by BJ James
"You don't curse, Billy, so stop. Gentlemen don't curse a lady. Anyway, it won't intimidate me." As if she would match him in stubbornness if not size, Cristal scowled at the sheriff.”
"I didn't think it would. And I do curse when I'm as angry as I am now. Lady or not." Billy's broad hand swept up, powerful fingers threaded through her hair, gathering it at her nape. What could have been a brutal jerk, was a gentle tilt of her head. Golden eyes boring in the depths of her green gaze, his tone turned deadly calm. "I asked what you're doing here, Miss Lane."
"A minute ago, I was Cristal."
"Yeah, well, that was a minute ago. I'm calmer now."
"This is calm?"
"I said calmer. Which, for the moment, means I've decided not to break your beautiful neck."
"In that case may I suggest we all go inside out of the hot sun?" Marissa had come to stand by Jefferson. "Then we can explain some things and make some decisions."
Billy ceased glaring at his nemesis and faced Marissa. His hat was suddenly in his hand, as it hadn't been before. His demeanor was calm, on the surface. "If you're worried jthis was a grave breach of security, Marissa, don't be."
He directed their attention to the rim of the canyon where Ethan sat, rifle at the ready. Spaced along the only entrance to the canyon, were two more riders. Each with weapons as ready. "By my order, any unidentified intruder who doesn't halt on command, will be fired on.
"One of those riders is a crack-shot called out of retirement. She can shoot an earring from your ear, never drawing blood. Unless she wants to." Rounding on Cristal, the only one who wore earrings, Billy's calm tone vanished. "As for you? You're damned lucky Ethan had seen you in town and recognized you."
Not to be outdone, Cristal tilted her head to meet his gaze. "Is that why you're angry, Blackhawk?" she asked thoughtfully. "Were you afraid I might be shot by mistake?"
"Yes," he growled and took her arm, leading her less than gently to the house. "But only because it would deny me the pleasure of wringing your neck."
"Why, Blackhawk, I didn't know you cared."
"Don't flatter yourself, Cristal Lane."
"Don't worry. I won't."
Following behind them, Jefferson twined his fingers through Marissa's. "Sounds like love."
Marissa's heart was in her eyes. "I hope so. Someday."
"Count on it," he murmured and squeezed her hand.
Seven
No one ate cookies.
With tension and easing tempers still ragged, no one remembered he or she was thirsty. The interior of the house was cooler. If only by a little, at least there was that. With that degree of physical comfort, in this taut moment, Marissa remembered her surprise when she discovered the difference the sliver of shade cast by the near canyon wall could mean.
Once the house had been a cabin, its single room serving as kitchen, living space, and sleeping quarters. With the Cody's addition of a bedroom wing and a second floor, its functions changed. Though still the heart of the house, serving two purposes rather than three should have made it seem more spacious. But in the charged atmosphere, Marissa felt the walls closing in on her.
She suspected the others felt the same. Cristal Lane had taken a chair by the fireplace. Billy Blackhawk stood like sculpted stone, his back to the mantel, Cristal at his right. The kitchen table where Marissa sat by Jefferson, on his left.
The shadow of the vermilion bluff had crept farther across the canyon floor, enveloping the cabin in an ever deepening cocoon of dusk. No one thought to turn on a lamp. No one cared. In dusky light, Marissa considered the woman across the room. A woman Jefferson had teased as she'd rarely known him to tease.
It was good to hear the lighthearted exchange. But when he'd drawn the red-haired beauty into his arms and kissed the top of her head, envy, even jealousy, had pierced the watcher's heart.
She'd scolded herself for being a fool and not realizing that in four years Jefferson would have special friends. Even lovers. Then the sheriff had arrived, and she'd seen how it was between Cristal Lane and Billy Blackhawk.
She felt it now, an almost tangible part of all that charged
the air. A cataclysmic emotion that couldn't remain static,
and one day must spill over into hatred or love.
Marissa let her gaze dwell on Cristal who sat so rigid on the sofa, tangled in things she didn't understand. Then, in somber, uneasy silence, drawing her gaze from the vibrant woman only a little older than she, she turned her attention to the sheriff. Dour, stern, he bore little resemblance to the Billy Blackhawk who had come to Simon's valley.
His grim mood was due as much to the fact that it was Cristal who had been involved in today's events as the distress her rash act had caused. Anyone entering the canyon as she had would cause concern. But in this case, there was an extraordinary animosity.
They were like magnets. Billy and Cristal, repelling each other in personal friction, in turmoil. But turned on the right track, they would be drawn to each other, more powerfully than now. Too powerful to resist. Then they would build the enduring bond of strong people. And...lovers?
Unconsciously Marissa sighed and, resting her hands on the table, wound them restlessly over each other. Without word or sound, as naturally as if he'd been doing it forever, Jefferson laid his hand over hers, folding them into his clasp. Turning to meet his gaze, she was warmed by his tender support.
Their relationship in Belle Terre had begun gradually, building from common interests into friendship. Then into love. A voiceless love that deepened into a strength as quiet. It was, in contrast, as gentle as Cristal and Billy's was explosive.
But Marissa knew that if she could get past the doubt that scored her soul, this impasse would resolve itself. When she believed again in what her heart told her, she and Jefferson would find their way as lovers. Then, unencumbered by doubt and grief, the embers of their passion would be incandescent.
Engulfed with the meteoric heat of desire for that day, she turned her hand within his grasp and struggled to find her way to peace, and to him. Fitting her palm to his, slowly her fingers curled, keeping Jefferson the little while she could. Her clasp was desperate, wanting. In a glance she found his gaze riveted on their joined hands. As if he felt the touch of her searching look, his arresting blue regard lifted to her face and to her eyes. When Marissa thought she would lose herself in their brilliant blue, he caught a long trembling breath. A smile, slow and beguiling, shone in their mesmerizing depths.
And her eyes burned with tears for the lost years.
"I suppose there's no help for this."
The words rang in her mind. No help at all, Marissa agreed. Then she gave her attention to Billy Blackhawk, who had spoken the prophetic words.
"It's done and nothing can change what's happened." Billy reiterated a totally different thought. His narrowed eyes flicked from one person to the next, his frown grave. "Cristal has discovered Marissa's here. An unfortunate happenstance, leaving us to make the best of it we can. If you're in agreement, Marissa and Jefferson, it might help her to understand the urgent need for secrecy if she knows why."
"Which brings up another problem." Jefferson's concern was evident to Marissa in the unconscious pressure of his hand over hers. "Every person who knows the circumstances behind Marissa's being at the Broken Spur adds to the danger. Knowledge in this case could be life-threatening. It would be simpler if we asked Cristal for her silence and her word that she won't speak of today. The less she's involved, the safer for all of us."
"Exactly, Jefferson, if Cristal is satisfied with that. If she will promise us her cooperation," Billy agreed. In contrast to his agitated behavior by the corral and his anger with
Cristal, he was totally in control. He didn't tug at the cuffs of the perfectly pressed shirt of his immaculate uniform.
He didn't rake a turbulent hand through his burnished hair—black as night and drawn back from his forehead to be controlled at his nape by a leat
her thong. Much as Jefferson had worn his years ago.
Marissa realized Billy Blackhawk wasn't a man given to excessive displays of emotion or wasted motion—except in face-to-face conflict with Cristal Lane. When addressing the threat of danger, he became the consummate professional, cooler and calmer and grimmer with each second.
She hated the subterfuge, the emotional tumult she'd brought into the lives of all she touched. Now the circle was growing.
Lingering tears welled in her eyes, clung to her lashes. She willed them away and refused to look at Jefferson as she felt the weight of his concern. She had to speak, to tell them this couldn't be. That she couldn't allow the risk they were taking.
"Don't, Jefferson. Don't, Billy. I can't do this anymore. Too much has happened, too many people have been hurt or killed because of me. I didn't realize the scope of this, or the effect it might have on any who were involved."
Pausing, she slid her gaze from Billy to Cristal to Jefferson. "I want it to stop, here and now." She'd taken her hand away from Jefferson's. Free, lost without his strength, but determined, her joined fingers clenched in her lap. "At first light tomorrow, I'll leave. Then no one else will be hurt."
Jefferson had sensed this building since she'd stood with him listening to the sound of Cristal's car barreling down the incline. He knew how it felt to be responsible for drawing innocent people into danger. He was well acquainted with the helplessness of watching matters spiral out of control. He understood heartache, and self-inflicted bitterness.
He knew the hurt. He felt it now, in empathy for Marissa, the only woman he'd ever loved. The only woman he could love. Heart aching, he fought a battle with himself, even then he barely resisted reaching out for her. To comfort her, to remind her none of this was her doing. Instead, keeping a careful distance, he asked, "Where would you go, Marissa? What would you do?
"For the love of God, sweetheart, tell me how I live with myself if I let you face something that isn't your fault alone?"
"You can live with yourself, Jefferson, because it has nothing to do with you. You wouldn't have been a part of this if I hadn't—" Marissa's voice broke. The downward sweep of her lashes to hide her emotions revealed how she hated the weakness.
"I wouldn't have been a part of this if you hadn't called in a promise made long ago on a rare day in the lowcountry," Jefferson finished for her. "But you're wrong, my love."
"You wouldn't, if I hadn't been weak." Cristal and Billy creased to exist for her. There was only Jefferson, and she must make him understand she had to go. "You're a man who keeps promises. No one knows that better than I. If 1 hadn't—"
"If," he interrupted softly. "The world and life are full of questions. We can always second-guess ourselves with that damning word. If I hadn't made the promise. If I hadn't loved you. If your father hadn't sent you to Belle Terre and Eden. If he hadn't given you into Juan's care long before that. If Juan hadn't taught you to ride like a gaucho.
"If your father hadn't promised you to Paulo Rei, none of this would have happened. That's the most damning of all."
Jefferson dared to take her hands, to open her whitened fingers and lace his own through them. As he continued his hushed monologue there was no one else in the room for;;
either of them now. "How many of that list could you have changed?"
"One." Her answer was a whispered breath. "The one that mattered. The one that drew you into this, Jefferson."
She looked across the room made welcoming and comfortable by another woman who had to choose between her father and the man she loved. In greater wisdom Savannah Benedict had chosen love over duty. Wisdom a young Marissa hadn't learned.
Marissa's gaze settled on Billy, the giant of a man whose eyes were as black as his hair. Eyes that watched her as he listened, the scowl he had turned on Cristal replaced by a neutral expression. She knew he would never regret helping her, but she regretted the need. "If I hadn't reached out to you, Jefferson, your life wouldn't be in turmoil. Cristal wouldn't be in danger. Billy wouldn't be worrying over me, over you, over Cristal.
"If I leave, she won't have to be told any more. She can return to Silverton and go on with her life like this day never happened. She'll be safe. All of you will be safe."
"As Jefferson asked, where would you go, little one?" Billy spoke at last. As tall as Marissa was, the name would have been absurd coming from anyone but him. "How will you hide yourself from this man who has informants everywhere?"
"Everywhere, Billy?" she mocked, but her voice was soft.
"Money talks. Even as he hungers for more, the man in question has plenty." Billy still hadn't moved, he hardly seemed to blink an eye. He could stand for hours and not move, not blink. He had. As part of a ritual of his father's people. "What he wants, he takes. What he can't have—" Pausing, as the hard look left his face, he emphasized softly, "What he can't have, he destroys."
Marissa remembered Menendez's sly advances, touches bordering on insult, yet not quite. She remembered the final, lurid proposition. A sickening ultimatum. Menendez was a monster.
"A destroyer." She didn't realize she'd spoken out loud until she found Jefferson and Billy, and Cristal waiting.
"When he couldn't buy Paulo, his business, or his wife—" her lips curled in contempt "—Menendez destroyed him and, he believes, the little toy he lusted after.
"He believes." Marissa faced Jefferson. "That's my pro-lection. As long as he's sure he succeeded in silencing us, he won't look for me. No matter his far-reaching influence, no matter his fortune, what he isn't looking for, he can't find."
"And if the plane is found?" Billy asked.
"It won't be." There was still grief in her voice as she assured the sheriff. "It went into the sea."
"Maybe." Billy's gaze held hers. In the first of twilight, his Native American ancestry even more apparent. "That was speculation. It doesn't mean the plane won't be discovered somewhere, someday. By someone."
"Then I'll deal with that when it happens."
"Wherever you are, Marissa?" It was Jefferson who asked. Jefferson who wouldn't keep her from leaving if she insisted. But she wouldn't go alone.
"I'm sure Simon can suggest a reasonably safe place. If not, I can find one myself."
Jefferson didn't ask if she would consider Simon's valley. That question had been irrevocably resolved weeks ago. The questions he asked were much more discouraging.
"How will you live, Marissa? What will you do to keep body and soul together? I know you have money of your own. But the first penny you touch, Menendez will know you're alive."
"He'll find you," Billy added, going for the jugular with the truth. "The first indication that someone who has denied him and who poses the greatest threat to his grand plan still walks the earth, the search will begin. He won't stop until he can control you. Or when one of you is dead."
His black eyes holding Marissa's, compelling her to listen, to think, to believe, Billy's voice was grave and very soft when he murmured, "There are some things worse than dying, Marissa. Vicente Menendez is a master at in-venting ways to make you wish you had been on that) plane."
Fighting back a shudder and tearing her gaze from Billy's, Marissa stared down at the cherry tabletop. "I know what you're trying to do. I know why. Don't think I don't appreciate that you care, Billy. But it changes nothing-
"I have to go." Her head came up, her gaze touched on each of them. Cristal, vibrant and so very alive, but thoughtful and quiet. Billy, grim, concerned, a man of wonderful contrasts.
And Jefferson. Dear Jefferson, more rugged, older and harder now, but still the Prince Charming she'd found in the lowcountry. Her prince, her lover, her only love. She would do what she must to keep him safe. "When I go, foolhardy or wise, I'll have to take whatever consequences come my way. And whatever chances."
"You would risk your life, your freedom, or both for those you care about." It wasn't a question. And for once, Billy's stoicism deserted him.
M
arissa didn't respond. Now it was her gaze that held Billy's captive. "Wouldn't you?" She didn't need an answer. He couldn't know she'd read his answer in his eyes when he looked at Cristal. "It seems only fair, doesn't it?"
"When you all get through deciding what's best for everyone, including me, do I get a say in this?" Cristal's serene comment was soothing music in taut silence.
As if with the power of a look he could compel her to understand, Billy didn't look away from Marissa. His voice was a low, impatient growl. "Be quiet, Cristal."
"I will not. I've been quiet long enough. Too long." Before he could rebuke her, she was on her feet, standing before him. Challenging him as if he didn't tower over her. As if one controlling clasp of his huge hands couldn't send her reeling back to her seat. If he should dare. But everyone in the room knew he wouldn't, especially Cristal.
"Why should I be quiet, Blackhawk?" she challenged though her tone was the calm contralto of before. ‘‘Tell me why, if you can, when it was my blundering that caused all this."
"Perhaps because two blunders don't make a right," the sheriff suggested.
"Oh, good grief." Cristal groaned. "Don't tell me you've added speaking in fractured clichés to Apache, and an oh-so-perfect English. Perfect for being perfected at Oxford, no less."
As she dropped that little-known bombshell on him, she moved closer, but only to stand before the mantel. Her eyes lifted to the bare wall where Jefferson's painting of a young and beautiful woman had hung when she last visited. The occasion of her third twenty-ninth birthday, as he had reminded her in a lack of gallantry he committed only when he teased.
Cristal realized now the portrait she had admired was a painting of a very young and beautiful Marissa Rei. Except she'd been Marissa Alexandre then. When questioned about the painting and the model, Jefferson said little but that if the painting was beautiful it was because the woman was beautiful. He'd spoken no more of his model except to say she was once a dear friend.
"Very dear." Cristal interpreted the remembrance. But' she had suspected even then that the young woman in the painting was far more than a friend, more than dear. Perhaps the woman who had taken his heart when she chose to leave him.
