Theresa Michaels

by The Merry Widows Sarah

  Sarah wasn’t sure how long she stood at the parlor window watching the raindrops rolling down the glass. Closing her eyes didn’t help wipe away the sight of his smooth-skinned chest or the muscled curve of flank and thigh. He’d been fully aroused. She had not been consciously aware of seeing his rampant sex, but that sight, too, was impressed on her mind.

  Even with her arms wrapped around her middle, she couldn’t stop the flare of heat in her blood.

  But why him? Why Rio?

  It had nothing to do with his being part Apache. She simply didn’t care. It was more that he was running, would always be running and she had had enough running to last a lifetime. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass. She wanted him. Wanted him now, had wanted him, if she was being honest with herself.

  And Catherine’s words came back to haunt her. “Just promise that if a man not old enough to be your father walks through the door, you’ll give him every chance.”

  And Rio, like Rafe and Greg, had come through the door looking for aid, but in the first two cases they had found love, as well.

  But Rio wasn’t looking for a woman to complicate his life. As for herself…Sarah sighed deeply. What did she want? She expended her passions on her home and her horses. She thought it was enough. She knew herself content.

  Or had she been lying to herself?

  She wanted him gone. She needed her peace back.

  You don’t want to live, to be fully alive, you only want to hide.

  Her hands flew up to cover her ears as if to still the inner voice. Still the truth. But Sarah was not about to lie to herself.

  She wasn’t fully alive. She was hiding.

  How many times had Catherine asked if she hadn’t missed being held at night? How many times had she denied any need, sexual or otherwise to be had from her husband? The last was only part lie. Judd had never held her without demanding his rights. She could never have asked him, as she earlier had asked Rio, to just hold her.

  Rio. Just saying his name to herself conjured strength in her mind. Oh, Lord, how he had suffered.

  But she had suffered, too.

  What harm would there be if, for the little while he remained, she stole a bit of happiness for herself?

  And maybe, just maybe, Rio would find his own pain eased.

  She turned away from the window. What if she was wrong? What if he didn’t want her?

  Sarah started forward, her arms once more wrapped around her waist. Asking herself questions wasn’t the way to find the answer. Only Rio could do that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  She smelled the aroma of fresh coffee as she made her way back to the kitchen. Rio poured a cup for himself before he sat at the table with a weary sigh.

  She paused again in the shadowed doorway when he added whiskey to the cup. Her fingers bit into her sides. Old fears died hard. She had to remind herself that Rio was not Judd. Rio was cold and tired, the liquor would help warm him, no more than that.

  “I did not think you would come back here, Sarah. But come join me. You have no reason to spy. This is your home.”

  There was hesitancy in her steps into the room. She didn’t sit down. The absence of emotion in his voice was something new. That deadened tone bothered her. She saw the way he stared at the bottle. She wasn’t sure he remembered she was there at all until he spoke.

  “I never learned to like the tiswin the Apache drink. Grandfather called it gray water. A weak beer made from corn. But I pleased him by liking good whiskey. He never knew just how much I came to love this sweet amber poison.”

  “Rio, don’t do this to yourself.”

  “Why? There is no one else to do it for me, Sarah. I need to remember it all. I especially need to remember the deep shame that I turned from my young sons when they needed me more than at any other time in their lives. And all I could do was to lose myself in bottle after bottle until I fell into that waiting black pit.”

  “Stop it! You’re not helping yourself. All you’re doing is punishing yourself over what passed.”

  “Do you know,” he went on as if she had not interrupted him, “how many hours I stared at a bottle, swearing that I would stop? That I could resist the temptation. But the bottle and the forgetfulness of the whiskey was always so close. Waiting, just waiting, a mere handspan away to remove all the rage and the grief and pain of being less than a man.

  “I cannot remember how many nights I shuddered on my blanket, closing my eyes…hating the whiskey and craving the blessed darkness it would bring. And then later, knowing its poison for a lie, I’d curse it and my weakness until I had nothing left.”

  She was on the verge of snapping at him for daring to indulge in self-pity, but she swallowed the words. She had not turned to liquor, but hate had served her as well until she learned it would only destroy her.

  “Rio, that was awhile ago. You have your sons with you now.” Without realizing it, she had come closer to him. Close enough to see the despair in his eyes. “Everyone lives with regrets of things they should have done or said or the opposite. You are not alone, Rio.”

  She wasn’t aware that he pulled her nearer. She hesitated, then stepped behind him. Her hands cradled the sides of his head as he leaned back. There was nothing sexual about his head resting against her breasts. She was only offering the kind of comfort that he had shared earlier with her. At least that’s what Sarah tried to convince herself it was.

  A belief that lasted a minute or two. She could not deny that every nerve end shimmered awake. Her breasts swelled and the nipples peaked tight, pressing against the soft cotton cloth of her nightgown. She felt a heated surge inside herself, and with it, a feeling of tension that coiled hard and tight. She shifted her weight, squeezing her thighs together, all the while hoping Rio was unaware.

  To distract herself from the rising tide of sexual feelings that threatened to take control of her, she started to question him.

  “What did you find?”

  “His horse. Your stud led me to him. That stallion does not shy at the scent of blood. I had no choice but to use him to carry the body.”

  She didn’t want to hear this. But what choice did she have? She was not going to run away from him again.

  “I bought the stallion from an army major after they closed the smaller forts around here. He told me the animal had seen him through a few battles.”

  “I could never sell…no, I would sell him to begin anew.”

  “The major had no choice, Rio. He lost an eye and a hand in a skirmish with Victorio’s band. The man couldn’t ride again.”

  Sarah began a gentle massage at his temples. She worried her lower lip with the edge of her teeth. “Did you…find any sign of the other two?”

  The utter stillness of his body sent an arrow of fear plunging through her.

  “Rio?”

  “No. But it is impossible to search out there. They could be so close.”

  “Maybe not.” She refused to let fear dispel hope. “They could have split up. It would be easy for them to become separated during these days of the storm.”

  “True. It seems my grandfather did not leave me his legendary luck. I have a feeling, here,” he said, rubbing his belly with one hand, “that I have not seen the last of those men. Sarah, I—” he stopped, his hands now holding the enamel cup.

  “I want to take my sons and leave here before another one finds me.” Her fingertips stilled, and no matter how he strained, he could not hear her breathing.

  “I am afraid for you.”

  Rio grabbed hold of her wrists with lightning speed before she could pull away.

  “Listen. If they come you tell them I went south. Or say nothing. But you go nowhere without your gun.”

  South? What was south? She struggled to remember something she had heard or read before the rains started. It nagged at her.

  Then she knew. The halfhearted tug against his hold did not release her.

  “You’re going to join Geronimo and his renegad
es in Mexico,” she said in a flat voice.

  “It is better you do not know where I go.”

  “You’ll die there. And so will your sons. There are rumors that General Crook will be appointed to bring in Geronimo and his bands. Crook wants to use other Indians to track them. Some say he’s looking for Apache scouts. How long will you be able to hide from them?”

  He let her go. His eyes closed. He could feel the desire thick in the room. The longing in her pierced him like a sharpened quill. What he felt for her was so intense it was painful. He did not want to care about her. She was more dangerous to him than facing those two remaining killers unarmed. She forced him to look at what he had done, and what he planned to do. She made him see that without the dreams, there was nothing of life to look toward.

  His continued silence was a depth of tearing hurt that surprised her. She had not known until this moment how very deeply Rio had touched her.

  But she knew that he didn’t want her. No, that wasn’t true. He would take her body, but not the love and strength that made her the woman she was today.

  “It’s late. You need to sleep. There’s no sense in running now.”

  “I did not want to hurt you, Sarah.”

  “You haven’t,” she said with faint anger in her voice. He didn’t know what she was feeling. He knew nothing of what she needed or was willing to offer him. And maybe that was for the best.

  She found herself backing away from him until the sink stopped her backward flight.

  “Rio, you’re not the first man that crossed the doorstep in need. They left when those needs were met. So stop worrying about me.” But they had found Love, too. You forgot to tell him that.

  “Where does all this kindness come from, Sarah? How can you continue to offer your home and comfort to a man who brought violence into your life? You were almost killed out there.”

  “It may surprise you to know that is not the first time. Likely, it won’t be the last” She stared at the back of his head. Desire rose in her to be close to him, to touch and to hold and be held. But desire for this one man was dangerous to her.

  “I know what you offer, widow woman. There is within you a healing. All a man need do is reach out.”

  “But you won’t.”

  He winced at the bitter tone and fought the urge to turn around and look at her.

  But he didn’t answer.

  Sarah didn’t repeat it.

  “I hate knowing that anyone hurt you. I hate this helpless feeling that robs me of clear thought. Who hurt you, Sarah? And who taught you this endless well of forgiveness?”

  “It’s not endless. And I taught myself. By forgiving myself. I…” Tell him! She wrapped her arms around her waist, biting hard on her lower lip until she felt a burning pain.

  He looked over his shoulder at her. For the space of several heartbeats Sarah couldn’t look away from his intense gaze. His warm brown eyes both demanded more and yet held a haunting quality that forced her to look away.

  “Sarah?”

  “I lived with violence as daily bread. Not here. I didn’t have a home. But I know what it’s like to rage and be helpless. I know what it’s like to lose a piece of yourself that will always remain empty. If those lessons allow me to be forgiving or compassionate, well…” She stopped and shrugged.

  But she couldn’t look at him.

  Not even when she heard the scrape of the chair as he rose and then moved toward her.

  “Can a man be thankful for your forgiveness and your compassion, but sorrow over the way you learned it?” He reached out and stroked her hair. “But there is more to this. I can feel it here.” This time he laid his hand over his heart.

  His nearness and his touch drew her to look at him. Her gaze went again to his eyes. This close the warm shades of brown mixed with deep almost-black flecks. She shuddered inwardly.

  This was not the first time Rio had left her feeling that he could see more than she ever wanted to reveal to another soul.

  He said there was more to it without making it a question. Even if he had asked, she could ignore him. There was yet time to escape him, to run from the tension that coiled around the two of them.

  But there was a small voice that clamored for her to tell him. Rio would understand. She could let the wound that had festered all this time out in the open. And it had festered, despite the lies and denials.

  The gentle, undemanding way he stroked her hair had a calming effect on her. Endless patience. Rio had it in abundance.

  She had told Mary and Catherine very little about the details of her marriage. They knew she and Judd had moved around a great deal. They knew Judd gambled. Both women had learned more after Rafe McCade had come here seeking help for his wounded child.

  Rafe. She had been shocked to see a face from her past, something she knew would eventually happen, but nothing had prepared her for the reality.

  For Rafe had been there when she tried to help a woman being beaten by her husband, only to be stopped by her own. It wasn’t that Judd was a coward. He believed the man was within his rights. Rafe had put an end to the beating, but then killed the man to save his own life. And she had always had the feeling that he knew more about her and Judd than he’d let on.

  She owed Rafe a debt of gratitude. Mary would never understand why she had not told her the truth. Not before Rafe came, and not after he married Mary.

  Looking inward, seeing the livery stable that hot day and what happened there, made Sarah admit that she was the coward.

  “Iszáń” Rio whispered in a caressing voice. “I have let you inside me.” He lifted her hand to press against his cheek, then drew her palm to his lips. His gaze held steady on hers. “You did not judge me as harshly as you judge yourself. Can you not share the darkness that takes the smile from your lips, the light from your eyes?”

  Each time he saw her, an arrow of shuddering awareness sliced through him. The feeling was nothing as simple as lust to take her woman’s body to his blankets. He could deal with that, one way or another. No, what he felt for Sarah was a sharp indescribable hunger that poured through him like hot sun in the middle of the desert. Sexual desire, but more powerful, more complex, and so he knew it was much more dangerous.

  “Why? Why is knowing about my past important to you? You’re leaving, remember. Or—” and here her voice took a sharp edge “—is it pity that makes you ask?”

  “No pity,” he snapped. “Pity is for the weak. You are a strong woman. A soft one, too. I care, Sarah. I care the way you have cared for a stranger’s pain.”

  He placed her hand on his shoulder, then lifted both of his to her head. He enjoyed the cool, sliding pressure of her hair caught between his fingers. It was the only way he dared allow himself to touch her. And touch her he must, as he must breathe. This gentle hold, that nonetheless held her before him.

  And he waited with infinite patience to learn what haunted her dark eyes.

  Outside, the lightning leaped repeatedly in a brilliant display. Thunder rumbled, too distant to be more than a warning. Soon the storm would once more expand to fill the sky with its might against everything that stood helpless before it.

  As he stood helpless with the need to steal her secrets as effortlessly as she had stolen his.

  “You could try telling me,” he urged.

  “Some things are too painful for words.”

  “Yet I shared my shame and my grief with you.”

  Sarah lowered her head. She realized she had to accept responsibility for what she was now, not what she had been. This was where she stood, in truth, a house of her own making.

  The acknowledgment released something inside her. She looked up to see his eyes, glittering strangely in the feeble light, but she could not read the emotions behind them.

  “Sarah, were I a shaman of the Apache, I would build a fire and blow the smoke and sacred pollen to the four winds to heal you. Were I full-blood Irish, I would seek all the magic of their beliefs and implore healing fo
r you.

  “I stand before you a man who offers you a heart and mind to listen to your sorrow and arms to hold you.

  “Will this be enough, Sarah?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’m not sure where to begin,” she said in a halting voice. “I thought I loved Judd. I have no excuse. I knew he gambled. But he always seemed to win. When he talked of moving on, seeing new places, he made it sound exciting. I was young enough, and foolish enough, to be lured by the rich promises he made of what it would be like.

  “For a while it was just that. The best hotels, the prettiest gowns and always Judd’s promises that one big score would have him settle down.

  “I’m not sure exactly when things began to change. He came in one night and said we had to leave. It wasn’t until later that I learned he had killed a man after he’d been accused of cheating.”

  Sarah looked to the side, distancing herself the only way she could.

  “Judd started drinking heavily after that. He no longer went to towns but to the mining camps. Every time I begged him to leave me behind, he’d rant and rave, then threaten me. He never hit me, not then, but when I’d tell him I had to leave, that I couldn’t go on living like that, he’d hold me and cry and swear he couldn’t get along without me.

  “I married him for better or worse. I kept hoping the worst was past.”

  Despite Rio’s closeness, she wrapped her arms around her waist, her upper body swaying back and forth as she drew forth memory after memory. Some she discarded and others she told him.

  “There were winters when the only way we survived was my cooking and doing laundry for miners in camp. Judd was drinking so much that he couldn’t hold a deck of cards. And all the time he’d swear he’d stop, that things would be better and go back to the way they were.”

  Rio’s hands slipped from her hair to her shoulders, then around her to draw her to him. She rested against him for long minutes, and he did not press her to continue.

  But as the silence grew, so did his worry. He could feel there was more, much more that she had not told him. He hugged her tight, feeling the chill of her body measured against the heat of his.