Taming Talia

by Marie-Nicole Ryan

  “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like how?”

  “I don’t know how.” Her winged brows drew together in a frown. “You’re confusing me. You’ve gone soft.”

  “I assure you, in spite of my injury, that’s not the case.” Indeed, his cock was painfully hard, and if he could just manage to bury it deep inside her hot, wet pussy, he would. Broken leg be damned.

  He took her hand and placed it on his crotch. “Feel for yourself.”

  She rubbed his cock through his undergarments. “Truthfulness is a good thing in a man,” she said with a wry grin. “And in the face of adversity, a hard cock is even better.”

  Emotion swelled, almost choking him. Talia was a marvel of a woman who ran the gamut of emotions from enraged to girlish to passionate beyond any man’s imaginings. He swallowed hard. “Perhaps we could…”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in pain?” she asked him straightway.

  He couldn’t help but grin. No bullshitting around with this woman. The words he’d never uttered to any woman were right there on his lips. Could he actually say them? Come this close to risking everything. Maybe the whiskey had made his mind reckless. Could Talia really overlook all his lies?

  “You need to be in bed, all right. Alone.” For all her passion, she sounded like a strict schoolteacher reprimanding a misbehaving student.

  “Talia, I love you.” The words came out softly, but never had he meant any statement so earnestly. Lies came easily to a Pinkerton agent. He’d lied often and well, but telling Talia he loved her gave his heart a lift and a freedom he’d never known.

  Her gaze widened as if she’d seen or heard something horrible. “No!” Clasping her hand over her mouth, she sprang from her spot on the chaise and ran from the room.

  Fuck. Now what had he done wrong?

  At least she hadn’t taken the whiskey with her. He reached for the bottle again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  With Jared’s simple declaration of love ringing in her ears, Natalia fled to the kitchen, the one place in the entire house she associated with comfort and warmth. No man had ever told her he loved her. To her father, she’d been an irritation, a constant reminder of the son and heir he didn’t have. At best, she was a commodity for barter. Her husband—hah, to him she was the unwelcome remnant of a business transaction, the Mexican putana.

  Gasping for air and shaking from fear, she sobbed into a towel. Why now did this Pinkerton proclaim his love so quietly and sincerely? So unexpectedly?

  Was it part of his underhanded plan to make her confess to playing a part in Reginald’s death? As much as she hated her dead husband, and as much as she hoped he burned in hell for the way he treated her, she’d played no part in his death.

  Dios. No matter how she wanted to believe and needed to believe, how could she trust the Pinkerton? How could she trust any man with her inheritance, her future, or her heart?

  Try as she might, she couldn’t erase the thoughts of spending the rest of her life with him, working together to run the ranch, even having his children…being a real family. Even if he loved her now, would he stick around? Jared was a man whose eyes were always fixed on the next horizon. Could he be satisfied with the life of a rancher?

  She sniffed and dried her eyes. Time to stop caterwauling like a child. No matter what he said or promised, they were marooned in the worst snowstorm she’d ever experienced. Plenty of time enough to find answers to all her questions.

  Distance. Keeping busy and keeping her distance would give her time to reflect. Why should she worry? Men would say anything to get what they wanted. More than likely the Pinkerton was already sorry he’d said he loved her, or was it just the whiskey talking? In time, they could go back to the way they were before—wary adversaries.

  So, what now? The answer was simple: clean up the kitchen.

  After clearing the table, she scraped the dishes and set them aside, then tried pumping the handle to the water pump. No water. She let out a heavy sigh. The dishes would just have to wait until the pipe that ran from the well to the house thawed. Heaven only knew when it would. So much for Reginald’s insistence on modern conveniences.

  Then dinner, or lunch, as Reginald deemed the midday meal. There were vegetables in the root cellar and smoked hams hanging from the beams.

  Sí, she would have plenty to do preparing the next meal.

  “Talia. Talk to me.”

  Startled to hear Jared’s throaty voice so near, she whirled and discovered him leaning against the arched doorway. “What are you doing? You should be lying down with your leg propped on a pillow.”

  “Why are you upset? Only said what I felt.”

  Folding her arms across her breasts, she took a step backward. “I don’t trust your feelings. I don’t trust you.”

  “I saved your life. That oughta be worth something. You jus’ ’bout saved mine.” His words were slurred, and to her horror, his body began to weave.

  Without a second thought, she ran to him and grabbed him around the waist. “Just lean on me. And back to bed you go, so you can sleep this off.”

  “Don’t wanna go back to bed. Talia, I love you.”

  “Never fails,” she muttered. “Get a man drunk and all of a sudden he’s madly in love. Anyone would do. That’s all I am to you, Pinkerton, a warm body and a nursemaid.”

  He leaned heavily against her and mumbled, “Not sho. I loved you from the firs’ time I saw you. Honest.”

  “What did you do? Drink the rest of the bottle?”

  “It was ver’ fine shtuff. Makes my leg feel sho much betta.”

  Guiding him down the central hallway, she wrinkled her nose and averted her face from his liquored breath. “What if that was the only bottle of whiskey I had? Then what would you do to ease the pain?”

  “Make love.” He smiled, a ridiculous, rather lopsided but endearing grin that warmed her heart. “That’ll make ever’thing go ’way.”

  “Make love? You’re hopeless, as well as drunk.”

  “Don’ say that. I love you.”

  He was leaning on her, his body getting heavier by the moment. “Almost there,” she said, maneuvering him through the doorway.

  “Wanna go to bed with you. Leg doeshn’t hurt now. Let’s make babies, Talia. I wanna have your babies.”

  Caramba, the man was loco. “Considering your current state of inebriation, I doubt you’d be up to the task.”

  “But if I was…” Together they stumbled to the chaise. He flopped with a groan. “My leg hurts.”

  She bent over and eased his injured leg onto the chaise. She covered him with a counterpane from the bed. “Sleep it off, Pinkerton,” she said softly. “We’ll discuss it later.” By then he would have forgotten about making love or babies. If only she could have met him years ago…before Reginald swooped into La Mesa and dazzled her father with the lure of newfound gold.

  Sighing, she replaced the ice pack on his leg. Making love with Jared was everything she’d ever hoped it would be. Having his children, working the ranch and cattle together—those were dreams that could never be. She’d suffered too much to risk everything for the love of any man, especially a man who might grow restless and leave her alone without a second thought.

  Jared tugged on the coverlet and allowed the warmth from the fire and the whiskey heat in his belly to draw him into uneasy slumber. Visions of a raven swooped and swirled in a moonlit night sky; then the bird alighted on his shoulder with needle-sharp talons sinking into his body. When he turned to brush the bird away, he came face-to-face with a raven-haired beauty with ebon eyes that flashed with fire.

  Unable to move, he stood mired to the spot, rooted as surely as if he’d sprouted and grown there. The woman danced around him, always out of reach, taunting him with her body, offering him kisses, then darting away. He wanted her more than he’d wanted any other woman. Had to have her.

  But her high-pitched laughter cut through him. He coul
d never have her, the laughter seemed to say. He wasn’t good enough for her or rich enough. He would never amount to anything. Worthless. An embarrassment to the family. The voice deepened. His father.

  The woman flew away, replaced by a tall, forbidding bear who laughed. Bitter, derisive and harsh.

  That was his old man to a T.

  Rage rushed through Jared, setting his body aflame. Try to run. Escape. No use. A thick vine wrapped around his leg and held him fast. And still as the flames licked his body and his body quivered, he heard his father’s laughter…and the faint echoing call of the raven.

  “Talia! Don’t leave me.”

  Surely they wouldn’t be marooned that long. The ever-present wind had died down. Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed like it might’ve quit snowing quite so hard.

  There were plenty of dried beans, cornmeal and flour. Poor Jared. His meals would’ve been a lot better if Sarita had stayed. Likely she would have been better off too. Blessed Mother protect her.

  All right. The inventory more or less complete, she picked up what she needed to prepare their midday meal. They would have the leftovers for supper.

  She set the goods on the table, almost dropping them at the sound of a hoarse yell.

  Jared.

  She heaved a sigh. Now what? She’d hoped to get their next meal started before having to deal with him again. He might be a wonderful lover, but he was a terrible patient. Typical of his sex.

  She wiped her hands on her apron. “Coming.”

  When she entered her bedroom, she found him shaking with a hard chill. She reached to touch his forehead. Burning hot. His eyes were glazed with fever.

  “I’m so…” Jared grabbed her hand. “Don’t go. I’ll be a good boy. I promise, Father. I promise.”

  She pulled another counterpane from her bed and started to cover him. No. That didn’t make sense. Somehow, she had to cool him down. The ice pack. She pulled it from his leg and placed it on his chest. More. She needed more ice.

  “It’s cold.” He tugged on the ice pack and threw it to the floor.

  “Stop it.” She retrieved the pack and replaced it. “You’ve a fever. The ice will help break it.”

  “I’m so cold.” His plaintive tone was that of a child who didn’t understand why he was being mistreated.

  She rushed from the room to find another oilcloth to fill with snow and ice.

  Outside, it was still bitter, but the wind was now a mere breeze compared to what it was the day and night before. Without the fierce wind blowing the snow, she could even make out the stables in the distance. That was a definite improvement, even though she couldn’t make out the mountain ridge that rimmed the western edge of the ranch. Maybe there would be a thaw before spring. After all, she remembered a couple of Novembers which were unseasonably warm. Hurriedly, she filled snow and ice into two oilcloth packs, a small one for his head and the larger one for his body.

  She had to get back. Poor Jared was out of his head. And no telling what he might do without her there to corral him.

  Back inside, she rushed to her bedroom with the packs and found him attempting to get off the chaise. As weak as a newborn foal, he struggled with an unseen foe.

  She sped to his side and restrained him. “Stop it!”

  “Go ’way. Make him stop. He’s hurting me.”

  Again his tone was that of a child’s, not the grown man she knew. What childhood nightmares were troubling his rest, she could only imagine. “It’s all right. I won’t let anyone hurt you. But you have to let me cool you down, Jared.” She smoothed the hair from his forehead. So very hot. “It’s for your own good. Please let me.”

  “Okay, Mama. Just make Father go ’way.”

  Dios, what had his father done to him? “He’s gone now. Go back to sleep, darling. Mami’s here.” Sitting by him on the chaise, she cradled his head, tears trickling down her cheeks. “Poor bebé.” No matter how her father had treated her like a nuisance, he’d never beaten her.

  Jared quieted, though his body still shook with the chills of a rising fever. She eased from the chaise and picked up the smaller oilcloth pack, placing it on his forehead.

  He shook his head. “No, Mama. Cold.”

  “It’s all right, bebé. Mami loves you.” Her throat closed with the realization her words were true. There, he had his answer, but he was too sick to know. She stroked his cheek. “It’s for your own good. You know Mami’s always right.”

  He nodded slowly.

  Whether or not his agreeable nature would continue after she placed the larger pack on him, she’d soon know. Keeping one layer of clothing over his chest, she applied the snow pack. His body started in response to the chill. “Easy, hijo,” she said in her most soothing voice.

  He shook his head and tugged weakly on the pack. Gently taking his hands, she placed them by his sides. She glanced around the room. For his safety’s sake, she’d have to stay with him until his fever broke or at least as long as he wasn’t in his right mind.

  What was it Sarita said? “Alimenta un resfriado. Mata de hambre una fiebre.” Feed a cold, starve a fever? He wouldn’t be eating for a while, but he needed liquids. Whether or not she could get any down him was another matter entirely.

  Think. Think. What else had Sarita done when Natalia had a fever? She’d been a very healthy child and could remember only one instance at thirteen when she was extremely ill with a fever. Other than keeping her cool and giving her liquids, there was a bitter-tasting tea Sarita had given her. What was the name of it, and more importantly, was there any in Sarita’s store of medicinal herbs?

  Willow-bark tea? Sí, that was it. But should she leave Jared long enough to find the herb? She studied her charge. He’d quieted for the moment, although his body seemed to twitch now and then. At least he wasn’t fighting or having nightmares.

  She really didn’t like seeing him twitch. Something wasn’t right. She’d better find that damn herb and make the tea. Chewing her lip, she rushed from the room and ran to the storeroom. Sarita kept the woven basket of medicinal herbs on the topmost shelf. On tiptoe, Natalia pulled down the basket and located the herb. If she remembered Sarita’s instructions correctly, a teaspoon of the powdered herb had to be soaked for eight hours in a cup of cold water, then strained. Hopefully, she could keep him comfortable with the ice-and-snow packs until the willow-bark tea was ready.

  Sarita had made Natalia drink three cups of the bitter stuff a day for several days until her fever dissipated. She’d had given Natalia the instructions for the tea’s preparation along with a supply of medicinal herbs on the occasion of her marriage. Apparently, every wife needed her own supply of herbs to treat her family’s illnesses.

  Too bad there hadn’t been a cure for meanness of spirit included. She would’ve dosed Reginald with that one daily.

  She brought in a soup pot full of snow and set it on the cookstove to melt. Once again she thanked the Blessed Mother that Sarita had been so thoughtful.

  All right, back to check on her patient.

  When she reentered the bedroom, Jared was lying quietly on the chaise. She checked the ice packs; they’d need refilling soon. His forehead was still hot and his hands were trembling, but at least he wasn’t having a hard chill.

  Now back to the stove to see if the snow had started to melt. No point in getting the water warm, since the fever preparation had to steep in cold water. She brushed the hair back from her forehead and sighed. Dios, why did the damn stuff have to take so long to prepare? Maybe the ice-and-snow packs alone would be enough to break his fever.

  Taking one last glance at Jared, she returned to the kitchen. She looked over the rim of the soup pot and gave the slush a stir. Enough of the snow had melted so she could prepare the first cup of the tea. Maybe steeping six hours would be sufficient. No, Sarita had given specific instructions. Eight hours.

  She dipped into the slushy snow with the soup ladle and poured the cold water into a tin measuring cup, filling it half
full, then another ladle to fill the cup. With care, she measured out a teaspoon of the precious herb, then said a quick prayer before dumping it into the cup. Giving the mixture a quick stir, she then left the cup on the table to steep.

  The next few hours were a never-ending blur of changing out ice packs, which necessitated additional trips outside in the snow and coming back inside. Between that, sitting by his side to watch over him and tending the fire, she was numb with exhaustion. While the willow-bark tea steeped, she wiped his face over and over with cold, wet towels. She could only rouse him enough to get a few sips of water down. When he did rouse, he remained confused and still thought she was his mother. Since it seemed to calm him, Natalia continued with the pretense.

  When she grew hungry to the point of feeling faint, she grabbed a piece of cornbread from the kitchen and nibbled on it while she watched over her charge.

  She dragged a rocking chair from the drawing room into the bedroom. She didn’t dare lie on the bed for fear she’d go to sleep. Even so, her eyelids grew heavy, but the striking of the long case clock in the hall brought her out of her doze. She counted the strokes.

  Finally, the eight hours were up. She jumped from the rocker and rushed to grab the cup of tea. Damn stuff had better work, because Jared wasn’t getting any better. What if he didn’t get better? What if he died? She’d be all alone in this miserable snowstorm. What would be the point of going on without him?

  Stop it. The isolation and not having anyone to rely on except herself was getting to her. The tea would bring Jared’s fever down, and they would support each other until the storm was over, as they had before his fall.

  When she entered the bedroom, he was in the throes of another chill. She flew to his side.

  “Jared!”

  His arms flailed about. She had to jump back to keep him from knocking the cup of herbal tea from her hand. She set the cup on a table out of his reach, then sat on the edge of the chaise. “Easy, pequeño, you need to calm down and drink the tea. It’ll help you feel so much better. Be mami’s good boy.”