The Half-Breed's Woman

by Cheryl Pierson

  “Go to bed, Jax.” Jeremy glanced at his brother. “Your—the boy will be all right. He’s been through a lot, but he’s strong. By morning, everything’ll look a lot different.” He winked at Callie.

  Jax turned at the door to face Jeremy once more. “Promise me something, Jem. If he asks for me, come get me.” His gaze fell once more to the sleeping child. “He…doesn’t have anyone else.”

  ****

  As Callie undressed, she wished for a hot bath. Jeremy had generously offered her the use of any of Melinda’s clothing that was packed in a trunk, and Callie had found quite a few things that fit well enough. She’d changed into a clean nightrail and robe, but she still felt the oozing warmth of Blocker’s blood against her back, the sweaty grip of Lane’s palms around her bare arms.

  Jax began to unbutton his shirt slowly, trying not to aggravate the incessant throbbing in his shoulder. He sat down on the edge of the bed, grimacing at even that slight jarring of the wound.

  Callie came to him and reached for his right foot, pulling the boot off, then the left one. He gave her a grateful look and began to unbutton his pants, but she knelt before him on the floor and brushed his hands away gently.

  “Let me do it.”

  He didn’t protest, and she knew by that just how tired he was. She looked up into his face, saw the hard-drawn lines and tightness, evidence of his pain and weariness. She smiled at him. “Stand up, marshal. Let me take your pants off.”

  Grimacing, he slowly came to his feet. “You would offer that tonight of all nights. When I can’t even enjoy it, or take advantage of it.”

  Callie grinned, her hands at his belt buckle, loosening it, then moving to the button-fly of his Levis. “I’ll bet you’ll be feeling a lot better by this time tomorrow.”

  “That doesn’t do me any good tonight,” he grumbled.

  Callie stood on her tiptoes and gently brushed his lips with hers.

  “You all right, baby?” he asked, looking down at her.

  She nodded and looked away. She remembered the smell of Bobby Lane’s breath, fetid and whiskey-laden in her face; the feel of his body atop her own; and her own mixed emotions about pulling the trigger of the little pepperbox derringer—hating the thought of killing, but knowing it was all she could do to save herself.

  She began to shake, and Jax enfolded her tenderly in his arms. She laid her head on his strong-muscled chest, her hand gliding around his hard waist, idly caressing his back.

  He kissed the top of her head. “You’re safe, Callie. You were safe all along. Brendan and I got there earlier. We were watching…trying to get positioned. You gave us the distraction we needed when you fired that first shot.”

  She nodded against him. “I was…so scared. I didn’t know you were there.”

  He smiled, resting his chin on her head. “I’ll always be there, Callie. I told you, I’ll never let you go. I meant it. Even when you tried to leave…I’d’ve come after you when I was able. C’mon. Let’s go to bed.” He reluctantly released her and she stepped away as he stripped off his jeans and lay down.

  Callie blew out the lamp, pulled the thin nightgown off and laid it across the end of the bed with her borrowed robe.

  Jax pulled her to him, and she burrowed closer, his chest hair tickling her nose.

  “I wonder whatever got into Carlos to leave like he did…” Jax mused.

  Callie moistened her lips, the flush rising in her cheeks. “I—I did that, Jax. I gave him some pennies to go to the mercantile and buy some candy. I just felt so sorry for him—he’s just a child, and he was so worried about you. I realize now what a mistake that was, but I just never thought they’d do anything to Carlos. I didn’t see how he figured in. I know it was…stupid of me. I just wanted to make him happy.”

  Callie could hear the smile in Jax’s voice as he spoke. “No, you weren’t stupid, Cal. Just kind. Carlos is lucky to have someone who cares for him. He’s a good boy.”

  Someone who cares for him. That was exactly what she needed to talk to Jax about. Callie steadied her voice. “Do you—know anything about his parents?”

  Jax took a deep breath, and Callie could feel his tension. “His mother was…a prostitute. She was young.” His voice sounded as if he was drifting as he spoke, going back in time. Callie held her breath, listening.

  “Amalia was—the first woman I ever believed I was in love with.” He smiled. “If I tell you this, will you be mad at me?”

  Callie whacked his side lightly. “I won’t be mad. Besides, they say confession is good for the soul, marshal.”

  “Yeah. I’ve heard that,” Jax answered wryly.

  “As long as I’m the one you’re in love with now, it doesn’t matter what—or who—came before.” She looked up at him, and he stopped lazily tracing patterns on her hip with his hand.

  “You’re the one, Callie,” he said in a low, rough voice. “You always will be. Even though we’re all wrong for each other—”

  She gave a little cry and sat up, jarring him. “How can you say that?”

  He swore and shifted. “Because it’s true, Callie! Hell, you’re—everything.” His voice quietened and he reached to touch her shimmering hair. “You’re what I want, what I need. But…I’m not sure it’s that way for you, sweetheart. I’m not sure I’m the best thing for you—”

  She leaned over and kissed him, suckling his lower lip, giving him her tongue, her hands running over the sleek muscular contours of his body.

  “Callie—” he sighed as she lifted her mouth from his.

  “You are what I need, Jaxson. My life, my heart—” Tears glistened in her eyes. She took his hand and laid it on her stomach. “Everything.”

  Jax rubbed her belly gently, his hand warm and strong.

  Callie closed her eyes. “I—I suppose you slept with her, didn’t you?”

  Jax looked down at Callie. She was watching him intently now. No need to ask who she was talking about.

  “Of course,” he murmured, giving her a ghost of a smile. “When you’re a young teen-age boy, love and lust are identical. Can’t have one without the other. She was older than I was by a couple of years. It didn’t last long—not in the beginning. I—guess she got tired of giving it away. I never had any money, and I wasn’t ever in town long enough to be more than a passing fancy for her.

  “When I became a marshal, her interest perked up again,” he continued. “I don’t know, maybe it was the idea of the badge. But, by that time, Carlos had come along and it seemed she was more interested in having him with us every time we were together.”

  “That’s how you got to know him so well.”

  “Sure. Carlos was around all the time. After Amalia died, I’ve tried to come through as often as possible to make sure he’s okay.” He fell silent, then said, “Last time I came through here, Carlos begged me to take him with me. I should have. Should’ve taken him to Dolly’s place.”

  “How long has Amalia been…dead?”

  Jaxson shook his head. “Hell of a thing,” he murmured. “She died on Carlos’s sixth birthday. She had made him a little cake, then went to lie down. She never got up.”

  “And his father?”

  Jax snorted. “Who knows? Could be anybody.” He bent to kiss Callie’s stomach tenderly, his stubbled beard tickling her skin.

  Callie laid her hand on the back of Jax’s neck, toying with the ends of his hair. “Could it be you, Jaxson?”

  Jax lifted his head, confusion in his eyes at first, then understanding. His gaze burned into Callie’s as she repeated her question. “Could you be Carlos’s father?”

  “I guess I could be,” he answered stiffly. “But I’m not.”

  Callie’s stare held his, compelling him, not allowing him to look away.

  “You think otherwise?” he asked coldly.

  Callie nodded hesitantly. “Yes. I do.”

  The tension built between them until finally Jaxson flung himself on his back with a muttered string of curses, and
lay staring at the ceiling.

  Callie reached to touch him, but he flinched away from her.

  “He—He’s the spitting image of you, Jaxson,” Callie offered timidly, unsure now of what to say, how to proceed. She scooted closer to him, but didn’t touch him. “He cares for you very much.”

  “I see him four or five times a year.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

  “Oh, yeah? How else could it be Callie? You think I’m going to put him on the back of my horse and—and just freight him around all over Indian Territory?”

  Callie smiled. “So, you have considered the possibility. That he’s yours, I mean.”

  “Well, hell yes! I’d be a damn fool not to, wouldn’t I, Cal? After all, we know what makes a kid, don’t we? So, Amalia made a mistake—”

  Callie sat up quickly. “Don’t you ever call him a mistake again, Jaxson McCall! Never! Do you hear me? Don’t you understand? You—you—man!”

  “So, make me understand, woman. I’m listening.” His tone was deadly quiet.

  By now, tears were streaming down Callie’s cheeks. She was angry at Jax’s mulish refusal to see what was so plain, frustrated at her own inability to handle the situation. It had blown up in her face, despite her best efforts. But it had to be settled.

  “Amalia knew you were Carlos’s father. And it was no mistake.”

  “She never said that.”

  “She wouldn’t, Jax. She knew you had no wish to be tied down or to marry a—a prostitute. So she took what she could get. That’s why she encouraged Carlos’s presence whenever she could, to try and build a relationship between the two of you. I think—she’d have told you—both of you—when Carlos was older.”

  “You think—she had my child on purpose?” His voice was incredulous, and disbelieving. Callie didn’t respond; her silence gave him his answer. “Why?”

  “She loved you! Can’t you see? She had no other children, so Carlos was no ‘mistake’ on her part. She wanted your child.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me, Callie? It would’ve changed—everything.”

  “No. It would only have made you unhappy. She knew that. You didn’t want the responsibility. You were too young then. But now…you’re ready.” Callie lay down carefully beside him, watching him with a steady look.

  “Where does that leave us?” His voice was hoarse and uneven. “You can’t want to take that on—and now, knowing it, I can’t walk away.”

  “Oh, Jaxson,” she said, exasperated. “What do you think I’ve been trying to say?” She reached for him, and he pulled her close, unmindful of the wound at his shoulder.

  “Spell it out, Callie. I need to hear it from you.”

  She rose up on her elbow and looked at him earnestly. “Carlos is your son. There’s no doubt of it. He belongs with you—with us. I know you love him, though you’ve never said it. I can see it in your eyes, along with pride. I believe—” she put her hand over his heart—“inside here, you’ve known for a very long time…who Carlos’s father was.”

  He swallowed hard, and nodded. “Maybe so, baby.”

  “You can’t undo the past,” she went on, “but you can give him a new future. We can do it together. You’re right. He is a good boy, and he loves you. He never left your side. He protected you…when—when you couldn’t; sealed your wound when I didn’t know what to do. And, I think…” she took a deep breath. This was not how she’d planned to tell him. “I think he’ll be a wonderful big brother.”

  Jax’s expression turned disbelieving. “Callie—” he breathed.

  “You better get used to the idea of being a father, Jaxson McCall. You have until August to practice, with Carlos. By then—well, you—you’d better have learned your stuff, marshal.”

  Jax’s stunned stare became a wide grin. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. Think you’re up to it?”

  He became serious as he thought of the question she’d teasingly posed. “Yeah, I’m up to it, Callie, but what about you?” His mind raced ahead. “Carlos’ll be eleven by then, and a handful. A newborn—”

  “Which one of them shall we give back?”

  “Huh?”

  Callie sat up on the bed, her eyes hot. “I said, which one of them shall we give back? Carlos…or the baby?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Neither, when you put it like that.”

  She smiled. “See how easy that was to resolve?”

  Jax sighed. “So, what do I do now? Tell Carlos he’s coming with us, I’m his father, and I say so?”

  With a smile, Callie touched his dark hair and bent to kiss him tenderly. “Trust me, darling. He won’t mind a bit.”

  Chapter 28

  Dunstan Treadwell sat on the seat of the stagecoach, his discomfort evident in every line of his body. He’d been in Fort Smith three days before it became evident to him that he could very well be there ’til he turned old and gray, waiting for Jaxson McCall to return. In fact, the wily marshal might never return at all. Perhaps, instead, he had chosen to stay in Indian Territory, or take Callista and go to California. Just… disappear somewhere.

  God, he hated traveling by stagecoach! It was so…common. He’d barely had enough funds for a ticket, with money left for meals. He had no idea what he’d do once he reached Amarillo. Surely, though, Jaxson McCall and his stepdaughter would have the money between them to see him back to Washington. And they wouldn’t mind giving it up, either, once they were dead.

  A ghost of a smile played about his lips. He was actually enjoying this, despite his dislike of stagecoaches, less-than-adequate cigars…everything western. He must be very careful, though. The stakes were higher than he had ever thought possible, at first, when he’d begun this game. Callista, it seemed, was worth close to a million dollars—or would be, he amended—in July. She would be easy to dispense with. The marshal was a different matter.

  Treadwell laughed aloud, and his traveling companions turned to stare at him. He didn’t notice. All that lovely money. And all he had to do was finish off the girl and McCall. Easy enough. It would be a pleasurable challenge.

  ****

  Jeremy Naylor opened the front door, quickly reaching for the telegram the rider offered him. He leaned against the wall behind him, and unfolded the yellow paper quickly.

  COME HOME STOP YOUR PA IS DYING STOP

  Jeremy clutched the message in his fist, staring with unseeing eyes as Brendan rounded the corner of the kitchen, Jax just behind him.

  “What is it?” Jax asked, instantly aware of his brother’s rigid posture, the crumpled yellow paper in his hand. He moved past Brendan as Jeremy held the telegram out to him.

  Jax plucked it from his stiff fingers and straightened the wrinkled paper, glancing at it quickly. He passed it to Bren. “The old man’s dying,” he muttered.

  Jeremy drew a hand across his mouth, giving Jax a quick look. For a few seconds, there was silence.

  Finally, “Better grab a few things and head out,” Jax murmured. “Sounds like he doesn’t have long.”

  Jeremy’s mercury-gray gaze swung up to Jaxson’s set features. “You’re not coming?”

  Jax shook his head slowly. “Last time I saw the old man, I was looking at the backside of his horse through my own blood.” His lips twisted cynically. “It might disappoint him—seein’ us alive and well. You better go this one alone, Jem.”

  Jeremy swallowed hard. In that moment, Jax realized how much his half-brother had been counting on the three of them going together.

  “I thought maybe…ah, hell, I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ve got to go, no matter what,” Jeremy voiced his thoughts aloud. “Can’t leave my mother there alone…It’ll take the others longer to get there, as far away as they all are. Jax,” he went on hesitantly, “it’s been a long time—”

  “Not long enough, brother,” Jax interrupted. “I have no wish to ever—”

  Jax felt Callie’s arm go around his waist as she came to stand beside him.


  “He’s your brother,” she whispered. He looked at her, surprised. “You all need to go together, Jax,” she went on in a low voice. “You all need each other.”

  Brendan gave him a wry smile. “I hate to say it, Jaxson, but I believe Mrs. McCall has a point.”

  Jeremy nodded. His voice was low and steady when he spoke. “We couldn’t stand together against him as boys. Let’s show him how we do things as men.”

  ****

  “Do you want me to come?” Callie asked, as Jax stashed the hastily prepared provisions into his saddlebag.

  He looked up at her, then closed the distance between them in two long strides. “No. I don’t want to be separated from you, but I won’t take you into that—place.”

  She tilted her face up to his, sure he was going to kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, he gently framed her delicate features with his hands. “How am I gonna leave you again, Callie?” he muttered. “Seems we say goodbye an awful lot.”

  She smiled up at him. “‘Goodbye’ is only temporary, Jaxson. I know you’ll be back as soon as you can. It would be too hard on Carlos, too. We’ll stay here. Let him recover. Just—don’t be away too long, darling.”

  “How could I? You take good care of—of my boy,” he nodded toward the room where Carlos lay resting, then patted her stomach, giving her a quick kiss. “Both of them.”

  She reached up and pulled him back down to her and his lips slanted hungrily across her mouth. She opened to him, and his tongue touched hers, his saddlebag slipping to the floor, forgotten.

  He lifted his mouth for a moment, his pulse racing, and met her hot look.

  “Hold that thought, Callie.”

  “How long?” she teased.

  “Three days, at the most.”

  “Mmm, can you make it back in two-and-a-half?” she asked saucily.

  Jax turned serious. “I wouldn’t go at all, if it were up to me, but—like you said, I think it’s important to Jem.”

  Callie came up on her tiptoes again and kissed him lingeringly, feeling the heated hard length of his straining manhood against her. His breath quickened, and he gave a low, harsh groan.