by Rita Karnopp
"Gordon would have been furious." In her mind’s eye she relived him screaming at her and pounding his fist into the wall. It always started that way.
She looked up to catch a glimpse of movement and jumped back, screaming in surprise. She shielded her face with crossed arms, hoping to block the first blows.
"Willow? Willow, what's wrong?"
After two quick breaths, she paused, listened, and waited for the first flow to begin. Cautiously, she lowered her arms to find a concerned Brett staring back at her.
"I won't hurt you, Willow. I don't know what I did to frighten you, but I'm sorry," he said, his tone gentle. He held his arms open. "Come to me."
She stared at him, afraid to move. She wanted to go to him, but lingering feelings kept her still. "It's not you . . . the memories . . . the . . . it's me." She felt a single tear roll down her cheek.
"You are stubborn, aren't you?" He moved to sit next to her.
She allowed him to sandwich her hands between his. He raised them to his lips and kissed them with such tenderness it made her weak. He pulled her across his lap and cradled her. Willow held her breath, and then slowly exhaled. She needed his tenderness. She needed his strength. She needed his love. She'd settle for the first two. Love, the kind of love she wanted, existed only in dreams.
"We should eat and get some sleep," she said, awkwardly pulling from his embrace. "I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long, trying day."
"Suppose you're right.” He reached for the fork. “I wonder how the boys are doing. You think they're in a cave right now, warm and laughing at their great plan?"
"Knowing our boys, I wouldn't be surprised if that's exactly what they're doing. When I get my hands on them, they won't sit for a week."
"What happened to the boys will be boys?" He took a large bite of salad.
She opened her mouth, taking the forkful he offered her. It made her feel awkward to be fed, yet it seemed special and intimate. "If we had caught up with them today, I'd have considered it a funny prank, but endangering their lives and ours is no joke. They'll have to be punished."
"I agree. What would you suggest?" he asked, offering her another bite.
She chewed with relish, realizing it was indeed the best potato salad she'd ever tasted. "An hour of extra chores for a week for starters."
"I've got a well that needs to be emptied of rocks. Boys would be the right size for that chore. I'd say one week of work at your ranch, one week at mine. What do you think?"
"Sounds good." He smiled, and her defenses melted away. "You always this easy to talk to?" she asked, surprising herself.
"What do you mean?"
She reached for a piece of chicken. "I used to think you were no different than Gordon, but now I know I was wrong. We never talked like this."
"Why'd you marry him?"
"My father asked me to. The Arrowhead is very large. The ancient burial grounds of my People are part of the ranch."
"But what was in it for Gordon?"
"That's easy. I had forty beautiful bloodline horses. He wanted them and my experience to create the kind of ranch he'd always dreamed of having. He married me for my horses and I married him for the land. We deserved each other," she stated with an edge of bitterness.
"How could your father ask you to marry Gordon? Did you know him at all?"
She shook her head. "I'd met him twice before our wedding day. I didn't like him and I knew he didn't like me. Our first night together was the beginning of my nightmare. It didn't end until he died. I felt numb when Wyatt told me Gordon was dead."
Brett tossed a clean chicken bone into the fire. "Mike told me he gave you the news."
"Sheriff Ferrell did tell me, but it wasn't until the next morning. Wyatt came the night before. He said he wanted to comfort me in my loss. I sent him packing."
"I assume Wyatt has the hots for you?"
"You might call it that. I don't think he cares one way or the other about me, but he does care about my property. His offer to buy your land is one way he can be closer to mine. Don't underestimate Snidely. He sounds and acts like an idiot, but I think it's a cover. Underneath he's ruthless and dangerous," she said, putting her thoughts about Wyatt into words for the first time.
"Mike found Gordon's body only after finding his foot in the road," Brett said, then paused. "I'm sorry, that was pretty insensitive and stupid of me."
"Don't apologize. I've heard it all before. Wyatt told me Gordon had been in an accident. I thought he'd crashed his truck." Willow pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. "That was around ten at night. I remember because I'd just gone to bed with a good book. I like to read—never mind," she added, feeling uncomfortable about sharing what she did with her nights.
"I like to read before I sleep too. We're not so different after all, are we? Do you wear pajamas or sleep in the buff?"
"What? That’s none one of your business. You're the one who likes showing off his nakedness," she snapped, hoping he couldn't see the stain she felt race across her cheeks. The image of his muscular, erect body caused her breathing to increase.
"I apologized for what happened. You can't imagine how I felt. That dream was as real as you and me sitting here talking."
"How'd we get side-tracked back to this subject? Oh, yes, you brought up my sleeping attire. If you're dying to know, I sleep in the buff. There, you feel any wiser knowing that? I'd find discussing how Wyatt knew about Gordon's accident, before Sheriff Ferrell found the body, more interesting." She rattled the words fast, too fast.
"I figured you for one of those oversized tee shirt types. You're full of surprises, aren't you?"
"You're impossible. I should never have told you."
"On the contrary, now I won't have to keep wondering. Say, anyone else hear Wyatt tell you about Gordon's death?"
"My parents didn't come to live with me until after Gordon died. I’m sure you remember that. I recall you saying too many damn Indians were bringing down the value of your property." She felt anger rise just thinking about it. "No, I don't suppose anyone heard Wyatt tell me, except me."
"Damn. I believe you, but two would be indisputable. He would have known that, wouldn't he?"
"Wyatt told me about Gordon's death, before anyone else knew, on purpose? Why would he do that?"
"To show you he was in control? Or maybe to intimidate you? Maybe he thought you'd crumble, and he'd be there to help you put the pieces together. I don't know, but I think it'd be interesting to find out."
“How did he know, unless―”
“He had something to do with it or he was there.”
“It’s certainly something to consider.” She licked her fingers. "It's getting cold. Hope the boys took sleeping bags and know that they'll be warmer if they sleep together," she said in a noncommittal tone.
"We certainly know that much." His voice cracked with humor.
"Now just one minute," she snapped. "I was speaking about the boys."
"Different rules for them and us? It doesn't make sense to me. Besides, I'm already shivering.”
"Okay, we zip the sleeping bags together." She held up her index finger. "But you'll keep your clothes on."
"I will and you won't?"
She rolled her eyes. "No. We'll both stay dressed." She rubbed her fingers closer to the warm flames.
"I hope we're allowed to take our shoes off. I mean, there's no harm in that, is there?" Brett’s dark eyebrows arched mischievously.
"You're impossible. I must admit, I never figured you for a tease."
"What? I'm not a tease, besides, what type did you figure me for?"
"Man orders, woman follows-type."
He unrolled a sleeping bag. "I can't blame you for thinking that way, especially when I think about our conversations over the past years. But I'm not like that."
"Really?" She watched him struggle with his task. "How exactly are you, then?"
"I'm patient," he snapped, pulling har
d on the zipper.
"Yes, I can see that."
"I'm resourceful, kind, loving . . .loving with my son and mother."
Willow stood and grabbed an end of each bag, then busied herself with connecting the zipper. "Did you and Lorraine get along?" She wondered why she asked.
"I don't think you could have used the words get along with us two. We met while I was going to school and working as a waiter at a swank restaurant. She was hostess lady and turned every man’s head, including mine. No matter how hard I tried to get her attention, no matter what I said, she had no interest in me. But I didn't quit, fool that I was. I invited her to come spend Thanksgiving with me at my folk’s ranch in Montana. She saw dollar signs, I saw encouragement."
Willow didn't trust herself to look at him. She sensed his hurting and continued working the zipper closed on the bag. "She must have loved you some, she married you."
"You married without love, she did, too. I didn't see it at first. I wanted to do my fieldwork to reach my goal as a vet. She wanted us to return to the ranch and build a new house. She had images of the rich and famous living style, no doubt about―"
"Ow!" Willow shook her finger.
"Here, let me see." He grabbed her hand.
"It's nothing." She attempted to free her fingers from his grip. "Just pinched it in the zip."
He put her finger to his mouth and sucked on the wound. As he moved his tongue across her skin, a shiver of intimacy shook her.
"It's nothing," she repeated.
"You could easily get it infected on that old zipper." He returned her finger to his mouth.
She felt his warm breath on her hand and gasped.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
The concern in his expression confused her. She pulled her hand free, turning to hide her emotions. "It'll be fine, I've had worse." Her words were playful but the meaning was not. She stood and shook out the joined sleeping bag. "There, we're all set to sleep."
"I'm tired, but I'm so damn worried about the boys. I'm afraid I won't be able to sleep a wink."
Willow sat on the edge of the bag and untied her hiking boots. "I know what you mean, but we have to try. We won't do them any good if we're too tired to get to them by tomorrow. Boy, I can't believe how cold it feels. I hope they're snuggled down beside a fire like we are."
"We're not snuggling, yet. Sleep suddenly sounds like a good idea." His smile was boyishly affectionate.
She set her boots off to the side and slid into the bag envelope, facing the fire, her back to him. "Remember, your boots off, that's all." She smiled to herself. Never would she have imagined herself taunting a man about this or anything concerning nakedness, yet she felt comfortable doing so with Brett Turner. She liked the teasing and the relaxed joking. She loved the tone of his voice and his leisurely smile that caused two dimples to appear on his cheeks, as though loving fingers had squeezed them there.
Closing her eyes, Willow struggled to keep her breathing slow and even. The anticipation of feeling him slide into the sleeping bag behind her caused enough heat to warm them the entire night.
"Boots are off, just thought I'd tell you so there are no surprises," he said, his tone low and husky. "Ready or not, here I come," he added, laughing like a young, playful boy.
Willow pressed against the canvas fabric to allow him as much room as possible. When his knee brushed her buttocks, she expected to feel his back against hers, but he boldly pulled her back into his chest and curled his legs into the backside of her own. She fit into the bends of his body as though she belonged there. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded as she welcomed his warmth.
"This is nice," he whispered against her ear.
"Behave yourself or you'll be sitting by that fire with a blanket," she warned, not meaning a word of it.
"You smell good.”
"All Indians stink, didn't you know that," she snapped, then felt him tense.
"Let's call a truce on this Indian thing," he said, putting a cooling few inches between them. "I agree, I've been vocal and a complete ass as far as my Indian comments go, in the past. But could you possibly give me a second chance and forget my―"
"Prejudice," she offered.
"I suppose that's the word. Willow, I've had my reasons, I've explained them to you. I make no excuses; I only ask that you give me a chance to change. I'm not saying I can re-adjust my whole way of thinking, but I'm willing to try."
She remained still and tense. She wanted to believe he could forget his warped ideas, but unfortunately, she cared what he thought about Indians, and it scared her. She didn't want to face her increasing attraction to Brett. It would be safer to hide behind his hostilities.
"Well? Do I get a chance to prove I can be irresistibly charming?"
"I have no doubt you can be irresistibly charming, that's what I'm afraid of." She fought an overwhelming need to be close to him. "Bear in mind . . ." She paused as his gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. Heat rushed the length of her body, and she struggled to concentrate on the conversation. "I allow one second chance." He moved closer and she held her breath. She wanted him to kiss her, yet, fear made her hope he'd stay at a safe distance.
She allowed him to pull her close. The heat of his body matched hers. His lips couldn't reach her fast enough, and then touched her like a whisper. She kissed him back with more intensity . . .a need in her shouted for more. He responded with a bold hunger that sent shivers of desire racing through her.
All pretenses aside, they kissed with a mutual need. He traced the outline of her lips with his tongue. She responded by mimicking his gesture. His tongue explored the recesses of her mouth, and, leisurely, she responded the same.
She felt his fast breathing and rapid heartbeat. He kissed the pulsing hollow at the base of her neck, and she pressed into him, feeling his erection. Thoughts of Gordon tossing her on her stomach and taking what he wanted, fast and hard, caused her to tense.
"Are you afraid of me, Willow?" he whispered.
She shook her head, afraid to answer.
"I won't hurt you. I won't do anything you don't want me to. Relax. Let me show you how good this can be." He smothered his last word on her lips.
She felt his desire, and it matched her own. His lips were more persuasive than she cared to admit. He'd worked her tee shirt upward, and the thought excited her. Gordon had no time for her pleasure. She wanted to feel the tender, sensual suckling of a man at her breast.
"You're a beautiful woman, Willow." Brett kissed a hot patch down her neck, then across the top of her lacy bra. He unhooked the front snap and pushed the intrusive garment away. "They're magnificent." He kissed the soft, round orbs, then kneaded them with his hands, massaging, exciting them with his touch.
Willow raised them, encouraging him, wanting what she'd longed for. He kissed her lips, while flicking her nipples with his thumb. She moaned.
He lowered his head, and she slipped her fingertips into his thick sandy hair, pulling him into her breasts. His gasp of enjoyment pleased her.
He moved his moist tongue over a taunt nipple, and then drew it into his mouth, suckling with tenderness and possessiveness. Her breasts surged at the intimacy of his touch. She loved it. Her body responded with complete awareness. She squirmed to get closer, wanting more, needing more, crazed with a sensation for satisfaction.
He slipped her shirt over her head and followed with his own. He pulled her on top of him, grasping her buttocks, pressing her into his hardness. She gasped, feeling what he had to offer, knowing she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
He raised her above him, lowering her breast to his mouth. The gesture ignited her fires, and she needed more. Her body cried out. Her mind said, slow down. He licked the skin of her breast, and she rolled to her back, allowing him to press her into the sleeping bag.
"We need to slow down." She gasped at the pleasure he created.
"I agree," he whispered in her ear, and then followed it with a fury
of kisses until he brought a nipple between his teeth. "I want you, Willow."
She looked up at him, reading tenderness in his expression. "I want you too. It's just too fast. We hardly know each other," she said, wishing he'd kiss her.
"You're right, but my body isn't agreeing." He kissed her with an urgency that paralleled his words.
His kiss left her breathless. "I never knew it could be this demanding, this powerful."
"To be honest, me either. I've made love before, but nothing compares to this, and we've barely begun."
Willow gently nestled his head between her breasts. His warm breath only excited her more. "We'd better stop before we're sorry," she said, disappointing her body and she felt certain his. He adjusted his weight off her but made no effort to move his face from her breast, and she smiled to herself. She liked the shared closeness and closed her eyes.
It seemed strange to feel this comfortable with Brett. Yet it also felt right, destined. Sleep heaviness overcame her, and she didn't fight it. Strangely, she thought she smelled burning sweetgrass. Willow dismissed it through the fog of sleep.
Chapter Seven
Brett liked the warmth of her soft skin and her steady breathing comforted him. He liked how she slept close and intimate. Lorraine hated his intrusion on her space. She said she couldn't sleep with him touching her at night. He needed the nurturing. She hated his attention to her breasts, saying they were meant for babies, not men.
Willow's response nearly caused him to ejaculate on the spot. She'd stirred more awareness and ecstasy than completing the act with Lorraine.
He knew Willow had been right to stop things, although he doubted she wanted to, any more than he did. Strange, he'd really believed an Indian woman had no scruples about it being too soon in the relationship or . . . hell, he’d not only become prejudiced, he'd become warped. He believed the worst about Indians, only because they were Indian.
Any prejudices against Blacks or Asians had him up in arms at the mere idiocy of it. How had he allowed himself to become this blinded by his hatred? Willow hadn't raped his mother all those years ago. Lance hadn't been anything but a true friend to his Sean, yet he'd treated the boy with disgust and rudeness because he was Indian.
