Rio: Man of Destiny

by Cait London

  Still shaking in the aftermath of their passion, Paloma leaned back, watching him. “I didn’t know I could want anyone so much.”

  “It’s right between us. It’s natural to want this in tenderness and in heat, because we know there is more than this, so much more.” He reached for her left hand and slowly eased the ring onto her third fiager. “My father used to make us rings like this. I want to do the same one day for my children. Be my wife, Paloma. You already have my heart.”

  The horseshoe nail gleamed dully against her skin and Paloma studied it as if weighing what ran between them, desire and something deeper. “I can’t,” she whispered, pushing him away and hurrying into the burning June day.

  Pride slashed him; he slammed his fist into the wall. He wasn’t enough. Marriage to him wasn’t enough. Rio wanted to curse, to tear her away from her bruising past, but instead he followed, dragging her back into his arms. Startled at first, her body tensed, then the slow, sweet yielding began. He kissed her roughly, not bothering to disguise his need for her, he had to have the truth between them. Paloma’s answering desire gave him his answer and they stood in the sunlight, locked together, fever pounding between them He’d wanted truth; he’d gotten it in Paloma’s body, tightly locked to his, her nails digging into his back, the hot, hungry slant of her mouth. “This is real, so real. Rio,” she whispered desperate against his mouth.

  When they were breathless and Paloma’s big blue eyes devoured him, he bent to lift her roughly onto Frisco’s back. “There’s more than this between us and you know it,” Rio stated harshly.

  “Yes, I do know, but it terrifies me.” Paloma looked down at him as though sensing his pain; her hand smoothed his cheek and eased the leaping fear that he could lose her. He swung up behind her and with a hand in Frisco’s mane and his other arm around Paloma, he urged the gelding toward Boone’s land. He bent at the fence, opened it and rode through. She didn’t speak as they rode through the lush fields, circling the land, pausing at the ornate iron fence that protected the Llewlyn family cemetery. With sunset dying and the mountain shadows creeping over the Llewlyns’ ten thousand acres, Rio followed his instincts, keeping the woman he wanted close. He held her tighter as Roman rode toward them.

  “We saw you riding out here. Rio’s expression seems grim. Is everything all right?” Roman asked.

  Paloma slowly nodded and leaned slightly back against Rio, placing her hand with the ring over his. “I’m fine. I want this. Rio will take care of me. I trust him.”

  “He’s a good man. Kallista wanted you to have this.” With a curt dip of his head, Roman handed Rio a bedroll and saddlebags before he rode back toward Ltewlyn House.

  An hour later, deep in the rugged woods Boone had loved, Paloma gathered the warm flannel shirt closer to her. Rio crouched naked to bathe by the cold, rippling stream and she knew his cleansing was a ritual, preparing for her. In the shadows of the trees, he had watched as she had bathed earlier. They hadn’t spoken after their light meal, and Rio’s expression was grim and forbidding. She’d hurt him, a proud man who wanted more from her than she was ready to give. The fire crackled behind her, an owl soaring across the moon. Then Rio stood, turning to her. The line of his powerful body was taut, his head at a proud angle, and in the night, she met his eyes and slowly began walking toward him. Rio hesitated when she leaned to kiss him lightly; then he swept her up into his arms and walked with her to the sleeping bag. He held her for a moment and she knew that he would never take her without her consent “Yes,” she whispered against his throat

  He lowered her to stand and in the dark gleaming depths of his eyes, his taut expression, she knew his need—to be one with her, to have her love him, for all time. Paloma discarded the flannel shirt and Rio breathed uneasily, his gaze dropping down her body. His hands slid to curve around her throat, to smooth her jaw with his thumbs, then slowly lowered to cup her breasts. She held her breath as Rio’s hands framed her waist and then his fingers opened on her hips, burning her. Gently he eased her down beneath him, his face warm and hard against her throat He touched her intimately, and eased within her damp, hot keeping. She gloried in the hard pulse stretching her, filling her slowly. He shuddered then as they lay joined, slowly caressing each other, his mouth opening to hers.

  Above her, his expression was strained, his angular cheekbones thrusting at his gleaming skin, softened by the long sweep of his lashes. His hair, within the clasp of her fingers, was crisp and warm and damp. She lifted her hips, restlessly joining them closer, and Rio’s hand eased beneath her, cupping her and yet their gazes locked and burned. They began to move slowly, rhythmically, flowing into passion until they were breathless, pulses pounding and their bodies locked tightly. She shuddered within his arms, gathering him closer as the heat drove them on, thrust and retreat, their bodies damp now. She bit her lip as fire whipped through her, and Rio surged deeper, filling her, completing her, until nothing mattered but this time and Rio. “This is real, Paloma. This and what we have between us...more than this. You give me peace. You give me life. You fill my days and my nights. You’re my sunlight and my joy.”

  “Yes. You give the same to me and more,” she whispered, his kisses gentle on her lips.

  “Nothing matters but you and me and now.” Rio bent to suckle her breasts, to flick them with his tongue, gently nibbling the tips. Cords heated and tightened within Paloma, passion tearing at her, Rio’s rhythm pounding, sweeping her higher. She heard herself cry out, her fingers digging into his back, locking him to her as she flew across the fire and into the soft feathery night sky. Rio’s passion pounded daddy within her and she treasured what he had given her, keeping him close and safe above her.

  “I love you, Paloma,. Don’t leave me,” he whispered unevenly just before they fell asleep.

  She wanted to say the words, but they were stiff on her lips and she settled for putting her emotions in a long, slow tender kiss. This was her true wedding night with the man she loved, Paloma realized drowsily, smoothing his muscled back and gathering him close. She inhaled the fragrance of the night and of their love, and wished upon the stars above that she would not hurt him.

  “Hush,” she whispered to him later, as Rio stirred restlessly beside her. She eased his head upon her breast, stroking his hair. She smiled softly as his arms went around her, his thigh easing between hers, the sleeping bag tight around them. With Rio, she wasn’t afraid of small places; in fact, she liked small places with Rio, she thought as she slid over him.

  “Mmm. I like that,” Rio murmured drowsily as his hands smoothed her thighs and he slid within her. “I thought you were tired. I was being polite.”

  “Excuses, excuses,” she whispered before the fire grew between them.

  Kallista’s baby was due the second week of June and the entire Blaylock family worried about her. For her part, Kallista was placid as a summer lake, soothing Roman’s worries. She visited Paloma at the ranch and the feed store and Paloma loved her first close experience with a mother-to-be. They talked of Boone and their visits to him and Paloma feared telling her friend about her suspicious relationship to Boone.

  Paloma, alone in the house after a fierce argument with Rio, smiled. A row of potted geraniums across the loading dock would brighten the plain, worn boards. She’d actually yelled. She’d thrown up her hands and for one terrifying moment lifted a pot to throw at him. He’d stood there, legs braced and his thumbs hooked in his belt, challenging her control. Once a disciplined, calm controlled woman with a career in classical music, Paloma had thrown the pot. Rio had dodged it and scowled at her. “Well, since that’s out of your system, are you coming out to ride with me or not?”

  “Not,” she’d said, horrifies that the shattered pot and broken geranium were proof of her loss of control. “That is your fault, not mine.”

  “Women and logic.”

  “Are you saying I don’t have logic?” Aghast that her voice had risen into a yell, Paloma placed her hand over her mouth, sealing
it In the next minute, Rio had carried her out of the feed store and plopped her onto Mai-Ling. Then he rode off on Frisco without looking back. Riding horseback along the main street, deserted by a man she wanted to tear apart, Paloma had been honor bound to follow him. She threw out her hands, then clenched them on the saddle horn, mortified to find that several townspeople were watching with grins. She hurried Mai-Ling to catch up as they rode down Main Street, side by side.

  Liz Nottingham rushed out from her florist shop and handed Rio a rose. He carefully tore off the thorns and reached to tuck it in Paloma’s hair. Just getting wound up and happy about it, she told him where to go and what she thought of him; he told her she talked too much and he hoped their future children wouldn’t inherit the trait.

  Paloma slept deeply in Rio’s arms every night. It was now the second week of June and the horseshoe nail was more precious to her than diamonds, though she knew that Rio wanted to give her a traditional ring. His nightmares gone, Rio was a traditional man and filled her life with a quick tease, a scramble across the daisy and sunflower fields, or a quiet evening spent just talking about his escapades with his sister and brothers. Tropical heat could spring between them with a look, a touch. They’d made love on the couch, on the bathroom floor, in the upstairs bed and in their own. Rio’s need of her was constant, shocking her, as if he couldn’t get enough. To her astonishment, for a woman who had kept her emotions in check, her need was as great as his.

  Their love had happened too quickly, but it was true.

  In the summer afternoon, the old chest beckoned to her, the piano she’d loved standing unused. Paloma walked to them, and knew that it was time she met her fears. She knew why Boone loved the valley and the people living there. She knew why he’d come home after thirty years away. Yet every time she looked in the mirror, she knew that she had to untangle her life. For Rio. To give him the best part of her, not what was left after her fears.

  The dresses were just as she remembered, carefully folded in the trunk. She lifted out Mrs. Llewlyn’s favorite blue dress with white lace at the throat and the wrists. “The collar matched my mother’s eyes, as blue as the sky, as blue as yours, honey,” Boone had said all those years ago. Taking care, Paloma stood, measuring the dress against her. Mrs. Llewlyn was a tall woman and held against Paloma’s body, the dress was likely to fit. The brown dress, a practical day dress, matched a big, long apron. A blue taffeta matched a blue bonnet and gloves and a dainty parasol. Mrs. Llewlyn’s ruffled white lawn wedding dress with a high collar and tucked bodice had mellowed into a softer shade. The lamb-chop sleeves were of the same French lace as the veil.

  Dress after long dress, Paloma placed them on the bed she now shared with Rio. She opened the tapestry-covered glove box, revealing beautiful, long gloves. Tears sprang to her eyes, her hands shaking as she remembered how large the dresses and the gloves had been on her as a child. Boone had enjoyed watching her play “elegant lady.” Just there, on the pale blue gloves, was a stain she remembered; she’d spilled tea at their tea party, drinking from Mrs. Llewlyn’s rose-patterned cups.

  With tears closing her throat, Paloma drew on the old gloves very carefully. Mrs. Llewlyn’s fingers had been as long as her own. Paloma ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks—Boone had loved her, she knew that. He’d wanted her to have his beloved mother’s piano and music, and her dresses. Paloma drew out the Stephen Foster songs and began to play, the gloves finding the keys as though two women shared and loved the music.

  Paloma closed her eyes, letting the memories and the music flow through her. She loved music. As a child, she’d been forced into playing. As an adult, she’d had to play the piano; it was all she knew. Now, she wanted to play because she loved music, not because she feared being locked in a closet, or her mother’s rejection.

  A sound caused her to look aside and she found Rio sitting in the old rocker, watching her with a concerned expression. She played to ease her soul. She played to tell Rio with her music how much she loved him. After a time, he came to pick her up and carry her to the rocker, holding her on his lap and rocking her. “I love you, sweetheart, remember that.”

  Ten

  At midnight, the telephone rang and Rio grumbled, his arm tightening around Paloma as he answered sleepily, “Rio Blaylock.”

  He jackknifed into a sitting position and looked at Paloma, the male caller speaking rapidly. Rio smoothed her hair back from her face and listened quietly. “I”ll ask her. Relax, Roman. Kallista has been doing fine.”

  Rio smiled tightly. “I know I’m not the one on the line here, Dad. You are. Take it easy. Don’t faint like our brothers. Yes, I’ll call Else. Cindi is spending the night there? Good. Else will take care of calling the rest.”

  “The baby?” Paloma asked, smoothing Rio’s frown with her fingertip after he hung up the telephone.

  “She wants you. You look enough alike to be sisters, and the way you are with each other, maybe she feels that way, too. She’s got Roman, and Doc Bennett is on the way. Else is too far away. But Kallista will understand if you don’t want to go to Llewlyn House.”

  A half hour later, Paloma got out of Rio’s truck. He came around to stand by her as she looked up at the two-story white house, decorated with gingerbread trim. She wanted to run away, to hide from the memories of Boone and how happy she’d been. The old questions haunted her again. Was Boone her father? Why hadn’t he claimed her?

  Rio drew her close to him, his hands smoothing her back. He kissed her temple as she stood frozen, unable to move. “They live in the new addition, honey. You don’t have to go into the old house. If you can’t do this, Kallista will understand.”

  “She needs me, doesn’t she?” Paloma hadn’t been needed for anything but performances, and now, within the Blaylock family, she was needed for friendship during a birth, for support and love.

  Minutes later, she sat by the huge bed, holding Kallista’s hand. Rio’s big warm hand rested on her shoulders as he stood behind her. Roman held Kallista’s other hand, his expression anxious, tears glittering on his lashes. “Tell him not to worry, Paloma,” Kallista said, her hair damp from the strain of childbirth.

  “We should go to a hospital.” Roman’s deep voice was ragged with emotion.

  “No. I’m having my baby right here on Llewlyn land,” Kallista said, her green eyes flashing. Her gaze swung to Paloma. “You tell him, Paloma. Tell him that this is where my baby should be born. You feel it just as I do.”

  “She doesn’t understand,” Roman whispered unevenly.

  After a contraction racked her body, Kallista studied Paloma. “She knows. She feels it’s right. She’s my...friend. She’s been terrified to come here, but she did it for me.”

  “It’s right to have your baby here. I’ll help you,” Paloma said and followed her instincts to smooth Kallista’s hair. Paloma hadn’t had experience in touching and giving care, but Kallista seemed to ease under her touch. Paloma took the brush beside the bed and began to brush Kallista’s tangled hair, gently forming a loose braid. She studied her hands, weaving the lush black hair so like her own; they were strong hands, calm as they performed unfamiliar tasks.

  She loved caring for those she loved. The discovery caused her to smile. She was part of a family and needed. She knew how to comfort—it sprang from her without effort. She could fit into a family. She could give comfort. She could love. “I’m honored, Kallista. Thank you.”

  “A baby, right here on Boone’s land,” Kallista whispered. “He’d have loved that, wouldn’t he, Paloma?”

  “He would have.”

  “No more babies,” Roman muttered wearily, rubbing his stomach as if it hurt just as Doc Bennett came into the room. “Not again.”

  “Stop your moaning, Roman. Kallista has already told me that she wants a houseful and women usually know what they’re about, when it comes to babies. I’m going to need help,” Doc Bennett said as he examined Kallista. “Couldn’t wake up my nurse and Else isn’t here. Dad, h
ere, is doing his part—and he’d better not faint. I’ve seen a mess of these tall, strong Blaylock daddies faint in my time.” He looked meaningfully at Paloma. “You don’t look like you’d faint.”

  “I won’t You’ll have to tell me what to do.” For Kallista, she would do what needed to be done.

  Doc Bennett flicked a glance at Rio. “Git. Go boil water, that’s the traditional thing a man does. Stop hovering around the girl. You can go through this next year. But I’d like to be invited to the wedding first. I’d think a Blaylock boy could do better than a horseshoe ring.”

  “I will, as soon as the lady decides she wants me.” Rio bent to kiss Paloma, his expression taut with concern. “I’ll be outside. Waiting for you.” Then Kallista cried out and Roman soothed her.

  In the next forty-five minutes, Paloma alternately followed the doctor’s instructions and comforted her friend. Pale and shaken, Roman would not leave his wife; love flowed between them like an endless river.

  Little Kipp Llewlyn Blaylock arrived—a tiny perfect boy, with a shock of black hair. A glowing but tired new mother, Kallista took the baby from Roman, cuddling him against her. Else came, ready to help, and old Doc Bennett glanced at Paloma. “You’d better go check on Rio. He looked a little green around the gills the last time I saw him. You did fine, girl. Else, I just may have your replacement right here. This girl doesn’t go down easy.”

  “She’ll do,” Else agreed, smiling warmly at Paloma. “I’m proud of her.”

  Kallista caught Paloma’s hand, her eyes soft with tears. “Thank you. I know this was difficult for you,” she whispered as the tiny baby yawned and settled comfortably against his mother.

  “I...thank you for letting me share this with you,” Paloma returned shakily. As Rio took her hand, she let the tears that had been building flow. He drew her close to him, wrapping his arms around her.