by Rita Herron
And here in this cave, they were all alone. Trapped by the storm. Running for their lives. Here he felt as if nothing could touch them. They were cocooned in their own little world. A world where nothing mattered except that they be together.
“Do you want to try and leave today?” Holly asked.
“No.” He checked the mouth of the cave. “You need to get stronger. If your fever doesn’t return, we leave at sunrise.”
She nodded. “How’s the weather?”
“The blizzard has stopped, and the temperature’s climbing. All good.” So, why did he have this feeling of impending doom weighing on his chest? Because he knew they faced danger from Grace and Bertram?
Or because once they left the sanctity of the cave, the magical spell of their closeness would be lost, maybe forever?
Schyler whimpered and began to fuss. Holly started to go to him, but Night picked him up and patted his back, murmuring words of his people, and the baby instantly quieted.
Holly was watching him. “It looks like the two of you bonded.”
Night nodded. “He’s a smart boy.”
Holly laughed softly. “Tell me about the herbs and compresses you used. How didow to mix them? Are you a shaman?”
Night sat down beside her in front of the fire, putting their son between them. The baby patted the pile of rocks he’d gathered as if they were toys, babbling and laughing.
“No. On the reservation—”
“I didn’t know you lived on a reservation.”
“There is much you don’t know about me, Holly.”
She cast a solemn look his way. “I want our son to learn about your life. Your customs.”
His breath sat squarely in his chest. “I told you about my ancestor, North. He was a horse trainer as I am. His name in Cheyenne, Nomeohtse, also means Going with the Wind.”
She folded her hands, rested them on her knees. Firelight danced off her cheeks, highlighting her smile.
“He lived in the 1840s, when white men began to settle the West. He knew the white man was coming and wanted to avoid disaster, so he carried messages for fort owners and the U.S. military and government to keep his people safe.”
“He was very brave.”
“Yes.” Night stared into the fire, remembering the childhood stories he had heard of the Cheyenne. “When North was almost caught, he fled west across the Continental Divide.”
“That’s how your family came to this part of Colorado.”
“Yes. North Walker married Lily, the white woman who warned him that he had been betrayed.” He frowned and moved a pebble Schyler was reaching for. It was too small and he feared his son might choke on it. “When my father married my mother, also a white woman, she had a hard life.”
“How so?”
“Her parents disowned her. When my father died, she took me and raised me on the reservation, but it wasn’t easy for her. Then she died.” The reason he would never ask Holly to go with him there, or take Schyler away from her. But what was the answer? It seemed he was following in his ancestors’ footsteps….
“Or you either.” She reached out and took his hand, and he squeezed it.
Having said too much already, he rose. “I should gather more wood and food for tonight.” He tipped her chin up. “Your color looks better. Are you strong enough to watch Schyler while I venture out for a while?”
Holly nodded. “Yes, we’ll be fine.”
He gave her a long concerned look. “You must rest when I return.” Night bent to ruffle Schyler’s dark hair. “Watch out for your mama, my son. I will be back soon.”
Schyler gurgled something that almost sounded like “Mama.”
“Did you hear that?” Holly said.
Night nodded, moved by the awe in her expression.
She clapped her hands. “Say it again, Schyler, say Mama.”
“Mama.” Schyler squealed with glee. “Mama. Ma
Holly laughed. Night stalked outside before he relented and touched her again and made himself believe that the three of them could be the perfect happy family. The one he’d never had.
It was easy to fall into that fantasy here in this cave, isolated from the world. But when they returned?
The cold bitter wind whipped through him as he hiked into the woods. Maybe the frigid temperature would bring his head back down to earth where it belonged, and temper the heat building in his loins.
THE TIME without Night should have given Holly a chance to rethink her impulsive reaction to him earlier, but his stories of growing up had only heightened her interest in the enigmatic man. She had always been drawn to his intensity. She saw the same fierceness in the love that shone in his eyes when he looked at Schyler.
But, other than hunger, how did he feel about her?
As the hours ticked by and early evening shadows darkened the walls of the cave, she became antsy. Where was Night? Was he all right? Had Grace or Bertram tracked them down, found Night, and killed him?
Panic scraped her nerve endings, and she paced across the close confines of the cave, adding wood to the fire so it wouldn’t dwindle out. She had to stay busy. Not let her mind stray and worry. She fed Schyler baby peas and cereal, laughing as he swatted at the spoon and splattered her with the green slime. By the time they’d finished, it looked as if they’d been fingerpainting with the food.
“You are a mess,” she said, playfully, wiping his mouth with a damp cloth.
She heated some water for his bath, then stripped his clothes and washed him. He spit bubbles at her and swiped at the cloth, bouncing his legs up and down as she tried to rediaper him. “You’re going to be a handful,” she said, laughing as he pinched her nose.
When she finished, she placed him on the blanket with a ringtoy she’d found in the diaper bag, then stripped her clothes and bathed herself, faint memories of Night performing the task for her surfacing. What had he thought as he’d run the cloth over her bare skin?
Again her imagination floundered out of control. When would he be back? What if he was hurt or injured? What if he didn’t return?
A sudden sound jarred her, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. It had to be Night returning. She quickly shrugged on her shirt, then turned as the sound broke through the quiet again. This time she froze, lifted Schyler into her arms, and turned toward the doorway, half expecting Grace or Bertram to appear in the entrance to the cave.
Instead, a wolf stood pawing at the floor of the cave, his eyes glowing bright in the light of the fire, his teeth bared as if he had just discovered his dinner.
NIGHT HAD SEEN the wolf weaving through the woods, and had tried to make his way back to the cave before the animal found the lair, but a small avalanche had snatched his feet from under him and sent him down a ravine. It had taken him an hour to dig his way back up the ledge.
Now he stohe animal, a good twenty feet, the gun poised, although he didn’t want to use it in case Bertram or Grace were close by. “Don’t move, Holly,” he commanded in a low tone. “Be very, very still.”
She looked toward the entrance, her gaze searching the darkness for him.
“He’s hunting for food and shelter,” Night said in that same soothing low tone. “He’ll move on in a minute.”
Her eyes widened with fright but she remained still. He padded closer, shifting his weight so as not to make a sound, then summoned his instincts.
You are a horse whisperer. You can speak to the animals.
“I understand your fear, but I am your friend,” he said softly to the wolf. “No one here will hurt you.”
Holly shot him another panicked look, and he silently willed her to trust him.
“Animals are not wild,” he said softly. “They know what men think and when the hunter wants to kill them. They know how and when to run.” He knelt in the dirt and slowly stretched out a hand. “I am not the hunter,” he said. “We are not here to kill. Simply to rest and then we will move on, and you will have your cave back, all to yourself.”
The wolf cocked its head, eyeing him suspiciously, then sniffed the ground.
“We did not know this was your home or we would have chosen another.” Night held his hand very still, relying on the techniques he used with the wild horses. “We will leave come daybreak when the woman can travel. You will have your home back, boy. We are not here to hurt you.”
He continued to talk softly, his hand outstretched, while Holly clutched their son in a protective embrace. But Schyler didn’t seem scared, he had grown amazingly quiet as if he understood the need for silence. His gaze was fastened on his father and the wolf; he seemed mesmerized by Night’s voice. Maybe he’d inherited his father’s ability and instinctively knew how to commune with the wild.
Finally, the wolf relaxed its aggressive stance, scratched at the floor of the cave, then turned and moved on. Night heard its lone wolf cry as it crested the hill, as if it promised to play guard for the night. But he held no false illusions. They had struck a temporary deal.
He and Holly and their son would keep their word and leave at first light.
“THAT WAS AMAZING,” Holly said. “It’s almost as if you can speak to the animals.”
He shrugged and dropped the wood near the fire, adding enough for the bitter cold evening that lay ahead, then began to prepare the fish he’d caught in the stream. Holly relaxed by the fire with their son, playing pat-a-cake and peek-a-boo with Schyler as Night prepared the simple meal. They ate in silence, the earlier tension humming through the air between them.
Then Night told Schyler a bedtime story as he had done for the past two evenings, this time a myth of the Seven Arrows. Finally, when the baby fell asleep in the corner, shielded by the makeshift barrier of rocks Night had fashioned so that if Schyler awoke he couldn’t roll tnear the fire, Night turned to Holly. She was watching him, the intensity in her gaze skating over him, sending ripples of desire coursing through him.
“You were gone a long time,” she said quietly. “I was worried.”
“Were you?” He approached her, his gaze drawn to the top of her shirt where she’d forgotten to rebutton it. Moonlight played off her soft flesh, so tantalizing.
“Yes.” She rose then, and indicated for him to sit. Then she moved toward him, and began to remove his shirt.
“Holly?” He caught her hand.
“You’ve been taking care of me,” she whispered. “Now, it’s my turn. You must be exhausted.”
His gaze locked with hers, the tension between them so thick her breath reverberated in the chilled air between them. Slowly she slid his shirt off his shoulders, squeezed the damp cloth, and slid it over his bare neck, then lower to his chest, bathing him the same way he had done her for the last few days. Her hand stilled at the name bead necklace. “This is beautiful.”
“It has special meaning,” Night said in an uncharacteristically emotional voice.
She paused and touched each hand-carved stone, then dropped her fingers and trailed them across his stomach. The muscles in his abdomen clenched in response.
This time, when he stood and removed his clothes, she was fully awake. She joined him willingly beneath the blanket, firelight painting her body in sultry tones of gold as he tore off her clothes.
He paused, remembering the son they had created the last time they’d come together. Not that he minded… “We can’t, Holly.”
She frowned and caressed his jaw with her fingers. “Why not?”
“I don’t have protection.”
Her gaze darted down to his bare chest. “It’s okay,” she whispered breathlessly. “It’s the wrong time.”
He stilled, jealousy snaking through him, one last ugly secret remaining between them. He had to know, one way or the other. He searched her face. “Carlton?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
She shook her head. “No, never.” Her hands framed his face. His gaze fastened to her ripe lips. “There’s only been you, Night. Only you.”
Her admission fueled the savage desire within him, and he swallowed hard before he dipped his head and plunged his tongue between her lips to taste her sweetness.
Holly belonged to him. If only it could be that way forever….
Chapter Ten
Night told himself to slow down, to take it easy, but his passion raged out of control with the need to claim Holly as his woman one more time. He plunged his tongue inside her mouth, taking, seeking, yearning, raking his hands up and down her shoulders and arms. Then he slid them lower to cup her breasts, weighing each soft plump mound before dipping his head to torture her with his kisses.
She cried out softly and bucked, threading his fingers in his hair as he gently bit and suckled at her nipples, frantic to taste each inch of her. She drew his head up and kissed him again, winding her legs around his, rubbing her bare feet up and down his calves and over his buttocks until he was climbing all over her. Kissing her neck, he pushed her hands above her head and tasted the delicate skin, then moved lower again to lick at the hardened rose-tipped nipples, then lower, trailing a foray of tongue lashes across her belly until she quivered.
She moaned and clawed at his arms, but he was relentless, dragging his mouth and tongue over her stomach, her legs, her inner thighs, her toes, then back to the heart of her. His pulse racing, he spread her legs and sampled her honeyed essence, ignoring her pleas to end the torture, by using slow deliberate strokes meant to tease, then pausing, and starting the torture all over again. Finally, when he felt the first of her resistance fade, felt her clamp her legs around him and bear down, giving in to the sweet release of her pleasure, he drove his tongue inside her, drinking in her erotic taste as she soared to heaven.
She was panting then, but he didn’t stop. He turned her over on her belly and stretched above her, tracing his mouth over her back and lower to her hips.
“Night, please,” she whispered breathlessly.
“Please, what, Holly?”
“Make love to me.”
“I am, my sweetness. I am.” He rose above her and teased her with his sex, rubbing his throbbing heat between her legs until she parted eagerly, spreading herself wider and begging him to fill her.
Then and only then, did he allow himself the pleasure of plunging into her. She moved beneath him, clawing to get on her hands and knees, and he lifted her, pulling her hips into his heat, moving in and out with the whole of his being. She cried out, again and again, the ripples of pleasure she released spurning his own desire even more.
Then he turned her onto her back, held her arms above her head, and gazed into her passion-laced face. “Look at me, Holly. I want you to see me come inside you.”
She opened her eyes then, those beautiful laughing green eyes that were now hazy with the brink of desire he had given her, and she smiled. He drove his mouth over hers and took her mouth again, riding her like he’d never ridden a woman before, and groaning his own release just as the lone wolf cried out on the mountainside in the distance.
HOLLY CURLED into Night’s arms, savoring the peace she found in his embrace, tremors of desire still quaking through her. Barring the firelight, the cave was still dark, but morning loomed only a short time away. Then they would have to leave the safety of the cave.
The haven they had found here together.
Part of her wanted to remain here in their private world where nothing stood between them. Not their families, their jobs or stations in life, not the pain of the past or the danger of the future. Just the simplicity of a man loving his woman and child, protecting them and living off the land as Night’s ancestors had done so long ago.
He traced a finger up and down her bare arm. “Tell me about the pregnancy.”
She froze, startled by his question. Bittersweet memories assaulted her.
“Were you ill?”
She shook her head, unable to look him in the face.
“Holly?”
She closed her eyes, surprised by the longing in his voice. “I had morning sickness at first, but it didn
’t last long. Then I had the flu in my seventh month.”
His hand went to her stomach.
She pressed her fingers over his. “But mostly it was lonely.”
He cocked his head sideways to look at her. “Your family didn’t dote on you?”
She averted her gaze. “My mother did, but my father—”
“What?”
“He made me feel ashamed.”
His jaw locked tight. “Because you were having my child.”
It wasn’t a question. “Because Josh’s election was coming up and I was going to embarrass the family. And…”
“And what?”
“And because he knew I seduced you. That you would never have taken me to bed if I hadn’t flirted with you so outrageously.”
She sat up then, hugging the covers to her, staring into the firelight. “It seems all the men I’ve ever dated only wanted my money or sex.”
“Your father thought I fit in one of those categories.”
She jerked her head toward him. “Like I said, Daddy blamed me.”
He sat up then, captured her face in his hands. “You couldn’t have seduced me if I hadn’t wanted you so badly. Don’t you understand that?” He kissed her gently. “And I didn’t want your money.”
As if he thought he’d said too much, revealed too much of himself, he turned his back toward her and looked down at his outstretched hands.
Holly rose and walked around to kneel in front of him. “Why did you turn away?”
He shook his head, his long hair brushing bronzed shoulders. “Because it is wrong for me to want you so much. To take you the way I did.”
Ahh, the power of his emotions were as strong as his sexual prowess? And he thought that was wrong? Didn’t he understand that was what had drawn her to him in the first place? The young men in college were materialistic, immature, selfish. Carlton had been out for himself, ready to sell his soul and body to her in marriage to further his career. But Night exuded rawness, a depth of feeling and the natural order of the world that mystified and intrigued her.
