by BJ James
“Tynan O’Hara’s woman.” He liked the sound of it. The intent.
“The last thing I remembered for days after Wildflower Canyon, was Carl calling me that—your woman.” She said it reverently, as one might declaring oneself queen or saint. “I don’t remember when he said it, or where. Yet his voice seemed to reach out to me through a suffocating mist. And it seemed right.”
“If?” Ty let the thought hang, waiting for Merrill to complete it as he knew she would.
“If I can come to you whole. If I can live in your world, not hide in it. If I can stand at your side, not lean.”
“To do that you must lay your doubts to rest? Your doubts,” he spoke with emphasis. “Not mine.”
Taking his hand, she clasped it in both of hers. “You make it hard to go.”
“I would make everything in your life easier if I could. Except leaving me.” He gripped the hands that held his tightly. “But, I understand, and accept your decision. I won’t try to stop you.”
Merrill lifted their joined hands to her cheek, her lips were soft and tender against his wrist. “Thank you for that, and for your trust.”
“When?” The question was strained. A stranger’s voice, and yet his own. “When will you go.”
“Soon.” Releasing his hand, lifting her arms to lace her fingers at the nape of his neck, she rose again on tiptoe. Heedless that the shirt she wore swung open, or perhaps glad of it, she let the tips of her breasts caress his chest. “But there’s time.”
Her body moved and turned, rocking gently against the bareness of his. “Time enough to say goodbye.” The line of her body teased his. Enticed. Seduced. “Time enough.”
“Time for this.” His mouth came down on hers, silencing her. Silencing himself. And she felt his desire, subtle no longer, waiting no longer. Commanding, demanding, as a rage. She was swept from her feet, held fast by arms with the tensile power of steel bands. The room reeled in a kaleidoscope of light and shadow as he took her to a bed still tumbled from a night of love.
Remembering her trembling sweetness, the exquisite delight he found in her, he held her close, his shuddering pulse an uneven cadence. A look of molten blue turned to scorch her with the heat of his desire. “Is this what you want? What you meant to provoke? Passion and lust, and wanting until it becomes a mindless demon.
“Would you have me mindless, my love? Without reason or tenderness.” Though he spoke with a quiet gentleness, his hands were curling claws of forceful power at her ribs and her thigh. And though his voice was low, thoughtful, his face was drawn in grim lines of constraint by the battle he waged with himself. “Did you mean this?”
“Yes.” She had wanted him to want her in the deepest, most elemental way. Savagely and primitively, without restraint. And yes, a demon rode him, one she had taunted, and she wanted that part of him as well. “And yes, again.”
A palm cupped the angle of his throat, petting it lightly as her fingers moved to twist in his hair, bringing his mouth back to her. “I want all of you. The dreamy, mystical magic of your tenderness. The thunder and lightning of the storm within you. I want all that you are for my own.”
For the space of a faltering heartbeat, he held himself aloof. But undaunted, as she teased her mouth over his, her tongue darted over the unyielding flesh with lazy lightning of its own.
“Witch,” he groaned against her enchanting mouth, and the storm broke, sweeping away the last shred of restraint and reason. His massive shoulders shook and even as he let her body slide down the length of his, even as her toes touched the floor, he was bearing her down. Down to her bed.
His body was long and lean over hers as his kiss devoured her. His hands were hard and wild, and the taste of him lay spicy on her tongue as the last of tenderness fled.
The civilized Tynan O’Hara ceased to exist. There was only the elemental, primitive man and the woman who desired him.
Tangled and forbidden by the flow of his own shirt, he cursed once. Then laughed as he ripped it from her and flung it away. Soon there would be thousands of miles between them. But for now, as the morning sun streamed toward the mountains, there would be nothing.
Then he was driving into her, even as she was reaching for his shoulders, clutching at him, drawing him deeper and harder to her.
If one was lightning, the other was thunder. One following the other, matching the other, while the fury of their storm mounted. As she opened to him, keeping nothing of herself from him, he rode her slowly, fiercely. Hot blue eyes watching with savage arrogance as each cry shuddered from her and her body convulsed with each new sensation.
Blood burning through him like lava, with his one conscious thought, he searched deeply within himself, finding a final shred of control. Using it, reining in the threatening, cresting urgency, he took her deeper into the void. Close and ever closer to the tortuous splendor.
As she cried out her passion, as her nails scored his back and his shoulders in its demand, as her eyes grew dazed with the first of its pleasure, he bent to kiss her. With his kiss consuming her, he lunged once more, and her body fused in exquisite release with his.
The storm faded, passion ebbed. The room was quiet. Precious minutes ticked away.
Spent, drifting in the remembered ecstasy of lovemaking, they lay entwined. His arms around her, her head on his shoulder, their bodies curled with a naturalness one into the other. The day grew older, brighter, filling the window with its glare.
If he thought about it, Ty could guess the hour within a few minutes. But he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to guess. Time had become the enemy. For time would take her from him. He wondered if she felt the same.
Skimming a hand over her bare hip, he drew her snug against him. “What are you thinking?”
Her answer was lazy, and languorous, and totally unexpected. “Turkeys.”
For a stunned second he was taken aback. Then he began to laugh. Husky and deep, the sound of it ringing through the room. “If that doesn’t bring a man back down to earth, I don’t know what would. Here I was, thinking you were savoring the miracle we’ve shared, and maybe thanking your lucky stars for such a splendid lover, and instead, you’re thinking of turkeys?”
Sliding her body over his, she folded her hands on his bare chest and propped her chin on her thumbs as she regarded him solemnly. “I was.”
“You were?” There was laughter in his look. “What?”
“Savoring the miracle and thanking everything in the universe for you.”
“While you thought of turkeys.”
“Well, yes.” She drew the admission out as she grinned. “I was wondering if you had any. Turkeys, I mean, in that great freezer in the pantry.”
“There are a few.” His fingers danced up her ribs, tantalizing the fullness of her breasts as they flowed over his chest. “Would you like to tell me why you’re interested?”
“Thanksgiving.” Determined to pursue this course of conversation at least a while longer, she clamped her teeth against a moan as he found new places to explore.
“Last time I looked at the calendar, it was a week away.”
“Would you mind if I made Thanksgiving dinner for the Carlsens, and for you? No!” She corrected almost immediately. “Brunch. Let’s make a day of it.”
Ty sobered, a roguish grin vanished. “A day of farewell?”
Merrill’s smile slipped as well. A sweep of her lashes veiled the sudden pain she felt.
“Then we have a week.” Stroking a fingertip over the fragile curve of an eyelid, he waited for her to look at him. Meeting her gaze, keeping it, he asked solemnly, “How should we spend it?”
“Like this.” Her lips left a trail of kisses over his chest, his throat, his chin, then his mouth. When his arms closed around her, lifting her to him, she whispered, “Every precious second of it.”
“A Thanksgiving toast.” Carl tapped his glass. One of Tynan’s best, for his best vintage, both brought out of storage on this festive occasio
n. “To a fine bird.” Raising the glass he bowed to Merrill. “And to the lady who prepared it, with our thanks for all she’s given us. For saving Casey and bringing Shadow back to us.”
The turkey was only a skeleton, stripped bare by the ravenous appetites the guests and host had brought to the table. And in Merrill’s judgment, it was Shadow who had saved Casey and herself by buying time with his courage and devotion. Giving her the chance to do what she had to. But for Shadow, thin and frail from his ordeal, and sleeping soundly at her feet, she accepted the compliment in the happy spirit in which it had been given.
Throughout the day there had been times when the festive air had grown forced. Then others in which the deep bonds of camaraderie and friendship overshadowed the eminent departure. Only Casey questioned her reasons for going and asked why.
“It’s just something I have to do,” Merrill told him later, as she knelt to tend the fire while Cat helped Tynan clear the table, and Carl stamped across the snow covered porch to replenish the wood box.
“Is it because of the trouble to the east?” Casey’s face was solemn, the eyes that were as arresting as his mother’s were grave and steady. “You aren’t going over to the part of the state where those crazy cult folks are keeping people hostage, and taking potshots at everyone else, are you?”
“Certainly, I’m not.” Merrill was more than a little startled by the questions. Standing in her stocking feet, she had to look up at him. “But why would you think I might?”
“It doesn’t take a genius to know you do secret stuff. Dangerous, secret stuff.”
“Casey! Where did you get such an idea?”
The look the young boy gave her was pure disgust. “Like I said, it doesn’t take a genius. You work with Ty’s sister, Val. Mom says she twisted his arm over the telephone and persuaded him to give you a place to rest and recuperate. Val does secret stuff for somebody called Simon. I know, because when I was little, when they didn’t know I was around, I heard Ty telling my mom he was worried about the danger this Simon put her in.”
A frown marred the clear, unlined face. The bright stare was level, accusing. “Do you work for Simon? Will he send you someplace dangerous?”
Merrill saw no reason to deny what Casey already knew. “Valentina is, or was, part of HRT. Hostage Rescue Teams,” she interpreted. “Her field of expertise is firearms. Mine is languages, and like Val, I work for a man called Simon. But, face it, the only way someone in languages could get into trouble is by talking too much.”
Reaching out, she ruffled his dark hair affectionately. “Hey, buddy, are you trying to tell me I’m a chatterbox?”
Dodging away from her for the first time ever, his unrelenting frown remained intact. “You don’t come to someplace like Fini Terre to recuperate from talking too much.”
Sighing, Merrill set the fire tools aside. “Okay, the truth. Straight out, with no dodges, no frills. And it doesn’t leave this room.”
Again a look of utter, teenage disgust flashed over Casey’s face, letting her know he understood she might tell him the truth, but there would be no great revelation of national secrets.
Crossing her arms as if she were chilled, even though the fire blazed with renewed vigor, Merrill gave him a capsule version of the truth. “I was sent on a mission in South America. As usual it was intended that I would be first in, first out. There were some liaisons to be arranged, then some decision to be made. The sort I’ve made hundreds of times before. Except this time I was wrong.” She hugged herself closely, never looking away from Casey. “Some people died. I had a hard time dealing with my part in it.”
“Somebody tricked you,” Casey said with the candor of youth.
“That’s about the size of it.”
“So Valentina sent you to Ty. And now that he’s helped you get better, you want a crack at South America again. To make it right, so what happened to those people won’t happen to any others.”
“You’re batting a thousand, champ.”
Casey nodded, absently, and Merrill wondered if he’d even heard her until he straightened from the mantel. “Makes sense. It’s what I would want.” He towered over her, long, lanky, but with the breadth of shoulders that would someday rival his father’s. “But you gotta promise you’ll be careful. And that you’ll come back.”
“I promise, I’ll be careful.” A muffled sound caught Merrill’s attention. As she looked past Casey, she found Ty, watching and waiting. A small wistful smile tilted her lips and crinkled her eyes. “And I’ll be back. Count on it.”
The rest of the morning went quickly. Too quickly for Merrill, though it was barely noon when they gathered closely in the great room. Cat and Casey worked a puzzle that seemed to be nothing but jellybeans. While Carl and Ty discussed horses, and once the grizzly as they speculated on the odds that there would be two bears with the same maiming injury in the same area.
“In a way, it seems far-fetched, stretching the realm of credibility. Then again, where there are poachers there are forgotten and neglected traps. Who’s to say more than one bear didn’t step into more than one trap.” Carl’s voice turned harsh. “Some of these steel brutes I’ve found, could snap half a paw, or even a whole foot off.”
From her place on the floor by the fire, with Shadow’s head in her lap, Merrill watched, and listened without hearing. I’ll be gone tomorrow, she thought with a heavy heart. And who knows when I’ll see them again.
As if he read her mind, Ty paused in the conversation, smiled at her and reached down to take her hand. His fingers laced through hers, he turned back to Carl. “I’m going to have the guides and cowhands come a little early next season. Do a careful search.”
“Then you think there are more? And you’re worried that some of the summer people will be injured?” Cat laid aside another piece of the puzzle as she turned from the blinding intricacies of thousands of identical jellybeans.
“I’m lucky tt didn’t happen this past season.” Ty’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitched. “A trap that can do that to a bear could snap a small person’s leg, through and through. Or kill a child.”
“So. first we find the traps,” Carl snarled in his hatred for the cruelty and lack of responsibility. “Then we find the son of an idiot who set them.”
“He could be long gone,” Casey suggested. “In fact, if he’s heard what happened here, I’d bet he is.”
“If we don’t find him,” Carl put in, “at least the word will get out we’re looking. Could deter anyone else from being so stupid.”
“It’s worth a try.”
The shrill ring of the telephone at Casey’s elbow cut Ty short. With the ease of long custom the boy lifted the receiver.
“O’Hara residence. Casey Carlsen speaking.” His words flowed like silk, if there was hesitation, or a slurred consonant, only one with a perfect ear for diction would know. Drawing a surprised gasp, Casey listened, his look finding Merrill first, then moving to Ty. “Yes, sir,” he said gruffly into the receiver. “He’s here now.
“It’s for you.” An obvious observation and unsurprising, until he offered the telephone, adding, “Simon McKinzie calling.”
The room was suddenly a tomb, with the crackle of blazing wood resounding like gunfire in the stillness.
“Simon, happy Thanksgiving.” Ty said into the receiver as he took it from Casey. “How are...” Paling he let the rest of his greeting fall away. His mouth drooped down in a thin, grim line. At last, with a jerk of his bead, he said to Simon, “I’ll go. One way or another, I’ll do it. I’ll leave within the hour.”
There was more, but Merrill didn’t hear, as she felt the claw of fear and dread deep in the pit of her stomach. She had no idea what was wrong. But, in Casey’s words, it didn’t take a genius to know it was trouble. Grave trouble.
The clatter of the receiver hitting the floor as it missed the cradle, electrified an already stunned audience.
“An hour ago a government plane went down only a few miles from here. S
ince then the weather service has issued a storm warning, a rogue that just cooked up. No rescue planes or helicopters are flying. We’re closest to the crash site. Piegan’s Ridge.” As he said the unofficial name known only to the locals, but notorious among them, Ty looked at Merrill with bleak eyes. “There were three on board. Valentina was one of them.”
“Val!” Cat was first to react. “My lord! Why? Was she coming here?”
“Not here,” Ty said wearily. “To the Fortress.”
This was the title given to the farm the group of radicals had taken for its home.
“They have an escalating hostage condition.”
“But she’s retired.” Merrill blurted. “She’s done no more than consult since she and Rafe were married.”
“The situation involves a child. A diabetic child without insulin.” Ty’s mouth quirked beneath his mustache, but there was no humor in the smile. “She was always a soft touch for a child.”
Carl was rising, reaching for his coat. “What will we need?”
For a minute Ty couldn’t think, then the fog of shock cleared, leaving his thoughts keen and orderly. “We’ll be climbing.”
“I’ve done some climbing,” Merrill said as she rose from the floor. “Quite a bit, in fact. I’ll help gather our supplies.”
Ty turned on her almost angrily. “You can’t go.”
“I can,” she refuted gently. “And I am.”
“No. I can’t be worried about both of you.”
Framing his face in her palms, Merrill, looked deeply into his anguish. “Then focus on Val. Our paths never crossed in The Watch, and I haven’t known her long, but in that little hile she became my friend. I owe my life as it is, to her.” Taking her hands away, she stood straighter, finding a well of strength and confidence in the face of disaster. “Worry if you will, about Val, or all of us, but don’t ask me not to go.”
There was a tense, watchful hush again. Ty stared down at her, challenging her decision to no avail. Then, as if by its own volition, his hand lifted, the back of it stoking the delicate hollow of her cheek. His voice was husky with strain. “All right, we go. The three of us.”
