by Cait London
The Tallchiefs moved past them, men bred to hunting and protecting their families. Oswald’s shrill threats caused her to turn, to push Liam away and confront the man who had threatened her. One good kick in his shins wasn’t quite enough, but with Liam holding her, tugging her back to him, she couldn’t get in a really— “Just one punch. Just one really good punch.”
“Aye,” Duncan said, a man who’d experienced a hot-tempered woman set on revenge. “We’d better get Oswald to safety before she tears him to pieces.”
Then because the Tallchiefs moved on down the mountain, Michelle turned to Liam and punched him solidly in the stomach. His grunt and surprise eased a little of her terror and panic. “There. I had to use that somewhere. Remember that the next time you leave me at a motel.”
“Now, honey,” Liam said uncertainly, rubbing his slight injury. “There was only one place he could be—close enough to see everything that went on. He’d bought binoculars, a high-powered scope and rifle and camping gear.”
“So you just took it upon yourself to call your family, and all you wonderful, strong men went after him. What was that shot?”
“Oswald’s rifle accidentally discharged. Everyone is okay.” Liam caught the ends of the tartan around her shoulders and brought her close to him for a long, sweet kiss. “Aye, I do have a family. It’s not a feeling that I take lightly. We came here alone, J.T. and I, and now he’s so happy. I called the Tallchiefs and they came. No questions. They know the mountain better and I wanted no mistakes. If Oswald got away, he’d be more dangerous than before.”
“You made a wise choice. They’ve hunted in these mountains all of their lives. Thorn has been on more than one manhunt. But you could have been killed. Make love to me here—now. Let me know that you’re alive.”
His sharply indrawn breath caused her to step back. The hand she’d slid beneath his coat came away with a warm stickiness—blood.
Nine
That night, for the first time, Liam had the unique experience of being pampered by a woman and berated at the same time. He also had the odd feeling of being very cherished and very much in danger. He’d been ordered to lie on her bed and not to move. He wasn’t certain about anything, except that for the moment he’d better do as she directed. The superficial burn of the bullet across his side was an excuse to groan periodically and stop Michelle’s current tirade. She had run to his side, eyes wide with concern, The flurry of soft kisses across his face had distracted him from his earlier terror that she could be hurt. He glanced at the bedside clock, a feminine little thing on tiny feet, and realized his woman had more endurance than he’d suspected. His love was a strong, strong woman. She had forced him to lean on her down the mountain. Admonishing him while she undressed him, she’d cleaned the wound. She’d put him to bed, and she showed no signs of tiring.
He wanted to hold her, make love to her and cuddle her while they slept. And then he wanted to make love to her again.
“Don’t you dare move, Liam. You’re not leaving my sight, not after leaving me in that motel room. I had to have a mechanic put back the thingamajigs you’d pulled apart, and your pickup is like driving a board—no power steering.”
Michelle crossed her arms beneath her breasts, and her satin robe parted above her thighs to reveal lacy black panties. Liam had blinked when he’d first seen them, the erotic need to place his hands on the fine lace and smooth it away to the soft flesh beneath.
She turned, tapping her toe as he lay on the bed, and presented him a view of her rounded hips. His body was aching now, and not from the searing bullet. “So, you took my pickup to let Oswald think I’d come back, so he would stay put. Then you and the rest of your clan played posse…. Without me. The one who got the reports in the first place. Here, lie still and take this aspirin. I’m not finished yet. You’re staying in that bed all night—J.T. was asleep hours ago at Elspeth’s. Oh, no. Don’t you move. I’ll tie you down if I have to. Let me check that bandage. And one more thing, you are not going to work tomorrow.”
“Are you going to cluck all night? Or are you coming to bed?” Liam muttered and tried to erase the sight of Michelle’s breasts, clad in a satin robe, hovering over him. The fine perspiration on his forehead wasn’t from his wound; it was from watching Michelle undress after she’d tended him. It was from feeling her hands search his nude body to see if he’d been hurt anywhere else—he’d edged away from those small, curious hands as they’d sought injury on the inside of his thighs.
“Well. Of course, I’m coming to bed. And you’re going to lie very still. And in the morning we are going to the doctor—oh, no. I’m not listening to any grumbling-old-bear sounds. I want to know that the wound isn’t infected.”
When Michelle turned out the lights and settled into bed, Liam lay very still. He was, for the first time in his life, aware of how cold a big soft comfortable bed could be…. How cold and rigid looking the shoulder of a woman could be when turned away from him. He smiled later in the night as her hands found him again, stroking his chest, smoothing his hair. Drowsily he realized that Michelle had tied his wrist to her bed. The bit of lace could easily be torn free, but he wanted to see what she intended. Other than that, his ego needed the boost and her scolding reassured him—it was nice to think of himself as Michelle’s valuable property. A man she intended to keep.
She bent to whisper in his ear, “You’re not leaving me tonight, Liam, so go back to sleep.”
“I’m right where I want to be,” he whispered back, and took the liberty of stroking her thigh.
She pushed away his hand, adjusted the blankets over his chest and flopped down, to turn her back on him again.
He wondered who had the most endurance. At the moment his was questionable, and Michelle was in a substantial lead.
“Are you all right?” she asked before dawn, leaning close to him, her breasts nestling to his side.
“No,” he whispered against her kiss, and sucked in his breath as her lips moved lower, kissing his chest. “Honey, you’ve tied one of my hands,” he reminded her. “I’d like to put them both on you.”
“You can do very well with one. I’m not letting you get away while I’m sleeping,” she returned, sitting up in the shadows to tug away her robe. The look back at him over her bare shoulder made his heart leap into high gear. “Do you hurt very badly?”
“No,” he whispered as she gently, carefully eased over him, taking care to stay away from the overlarge bandage she’d placed on his side.
“Don’t ever, ever do that to me again, Liam,” she whispered, bending to kiss him in a way that took his breath away. She rocked gently upon him, her bent thighs tight against his, her hands braced against his chest. Still wary of her tirade, he took her movements for a good sign. The caress of her voice gave him hope. “Oh, Liam…”
Her hand slid between their bodies and found him. When he could think later, he would remember the exquisite feeling of being captured and cherished as she slowly took him into her body. “Don’t move. I don’t want you bleeding again. Let me,” she whispered.
Careful of his wound, Michelle moved slowly, finding the rhythm that they both needed, her body tight upon his. There in the shadows, upon her bed, with her body burning his, he forgot everything but his love for Michelle.
“I’m not J.T.,” he grumbled in the morning as she called the doctor for his appointment. Preparing for his shower, he’d shaved and tucked a pink towel around his hips. The color upset him: pink was a color he associated with women’s clothing.
Michelle replaced the telephone in a very exact gesture, as if she were preparing a logical defense. “I’m aware that no one has taken care of you and that you resist change, Mr. Tallchief,” she said coolly.
She turned to eye him, the November sunlight sliding over her satin-covered breasts. He could almost taste her skin, hear those wispy sighs passing over his skin, but the images died when she turned to frown at him. “I’m not happy with you. I’m going to cut your hair�
�stop grumbling. Someone has to take care of you. Then we’re going to the doctor’s office. I really do not like being this emotional. It’s uncomfortable. This will take time, Liam. Imagine…stranding me in a motel room while you charged off to defend me. That won’t do.”
Liam rubbed his jaw, nicked by her tiny razor. A small piece of toilet paper, used to stop the blood, fell into his hand. Apparently women could hold a grudge and still make love as if a fever consumed them. Liam wondered why women had to be so complicated. All he wanted to do was to love Michelle. “You’re talking like I’m an employee who needs a reprimand.”
“I’m talking like a woman who will not be pushed around at your whims.”
He lifted a brow, challenging her. “Someone had whims last night.”
“Oh! Oh! You’d bring that up now? You who left me in a motel room? Who—”
“I’ve got a headache, dear,” he managed to say more quietly than he felt.
“That’s because your head is very, very big,” she said too quietly. “And you look ridiculous with those little bits of toilet paper all over your face.”
“I had to shave with a very small razor,” he returned. Liam noted that part of his body did indeed feel very large and uncomfortable, the towel taut across his hips. Waking up to a woman brushing her hair in the nude, all the soft supple curves gracefully flowing with her movements had been jarring. Her bedroom was very feminine, done in ruffled curtains and an old claw-foot dresser, bottles and pictures arrayed across the top. She’d bent over to rummage through a chest, and his body had instantly lurched to life. The sight of her hips shimmying into the skimpy lace briefs was enough to make him sweat. She’d shocked him, too, because he didn’t know average women wore such inviting underwear. Stripteasers, maybe—the thought had rocked Liam, and he realized the bed wasn’t vibrating—he was.
His son’s picture had grinned at him from a miniature gold frame, making Liam uncomfortable. Aware that this morning had presented many first experiences, Liam decided that he would retreat to think, to ponder upon how a woman could make love to him and in the next moment point out all his misdeeds. Showering in Michelle’s tiny fern-bedecked bathroom with an array of delicate bottles on the vanity, he felt as if he’d stepped into a fragile fairy world. The mirror labeled his dark, hard features as an intruder. He ran his hand over the hard-packed ripples on his stomach and flexed his muscles, in an uncustomary estimate of how he physically appealed to Michelle. Liam Tallchief—stark, tall and heavily muscled—amid the feminine, rain forest decor and lush soft pink towels. What did he know of scents and soaps and the silky negligee hanging on a bathroom hook? Just inhaling her scents caused him to ache. Liam shook his head and realized how fragile and susceptible he really was when Michelle was near. He ripped away the pink towel covering his hips. With Michelle he had to deal with his own emotions, and he wasn’t certain what they were now.
The staunch hatred of Reuben had eased somewhat. Liam had realized that life had more to offer than the bitterness of the past.
His son was evidently happy and well settled, and Liam’s fears that J.T. would be left alone—should something happen to his father—were gone. A legal document provided that Elspeth and Alek would care for J.T.
Michelle had brought tenderness into his life, a sense of belonging in the community and a family he cherished.
His boyhood dreams had come back, that of owning a small farm and raising a small garden.
But with Michelle came hurt, too. She’d been stripped of her pride, and she was questioning herself, who she was. She didn’t trust him enough to share those fears.
He had to give her more, Liam decided. And he’d have to find a way to be more gentle with her, to say the things she needed to hear. From Elizabeth Tallchief’s journal, he glimpsed what women sought—a gentleman, something that Liam had never been. He decided to study Elizabeth’s journal more closely, to see how he could romance Michelle.
Waiting for Michelle was not easy. Nor was living separate from her.
“Here,” Michelle said later, holding up the white shirt he’d given her at the lake. “There’s blood all over your other shirt, not that it’s worth saving.”
“Stop fussing. I feel like I’m J.T. off to the first day of school. I can’t wear this. It smells like a girl.” He sniffed at the feminine scent on the collar. But he did wear it, just because it pleased him that she’d worn the shirt, thinking of him. He held very still while she moved around him, smoothing the shirt with her hands and inspecting him. He had the unique and dizzying feeling of being cherished.
Once she was certain Liam wasn’t too badly hurt, Michelle told him he’d better keep his distance—a reminder of when he’d told her to stay away.
“Can’t,” he’d said after following her to Tallchief Lake. In early afternoon, the cold winds swooped down from the snow-capped mountains, foretelling winter. “You’ll catch cold if you stand here too long.”
“I’m used to taking care of myself. I’m still mad at you for scaring me so badly.”
“Think you’ll get over it?” After her scolding, Liam was beginning to suspect that he loved a woman with real endurance.
“Not for a while. I don’t even know who I am, Liam, and you’re confusing the issue.”
“That’s good,” he said, and stood looking at the dark, brooding lake with its whitecaps. “You know me well enough. Do you think I’d fit into one of the Tallchief legends?”
“Of course. No question about it. You’re the stuff legends are made of. Think of all that you’ve done to kee J.T. safe and ensure his future and give him more than you had. That is more than honor, that is dedication and love. But I can’t get over the sight of your blood on my hand and how you deliberately put yourself in danger. I can’t think when you’re around, and I’ve got my life to settle. I’ve seen women jump around in their lives, never knowing who they are. They enter a new situation before they finish the old. I won’t do that. I have to know…and I’m so angry with you now, that I can’t think straight.”
“Well, then. Since I’m in trouble anyway, I might as well—” Liam tugged her into his arms and slanted his lips against hers. His kiss was long and hungry, his desire rising against her through their clothing. When she was shaking—and not from the cold, but from the burning inside her, the need to have Liam fit his body upon hers—he released her. She resented her weak knees and wondered frantically where one made love in the wild.
“Just a little bit to tide me over…while you do your thinking. Put that in your schedule.”
That evening Michelle replaced the telephone to her father’s long-term secretary in Seattle. Now retired, Sally Alden had always been dedicated and truthful—and Michelle had loved her. “I told your father it wasn’t right, setting up your life,” Sally had said. “But yes, that’s just what he did, pulled strings, bargained, whatever he had to do. In an odd way, I think it was his way of taking care of you, of seeing that you didn’t have to work as he and your mother did. They didn’t have anything but love when they married. And then they had you. They picked your ex-husband, Oliver, when you were only ten. I think that was their way of providing for you after they were gone. I’m sorry that didn’t work out.”
“I’m not,” Michelle muttered as she settled in the old rocker Liam had given her. He knew just how to get to her, to bring her something so precious, needing care. The gift was a sturdy, lasting piece of someone’s life that had been cherished, and most certainly babies had been rocked to sleep by loving mothers in the very place she sat.
Michelle remembered being rocked as a child and how her mother had held her close. She remembered the scent of her father’s aftershave; he’d tickled her as he held and rocked her. With Liam in her life, it was important to mend the corners of her life. She could do no less than he had, and she would try—but her parents had to do their share, too.
She settled down to rock and think, the creaking sound of the chair and the crackling in her stove the onl
y sounds in her small house. She picked up the old clothing he’d given her, to practice her quilt-piece cutting. She studied his old shirt and then hugged it to her, taking comfort from the scents of J.T. and Liam. If anything had happened to him—
“Women.” The second week of November passed without Michelle’s snit easing. Clearly, while his son had her attention, Liam was in the proverbial doghouse. It was a very cold place after Michelle’s big warm bed. It was four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, J.T. was building blocks at Calum’s house, and Liam was dreading his empty bed. Warren and Sara Fay were at the station now, arguing over the fine points of the coming car wash. They’d close the station for the weekend. Liam ought to be thinking about a Saturday-night date with Michelle, how she’d look, what she’d wear and how the evening would end with her in his arms. Instead he was finding comfort in the family who had taken him in as one of their own.
In his lifetime, Liam had missed brooding with other males, trying to understand the intricacies of the female mind. Just yesterday, when he was lying on the floor at his house, playing with the new train track J.T. and he had built, he’d turned to see Michelle in the kitchen. She’d brought a casserole and stood in his kitchen dressed in a red sweater and long, tight jeans. Holding the casserole with pot holders, she’d stopped to look at him, poised in the kitchen light. The look she’d given him reminded him of the hot, sultry one when she’d loved him that night—as if she wouldn’t finish with him until neither one of them could move.
Liam sipped his iced tea, served in a beer mug at Maddy’s Hot Spot and continued to brood. Michelle had waltzed into his house, loaded with packages. She stripped off her coat, hugged J.T. and let him help her unpack the new clothes for them. A dark-green icy stare at Liam had told him to keep his distance and not to mention anything about repaying her. He would somehow, but clearly then wasn’t the time. While the washer chugged and the dryer whirred the new clothes, Michelle and J.T. had gone to work on the closets. “Mama needs scraps,” J.T. had chirped happily, shoving old clothing into a sack. “She’s making me a blankie with all my favorite clothes in it.”