Patricia Potter (40 page)

“Dynamite?”

He nodded.

She hesitated. She’d worried when he and Brady had buried it along the fence line, but at least that was underground and could be detonated only by a direct shot. This was different. “Won’t it be very dangerous?”

“Not if you know what you’re doing,” he said curtly.

She didn’t ask more. The reply told her he did know what he was doing, and though she wondered how he learned, she was certain he didn’t want to tell her.

“May I watch?”

He shrugged, and his next words were spoken with a raspy voice, as if they were hard to force from his throat. “I can’t stop you.”

When the wagon stopped, the twins scampered out and took the horses in tow.

“Walk them for a while, then rub them down carefully,” Lobo told them. The twins nodded their heads in unison, their faces saying they would agree to anything Lobo asked. Willow saw an all-too-brief unguarded look on his face before he turned away and slipped down from the wagon, holding out his hands to help her dismount.

His arms around her waist were possessive but gentle as they lingered a fraction of a second before letting go. One of his hands went up and brushed a wisp of hair away from her face.

The touch was so light, she scarcely felt it, only the heat radiating from it. She looked up and her gaze met his, so intense, so sensual that she felt every nerve responding to him. But she remained emotionless, unable to move, unable to talk. He was speaking to her in ways that only her heart understood.

And wept at the understanding.

There was love and denial in his eyes, passion and restraint in the set of his mouth, tension and want in the taut but graceful body. His hand hesitated a moment longer, then dropped and he turned toward his pinto. She felt lost and bereft as he walked away, leading the animal into the corral for water.

Brady tied his horse to the hitching post and watched Lobo. Willow noticed that the antagonism was gone from his eyes, and that he was standing taller, his shoulders no longer slumped. He was wearing his gun again. She wondered if one of the shots she’d heard on the trail came from him.

When he saw her gaze, he grinned guiltily, as if he shared some secret. She smiled back, but she knew it was only the shadow of a smile.

Lobo’s horse had finished drinking, and he saddled it, then checked his rifle before replacing it in its scabbard. He disappeared into the barn, returning with a shovel, and went to one of the areas along the fence where he’d buried the sticks of dynamite.

Estelle had come out on the porch, her gaze moving from Lobo to Brady and lingering on the older man. There was a small smile on her vulnerable face. Willow thought how pretty she looked. Her blond hair was recently brushed, and her slender frame was straight, not bent as it sometimes was. There was a softness in her expression that made one dismiss the blank stare of the left eye.

Brady turned and met her gaze, and his own eyes widened slightly, filling with something like admiration.

If Willow had not known them both so well, she might never have seen the silent communication. She felt pleasure at the exchange; warmth curled inside at the budding regard between two people who’d seen so much trouble and pain. Hope started spiraling in the pit of her stomach. If Brady and Estelle…?

Lobo finished digging and lifted a number of sticks of dynamite. There were still several in the ground. He nodded to Brady, who quickly mounted his horse.

Willow went to Lobo. “Can I ride with you?”

Her body pressed next to his was the last thing in the world he needed. Christ, he was already exploding inside. But one look at those pleading blue eyes and there wasn’t a damn way he could deny her. He silently handed the dynamite to Brady and swung up on his horse, then held one hand to her.

She was incredibly light and graceful as she moved up behind him in the saddle, her arms going around his waist in complete trust. He felt her legs against his, her body cradling his back, her head resting on his shoulders, and he’d never felt quite as strong. She felt so good, as if she were part of him. It was a terribly dangerous feeling, and to banish it he tightened his legs against the pinto, commanding it to gallop.

But instead of helping, the faster gait merely pushed the two bodies closer together. Although her skirt bunched up between them, he could still feel her circling his hips, and it brought back every magical moment when he’d felt buried inside her and they’d been in complete harmony. He wondered if these feelings continued into marriage, and then he thought how stupid that idea was. He would never find out. Hopelessness suffused him, and a feeling of emptiness.

Willow noticed they were following the ditch. It was about two and a half feet deep, and ran more than one-third of a mile. She wondered how he and Brady had been able to accomplish so much. She turned around and saw Brady riding carefully behind, dynamite cradled in his arms.

After Lobo helped her down, she went to the river, noticing how much higher it was.

“The dam’s effective,” Lobo said curtly. “That means Newton’s running very low on water. We can expect a visit soon, I think.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“See whether this works or not.” His tight lips softened slightly.

He knew what the garden meant to her, to the children. If they could harvest enough food for the winter and next spring, then part of Willow’s small salary might buy them a cow, perhaps even a calf, the beginning of a herd. The beginning of some security. He wanted them to have that. He wanted it very badly.

“If you know any prayers,” he said, “you can start using them now.”

She watched as Lobo and Brady dug, Lobo giving instructions but listening as Brady made a suggestion of his own. The ditch was extended to within several feet of the water, and then Lobo buried several sticks of dynamite in the bank. “Get back,” he told both her and Brady. “Beyond the trees.”

“But you…?”

“I’ll have plenty of time if I don’t have to worry about you two,” Lobo replied. Brady nodded and guided Willow away.

Her heart came to a stop as she watched Lobo light a fuse and jump the bank, not running but moving quickly with a long, easy lope until he was next to her.

Several seconds went by, then a few more, and she felt Lobo’s restlessness. He started to move, ready to go forward, when an explosion shattered the air, sending dirt and rock every direction.

23

T
he three watched as the earth parted and water started to rush down the ditch.

Willow turned to Lobo and saw a slow smile cross his face as they walked over to the ditch. He had been afraid the dry ground would instantly absorb the water, but a steady stream was snaking its way toward the ranch.

“You did it,” Willow said, her eyes lighting up like a sun-glinted sky.

Lobo looked over at Brady. “We did it,” he corrected her.

Willow’s gaze followed Lobo’s. “Thank you,” she said to Brady, whose brown eyes were alive with satisfaction. “Thank you both.”

Filled with exhilaration, she grabbed Lobo’s hand. He swung it behind her back, drawing her close, and he kissed her.

The kiss was wonderfully hard and passionate, and she returned it, his excitement and triumph irresistible. She forgot everything as she reveled in it, forgot even Brady’s presence.

She closed her eyes, wanting only to feel. Her body cleaved to his, now familiar yet still magically compelling. She felt her whole being melt and meld with his until she couldn’t tell anymore who was who. Feelings mingled and meshed until she felt tears behind her eyes. Willow finally looked up at him, at the glowing green-blue eyes, at his mouth eased into an unfamiliar smile. The beauty of it, the rarity that made the smile so infinitely precious, was all-consuming, and Willow was unable to remove her gaze. She swallowed under the strength of his magnetism, the vibrancy of his body, and she knew she was staring at him with undisguised longing.

There was a clearing of a throat behind them, and she felt Lobo stiffen as they both remembered Brady. They broke off the kiss and turned toward him.

Brady, while not exactly disapproving, was nonetheless grim. “I think we ought to prepare for Alex. Some of his hands, at least, would have heard the blast.”

The light in Lobo’s eyes faded, and Willow felt as if the sun had just gone into eclipse. He nodded. “They’ll find the dam fast enough, especially since they probably don’t have much water this morning. You take Willow back. I’ll stay with the dam, make sure no one disturbs it, at least until the water reaches the garden for several hours. If you have unwelcome visitors, fire two shots close together. I’ll do the same.”

Brady nodded.

Lobo still clutched Willow’s hand, and now he let go. “You leave with Brady.”

“But…”

“No, Willow. We do this my way.”

Icy determination was back in his eyes, the implacable look back in the set of his face, the grimness in his lips. She lifted her hand to his cheek for just a moment, unwilling to relinquish the closeness they’d just shared.

“You’ll be careful?”

“I’m always careful, lady,” he answered, but this time the address caressed her, and now she treasured the word she’d hated.

Brady rode up behind her, and she joined him in the saddle, but she turned her head to look back at Lobo.

He stood watching, the lean, graceful body relaxing against a tree, the easy stance belied by the intensity of his eyes, by the fierce blue-green that was so bright she could see it even yards away. Fear struck her then, fear that she might never see him again, and it seemed to send waves of doubt to him, for he suddenly stood straight and smiled, a rare, brilliant smile of reassurance.

She watched until a tree blocked the sight of him, and her hands tightened around Brady’s waist.

“He’ll be all right,” she heard Brady say. There was a strange note in his voice, and she tried to identify it. He must know after that kiss how much there was between her and the man Brady had despised.

Willow knew she should feel ashamed. She’d never believed she would give herself, give her body, except in marriage. Yet nothing had seemed so right as the union with Lobo.

She’d questioned that lightness later, and perhaps she would again, but now she didn’t, not after he’d saved her again, not when he’d smiled so brilliantly with personal triumph.

“You don’t approve?” she asked.

They were riding beside the ditch, and the water was gurgling along. “I think it’s going to reach the garden,” Brady said, changing the subject.

But Willow wasn’t ready to let go of her question. “You don’t, do you?”

He turned and looked at her. “It’s not up to me to approve or disapprove. I have no right to do either.”

“You’re my friend. You have every right.”

“Don’t ask me impossible questions, Willow.”

“You’ve changed your opinion of him, haven’t you.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.

“Maybe.”

“Brady!” she said with exasperation.

Brady was silent. He didn’t know what to say. He
had
changed his opinion of Lobo, but the man was still trouble, would always be trouble. He could see no way Lobo would, or could, stay, and he was desperately afraid Willow’s heart would break. He knew only too well the pain of losing someone, and Lobo was so obviously a loner, and his past, no matter the reasons behind it, precluded much of a future. Nothing could change that.

He felt a grief that surprised him, grief not only for Willow but for the gunfighter. Brady had seen that brief, unguarded look when Lobo had taken Willow in his arms. He had little doubt that the gunfighter loved Willow.

Damn him. Damn Lobo for being what he was, and thank God for it. But he was still poison for Willow.

Brady was relieved when they reached the house. He helped Willow down, and she looked at him with that soft, pleading yet stubborn expression he’d seen so often.

She would need someone after Lobo left, if they survived the next few days. The sense of regained purpose seeped through him, and he wondered whether it had been the killing that had weakened him, or the death of his family…the loss of everything that made his life meaningful.

Well, now he had a new reason to live. Willow. Chad. The twins. Sallie Sue. Estelle. Pretty Estelle, who was finally healing. And Lobo. He even cared about what happened to Lobo! That was the most surprising discovery of all.

Willow was still looking at him. He wanted to lie and say he did approve, that she had changed Lobo and he had changed her, and they would all live happily ever after. But he didn’t see how that was possible, and he couldn’t lie, not to her. He knew that Lobo, the wolf, couldn’t survive in the civilized world of Willow George Taylor.

He thought about his wife, and the love they’d shared. Would he be better off never to have known it, than to have known, and then lost it?

No, he answered himself with an aching awareness. He wouldn’t have surrendered a moment of that time, even knowing…

Brady dismounted and met Willow’s gaze. “Take it,” he said unexpectedly. “Take every moment and value it.”