by Fran Baker
Together, with mouths clinging, they dropped to their knees on the creek bank.
He released her hair and gripped her shoulders between his hands, angling her backward. She relaxed the curled tension of her fingers as she landed on a bed of grass. When he stretched out on top of her, she opened her thighs. He burrowed, hot and hard, against her warm, welcoming softness.
Only when their lungs threatened to burst for the lack of air did their mouths break apart.
He raised his head. She tipped hers back. Rapidly breathing they stared into each other’s eyes—his glittering like sapphires in his swarthy face; hers as dark as burnt silver beneath her half-closed lashes.
“I listened for you last night,” she whispered.
“I saw you at the window,” he admitted throatily.
“Wh—” She stopped herself from asking why he hadn’t signaled her, knowing instinctively that he wouldn’t have wanted to risk waking Tony in the room next to hers. “What were you thinking?”
Rafe smiled his hombre’s smile and sat back on his heels. “That I wanted to see you up close.”
Jeannie’s stomach muscles constricted in sensual suspense as he made short work of the knot at her waist and the buttons on her shirt.
He laid the soft cotton open and laughed.
She frowned up at him. “What’s so funny?”
He released her wispy bra’s front clasp with a flick of his fingers. “Only you would wear lace for branding.”
She raised her knees, hugging his lean hips between them. “Ah, but look at the maverick I caught.”
The creek babbled anxiously, echoing her heartbeat, as he peeled back the sheer shells and exposed, for his eyes only, the alabaster perfection of her breasts.
For a burning moment he did nothing more than look his fill. Yielding to her silent yearning then, he lowered his dark head and drew her dusky nipple into his mouth.
She gave a shuddering cry and gripped his head with both hands, holding it against her. Her back arched off the ground as he circled her and suckled her, using his tongue and teeth and lips to take her higher than she’d ever gone before.
A thousand forgotten feelings swept over Jeannie as Rafe kissed his way across her chest, to claim her other breast. She shuddered with rising excitement when his tongue fluttered back and forth and all around the rosy tip. His fingers, as deft and daring as ever, continued to fondle the swollen crest he’d just aroused.
“Sweet,” he breathed hotly against her highly sensitized skin. And then, as though English couldn’t possibly express his emotions, he murmured, “Dulce … dulce.”
Oh, and it was sweet, so sweet, to be held and kissed and caressed by the only man who knew her inside out. To hold and kiss and caress him in return …
She slipped off his bandanna and felt his hair fall over her hands. Black silk. She bent her head and touched her lips to his earring. Warm silver. She reached between them and unbuttoned his shirt. Furred strength.
He moaned deeply, more vibration than sound, when her fingers made contact with his turgid nipples. Then his head came back up and he covered her mouth with his, the velvet rapier of his tongue engaging hers in an erotic duel in which there were no losers, only winners.
Their bodies, joined from lips to hips but still separated by the denim barriers of their jeans, found that wonderful mating rhythm that made the world go around. But after eleven years apart, it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. They needed to know each other in the fullest sense. They needed to know each other in the flesh.
Rafe broke off the kiss and raised his head, staring down at her with naked desire. “I want you, Jeannie.”
“I want you too,” she whispered, looking up at him with a love undimmed by time, untarnished by treachery.
Was it the sighing breeze or the twin rasps of their zippers that breached the stillness of the clearing? Was it the leaf-filtered sunlight or the smoldering gaze of the man that gave the skin she bared such a rosy glow? Was it the spring heat or the long-awaited sight of the woman that caused the breath in his lungs to catch fire?
“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered,” Rafe said, his voice rich and low as he cupped the round globe of her breast, smoothed the silken plane of her stomach, sought the swollen folds beneath the golden curls nesting between her legs.
“So are you.” Jeannie returned the compliment, marveling at the strength and the power of him as she caressed his muscular back, praised his runner’s buttocks, found the bold proof of his desire for her with a gentle fist and a glad refrain, “So are you.”
Time spiraled in reverse when he rolled her to her back and braced himself above her. The wasted years simply slipped away as she arched her hips to meet the thrust of his, then caught a breath of mingled pleasure and pain.
Rafe was instantly aware of why she tensed. He stopped, ecstatic disbelief flaring in his blue-ribbon eyes as he searched her flushed face. “I thought you and Webb—”
“You thought wrong.” Jeannie’s lips curved in a loving smile as her body conformed to his with a silent entreaty. “Don’t hold anything back. I want all of you.”
All of him was what she got. He was hard and hot and supremely male. And all of herself was what she gave. She was soft and dewy and splendidly female.
They watched each other as he entered her. Kissed each other when they were finally one. Whispered to each other in a mixture of Spanish and English as they moved in unison.
“Jeannie … querida …”
“Rafe … my love …”
He’d been the first for her, and she for him. Together again, they found the lasting fulfillment they’d thought was forever lost to them.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. Why?”
Rafe bent his head and kissed away the tears that sparkled on her cheeks. “You’re crying.”
Jeannie reached up and touched his lower lip with her forefinger. “Tears of joy.”
He frowned and nipped her finger with his strong white teeth. “Maybe twice was too much.”
She smiled and snuggled contentedly to his naked length. “No way, Jose.”
They’d loved and laughed and, after rinsing off in the cold, clear creek, they’d loved again. Now they lay with arms and legs entwined, relishing the delicious feeling of skin on skin and the utter rightness of being together again.
But trite as it sounded, all good things had to come to an end. And though neither of them wanted to admit it—not just yet anyway—both of them knew their stolen hour was ticking away without regard for their hearts’ wishes.
Rafe finally made the first move, the one Jeannie couldn’t bring herself to make. He brushed the hair back from her damp face and pressed his lips to her brow in a lingering kiss. Then he reluctantly disengaged himself from her possessive embrace and helped her to her feet.
“If we don’t get a move on,” he said as he started putting on his clothes and his boots, “Rusty’s liable to send a search party after us.”
“Or worse yet,” she said, reaching for her bra and panties and inadvertantly hitting a raw nerve in the process, “Tony might come looking for us.”
“Yeah.” He zipped up his jeans with a terse movement but made no effort to rebutton his shirt. “God forbid our son should find us together again.”
They stood only a few feet apart, but she could feel the spiritual distance growing between them, yawning wide as a gulf. She racked her brain as she finished dressing, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut and desperate to find a way to keep him from slipping farther away from her.
Rafe picked up the bandanna she’d slipped off him in the heat of passion and twisted it before retying it around his forehead. “I wanted to strangle you when I first found out about Tony.…”
Jeannie shivered as he let the thought trail off but left the threat hanging between them. She knew he would never harm her physically, that he was just as heartsore as she was at the way Tony was behaving, yet she couldn’t stop one hand fro
m fluttering up to her throat.
“And now?” she asked tautly.
He gave her a rebellious look that resembled Tony at his worst. “And now I just want to get the hell out of here before he shows up and starts glaring daggers at me.”
She didn’t even realize how much she was counting on his saying that he wanted Tony to love him until he smarted off like that. Caution told her the moment had come to back off, but she couldn’t do it, not with something this important at stake. Not when she felt his need as deeply as she felt her own.
Dropping her hand, she pleaded both her case and Tony’s. “Give him time, Rafe.”
“I’ve given him plenty of time, Jeannie.”
“Two days?”
A bitter smile shunted across the alluring mouth that only moments before had brought her the most exquisite pleasure she’d ever experienced. “Long enough for him to decide he hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“Couldn’t prove it by me.”
“He’s just a confused little boy—”
“With a big chip on his shoulder.”
“He’ll come around.”
“When hell freezes over.”
Jeannie shivered, despite the rising temperature, and crossed her arms over her breasts. Rafe just stood there, every muscle in his body taut with belligerence, and she wondered what other surprises he had in store for her.
He ended the suspense by saying, “I’ve decided I’m not going to run for the state senate.”
Stunned, she could only stare at him for a moment before crying, “What?”
He returned her incredulous look with a level one of his own. “You heard me.”
“Yes.” She nodded, then shook her head, still trying to assimilate his news. “But—”
“But nothing.” The note of finality in his voice said he’d already made up his mind and there was absolutely no use in her arguing with him about it. “When I get through in court on Wednesday, I’m going to call a press conference and close down my campaign headquarters.”
“Score one for Big Tom.” Jeannie hadn’t planned on saying that; the words had just popped out of her mouth. But under the circumstances they certainly seemed appropriate.
Rafe scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“After reading that personality piece on you in the newspaper—the one where they quoted you as saying you jogged to help you relax—”
“I know the one you’re talking about.”
“Big Tom said you ought to forget trying to win an election and concentrate on winning a marathon.”
A muscle jumped in Rafe’s jaw as the analogy sank in. “That rotten son of a—”
“He said your long legs would serve you better than your legal education any day.”
“I don’t have to stand here and listen to that—”
“Don’t you dare turn your back on me, Rafe Martinez!” Jeannie shouted when he rounded on his heel and started walking across the clearing. “Especially after dropping a bomb like you just dropped!”
Halfway to the low-hanging tree limb where he’d tethered their horses a little earlier, he stopped and squared around. The cool blue of his eyes and the hard expression on his face warned her she was pushing her luck, but she paid those signs no heed.
“You owe me, dammit.” She ran a frantic hand through her tangled hair. “You’re the man I love. The father of my son. And after the wonderful hour we just spent in each other’s arms, the least you owe me is a credible explanation for why you’re giving up your lifelong dream.”
“I don’t owe you anything but a lump-sum payment for the past ten years and a monthly child-support check for the next eight.” His nostrils flared on a harsh breath. “Naturally I’ll pick up the bill for Tony’s college tuition, too, should he decide he wants to go.”
Jeannie recoiled as though Rafe had struck her. And in a very real way he had. He’d delivered a verbal backhand to her heart.
Tears of hurt and anger stung her eyes, mixing together, as she watched him turn and walk away. Suddenly all the loss and the sadness—the death of her mother, her father’s deception, the desertions by the boy who’d been her first love and the man who was her last—became twisted into a Byzantine rope of pain that choked her and chafed her and rent her in two. And something inside of her snapped.
“Go on—run!” she said tauntingly as he swung into the saddle. “Run from the immigration authorities!” She felt the tears on her cheeks and impatiently brushed them away. “Run from the voters who just might forgive you a youthful indiscretion if you’re honest with them about what happened!”
“And then what?” he said jeeringly over his shoulder.
Jeannie’s eyes went cloudy with confusion. “What do you mean ‘and then what’?”
Rafe half-turned in the saddle, a trenchant smile twisting his lips. “I mean after I make a clean breast of it, what am I supposed to do? Stand idly by and watch the media vultures swoop down on you and Tony?”
“I can take it,” she protested, relief flooding through her at the realization that they’d finally gotten to the root of his problem. “And the two of us, working together, can protect Tony from the worst of it.”
“I’m tired of protecting other people.” His voice was flat, without emotion, as though he were speaking from a void somewhere deep inside him.
“But Tony is your son!”
“Biologically yes.”
“Wh-what are you saying?” she all but croaked.
“I’m saying that in every other way, Tony is Big Tom’s son—a Crane, not a Martinez.”
Shock rendered her speechless. Her knees threatened to buckle. And her heart—oh, her poor heart!—leapt with quick, shallow beats, like a stone skipping over the surface of a pond.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, ma’am,” he said mockingly as he turned in the saddle and angled his horse toward the edge of the clearing, “I’ve got work to do.”
Driven by the knowledge that she’d already lost him, she charged across the bed of grass that still bore the imprint of their entwined bodies and took a wild swing at his stirrup. “Go on, you—”
The gelding, startled by her sudden move, shied and danced sideways, checking her outburst and causing her to jump backward, out of harm’s way.
Rafe reined his frightened mount around with a firm hand and stared down at her with eyes that glinted like blue steel in the sun-dappled shade of the clearing. “Finish your sentence, Jeannie,” he challenged in a raw fury. “ ‘Go on, you’ …”
She knew that later she would deeply regret the parting words she flung up in his face. But now, right now, she was too filled with pain to care what she said.
“Go on, greaser.” She pointed a rigid finger at the path of least resistance. “Run from the responsibility of telling your son who and what you are.”
His nostrils flaring with pride, he reined the gelding around and did exactly that.
The bedroom light didn’t come on. Nor did the woman come to the window. And the man standing in the shadows below had no one but himself to blame.
Twelve
“Easy does it, Lady,” Jeannie whispered as she finished tying the pregnant mare’s tail out of the way with a gauze strip. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
Lying on her side on a fresh layer of wheat and rye straw, Lady was ready to foal. Alternately panting and pushing, she’d been in heavy labor for a good half hour.
“Believe it or not,” Jeannie said, sinking to her knees on the stall floor and stroking the mare’s velvety-soft muzzle, “you won’t even remember the pain.”
The horse whinnied shrilly, as if to say she would always remember the pain, and her human birthing partner had to laugh.
When she’d ridden in from branding camp last night, Jeannie had noticed that the mare was sweating over her shoulders and flanks and kicking at her sides. Still upset after that fight with Rafe, and knowing that she wasn’t going to be able to sleep anywa
y, she’d decided to bed down in the barn.
She was really glad now that she’d done it. Not only was foaling her favorite event, a sign from God that life went on even in the midst of tragedy, but helping Lady in her time of travail had helped her to forget—for a little while at least—the guilt she felt over that terrible name she’d called Rafe.
He’d provoked her into doing it. Dared her, in fact. That was no excuse, though. She shouldn’t have even thought it, much less said it. But to her everlasting shame, she’d done both. Now the only choice she had was to apologize. Tell him how sorry she was. And pray he forgave her.
Lady began to push in earnest, snapping Jeannie out of the doldrums and into action. She checked the mare and, finding that she was fully dilated, moved into position to catch the foal that was about to make its entry into the world.
“Need any help?”
Alarmed, Jeannie dropped her hands and looked up.
Rafe was standing at the opening of the stall.
“You startled me.” She’d been so busy concentrating on Lady she hadn’t heard the barn door sliding open or his bootsteps coming down the concrete passageway.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.” Though his offer to help had been made in a friendly enough fashion, his handsome face remained remote, as if he fully expected her to refuse.
“How about some moral support instead?” She kept her voice steady, her careful tone a masquerade for her apprehension.
“You’ve got it.” Rafe’s answering smile erased the fine new lines of strain around his firm mouth.
She yawned, the emotional highs and lows of the past twenty-four hours suddenly catching up with her. “What time is it, anyway?”
He shot the cuff of his clean chambray shirt back and glanced at the old watch he wore for working the range. “A quarter after five.”
“No wonder I’m so tired.”
“You’ve been up all night.”
Their gazes met over the laboring Lady’s head.
