Another Chance

by Michelle Beattie

  "But Jacob wouldn't listen," Annabelle continued. "He ran up to his pa, told him what he was saying about you was lies, that you are smart and you do know what you're doing. But the more Jacob talked, the madder his pa got. I got scared from all the screaming so I ran."

  Jillian's eyes smarted. She turned to Jacob. It wasn't difficult to picture him standing up to his father. But she feared, knowing what she'd seen of Steven to date, that he'd take his anger out on his son.

  "I appreciate what you did, Jacob. It was very brave. And you, Annabelle," she looked at the girl, smiled. "I think it's wonderful that you both think enough of me to defend me but I'd hate to think you got in trouble on my behalf." She took Jacob's hand. "Especially you. You already know your father doesn't like me."

  Jacob's little jaw jutted out. "He's wrong!"

  "He's entitled to his opinion, whatever it is."

  "Not sure I could be so generous," Silver mumbled.

  "Next time, just walk away, Jacob. Words can't hurt me."

  The problem was she feared it wasn't only words Steven was capable of. He'd already gone to her house twice now to scare her. There was nobody else she could think of who had his temper, his loathing of her. And after hearing this, it certainly didn't leave any doubt in Jillian's mind.

  Jacob's bottom jaw trembled. "All right."

  Touched, Jillian pressed a palm to his cheek. "You're a wonderful boy, Jacob, and one day you'll make an even better man."

  "Get your hand off my boy!

  Steven's voice snapped like a whip and had the desired effect. Jillian yanked her hand back, lost her balance and promptly landed on her behind.

  "I'll get Shane, just in case," Silver whispered and fled toward the barn.

  Jillian scrambled to her feet. Wade rose to his. "Button, go inside. Take Jacob with you."

  "But, Papa!"

  It was hard not to like a man who'd take the time to reassure his daughter. Wade gave Annabelle a quick embrace, kissed her head. "There's nothing to worry about. I'll be in before long."

  "Go with her, Jacob," Jillian said. The little boy looked torn; his eyes darted from Jillian to his tight-lipped father to a simmering Wade. "If you don't go she'll only worry about you."

  Jacob cast a furtive look at his father, swallowed hard at his father's cold glare and ran to join his friend. In a sign of solidarity, Wade stepped to Jillian's side. It didn't stop Garvey from stepping nearly toe-to-toe with her.

  "You leave my son alone," Garvey warned.

  His breath was as hot as his words, only his words didn't smell of whiskey. Jillian knew he was trying to intimidate her and though her legs trembled, she held her ground. Beside her Wade tensed, but she spoke before he could.

  "All I did was talk to Jacob."

  "I saw your hand on him, don't you ever touch him again, you hear me?"

  "I didn't hurt him and you know it." Jillian raised her chin when Steven's face went red. "He was defending me and I was thanking him."

  Steven's eyes narrowed to slivers. "I don't want him defending you."

  "Then stop telling everyone how awful I am and maybe your son won't feel the need to."

  Garvey's chest swelled as he drew a fast breath. He pointed a thick finger at her, barely missing her face. "You shut your mouth."

  "That's enough." Wade pushed between them.

  Dusk was upon them. Only the thinnest wisps of clouds stretched across the horizon. The air crackled with tension. Hearing people running toward her, Jillian turned. Shane led the group, followed by Scott and Silver. Jillian stepped from behind Wade as Scott and Shane flanked him. She took her place next to Silver.

  "Come on, Parker, you can't possibly defend her, she killed your cow."

  "No, she didn't. She saved my calf."

  "That's the biggest cock and bull story I've ever heard! What the hell did she do to make you believe that?" Steven sneered as his eyes crept over Jillian. The result left her feeling soiled.

  "Never mind, I bet I know. You only have to look at who she keeps company with," he jerked his head toward Silver, "to know what she did for you. Or to you."

  All three men moved as one but it was Wade who wound up chest to chest with Garvey. Fear flooded Jillian. This wasn't good. Not good at all. Every man standing had their hands coiled into fists. Violence was in the air. She tasted it with each inhale.

  "You son of a bitch," Wade growled. "Get off my land."

  But Garvey didn't seem intimidated in the least. He simply smiled, crossed his arms over his chest in a stance of superiority.

  "Did I hit a nerve, Parker? You been so lonely since that wife of yours died that you're willing to dip your pecker in just about anything?"

  Jillian recoiled as though slapped. Silver grabbed her hand.

  "Ignore him," she whispered.

  But that was impossible. She was used to not being respected for her skills but she'd never been called a whore before.

  "Get your family together and get off my land or I'll do it for you."

  Garvey's body went rigid and his arms came down. "I'll leave when I'm good and ready."

  "You're ready now," Shane said. His voice was cold as the six-gun he carried in his holster.

  "You need the sheriff to fight your battles, Wade?"

  Wade threw his arms out, effectively holding back Scott and Shane. "Nope, I surely don't. Either you leave of your own accord or I'll be more than happy to toss you off myself."

  "She must really be something," Garvey leered, "to have you so hot and bothered."

  "Don't hit him, Wade!" Jillian cried when Wade's fist came up. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Wade was poised for a fight; Steven had blood in his eye. Nothing good was going to come of this.

  "Yeah, don't hit me, Wade," Steven mocked.

  "It would hardly be a fair fight," Wade answered in a calm voice that belied his stance. "Taking on a man who hides in the dark disparaging women? Hardly seems right to take on a coward such as that."

  "Though I can't see it taking more than one punch," Scott added.

  "Bastards," Steven snarled.

  Wade leaned forward, his eyes locked on Steven's. "But at least we're manly bastards."

  The fist came fast and hard and the crack of it against Wade's jaw had his head whipping to the side.

  "No!" Jillian screamed.

  "Did you see that, Sheriff?" Wade asked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "He threw the first punch."

  Shane rolled back on his heels, his palm rested softly on his revolver. "I saw it."

  "Good," Wade said, then he barreled into Steven and the two went down in a blur of fists.

  FIFTEEN

  By the time everyone had left, Wade's face had been wiped of blood and Annabelle lay sleeping, it was late. And he was exhausted. His jaw throbbed, his knuckles were raw and his fingers hurt when he flexed them. There were more bumps and bruises but nothing he couldn't live with.

  Goddamn Steven, Wade thought. The man just couldn't keep his mouth shut. Wade might not be able to prove it, but he suspected Steven was behind Liam's change of heart. And then to attack Jillian tonight…

  What Steven had said was vile, and worse, a pack of lies. Jillian didn't deserve what had happened tonight. And since it had taken place on his land, he felt partly responsible.

  Wade shook his head. If that argument didn't ring completely true in his own mind was it any wonder that James and Scott had given him knowing looks when he'd said where he was going and why.

  At first he thought she was asleep. No lights shone from her windows. Both the barn and house looked tucked in for the night. But then movement on the porch caught his eye and he realized she was sitting outside in the dark. It didn't take a brilliant man to figure out why she wasn't inside asleep.

  He tied Whiskey to the post, patted the animal's neck and sat next to Jillian.

  "You're going to catch a chill. I can go inside and fetch your shawl."

  "I'm not cold." She sat with her hands firmly clasped
around her bent knees, her cheek resting on them. She looked as exhausted as he felt. "Has everyone left?"

  "All but the usual miscreants," he smiled because her mood seemed as dark as the shadows that darkened her yard.

  "I'm sorry. Had I known..."

  "Then you wouldn't have come, and I'm not sorry you did." He took off his jacket, placed it around her shoulders. "Jillian there's only one person to blame for tonight and that's Steven."

  "It's not how everyone else will see it," she said, sitting upright and drawing his jacket closer.

  Seeing her in his clothes, looking pretty and vulnerable, knocked him speechless. It took a moment to find his tongue.

  "I don't care about everyone else. I care about you."

  He hadn't meant to say the words but realized they were true nonetheless. Maybe he'd tried not to, but he did care about her. He remembered the look of her after her wagon had lost its wheel. How his gut had clenched thinking she'd been hurt or violated. It had been the same feeling that had grabbed him by the throat tonight when Steven had gotten too close to her. He'd have done anything to keep her safe. Hell, he thought, he had, hadn't he? He flexed his hand again, felt the stiffness from the fight.

  He hadn't gone out of his head for a woman since Amy. Heck, he didn't think he'd ever gotten so out of control for her. Being with Amy, if not her mother, had been easy. There'd been no obstacles, no hardships, just an easy slide into love and then marriage.

  Not that he was thinking either of those about Jillian, he thought with a jolt. He swallowed back something that tasted like denial. No, he wasn't thinking that about Jillian, he simply realized that he'd never been this...volatile around Amy. And with Jillian's sad green eyes latched onto his, with her softness a breath away, with her kiss still fresh in his mind, he felt volatile.

  "Why?" she whispered.

  Why what? But then he remembered what he'd said before his mind had veered off course.

  "Because you're smart, pretty. You're tough. Not many women would have stood up to Steven the way you did."

  "My legs were shaking so badly, I could almost hear my knees rattling."

  "I'd never have guessed."

  "Comes from living in a man's world, I suppose. I don't dare show weakness, it's only one more thing they can use against me."

  "Must get tiring."

  She sighed. "You have no idea."

  He touched her cheek, let his hand linger over the softness. "You don't have to pretend around me."

  Slender fingers wrapped around his, held him there against the warmth of her face. Something shifted in her eyes. The sadness melted away. What replaced it shot straight through Wade.

  "Jillian..."

  Her grip tightened. "I'm sorry for everything that happened tonight, I truly am. But is it wrong that one of the things I'm most sorry for is that we didn't have the chance to dance?"

  Dance. He took a relieved breath. That he could manage.

  Wade stepped off the porch, held out his hand. "Miss Matthews. Would you care to dance?"

  Her eyes widened. "Here? Now?"

  "Come on, Jillian. You've faced worse. I'm actually a decent dancer," he teased.

  A thousand stars lit up her face when she smiled. He may have been standing in a dirt yard, dressed in simple pants and plain blue cotton shirt, but he suddenly felt like a king.

  She placed his jacket on the porch. Her hand fit perfectly in his as he moved them away from the house. Her body felt even better when she stepped into his embrace. The warmth of her, the feel of her, all the wonderful, mysterious scents of a woman encircled him, blurred the edges of reason. Want, need. Wade felt as though he were on top of a mountain, about to lose his footing.

  How bad could the fall be? he found himself wondering.

  It was even better here, Jillian realized. There were no judging stares to worry about, no need to keep to propriety to keep tongues from wagging. If she wanted to step a little closer to Wade, which she did, who was there to condemn her? To start gossip about her in town? Here there was only the moon, the damp air, and the man who held her firmly, yet tenderly in his arms.

  She'd always thought him rugged, from the first time she'd seen him, but with shadows darkening his face, with the moon playing in his hair, he seemed mysterious. And appealing. Very, very, appealing.

  His hand flexed around hers almost as if he'd read her thoughts. Dark eyes fell to her mouth. Her hand had been resting comfortably on his shoulder but she moved it now as a recklessness she'd never experienced before drove her to seek what she most wanted.

  What she wanted most was to kiss him.

  Her fingers slid up the back of his neck, delved into the cool, silkiness of his hair. At her back his hand dug into her flesh. Her feet stopped moving and her body pressed to his. His breath was sweet and warm on her face, his body firm against hers. Her heart raced as he watched her intensely, as his own hands wrapped around her back.

  He leaned down, pressed his lips to hers and held there for a few seconds. He did it again. For a moment, a terrible moment, she thought that was all he was going to do, kiss her chastely, then tell her goodnight. But then his tongue stroked her lips, teased until they trembled open on a sigh.

  He sank into her. Claimed her. Hot and hungry his mouth took hers, took her until she was deaf to everything but the blood surging through her veins, blind to everything but what her body ached for.

  Her hands dropped to his shoulders where she clung. Underneath her palms, wide, strong shoulders kept her anchored. Yearning, a fierce yearning she'd never anticipated, pooled in her breasts and lower still, surprising her. His kiss continued to take, his tongue left no part of her mouth untouched. Aching, restless, she shifted against Wade. His chest rubbed against hers and her nipples reacted immediately. The sensation was delicious, forbidden. Jillian did it again.

  Wade pulled her hard against him. Jillian was a doctor. She knew what pressed against her. But she was also a woman, a woman with desires. Her breasts were heavy, weighted with need. Where his arousal pushed against her, she was moist and throbbing.

  "Jillian," he panted, as he pulled his mouth away. He rested his forehead on hers. "I didn't come here for this. We have to stop."

  "No, we don't," she whispered. "Come inside."

  His eyes were dark and tortured when he looked at her. "You don't know what you're asking."

  "I'm a doctor; I know exactly what I'm asking."

  He shook his head, though he continued to hold her firmly against him. "Don't tempt me, Jillian. I'm trying real hard to be a gentleman. I don't want you to think-"

  "I know what I want, Wade." She cupped his face. "What is it you want?"

  More than he deserved, he thought. More than he had a right to considering it couldn't go past this. It would be easy to take her. And damned if his body wasn't primed to make love to her. It was wrong, though, wasn't it, he thought as those eyes searched his, challenged him to take what was being offered.

  Her thumb rubbed his bottom lip. Her breath tickled his throat. She was more intoxicating than Silver's best whiskey and he already knew her taste was unequaled. He throbbed for her. Throbbed to sink into her, to hear his name on her lips as he drove her over the edge. But he couldn't. She'd never be content to be a rancher's wife, she'd always want more. He'd never be enough.

  "I want you, Jillian," he admitted because he respected her enough to give her the truth. "I want to make love to you, but after tonight-" His breath shook as her hands caressed his face. "I can't make promises. The ranch is in dire straits, I have Annabelle to consider and-"

  "I don't need promises," she whispered.

  Her lips hovered over his and even before she kissed him, before she slipped her perfect tongue into his mouth, he knew, he just knew, that he was through arguing.

  ***

  He couldn't give her promises, but he could give her romance. Two lanterns glowed in her small room, one from the dresser and one from the small table next to her bed. He pulled back t
he covers, met her gaze.

  His first thought, and he was sure he'd go to Hell for it, was that she didn't look scared or timid the way Amy had on their wedding night. Instead she looked him in the eye and came to him. She reached within her curls for a pin but he stopped her. He'd been dying to get his fingers in her hair for too long.

  "Let me."

  He wasn't careful with the pins; they pinged on the floor as he released them of their duty. Auburn strands fell in silken ribbons over his hands. His fingers ploughed through them, tangled in them. Using them as leverage, he tilted her head back. Her mouth was open and ready for his and he took what she willingly offered, sipping then gulping. Her taste was a flavor he couldn't get enough of.

  But it wasn't only her taste he was after. He was desperate for her touch. With two hands on the material, he yanked his shirt from his pants. He reached for the buttons--he'd already left two open--but her hand stilled his.

  "Let me," she said, mirroring his words.

  Her eyes were on her task and he hungered as he watched her face, as he felt those hands brush his chest. There were only four buttons on his shirt so it didn't take her long. With her eyes rising to his, she grabbed his shirt and drew it over up over his chest. Her breath whispered against his nakedness as she reached to draw the garment over his head.

  The moment the shirt was free his hands were at her waist, not to hold her, but to hold on as her splayed fingers explored his chest, from his collarbone, through his hair and over his belly. His mouth went bone dry when she followed the trail of hair down to the waist of his pants.

  The day she'd come to him for help she'd stared at his chest. He'd pictured this exact moment ever since. Not a damn thing compared to that feathery touch tracing over his muscles, discovering the differences that made them man and woman.

  If she was dreaming she never wanted to awaken. She'd wondered what the ridges of his belly would feel like. Would the hair that sprinkled his chest be soft or coarse? She'd never imagined his belly would twitch when her hands skimmed over it. That the hair would be a combination of soft and coarse that drew her attention over and over again. Or that a man's nipples could get as hard as her own. Intrigued, she scraped her nails over them.