Until then, he had Mariah to worry about.
Even though she made no noise, Eric knew she was crying. She might be able to hold back the sound, but she couldn’t hold back the occasional spasm that passed through her body as she suppressed a sob.
He reached out to her, his hand hovering inches above her shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be scary, Mariah. It can feel good. Really good.”
He felt her shudder before he even touched her.
Silently reciting a string of curses he hadn’t used in years, he pulled his hand back.
How the hell was he supposed to comfort someone who was afraid to be touched?
The storm lifted after a couple of hours, but Mariah’s somber mood didn’t. During the hour’s ride down the steep and slippery trail toward the Double M, she tried not to look Eric in the eye. It had been years since she’d fallen into such a self-pitying funk. She’d dumped all her emotional baggage on him as if his own problems weren’t load enough.
She sneaked a look at him. Maybe he could handle her problems and his own. Those shoulders of his were pretty darn broad. And he’d listened to everything as if he hadn’t another care in the world. He’d made her feel like she was the most important person on earth at that moment.
When he’d told her it could feel good, she’d almost believed him. Maybe it would, if she could find the right man. But who would want her—a woman who jumped out of her skin at the first sign of intimacy? What kind of family could she have? Even if she could find a man who would want her, what kind of life could she have—did she dare have?
The night seemed to grow blacker and quieter as they made their way down the mountain. Just when Mariah thought she couldn’t stand the silence or the darkness a second longer, Eric tipped his head to the sky and showed her where to find the light. He pointed out pictures in the stars and told her the story behind each one. His dulcet tones soothed the hurt, bathed the wounds. Gradually, the ache inside her receded.
By the time they reached the valley floor, she thought she might cry from the sweetness of it.
They rounded the last bend in the trail that led to the ranch, and she caught an odd scent in the breeze and turned her face upward.
Smoke. Thick, hot ash. Something was burning.
“Oh, my God.” Leaving Eric behind, she kicked her horse into a full gallop. “Fire!”
Mariah was halfway to the ranch before Eric could get Honey Bear moving. “Mariah, wait!” he called, watching her dash toward the burning equipment barn. Orange-and-yellow flames tumbled out the windows, twined together and cartwheeled across the roof.
By the time he got to the equipment barn, Mariah had already jumped off of her horse and disappeared behind the curtain of smoke billowing through the door.
Eric dove through the gray cloud where he’d last seen her, shielding his face from the heat with his arms. The smoke bit at his eyes and throat. “Mariah?”
He heard the latch slide on the tool-room door, and a moment later she emerged through a pillow of smoke with a fire extinguisher in her hands. A tongue of flames licked along a beam overhead and she jumped back, pulling the ring on the extinguisher and shooshing the flame with three long spurts of chemical retardant. No sooner had she put one beam out, though, when another caught, crackling and cackling gaily over her head.
Grabbing her arm, Eric pulled her back. “We have to get out of here!”
“No! All my equipment. My supplies. We have to get the fire out!”
“We have to go,” he yelled over the growing roar of the fire. “Come on.” He clenched Mariah’s hand and pulled, running. She stumbled along after him, looking back as she went. The loss in her eyes burned his throat more than the smoke he choked down with each breath.
The fresh night air forced his lungs to function again and he leaned over, coughing, his hands resting on his knees. Beside him, Mariah did the same.
Flames engulfed the equipment barn, creating a circle of light as bright as day for some fifty yards. Eric and Mariah watched in silence as the building burned to ash.
A siren wailed down the road, drawing their attention.
“Oh, sure, now they show up,” Eric drawled. A fire truck, led by the sheriffs Blazer, roared up the street, their lights flashing bright red and blue against black sky.
“Eric, you have to get in the house. Don’t let Shane see you.”
He glanced at the emergency vehicles approaching the ranch fast. He knew she was right, but he didn’t want to abandon her now.
She made the decision for him. Turning him around by the shoulders, she gave him a firm shove from behind. “Go.”
He looked over his shoulder at her as he walked away. Her hair hung limply over her shoulders. Charcoal smudged her cheeks and her smoke-reddened eyes were watery with tears. Yet her eyes still shone with determination and her chin was high. He couldn’t imagine her looking more beautiful. “I’ll be watching from the window, in case you need me.”
She gave him a tiny smile and waved him onward.
It was hell not being beside her through this. More emergency vehicles arrived. Men in canvas overcoats and big rubber boots scurried around, hosing down the smoldenng remains, but they were too late. The equipment building had been a total loss before they had even arrived.
Shane Hightower hovered over Mariah. Every time she came within Eric’s view from the front window, the man was with her, touching her. A light hand on her shoulder or at the small of her back. A brush of his shoulder against hers. Eric almost growled out loud when the sheriff wrapped his arm around her waist and squeezed.
Eric saw her back stiffen. Could the man not feel her fear, or did he just not care?
He clenched his hands at his sides in impotent rage. Every cell in his body screamed at him to rush the sheriff, tear him away from Mariah and pound the truth about his brother out of the lying—
He forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. Now wasn’t the time. But soon... It had to be soon.
One by one the emergency vehicles left, their departures quieter and darker than their arrivals. The sheriff left last. The front door slammed behind Eric before the police Blazer had cleared the drive.
He found Mariah stumbling through the sodden rubble. He didn’t like the way her feet dragged in the dirt. He didn’t like the dejected slump to her shoulders. And he really hated the fresh tear tracks running through the soot on her cheeks.
Every fiber of his body wanted to scoop her up and carry her up the steps of the porch. He wanted to carry her upstairs and lay her down in her bed, bathe her cheeks so that the evidence of her tears wouldn’t tear his heart out, and then he wanted to hold her until she felt better. Until the ache stopped, his and hers.
He forced himself not to wrap his arms around her as she stood in front of him. He couldn’t pick her up, and he couldn’t carry her. And he certainly couldn’t lay her down in bed and hold her. Not Mariah, who had been denied the simple comfort of a lover’s arms by a single thoughtless, perverted act.
He struggled for the right words as she looked up at him. “It could have been worse,” he suggested.
He could hardly imagine what she was feeling. One thing he knew for sure was that what Mariah Morgan loved, she loved fiercely. Her horses, her ranch. A piece of her dream had been stolen tonight.
“I know. It was just a dumb old equipment shed, full of old junk. It can all be replaced.” She turned her head away and walked farther into the decimated building, stopping in front of the charred carcass of the tractor. “Except this.”
A fresh, fat tear coursed down her cheek. When it fell, he felt the splash like hot oil on his heart.
“It was my dad’s.”
Eric’s mind flashed back to another day. Another fire. Standing in gray sludge—ashes dampened by the fire trucks’ hoses. Memories of his own dad, and an overwhelming sense of loss, flooded his mind. He knew what kind of delayed reaction Mariah was having, and he knew it was likely to get worse.
“I know,
” he whispered from behind her, willing her to trust him, to take the strength he had to offer. Surprisingly, she leaned into him. Her back thumped against his chest as if she didn’t have the energy to stand on her own.
“What if it had been the house, or the barn? The horses...” Manah’s eyes drifted close. “Someone did this on purpose, didn’t they? Just like the filings in the tractor and the hay-field fire and the spoiled grain.”
“Probably.”
She turned to face him, still leaning against him, her breasts rasping across his broad chest, her thighs brushing his. She wound her arms around his neck and sagged against him.
“Mariah, honey, you’ve got to get in the house. Come on. I’ll run you a warm bath, and you can clean up.”
Mariah felt a tug on her elbows. She felt as if her bones were softening, liquefying. The muscles in her thighs quivered with the effort of holding her upright. She realized how close she was to falling. Realized how close she was to him.
Automatically she raised her hands to force him away, but when her palms landed on his chest, she didn’t have the energy to push. Her limbs felt heavy, clumsy.
She was so tired. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Tired of living without really being alive.
She let him lift her, buoyed by his strong arms as waves of cold detachment battered her senses. She felt as if she were being washed away from herself. Suddenly more afraid of being lost than of getting too close, she grabbed the only thing solid in her fluid world—Eric’s shirtfront.
All of her adult life she’d told herself that her ranch, her mountain, was all she needed. That it would bring her peace.
She couldn’t fool herself any longer. She buried her face against his shoulder. Her mountain couldn’t keep her safe anymore, but he could. She leaned against him, felt his strength. His solidity.
Tentatively she touched the line of his jaw, feeling the scratch of beard stubble under her trembling fingertips. More boldly, she ran her hand down the side of his neck. Her thumb lingered in the hollow of his throat, her fingers settling over the pulse throbbing in his neck. She heard his breath hitch in her ear.
Touching him grounded her, brought her senses back. She stretched and rubbed herself against him, relishing in the feel of his hardness. How odd, that something that had scared her for so long was the only thing now that made her feel safe.
The rich baritone of his voice reverberated deep inside her. “Mariah, come on, sweetheart, you’ve got to get to bed.”
“Mmm, yes,” she said against his neck, more a moan than an answer. She tipped her head back, the movement pushing her belly against his hips. She felt a ripple pass through him. It seemed to continue right on into her, straight to her heart, which thumped in an irregular beat. She was so close she could count each of his thick eyelashes.
Her fingers crept up his chest to his collarbone.
This time, the moan came from him. “What are you doing?”
“You said it could feel good, Eric. Really good.” She licked her lips, watching as his eyes followed the path of her tongue. “I want you to show me. Please.”
Chapter 10
Eric’s breath hit harsh and hot on her cheek. His jaw tensed. “You don’t mean that. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I need to feel good now, Eric. I need to feel something besides... numb.”
“No. Not like this.”
Mariah froze as an icy wave crashed over her, then spun away from him, shivering in its wake. Rubbing her arms, she stared out into the pasture. “I’m sorry. I should have known someone like you would never want me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Look at me. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old virgin. You’re handsome and successful. You probably have dozens of beautiful, agile young things ready to please you at a moment’s notice.”
“You make it sound like I only date trapeze artists and Olympic gymnasts.”
“At least you could take one of them to bed without checking over your shoulder first to make sure there aren’t any blunt objects within reach.”
She strolled closer to the window, her arms folded tightly over her chest. She hated the way she sounded—callow and weak. She’d never been one to think of herself as a victim. Whatever life had doled out, she’d accepted. Well, she was tired of accepting. This man, with his dark eyes and his fierce compassion, made her want more. He made her want things she’d told herself she could never have. He made her want him.
She felt him close in behind her and resisted the instinct to move away. It was time—past time—to face her fears.
“I didn’t say that I don’t want you.” With his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, he gentled his hips up against her. The proof of his words strained toward her like metal to a magnet. Her heart spun into a dizzying nosedive.
“And just so you’re clear, there hasn’t been a woman in my bed, young, agile or otherwise, in quite some time.”
“Then why...?”
“You’re in shock, Mariah. I’m not about to take advantage of that.”
“Even if I want you to?”
He took a short step back, almost military in its precision. “It isn’t me you want. You’re just reaching for something—anything—to take the numbness away.”
She stared straight ahead as if she hadn’t heard him. In the circle of lamplight cast into the pasture from the barn, Molly paced, swishing her tail. The mare’s ears were back, her tail up. She lifted her legs higher than usual with each step, as if dancing.
“Oh, no,” Mariah murmured.
“What?”
She pushed past Eric, barely registering the confused look on his face or the worried tone in his voice. “Oh, Molly, not now.”
After taking a few minutes to wrestle his arousal into submission, Eric caught up with Mariah outside the pasture gate. She was haltering the gray horse she’d pointed out the other day as the only one left from her parents’ days on the ranch.
“Here, hold her.” She thrust the lead rope at him.
Sliding her hand along the mare’s side, Mariah stepped back to Molly’s ballooning belly and then ducked her head to look underneath. The mare pawed the ground, and her knees buckled as if she might fall down.
“No,” Manah told him. “Jiggle the lead rope and keep her up. Don’t let her lie down yet.”
He swung the rope around and the mare straightened up. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s foaling.”
“Huh?”
Mariah raised her head from beneath the mare’s belly. “She’s having her baby.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. All the commotion must have triggered her labor. What do you want me to do, tell her to stop?”
“Can you?” he asked doubtfully.
“No.”
“Then shouldn’t we call the vet or something?”
“No. We don’t need a vet. I deliver the babies around here. Besides, it’s too late. Gigi would never get here in time.
He shuffled uneasily on his feet, wishing Mariah would take the lead rope back. A baby horse? That was bound to be messy.
Mariah fretted around the mare, cooing to her and stroking her sides. “We have to get her inside, out of the mud the fire hoses made and away from the other horses.”
“Where?”
“There is a special stall in the barn. It’s bigger than the others—except for Jet’s—and has a one-way window so we can watch her without disturbing her. But it’s not made up. She wasn’t due for another week.”
“Just tell me what to do. I’ll get it ready.”
Mariah’s eyes lit up. “You’ll have to hurry. We only have twenty minutes, max.”
“She’s that close?”
“Horses don’t drag it on for hours like people. Now go, please,” she said. “It’s the last stall on the left. Take the water buckets out so she won’t rub against them and the baby won’t bang into them and hurt itself. Then get some straw—that�
�s the yellow bales, not the green ones—from the hayloft and spread them out. It needs to be at least ankle-deep, so you’ll need four or five bales.”
He gave her a mock salute. “Anything else?”
“Yes.” She smiled, pure heaven. “Thanks.”
He smiled back, then turned and jogged off toward the barn, lightly holding his left hand over his ribs. They still hurt some when he moved too fast.
Eric hadn’t quite finished scattering the straw in the large stall she’d told him to get ready when Mariah appeared at the door, tugging on the lead rope stretched behind her.
Molly waddled down the aisle one slow step at a time, her back legs stiff and her sides heaving. Eric had never imagined a labor contraction so strong you could see it from the outside. He winced at the sight.
“I’m not done yet,” he told Mariah. “I haven’t taken out the water buckets.”
“It’ll have to do. She’s even closer than I thought.” Mariah blew her bangs out of her face and looked back at Molly. “Come on, girl, almost there.”
He gave the last bale of straw one swift kick, fluffing the wheat stems like piles of autumn leaves, just right for a kid to jump in. Mariah led Molly into the middle of the pile and drew the halter over her ears. As if to prove the point, Molly’s knees buckled and she lay down with a grunt.
Eric kept his eyes focused on the center of Manah’s forehead. He did not want to look down, but a second later his eyes slipped down, anyway. He couldn’t help it; he was worried about the old girl. He was even more worried about Mariah. She’d been through too much lately. If something went wrong with her best mare...
Thankfully, he didn’t see anything too frightening. Sweat had broken out on the mare’s neck. She swung her head around to her side as if to chase off a pesky insect, then lay flat on her side.
“What now?” he asked Mariah.
“Now we back off and give her some privacy.” Leading him out of the stall and through a people-size door down the hall, she looked at ease, almost happy, as if facing a crisis she knew how to solve gave her back the confidence she had lost facing those that had no solutions.
Virgin without a Memory Page 14
