Tallchief for Keeps (10 page)

Another fiery folk tune caused the western crowd
to groan. Alek’s heart pounded with his exertion, and with another passion. He knew what he wanted. He walked across the room to stand by Elspeth. The room quieted suddenly, and he sensed that everyone was watching; he didn’t care who knew that he was coming for her. Elspeth glanced at him and flushed. Before she looked away, Alek caught the smoky anger in her eyes.

Smoke and steel, he thought. Heat. Passion. Soft mouth and gentle heart.

In the next instant, Alek caught Elspeth’s hand, drawing her to her feet. He lifted her high, treasured her slender body in his hands and slowly lowered her against him. She’d been smiling as Talia and he danced, and the curve of her mouth remained, enchanting Alek. He caressed her lower lip with his thumb, brushing the soft indentations at the corners.

The magic was still there, coursing dark through her gray eyes. Was it the passionate music still playing in his mind, his body? He tossed that thought away; Elspeth had made his body pound, his heart need. Alek ran his finger beneath her chin and lifted it. Slowly, taking his time, he placed his lips on hers and waited. After a long heartbeat, her mouth lifted to his, pushing slightly, returning the brief kiss.

Alek caressed her waist, lost in the feel
of her softness vibrating beneath his hands…. She began to respond slowly, magnificently.

There, Alek mused. There was the edge, the silvery gleam of passion streaking in her smoky eyes.

The hoots and wolf whistles started, then
stopped when Elspeth drew herself up and stared at the crowd, which quieted immediately.

Alek stepped back and nodded. He’d thrown down another challenge, and Elspeth’s cool veneer had begun to melt. He chose to leave her, let her simmer for the moment. Because if her protective walls began to crumble now, Alek didn’t trust himself. He turned his back and walked away, and in every step sensed her uncertainty. He’d touched her, reached for her bruised heart, and gotten inside for a moment. However Elspeth liked to hide in her quiet shadows, in her loose clothing, she wasn’t immune to him. Nor could he walk away from her unaffected; he’d wanted to carry her out into the moonlight and—His hand shook as he raised his mug to drain it. He didn’t want to feel tenderness for Elspeth. Nor the need to lock himself close to her, thrust into that lean body of hers and let her satisfy his hunger.

Alek shifted restlessly. A forty-year-old man
who had seen everything and done most of it shouldn’t be desperate for a taste of a woman who didn’t want him.

The three Tallchief brothers got slowly to their feet, and three forbidding frowns pinned him. Instantly Sybil, Lacey and Talia swooped and drew the brothers into a western two-step dance.

Alek propped his boots on an empty chair and met
Elspeth’s dark stare. He watched as she slowly rose and gathered her shawl about her.

Alek caught her at the door, his hand shooting past her head to open it. Elspeth did not look at him, but swept out into the night. Elegant, he thought, pure elegance of a lady who is just about to lose her temper.

Alek caught her within ten steps, walking along with
her. She slanted him a cool look. “I prefer to walk alone.”

He looked at the round moon and inhaled her fragrance
and kept walking beside her. “It could be dangerous.”

Still keeping his gaze, she snapped her fingers and instantly, Olaf and Thorn appeared from the shadows. Talia and Duncan’s huge dogs were gentle with children and dangerously protective of the Tallchiefs. The sheriff, playing a Caruso tape loudly, paused on his drive through town. Both dogs howled, lifting their heads to the moon. The sheriff turned the music down, and the dogs quieted. His spotlight hit them.

“I can tell when those dogs are around that the
Tallchiefs are together. Who’s that with you, Elspeth?”

“Talia’s brother, Alek.”

“Alek Petrovna? The guy on television? Heard he’s putting out the old newspaper in another week. See if you can get his autograph, okay?” The sheriff’s patrol car glided down the street to Caruso’s vibrating tenor.

With his finger, Alek scribbled “Petrovna” on her back.

She jumped, glaring at him. “How
dare you! Don’t think you can pick me up and kiss me like that, Alek. It looked like…like a claiming…as though you were making certain that everyone knew that you wanted me…as though you were pasting a big She’s Mine sign on me. Everyone saw—and then you had the nerve to—”

“Hey, the sheriff asked for my autograph, okay?” He bent nearer, enjoying her heated expression.

“Oh!” Elspeth turned and walked a few steps with him at her side. She rounded on him again. “Never—repeat, never—write ‘Petrovna’ on me, and while I’m at this, don’t ever kiss me again, Alek.”

“I like kissing you, Elspeth-mine. I’d like to catch up on that necking, too.” To reinforce his statement and to ease his need, Alek bent to brush his lips across hers. “Ah, you’re a fierce woman, Elspeth. When you come calling for me, I might be half-afraid to step into all that passion. You’ll have to hold my hand and woo me.”

“If I came calling for you, Alek, it would be to end this.”

“End it, but first you’ll have to stand and fight me. You’ll have to clear out what’s between us,” he challenged, then bent to kiss her ear and blow into it. “You’re hot for me, Elspeth…sweet on me. Admit it.”

Her head went back, but before she could slash at him, Alek jerked her into his arms and placed the tip of his tongue exactly in the part of her mouth. He kissed her thoroughly, fitting the slender, taut shape of her body to him, absorbing her into his loneliness, feeding upon the warmth stirring within her. Then Elspeth’s lips moved to his, and her head slanted and rested upon his shoulder, cupped by his palm. Something savage, haunting and painful settled within Alek as he held her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her against him until her eyes were at a level with his.

“I like touching you and kissing you, Elspeth.”

When he placed his face in the curve of her
throat and shoulder, her fingers hovered, then stroked his cheek. Her heart raced against his skin. She tensed, her voice a whisper. “Do you?”

“It’s not necking, but it’s a promising start,” he admitted.

“I’ve never necked.”

“Then you’re behind, too. Care to catch up? My pickup has new upholstery.”

“That rattletrap. Whatever you paid for it, it was too much.”

“I’ve never had a chance as an adult to putter and repair, to make things right. I like it.”

Her fingers splayed through his hair, played with the curls and touched the earring. “Petrovna, we both know that you can’t stand here all night, holding me like this. You’ll get tired eventually.”

Then Elspeth bent her head and nipped his lip. She said quietly, “Thorn…Olaf…come,” and the two huge dogs leapt, bracing their paws on Alek’s back, waiting for Elspeth’s next command. “You’d better put me down,” she said quietly. “They might think you’re detaining me.”

She was wrong. He could hold her all night. “I’d like to. Or you could detain me, like you did that night you played detective.”

“There are people who need protecting.
You don’t.”

She’d needed protection from him that long-ago night, and he’d been too wrapped in his grief and passion to recognize it. “Who held you when you cried, Elspeth?” he asked quietly, lowering her to her feet.

The flash of emotion in her expression told him more than he wanted to know; Elspeth had never allowed anyone to comfort her since the death of her parents. She’d always been so strong for the rest of the Tallchiefs. Yet he’d held her that night in the tepee and knew how terribly fragile she was.

This time, Alek didn’t try to hold her when she moved away. He shoved his hands into his back pockets to keep from reaching for her as she walked away.

The taste of Elspeth lasted long into the night. To keep his sanity, Alek began writing queries for the shawl. Clive Hardeness in London was friendly with a group of specialized antique collectors, and he would be a good place to start. Alek rubbed his earring and looked at the midnight light in Elspeth’s studio. He would have what Elspeth sought and he would know why she had whispered, ‘The Marrying Moon.”

Five

“E
lspeth!” mark redman
hurried across the gallery’s office to greet her. Outside the gallery, May sunshine spread like warm butter over Denver’s streets.

In Amen Flats, the
Sentinel
had become a three-week success story. Alek had worked night and day, giving her some reprieve from the noise next door to her. There was no reprieve from the jump in her heart, the tightness of her throat each time Alek looked at her. Focused, she corrected. Alek had focused upon her and was testing her, playing games that didn’t interest her.

She told herself that again…that Alek’s games didn’t appeal. He was out to prove something, and she wouldn’t have any of it. She could hold her distance, she told herself, and he’d get bored. While she was away from Amen Flats, she’d forget his taunting kisses and the way her blood heated at his torments. She’d return to Amen Flats, restored and without thoughts of Alek.

A pleasant businessman in his thirties,
Mark wore a loose silk shirt and slacks, and his long hair was in a ponytail. He took in her leather vest, chambray blouse and woven belt, long skirt, soft moccasins. He grinned as his practiced fingers traveled over her woven bag. “Perfect. Just the artsy look that sells. Keep the braids, will you? Sometimes we get an artist who looks just fine, and then the night of the opening, they go off and change it.”

Mark touched her vest’s leather fringes, decorated with beads. She didn’t mind his examination of her woven belt, the intricate, ancient designs. “Perfect. You look great in the Tallchief plaid, too. We’ve sent out invitations to our clients, and they’ll love to meet you. You saw the brochure we did on you? I want you to be comfortable about how you’re managed.”

“The brochure was wonderful, and the braids are here to stay.” Elspeth allowed Mark to hold her hand. She liked him, this easygoing man who had stopped by her booth one day and asked about her work. An expert on wools and textures, Mark had presented a comfortable advance on the contract to deal with his gallery exclusively for two years. She saw no problem when he’d asked her to promote her work by making appearances.

Mark studied her face. “You’re tired. Probably scared about the showing and working too hard. Take the day to rest, will you? We’ve got to wow them tomorrow night.”

“I’ll be fine, Mark…if your assistants don’t think my driftwood for free-form wall hangings are fire-wood. They’re from Tallchief Lake.”

“We’ll take care of them. You’re comfortable with the showing schedule we worked out? You’re okay to travel with the exhibits after the showing? Having the artist there to explain technique will add up to sales. Did you bring me anything new?” Mark rubbed his hands together; he sounded like a child at Christmas.

She liked the friendly way he draped his arm across her shoulder. Then she moved away, unused to comfortable men. “I have new pieces. They’re out in my van.”

Mark pushed the intercom buzzer. “Make certain Ms. Tallchief’s things are taken to the apartment, will you? Bring her work to me.” He winked at Elspeth. “I can’t wait. My partner says you’re certain to set record sales and your price will go up. He’ll be at the opening tomorrow night. He’s the one who really liked your work in the first place. He’s already bought several pieces.”

“Really? That just shows he has good taste. I look forward to meeting him. Who is he?”

Mark chuckled. “He’s the
silent end of the deal. He bought in as a silent partner in December. Prefers to handle his own introductions. The guy has a big past—has traveled everywhere and has made a bundle in investments. He’s a celebrity wanting to remain anonymous, and I respect his wishes. I like him, and he’s been good for building a new clientele. It’s kind of cute to see a big tough guy go all woozy over your work. He touches it as if he revered every thread. Once he pointed your work out to me, I recognized your talent right away.”

After two and a half months of Alek invading her life, Elspeth looked forward to Mark’s offer of the gallery’s apartment, to traveling with the exhibit for the next two weeks…and escaping Alek Petrovna.

Mark showed her around the gallery, explaining to her about the natural light bringing out the colors of her work. Mark latched on to her weaving like a mother hen picking over her chicks.

“What’s this? Not your usual,” he said as an assistant brought in one of her new works.

The hanging was slender, lacking the Native American elements of her other work. The tightly woven, hand-spun wool had leaped into her fingers, pale stripes of mauve and tan. In places, she’d used a fork as a beater, keeping the weave tight and heavy. In others, the weave was looser, freer. The weft, running horizontally, was tighter in places, giving a curve that flowed throughout the piece. She’d kept the frame simple to highlight her weaving. The colors heated to gold and dark red, circling a pale cream center with one burst of brilliant vermilion, then eased to deep waves of mauve and tan.

Mark skimmed his hand down the uneven, nubby texture. “Emotion vibrates in this. The colors shouldn’t work, not in that design…but they do. It’s almost alive beneath my touch. What’s the theme? Life? No, nothing so broad. Its message is infinite, too deep to explain—the heat and feeling in it just fly out. Is it titled? We’ll have to put something really pricey and obscure sounding on it.”

“I haven’t decided.” The
colors had come to her at sunset, the dying light glistening in the wool, the texture—now smooth, now rough—presented shadows upon its surface. Elspeth didn’t want to think about what she had created, or why it was different from the rest. The design and texture had sprung from her heart, unfettered by her plans and sketches.

The making of this work had cost her, wrung something from her that both hurt and gave joy. The elements in her other work sprang from her heritage, but this was new, coming from her alone.

Mark jotted a note. “Names…titles, hike up the price. Make a list. We’ll pencil it in later. By the way, my partner has ordered some dresses for you…for the promotion events. They’re pricey, but just the thing to present you this first time.”