From Here to Texas

by Stella Bagwell

  The last of her thoughts she pushed away as best she could and tried to focus on the night to come. Fretting about the past would only ruin the present. And she had to make the most of her time here with Quito. Because she knew the sand was quickly running out of her hourglass.

  Quito still lived in the same house his adoptive parents had owned throughout their lives. It was one of the few houses in the area that was made of rock and Quito could recite the stories his father often told about how he’d gone all the way to Creed, Colorado, and loaded the rocks without the help of anyone. His father had so many flat tires on his truck it had taken him three days to get back to San Juan County. But once the masonry was finished on the house, he’d been so pleased with the beauty, he’d forgotten all about the misery of the trip.

  “Why, Quito, I see cows and horses. Do they belong to you or have you leased the pasture?” Clementine asked as they neared the Perez family home place.

  “They’re mine. I didn’t have enough to keep me busy,” he said jokingly. “So I decided to start running a few livestock on the ranch again. Dad would have wanted it.”

  He stopped the vehicle in front of a wooden fence, most of which was covered with some sort of green vine. To Clementine, the house looked unchanged. The round, multicolored rocks were a little more weathered but the gables were still painted a rustic brown. The trees and bushes dressing the yard had grown taller, but other than that, she felt as if she were stepping back in time as she waited for him to help her down from the truck.

  “It looks beautiful, Quito,” she said as she draped her hand in his and gracefully touched her toes to the ground. “You must work very hard to keep everything looking so well maintained. Your father would be proud.”

  “I like to think so,” he told her.

  He shut the vehicle door, then took her by the upper arm. As he gently guided her toward the front of the house, she said, “Neil told me that you lost them both in a short amount of time. I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved them.”

  He released her arm and opened a heavy wooden door with a horseshoe for a knocker. “I was their chosen one. No one can imagine the love I felt for them.”

  Clementine understood what he was trying to tell her. Quito’s real parents were basically unknown. His mother had been a Navajo teenager who’d run away from the reservation at the age of fourteen. Some had said she’d craved the excitement of the white man’s cities, but others had told Quito’s adoptive parents that her father had abused her and she’d had no choice but to flee the reservation to save herself.

  In either case, the young woman had wound up homeless and pregnant by a man she wouldn’t identify. Eventually the teen had been forced to return to Gallup for help and she’d delivered Quito in a medicine woman’s wickiup. Three days later, she disappeared without a trace and Quito was taken to a foster home.

  Clementine always found herself close to tears when she thought about Quito’s birth and upbringing. He was such a handsome, intelligent, compassionate man it was hard to believe that as a baby he’d been handed from one home to another until the Perez family had eventually taken him in and made him their legal son.

  “You were lucky to have them, Quito,” she said. “Were either of them ill for very long?”

  He ushered her into the house before he answered.

  “Dad’s heart condition went on for several years. But once he died, Mom just lost her will to fight her diabetes. I think she just couldn’t bear to be without him. They’d been married for sixty-five years. Always at each other’s side. It was meant for them to go together.”

  The only response Clementine could give him was a slight nod of her head. She was too busy imagining her and Quito together, year after year until they were old and frail. With Quito by her side, aging wouldn’t be something to dread. Together they could truly have golden years.

  “Clem? Are you with me?”

  She blinked as she realized Quito was speaking to her and she’d been staring off into space.

  “Oh, sorry, Quito. I was thinking—”

  “Obviously,” he said wryly.

  A sad little smile quirked her lips. “I was thinking how lucky your parents were to have had all those years together. Some people go through life never finding a mate.”

  “Yeah,” he said a bit gruffly. “And then some people find them and then lose them.” His face stoic, he urged her forward. “I’m getting hungry. If you’d like to freshen up, I’ll fix us something to drink. What would you like?”

  “Anything that you’re having will be fine with me,” she told him. “Is the bathroom still in the same place?”

  He inclined his head toward an arched doorway leading down a long, dark hallway. “Still there. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  She watched him walk out of the room and then she took a moment to allow her curious gaze to roam around her surroundings.

  Surprisingly the house didn’t look that different on the inside, either. There were a few pieces of furniture and the window treatments were new to Clementine. The tile floor was still the same, though, as were the plastered walls which were covered with the same family photos and stuffed game.

  Back when she’d lived in town, she’d spent a lot of time in this house with Quito and his family. They had been very nice to her and she’d grown to love them even though she’d gotten the feeling they didn’t entirely approve of her. They’d feared that Clementine would hurt their son. At least that’s what Quito had confided in her. And ironically, she supposed their fears had turned true. She’d run from Quito and this life like a scared chicken.

  With a silent groan of self-disgust, she turned on her heel and hurried through the dark to the bathroom. It was too late to lament about the past, she furiously told herself. Think about tonight. Think how blessed you are to have these hours with him.

  A few minutes later she found her way to the kitchen where she found Quito adding ice to two margaritas.

  “Oh. We’re having something alcoholic?” she asked with surprise.

  He handed her one of the drinks. “What’s the matter? You don’t drink alcohol?”

  “On a special occasion I do.” And this was very special, she thought, as she raised the glass to her lips. “Mmm. You even salted the rim of the glass.”

  “Nothing’s too good for a Texas heiress.”

  She pursed her lips at him. “Don’t call me that.”

  He chuckled. “I thought all you Texans were proud of your heritage.”

  “I’m not talking about the Texas part. It’s the heiress word I don’t cotton to.”

  He swallowed some of his drink, then placed the glass onto the cabinet counter. “You can’t deny what you are. Your parents are filthy rich and someday you’ll inherit it all.”

  She edged toward him. “That’s true. But that’s not what I’m all about.”

  From the corner of his eye, he caught her gaze. “Really? Then why did you leave all those years ago?”

  She began to tremble inside as she watched him reach for his glass and then down half the strong mixture of tequila. No sound of accusation or bitterness had been threaded through his words, yet she knew that deep down he must harbor some of those feelings toward her. And if she ever accomplished anything in her life, she wanted to take all that away. She wanted the only man in her life to view her in the best of ways.

  “You really want to know?” she asked quietly.

  One dark eyebrow quirked upward as he studied her face. “You mean you’ve come up with something other than being too young and spoiled?”

  She sipped a bit of the margarita in hopes the alcohol would smooth the frazzled nerves jumping throughout her body.

  “That much was the truth. Along with the fact that I was scared to death,” she admitted.

  He studied her for long moments, then with a scoffing snort, he turned to a package of meat lying on the cabinet counter. As he unwrapped the white freezer paper, he said, “Clementine Jones wasn’t scared of a
nything back then. And I doubt you’re scared of anything now. Anyone that travels to war-torn countries as you have can’t have a weak constitution.”

  He couldn’t begin to imagine the fear she’d lived through the past few years, Clementine thought. But she didn’t want him to know about that. She didn’t want his pity. And she didn’t want him getting involved in something that might cause him danger. The less he knew about Niles the better.

  “Well, I’m a little more grown up now. Or can’t you tell?” she asked, her cheeks dimpled impishly.

  He glanced over at her and a smile briefly touched his lips. “You look like the same beautiful, seductive woman to me.”

  “Maybe with a few more wrinkles,” she said wryly. “But I like to think I’ve gained a bit more wisdom, Quito. And when I think back to—when I was here—with you, I realize how little I knew about love and marriage. At the time, I had enough sense to know that I was spoiled. That in all my young years I’d never had to care for myself. It was pretty clear I didn’t have the ability to take care of a husband. I needed to do some growing up in the worst kind of way.”

  His hands paused in their task, but he didn’t look at her as he spoke. “I would have given you time. I would have waited,” he said thickly.

  Tears were suddenly burning her eyes and she moved close enough to wrap her hand around his forearm. The moment she touched him, he turned to look at her.

  “I didn’t know, Quito. I thought I was doing what was best for both of us. But once I was back in Houston and the days turned into months, I realized I was miserable without you.”

  “Why didn’t you contact me? Why didn’t you come back?”

  The pain eating at her heart forced her gaze to tear away from his. “Because I thought you’d probably found someone else. And even if you hadn’t found someone else, you probably wouldn’t have forgiven me.” She sighed and rubbed her burning eyelids with the pads of her fingertips. “So I stayed in Houston, finished my college education and convinced myself that marrying a man of my own means would be best—that I’d be doing the right thing. Dear God, what a mistake that was. Niles was a bastard. That’s the only way to describe him.”

  Slipping her left hand up his arm, she rested the right one in the middle of his broad chest. “What about you, Quito? You didn’t find a woman you wanted to marry?”

  A groan sounded deep in his throat. “Clementine, since you left I’ve been worthless to women.” With his hands on her shoulders, he tugged her up against him and buried his face in the side of her long, silken hair.

  Clementine wrapped her arms around his waist and clung tightly. “Let’s forget supper,” she whispered urgently. “I can’t eat now. I want you too much.”

  Chapter Seven

  Quito couldn’t argue. Not when Clementine was saying everything he was feeling.

  Lifting his head, he tilted her face up to his and took her lips in a devouring kiss that lasted so long his body turned hard and hungry.

  “I think we’d better go to the bedroom,” he whispered huskily. “Unless you want to test the sturdiness of the kitchen table.”

  Her arms circled his neck as her senses continued to swirl madly. He hadn’t just kissed her. His lips had made love to hers. And now the rest of her body was aching for him.

  “I don’t care,” she said with a breathless rush. “Anywhere. Just make love to me, Quito.”

  Instantly he bent down and scooped her up in his arms. As he started across the room with her, she expected him to deposit her on the long pine table positioned near the windows. But instead he carried her out of the room and down the long hallway.

  Eventually they passed through an open doorway to the left and the next thing she knew he was placing her in the middle of a queen-size-bed.

  Since the sun had already set for the day, the room was bathed in shadows, but still had enough light for her to see a matching dresser and chest, a straight back chair piled with clothing and a wooden hall-tree loaded down with all types of cowboy hats.

  “Is this where you sleep?” she asked as he lay down next to her.

  “When I’m fortunate enough to sleep,” he said.

  He reached for her and she rolled toward him, her hand coming to rest on his healing ribs. “The shooting still haunts you, I’m sure.”

  “I try not to think about it. But my subconscious takes over the moment I go to sleep. In my dreams I feel the slice of the bullets, the fiery pain and I’m cursing because I can’t get out of the vehicle and go after the bastard who did it.”

  She swallowed at the thick emotions clogging her throat. “Maybe once you find him, your nightmares will stop.”

  “Maybe having you here like this will stop them,” he murmured as he dragged her closer against his body.

  Her mouth searched for his and in a matter of seconds their lips were desperately grinding against each other, their tongues entwined, their fingers locked as he brought her arms above her head and turned her onto her back.

  With his body covering hers, he teased her with kiss after kiss until finally his lips broke away from her and began a long, sensual descent down her neck and onto her shoulder.

  As his lips worked their magic on her senses, Clementine began to release the buttons down the front of his shirt. Her fingers moved swiftly until the fabric parted and his warm skin was beneath her palms.

  He paused long enough to shrug out of the shirt and she reached for the hem of her blouse and started to work it up over her head. He finished removing the garment for her and then he joined their lips again in a long, searching kiss that took Clementine’s breath.

  Once he finally broke the contact of their lips, she sucked in needy breaths as she whispered, “Oh, Quito, I’ve never stopped wanting you. All these years—it’s still the same.”

  He pulled back far enough to look at her and as he did his fingers tenderly pushed a tumbled lock of blond hair off her brow. “It is for me, too, Clem. I’ve never wanted any woman like this. Like I do you.”

  The intensity on his face caused her breath to catch in her throat and for a split second the urge to weep nearly overcame her. Quito still wanted her. More than anyone else. She didn’t deserve him. She didn’t deserve to feel the glorious touch of his hands, his lips. Not after leaving him.

  Thankfully she managed to stifle her sobs, but tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and leaked into her golden hair. Seeing them, Quito rubbed them away with his thumbs.

  “My darling Clementine, why do you have tears?”

  She breathed in deeply, then with a shake of her head she reached up and framed his jaws with her palms. “Because—I’m so sorry, Quito. I was so stupid. So foolish. Forgive me. Forgive me.”

  His dark features softened and he lowered his head to press his cheek against hers. “Shh. Don’t. We’re not going to talk about it anymore. That’s in the past. This is now. And we’re starting over.”

  Starting over. With every beat of her heart, the words chanted again and again inside her head. If only that were possible. If only she were once and truly free to start her life over. But she couldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t let that ominous shadow ruin these precious minutes she had with Quito.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Let’s put that behind us, Quito. All I want to do now is love you.”

  His lips covered hers and his hungry kiss told her he was in complete agreement and in only a matter of moments Clementine’s mind was emptied of everything except the feel of his hands removing her bra, cupping her breasts and teasing her waiting nipples.

  Like a thirsty sponge, she absorbed every kiss, every caress he was extolling on her body until she was filled with a desire so hot she could only moan and writhe beneath him.

  “Are you trying to torture me?” she asked brokenly. “I’m on fire, Quito!”

  Lifting his head, he looked at her through locks of crow-black hair. A grin that was almost savage exposed his white teeth and she was suddenly reminded of his Navajo/Mex
ican heritage. The heart of a warrior had been bred in his genes and if necessary he would fight fiercely to protect her. Just knowing that turned her heart to liquid love and she felt it pouring from her body and searching for a way to flow into him.

  “Don’t ask me to hurry, Clem. We’re only starting.”

  She groaned, but it was a raw sound of pleasure and he dipped his head to her belly and lathed her skin with his tongue. At the same time he began to unbutton her low-rise jeans.

  In spite of his warning to go slow, Clementine lifted her hips so that he could ease the jeans down over her hips.

  Quito smiled as he saw that she wasn’t wearing any panties. “You’re still a wicked woman I see.”

  A soft laugh gurgled in her throat. “Only you make me that way.”

  His eyes glinted as they connected with hers and then his hand slid down her belly to cup the intimate mound at the apex of her thighs.

  She shivered with delight and ran her hands down his back. When her fingertips finally came to rest, she could feel the rigid flesh that had been torn and twisted by the bullets and was now mending into a jagged, dark blue scar.

  Running her fingers along the deadly reminder, she looked into his face. He said nothing and neither did she. No words were needed to describe the fear and relief those scars represented.

  “I love you, Clementine Jones.”

  She smiled at him and then she closed her eyes so that he couldn’t see her tears.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  The words created a sudden, urgent fire between them and Quito left the bed long enough to shed his jeans and boots. When he returned to her, she spread her thighs and welcomed his body into hers.

  Time ceased to exist as their bodies strained to satisfy, to give and take. Outside darkness settled over the high desert and inside on Quito’s bed Clementine felt she was spiraling upward into the star-strung sky.