d taken her to a few months back. Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. Loud and insistent. Steady and sure. The source and the drive and the foundation of all around, the singers and the dancers following its solid, unyielding lead. Just as she followed Hawk’s. And would follow, until her heart told her it was no longer any use. That she was wasting her time.
Until then she would stay right where she was, sharing his bed, sharing his burdens. And hoping.
Praying that one day he’d ask her to marry him for the right reason:
Because he loved her.
Chapter 11
I t was still snowing two days before Christmas.
After finishing breakfast, Hawk went to the kitchen window and stared morosely toward the distant cliffs and canyons where he knew his remaining cattle were huddled, taking shelter from the unseasonable weather. When he’d ridden up there a few days ago, it had taken hours battling the wind and sleet and snow to reach the herd. They’d still been able to eat, pawing through the shallow layer of white to get to the grass growing deep in the sheltered canyons. But after three more days of snow
, Hawk knew they’d be hurting for food by now.
“I’ve got to go to town,” he told Rhiannon. “Pick up a load of hay for the cattle. They must be getting hungry.”
“Do you want me to come?” She looked up from a button she was sewing on a shirt. He did a double take. It was one of his shirts.
He couldn’t believe she was sewing on his shirt. Nobody had ever fixed anything of his. Ever. He’d always done his own mending, from the day he could thread a needle. He’d always fixed everything himself.
“Hawk?”
“Uh, no. Thanks. I, uh—What are you doing?”
“You had a button missing. I found one in the kit that matches pretty well.” His disbelief must have shown, because she bit her lip and said, “Why? Was that your lucky missing button or something?”
“Lucky…? No. It’s—” He shook off the impulse to explain that nobody had ever thought enough of him to bother with doing a little kindness like that.
Right. She was probably just going stir-crazy being snowed in with nothing to do for days on end. He shouldn’t take it personally.
“Never mind. If I’m not back by lunchtime, ride out and see if I got stuck on the road, okay?”
“Sure.”
Before he left, he brought in a stack of wood so she’d have plenty. Then he gave her a kiss, revved up the truck, lowered the snowplow blade and took off for town. The going wasn’t too bad, since he’d plowed the ranch road every day so Rhiannon could get the Jeep out to go to work. Today he did a few extra passes here and there so when he returned with the heavy bales of hay he wouldn’t get mired in any deep drifts.
When he got to the feed store, he counted out a stack of one-dollar bills from his wallet to pay for his purchase, acutely aware of whose money he was using. He’d carefully recorded every contribution Rhiannon had made to the household from her tips, and he meant to pay her back every cent. Meanwhile, he was grateful that so far he hadn’t had to dip into their painfully slim bank account to pay for anything. They might make it through this winter yet.
“Those rustlers been leaving you alone lately?” the feed store guy asked as he was ringing Hawk up.
“Yeah, thank goodness. Guess the snow is keeping them indoors like everyone else.”
“Heard the sheriff got a possible lead on them.”
“Yeah?”
“A restaurant down in Flagstaff got caught serving black-market beef. Owner claims he got it from a guy from up hereabouts. Sheriff figures it might be our outlaws. He’s tracking it down.”
Hawk nodded, torn between relief that the crooks might soon be behind bars and frustration that he hadn’t put them there himself. He really wanted that reward. He needed it.
As he loaded up the hay, he suddenly stopped in midtoss.
He might yet have a chance to bring them in.
Because they were going to hit again.
On Christmas.
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized it before. They’d all felt safe because no one in their right mind would go out at night in this kind of weather, even criminals, and they’d always struck at night, just before dawn. But in two days they wouldn’t have to. While normal people were busy celebrating the holiday, the rustlers would swoop across the plateau and take what they wanted. In broad daylight.
Rhiannon had tried to convince him they wouldn’t hit Irish Heaven again, that it was too risky and there were plenty of other herds for them to rustle. But Hawk thought otherwise.
It felt too personal. Like the rustling was directed right at him, or Fitz. That the times the gang had stolen from other ranches were just decoys. Hawk hadn’t confessed his theory to Rhiannon or anyone else. But it was there in his head, gnawing at him, growing bigger with each passing day.
What if someone was targeting Irish Heaven?
And why?
It made no sense. Which is why he’d kept his theory to himself.
If he caught them, he’d know.
So that’s what he had to do.
Slamming the truck’s tailgate, he walked determinedly to the cab and slid in. Hell and damnation.
Rhiannon wasn’t going to be happy about him missing Christmas.
“Surely you can’t be serious!”
Rhiannon’s words pierced Redhawk’s heart, but he held firm. “I have to, darlin’. I know they’re going to hit us again, and what better time than a holiday everyone spends indoors with their family? The rustlers won’t be expecting anyone to be on guard.”
The three of them had spent the afternoon carting hay bales up to the cattle. After supper an exhausted Fitz had crawled into bed, and that’s what they’d done, too. Now they were snuggled up together under a huge pile of covers in Hawk’s bed.
Her face fell as she gazed up at him. “But it’s Christmas. You can’t spend it out there all alone.”
“I’ll have the cows,” he said lightly, though inside he was ripped up at the thought of missing the holiday with her and Fitz. “When I get the reward for bringing in those bastards, I’ll take you out to the fanciest restaurant in Arizona, that’s a promise.”
She let out a long breath. “I suppose we could move it back a couple of days. Pretend it’s Christmas on the twenty-seventh.”
He hugged her close. “I have a better idea.”
“And what would that be?”
“We can celebrate right now.”
“Now?” Her eyes widened when he reached behind her to the nightstand and pulled a beribboned package from the drawer. “What’s this?”
“Your present.” At her sudden wary look, he chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s not an engagement ring.”
His determination to marry her was just as strong as ever, but he had yet to convince her. The fact that he’d succeeded in romancing her permanently into his bed gave him hope. But a ring would be premature, and he knew it. One day.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Go on. Open it.”
She took a deep breath and tore apart the paper, then opened the box, revealing the antique silver and turquoise necklace he’d managed to talk Pete into paying him with for mending a giant pile of used leather goods and tack that came in to Pete’s Gem and Mineral Emporium and Indian Trading Post.
“Oh, my stars! It’s absolutely beautiful!”
“This is a bear paw,” he said, fingering the centerpiece of the necklace. “Signifies courage. For the bravest woman I’ve ever known. Merry Christmas, baby.”
He kissed her and she melted under him, clutching him with one hand and the necklace with the other.
“Oh, Hawk, it’s lovely. I’ll treasure it forever.” She gave him another long kiss, then said, “I haven’t wrapped yours, but I want to give it to you now, too.”
“Darlin’, you didn’t have to…”
“What kind of a woman wouldn’t give her lover a Christmas present?”
He smiled. At last. Hearing her admit they were lovers was the only gift he needed. “What is it?” he asked as she slid out of bed to fetch a bag from her sewing drawer.
She handed it to him. “Look and see.”
He pulled out a sky-blue long-sleeved shirt that was made of cotton that felt like silk. On the front yoke she’d sewn four long narrow ribbons in different colors. He recognized it immediately as the kind of fancy shirt Indian people wore to powwows and other festive occasions.
“Baby, it’s beautiful.” He held it up, amazed that she’d picked up on that detail at the one powwow he’d taken her to a few months back on a rare day off.
“Turn it over,” she said, her beaming eyes giving away that there was more.
He did, and sucked in a breath of astonished delight. A large red hawk was embroidered on the back, with claws extended and wings spread, their tips reaching to the shoulders of the shirt, where more ribbons fluttered.
“Holy—Rhiannon! Did you do this? Embroider it?” He met her eyes in wonder.
She nodded, her face wreathed in a big smile. “Do you like it?”
He covered her lips with his and held her close, absorbing the warmth of her body and her love. For surely she must love him, just a little, to have created this incredible gift for him. He basked in the heat of that tiny ray of hope.
To know that she loved him, that would be the greatest gift of all.
He hung the shirt over the headboard so he could see the intricate embroidery, and clasped the necklace he’d given her around her neck. With a finger he traced the beautiful curves of the dark silver and lustrous turquoise, forged and polished by caring hands many years ago. Hands like his own. The colors of the necklace stood out in stark relief against the creamy, fair skin of his chosen woman, as did the copper of his own tanned, work-roughened fingers.
She deserved so much more than him, so much more than he could give her. But he refused to give her up. He would keep her. Somehow he’d find a way.
He dropped his hand to her breast, caressing its pale fullness, enjoying the contrasts of silken to callused, white to bronze, female to male. Somehow it all fit. Better than he ever thought possible.
“Love me,” she whispered.
He eased her down beneath him, sliding into her with the half growl, half sigh of a man who knew just how lucky he was to be there. Love her? Yeah. He could do that.
And suddenly he thought, maybe, just maybe, he already did.
Determinedly, Rhiannon refused to look at the date on the calendar or the clock on the wall. She hated, hated, hated that it was Christmas Day, and she hadn’t seen Hawk for over forty-eight hours. She hated even more thinking about him out there in the bitter cold and snow, possibly freezing to death while she paced the cozy kitchen.
Nearly 5:00 p.m., and no sign of him. She’d had her fingers crossed the rustlers would show up today, so Hawk wouldn’t have to spend another night out there.
“Only two days till Christmas!” Fitz declared for the third day in a row after peering at the dates crossed out with big Xs on the page for December. She had decided not to draw Xs for the past two days, so they could celebrate the holiday when Hawk got back and Fitz wouldn’t be disappointed. So far he hadn’t caught on. “It’ll be a fine feast.”
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