Tallchief: The Hunter

by Cait London

  She wanted his baby—she wanted a part of him to carry inside her, to love, just as she perhaps loved Adam. She’d given up all those dreams long ago, and they leaped to life and she feared them. She feared herself. “I’m going home to a hot bath. You’re not invited.”

  “Well, then, take this with you,” he said before tugging her into his arms.

  As though primed by the night of lovemaking, her body responded instantly, her arms shooting up to lock around his shoulders.

  His fingers gripped her hair, tethering her as his lips slanted and took hers roughly. The kiss was hard, possessive and everything to ignite the woman within Jillian. She stepped into the fire, matching him, taking, just as he took. The greed within her sang and enveloped and flamed. They were just a man and a woman, on a plane where only they existed and burned and hungered.

  Adam’s breath was rough against her face, and Jillian-the-lady, shocked herself by taking his hand and pressing it against her breast, and sighing roughly with pleasure. When the kiss was finished, she stood trying to recover her breath and Adam coolly walked away to start chopping wood. She understood immediately—Adam had left her to choose. She could walk away, or she could come to him.

  He grimly, methodically raised and felled the ax. Her instincts told her to go to him, to wrap her arms around him, to take what they could both have. But the cool stare he shot her set off her temper. “It won’t work!” she yelled at him.

  She looked down at the foot she had just stomped. Adam was responsible for that. And for making her love him.

  And for deceiving her.

  And for her irrational behavior. But then, if she were a woman in love, was she supposed to be logical? Yes, she was good and angry, not a slow simmering anger, but a real thunderstorm ready to shoot lightning bolts at whoever crossed her path.

  Across the distance of the sunlight and her emotions, he stood immobile, legs braced wide, one hand holding the ax, watching her. She wasn’t certain how to handle the life that she had so carefully constructed, the safe life—because one look at him said he wasn’t bending now—all the choices were hers.

  Adam stripped off his shirt and began chopping wood again. The May sun stroked his body, every muscle and cord in beautiful harmony as he moved. Jillian stared at him, her mouth drying. She’d held that body in her arms. She’d made him a part of her, so deep and hot that she’d never forget.

  Adam was right. There was no going back, not after their lovemaking. She moved in panic now, crowded by the years of fighting to find her own place in life. “It won’t work,” she whispered unevenly and forced herself to drive away.

  With Adam, she’d jumped from fear of a man’s touch to the hunger for it. Desire, that feeling of her soul touching his as they made love, had changed her. Who was she? How could she feel so primitive, so bold and wanton in his arms? How could she become the taker?

  When Jillian made her move, he’d make his, Adam decided a month later. The last of May was in full bloom, a spray of pioneer roses beginning to climb up the old cabin.

  He hadn’t been able to give the launch of Nancy his full attention, distracted by memories of Jillian sighing sweetly against him. He worked on his truck, sanding and replacing and welding and tuning, but Jillian never left his mind. He thought of her sitting in it, delighted by her tractor drive, hugging the box of jars to her as if they were precious….

  He glanced at the duffel bag he had packed a week ago; after a solid month of hanging on every word about Jillian, dreaming about her, he’d reached the breaking point. In the past, if a situation didn’t suit him, he wasn’t involved, but now he was, heart and soul. Jillian had finalized her contract with Sam the Truck and she wasn’t taking e-mail from the company. She wasn’t visiting the Tallchiefs.

  “She’s holed up,” Adam murmured, and knew that he couldn’t wait much longer to see her, to talk with her, to hold her. Whatever Jillian was going through, she didn’t want any reminder of him. The complimentary sets of Nancy were refused at the post office.

  She might well be carrying a reminder of their night on the mountain, and that thought, that hope bound him heart and soul.

  Adam’s smile mocked himself. No doubt his ancestors sought to possess women by giving them children; or perhaps the biological need was there, lying in him all these years. The image of Jillian, holding his baby, sent a sharp tear of emotion through his heart. Those dreams from so long ago curled around him, but Jillian was a strong woman, sorting out her life, and she would have her own dreams and needs.

  He could only hope that she didn’t hate him.

  He looked out of the cabin window to the sunset spreading over the framework of Liam and Michelle’s new home. Working full-time on the house wasn’t enough to drain away the need to see Jillian. Or the need to hold her.

  She’d made trips from town, but she always returned to that little cottage. Maybe it was her fortress, her safe place from the world.

  What was she doing now, snuggling in that old bed beneath the quilt? Adam slapped his open hand against the wall, and pushed down the impulse to go to her. He hadn’t realized how instinctive the need to capture a woman was, until he’d listened to Liam speak of courting Michelle—“She held everything of me, all that I was, all that I wanted to be, right in her hand.”

  Brooding, Adam slashed his hand across the stubble on his jaw. He could still feel Jillian move against him, still taste her, hear her voice, and she haunted every minute of his days and nights. He couldn’t leave and he couldn’t stay, not when he knew that the sight of her would cause him to go after her. It was no easy task for a hunter to stop hunting what he desired more than anything in his life.

  He should leave, give her more time to think, but couldn’t, moored by the chance that he might see her again.

  Jillian had years to unravel, and Adam had just discovered that he lacked patience when dealing with her. He glanced at the bag of wool, his share of the Tallchief shearing, and thought of Jillian weaving and spinning at Elspeth’s house, the serenity in her expression, the graceful movements of her hands and body.

  A month was long enough, Adam decided abruptly, and reached for the bag of wool. Within minutes, he parked the pickup outside her cottage, hefted the bag of wool and carried it up her steps to her porch. He rapped on the door.

  She opened the door and his first sight of her squeezed his heart—she’d been crying and looked all soft and warm and cuddly. The scents of her bath and shampoo curled around him, the towel still wrapped upon her head, her bathrobe tied at her waist. He wanted to hold her—instead he said flatly, “Wool. My share. It’s been cleaned and carded—I helped Elspeth. Make something…or don’t. I bought the farm from the people who sold me the pickup. I’ve never owned a home before, never wanted to. I may move into it—or not. I haven’t decided—I miss you. The spinning wheel comes with it, a big old scarred thing that seems to hum when it turns.”

  He mentally mocked himself for not being able to tell her more—how he wanted to hold her now. He couldn’t bear to watch her struggle for composure, to bring up her shields, not against him.

  Then she ripped the towel from her head and tossed it aside, her eyes lashing at him. Whatever was locked behind that firmed mouth wasn’t sweet from her expression. He turned and walked away, his belly still tight with tension as he drove to Liam and Michelle’s house to baby-sit J.T. Later, at his cabin, he stopped himself from calling Jillian. Time, he thought, she needs time to sort what’s important.

  The next night, he found himself at her doorstep again. She had that unfocused look, as though she’d been working on the computer and the images still held her. Her hair was loosely knotted on top of her head, the short, flowered cotton shift making her seem more like Jilly-the-teenager, than a woman he’d made love to on Tallchief Mountain. He slipped Sarah’s locket into her hand, adding a kiss to it. In the locket was a picture of his mother and himself, the gold flower design worn smooth by age.

  “It’s true, wha
t my brother says, that a man’s love can hold his heart in her hand,” he murmured, watching her face, the way the shadows skimmed across it. Jillian frowned and opened her hand, the gold chain sliding between her fingers, the silver ring gleaming just where he had placed it. Then she slowly closed the door. Adam stood still, praying she would invite him in, but the lights suddenly clicked off.

  Waiting for one word, one look wasn’t easy. Staying was more difficult, but Adam braced himself again the next night. He handed her the wildflower bouquet he’d picked, mixed with heather from Tallchief Mountain. While he was waiting for just one word, she narrowed those amber eyes and bashed him with the bouquet, then shut the door.

  “Progress,” he murmured tightly, and hoped her reaction truly was. Not sweet, but then what ran between them was more potent than he had expected.

  By the first week of June, he was short-tempered, chafed raw by lack of sleep and not happy about his solitary life. He was ready to confront Jillian and give her what was left of his pride. In the grocery store, buying his supply of suckers for the children he baby-sat, the hair on the back of his neck lifted. Adam turned slowly to the fruit section, where he found Jillian scowling at him. He nodded and smiled.

  “Marry me and I’ll make you a loom to go with that spinning wheel,” he offered, because the thought had long been on his mind, and he could use the pattern of Una’s pioneer loom.

  The woman checking out his groceries was a grandmother who looked younger than her years. Adam ignored her smothered giggle, and caught the orange that Jillian had fireballed his way. He placed it on the counter. “That, too, please.”

  After several oranges, the clerk began to sack them. “She’s headed toward the grapefruit. You must have really goofed. You Tallchief boys really know how to stir up your lady loves. She was a lady when she came here, now she’s pitching fruit at you.”

  “Ah, thank you, Millie. ‘Lady love’ is just the right term. Do you hear that, Jillian? You’re my lady love. Hey, you’re good—” He caught the grapefruit that sailed his way, and the clerk happily bagged them. “When do I start on the loom, dear heart?” he asked lightly.

  “Not the melons, honey,” the clerk called firmly as Jillian moved slightly in the produce aisle. “Avocados will do.”

  “Avocados are too good for him,” Jillian noted, quickly walking past Adam on her way to the door. After glancing at the sucker he offered her with a smile, she shook her head. She smoothed her hair and straightened her blouse and sailed out of the store with her head held high.

  “Try something a little more romantic next time,” Millie offered. “And if she’s not in a better mood by the time tomatoes are ripe, don’t come in here.”

  Adam tilted his head to better watch the enticing sway of Jillian’s jeans and forgot what he was thinking.

  “Give her time,” the clerk said. “Everyone knows a girl can’t resist you Tallchief boys when you’re in the courting mood.”

  “Oh, she knows how to resist,” Adam said broodily and picked up the sacks he intended to leave on Jillian’s doorstep that night.

  But that night, when she opened the door, Adam pushed it wider—his earlier burning conversation with Liam included her. She’d confronted Liam and told him that she knew Sarah, and she wouldn’t have anyone thinking ill of her. At first, Liam hadn’t responded and then he’d told her to mind her own business. Jillian hadn’t backed down, and Liam had promptly called Adam. “I know how you feel about Sarah. That’s good enough. Just don’t ask me to share those feelings. And call off Jillian. Once that woman gets her mind locked on bull-dogging a man into something, she doesn’t let go.”

  Adam placed the sacks of fruit just inside the door. He glanced at her sleeveless print blouse and her jeans, those slender bare feet that had played with his in the sleeping bag. No matter how plain the clothes, Jillian always looked as if she were a lady.

  Too bad, he thought, determined to have his say. He forced his gaze from her toes and his mind from her body, close and soft and bare, against his. “I don’t need you interfering between Liam and myself. You had quite the chat with him earlier in the day, didn’t you?”

  She lifted her chin, then as he had done, slowly took in his black T-shirt and jeans and comfortable moccasins. “Someone had to do something. You two are moving around each other, working together on their new house, but you’re not communicating about the wall between you—Sarah. She wouldn’t have liked that, Adam. She’s a big part of your life.”

  “Liam and I are getting along fine.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re both circling the issue. He’s bitter about Sarah’s deceit and you aren’t trying to understand that. He’s not trying to understand how you feel. I merely showed him Sarah’s locket with the picture of you and your mother inside. If Sarah could have, she’d have taken both of you to raise. She was a loving woman.”

  “We were brought up differently. We’re going to think differently. He said you told him that unless we settled this, the gap between us would widen, and you would be forced to take action. Exactly what action, Jillian?”

  “I’ll think of something. Michelle will help me. You’ve had Sarah’s softness in your life, use it now with Liam.” Jillian pointed in the direction of Liam and Michelle’s house and then placed her hands on her waist. “He’s your brother. You go over there right now, and you listen to what he has to say. You tell him about how Sarah treated you, and the good things you remember. His own childhood was terrible, and you should give him the best of yours. You haven’t said a word about Sarah, avoiding her name, because you don’t want to hurt his feelings. Just do it, Adam. Now.”

  Adam stood very still, the sweet night air curling around him, mixed with Jillian’s scent. No one had ordered him to mend emotional fences in his lifetime. Before coming to Amen Flats, if a situation got too tense or emotional, he simply moved on. While he was circling the order she’d just given him, he asked, “When you go out of town, is it because you can’t stand staying here? Are you leaving? Do you want me to leave?”

  Are you carrying my baby? he wanted to ask. But the decision to tell him was hers.

  “I wouldn’t think of it. I’m not done with you yet. By the way, I was just absolutely aghast at the way I behaved in the grocery store. You bring the most primitive feelings out in me. I haven’t decided quite what to do about it. If you leave, that’s your choice. But I’m staying. I am not budging until I unravel what you’ve done to me.”

  “What I’ve done to you?” Once more the fever between them that night danced around Adam. “Did I hurt you? I tried—”

  “I actually nibbled on you, Adam. I behaved unlike myself. I lost control for the first time in my life. Controlling my needs and life is very important to me.”

  She took a deep breath, as if bracing herself, and looked out into the June night. “I went to see Kevin. He’s never going to be quite successful in politics, but he’ll hold minor offices. His parents had done all the running for him, but they’ve gone as far as they can. Whatever he does from now on will have to be on his own merit. I’m not taking the blame for his failure. He said that our divorce had ruined his career, and…I…hit him. He was trying to browbeat me again, calling me ‘frigid’ and since now I know that I am not—I hit him, right in the stomach. Just that little violence felt rather good. It was closure. And then I thanked him for all that he had done for my parents to make them more comfortable—it was only the right thing to do.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Adam thought of how Kevin could have—

  “Of course not. He was too shocked. I’ve always been very proper. And then I visited Sarah’s grave and had a refreshing chat with her. Then, a few more chats with some of Tom’s friends, in which they clarified what a real bully he was. When they feel up to it, they’re coming here and they will apologize to you. After that, I came home and made jam and started working on new projects.”

  “You did what?” No one had interfered in his adult life, and he wa
sn’t having her try to right old wrongs for him.

  “I made jam and started working on new projects,” she repeated, then more softly, “They are just men now, Adam, with their own children, and guilt isn’t an easy burden to bear. Closure is so important. You’ll listen and you’ll talk with them.”

  Adam shoved his hand through his hair. He didn’t like the uncertainty Jillian could bring him, and dealing with the past was too painful. “I should let them ease their consciences? Give them closure? Why?”

  “Because you always do what is right. They were young and impressionable and frightened, just as I was. You were stronger than all of us, and you still are. They’ve never forgiven themselves. There were tears in their eyes when we talked, and it was all so wrong. All of us need to adjust to the past somehow, to live with the same pride and honor as you have. They owe you apologies, and it was important to me that someone—me—did something, though too late, to help you now.”

  She left the doorway and returned with a jar, handing it to him. “Strawberry. Good night.”

  He stared at the jar, running his finger over the old raised trademark. “I don’t need you fighting my battles, Jillian.”

  “I know. I should have helped a long time ago, and all that I did was to hold Sarah’s hand as she slipped away. It wasn’t enough. It isn’t enough now. I owed it to her and to you. Good night.”

  Adam stood facing the closed door and holding the jar of jam. He frowned; uncertainty hadn’t been a part of his life, nor was sorting out painful emotions he’d kept locked too long. He knocked on her door again, and when Jillian opened it, he asked, “I’m not making any promises. My brother is the only one who concerns me. What am I supposed to say?”

  “You’ll think of something. Oh, you look so stunned. I know, you haven’t had to work on relationships before, at least not at close range. And it will be good for you, too. I suspect you’ve never truly grieved. As Sam, you would have named a truck after her, but you didn’t. Here, take this with you—” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.