by Cait London
Yet it was a dear old place, with pioneer roses dancing along the old fence, and patches of other flowers starting to color.
Suddenly the ram that had terrorized her that day rounded the corner of the porch, staring at Jillian. “You’re not keeping me from him, you know. So you and I might as well be friends.”
He eyed her warily, much as Adam had done, and on instinct—because now she seemed to move more on womanly instincts than those of reserve that she had been taught—Jillian stretched out her hand.
The ram shook his head and snorted, but he came slowly to her hand, angling his head for more petting and scratching. As if he’d gotten his desserts, he snorted once more and trotted off to his flock.
The old rooster perched on the aged porch swing didn’t look friendly. He stretched out his burnished red wings and shook his black head, the red comb waggling a threat. “Shoo, now. I’m certain that we’ll get along, but I’ve no time to spare with you right now.”
One more male blocked her path, a big gray tomcat who rolled in front of the door, his belly up and waiting for a petting. She bent to scratch and pet and he allowed her to gently push him aside as she opened the ancient screen door.
Bald and barren in the bright daylight, the floors inside were old hardwood, needing refinishing; dull spots showed where furniture had rested and bright patches where pictures had hung on the wallpaper. The house had warm echoes of parents cuddling children, of a man and a woman talking quietly as they decided life moments, of meals served around the family table, of the peace that came when children slept, of the excitement when they awoke.
An old spinning wheel stood framed in the sunlight square of the window and was draped by the Tallchief plaid.
Drawn by it, Jillian walked to smooth the plaid, smiling a bit as she thought of how Adam looked that first morning, dressed in a kilt and the plaid and sweeping into her quiet home. He slashed apart what was left of the peace she’d made in life. He’d taken away the fear that plagued her, that of not being a woman who could love and respond to a man.
He’d given her more, and now she was here to take the rest.
He stepped out of the shadows, just as bold as that morning when they’d met again.
“Why have you come?” he asked bluntly, and Jillian understood that raw question covered the deep emotions inside him.
“Why did you leave me this morning?” she returned, gripping the soft wool for an anchor for her trembling hand.
He moved closer, his footsteps muted by the moccasins, his hands in his jeans’ back pocket, the white T-shirt stretched across his chest. He’d been unhappy with her meddling in his life and the apologies he would hear, and the memories they would bring nagged at him now. He still ached for Sarah, for the pain she suffered and how helpless he’d been at the time. Adam wanted no part of his computer and business now, no telephones to disturb him, no brother’s new home nearby. He’d come here to brood, and to question his right to the Tallchiefs—and to her.
Jillian braced herself for what she must do, and handed him the jar of jam. “I meant to tell you last night that there will be no baby. You waylaid me, as you often do, but you should know. I understand better now how difficult it was for you to find the right moment to tell me about Sam.”
He studied the jam, his thumb rubbing the stamped insignia. “A jar of jam and no baby,” he said hollowly. “I used prevention after that first time, but I had hopes…if that was what you wanted, too.”
She brought the plaid to her face, rubbing it on her cheek. One spin of the wheel beside her brought a ticking noise, softer than the beating of her loud heartbeat. “I wanted you to know that you’re not obligated—”
His hand slashed out, stopping her. “‘Obligated?’ Is that what a child of mine would bring you? An obligation?”
Jillian braced herself; clearly dealing with Adam would always be emotional. “I wanted you to know that you’re free to go, or to stay. But if you share my bed again, you’re not leaving it as you did this morning.”
“Rules, Jillian? Telling me what to do?” Adam placed the jar on an old table, and crossed his arms over his chest. Unshaven, his eyes shadowed and his jaw set, he could look formidable. But she knew that his emotions tangled inside him, the uncertainty that what they shared could hold true in bad weather, the fear that he wouldn’t be all she would need. She knew, because those fears were her own. She refused to back away, to shield what ran inside her—the need to be with Adam all the rest of her life; they’d wasted enough time, rather others had wasted it for them. Now, no one else could sort their loves. “Don’t try that dark, dangerous-gunslinger look with me. I won’t have you—”
“Do you think I want the town talking about you? Do you think I want to sneak around, taking what I can? Do you think I want to make love to you and to wonder each time if you are giving it because we both loved Sarah and we’re mending our loss?”
She reached to spin the old wheel again, still Sarah ran on his mind, click-click, spin-spin. Time and love would ease that pain. “We both loved Sarah. But she’s not here now—just you and me. And we have decisions to make. I’m staying in Amen Flats. I have a home here, and a business I love. I am not taking large accounts, they’re too draining, and I’m wanting more of life—I’ve lost so much. But I think I can fashion a nice little income from what I learned as a sales executive, and what I can bring in as a graphic artist. I want to fill out the corners of my life, the emptiness of the past years. You’re right, Adam. We can’t go back. We can only go forward.”
He reached to smooth her hair, then his hand eased away. “I’m an impatient man, honey—not used to waiting. Tell me why you came.”
She reached out to grip his T-shirt and Adam looked at her warily. “If you run out on me this time, Adam, I’m coming after you,” she stated. “I’ll hunt you down and bag you.”
That brought the grin she loved, all devastating male—fascinating and adorable. “You’ll have to marry me to keep me and the spinning wheel and the loom I’ll build you,” he said, with just that arrogant tilt to his head.
She couldn’t resist gently teasing him and wondered again how much laughter and life she had missed without Adam. “Oh, I intend to. It’s a lovely spinning wheel. I couldn’t bear to let it slip away. Or the loom.”
The grin slid into a slight frown. “Jillian, I’ve traveled nearly all my life. I don’t have much to give you.”
“You’ll think of something. You’ve already given me back myself,” she whispered, loving him. “I love you, Adam. I always have.”
He considered her so intensely that Jillian braced herself for what he might say. Suddenly shy of him and how he was looking at her, she eased away, glancing at the old stairs leading upstairs, and into the kitchen, the large pantry lined with empty jars that needed filling. “This is a lovely home, Adam—oh!”
He’d spun her around, lifting her off her feet, holding her, his face level with her own. The expression in his face said more than words, and she framed his face with her hands, slanting her lips for a soft kiss.
Adam hitched her higher, his hands cupping her bottom as she wrapped her legs around him. It seemed only right to wrap the plaid around Adam’s broad shoulders, the length enclosing them both. The kiss changed and fused and ignited, and soon Adam lowered her to her feet, his hands busy with her clothes and his, and her hands flew to touch him as she could, eager to be one with him.
With the soft breeze flowing through the open upstairs window, the air fragrant with flowers and earth and new life, Jillian lay spent and happy on an old soft quilt with Adam. The world outside drifted in its golden silky path, unnoticed. Neither spoke, but the sense of homecoming curled around him. Love that would last danced in the sunlight shafting onto the bare floor, and in Adam’s slow stroke on her hair, her hand smoothing his chest. “We need the kitchen up and running right away. I want to fill that lovely old pantry. We’ll need an office, of course. I don’t think I’ll paint the house I rente
d. There can’t be much to home-owning. I think I’ll paint this one.”
“Do you, love?” Adam reached lazily for a remote control lying on the windowsill. He pressed a button and used the guiding stick, and from the shadows, Nancy the Flatbed Hauler purred toward them.
Adam took the velvet box from Nancy’s back and removed the engagement ring, showing Jillian the wedding band of diamonds. He removed the silver ring, replacing it with the wedding set. “They belong there. You have my heart—will you take my name?”
Modern convention said she could keep her name, but Adam’s was her choice. “I love you, Adam,” Jillian said unevenly. She couldn’t speak, her heart too full for words.
“And I love you. I always will.”
July filled Tallchief Mountain with wildflowers, daisies spreading across the highland meadow. The traditional bridal tepee of the Tallchiefs gleamed pale in the setting sun as Adam waited for his bride.
They’d come so far, crossing from a boy and a girl and trouble into a new life as a man and a woman. She brought him a softness and a joy he never thought possible, an easy, genteel, graceful way of handling the emotional moments as the men came to see him.
Adam smiled and watched the sunset spread over the crests of the rugged mountains. But then, Jillian wasn’t always a lady. Sometimes she was a laughing girl, teasing him, making him feel young and carefree. At other times, she was a woman boldly taking what she wanted and then at other times, Adam enjoyed the flirtation, that cocky, sultry, come-with-me-big-boy look over her shoulder, her hips swaying as she climbed the stairs. Other times, as they worked on the house, making it comfortable for their new life, she was fierce, arguing with him.
When she was most frustrated, Adam greedily anticipated her next move, because it was likely she would leap upon him, having her way to both their pleasures and sometimes in laughter and flirtation. And there was nothing like her surging out of bed, stalking through the room, curved and beautiful and itemizing exactly why she was right and he was wrong. Nothing could compare to Jillian walking to him at their wedding, dressed in a doeskin shift of the Tallchiefs. Her amber eyes had darkened and shimmered with tears as she took in his plaid and kilt, and the love he could not keep from shining.
Jillian needed him, he thought, dazzled by the life opening up in front of him. She needed him to listen to her business complaints, to give comfort as she told him about rebuilding her life, to listen to the wedding plans and those of her garden. She needed him for back rubs, which usually developed into his appreciation for her body and his need for it. She needed and loved him. His life was more than he could have ever dreamed, more full.
He picked a bouquet of wildflowers, thinking of how tender she could be, how demanding a lover, sometimes shocking herself. There were times when she looked across a crowded room at him and the sizzle fairly undid him, hardening him until he couldn’t think of anything but how she felt in his arms.
Adam shook his head and brought the bouquet to his face, smelling it. True, he could be rude, packing her over his shoulder and carrying her out of a family gathering to have her alone.
He looked up at the mountain peaks where Liam had chased Elizabeth, and knew he would have done the same. And then he smiled, wondering who had really caught whom. He wondered if Sarah knew all those years ago that there would never be another love for him, that Jillian had captured his young heart fast and tight.
Then Jillian stood away from the bush concealing the small pool where they would bathe together later. She wore his wedding ring, the headband of beads and doeskin, and nothing else. The sunset slid along her hair, burnishing it, and curving like a gold wrap along her body.
Adam watched, his throat dry and his heart beating heavily, as she walked toward him, the dove and the hawk feathers held in her outstretched hand, and love shining in those soft gold eyes.
“I know, dear heart. You don’t have to say anything. It’s in your face, and probably in mine. I feel just the same, loving you,” she whispered as she smoothed his cheek.
“It’s been forever. It will be forever, my love for you,” he whispered, his voice raw, as he brought her palm to his lips.
The woman who brings the hawk and the dove feathers to the hunter shall tame him in gentler ways. He will be her strength, protecting her, but she has her own powers, most tender and loving…. Together they grow into each other’s lives, and love will be born….
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5419-4
TALLCHIEF: THE HUNTER
Copyright © 2002 by Lois Kleinsasser
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books S.A., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Visit Silhouette at www.eHarlequin.com
*The MacLeans
*The MacLeans
*The MacLeans
†The Blaylocks
†The Blaylocks
‡The Tallchiefs
‡The Tallchiefs
‡The Tallchiefs
‡The Tallchiefs
‡The Tallchiefs
‡The Tallchiefs
†The Blaylocks
†The Blaylocks
†The Blaylocks
§Freedom Valley
‡The Tallchiefs
§Freedom Valley
§Freedom Valley
‡The Tallchiefs
‡The Tallchiefs
