by Cait London
She didn’t want to know that he was compassionate and tender. She didn’t want to revel in life, wrapped in his arms...Rio was too dangerous to her.
For just that second, while his hair brushed her skin and his mouth tugged at her breast, she’d imagined a black-haired, dark-eyed child--a boy, maybe, to play marbles here with his friends.
She shoved away the marble with the memory, and it ricocheted against the wall, retuming to her, just like thoughts of Rio. Paloma cursed him for challenging her, for causing her to remember Boone, and upsetting the only safe haven she’d known as a child. All the painful memories waited for herespecially those of a father who denied his daughter. Was she Boone’s daughter? Was she?
“Sforzando, ” she muttered, the musical term describing Rio as explosive. Just a sleepless week ago, Rio had given her one of those dark sizzling looks, strapped on his chaps, slapped on his Western hat and stalked out the door. He’d left Mai-Ling, despite her wishes. Her pride kept her from running after him in the driving rain and shouting at him. Oh, he would have liked that. Rio Blaylock was a hot-tempered, primitive man, who wouldn’t be allowed to stake a claim on her—she’d been owned before, and she knew she was no more to Rio than a game...a conquest. Yet his claiming of her had shattered fears and insecurities, forging dreams to destroy her sleep. She had to reclaim herself, had to forget that one night Before dawn this morning she had saddled Mai-Ling to ride down to Jasmine. She had to do battle with her memories of Boone and her fears. Paloma kicked a stack of bound burlap sacks; her damaged ankle protested the shock and she hopped to sprawl on a chair.
Lou, her agent, would have ranted about her hands, the heavy anvil she’d just lifted—She’d been so glad to escape the mine, to see Rio climb out alive. He made her feel alive and she damned him for that; her life was perfectly fine without Rio in it. “Courting me. As if I think he’d be so old-fashioned, or arrogant enough to believe-”
She frowned, remembering Rio’s dark scowl and his words, spoken like a promise engraved in stone. I’ll be faithful...
The headache brewing since she’d awakened had worsened. She rubbed her temples, wishing that the past would be as easy to face as a filled concert hall. She should be in Italy, performing, but oh, no, she was here to face the past and kill it. She scowled at the curious ranchers who had come to pick up their feed, seed and fertilizers.
Pueblo Habersham peeked around the corner of the rough-hewn doorway, found her glaring at him and muttered, “Don’t like ruffles and don’t like that music.” He withdrew quickly to the sanctuary of stacked feed bags and the men, who had come to purchase fertilizer and seed. Paloma smiled grimly and scanned the shadowy log-and-adobe room. Boone had wanted her to have this, and it might be the only gift she’d have from her suspected father. That old pain of rejection sliced through her again just as the door opened and an eleven-year-old girl, dressed in bib overalls and a hot-pink jacket, stepped inside. “I’m Cindi Blaylock. You’d better stop scowling at me, ’cause my mom and dad won’t like it. Neither will my aunt Else. And the whole family wants to see the woman who has stirred up my uncle Rio. He’s been holed up and in a snit for a week and he called my aunt Else to ask how to clean stuff, like windows and an oven. He’s never worried about stuff like that before. What are you doing with his favorite mare, Mai-Ling?”
Paloma stood slowly and braced her hand against the wall, her ankle protesting the weight as she turned down the tape player. “I borrowed the mare. I’ll pay him for her use.”
“Sure. Like I believe that. My uncle Rio raised her from a filly, and she’s special to him. He wouldn’t let just anybody borrow her, and she’s sure not a rent-a-nag.” The girl snorted and braced her hands on her waist. She tilted her head, listening to the taped music. “That is powerful ugly music. Bet nobody can dance to it I used to ride Mai-Ling with Uncle Rio. I suppose he’ll be wanting to take you camping and not me. There goes one perfectly fine just-got-him new uncle down the drain. The next thing you know there will be another wedding, and I’ll have to watch my manners and wear dresses and act sweet- Yuck.”
“That’s enough, honey,” said the pregnant woman who had just entered the feed store. Instantly Paloma recognized a jaw like her own, the same sleek black hair as the girl’s and her own. Were these more of Boone’s children? Why did they look so much alike?
Dressed in a slim black tunic and tight-fitting pants that led into boots, the smaller woman smiled. “I’m Kallista Blaylock. Roman is my husband, and this is Else Murphy, his sister. You must be Paloma Forbes. I thought you might like these, a welcoming gift. Roman and I own the ceramic shop down the street, The Bisque Café.”
Else’s black gaze was cool and thoughtful, her pearl earrings gleaming in the dim light A tall woman, her face was weathered by time and good humor and Paloma instantly recognized the Blaylock family stamp—coal-black hair and black flashing eyes that missed nothing, measuring Paloma. Else smiled warmly. “I’d like you to come visit me when you can. From the looks of you, you might be needing a good meal. No need to call ahead. We’ve always got plenty on the table and plenty of people to eat it.”
“Thank you. That’s very nice of you. I’m sorry I can’t offer you a place to sit.” Paloma realized she was trembling when she took the box. She had no intention of entering the extensive Blaylock family, of going to their homes and sharing meals. Kallista’s steady green eyes, her glossy black hair, the way she held her jaw-and there was that same odd familiarity about Cindi, too. Was she related to them? Paloma’s chest tightened painfully as she remembered Boone’s pichnes-the girl had been wearing red boots, but the green eyes, slightly slanted, were just as clear. Paloma’s hands trembled as she freed the teal mugs from their shredded wrapping; she placed them on a board running between and over the two wooden barrels. “These are lovely. Thank you.”
“Roman will be right along with the cleaning things. We thought we’d help you get the top layer off anyway. You’ll be meeting the whole Blaylock tribe in short order. They’re all pretty curious. Good, you’ve got hot water on the old stove. We can have tea in just a minute,” Else said, plopping her purse aside and withdrawing plastic-wrapped tea bags from it.
“A ladies’ tea party? Here in the feed store?” gasped Pueblo from the doorway, his expression horrified. He hurried back into the protection of the feed sacks and the men. Else smiled impishly and began to pour water into the cups.
“What are you going to do with this lovely old place?” Kallista asked, glancing at the adobe walls and logs.
Paloma served her the truth—nothing else would do for a girl that Boone had treasured. “I really don’t know. I just know that it was Boone’s and he loved it. I want to see it clean and cherished. But I told Rio that I was thinking of a country boutique.”
Kallista grinned instantly. “I’ll bet that struck terror into his heart. This is the certified Blaylock lair, where generations of them have shot the proverbial bull.”
“I’m taking a break from my career,” Paloma said softly as Cindi moved out of listening distance and Else stepped outside. Somehow, she knew that Kallista would understand. “I’ve been pushing most of my life and now I’ve got to see who I am. I’ve never had a home and now I want to see if I can make one, if only for this one room. I want to put my fingers on something other than piano keys. I can’t explain everything, but—”
“You don’t have to. It’s just your time to find what you need, and if you want to clean, this certainly is a good place to start,” Kallista agreed, glancing at the piles of clutter and dust. She winked. “The Blaylocks are curious about the woman Rio wants. They’re a close family and Rio’s escaped a wedding band for years.”
“That man,” Paloma muttered darkly.
Kallista laughed wickedly. “Blaylock men are unique. Every time one of them kisses his wife or girlfriend, the rest of them hoot and grab their own for a mind-blowing kiss. It takes a while to recover.”
Else came back into the store, carry
ing a brown paper wrapped package. “You should have this. When Mother was a little girl, her dresses were made from these. Her great-grandmother made bonnets from them, to shield her face from the sun. Back then, the feed sacks were cotton, and women picked their chicken feed according to the material they liked best They also bought more bags of feed, for more material. Lots of quilts around here have pieces from chicken feed sacks, but these have never been used. They came from this store, traded for chickens and cattle and vegetables.”
Beneath Paloma’s hand, the folded, patterned pieces were soft and precious. She traveled lightly, without mementos to bog her down. Yet they belonged to another time and to Boone, who would have known all about their history. “I should give them back, they’re too precious and they’ve been saved all these years...but I can’t. I love them. Thank you.”
Else hugged her. “You keep them. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do with them.”
In the next half hour, more Blaylocks arrived—Dan and Hannah, Logan and his daughters, and Bernadette and James. Roman was quiet, his arm looped around his wife as they studied Paloma. Amid gifts of potted plants, casseroles and freshly baked bread and surrounded by Blaylocks, Paloma wanted to escape. She’d faced tough audiences, but the Blaylocks were another matter. Paloma didn’t want this family, and she didn’t want the motherly friendship Else seemed to offer— Paloma had survived better without tethers. She’d be pleasant, cool, and keep to her purpose—that of resolving the past—and she wouldn’t be pushed into...
The reason for the Blaylocks’ curiosity about her strolled in the door. He promptly found her, after she backed into a row of rakes and hoes and they toppled noisily to the floor. He tipped back his hat and scowled at her. Dressed in jeans and a chambray shirt, Rio was clean-shaven and his hair was still damp. One look at him and Paloma’s heart turned a flip-flop; rippling, exciting musical chords raced through her body, tensing it. A stealthy rhythm and blues beat mixed with sturdy rock and roll, and she remembered how he’d carried her, how he’d kissed her—tenderly and then the burning.... She found herself sniffing delicately through the various scents to find his wonderful fresh one—he smelled like soap and spring and dark, fiery storms.
Rio’s sleek black brows drew together. He calmly picked up the garden implements and stacked them in a corner. “It’s about time you came down off that mountain, slim.”
“Mind your manners, Rio.” Else spoke with the authority of an older sister.
“Better be sweet, or Else will knock your head with her wooden spoon, the same as Mother used to do,” Dan stated with a grin. “And she’s wearing Mother’s pearl earrings and that means she’s doing family business.”
“I like this girL Don’t you boys pick on her,” Else ordered firmly.
“I’m primed to do just that,” Rio murmured in a tone that caused heat to skitter up Paloma’s back. She hadn’t seen him in a week, and just looking at him caused her to flush.... She couldn’t forget how he’d taken her breast to his mouth, how he’d touched her intimately, how their bodies had joined.
Rio smiled and took off his hat, his eyes flat and cold upon Paloma before Else nudged him with her elbow. “Be nice.”
Reminded of his Blaylock manners, he nodded and blew a kiss to each of Logan’s girls, then smiled to each woman. “’Morning, ladies. You’re looking real good, Hannah. Bernadette, you look younger than when you married James. Kallista, you are a picture, and Else...” He.kissed her on the cheek.
“I’m here, too, you know, Uncle Rio,” Cindi stated abruptly in a disgusted tone.
“Now, how could I forget the prettiest one of the pack?” Rio asked with humor. Pacified, Cindi beamed, and Rio stared at Paloma, his warm smile dying. She stared back and sucked in her breath as the need to latch her hands to his face and feast upon his mouth hit her. The staccato beat of her heart threatened to turn into a cannon boom.
“You’ve got dirt on your face,” he stated, taking a clean white handkerchief from his shirt pocket. He dipped it in the water remaining on the stove and tipped her chin up as he cleaned her cheek. When Paloma tried to jerk away, he held her firmly, his eyes darkening. His gaze swept to her lips, and the racing heat between them edged up to “danger.” His thumb stroked the corner of her mouth, just once lightly and with enough impact to slam desire into her lower stomach. For just that instant, heat ran between them, sizzling, jolting, a raw fascination of male and female, and everyone else in the room faded away. Then he tugged the single braid at her nape, breaking the moment just before their lips touched. “There. Where should I pick you up tomorrow night for the dance—up on that damned mountain or here?”
Paloma fought the heat moving up her cheeks and realized she’d flattened her hand against the wall to support her weak knees. “You might ask someone else,” she suggested firmly between her teeth. Else sighed and clasped her hands beneath her chin; her wistful expression said that she hoped Rio had found love. Not this time, Paloma decided.
“Can’t ask anyone else. You’ve got the best-looking dimple around—right there.” He bent to brush a kiss on her cheek.
She slashed his kiss away. Rio had moved unexpectedly and she didn’t trust the leaping of her heart. “I’ve got work to do.”
“We’re here to help,” Else said. “If these boys would get out of the way, we could have at it”
“‘Boys.’ I’m thirty-seven, Else. Don’t you think it’s time you stopped calling me a boy?” Rio demanded sullenly. With his jaw lowered protectively into his shirt collar and his longsuffering, wary expression, Rio looked more like the boy than the man. He shot a dark just-wait-till-she’s-gone look at Paloma.
“We’d like you to stay with us,” Kallista said quietly, almost wistfully. “Roman is Boone’s executor, and meticulous about following Boone’s instructions. Everything in the house is intact, just as Boone left it. I’d like for you and me and Cindi to share that, almost like a family. Our baby is due in two months and I—I’d like the time with you.”
Paloma didn’t understand the quiet look Kallista shared with her husband, who had just drawn her closer, protectively, against him. In that moment, facing the past and memories of the man who had never admitted he was her father, terrified Paloma. The image of the huge two-story Llewlyn house loomed in front of her, and pain tore at her chest. She looked like Boone, and yet he’d rejected her.
“She’ll come when she’s ready,” Rio said quietly and placed his hand on Paloma’s shoulder. The warm weight gave her unexpected comfort and she found herself looking into his dark, soft eyes. She hadn’t expected the compassion, the understanding of her fears. She remembered how he’d held her at the mine, how gentle he’d been, and in that moment she knew that she could trust him.
“Thank you for the offer,” she managed, shaken by her reaction to Rio. She’d wanted to lean against him, to trust him, just as she had in the mine. As a child, she’d slept in hotel bathtubs or on the floor—her mother had needed the room’s only bed to entertain lovers. Paloma shrugged free of Rio’s hand and met his level stare with her own. “But I’m comfortable now at the cabin, and if I need to sleep here at times, I’ll be quite comfortable in my sleeping bag.”
“I hope you’re not afraid of mice,” he stated tightly, noting the pests common to feed and seed stores. “Rats sometimes, too, and spiders big enough to eat them whole.”
She’d fought rats in back alleys, finding her way home alone at night. Her mother had been occupied... Paloma staged a light shiver. “Ooo. I’m so frightened.”
Dan’s snicker was cut short by his wife’s elbow. “Now about this old place. What are you going to do with it, once it’s cleaned up?” Hannah asked. Her look at Paloma said she understood. “I’m a decorator and—”
“A feed store doesn’t need a decorator,” her husband stated warningly.
“I hope you’re planning to do something marvelous,” Bernadette said as her husband frowned at her. Paloma sensed that the Blaylock women were
enjoying their husbands’ discomfort, their boys’ clubhouse threatened by brooms and soap.
“Actually, I thought I’d do a country boutique. Dried wildflower arrangements in old pitchers, that sort of thing.” She couldn’t resist causing the Blaylock men to quiver, their precious landmark endangered with flowers and lace. The impulse to tease startled her, but Rio’s glare was worth the effort.
“That’s a little distance away from playing in concerts, isn’t it?” he asked warily.
“I need a change of pace. Boone willed this place to me. He loved it, and—” Paloma lifted a heavy stool, and Rio took it from her. After a warning look, she took the stool back and placed it aside. “I want to putter. I haven’t had much time in my life for puttering, and that’s what I want to do now. I want to stick dried flowers in antique jars and enjoy myself. As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about papering the bathroom in a nice rosebud print.”
She tried not to grin as Dan gasped and turned pale. The Blaylock men looked at her blankly. Their gazes mourned the antique brass spittoons, floating in a tub of cleaning solution. “You’d destroy a grand old place, a historical monument to the men of Jasmine, because you want to ‘putter’?” Dan asked.
Paloma crossed her arms, eyeing the men. “No cigars, no pipes, no spitting tobacco and no male watering hole. You’ll have to find a new place.”
“With the baby coming, Kallista needs more help at the shop. Maybe—” Roman began earnestly.
“Men need a place to come and talk,” James stated firmly.
“Women.” Logan’s tone was filled with disgust.
“Sorry about the bathroom. I really had to remove those old calendars—they were outdated. You’re welcome to drop in.” Paloma couldn’t help grinning. Clearly the Blaylock males felt endangered as they turned to glare at Rio.
“I loved that Marilyn Monroe calendar,” Logan grumbled.
