Now she could only wonder if she’d made a huge mistake by taunting Johnny into coming back with her. Seeing the place where they’d first fallen in love might harden him even more. But the man had a heart, she mentally argued. Oh, yes, she’d seen a raw glimpse of it when he’d talked about the baby being born. She had to find some way to touch that same spot and make him believe again that the two of them could live and love together.
“It looks the same.”
There was a melancholy note to her murmured words, but if he noticed, he didn’t let on. Instead, he cut the motor and asked, “Does any of your family come here anymore?”
Sighing, she shook her head. “After Grandfather died, Brady and I were the only ones who ever liked to visit the old place. Now he’s too busy with his job and family. And I—I came back once. About a year ago.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
Unable to look at him, she opened the door and, with her tote bag in hand, quickly slid to the ground.
A few gold leaves still clung to the aspens and as Bridget picked her way through the underbrush, some of them drifted on the wind and fluttered down to the snow-covered ground. The faint gurgle of the distant river sounded behind her, while closer, birds sang as though the sun was shining in a clear blue sky rather than the dark clouds threatening to spill more snow.
Not bothering to look around to see if Johnny was following, she stepped onto the porch and pushed open the heavy wooden door. Inside, the interior was dim and freezing, but thankfully everything looked in order. She was glad that vandals had never trespassed onto this secluded spot and wrecked the place. It would be the same as wrecking her heart.
Next to a small stone hearth, a box held several pieces of firewood. The sticks were old and extremely dry, but would do to generate a bit of heat inside the cold cabin.
She was kneeling on her knees, stacking the wood on a set of grates when she heard footsteps cross the porch, then step inside. Not looking up, she continued on with her task.
Shutting the door behind him, he joined her on the hearth. “I’ll do that,” he said. “Do you have matches?”
Maybe he wasn’t going to ignore her completely while they were here, she thought with a bit of hope.
“There should be some here, or one of those striker things.” She rose to her feet to go search.
On the opposite side of the room was a crude kitchen with shelves made of boards. The dishes, utensils and cooking pots were in the same place she’d left them a year ago. Below the shelves, an old wooden cabinet with two doors held a portable camp stove fueled by a small propane tank.
Inside the cabinet she found matches and a piece of folded newspaper. Crumpling the paper, she carried it and the matches over to him.
Handing the items to him, she said, “Maybe this will be enough to get it started.”
“I didn’t know we were going to be here long enough to need a fire,” he said, even as he set about starting the flame.
“I didn’t come all this way just to look inside and leave. I brought coffee and some snacks in my tote. And later on I’d like to walk down by the river.”
He glanced at her, but said nothing.
Although she didn’t understand why she felt the need to explain herself, she said, “I’m not doing this to torment you, Johnny. I don’t have much of a chance to get away from work and out in the quiet woods. I want to make the most of this time while I’m here.”
A corner of his mouth tilted upward into a semblance of a wry smile. The sight of it caught Bridget completely off guard. Johnny was a man who rarely smiled for any reason and she’d not expected to see any sort of joy expressed on his face, today especially.
“All right,” he said softly. “I won’t hurry you.”
She nervously swiped the tip of her tongue over her top lip. “Thank you.”
Nodding, he turned his attention back to the fire. Bridget drew in a deep breath to steady her nerves, then went in search of an oil lamp.
Ten minutes later, the cabin was beginning to warm and coffee was perking on the tiny stove. A few steps away from the fireplace, an old farm table sat beneath a pair of dusty, paned windows.
After wiping the surface of the table clean, Bridget dug the snacks from her tote and laid them out with the waiting coffee mugs.
Earlier, while she’d been putting the coffee makings together, Johnny had gone outside to search for a backlog to keep the fire in the fireplace burning. He’d found a piece of fallen pine and brushed it free of snow. Now it was crackling and hissing and sending out delicious waves of heat.
“The coffee is ready. Would you like to join me?” she asked.
He’d been standing, gazing out a window that overlooked the front of the cabin when she spoke from behind him. Now he slowly turned to see her fetching the granite pot from the cookstove.
“Yes. I’ll have a cup.”
She was making everything warm and homey and inviting, he thought. And though he should have been annoyed with her for tempting him, reminding him of how good things had once been for them in this old cabin, he wasn’t. How could he be irritated, when just being here with her made him feel whole and human again?
“Is it snowing again?” she asked, as he joined her at the table.
“Not yet. But I expect it will later on this afternoon.”
Since there were only two chairs at the table, one at the head and the other kitty-cornered to it, Johnny let her take the one at the end and then eased down next to her.
“I hope you still like chocolate,” she said as she pushed a couple of candy bars toward him. “I brought chips, too. Corn and potato. Take your pick.”
He picked up one of the chocolate bars. “You’re not eating like a doctor.”
Over the rim of her coffee cup, she smiled at him. “How do you mean?”
“Not healthy.”
She chuckled and once again he was reminded of just how much he’d missed her laugh. Not that he was the laughing and joking sort, but the sound of her happiness had always warmed him, made him believe that all was right and good in his life. In spite of everything, it still made him feel that way.
You’re a fool, Johnny Chino.
“Believe me, we doctors cheat.” She looked at the flames leaping in the fireplace, then to the windows framing a scene of the woods at the back of the cabin. The pines and the aspens were laden with snow, while a group of red cardinals flitted from one icy bough to the next. “It’s lovely here.”
“Yes. It is,” he admitted.
Her gaze returned to his face and she smiled. “My family gave me some exciting news this morning. We have a filly running in the Breeder’s Cup next month at Churchill Downs. It’s a prestigious race and just being in it gives the horse and its connections worldwide recognition.”
“I’m glad for you,” he said, and meant it.
She sipped her coffee, then said, “All my family is going to the event—at least all of them that can.”
“Are you?”
She sighed and then locked her gaze on his. “I don’t know. Would you go with me?”
To say that Johnny was jolted would be an understatement. For long moments he could only stare at her in wonder. “Have you lost your mind, Bridget?”
“No,” she said with innocent calm. “At least, none of the medical personnel I work with have mentioned that I’ve been behaving strangely.”
He snorted. “Inviting me to go to Louisville with you? That’s—beyond reason.”
Shaking her head, she countered, “It isn’t beyond reason. You’ve traveled before. In fact, your army duties took you much farther away from home than I’ve ever been.”
“I’m not talking about traveling. I’m talking about me showing up anywhere with you!”
She lowered her cup. “Before we…parted…we used to go around together a bit on the reservation. Remember?”
His stomach clenched as memories, both good and bad, assailed him. “Yeah. I remember. Ho
w can you forget some of the hateful things that were said to us?”
She grimaced. “You mean like how could a Donovan go around with a no-good Chino? Or how could a Chino cozy up to a greedy, white Donovan? Yes, I remember. But those types of comments were few and far between. Besides, there will always be those kinds of jealous people around.”
Jealousy hadn’t been the only thing stirring those remarks, Johnny thought, as he bit off a hunk of the chocolate and nuts. But there was still no way in hell he’d ever tell her about his mother and her parents. No. If, God forbid, she ever did hear the story, it would have to be from someone other than him. And even then, he prayed it wouldn’t happen.
“Your family would be shocked and angered if I traveled with you to Louisville. You can’t deny that,” he said.
She frowned at him. “Oh, they’d be surprised all right. But not for the reasons you’re thinking. They’d be surprised that I was finally taking a serious look at a man. But I can assure you they wouldn’t be angry about you.”
“You’ve not only lost your mind, Bridget. You’ve gone blind, too.”
She leaned earnestly toward him and Johnny was rocked by her sweet scent and the closeness of her face, the tempting proximity of her lips to his.
“Look, Johnny, I’m not a teenager anymore. I’m a grown woman who makes her own choices, lives her own life. I can date anyone I want to. Providing the man I want will agree to date me,” she added.
For the past five years, he’d told himself he wanted Bridget to find a man to love and marry, a man that would give her many children and a fine home. And yet, the mere thought of another man touching Bridget, kissing her, making love to her clawed at his insides like an angry black bear.
“You’ll always want your family’s approval. No matter how old you are,” he argued.
The frown marks in her forehead deepened as she studied him thoughtfully. “And what makes you think my family wouldn’t approve of you? All those years ago, if you would’ve allowed me to tell them about us, all this pain and heartache could have been avoided. Instead, you simply assumed they wouldn’t accept you as my husband.”
In spite of the fire throwing off waves of heat, a chill raced down Johnny’s spine. “I don’t want them to know about us—ever,” he said flatly.
“Why? Back then you never gave me a good reason. Other than you’re Apache and I’m Irish, which was a flimsy excuse, at best. So I’m asking you to give me one now—one that makes sense.”
He purposely turned his eyes away from her. She was so certain her parents were open-minded and accepting, he thought. What would she think, how would she feel if she knew the truth of the matter? That they’d been given the opportunity to adopt him, but had apparently decided against it? And if that wasn’t enough, his mother had retaliated by behaving like a common criminal. She’d already proved to the Donovans that the Chino family was full of bad blood.
His jaw firmly set, he said, “It would only cause hard feelings. Especially with Brady. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had or ever will have. I don’t want that to change.”
Her hand slid across the tabletop until her fingers were touching his. Johnny told himself to pull away from her, but he couldn’t find the strength.
“Brady loves you. And my family has never objected to you being his friend.”
“Being a friend of their son is far from being accepted as a son-in-law or brother-in-law.”
She sighed. “You can’t believe that.”
Rising to his feet, he walked over to the fireplace and tossed the empty candy wrapper into the flames. “This old argument isn’t what I came for,” he said tightly.
Suddenly she was behind him, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his back. Johnny was suddenly frozen with love and pain and the overwhelming sense that he was losing the battle.
“It’s not what I came for, either. I wanted us to return to the place where we first met and fell in love. And now that we’re here I want you to look me in the face and tell me that I no longer matter to you. That you don’t love me. Is that the way it really is?” she asked softly.
A deep, agonizing groan rumbled up in his throat as he turned and slipped his arms around her shoulders. Not telling her about the incident between his mother and her parents wasn’t actually lying. It was avoiding the truth in order to spare her, and Johnny’s conscience could live with that. Because he understood that the revelation would destroy every wonderful image she had of her family. But he couldn’t outright lie to her about his feelings and live with it.
“You know how I feel.”
Moving closer, she pressed the front of her body into his and Johnny was shocked, almost ashamed at how quickly the contact aroused him. “I do?”
Her whispered prompt brought another groan past his lips. “Damn it, Bridget, I shouldn’t have to say it. You know that I—will never stop loving you.”
The sharp, swift intake of her breath sounded almost like a tiny sob.
“Johnny. My Johnny.”
She said his name as though it was precious, as though he was precious. The notion amazed him, humbled him and made it impossible to suppress his longing for this woman that owned his heart.
He had to kiss her, he told himself. If he didn’t, he would surely die.
Cupping her face with his hands, he slowly bent his head and placed his lips against hers. The contact created an instant explosion that rocked his senses and sent his hands diving into her thick hair, his tongue plunging past her teeth, and his lips grinding down on hers.
It wasn’t until he heard her tiny whimper that he realized just how savage the kiss had become and he forced himself to lift his mouth and break the intimate connection.
“I’m sorry, Bridget. I—”
“No! Don’t be sorry!” Her hands flew to the back of his neck and tugged his mouth back to hers. “Kiss me again.” She whispered the plea. “Make love to me!”
He suddenly realized that the war of resistance going on inside his head had been lost almost from the moment he walked through the door and saw her kneeling in front of the fireplace. And now, fighting his desire seemed like a useless, almost cowardly act.
With a groan of surrender, he eased his mouth onto hers. At the same time his arms circled her, crushed her so close that her breasts were flattened against his chest, her hips locked in position with his.
For long moments his lips coaxed and teased the soft contours, his tongue tasted the sweetness of her mouth until he felt her fingers digging into his neck and heard her moans asking him for relief.
Breaking the kiss, he lifted her into his arms and carried her into a tiny side room where a single bed was shoved against a far wall. Thankfully, the heat from the outer room had slipped through the open door and chased away most of the chill.
Johnny placed her on the lumpy mattress covered with a faded blanket, then with both hands propped at each side of her head, he leaned his face close to hers.
“This is not a fitting place for you, Bridget. You should be in a big fine bed, making love to a good man. Not here in this forgotten place. With me.”
Her hands lifted to frame his face, while the corners of her mouth tilted into a smile so sweet it made his heart ache.
“You are a good man, Johnny. And I’m right where I want to be.”
Her bittersweet words made it impossible for him to reply, so he simply lowered his mouth down to hers and let his kiss speak for him.
Eventually, the momentum of their movements toppled him sideways and onto the mattress. Along the way, he drew Bridget into his arms. With their legs tangled and their faces touching, he reached for the hem of her sweater and slowly drew it up until her breasts were exposed to his hot gaze.
The plump white flesh was cradled in black lace and the erotic sight pulled a needy groan from his throat. With a hand at her back, he released the catch on the bra, and then shoved the intrusive lace out of his way.
When he opened his m
outh over one taut nipple, she cried out and arched into him. Her wanton reaction fueled his desire and like the match he’d struck against dry kindling, his loins were suddenly bursting with heat.
Urgent now, he moved his mouth to the other breast where he laved the nipple into a tight rosy bud, then left it to return to her sweet lips.
Against his chest, he felt her fingers working at the buttons on his shirt and then her hands slipped under the folds of fabric and against his hot skin. The contact caused his breath to catch, his body to tense with delicious anticipation.
Like a willing prisoner, he allowed her to push the shirt off his shoulders and remove the T-shirt he was wearing beneath it. Once the garments were tossed aside and her hands roamed freely over him, he lost all ability to think, to remember their time apart or the reason for it.
Throttled by the need raging within him, he began to tug at her clothing. Yet even as he peeled the garments away from her body, his words contradicted what his hands were doing. “It’s too cool in here for you to be naked.”
With his lips traipsing along the side of her neck, she murmured, “I’m as warm as a summer day, my darling.”
Once he’d finished the task of undressing her, he stood and dealt with his own clothing. All the while, from her spot on the bed, she watched and waited for his return. The boldness of her gaze brought a stinging blush to his cheeks and the fact reminded him that no other woman had ever affected him like Bridget. No other woman could simply look at him and make him feel so much.
As soon as he returned to the bed, she reached for him and for a moment, as their naked bodies wrapped together, he buried his face in the curve of her throat and squeezed his eyes shut until the stinging in them finally went away.
“I’ve waited so long for this—for you,” she whispered.
Her fingers found the knotted piece of leather that held back his hair. Deftly, she untied it and the shiny black strands fell loose against his neck and onto the sides of his face. She thrust her fingers into the drape of hair and stroked it as she would the mane on her favorite horse.
His Medicine Woman Page 11
