Hostage Heart

by Lindsay McKenna

  Getting slowly to his feet, Matt came around the end of the desk. Lark’s shoulders were hunched and he knew she was close to tears. “Come here,” he ordered gruffly, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.

  Blindly, Lark sought Matt’s embrace. “W-we can’t afford it, Matt. Do you know how much it would cost? And the men—they don’t have time to…to—”

  Matt felt Lark tremble. It struck him that, despite the shocking events of the last few weeks, he’d never seen her cry. Rubbing her back in slow, circular motions, he whispered, “We’ll think of something, Lark. Come on, now, let it out. Cry for everything that’s happened….”

  The roughness of Matt’s voice triggered the deluge. Lark buried her face against his massive chest, quickly soaking his cotton shirt with her tears. Terrible sobs were wrenched from deep within her. Lark was lost in the blackness of all her losses, clinging to the only person who had given her sanctuary from all the pain she’d carried for so long by herself.

  Rocking her gently in his arms, Matt felt new tendrils of distress grow around his own aching heart. He fought against the wonderful perfume that lingered in her hair, fought against the pull of her enveloping softness. “Easy, my beautiful cougar. It’ll pass, I promise you.”

  He closed his eyes. But when Lark unconsciously nuzzled her cheek against his jaw, the last of his straining control disintegrated. He pressed a kiss to her hair and found the strands clean and sweet beneath his mouth. Heat throbbed through him and he groaned, gripping her hard against him. The firmness of her small breasts, the soft rounding of her belly, and the curve of her slender hips all sent a molten ache through his loins.

  Lark sobbed, seeking Matt’s protection. He had offered his strength when she had none left herself. Burrowing against him, she felt her senses fill with the masculine scent of him, a scent that made her dizzy with new, unexpected needs.

  She heard Matt groan and felt him press against her, and out of some feminine instinct, she lifted her lips to him. His mouth covered hers with fiery urgency, shattering her, triggering a burning sensation between her thighs that spiraled up to her breasts, making them taut and aching against his chest. With hungry abandon, Matt parted her tear-bathed lips and drank deeply, heating her very blood. Lark’s knees gave way beneath his powerful assault and she sagged against him. Her fingers clenched and unclenched against his chest. Moistness collected between her thighs, and a sharp, throbbing yearning centered there as his lips continued to explore the sweet, warm cavern of her mouth.

  With another groan, Matt tore his lips from Lark’s, his breath coming in ragged gasps, like hers. Her breasts were rising and falling beneath the dress she wore, and her lips were wet and swollen from his branding kiss. He was suddenly contrite. Trying to gather his own scattered emotions, he gripped her arms.

  “I—I’m sorry, Lark,” he rasped. “I didn’t mean to kiss you….”

  Stunned by wave after wave of heat flowing through her, Lark stared uncomprehendingly up at him. Dizzied by the assault, she gripped his arms, swaying.

  “Here, sit down,” Matt ordered thickly, leading her to the wing chair.

  Lark avoided his turbulent, stormy eyes as she sat down. A kaleidoscope of sensations whirled through her. A gnawing hunger begged to be satiated. “W-what happened?” she asked, her voice wispy, unsteady.

  Angry with himself, Matt said, “Something that shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry, Lark. I got carried away with the situation.” Matt turned away to avoid the luminous, dreamy expression in her eyes. “Too much has happened to both of us recently. We’re vulnerable in ways we wouldn’t ordinarily be.”

  Confused by the anger in his voice, thinking he was angry at her because she had responded to his kiss, Lark nodded. She clenched her hands in her lap. “I—I’m sorry, too. When you told me we needed a new barn, I just started to unravel.” She felt tears dribbling down her cheeks again and tried without success to wipe them away.

  “It’s all right, Lark. You’ve been through a lot. You needed a good cry.” Matt winced, torn in two by the anguish pouring out of her. Damn his rampant emotions. Damn his lust. No woman had ever triggered those feelings like Lark had. Every time he was near her, he could feel himself unwinding like a ball of yarn. Even now, he longed to put his hands on her shoulders and comfort her. My God, he wanted to take her down on the floor and love her until she cried out in ecstasy. He’d seen the fires of arousal burning deep in her eyes, had felt her banked passion stir as he’d kissed her. Every inch of her soft, firm body had responded to him. Matt was unable to stand Lark’s nearness. He was blind to everything except his raw, aching heart and her desire for his closeness and strength. He limped back behind the desk and sat down, scowling.

  Sniffing, Lark got her emotions back under control. She lifted her head to see Matt’s disapproving frown. Humiliated by her actions, she lowered her lashes. She strove to break the unbearable tension swirling wildly between them. “The barn,” she began, searching desperately for à neutral subject to cover her embarrassment over the unexpected kiss. “I know we don’t have the money. How—”

  “The ranchers down in Tucson hold a barn raising whenever one needs to be built,” Matt answered, relieved to get on a safe topic. “It usually takes a weekend, but the barn gets built without any money passing hands.” Matt berated himself: he sounded like a snarling dog and he was making Lark shrink back into some far corner of herself. Angry over his loss of control, he waged a silent inner battle before continuing. “Usually a letter is sent out to the neighbors. The people who are having the barn built feed those who come to help build it. Judging from the welcome you got in Prescott, I’m sure we could get a number of parishioners from your father’s church to supply the manpower. They seem to want to help you through this difficult period, Lark. Why not let them?”

  “What about lumber?”

  “I noticed two mills in Prescott. Why not trade a couple of your good horses for the needed lumber?”

  She sat there considering Matt’s ideas. Shaking her head, she whispered, “I’d never have thought of those things by myself.”

  Matt rubbed his face savagely, unable to stand being near Lark after kissing her. He had to get a solid hold on himself. “Yes, in time you would have. There are other things we have to discuss,” he said heavily.

  Alarmed by the tone in his voice, Lark jerked her head up. “What?”

  “I can’t stay in this house any longer, Lark.” He saw the pain and embarrassment in her too-vulnerable features. Cursing himself, he tried to keep his voice gentle for her sake. “I’m well enough to bunk over in the single wranglers’ quarters now. People would start talking if I stayed here. I can’t—won’t—make you the target of gossip.”

  Lark felt as if a knife had slashed through her heart. Reflexively, she pressed a hand to her breast. “Yes…that would be best,” she murmured, but every fiber of her being screamed just the opposite. Matt was her strength and her mainstay. She’d come to anticipate seeing him at night when she finished the day’s duties, hearing his laughter and enjoying his nearness.

  “I’ll miss you….”

  Matt grimaced. “I know.” He got to his feet and made his way slowly toward the office door, fighting the urge to touch her shoulder, if only briefly.

  One kiss. Matt saw the damage it had done to Lark. God, how could he have let it happen? How? Placing his hand over the brass doorknob, he said, “I’ll be here during the day, though.”

  She couldn’t bear to look at him. She nodded. “I—I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  “Tomorrow,” he agreed thickly.

  The month of June came and plans for the new barn solidified. Since their kiss, Matt had avoided Lark with great success. Often he was in Prescott, arranging for the supplies necessary to build the barn or contacting people who would come and help. One of the few times Lark saw Matt was when she changed the dressing on his rapidly healing wound. But because of her responsibilities with the foaling mares, Maria u
sually ended up attending to Matt.

  On June fifteenth, ten wagons made their way to the ranch, arriving just as the sun came up. Lark stood on the porch, in awe of the numbers of men who had come. There were at least twenty-five. Matt emerged from the bunkhouse, clean-shaven and looking excruciatingly handsome. He gave her a smile as he climbed the steps and stood watching with her.

  “It’s quite something, isn’t it?” he said.

  Lark was wearing a dress she had recently purchased at Melinda McDonald’s urging. It was delicate pink with a ribbon woven into the scooped neckline and around the daintily puffed sleeves. The color brought out the flush in Lark’s cheeks.

  Matt shoved all his feelings down a little deeper. A day didn’t go by when he didn’t miss her. Each night, whether he wanted to or not, he hotly recalled their only kiss. When Lark had lifted her chin, her blue eyes upon him, he had known it was an equal agony for her, too.

  “Yes. It’s wonderful,” she said.

  Matt tried to lighten the tension that always ran taut and raw between them. “Maybe now we might qualify to be Apaches?” he teased.

  Lark’s smile was warm. “All of you.”

  Rufus, the grub cook, came walking over, a big grin on his round face. “Missy Lark, I done got those two steers on the open fire pits.” He waved a long, thin arm toward the approaching wagons. “Looks like there’s a heap o’ folks comin’.”

  “Do we have enough food for them, Rufus?”

  The cook nodded his curly black head. He was dressed in a new pair of Levi’s and a bright blue shirt with a bright red bandanna tied around his throat. His skin shone like polished ebony. “Jus’ enuf, missy. Jus’ enuf. Made a good sauce that oughta make them smack thar lips, too.” He cackled. “Yep, these good folks are gonna talk loud and long about mah cookin, thar ain’t no doubt!”

  “Don’t burn their tongues off, Rufus!” Lark said in alarm. The cook was known to like his food hot and spicy. And, of course, the Mexicans only encouraged Rufus in that regard. Eating his chili was a test of nerves as far as Lark was concerned.

  “Oh, no, ma’am!” Rufus held up both hands. “I was real kerful with the hot sauce, I promise you.”

  With a laugh Lark said, “What else have you got cooking over those fires?”

  He widened his eyes. “Why, I got the best batch of rum beans you ever laid eyes on, missy.” He winked at Kincaid. “Must be two bottles of rum in them.”

  “Rufus! You can’t go around getting these folks drunk, either! What will they think of us?”

  He chuckled, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “Why, I’d say thar gonna feel real good when thar buildin’ that barn, missy.”

  Lark failed to suppress her smile. Rufus could always make her laugh. Already he’d dispelled most of her nervousness over meeting so many new people. “I’m coming back there to taste those rum beans, Rufus,” she warned him.

  “Fair enuf, Missy Lark. You can taste mah huge skillet of pan fries, sourdough bread, and apple pan dowdy, too.”

  “He’s making me hungry already,” Matt said.

  Rufus waved to them as he took off at a lanky trot toward the spits at the rear of the ranch house. “You better watch it, missy,” he called. “You’re liable to find more men sniffin’ around mah food than workin’ on that barn!”

  “Well,” Matt said, “are you ready to meet them all?”

  Lark glanced up at him. “As long as you’re at my side, yes.”

  Cupping her elbow, Matt led her down the porch steps. “There’s no other place I’d rather be,” he told her.

  As he guided Lark out to the group of wagons pulling to a halt, Matt looked closely at Lark. In the past month, he’d almost come to think of her ranch as his. The wounds from the past were healing, he discovered. When he took a walk down to the horse barns, he no longer thought of his barn back near Tucson. And when Lark was out planting the garden, he saw her, not Katie. Gradually, he was putting the past behind him.

  He squeezed Lark’s arm gently to reassure her. There was so much he wanted to discuss with her. She was so easy to confide in. Once he got his own emotions toward her under control, he’d like to share his thoughts and feelings with her. He realized he needed her more than any other woman in his life, and the deep ache in his chest never went away; it only got more intense.

  “Well, what do you think?” Matt asked Lark as they toured the newly finished barn late that same day. The wagonloads of people had left an hour earlier. It was evening, and the sun was dipping below the mountains, sending shadows across the pastures.

  Lark gazed in awe at the just-erected building, breathing in the sharp scent of pine. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  The barn was two stories high, with a cavernous haymow. She turned to Matt, who was walking slowly at her side. “I could never have done it without you.” Fighting her emotions, she reached out and touched his arm. His muscles were hard and tense beneath her fingertips. She gazed earnestly up at him, confused by the darkness entering his gray eyes.

  “You’ve done so much,” she began softly. “Ever since you rode into my life, everything’s changed.”

  Her touch was as light as a butterfly on his arm. Dragging in a deep breath, Matt tried to ignore it. “For better or worse?” he asked.

  Lark removed her hand, content just to be close to him.

  “Better.” She licked her lips, unsure how to proceed. “Have you felt better since being here?”

  Matt removed his felt cowboy hat, and wiped the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand. He settled the hat back on his head. “I was thinking the other day,” he admitted as he took her arm so they could continue their inspection, “how much you’ve changed my life.”

  Lark stole a look up at him. Suddenly the new stalls seemed unimportant in comparison to this unexpected turn in their conversation. “I have?”

  “Yes.”

  “In good ways?” She held her breath.

  “Always good, Lark.” Matt pulled her to a stop at the other end of the opened doors. From here, they could look out over the mountains that encircled the valley. “I don’t miss Katie or Susan as much. The grief is not there like it used to be.” Matt managed a gentle smile, holding Lark’s gaze. “The ranch has been good to me and so have you.”

  Lark nodded jerkily, filled with a flood of emotions. How she had craved this kind of closeness with Matt. Finally, he was sharing with her! Breathless, she said, “I don’t think about my father as much either. I mean, when I do think of him, which is often, the hurt isn’t as strong here, in my heart.”

  “We’re like two wolves, you know that?” Matt said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They mate for life. If one’s hurt, the other will lick the injured mate’s wounds and care for it. We were like that, Lark. Both wounded and hurting deeply. We each, in our own way, have healed the other’s wound.”

  A tremor of yearning moved through her. “I don’t understand how it’s happened, but it has.”

  Matt studied her in the gentle silence that surrounded them. Lark was strong and unafraid to face an uncertain future. He admired and respected that about her.

  She was there in his mind, like sunshine glinting off a still lake surface. Not an hour went by in which he didn’t wish Lark was at his side. So many times he’d stopped himself from going over to the main house and sharing a small but important moment with her.

  One day he’d found a baby robin that had fallen out of its nest. The bird was young and naked, with a huge yellow beak open and begging for food. He had called Ramone over to climb the tree and put the chick back. But before he had, Matt had wanted Lark to see the baby. Why had he been afraid to include her in his life?

  Lark sensed the power of his emotions and fought the need to walk into his arms and be held once more. She agonized over the fact that time was flying by. He would leave in August at the latest to continue to hunt down Ga’n. Time…there was so little left.

  The late July
weather was hot and dry. Lark sat on her medicine-hat mare, Four Winds, on a hill overlooking the ranch. Sweat trickled down her temple, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Beside her, Boa Juan motioned toward the holding pens.

  “Holos dries up everything.”

  “Yes. Even our creeks are gone.” The drought had set in with a vengeance.

  Boa Juan, half Apache and half Mexican, glanced over at her. “Ny-Oden must sing to the sky spirits and bring rain our way.”

  Absently, Lark agreed. Her mind and, if she was honest with herself, her heart were elsewhere. Paco was healing rapidly, thanks to the old shaman’s medicine, but he was still unable to resume all his responsibilities. Duties still plagued Lark. Not only did she have broodmares to care for, but no one knew how to track down mustangs better than Paco. Only her own tracking abilities, coupled with Boa Juan’s natural talent with horses, had yielded them enough mustangs for the rest of the breeding season.

  The boughs of the pine trees shielded them from the hot sun overhead. Boa Juan spoke again, gesturing toward the ranch. “Will the water from those ponds near the pens last through the season?”

  She nodded. “Yes, they’re spring-fed, from what my father said. We’ll be able to get through this time safely, Boa Juan.”

  “Others won’t.”

  She grimaced, knowing he was referring to Cameron’s ranch and livestock. “No.” Tonight she wanted to discuss the problem with Matt.

  Matt…Lark tried to suppress the pain in her heart. Why had he distanced himself from her? He was always polite, but he never encouraged the kind of intimacy they had shared in the barn that one June evening. Unconsciously she touched her lips. Was he angry at her? Disappointed in her unladylike behavior in that one sweet moment? She had acted shamelessly, she knew, and that could be the only reason why Matt had grown remote.

  “How long do you think Kincaid will be with us?” Boa Juan asked.

  Lark stirred in the saddle. “His leg is nearly healed. I don’t know.” Her heart tore open a little more.

  “He’s strong and fair.”