The Heavenly Surrender (18 page)

“Ya need a part of me, don’t ya, Genieva?” he asked unexpectedly.

Puzzled by his remark and tired from the long day, Genieva shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

“
Ya need to own a part of me. Ya need somethin’ of me that’s yars alone. Somethin’ that will confirm to ya that I’m nothin’ if not loyal to only you.” Brevan took hold of her waist and pushed her backward until she was pressed firmly against the kitchen wall. “I’ve kissed ya enough to know that ya fancy it when I do, I have, Genieva.” Genieva looked up at him with defiance—but he only continued. “Don’t try to look so stern as stone, lass. I know it’s true, and I’ll tell ya this…that’s the part of me…the part of Brevan McLean that I give to ya now. I’ve had the taste of Lita Archuleta’s mouth, Genieva, but never the mouth of Lita McLean. And I’ve kissed a few other lasses in me life…but ya’re me wife now, Genieva. Like it or not, ya are that. And ya need to know ya’re the only woman I’ll ever be kissin’ now. And ya need to know that it’s me own choice, and I’m not at all disappointed in the choice.” Pressing his massive form firmly against hers and pinning her arms at her sides with his powerful hands, he whispered, “Now, look at me, lass. Do ya see me lips? Me very mouth? Well, it’s yars, it is. All ya have to do is ask for it.”

Genieva’s eyes were instantly drawn to his lips. She watched, drenched in delirium, as he moistened them slowly with his tongue. She tried in vain to steady the nervous breathing causing her bosom to rise and fall more heavily than usual. He bent and kissed her chin lightly—next letting his lips brush against her cheek.

“One word from ya, Genieva…anywhere…any time of the day or night. I give ya me promise that me kiss is yar own. Me mind may be taxed with worry, me body may be tired from the work of the day…but me kiss is yars, lass.” Brevan raised one of her fisted hands to his lips and kissed it softly. “And I tell ya this as well,” he whispered, “I’ll take pleasure in it, I will. More than I care to confess.”

Genieva was bewitched by his eyes as they narrowed—his gaze capturing her own. Breathless from his taunting, she whispered, “I could never ask such a thing, Brevan. You know I would never ask you to…” Her quiet words were lost as a knowing grin spread across his face.

“Aye, then let yar eyes do the askin’, Genieva,” he offered.

“What?” she breathed as his hand slowly slid up her arm, coming to rest at the back of her neck.

“Yar eyes will speak to me, Genieva. I can read their colors, I can. And they’re invitin’ me now. Their askin’ for a kiss, they are,” he whispered. He stepped back, pulling her away from the wall and against his body as he wrapped her tightly in his mighty embrace. He pressed his lips to her neck and whispered, “They’re askin’ me now, Genieva. For it’s the color of amethyst they are.” He took her chin in his hand and looked directly into her eyes once more. “Of violets in the bright mornin’ sun.”

“You’re a horrid tease!” she cried out in a whisper. Pushing herself from his arms, she turned away, flustered—her cheeks bright scarlet.

“Sometimes,” he agreed. Forcefully taking her in his arms again, he added, “But not now.”

His kiss was miraculous as he gave it to her. Genieva struggled to catch her breath as his mouth worked to prove to her he was sincere about his kiss being her own. Her mind was whirling—unable to think of anything save the pure and complete enchantment he was able to work throughout her! She feared her lungs might burst—that her heart might pound so fiercely as to work itself to quitting! As she found herself returning his kiss, she realized he was far too superb—too skilled. Certainly a man able to kiss a woman so thoroughly as to cause her body to threaten her mind with unconsciousness was all too familiar with kissing a woman.

“Stop it,” she mumbled, tearing her mouth from his. She began pushing against his chest. “You’re only mocking me.” Backing away from him as she fought to catch her breath, she bumped into the wall, causing her knees to buckle. At last she crumpled to the floor.

Hunkering down before her, Brevan brushed at the lone tear traveling down her face with the back of his hand.

“No, Genieva,” he assured her softly. “No,” he repeated as he took her face in his hands and kissed her lips lightly—tracing their petal softness with his thumb before dropping to his knees and pulling her into his arms once again.

The raging flame inside Genieva ignited instantly. Brevan’s kiss coaxed her into a state of being completely and blissfully unaware of anything but the glory of receiving his affections—of his lavishing his absolute and thorough attention upon her alone.

The knock on the front door, coupled with Brenna’s calling to anyone inside, broke the spell for Genieva, and she tried to pull away from Brevan.

“Ignore her,” he whispered, trying to reinstitute their union.

Putting her fingers to his lips to stop his advance on her own, she shook her head. “She had wanted to borrow a pie plate, and she forgot to take it with her before. And…I-I think you’ve proven your point, Brevan.”

Sitting back on his heels, Brevan grinned with triumph “I hope so, I do. Now run answer the bloomin’ door, lass. Before me sister starts to suspect that ya’ve gotten to me at last.” With a wink, he stood and walked down the hall and into his room.



In the morning, Genieva awoke revitalized. She knew the story, at last. Finally she had an understanding of all that was going on between Lita and Brevan—and their families. It was an immense relief. Coupled with the pure elation still filling her over having finally been the recipient once again of Brevan’s marvelous kiss, her day was brightened, and her chores seemed less severe.

The plants were dry. Their thirst was profound, and Genieva wondered if she and Brevan could provide what they needed for much longer. The creek from which they drew water to give to the gardens, fields, and orchards was becoming dangerously shallow. Even the pond had lost a good foot of its depth. And now, with Brenna expecting a baby as well, Brevan and Genieva spent every other evening helping either Brian or Travis to water their fields.



The second week in July began, and Brevan told Genieva that unless rain came in the next few days, the crops would be lost. They would save most of the apples, but the corn and gardens would be lost. She went to bed that evening worried and anxious. Even the soothing, cool breeze did nothing to lull her to sleep.

Hours into the night, Genieva awoke from a fitful slumber. What did she hear? Was it what she hoped? She fairly leapt from her bed, dashing out of the house—not even pausing to snatch up a robe or shawl to cover her nightdress. Running down the front steps in her bare feet, she felt tremendous joy as the first drops of refreshing rain fell on her cheeks. Looking down, she watched as the dust blew about on the ground—quickly settling as the light shower turned into heavy rains almost immediately.

Her quiet thoughts of thankfulness were interrupted as Brevan came bounding toward her from the barn.

“It’s rainin’, lass!” he shouted as he reached her. Genieva was delighted by the sheer magnificence of his smile. She saw it so rarely, and at that moment it seemed to her as if there were no more beautiful a sight on earth. “It be goin’ to rain like I’ve never seen it rain here before! Do ya know what this means, lass?” he asked.

“It means I won’t have to carry water in buckets tomorrow to water the plants,” Genieva sighed with relief.

Brevan laughed and agreed, “That it does, Genieva! That it does. But it means our crops are saved as well as our strength!” Stripping off his shirt, he flung it to the ground, spread his arms wide, and tilted his head back, letting the rain fall freely on his face and body. “Oh, blessed night be this, lass!” Looking at her—an expression of resplendent joy on his handsome face—he placed his fists firmly at his hips and began dancing about. Genieva smiled as Brevan danced a literal Irish jig—a jig one might expect to be more aptly performed by a leprechaun. It looked rather odd to see such a large man dancing about in the mud in such a manner, and Genieva couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping her throat.

“Come then, lass,” he chuckled, extending a hand to her. “Genieva and Brevan McLean will have their harvest this year, they will.” Taking her hand, he began to lead her in any number of folk-dancing maneuvers.

Genieva giggled delightedly as they danced about, splashing the puddles beneath their feet. When she began to feel dizzy from their spinning about, she pleaded breathlessly, “Oh stop, Brevan. I’m going to be sick!” The rain was falling harder now, and the air had turned colder. “Let’s go in. We’ll catch our deaths out here,” she suggested, hugging herself as her teeth began to chatter.

Unexpectedly, however, Genieva found herself wrapped tightly in Brevan’s arms. “Ya’ll be waitin’ a wee minute more before ya leave me, ya will,” he said as his disturbing gaze never wavered from her. “I’m as dry through and through as the plants ya’ve been a strivin’ so hard to save, Genieva. I think it be time ya were workin’ to be quenchin’ my thirst now.”

Though her mind immediately registered his inference,
Genieva was powerless to resist him as he took her face firmly between his warm, wet hands, tilting her head backward. The unexpected touch of his mouth to her throat caused her knees to buckle, and his arms wrapped around her waist to support her as he continued to let his mouth ravenously savor the tender, sensitive flesh of her neck. Reaching up, she placed her hands on his shoulders and tried to muster the strength to push him away. It unnerved her that she should feel so completely powerless to resist him—that she felt the necessity to try. Every muscle and bone in her body seemed to have turned to liquid, and she could only find the strength to keep her heart from bursting within her bosom. Thus, she ceased in her pitiful attempt to deter him, surrendering to his attentions.

Genieva had heard stories of women who had been unable to resist men, and to be honest with herself, she had always been fairly judgmental of them—until the next moment. As Brevan McLean turned his attentions from her neck, gazing into her eyes momentarily before his head descended to hers, his mouth capturing her own in a heated, demanding kiss—Genieva understood—understood how a man such as Brevan McLean could vanquish the resistance of any woman! It frightened her—for she feared that, though she had endured much and been always strong, Brevan McLean’s kiss would somehow be her undoing. It had been weeks since she’d tasted of it—been rejuvenated by it while at the same time being rendered weak in his arms. She thought it was good he hadn’t kissed her for so long—for she estimated it would take her another two weeks to gain control of her senses after this.

The rain was cool and refreshing on her face, and Brevan’s kiss was hot and sweet to her mouth. Yet suddenly he moaned—broke from her and arched his back as if in great pain.

“Brevan?” Genieva cried out as she saw the look of agony on his face.

“Me back, lass,” he breathed before dropping to his knees in the mud. Genieva saw it then—the small knife—the blade buried in Brevan’s back—the handle protruding from his back. Frantically she looked around, huddling over him protectively, as she heard the approach of a horse. Horror struck her as, looking up, she found herself staring into the cruel and triumphant expression on the face of Cruz Archuleta.

“What’s the matter, McLean?” the man chuckled. “Have ya got a knife in your back, hombre?”

“Not at all, Cruz. ’Tis but a wee splinter,” Brevan growled. Reaching around, Brevan pulled the knife from his body. “Get off me land, Cruz,” he ordered, groaning slightly from the pain of the wound.

“
This...all this will be my father’s soon enough,” Cruz threatened. Chuckling, he added, “And your wife will be mine.”

“I said, get off me land!” Genieva watched as Brevan, taking the knife firmly in hand, reached up and drove the weapon into the neck of Cruz’s bay. The horse reared, neighing with pain, and only just missed trampling Brevan—for Genieva pushed him out of the way before it bolted off in the direction from which it had come.

“Baboso! You will pay for that, hombre,” Cruz shouted over his shoulder. He managed to gain control of the horse finally—glaring hatefully in Brevan’s direction as rode away at last.

“Boil up that needle and thread, lass,” Brevan muttered as Genieva helped him into the house.

Chapter Nine

The next morning Genieva set out to tell Brian what had happened. The threat from the Archuletas, especially Cruz, was too dangerous for Brevan now. Brian must be told about the intensity of the danger. Cruz had openly attacked Brevan—and Genieva knew it would not be the last time.

“Juan Miguel…he’s bidin’ his time, he is,” Brian said, after he’d listened to Genieva’s telling of Cruz’s attack on Brevan. “What’s he waitin’ for then? Why does he send Cruz? He’s a proud man. If he wants Brevan dead, it seems he would’ve done it by now.”

Lita swallowed hard and timidly spoke. “H-he...he thinks that Brevan is…the father of our bebé, Brian,” she whispered.

“What?” Brian exclaimed, looking at her in astonishment.

Lita looked to Genieva, who nodded in understanding and spoke for her, “He thinks you love Brevan, but he knows Brian is your husband. He cares enough for you that it muddles his thinking, and it keeps both Brevan and Brian safe for a time.”

Lita nodded and looked to Brian with tears in her eyes. “He wants Brevan dead, Brian. He wants this land. He’d have taken it by now if it weren’t for the fact that Cruz, idioto, told him that he thinks it is Brevan’s bebé I carry.”

“Ya mean to tell me, Lita,” Brian began, “that yar father thinks no more of ya than that? He thinks ya are capable of…”

“Cruz
is
. Cruz is the father of Amy Wilburn’s bebé, Brian. Why should mí padre think any less of his other children?” Lita buried her face in her hands and began to sob bitterly. “I’m sorry, Brian! I’m so sorry. I thought I could help your familia somehow. I never knew I would cause it to be worse on you.”

Genieva watched as Brian dropped to his knees on the floor before Lita. Taking her face in his hands, he wiped at her tears, placing his own cheek against hers as he soothed her.