Last Chance

by Jill Marie Landis

  "Can you honestly tell me you don't ever want to see me again?"

  Lane's words, the memory of his touch, his kiss, had haunted Rachel all night long. So, too, had Robert's offer. She had returned home alone, unable to sleep, forced to pace the room like a caged animal until it was light enough to dress. It was not like her to leave things unsettled. She preferred her life well-defined and orderly. By dawn's light she knew what she had to do. She would go to Lane and admit that she had been attracted to him, but that they were from two different worlds, that there was no place in her life for a man like him.

  By denying him now—before it was too late, before she let her infatuation carry her too far—she would avoid a broken heart. Lane might be attracted to her at the moment, but she couldn't bear the humiliation that would come if Stuart had been right about her frigidity.

  More importantly, she had Ty's future to think of. For her son's sake, she couldn't take up with a gunslinger.

  Rachel paced to the standing closet in the corner and stared at the gowns hanging inside. Widow's weeds would not do, not for what she was about this morning. Wishing she had a proper riding outfit, she chose a worn, navy blue serge that she had long ago consigned to the back of the closet. It was clean but faded. She slipped into a demure white shirtwaist blouse with a collar that buttoned around her throat. She hoped the modest ensemble would not tempt a hot-blooded man like Lane Cassidy.

  Hat in hand, trying not to be noticed by any early risers, she half ran, half walked along the narrow, rutted alley behind the houses and shops that fronted Main until she reached the livery.

  The huge barn, with its high vaulted ceiling, gave the appearance of a cavernous, empty cathedral as she stepped inside the shaded interior. Tom Castor was in back cleaning out a stall when she called out to him.

  He immediately set aside his shovel and walked out to meet her. "Morning, Mrs. McKenna. What can I do for you?"

  She smiled at the heavyset young man. "Believe it or not, I'd like to take Dimples out for a ride. Ty's at his grandparents and it's such a beautiful day that I thought to myself, since I have the opportunity, I should take a few hours and—" When she realized she was going on and on, she stopped abruptly and then added, "Get out into the countryside."

  He didn't question her further, but went about the business of leading Dimples out of her stall and saddling up the docile mare. Rachel waited uneasily, glancing out into the open street, hoping to leave before too many people were up and out.

  When he was finished, Tom led Dimples to the mounting block and helped Rachel up before he handed the reins over to her.

  "You take care now, all right?"

  "I will," she promised. Turning the big horse toward the street, she thought she was on her way until he called out, "Mrs. McKenna?"

  Rachel drew back on the reins and turned around in the saddle. "Yes?"

  Tom looked uncomfortable. He hiked his pants up by the waistband and then rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. His face had gone beet red. Finally he looked her in the eye. "I just wanted you to know I don't give any credence to what folks are sayin' about you."

  Rachel went perfectly still. "What do you mean?"

  "All the talk about you takin' up with that gun-fighter, the Cassidys' nephew."

  She was so stunned she didn't know what to say or do.

  As if sensing her embarrassment, Tom added, "I met Lane Cassidy the night he rode into town. Boarded his horse, and he even bedded down in my loft. Seemed a likable sort—a bit touchy, though." He made a half-turn, concentrating on the back wall of the barn. "Just wanted to tell you I don't hold none to gossip."

  Rachel could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Finally she managed to thank him before she headed off in the direction of the Trail's End. She kept her gaze pinned straight ahead as she rode down Main.

  She lectured herself as she rode along. No one thought of Lane as the sixteen-year-old she remembered. He was a hardened gunman now. A sensible woman would have turned him down the night he had asked her to dance. A sensible woman would have never invited him into her home, never have had him sit down at her table or let him hold her in his arms. She had been so intent on winning her independence from the McKennas that she had failed to acknowledge the fact that they were right. No matter how innocent her intentions, any association with Lane Cassidy would ruin her good name.

  She called herself every kind of a fool even as she urged her mare on. There was no turning back. Not now. She was not such a coward that she couldn't tell him to his face that she definitely didn't want him in her life. She owned him that much.

  "When you're willing to admit you can't fight this thing between us any more than I can, you know where I'll be."

  The memory of his parting words made her pulse jump. When she rode up to the line shack, she suddenly realized, he might jump to the conclusion that she had come to him out of desire.

  She would have to convince him otherwise. Although her feelings for Lane Cassidy went against everything she had ever been taught to believe—tested and found wanting every moral fiber that held her life together—all that mattered right now was that she quickly end their association.

  She reined in on a knoll above the ranch proper and stared down at Chase and Eva's new house. The two-story ranch house, complete with a white picket fence that sectioned off the flower garden from the rest of the ranch, was everything Eva had ever wanted and more. It was a place filled with love and a special kind of peace and acceptance that Lane might never know, Rachel mused. She wished Eva were there offering to brew a pot of tea and listen to her dilemma.

  Even from this distance, Rachel was close enough to recognize Ramon Alvarado, the Cassidys' foreman, as he rode into the corral area. She turned her mare before he could glance up and spot her and headed around the back side of the knoll. By skirting the outbuildings and the main house, she could pick up the trail that would lead her up into the pine-dotted foothills.

  "A lady never goes about looking like something the cat dragged in."

  Her mother's voice drifted through her mind as she passed by familiar landmarks. It didn't matter what she was wearing—a real lady would never even be about this sort of business anyway.

  From high atop the roof of the line shack on the hillside, Lane sensed her approach before he actually saw Rachel riding across the open pastureland below. He set aside the hammer he was using to fill in the gaps in the shingles and watched as she approached. As much as he had hoped she would admit to her feelings, he couldn't believe her poor timing.

  She was a confident and accomplished rider. Lane sat down on the roof, drew one knee up to his chest and rested his wrist atop it. From his casual position, he could tell that Rachel had not spotted him yet. She was concentrating on the open front door of the old shack.

  When she rode into the tree line that began a few yards down the slope, he lost sight of all but flashes of navy and white through the trees. He stood up, stretched his arms skyward and twisted at the waist to relieve the stiffness that had come from swinging a hammer while squatting on the roof.

  As she stopped in the clearing before the cabin, he moved and caught her eye. She looked up at him but did not speak.

  "Pretty early to come calling," he told her, unable to keep one side of his mouth from turning up in a smile.

  Rachel stared at Lane and felt a blush that started at her toes and worked its way to her hairline. He was standing there naked to the waist, his pants slung low on his hips, weighed down by the ever-present gun belt. His skin was tinted bronze by the sun, as if it were his habit to go about half naked. His shoulders were wide and well defined, as was his chest.

  Rachel took a deep breath, remembered why she had come and shook off the momentary fascination that held her in its grip.

  "It is a beautiful morning," she admitted, fighting to keep her tone cool and reserved while her stomach flip-flopped.

  He sensed a hesitancy in her voice and manner. Lane walked to th
e edge of the roof, squatted down and grabbed hold, then swung over the side. He hung there for a split second and let go, dropping the remaining few feet to the ground.

  Brushing his hands together as he walked, he tipped his hat back onto the crown of his head and closed the distance between them. There was a wary look in her eye, so he didn't reach out for her, as he wanted to. She dismounted without his help. Obviously, he told himself, she wasn't there to throw herself into his arms.

  He watched her carefully, wondering why she had come. "I'm surprised to see you here, Rachel."

  "There's something I have to say."

  He glanced over at the morning sun. It was not that far above the horizon. "Something that must have kept you up all night, would be my guess."

  He reached out to her finally, cupped her cheek with his hand and traced the pad of his thumb beneath her eye. "Something that put these shadows beneath your lashes."

  A chill followed by a rush of heat shot through her when his hand made contact with her cheek. It was far too dangerous to look into the captivating depths of his black eyes. She looked away and took a step back, hoping to break the spell of his touch.

  "Are you here because you realized you can't fool yourself any longer?"

  "No—" She fought to hide the panic in her eyes.

  He saw it clearly. "You want me as much as I want you."

  His voice was low, the seductive tenor of it more dangerous than anything she had ever known. She made the ultimate mistake and met his gaze. He was watching her closely, waiting for her to confess her feelings. Her blood was racing, her heart pounding. A sudden rush of a moist, honeyed warmth between her legs made her gasp aloud. She wanted him as she had never wanted anything in her life, and he had barely touched her cheek.

  The realization of such overwhelming need brought her back to her senses more than anything else might have.

  "No…" she whispered before she found her voice again. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I did not ride all the way out here to give in to some base, momentary infatuation—"

  "It's more than that and we both know it," he interrupted.

  She shook her head and stepped back, wrapping her arms protectively around her waist. "Let me finish."

  "You have it all laid out nice and neat in your mind, have you, Teacher?"

  "Lane, please."

  He looked anything but pleased. "Go on. You were at 'base, momentary infatuation.'"

  "And you know that's all this is, on both our parts. You told me yourself you are a man who can't make any promises, and I'm not looking for any. Nor am I looking for an illicit affair; I have Ty to think of. I felt it only fair to tell you, in person, that I would appreciate it if you would not come by the house again."

  Unbidden, Lane thought of Ty's open expression of hero worship. No one had ever looked up to him before. He was surprised to find the boy's feelings mattered as much as they did.

  "What will you tell him?"

  "That you have lots of pressing business and had to leave town suddenly."

  "He'll think I didn't care enough to say good-bye."

  "I'll tell him you wanted to, but you didn't have time."

  "So many lies, Rachel."

  "I'm not lying," she told him softly. Her hands were shaking as she turned away, unable to bear his critical stare.

  "You are, Rachel. You're lying to yourself and to me, and now you plan to lie to Ty." He stepped up behind her. The brim of her hat hid her expression, but he knew it was one of confusion and denial.

  He thought he heard her whisper, "Please, don't," before he reached out for her, put his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around, forcing her to face him. He began to untie the ribbon that held her hat in place.

  "I know why you never want to see me again. It's got nothing to do with all these excuses. You're afraid of this…"

  Lane gently drew her hat off and tossed it aside, then lowered his head until their lips met. The kiss was gentle, as gentle and undemanding as he could make it. Even so, he couldn't resist tasting, nipping, tracing the seam of her lips with his tongue. He felt an immediate tremor rock her, and raised his head.

  "You're afraid you won't be good enough, aren't you? You still believe everything Stuart told you. You're convinced you were a failure in bed and terrified to see if that's true."

  Tears blinded her. She tried to stop them from spilling over her lashes and down her cheeks, but she couldn't. He put his hands on her shoulders, ran them up and down her arms and then took her hands in his. Her fingers were limp, lifeless, as if she had no will of her own. She hated him for his ability to see into the dark corners of her mind where the haunting truth existed. Everything he had said was true; she'd realized it the minute the words were spoken. It was not really her reputation she was worried about, for she had already weathered just such a storm of gossip after Stuart's death.

  She knew, too, that she was determined to be independent of the McKennas, and that nothing they could say or do or preach against could hurt her. They worshipped Ty. Nothing she did could ever change that. He was Stuart's son, their own flesh and blood. They would never cut her son out of his inheritances just to spite her.

  Lane's words stripped her of excuses one by one. She saw the truth for what it was. He had exposed her fear. His eyes were full of hunger and hot desire, but what would replace that hunger when he found her lacking? Regret? Disappointment? The cold undisguised contempt she had so often seen in Stuart's eyes?

  "Face it, you're afraid. You're afraid to let anyone touch you."

  She twisted away and stepped up to Dimples, who was standing three-legged, not far away. Rachel buried her face against the horse's strong neck and fought the urge to cry. "I am afraid," she whispered.

  His next words came to her clear and strong. "I was afraid of intimacy, too, Rachel. Once upon a time I was terrified of it."

  He didn't move toward her, nor did he say more. He simply stood and waited for the words to sink in, waited for her to realize what they implied. He knew there would be questions, questions with answers he had never told a living soul, but he would answer them for Rachel if it meant leading her out of the darkness.

  It was a moment before she lifted her head and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes filled with doubt. "You've never been afraid of anything in your life, Lane Cassidy."

  She saw his eyes go dark with pain as a haunted, faraway look came into them. His mouth tightened into a taut line. He suddenly looked much as he had when he was the rebellious sixteen-year-old she had once tried to teach. Rachel went still, trying to recall some of the details of his past.

  She knew he was the illegitimate nephew of Chase Cassidy. His mother, Chase's sister, had been killed in front of him. Without knowing the full details of her death, Chase Cassidy had blamed three drifters who had tried to rape his sister. He left Lane in the care of a neighbor while he went off to track down the culprits he believed killed Sally Cassidy.

  It was eleven years before Chase returned. He had ridden with an outlaw gang, hoping to get close to the trio he wanted to see hang for his sister's murder. Arrested as an accomplice in a bank robbery, Chase served nine years in Territorial Prison before he came home to claim the boy. Shortly afterward, he had ridden up to Rachel's schoolhouse with Lane in tow.

  Rachel studied Lane—the hard set of his jaw, the firm line of his lips—and thought she knew all there was to know about him. But she didn't understand when he had said he had been afraid of intimacy, afraid of being touched.

  "What happened?"

  He sighed, a long slow sound that issued from him as his shoulders relaxed. Lane took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair and shoved his hat back on again. He looked out past the pines to the foothills, covered with the heat-scorched grass of summer. Standing on his uncle's land looking over the landscape to the horizon was like peering back through layers of time.

  He was born on this land, and yet circumstanc
es not of his making had forced him to leave it. He let them think he was leaving because of Chase, because he couldn't bend to his uncle's will, because he was inexplicably rebellious. It was only a partial truth. Another partial truth was that he had blamed his uncle for leaving him behind while Chase tried to run down his mother's killers.

  No one knew the whole story. No one. He turned around and found Rachel staring up at him with the bluest eyes in all the world. Although she might protest his advances, he knew she cared for him and that in some way she probably always would. He had trusted her long ago when he went to her for help. He knew that no matter what happened between them, he would always be able to trust her with his life. Why not his secrets, too?

  "When my uncle went after the brothers of the man who attacked my mother, he left me with a neighbor named Auggie Owens."

  She nodded. "I recall my parents talking about some of it at the time, but I was very young and they were careful to fall silent whenever I walked in."

  He smiled, thinking of how she must have looked at eight years old in long braids and bows and ruffles.

  "Chase didn't know Auggie Owens from the man in the moon. No one did. She was a recluse who lived in a tumbledown shack with barely two bits to rub together. But she was friendly enough when Chase rode up to her place, holding me in front of him.

  "Auggie knew just what to say. Told Chase she'd be pleased to watch over me for as long as he wanted to leave me there. Said she was all alone since an ungrateful boy she had adopted in Texas had up and run off a few months back."

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned around, unwilling to let her see his face when he told the rest, uncertain of how much he could hide.

  "The last memory I have of Chase is him almost squeezin' the life out of me and whispering that he'd be back in no time at all. I was to do what Miz Owens told me and… to be good."