Patricia Potter (25 page)

His hands were gloveless, and still red, but not as raw as they had been. She reached out and took one, turning it palm up. It was hard and callused, but the fingers were long and tapered. She thought of what he had just said about scalping, and she could visualize the knife in his strong, capable hands. What she didn’t understand is why the vision didn’t repel her as it should have. Perhaps because he’d intended it to.

She held out the basket again, and the bread, and this time he accepted, probably, she thought, because he didn’t want to answer any more questions.

He didn’t sit, but ate standing up, chewing each piece carefully and slowly. Once more she wondered about the years he’d lived with the Apache, those years that had indelibly left their mark on him, separating him from others but not extracting the core of him. It had been that core, she thought, that had spurred him to help Sallie Sue and Chad and now her. She only wished she knew how to peel away all the protective layers covering what he obviously considered weaknesses.

He finished eating, and his eyes turned to her. “How did a lady like you come out here?”

She basked in his interest. “My father died. He taught at a school in Boston and I did too, but when he died—”

She stopped for a moment, but interest glinted in his eyes, and she continued. “The headmaster…didn’t think it was proper for an unmarried female to live alone, and I was dismissed.”

“And?”

“I’d always read about the West, and there was an advertisement in the paper.”

“So you decided to come to the Wild West,” he said dryly. “Soldiers and Indians and gunfighters.”

“And farmers and ranchers and storekeepers,” she added, her gaze on his face, trying to understand the cynicism in the rough voice.

“Why don’t you go back where you belong?”

“Where is that?”

“Not here,” he said abruptly.

Willow’s temper flared. “I’m tired of everyone telling me that.”

“Everyone’s right.”

“Everyone’s not right,” she said.

The glint came back into his eyes.

“You’re the stubbornest woman I’ve ever met.”

“I’ve been told that too,” she replied defiantly.

“And does it ever get you in trouble? Other than now,” he quickly amended.

“Frequently.” She grinned suddenly. “But something always comes along to make it right. Like you.”

“It’ll take more than me to solve this one.”

“I have Brady.”

He nearly choked.

“And Sullivan.”

“A sawbones,” he jeered.

“And Chad,” she continued blithely, knowing she was irritating him. At least he was talking to her, even if his face did say he thought she was a raving lunatic.

But he just shook his head and turned away. “I got to get back to work, so we’ll have a nice new barn for Newton to burn,” he said wryly.

“You don’t really think—”

“Lady, he offered me the job. Said if I didn’t, someone else would.”

For some reason, she’d never thought Alex would go that far. Try to frighten her yes, but use actual violence?

“Is that why you came here?”

He turned back to face her.

His eyes were turbulent, but she still couldn’t read them. She didn’t know whether they reflected anger or frustration or another emotion.

But the very intensity of the gaze fired the attraction that was always there. She felt like a lightning rod, catching and absorbing currents of energy that streaked between them in waves, the focus of bright flashing brilliance that made every nerve in her body tingle until she wondered how she was still standing. He stepped toward her, and she toward him, two irresistibly drawn lodestones with no will of their own.

Willow saw his face lower, felt the warmth of his nearness, and closed her eyes to better savor all the soft, humming sensations assaulting her body. His lips nuzzled hers for the briefest of times, and she felt bereft when they pulled away, but then she felt the whisper of his breath against her hair, her eyes, and his hand traced lines along her neck in possessive tenderness.

Without warning, the gentleness turned demanding as his hand tightened around her, and his mouth found hers once more. She felt the hungry need of his lips, and she answered with the same urgency. Almost immediately, his kiss deepened, and she sensed contained rage in him that should have frightened her but didn’t. Instead, the sensations in her body seemed to spin out of control, each exploration on his part sending them careening like a child’s whirling top.

She felt completely wanton, something she’d never believed possible, never even imagined, as her hands went around his neck and buried themselves in his thick hair. Nothing mattered but him, nothing mattered except the tender violence of his mouth, the restrained power of his arms; nothing mattered but the continued voyage into a world of feelings and sensations and emotions she’d never known existed.

Her head tipped back as his hand wrapped around the braid, and his mouth opened slightly, giving her a taste of him. She’d never experienced anything so intimate, like this exchanging of the essence of each other, and she exalted when his tongue tentatively entered her mouth, cautiously probing, sending shivers of heat through her. She could think of nothing else to describe it, nor did she want to think long. She wanted only to experience.

His tongue went deeper, and she found her own tongue imitating at first and then inventing its own movements, reaching out to capture more of this elusive man who made her feel as no other had.

She heard a small growl in his throat, a sound that changed into a groan as his hands moved along her neck and then her back, as though wanting to claim as much as possible, and she relished the hungry search, even though a part of her urged caution. But it was hushed in the need to feel, to learn, to give, to take.

To love.

A gunslinger. A man with no reverence for life. A loner who wandered from one fight to another.

Yet it was there—love. It was fierce and sure and right, and it scared her more than anything else in her life.

The knowledge so surprised her that her lips suddenly tightened, and she took a step back. He immediately withdrew, his hands like vises on her arms, his eyes glittering like gems displayed in sunlight. “Christ, lady,” he said, his voice a harsh rasp.

He looked dazed. She knew she did too. And neither could move as they studied and memorized each other, as if there may never be another time.

Both of them heard the heavy footsteps at the same time, and whatever she’d glimpsed in Jess’s eyes disappeared as Brady appeared, his gaze going from one to the other.

Willow kept looking at Jess. “You’ll come to supper with us tonight?”

Lobo, fighting all kinds of demons inside him, would have agreed to almost anything to halt the overwhelming desire that made him forget the most basic of his rules.

He nodded and walked back to the stall on which he had been working.

And Willow, indulging in a rare sense of triumph, left to prepare a meal he wouldn’t forget.

15

T
rue to his word, Lobo appeared for supper.
He’d debated the issue over and over, and he felt more than ever like a wolf being drawn into a trap. But he’d committed himself.

In a few days he would be gone, and these few days would fade from both their minds. He would go on to do what he did best. And that wasn’t, he knew, being any part of a family.

But he’d changed to his clean shirt, and he’d washed and shaved, feeling about as foolish as a green kid on his first roundup.

When he arrived, everyone was already seated at the table. They all looked at him, anxiously awaiting his appearance. The expectancy did both good and bad things to him. There was a feeling of warmth, a rush of unexpected pleasure that was rare. At the same time, there was a throb of warning deep in his gut.

He silently took several slices from a platter of ham, and then potatoes and green beans. The food smelled good, as good as any he could remember. But then, he’d never cared that much about food.

The twins chattered excitedly about the barn. They’d wanted to put Jupiter in it, but Brady had pointed out to them earlier in the day that the barn wasn’t quite finished. There was also a second reason, but that one was kept silently between Brady and Lobo.

The two men had decided to keep watch by the gate and had tossed a coin to determine the first watch, which included suppertime. Brady had lost, although Lobo thought that he himself was probably the real loser. It would have given him a good excuse to skip the agony of supper with Willow.

And agony it was as he looked across at Willow, often finding her own gaze on him, wide, wistful, and wanting.

Tomorrow, he vowed silently. Tomorrow he’d make it clear that he was nothing more than hired help and would, from then on, take his meals by himself. As soon as he felt the ranch was safe, he would make tracks. He’d go a very long way from there. Maybe Canada, or even Alaska, where civilization hadn’t started yet, where it was cold enough to cool this burning deep inside him, where there would be no one to bother him. Yeah, Alaska.

Thus decided, he listened absently to the rapid conversation floating around him, mostly between the children. Estelle was quiet, answering only when spoken to, and Willow almost as quiet, her gaze intent on him as if she realized the decision he’d made.

“Thtory tonight?” Sallie Sue asked just as Lobo and the others heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

“Riders coming,” Lobo heard Brady yell, and he rose from the chair, turning quickly to Willow. “Keep everyone inside unless I say differently.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He’d loosened the leather cord that held his Peacemaker next to his thigh when he sat down to eat; now he quickly tightened it, and his hand went to the grip, his fingers almost caressing the walnut as he always did before trouble.

“Jess.”

He turned toward Willow. She was standing, her face tense and worried.

“Be careful,” she whispered. “There’s nothing’s worth your life.”

He smiled, but the expression had no humor in it, and its very coldness seemed to freeze her. “I thought this ranch was,” he said abruptly. He went outside to the porch, where he watched Brady hurry his still-saddled horse into the corral and stride over to join him on the porch.

The riders were coming through the gate.

“I count around fifteen,” Brady said.

Lobo nodded. “Can you use that gun?”

Brady returned his steady gaze. “I don’t know.”

“I guess we both might find out.” Lobo slowly went down the three steps of the porch and stood silently, his hands at his sides, his eyes wary as they sized up the riders. Brady moved with him and stood at his side.

It was dusk, the moon already riding high in the gathering darkness. Lobo stood patiently as if to greet guests.

He recognized one of the men, a Newton hand he’d seen on the ranch. Some were obviously recently recruited gun hands; others were probably Newton hands trying to curry favor with the boss. The Newton foreman was absent.

“Kinda late to come visitin’,” he remarked to the man who seemed to be the leader.

“I have a message for the lady,” the man said, and spit contemptuously on the ground. He looked back among his men, and Lobo could see handmade torches ready to be lit.

“Do you,” he said. “Well, I’m taking the lady’s messages at the moment.”

Lobo heard murmurs from the back of the pack. One of the riders nudged his horse up to the man in front and quietly uttered two words. The man’s arrogant pose faltered. “You ain’t Lobo,” he said.

“That a question or a statement?” Lobo said.

“Lobo works for the boss,” the man whispered.

“Not anymore.” Lobo smiled. “I quit yesterday. I work for Miss Taylor now.” His hand went up and relaxed on the grip of his gun. “You said you had a message?”

The man hesitated, considering his options and not much liking the fact he was the one in front. He was fast, but he was no match for someone like Lobo, and he knew it. Newton hadn’t said anything about Lobo changing sides; he’d been told only to burn the new barn.

He didn’t like backing down, not in front of the others, and the offered bonus wasn’t worth mixing horns with the likes of Lobo. He tried to keep his fear from his face.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Mr. Newton says to tell Miss Taylor he’ll give her anything she wants.”

“That all?” Lobo said, his smile stretching wider. It was the most frightening smile the Newton man had ever seen. “Sure took a bunch of you to deliver it.”

“Mr. Newton wants her to know he’s serious,” the leader said harshly, his voice made that way by the sudden dryness in his throat.

“Wouldn’t like to pitch in and help us finish that barn, would you?” Lobo said, a small taunt in his voice.

Already, some of the riders were backing away, and the man in front was quickly realizing it. He knew he’d just lost face with the others, and he hated Lobo for it. “Just give her the message,” he said.