Her hands came to his sides, then halted, her fingers tentative on the bandaging, below his ribcage. "I won't break."
"No. You'd never break, Brandon Gabriel. Never." Sudden tears filled her eyes and Brandon knew she was remembering that hot summer day ten years earlier. He brushed his lips across hers, and she closed her eyes, hiding the tears.
"Touch me now, Allie. Touch my back."
She shook her head. "It'll hurt." A sob escaped her, her breath hitching.
Brandon kissed first one eyelid and then the other, tasting her salty tears. "No, it won't. I promise."
She opened her eyes to look at him, and he slanted her a half grin.
"I want your hands on me, Allison." He reached to smooth a strand of hair away from her face. "You made me well this time, sweetheart." His voice was husky, as he bent to kiss the corner of her mouth. "I know what you're remembering. You couldn't stop it then, Allie, but this time – this time, you made up for it in spades." He ran his thumb up across the ridge of her ribs, her chill of pleasure following in its wake. "Trust me." His mouth was on hers before he finished the words, her hands slipping around his sides, across the bandage at his back. His mouth curved over hers, and he lifted his head. "Only good thoughts from here on out, okay?"
She nodded. "Okay."
He bent to the curve of her neck, just under her jaw, and trailed light kisses lower, burning a path of fire to her aching breasts. He circled first one nipple, then the other with his tongue, gently drawing each one into his mouth. Allie moaned and arched her back. Her fingers skimmed up his back gently, then threaded through the length of his hair. He left her breasts and moved lower, his skin dragging across hers like polished steel on satin. As his tongue dipped into her navel, and her breath hissed inward. He laughed as he kissed the hollow beside her hip bone, his tongue on her skin for an instant, tasting, before he gently closed his teeth over the swell of her hip.
"Brandon," she whispered raggedly, her hands gripping the sheets as he moved even lower.
His finger trailed fire down the center of her, then slipped inside. She turned her head into the pillow to muffle her cry. They would fit perfectly, two halves of the whole…but this first time, he would take extra care.
She reached for him and he let his taut belly slide up across hers, his shaft hard and thick, poised at the juncture of her thighs.
Allie opened her legs for him, and when he met her eyes, the love he saw for him there nearly undid him. He took a ragged, slow breath, soaking up every bit of what Allie was giving him; herself, and her love.
"Brandon. Please—"
He cut off her words with a scorching kiss, guiding himself to her entrance. Her legs opened even wider in silent entreaty, telling him everything he needed to know about the trust that existed between them. It had always been there; twelve years' worth. Even when they'd been separated, the trust and the love had still remained untouched, sleeping, conjured through faded memories like a touchstone.
Now it was awakened and blazing into full flame, along with their desire for one another.
But Brandon forced himself to go slow.
Allie closed her eyes, stiffening as he reached the barrier.
Allie. She was his world now. How foolish he'd been, with all his reasons as to why their love couldn't be. Inside her now, feeling her lying beneath him, giving him her love, her trust, her dreams to cherish and complete, he understood what she had already known. There was no reason in the world good enough to deny a love this strong. It would work. It had to.
She strained up against him and he cupped her cheek with his left hand, settling slowly into her with gentle motion. "Let your body get used to mine," he whispered. "Take it slow. Take me slow."
"I want all of you." Her voice was breathless.
He smiled at her words. "In a minute, Allie. In a few seconds, you'll have every bit of me – my body, my heart, and my soul. It'll all belong to you."
"A fair trade, I think," she murmured.
He gave a short laugh. "Hardly. My soul's a lot darker than yours. My heart's got some damage, and your body's a helluva lot prettier than mine."
Allie shook her head. "You are – beautiful – to me."
Brandon lowered his head slowly, putting his face into the silken curtain of her hair, inhaling the faint perfume of roses she carried with her from the bath. It was the only reminder that he was still breathing, as time seemed to stop. His eyes burned and blurred for a moment, before focusing again on the intricacies of Allie's perfect earlobe. His bandaged right hand cupped her cheek and she leaned into his palm as his thumb moved slowly under her eye, touching moisture there.
He swallowed hard, the glib response dissolving before it could rise to his lips. He lifted himself to look at her again.
She caressed his jaw with a gentle touch. "What're you waiting for, sweetheart?"
"It's gonna hurt some," he answered, not sure he could trust himself to speak.
"Me, or you?" The laughter in her eyes finally brought a smile to his lips.
"You." He bent to graze her lips with his. "But only for a minute." He began to push into her harder as he spoke.
"Then what?" The smile was gone, and she winced as he thrust, then pulled back.
"Then, you're mine, Allie. Just as I'm yours. Completely. No turning back, ever."
He thrust again and felt her tense as the virgin's barrier began to give way. Suddenly, more than anything, he wanted to know she was his for all time.
"Brandon?"
"It's okay," he soothed. "Just hold on to me. Tight as you need to." He surged into her again.
"Brand—"
He caught her cry in a hot kiss as he plunged full into her. He lay still for a moment, letting her tongue slide across his, then play over his lips deliciously. The tension began to drain away. All the wonder and delight he held in his heart was reflected in her eyes as she moved upward, seeking him once more.
A soft moan escaped her, and he bent his head to nip at her neck. She sucked her breath in, and he smiled. "Better now?"
"Uh-huh." There was a slight pause. "Brandon, I need you—" She squirmed under him impatiently.
"You've got me, sweetheart."
"Yes..." she sighed. "Like that."
He set the rhythm and she answered his body's demands as if they'd been lovers forever.
The pressure built inside him, but he tamped it down, holding it at bay with other thoughts. His mind drifted from the present back through the years he'd spent alone. He'd had plenty of other women, but none that he had ever wanted half so badly as Allison Taylor. She was everything right and good in his world, and he would never find the perfect words, the phrases beautiful enough to tell her what she meant to him.
He slipped his hand between them, to the place where they joined. She said his name on a breathless sigh, as her body rose to meet his.
"Allie, I'm so close – I want you there with me."
Her legs wrapped around him tightly and she began to shake. "Brandon, I—"
He put his lips to hers quickly, then shifted as she moaned into his mouth.
"Want to tell you—" she whispered as his tongue slipped into her mouth.
On the edge, he lifted his head to meet her eyes. In that instant, she handed him every exquisite vision he'd dreamed of during his solitary, brutal existence. He kissed her, driving in deep and hard, pouring every bit of this new-found emotion into her.
"I love you—" she whispered against his mouth, surging upward to meet him with fierce urgency, cradling his hard body with the softness of her own as he made love to her.
He knew what she wanted to hear, but it was foreign to him to speak those words she said so easily. She'd just stripped away the last vestige of the armor that shielded his heart. Telling her he loved her would bind him to her forever, a selfish act he knew he could never undo.
Yet, as he looked down into her face, her lips swollen from his kiss, her eyes filled with love for him along with a dash of u
ncertainty, he answered her. The words that had been unsaid between them suddenly could not be stopped.
"I love you, too, Allie," he whispered.
She pulled him down to her again for a long, slow kiss. "Brandon…" she whispered after a moment, a teasing smile curving her lips. "That blue ribbon is yours forever."
Chapter 15
By the time the stage pulled into Hobart a half-hour late, the boys had all eaten and most of them had been bathed and outfitted.
Doc had set Sam and another of the older boys, Ben Summers, in charge of the others. As soon as a small group of the younger boys was bathed and dressed in new sets of clothes and boots, Ben walked them to the livery stable where Sam took charge. Then, back he trudged for the next group.
At last, the baths and fittings were completed, and Doc was just settling up with the mercantile owner who had been so kind as to provide a clerk to bring several sizes of clothing to the bathhouse for the boys. After paying for meals, baths, boots and clothing, Doc found that the eighty-five dollars he'd gotten from Buell had not quite covered everything. He reached into his own pocket for the difference – five dollars and fifty cents.
The mercantile owner gave him a quick smile. "Thank you, Doc. We appreciate your business."
Doc nodded. "Your clerk was very helpful."
"Not often we get an order this big. I'm just glad we could oblige." He peered over Doc's shoulder. "There's the stage. Finished just in time. Tell that new doc to come see me." He winked. "He'll be needing a new pair of boots, most likely, bein' from back East."
Doc turned and headed for the door, weary to his bones. Right now, he was feeling every bit of his sixty-four years. As he stepped into the June sunlight, the heat was like an oven. He took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.
He reached the stage just as Dr. Owen Morris stepped to the ground.
"Owen!" Doc called, and the younger man turned to face him.
"Marcus." He put out his hand. "Good to see a familiar face."
"How was the trip?"
Doctor Morris reached up for his suitcase and medical bag as the shotgun rider handed them down to him. He thanked him, then looked at Doc again. "Long. Hot. Dusty." He brushed at his clothes. "But, I'm here." A slow grin spread across his face. "And I feel gloriously alive."
Doc grinned. "How do you get along with youngsters?"
Owen looked at him askance. "Are you trying to say it's a damn good thing I'm feeling so 'gloriously alive,' Marcus?"
Doc nodded. "Come on. I'll tell you about it on the way."
* * * * *
As the story unfolded, Owen had listened in silence, the wagon rumbling along behind the small buggy Doc had rented for himself and Owen to ride in. Surprisingly, Owen said very little, letting Doc tell the story of why the orphans were in Hobart in the first place, and how Doc eventually had to threaten Mr. Buell with going to the sheriff to make him see reason.
The happy laughter and talk coming from the wagon behind them let Doc know that he had done right all around. Now, he could only hope that Allie had come clean with Brandon by the time he, Owen, and the boys got back to Allie's place again.
He told Owen about the showdown between Allie and Arnold Smith, the danger she'd placed herself in to save Brandon. "I understand it. Hell, I applaud it myself! Odd as it seems, I find myself on Brandon's side of the fence rather than some of the 'upstanding' townsfolk I've known for years."
Owen nodded and grunted a noncommittal assent, not asking questions or offering comments. When Doc finished, Owen drew a deep breath, blowing it out on a long sigh.
"Sorry you came?" Doc asked, turning keen blue eyes on his younger partner.
"No. Not at all." Owen cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the boys, riding contentedly in the wagon. "I admire Mrs. Taylor. She sounds like a woman of strong convictions. And from what you say, Gabriel's appearance is both a blessing – and a curse." He shook his head. "Still, it sounds like she'd have done what she did whether she knew him or not. A woman of her strong moral fiber wouldn't countenance letting those men beat him to death."
"No. You're right about that. But the question is, what now? With a ranch to run, all these boys coming there to live and a herd of cattle on the way, I just don't know…"
"You're worried Smith might hurt these boys?"
Doc looked up into Owen Morris' somber hazel eyes. "I just don't know what Arnie Smith's capable of anymore," he muttered. "Or, maybe I do."
* * * * *
Allie sat up slowly, reaching for her undergarments on the chair. She knew Brandon wasn't asleep. His breathing quickened just the slightest bit as she raised her arms and shrugged into the camisole, pulling it over her breasts. She stood and pulled on her drawers, then the denim pants, fastening them before she turned to look at him.
He watched her lazily, through eyes still bruised and swollen. His lips curved upward in a faint grin. "You're somethin', Allie."
She looked down. She was sure her outright need for him was etched plainly in her face. She'd come close to begging him to stay already. That was one line she wouldn't cross. If he stayed, it had to be because he wanted to be here – not because he felt some kind of obligation to her.
"What kind of 'something' would that be?"
Brandon's grin faded, to be replaced by a serious look of understanding. "Allie, I don't know what you want – or expect – of me."
She laid her blouse on the chair and turned to face him fully. Blood rushed through her veins in a dull, angry roar, her cheeks burning at his reply.
"Marriage to me—" Brandon shook his head slowly. "Can't you see that would be the worst thing you could do, if you intend to stay here and make a go of this crazy plan of yours—"
"It's not crazy!" She swallowed back her disappointment. She'd thought he understood. Again, she'd been wrong. She'd thought there were no barriers between them. But, he was still fighting the whole notion that they were meant to be together. Why couldn't he understand that? A small voice told her he did understand – he just didn't accept it. And maybe that's what made him dig his heels in so hard.
"Is it marriage in general that frightens you, Brandon? Or just marriage to me?" She kept the trembling angry disappointment at bay, blinking back the hateful tears which threatened. He would not see how weak he made her.
He sat up, bristling for a moment. "Marriage in general, Allie. You know I'm not afraid of marrying you – if it was ever gonna happen, you'd be the one I'd pick."
She pulled the blouse on and began to fasten the row of small buttons up the front. At this last statement, her fingers hesitated along their nimble trail before picking up speed again. She took a steadying breath. "I see. So what am I—"
"Don't get in a huff, Allison." He lay back on the pillows. "I didn't say I wouldn't marry you. I said it would be the worst thing you could do. And I mean that with everything in me."
Allie stopped buttoning the blouse. "Well, you needn't look like you're – you're the lamb, going to slaughter! There are a lot worse things that could happen to you! I might actually make you happy, Brandon. We might – have a good life..."
He propped himself on one elbow, looking at her as if he'd never seen her before. "Allie," he breathed. "You don't understand at all."
"Enlighten me," she snapped. She was coming unraveled by the kindness and knowledge in his dark eyes. Hanging on to her anger would keep her strong. The bronze of his skin was even darker in contrast to the white sheets, and she was reminded once more of the mixed blood he carried – blood he thought would keep them apart. Her fingers curved into fists. All she wanted to do was get back in bed with him and let her hands glide gently over that expanse of flesh followed by her lips, and love some kind of reasoning into him.
"There is nothing worse than being without you," he said solemnly. "You do make me happy – even in these circumstances. I was talking about – from your perspective. All those points I made earlier that you so easily punched holes in." The love in h
is eyes bolted straight through her. "I don't know how to be a husband, or a father, Allie. I may be a poor excuse for both. But I think – I'm done trying to talk sense to you, to make you understand that you could do…so much better."
Allie sank down slowly to the side of the bed, relief filling her. "I don't want to look for 'better.' I have what I want. The best. You."
"Only you would see it that way, Allison. See me that way."
"I love you, Brandon." Tears welled in her eyes, shaming her. She looked down. There was no way to hold them back. God. She hated to cry, especially in front of a man. She'd had to be strong for so long. She'd been so alone. A large, rough knuckle wiped her face as the tears overflowed.
"Mean it, sweetheart," Brandon whispered. "Mean it – because I'll never let you go. Doc told me about Smith's marriage proposal. I fight for what's mine."
She looked up at him quickly. "Gabriel's Law?"
A smile tugged at his lips. "Are you ready for that? Or do you need some time?"
Allie leaned forward, her lips brushing his. "I've waited ten years." She put her hand out to caress his cheek gently. "I'm ready."
* * * * *
"Hello the house! It's Doc Wilkins, Allie." The buggy halted a few feet from the door, the heavily-laden wagon rolling to a stop just behind it.
Allie stood up quickly from the table where she'd been listening to Jay practice his reading. They'd long since eaten supper and had the dishes washed and dried. Allie hadn't realized how tense she'd been – how she'd been depending on Doc's return, and wondering what was keeping him and his new partner. Her shoulders ached with the stiff way she'd been sitting.
Jay slid from his chair and hurried to the door, but Allie put a staying hand on his arm. "Wait." She took her Winchester from where it leaned beside the door and cocked it.
"Who's with you?"
There was laughter in Doc's voice when he responded. "A fine group of young men from the New Mexico Territory. They're a might anxious to meet you and see what's for supper."
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