Pieces of Sky (37 page)

And suddenly she knew. She felt the rightness of it the instant the thought blossomed in her mind, unbidden and fully formed.

The realization flowed through her, filling her, making her feel whole.

She loved this man. This outrageous, courageous, beautiful man. He brought her happiness she had never known.

He also frightened her. The idea of him—of this place and this life that was so much a part of who he was—was daunting. Was this where she truly belonged? Here in this harsh and beautiful land, bound to a man who might never need her as much as she needed him? Could she be satisfied with only half his heart?

The answer cut cleanly through the doubt in her mind.

Yes
. This was what she wanted. Loving him would be enough. She would make it be enough, because the idea of spending a life without him was unbearable. She laughed softly, giddy with joy. She felt like singing, weeping, soaring through the air.

Until Adrian’s hungry cry brought her soundly back to earth.

Swiping tears away, she went to retrieve her son. Moving quietly so she wouldn’t wake Brady, she sat with Adrian against a boulder several yards away. After she settled him at her breast, she leaned back against the stone and closed her eyes, wrapping herself in the perfection of the moment—the warm sun and cooling breeze, the music of rustling leaves, and trickling water, and gentle masculine snores. She cherished the gift of it because she knew that even in the richest life, such perfect moments didn’t come often.

She must have slept because when next she opened her eyes, Adrian was asleep and Brady was awake.

He hadn’t moved and still lay sprawled on his stomach with his head turned toward her. But his gaze was locked on her exposed breast with an intensity that sent tingles of awareness dancing along her nerves.

She didn’t move or cover herself, frozen by the intimacy of his gaze. It was as if everything around them had gone utterly still and only the two of them existed, held captive by that unseen and undeniable bond that pulsed between them. It shocked her, intrigued her, made the blood in her veins run hot and thick.

His gaze moved slowly up to meet hers, and of all the emotions she saw reflected in those aqua eyes, the strongest could be summed up in a single word. Hunger.

“Marry me, Jessica.”

Her breath caught, her mind so filled with love for this man, she couldn’t find words. It would be so easy to surrender to the pull of those eyes. He could protect her and shelter her and be her shield against all the ugliness that threatened. If she said yes, she could surrender all her doubts and fears to him, hide her weakness behind his strength.

And lose herself forever.

So easy. She loved him so much.

Yet, she could not.

And in that instant of hesitation, she realized that loving Brady and marrying him were two entirely different things, and neither could be bought without pain.

Suddenly embarrassed, she lifted trembling fingers and buttoned her dress. She felt him watching, and wondered what he was thinking. But when she looked up, his thoughts were hidden behind that expressionless mask.

Without taking his eyes from hers, he rolled onto his side. Bending his arm at the elbow, he propped his closed fist beneath his cheek. “You’re not answering.”

“I’m thinking. And wondering.”

“About what?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer that. She wanted this man. She craved what he offered. But as comfortable a place as it might be, she wasn’t sure she wanted to live in Brady’s shadow forever. So she retreated to safer ground. “If Jack finally goaded you into it.” She said it with a smile, hoping to ease the undercurrents weighting the air between them.

He didn’t smile back. “Jack had nothing to do with it. In fact, he made it harder. If I’d said anything the other night, what would you have thought?”

“That Jack had goaded you into it.”

“Exactly.”

“But by saying nothing at all, you made me think you had no interest.”

He smiled crookedly. “Then you’re a spoke short. I’ve been interested from the first.”

“Even after I tried to geld you?” she said, trying to tease the tension away.

“Well, once the pain stopped.” He sat up and opened the leather food pouch. “You got my attention, I’ll give you that.”

“Ah, so it worked.”

He looked over at her, that shuttered look back in his eyes. “You’re still dodging. Why?”

She reached down to brush a fly from Adrian’s cheek. “I’m concerned. We’re so different. I worry that we don’t suit.”
Or that you will never love me as much as I love you. Or that I will lose myself in you, and forget who I am.
He was such a dominant, dominating man.

He gave her a sidewise look that told her he wasn’t buying it. “You have doubts?”

She shrugged. “Some, perhaps.”

“About me?” Before she could answer, he added, “I know I’m a bit rough, but I can change. I’ll even shave more often and try to quit cussing, if that’s what you want.”

He sounded nervous and that surprised her. She didn’t think anything could make Brady Wilkins nervous. “I don’t want you to change, Brady. Ever. Except perhaps for the cursing.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Time. When I met you, I was a frightened, twenty-six-year-old pregnant spinster hiding behind her Rules of Deportment and overblown hats. Since then I almost died on the desert. I birthed two children and buried one. I’ve been run to ground and have risen up fighting.” She lifted her free hand in a helpless gesture. “I’ve changed. I scarcely know who I am anymore. I need time to find out.”

He studied her for a long while, as if seeking a deeper meaning behind her words.

She wondered if Brady ever had doubts. He radiated so much confidence it probably never occurred to him to question who he was or what he should do.

“I can’t change what happened in the past, Jessica,” he finally said. “But I can promise you a better future. When you’re thinking, think about that.” He turned back to the pouch. “How hungry are you?”

Apparently he suffered no lingering disappointments, she thought, watching him paw through the food pouch. How convenient to have everything so simple, and all one’s thinking set up in neat little compartments. How comfortable to have no doubts. But then, his pragmatic self-assurance was one of the things she admired most about this complicated and confounding man.

After carrying her sleeping son back to his shady resting place, Jessica returned to sit on the blanket beside Brady. “You haven’t eaten?” she asked, taking the pouch from his hands.

“I was waiting for you.”

Both Brady and his hound perked up as soon as she began pulling food from the bag. Smoked ham, roast beef, a tin of peaches, an entire loaf of bread, two chicken legs, a completely mashed half a rhubarb pie, and one rather soft apple. A feast indeed.

As they ate, the earlier tension eased into a comfortable silence. Letting herself relax, Jessica put her worries aside as she watched Brady try to keep the hound under control by locking the dog’s head between his knees and doling out tidbits and dire threats in alternating intervals.

“You need to discipline that dog,” she said, more amused than irritated.

He dangled a piece of ham before Bullshot’s nose. “He’s just a pup.”

“He’s gray at the muzzle. As are you, I might add.”

That brought his head around. “You saying I’m old?”

“Seasoned, perhaps.”

“I’m just reaching my prime. I got plenty of go left in me. Want to see?” And before she knew what was happening, he had her on her back, one heavy thigh thrown over her legs.

She stiffened, shocked by the suddenness of his assault, by the weight of his big body pressing down on hers.

“Relax. I won’t bite.” He nibbled at her earlobe. “Well, maybe a little.” Leaning up on one elbow, he looked down to watch his hand move over her body, sliding from her neck, blatantly over her breast, and on to her hip.

Fear scurried through her mind. She tried not to think of other hands touching her, a different body holding her down. “W-What are you doing?”

He lifted his head and pinned her with those compelling eyes. “Trying to show you.”

This time he watched her face as his hand retraced its path from her hip, back up to cup her breast. “We may not suit in some things,” he said, his fingers tracing a gentle circle that sent her mind bouncing between fear and desire. “But in this we do.” His head came down, his mouth seeking hers.

Sound receded. Sight narrowed. For a moment, time hung suspended. All she could hear was her own frenetic pulsebeat and all she could see was him—so big he blocked the sun, so heavy he drove the air from her lungs. She reminded herself that it was Brady, that she was safe and he wouldn’t hurt her. But other memories sent fear skittering along her nerves. She put a hand on top of his, whether to stop him or encourage him, she wasn’t sure.

Terror built.

It felt like drowning. Dying. Being tied and smothered.

Twisting her head to the side, she struggled to draw a full breath—couldn’t—and panic exploded. “No!” She bucked against him, heels digging into the blanket. “Stop! Get off!”

And suddenly the weight was gone.

She lurched upright, gasping, rubbing frantically at her wrists as she battled to drag air into her aching lungs.

“What the hell . . . ?”

She caught movement, saw his hand coming toward her, and before she could stop herself, she jerked back. “Just—just give me a m-minute.”

His hand dropped away. Abruptly, he stood and walked to a cottonwood at the edge of the glade. He kept his back to her, his wide shoulders rising and falling with his own labored breathing as he adjusted his clothing. She knew what he was doing and why, and it shamed her that she had brought them both to this point. How could she let this happen?

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to shut her mind to that hateful presence. Why wasn’t she strong enough to keep him out of her head? She touched her arms, half expecting to feel the bands still encircling her wrists. But he had known silk would leave no permanent marks.

“I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely.

Brady made a harsh sound, almost, but not quite a laugh. Bracing one hand on the tree trunk, he leaned over and spit, as if needing to rid himself of the taste of her.

“You’re so heavy,” she said in a faltering voice. “I couldn’t breathe. All I could think about was when he—”

“Don’t!” He whirled, his eyes terrible in their fury, his mouth a slash of clenched teeth beneath his dark mustache. “Don’t you ever confuse me with him!”

“I’m not! I couldn’t. But every time I close my eyes—”

“Then open them! See
me
, not him.” He stalked toward her, hurt and anger vibrating with every step. “I’ve tried every way I know, Jessica, to show you that of all the people in your life, I’m the one you can trust. I’m the one who’ll protect you. Me!” He slammed his fist so hard against his chest, she could hear the hollow thump of it from three feet away. “For once look past your fear. I’m here. I’ve always been here.”

Shame crushed her. She never meant to hurt him. But she didn’t know how to stop the fear, how to make him understand. “I know. I want to, Brady. I try to control it, but it’s always there.” She pushed the heels of her hands against her temples, trying to stop the whirlwind in her mind. “I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”

“Find a way. Conquer it, or it conquers you.”

“I’m trying, Brady.”

“Try harder!”

She pressed her lips tightly together, desperate to keep the anguish from bursting free in hysteria. Her emotions were in such disarray, she couldn’t find the words she so desperately wanted to say, didn’t know how to make him understand. Mutely, she looked up at him, unshed tears thick in her throat. Why couldn’t she open her mind to him as easily as she had opened her heart? Why couldn’t she love him like she wanted to? “Try to understand, Brady. Please.”

Some of the tension left him. He closed his eyes. For a moment his expression was that of a man battling a frustration so baffling and profound, he couldn’t find words to express it. Then he exhaled and opened his eyes. The anger was gone, replaced by weary resignation. “I do understand, Jessica. I just don’t know what to do about it.”

She could feel him drifting away, and that aroused a new kind of panic. “Just give me a bit more time. I’ll get past this, Brady. I promise.”

He opened his mouth as if to say more, then closed it. He knelt beside her and, with savage efficiency, began repacking the portmanteau. “We better go. Mosquitoes will be out soon.” After tossing the food scraps into the brush, he sat back on his heels and looked around. “Where’s Bullshot?”

Battling tears and heartache, she picked up Adrian. “He was here a moment ago.”

From the direction of the house came the hound’s deep bark.

“Perhaps he’s on the trail of something,” she offered lamely, saddened that they had retreated into such inane conversation.

“Chickens.”

He stuffed Adrian’s blanket into the portmanteau and stood, the luggage in one hand, the leather food bag in the other. Both hands full. She wondered if he did that intentionally, so he wouldn’t have to touch her. The thought hurt more than she could have imagined.

They walked in silence up the grassy trail, and with every step she felt the distance between them grow. After carrying the portmanteau to her room, he left to tend his chores. Or so he said.

She went numbly about her own tasks of putting Adrian to bed, unpacking the portmanteau, braiding her wet hair, and changing out of her wet shoes. Then because she was too restless to sit, she went to the courtyard to gather the gloves and bonnet she had left earlier.