“Can we go now?”
“Go?” LaRisa gaped at him. “No, we can’t go. Is Sitting Woman the reason you gave up medicine?”
“What do you want from me?” he cried.
“I want to hear you talk sense for a change! It all comes back to your malaria, doesn’t it? Your decision about medicine, about not wanting a wife, all of it.”
“What is this? Your way of trying to get me to agree that we stay married?”
“If that’s what you think, then you’re not over your delirium yet. The way you keep tossing that idea around, I’m going to start thinking you’re the one who doesn’t want an annulment. Why didn’t you marry Maryanne when you were engaged to her?”
“Now who’s being asinine? What woman wants to tie herself for life to a man who half the time can’t even take care of himself, much less a family?”
LaRisa squeezed her eyes shut so he would not read the answer there. It was crazy how fast, how vehemently she wanted to shout, Me! Crazy. She did not want to stay married to him. Please, God, don’t let me want it. “Seems to me you’re measuring the rest of womanhood against a pretty short stick.”
“What patient wants a doctor he can’t count on?” he demanded, ignoring her.
LaRisa popped her eyes open. “Don’t be an ass. There’s not a doctor in the world who isn’t sometimes unavailable to his patients, whether it’s due to illness or some other reason. From what I’ve seen and heard, you’re a fine doctor.”
“Do you have any idea what would have happened if this bout I just had had hit if I’d been in the middle of surgery? What if I’d come down with the shakes when I had a scalpel in my hand? You saw what it’s like. Picture me like I was yesterday and tell me what a fine doctor I am. I could have killed somebody, for Christ’s sake!”
“You didn’t kill anybody, you idiot,” she snarled.
“Hell, now you sound like Mac.”
“The doctor in town?” LaRisa felt a tearing sensation deep inside. “He knows about your malaria?”
Spence dropped down to sit on the rock LaRisa had vacated. “I told him the day you and Jo went shopping.”
He’d told a man in town, but not her. When she felt sure her voice wouldn’t crack, she asked, “Who else knows?”
“An old woman in Alabama, near the barracks. She used to…pour the quinine down me and let me stay in her back room when I got sick.”
A lump the size of her fist lodged in her throat. “Who else?”
“Nobody. Except you,” he added resentfully.
Nobody? He’d kept this to himself all this time? LaRisa ached deep inside. “What about your family? Surely—”
“They don’t know.” He glared at her. “And you’re not going to tell them.”
As her vision blurred, LaRisa turned away.
“Don’t you dare,” he said, low and threatening. He rose and stalked toward her. “Don’t you dare pity me, goddammit. This is exactly why I never wanted anyone to know.”
She sniffed and wiped a tear from her cheek. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t.” He spun her around by the shoulder. “Why else would you be bawling, if not from pity?” he demanded.
“This,” she managed on a sob, “is not from pity, you stupid, stubborn…white man. This is sheer, unadulterated rage.” With doubled fists, she pounded his chest. “How dare you use malaria as an excuse to give up medicine? You have one of the most valuable gifts in the world, the ability to ease suffering, to fight death. How dare you squander it? How dare you not use it to help people?”
Throughout her tirade Spence stood and took her blows, letting her pound out her anger on him. He figured it was no more than he deserved.
Finally, with a sniff, she stepped back and swiped at her cheeks. “All right, I’m finished. We can go now.”
“No.” Spence eyed her solemnly and shook his head. “Not until you hear the rest.”
“What else is there?”
Spence didn’t know why he was doing this. Maybe it was because of that look in the back of her eyes that said she still believed in him, despite her anger, despite the pity she denied. She still thought he was worth something. He couldn’t let her fool herself any longer.
“You were right. The malaria was only an excuse.” He looked away, suddenly wishing he hadn’t been so hasty to spill his guts. “The truth is, I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
Her brow furrowed. “Couldn’t take what?”
He closed his eyes. “The dying.”
LaRisa remembered, then, and gasped. “The list.”
“What list?”
“When your fever was at its highest—”
“I ranted and raved.”
“Yes. And you named them,” she added softly, a new pain blossoming in her chest.
“Named who?”
“The ones who were here and are gone. The patients you lost.”
“I named them?” he asked, bewildered.
She swallowed and nodded. “You said their names, and what each of them died of. What did you do, memorize the list so you could flail yourself with it?”
Spence shook his head, confused. “There is no list. I never made a point of trying to remember. In fact, I did everything I could to block it out. Good God, do you think I want to remember how many people I watched die because I couldn’t help them?” he cried.
“You didn’t have malaria every time one of them needed you, did you?”
“No,” he said grimly. “I didn’t have that excuse.”
“But their deaths were still your fault?”
He looked away from her again, unable to bear seeing her anger return. “I should have been able to help them, dammit.”
LaRisa was angry. In fact, she was furious, livid! “You know, at school they had this book they taught us from. The Holy Bible, they called it. The teachers used to show us a drawing in the front and tell us the man in it was God. The One True God. Funny, but you don’t look a bit like that picture. If you’d told me sooner who you were, I’m sure I would have been a bit more respectful.”
“Is that what you think? That I’ve been playing God?”
“Don’t be a bigger ass than you already are,” she snapped. “I don’t think you’ve been playing God. Your problem is, you think you are God.”
“You’ve landed some low blows lately, honey, but this one beats the others to hell and gone.”
“Who else but your God is responsible for everything that happens? I remember my lessons. Your God sees every sparrow fall. Is an Apache less than a sparrow? According to your white man’s religion, everything that happens is the will of God. You say the deaths of all those people are your fault. That must mean you made them die. That must mean you’re God, because God controls everything.”
“Christ, there’s no talking to you. I didn’t make them die, but I couldn’t make them live, either.”
“Could anyone?” she demanded.
Spence heaved a sigh. What was the point? “If you’re trying to get me to admit I’m not responsible for the deaths of dozens—hundreds—of people, all right. I admit I’m not responsible. I know that, here,” he said with a finger to his temple. “But I feel responsible. In here.” He knocked his fist against his chest. “And I can’t…Ah, to hell with this. Why should I expect you to understand?”
“But I do understand,” she said earnestly. “Apparently more than you do. I understand that you’ve seen more death than any one man should have to. I understand the need to get away from that for a time. I understand how much you must hate a disease that periodically renders you helpless. It eats away at your confidence, your image of yourself. It makes you feel less of a man. But it’s not true, Spence. You’re an incredibly kind and generous man, a strong man. That’s how everyone but you sees you. If a patient of yours felt the way you do, you’d probably tell him he was crazy. That malaria was not a weakness, not a slur on his manhood, it was simply an illness. That’s wha
t I understand.”
Spence trembled inside with the feeling that he’d just been stripped bare, clear down to his soul. Like his skin had been peeled off one inch at a time and he was being left to bleed to death. How could she know that he hadn’t felt like a real man in years? With one exception, he realized, and the exception made him tremble even harder, for the single time in nearly five years that he had felt like a man, felt like more than a man, was the night he’d spent making love to her.
Spence was moody and withdrawn the rest of the day. He felt off balance. It seemed as though the very foundation upon which he’d made every decision for his future was crumbling beneath him.
Crumbling, hell. It was her. LaRisa. She was digging the ground out from under his feet. Her words…God, he wanted to believe she didn’t see him as weak. Did believe her, actually, but how long would she feel that way? How long could he keep her with him?
For there was one thing he did know. It didn’t matter to him anymore if it was wrong, or inappropriate, or even if she was unwilling. He only knew that after the night they’d made love, he wasn’t ready to let her go.
Hell, he couldn’t let her go, could he? He doubted she realized the significance of what they’d done, but he understood it fully. Perhaps he hadn’t acknowledged it until now; perhaps if he’d admitted the ramifications sooner, he might not have touched her. But he did touch her, and she’d touched him back. And in the touching, they’d blown all legal grounds for an annulment to hell and back.
Spence refused to look into the future, refused to use the word “married.” He only knew that for now, he couldn’t, wouldn’t let her go. She’d gotten in his blood and burned there like a raging fire. Even now, astride a horse under the broiling sun, when he should have been paying attention to the trail, all he could think about was touching her again. Peeling off those layers of clothes to reveal the woman beneath. Losing himself in her until the world disappeared, until there was no malaria to cripple him, until there were no decisions to make. Until he felt that incredible sensation of wholeness again.
Tonight. When they made camp tonight, he would find out if she’d meant her words, if she saw him as a whole man, or as something less. If she still wanted him, or if she would turn away from him in disgust.
Tonight.
It wasn’t the night’s chill that made LaRisa shiver, but the hot eyes that followed her every move. “You’re staring.”
Across the fire, Spence kept his somber gaze on her, took another sip of coffee, then brought his cup back to his knee. “Yeah.”
Sitting cross-legged on her blanket, LaRisa picked at a loose thread in the hem of her split skirt and tried to ignore the significance of his blanket spread out behind her, next to hers, when he usually slept across the fire. “Are you still angry about today?” she asked, uneasy. “About the things I said?”
He tossed the rest of his coffee into the fire. The hiss and sizzle snapped at her taut nerves. “I wasn’t thinking about today,” he said, looking into her eyes.
The low, deliberate words sent another shiver through her. She felt breathless. Her heart pounded, and she wasn’t sure why. Fear? Excitement? Anticipation.
“I was thinking about three nights ago. Our first night out of Mexico.”
He didn’t have to explain. She could read in his eyes that same look he’d given her when he’d come to her in anger, frustration, and passion, and burned away her innocence with his fire.
“I see you remember.” After setting his tin cup on the ground, he rose in one fluid movement and came slowly to her side. His gaze roamed over her, stripping her bare. Then he turned away and knelt to bank the fire.
LaRisa waited, frozen, knowing what would happen when he turned to her again, knowing what he wanted, wanting the same thing herself. She wanted his touches, his kisses, his total possession of her mind and body. She welcomed them, craved them. Shook with the need of them. Shook with the fear of that need.
After banking the fire and leaving only a small flame to burn itself out, Spence knelt there a moment with his eyes squeezed shut. Would she welcome him, or turn him away? God, don’t let her turn me away. He was so far gone with wanting her, he didn’t trust himself not to force her. His hands already trembled, and he hadn’t even touched her yet.
“That night,” he said, his back to her. “I gave you the chance to say no.”
He heard her moving behind him. “I remember.”
“This time…” He squeezed his hands into fists against his thighs. “This time I don’t think I can.” He rose, turned, and stood over her.
What he saw in the small light from the remaining flame took his breath away. Her eyes were dark, mysterious, luminous. Black flames in the night. Her lips were moist and parted, as if waiting for his. Her hands were paused in the act of unbuttoning her blouse. And her hair…oh, God, her hair was down and streaming over her shoulders like a soft black cloud of invitation.
With a low growl, Spence dropped to his knees before her. They came together in a tangle of arms and legs, hands and mouths. Relief and excitement slammed through him at her eager moan of welcome. They rolled across the blankets, his clothes and hers streaming in their wake.
Hands clutched and held tight. Lips and tongues and teeth dueled to see who could take the most, who could give the most. She welcomed him into her depths with a soft cry and the sound of his name on her lips. Spence was lost.
Urgency, powerful and primitive, drove them into the night. Harder, hotter, higher. Faster. Deeper. Until together, they shot through the darkness into the light of fulfillment. Her name from his throat echoed across the valley.
Mid-afternoon the next day they reached the Triple C. LaRisa examined her feelings and admitted reluctantly to herself that she was glad to be back. If she could find a way to make a place for herself here or somewhere close by, she would be happier than she would have been at Pa-Gotzin-Kay. Here the sky was bigger, the land wider. Here, despite that damnable law, she had at least the illusion of freedom.
Here, she could be near Spence. God, help her. He was like an addiction she didn’t know how to break. She had no idea what to do. In her ignorance, she had thought that since they had obviously wanted each other so badly last night, they would have been pleased afterward. Yet neither was pleased. If anything, Spence seemed more troubled and withdrawn than before. More angry.
She was no better. Perhaps he was feeling what she felt. But then it was hard to imagine anyone as sure of himself as Spence feeling afraid.
LaRisa was afraid, though. She was terrified. He overwhelmed her. When she was near him, it was as if she had no will of her own. She wanted to touch him, to taste him, to please him.
Why, she wondered as she followed Spence from the barn toward the house? Why did she feel these things for a man who couldn’t seem to make up his mind what he wanted from her? She gripped her carpetbag tighter.
“LaRisa!” Joanna barreled out the front door and met them in the yard. “You came back! I’m so glad. You’re staying, aren’t you?” She slipped her arm through LaRisa’s and practically dragged her toward the house. “Tell me you’re staying.”
“For now,” LaRisa answered carefully.
Joanna darted a quick glance over her shoulder at Spence, then leaned toward LaRisa’s ear. “Do we need to set up the cot again?”
If Joanna had intended her question be private, Spence figured she should have lowered her voice. As it was, he heard, and didn’t relish giving LaRisa the chance to answer. “No,” he said sharply. “We won’t be needing the cot.” Let Jo wonder if he meant he and LaRisa would share a bed, or use separate rooms.
The look LaRisa gave him over her shoulder was one of confusion and alarm. Those two emotions perfectly described what was going on inside Spence. He was confused and alarmed over his own behavior. Last night…God, last night he’d lost himself in her so many times…
Waking up after a night like that was a little like coming to after a relapse of malaria. He
wasn’t sure what he’d said or done in the grip of the fever that had held him. This morning he’d been unnerved to realize he’d had no more control over himself while in her arms than a leaf in the wind.
It scared the hell out of him.
Yet…he still wanted her. Right now, following her into the house and down the hall, he wanted her. The way her split riding skirt hugged her hips made his mouth water. He ached to kiss that sensitive spot on her bare neck just below her right ear. Her dusty blouse outlined her ribs and waist and made his hands itch to touch her.
Dammit, how could she have such a hold on him? That first night with her should have burned her out of his system. Instead, he only wanted more of her.
He followed LaRisa and Joanna into his bedroom. Joanna plopped down on the bed, her mouth running a mile a minute with stories of the boys’ antics while Spence and LaRisa had been away. His dear, sweet niece looked like she’d settled in for the duration. She had yet to say a single word to her own uncle.
He threw his saddlebags down on the bare floor. They made a loud slapping noise that drew Joanna’s and LaRisa’s attention. He dropped his hat on top of the pile. “We’re tired, Jo,” he told her carefully, firmly. “We’ll see you later.”
Joanna blinked. She looked from him to LaRisa and back. Her brows arched; her cheeks turned pink. “Oh.” With her lips mashed together, she sprang from the bed to the door. “I’ll, uh, see you later then. Uh, welcome home.”
The door had barely clicked shut behind Joanna when LaRisa exploded. “How dare you embarrass her like that. How dare you embarrass me like that in front of her. And while I’m at it, white man, what right do you have deciding my sleeping arrangements?”
“What right?” He tugged off one glove, then the other. “The right of your husband.”
“Don’t give me that. You’ve wanted out of this marriage all along, the same as I have.”
Apache-Colton Series Page 173