Roan (26 page)

The leather was hot against her back and Roan's firm flesh burned her breasts. To brush her hardened nipples against the light furring of hair on his chest gratified some deep inclination inside her. It fired her blood and created an ache in her lower body that demanded appeasement.

“Take it easy,” he whispered against her lips. “Nice and easy does it.”

He was right. Time slowed, stretched to accommodate them. With murmured words and encouraging hands, they moved together, searching for the sites of most perfect delight. Warm and deep, wild and free, their caresses min
gled, spanned every millimeter of bare skin and eons of uncharted years. They sought the essence of each other, every taste, every firm curve and moist, silken hollow. Tory was hot, so hot, lost in the sensations of exquisitely sensitized skin, butter-soft leather under her, powerful male above her.

The remaining barriers of clothing were disposed of in a few languorous moves. A breeze shifted over them, flowing into the barn through a thousand cracks and drifting in at the open windows. It fanned their skins as Roan moved over her, parted her thighs. He pressed deep, twisting slowly to the last inch of penetration. She answered with her own involuntary surge, rising against him in mindless, virulent need.

He was perfectly still as his skin beaded with purest pleasure and he breathed a sound between a groan and a prayer. Feverishly, Tory soothed his skin while a deep, wordless breath signaled her agreement. Their eyes met as he paused, stretching the limits of her endurance and his own, pulsing within her to the rhythm of his heartbeat while her own internal muscles clamped down in slow, unstoppable possession. His gaze was smoke-gray yet fierce with concentration, as if his entire being were focused on the contact of their bodies.

“Roan.”

The whispered word was at once a plea and a promise that she was with him, wanted him, needed him and could not bear not to have him. Now.

Dragging in a shuddering breath, he closed his eyes as if shielding his thoughts and feelings as he began to move within her. His palm closed around her breast, teasing the nipple with gentle abrasion. It was more than she could bear. She surged against him, imploring him with hands and lips to drive stronger, faster, deeper, fueling her urgent
need to merge with him, to absorb his strength and hold it inside her for the rest of her days.

Together, they strove in primitive rhythm, reaching beyond the sweat-slick contact of their bodies, beyond time and place and into an ancient realm allotted to those who love with open hands. They found it, tumbled over the threshold and into the ultimate nirvana where in giving they received the only true wonder in the universe.

And afterward, they lay with the sweat cooling on their bodies and their hands ceaselessly caressing, trying to soothe away the pain of the coming separation. They had to part, to become two again instead of one. To live their different lives with all their problems and duties that loving could not change.

It was going to be hard, Tory thought as she stared with dry, burning eyes into the barn's dusty dimness. Hard beyond belief.

It was going to be so hard to leave him.

L
uke and April Benedict were the first to arrive, but Kane and Regina, with her son Stephan, were close on their heels. Kane had brought along Lewis Crompton as well. With the elderly gentlemen was his wife, Elise, whom he introduced, with an endearing twinkle in his fine eyes, as his bride. Doc Watkins arrived and was taken off by Pop Benedict for a tour of his motor home and discussion of some mechanical difficulty with it. After that, came the onslaught. So many Benedicts of both sexes poured into the house that Tory lost all hope of keeping names and relationships straight. The only people she managed to single out from the crowd were Clay and the nurse from the hospital, Johnnie.

It wasn't her party, of course, but a homecoming for Roan's father. Pop, dragged out of the motor home by Jake, held court on the front porch, shaking hands with all the men and hugging all the women who flocked to see him. Everybody hugged everyone else, in fact, and generally seemed delighted to see them. There was much talk of this person and that who couldn't come, much catching up on all the births, marriages and deaths that had taken place since the last time Pop was home.

“Revolting, isn't it?” Clay asked with a grin as he
strolled to where Tory had taken refuge near a porch column. He took a sip from the long neck that he carried in his hand.

“What's that?”

Clay waved his beer toward Luke and April where the couple stood talking to Kane and Regina. “So much evidence of Benedict procreation, for one thing. That's on top of the public displays of wedded affection.”

There was laughter in his eyes, and also a hint of envy that gave Tory an instant sense of fellow feeling. “You don't mean that,” she said with a wry smile.

“Sure I do. Luke's so damn happy it's enough to set your teeth on edge. As for Kane, you'd think he invented pregnancy, or rather that his darling Regina had. That poor baby-child of theirs is going to stay hid out at least another six months from sheer terror at having to measure up to the expectations of its doting parents.”

“Oh, I doubt that!” Tory's gaze lingered on Regina in her stylish aqua maternity dress. The lady was hugely pregnant, but beautiful with the serene and healthy glow the condition sometimes gave to women.

“Well, no, Kane probably won't allow it, come to think of it. Being a lawyer, he'll probably file an injunction to force the kid to appear.”

“He's that much of a clock-watcher?”

Clay shook his head with a quick grin. “Just that anxious.”

“I doubt he's any more ready than Regina. She was saying something just now about wishing it was only two minutes to go instead of two weeks.”

“Like waiting for Santa Claus, can't wait to open the package and discover what they have.”

“They haven't had an ultrasound done to find out?”

“And ruin the surprise? Who'd want to do that?”

It was an interesting attitude, one few of her friends would have understood, Tory thought, since
instant gratification
was their watchword. It was nice to come across a man who could savor anticipation. Come to think of it, Roan had something of the same quality.

“What about you?” she asked. “Any prospects in that direction?”

“Lord, no, love. I'm not married.”

“I know that,” she answered with some asperity. “What I meant was, do you have your eye on someone?”

“Present company excepted?”

“Of course,” she answered at once, then was a little surprised at how easily the bland assurance was made. Clay was a good-looking guy, almost devastatingly so, if you liked the devil-may-care type. He wasn't for her. She preferred someone a bit more serious, someone rock-steady that you could depend on to be there, always and without question.

“Got your eye on someone else, that it?” he asked with a soft note in his voice.

“What?” She turned her gaze toward him, then as she met the knowing look in the rich blue of his eyes, the realization struck her that she'd been watching Roan. That was a bad habit, one she needed to break. Voice a little stiff, she went on before he could answer. “No, of course not. It would be foolish while I'm a prisoner, wouldn't it?”

“Doesn't hurt to dream.”

“Doesn't help, either,” she said under her breath.

“Meaning?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, out with it.” He upended his beer bottle for the last swallow, then turned to set it on a convenient table.

“I just…feel out of place, I suppose.” She shifted uncomfortably, since she knew very well what he was think
ing. He was wrong. She had hardly spoken to Roan since the afternoon before. The sheriff had slept alone in his room while she stayed in hers, then spent most of today getting ready for the party. It was plain enough that the incident in the back seat of the Super Bird had meant less to him than she had imagined. He was giving her no chance to discuss it, much less repeat it.

“That's it. Really,” she insisted as Clay remained silent.

“Yes, well, but you've been meeting people this evening, haven't you?”

“A few.” They had all, Roan, Jake and Pop Benedict, presented her to one cousin after the other, but she had little to say to them, after all. It was no big surprise when they'd politely drifted away to join other groups where they had more in common.

She'd watched the cousins she'd heard most about from Roan and Jake, wishing she dared join them. But Kane had seemed as formidable in his way as the sheriff, and his wife, Regina, with her red hair in soft curls around her shoulders, freckles dusting her nose, and stunning set of antique cameo jewelry, was far too busy with people asking after her welfare to be approached. Luke was surrounded, as well. His wife, well-known romance author, April Halstead, in peach silk and with her golden-brown hair in an elegant twist, spoke with such flashing wit that Tory didn't feel up to her standard at the moment. Even Mr. Crompton and Miss Elise, with their gentle smiles and gracious manners, were so obviously the local gentry and beloved by all that she didn't have the courage to bring herself to their notice.

She finished a bit lamely, “I suppose the truth is that I have no right to be here.”

“That's for Roan to decide, isn't it?”

“I'm not sure it's crossed his mind I might have a problem with it.”

“Don't kid yourself,” he said on a dry laugh. “Not much escapes old Roan, especially not much that goes on with you. For instance, he's wondering right this minute what we're finding so all-fired interesting to talk about, and how he can break it up without it looking as if he's riding herd on you. Or on me.”

“You're joking,” she began with a glance in the direction he indicated.

“Don't look!” Clay warned in an urgent undertone. “Not unless you want to bring him hotfooting over here. But maybe that's exactly what you do want?”

“You're certifiable, do you know that?” She kept her voice light with an effort. He was right, of course, though the last thing she'd ever do was admit it.

“Yeah,” he mourned. “Nobody ever takes me seriously.”

“Poor baby,” she said, falling from sheer stress into the kind of mindless, cocktail party repartee that had once been second nature. “I expect they're happy to take you for any and everything else.”

He stepped back as if in shock, his manner mocking though there was something close to discomfort in his eyes. “Why, Donna, sugar pie, sweetheart, my own honey child, whatever can you mean?”

“Nothing, nothing. Excuse me a second, will you? I need to check on the brisket in the oven and see if I can figure out some way to arrange all the pots and bowls of food people have brought.”

“Coward,” he called after her as she walked away.

She looked back with a smile. “You got it.”

She was lifting lids and peeling back aluminum wrap, trying to separate meat dishes from vegetable dishes and
salads from desserts, when April and Regina came into the kitchen. She divided a brief smile between the two women, but kept on with what she was doing.

“We thought you might need a hand in here,” Luke's wife said, her gaze both bright and curious.

The expectant mother, Regina, seconded that with a smile that illuminated the softness in her face. “Just tell us what to do.”

Tory felt a brief flash of a kind of acceptance that she hadn't known since the cliques and in-groups of boarding school. Was it just wishful thinking, or was there really something in the way the women looked at her, as if they thought she had something in common, knew there was something more than a jailor-prisioner connection between Roan and herself. For no good reason she could think of, hot color flooded into her face.

“I don't know, really. I'm not too sure how to go about this,” she said. That was the truth. She was used to buffet meals for large groups, but her participation in the arrangements usually consisted of discussing the menu with the caterer and writing his check.

“Nothing to it,” April assured her. “Just put all the meat dishes together with forks handy, and stand back.”

It wasn't quite that easy, of course, but there was no great difficulty either. Logic was the key. Paper plates were stacked first, along with silverware and napkins, then followed in order by salads, meats, vegetables and desserts. Glasses for drinks were on a separate table so anyone who wanted could pick them up on a second trip without breaking into the serving line. April helped Tory lay out food and decide which dishes might need reheating, while Regina filled plastic glasses with ice and poured tea and other cold drinks.

They talked of generalities as they worked, though Tory
noticed April glancing at her once or twice with a quirk of amusement about her mouth. After a few minutes, Tory intercepted one of those quick glances and lifted a brow in inquiry.

“Sorry, it's nothing, really,” April said with a quick shake of her head while she sliced a baked ham with deft strokes. “Only, the funny thing is that I warned Roan, a while back, that you'd come along one day.”

“You what?”

“It was at Regina's and Kane's wedding reception. I was teasing Roan about having no steady woman. He said he had no time for one, and I made some smart remark about him making time when a female came along and held a gun to his head. Honestly, I think I must be psychic.”

“Or Roan is,” Regina said with laughter in her voice. “Tell Donna his answer.”

April gave the other woman a quelling glance. “Oh, I don't think she wants to know that.”

“I think maybe I do.” Tory looked from one to the other.

April bit her lip an instant, then gave a quick nod. “He said any woman who did that would find herself flat on her back. To which, I said…”

“Maybe that's where she'll want to be if you're lucky,”
Regina put in with a chuckle.

“And he said then…?” Tory asked with dangerous calm.

“To the best of my memory, it was something like, ‘Let's hope so.”' April glanced at Tory's set face. “Please, it was a joke. That's all.”

“I'm sure.” Tory turned her gaze to the pie she was uncovering. “Somehow, it doesn't strike me as very comical.”

Regina came close to put a hand on Tory's arm. “We're sorry, really. The whole idea seemed so wildly improbable
when April told me what he'd said, so out of character, that for it to actually happen is the kind of coincidence that makes you laugh. Roan may look stern, but he's probably the most tender and caring of the Benedict guys. Courting women at gunpoint just isn't his style.”

“Not by any stretch of the imagination,” April added.

The gazes of the two women were so earnest that it was impossible for Tory to hold on to her annoyance. She looked away as she said, “I think you've got it all wrong, anyway. Courting has nothing to do with why I'm here at Dog Trot.”

“If you think that,” April said, holding her knife poised in the air, “then you have a lot to learn about Benedict men.”

“Absolutely.” Regina's agreement was dry. “They fall fast and hard, and when they do, nothing stands in their way. They'll do whatever it takes to hold on to the woman they want—even if it means bending a rule or two, or even a few laws.”

“Oh, please. Roan Benedict is the most stiff-necked, law-abiding, unforgiving man ever born! He wouldn't bend one of his precious laws if his life depended on it.”

“No? Let's see,” Regina said, a considering look in her green eyes. “According to Kane, he's holding you here illegally since no charge has been filed against you—and no charge has been filed because he talked Cousin Betsy out of the notion. In the meantime, he's diverting sheriff's office personnel to his private use for your sake, a clear violation. And he's concealing the extent of your recovery from your injuries so no one will question his actions. That's just for starters.”

Tory stared at her. Finally, she said, “He isn't endangering his job, is he?”

“Oh, dear,” April said with a flashing grin in Regina's direction. “She does have it bad.”

“Well, you have to admit she's in good company.”

“Too right,” April said, and sighed. Then she brightened. “Did I tell you another grand idea that came to me in the middle of last night?”

“You know you didn't,” Regina said as she stopped to shake her fingers, apparently half frozen from the ice she'd been distributing among the glasses.

“History is repeating itself, at least it is in a strange sort of way. You remember the four Benedict brothers who first came to Turn-Coupe? One married an Indian woman who came here with them, another married a red-haired Scotswoman who came as a settler, the third kidnapped a Spanish woman who wasn't too averse to being taken away, and the last married a Frenchwoman he found lost in the woods?”