by Cait London
He looked so shocked that she pushed a bit more and fluttered her lashes at him, then smiled innocently. Without looking away, his gaze darkening, Rio took the Blaylock baby that had been held out to him; the mother hurried away, looking under the table, in search of a boy who was eating too many black olives. Rio flopped a cloth over his shoulder and expertly burped the child.
He was bred to be a father, to love and hold children, and the image of him cuddling the soft baby against him jolted Paloma. The next thing she knew, Else was placing a plate of deep-dish apple pie in front of her and taking the baby from Rio. She rocked the sleepy baby in her arms. “Rio, the girl is fairly starved. You need some groceries at your place and a good deep-freeze. You could put a thing or two on those empty pantry shelves, too. Paloma, you just eat and have a good time tonight, and if Rio doesn’t act right, I’ll lend you my wooden spoon. Rio, can you think of anyone who could help Joe out at the piano? His arthritis is bothering him again and Mary Jo Waters is out of town. Imogene is at the hospital with her daughter, who’s having a baby.”
Else reached to tug lightly at the hair brushing his collar. “I’d better tell Pete down at the barber shop to—”
“Else, I’m thirty-seven now, not fifteen. Save it for Tyrell. He’s been out of your clutches for years.” Rio’s chin lowered into his collar, and he glowered at his sister. He swung that dark look at Paloma as if expecting her to tease him about his big sister’s care. “She’ll go away if you don’t encourage her.”
“Did you get those new undershorts?” Paloma asked sweetly, unable to resist reminding him of the bingo ladies’ concerns. She smiled as innocently as she could; and the slight jerk at the corner of Rio’s mouth proved she’d scored a hit.
“Women,” he stated, as if the word was the cause of all male discomfort. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, in case anyone hasn’t noticed. Else, I can’t think of anyone to play the piano, but I’ll go ask around in a minute.” Rio lifted Tracy, his niece, upon his lap and deftly spooned homemade ice cream into her open mouth. The black-haired eighteen-month-old toddler reached to kiss him, then launched herself into Paloma’s arms. Her pursed lips waited for a kiss. “Mama?”
“I’m not your mother, but I’d love a kiss.” It wasn’t an easy thing, letting down her reserve, but the sweet little lips near hers offered a tender delight that she couldn’t refuse. Paloma kissed the little girl, and as she scampered away, Rio’s warm lips briefly replaced the toddler’s cool, moist ones.
Instantly the other Blaylock males shouted, grabbed their wives and kissed them. Kallista blinked and struggled to refocus after Roman’s kiss, Bernadette collapsed against a wall when James released her and Hannah gripped Dan’s shoulders as if she had weak knees. With a grin, Logan headed toward the kitchen and his wife. The Blaylock family tradition startled Paloma, who had never seen such an outright display of af fection. Rio raised her hand to his lips. “Don’t look so shocked, blue eyes. I’d better see if someone can take Joe’s place.”
He hadn’t asked her to play, to perform—a common expectation at the social parties she’d attended Paloma looked down at her long fingers, flexed them against the red checkered cloth. Could she ever play in concert again? She glanced up to find Pueblo Habersham’s rheumy, troubled stare on her; he feared for the safety of his beloved haunt Because she was feeling unsteady, she pursed her lips and blew him a kiss. Pueblo blinked, a rosy shade rising beneath his weathered skin. In another corner with three other women, Lettie glared at her.
A woman’s work-worn hand rested on Paloma’s shoulder and Else smiled down at her. “I just do that to Rio—torment him a bit about his hair and such—to remind him that he’s not alone and he’s loved. I’ve been worried about him since that little boy died up on the mountain. Rio did everything he could, and yet, it wasn’t enough. But from the looks of things, he’s not lonely anymore. I cried this morning when he called and wanted to know if he could have his portion of the folks’ furniture. He used to work all hours of the night remodeling that old barn and he’s never wanted anything but Dad’s chair. Now I think the only thing he wants is you.”
Paloma looked down at her hands, lying smooth and useless on the ironed tablecloth, scented of Wyoming fresh air and sunlight. Across the room, Rio looked at Else and shook his head, signifying no piano player was available. An elderly fiddler stepped up to the microphone. “Folks, we’ve got a little problem. I don’t suppose there is a good piano player in the crowd? Someone who can play by ear, ’cause we don’t have sheet music.”
Paloma’s fingers twitched, ached to play, but she forced herself to sit still; she didn’t belong here—
After a long empty silence, he shook his head. “We’ll do the best we can.”
Cindi came to plop down beside Paloma, glowering at the speaker. She crossed her arms and sank low in her seat “Boy, I hope no one offers. They make me dance, you know. Doesn’t make any difference if I hide or not. It’s some Blaylock thing that the kids dance with their parents. If they get that piano player, I’m doomed. My dad will be looking for me. Man, life gets rough sometimes.”
Paloma had played for money and audiences of thousands; she’d played to please a demanding mother. But the last time she’d played to share her music was with Boone. She knew he would have liked her sharing it with the families of Jasmine. She wanted to give them the best part of her, these people who had welcomed her so warmly into their lives. A community built on family love, they passed heritages to their children, and though Cindi didn’t appreciate the Blaylock custom now, she would as an adult.
Paloma found herself standing and walking toward the small band. She didn’t have to play; she wanted to step into the music and let it take her. She glanced at Rio’s troubled frown and smiled briefly. Sitting on the piano bench, Paloma inhaled and fitted her fingers to the battered keys. She knew how to play without music, listening to her heart, her blood flowing easily, freely, matching the music of the elderly band. After slowly fingering the keys, Paloma felt them come to life and she began to play the old slow dance songs, familiar to the other musicians. The music caught her and she flung herself into Jerry Lee Lewis’s “Great Balls of Fire,” ripping her hands down the keys. B.B. King, blues and jazz mixed with rock and roll, and Paloma glanced out to see the dancers moving to her music. She gave them the beat of her heart in the melody of “Moon River.” By giving a part of herself, she tossed away the grueling hours her mother had demanded and she found a river of peace. She poured her soul into the music, and flew into freedom.
Her mother had never let her go to proms or listen to popular music and now the songs churned out of her, running through her fingers to the keys. She moved into the big band songs of the forties and couples moved around the floor. Then she gave the rock and rollers “Rock Around the Clock” and swung into Chubby Checker’s “Peppermint Twist.” In the shadows, she found Rio, who had a toddler, a boy this time, dressed in denim bib overalls, sleeping on his shoulder. He looked like the fathers around the room, holding sleeping children close. This was how life should be, couples holding, cherishing each other, children dancing with adults or held in loving arms.
“That’s enough. You’re tired, and I want to hold my sweetheart against me,” Rio whispered in her ear as she finished “Red Sails in the Sunset.” He drew her to her feet and out onto the dance floor, where the other dancers cleared away.
“I didn’t know I could do that,” she said as he looked down at her, smoothing a strand of hair away from her damp cheek. She felt as if she could fly straight to the moon, high on the warm smiles around her. She smiled back, testing the warmth within her, and found it bubbling. “I really, really enjoyed that.”
“So we noticed. You were pounding those keys as if nothing could stop you. You can do anything you want.” He slowly took the shawl from her shoulders and placed it around her waist, tying it behind him. He tensed when he drew her close and settled her against him carefully, his eyes cl
osing briefly as if appreciating her freed breasts against him. He placed her head upon his shoulder and gathered her even closer. To the fiddler’s “Tennessee Waltz,” Rio waltzed her around the floor.
Though Paloma’s eyes were closed, her mind filled with the after-pleasure of playing freely; wrapped in his scents and warm arms, she knew that they were alone on the floor. Rio held her formally, in a courtly manner that reflected his heritage and his respect for the woman in his arms. His lips moved gently at her temple, soothing her, and he tucked her hand against his chest, holding it there. She’d missed the proms and dating, but she had this precious night, and for once, felt as if she belonged. She could have danced forever, floating in his arms, his hand open and strong on her waist
“What’s that smile for?” he asked against her cheek.
She didn’t answer, because how could an adult woman who lost all her dreams long ago feel like Cinderella at the ball?
When the music stopped, Rio drew her tightly against him and loosened the shawl tied around their waists. He adjusted it carefully around her shoulders and down her chest, then arranged her hair, smoothing it back from her temples, spreading the strands over the shawl. He studied the roses in her hair for a moment, stroking the petals, and then her cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured so humbly that her heart tore and floated into his keeping.
She couldn’t resist reaching for him, digging her fingertips into his upper arms. Rio was so real, warm, vibrant. He stood still, solid, as though he’d be there forever for her. Would he? She let her hands travel to his shoulders, locking there to his safety, his strength. This man not only excited her, gave her life, but he took away her pain. Their eyes met, and in his dark ones Paloma found peace and tenderness and more. She smoothed his cheek with her palm, discovering the man who wanted her, and he turned to place a kiss into her palm.
In the distance, taped music began to play, and couples moved around them. Paloma glanced at their warm smiles and tensed, wondering if she had dreamed all the happiness around her, within her. “Don’t get all nervous. They like you,” Rio said. “And Pueblo is coming to ask you for a dance.”
Pueblo Habersham, dressed in a freshly pressed cotton shirt and jeans, looked up at her. Beneath his carefully parted gray hair, his weathered face was wrapped in a timid smile. “Ma’am, would you do me the honor of the next dance?” he asked softly,.
Meanwhile, Nancy Blaylock, a black-haired four-year-old dressed in embroidered bib overalls and a lacy shirt, held up her arms to Rio. When she stepped on the tops of his boots and he began to move to the music, his gaze held Paloma’s as if he knew how happy she was.
“Those Blaylock boys make good husbands,” Pueblo said firmly as he danced her around in a circle. “There’s twentysix men now at their powwows, and a whole new batch coming on.” He sighed. “I had me a fine-looking, good-size woman like you once, and let her get away.”
He looked at her warily. “Now just because I said that, don’t think I hold with any ladies’ tea party down at the store.”
Because tonight was so wonderful, and she wasn’t Paloma Forbes, the cool classical concert pianist, she fluttered her lashes at him, surprising herself as she teased, “You’re welcome to join us.”
The stick in his hands cracked, and Rio tossed it to the moonlit ground. He watched deer slide across the field to water in the stream, and then he turned back to the woman who stood near Boone’s grave. Kneeling, she took the roses from her hair and scattered the petals across the grassy knoll, and in the moonlight, tears trailed down her cheeks.
Rio gripped the shawl in his fists and wished he could ease the pain inside Paloma. She looked so much like Boone’s mother that she had to be a relative. Was Boone her father? He wished he could get the truth from his brothers, but Rio knew the set of Roman’s jaw too well. Boone’s executor wasn’t telling secrets, though Rio had pushed him.
His heart breaking for Paloma, Rio felt frustration envelop him. Rio cursed her mother for terrorizing the child and taking away a normal life. She’d played music as if her soul were coming through her fingers, as if she were on a journey to repair the past. Rio whipped the shawl against his thigh. He couldn’t give her answers; all he could give her was himself.
He walked to her, placed the shawl around her shoulders and drew her to her feet and into his arms. She didn’t resist when he lifted her and carried her to his pickup. Her face lay damp against his throat, her body limp as though all the life had been squeezed from her. He gathered her closer and wished he could do more. He’d give his blood, his life, to protect her. She sat curled against him as he drove to his house, and for a time after the engine had died, Rio sat with her and held her hand. Her slender fingers seemed so delicate within the clasp of his. “Boone loved you, Paloma.”
“Not enough to claim me as his daughter. Not enough to protect me from my mother when I was a child.”
“I’d change that if I could,” he said, meaning it.
She shivered and looked away to the moonlit forest bordering Rio’s land. “It shouldn’t matter after all this time. But it does.”
“You’re tired. Come inside and let me hold you.”
Moments later, Paloma smiled against Rio’s throat as he kicked the front door shut behind them. “You’ve got to stop carrying me....”
The telephone rang and Lettie purred into the message machine, “Rio-honey, give me a call.”
Paloma stiffened and pushed to stand away from Rio. She whipped the shawl from around her, she folded it carefully and placed it back in the box. She closed the lid, as if placing him out of her life. “Your harem is hungry. There was no need to trouble yourself with me, just to get my fifty percent in the feed store. I’m not selling.”
“Let’s get this straight. What I feel for you doesn’t have anything to do with other women or the store,” he managed when he recovered from her slashing words.
“I’m realistic.” Paloma turned to him, tossed the box onto the family table and braced her hands on her waist. “I’m not pregnant I’m not the kind of woman for you. I didn’t have a family life, I don’t know how to make a home and I didn’t fit in tonight. You are interfering with my life, Rio.”
Rio rubbed his jaw, studying her as she threw up her hands and walked to the cold fireplace. Volatile, haunted by a shadowy past and in a dark mood, Paloma was the woman he wanted. Inexperienced with living with a woman, he’d heard from his brothers that there were just times a woman had to burn off whatever nagged her. Despite his need to take her to bed, Rio bowed, bringing his Western hat in front of him. “I think I’ll retire to the bam. The house is yours, and you fit in fine. Don’t use that flimsy excuse to nm away before you finish what you have to,” he said lightly, concealing his brewing temper.
Paloma’s eyes narrowed, her body tensed as though she wanted to swing at him. “I’ve never run from anything in my life, thank you. And that includes you. I’d like to borrow Mai-Ling. There is no need to follow me up the mountain. I’ll take good care of her.”
“No. It’s too dangerous at night and I’m not worried about Mai-Ling. I’m worried about you. You’re all revved up and ready to brood, and that is no time to be riding up the mountain. I’ll see you in the morning when you’ve cooled down.” Rio opened the door and stepped out into the night air. He reached into his pickup for the blanket he had planned to use tonight, indulging a wistful need to share the Wyoming stars with Paloma
“I’ll just take that. I won’t be responsible for running you out of your home,” she said, grabbing the blanket from him. She began to march toward the barn, her long hair swaying down her back.
Rio rubbed his hands over his face. If he followed her there would be fireworks, one way or the other. If he didn’t, he’d feel guilty about sleeping in his bed while she slept in barn straw. Why should he feel guilty? Her mood was of her own making, not his. He slapped his hat against his-thigh as Paloma entered the barn. Shaking his head, disgusted that he didn’t know how to manage
this woman sensibly, Rio walked after her. She turned to him. “Thank you for my one and only date. Oh, yes, I’ve had an affair. But Jonathan never saw fit to actually take me to anything. I always met him. After him, I didn’t want to date. Thank you very much, Rio, for the date and for the knowledge of how shabbily I’ve allowed myself to be treated,” she stated in a tone laden with sarcasm. “There is no need to sleep in the barn because of me.”
Rio gave up all hope of understanding her mood and reached for her. He jerked her body close to his where she belonged and fused his mouth to hers. His frustration still bubbling, he released her. “There. I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”
“To me?” she asked unevenly, her eyes wide upon him.
Rio closed his eyes and shook his head. “Did I look at any other woman? Did I dance with anyone over thirteen, or under sixty?”
“Oh my,” she whispered, eyeing him uncertainly and remembering how his eyes had tracked her as she danced with Pueblo, Dusty and Titus. When Neil had started toward her, Rio had claimed the rest of the dances.
“You’re just a baby,” he said, hearing his own frustration. “Someone should take care of you, and every time I get near you—”
“Do your pants get tight?”
The question startled him. “You’ve certainly got an unlovely way of putting it. It’s called ‘physical attraction,”’ Rio shot back, uncomfortable with his surging need for her now.
“At the mine, you said I had a...beautiful butt. Did you really mean that?”
“You’ve got a fine, proud backside, Paloma,” he said, wanting to put his hands on that area now.
She stared at him blankly, as if no one had ever told her she was a fine-looking woman—not cute, or beautiful, but fine. Someone should have told her that long ago. Impatient with himself for pushing her and nettled by the difference in their experiences, he grabbed the front of her shirt and tugged her close to him. A button tore tree, and her breasts collided softly against his fist. Rio’s mouth dried, wanting to taste her. She followed his look and shivered, looking up at him. “It’s been a long day,” he said before taking her mouth again. “We both need to rest, to cool off.”
