by Diana Palmer
Afterward, there was a reception at the ranch and Maggie felt her nerves going raw from all the excitement.
“Calm down, now,” John Durango told her as she filled a plate beside him. “All these party animals will go home soon, and you'll have him all to yourself—Edward, stop shoving cake down your brother's shirt!” he called to one of his sons.
“Boys look a bit harder to manage than girls,” Maggie commented playfully.
He glanced at her with a charming smile. “Think so? Look what your daughter's doing.”
She turned around, and was horrified to find Becky sitting in the middle of the floor with a big green frog in the lap of her taffeta dress. “Becky!” she gasped, her hands going to her mouth.
“Where did she get a frog, for God's sake?” Gabe asked from behind her, staring.
“Oh, I gave it to her,” John Durango said nonchalantly.
“It was sitting on the porch eating flies, and it looked pretty lonely to me. I thought it needed a friend.”
Gabe glared at him. “Wait until your sons get to be her age. I know your own fatal weakness, son, so look out.”
“You wouldn't,” John said.
“Oh, wouldn't I?” Gabe grinned at him.
“Go and take the frog back,” Madeline told her husband.
“I can't! It would be cruel,” John muttered. “Look, she's kissing it.”
“Animal,” Madeline accused, hitting at him.
“Wait, now,” Gabe said, holding Madeline back as she started past him. “Wait a minute.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I want to see if he changes into something better-looking.”
Maggie gave him a hard look and moved past them to her daughter.
“Isn't he sweet?” Becky sighed. “Mr. Durango gave him to me. Do you suppose Cuddles will like him?”
“Your puppy will like him very much, especially with catsup,” Maggie replied, smiling. “He'll eat the frog.”
“He won't,” Becky argued, glaring.
Gabe solved the problem. “I've got some flies for him,” he said, reaching down to take the frog from his new daughter. “You can visit him later.”
“Am I really going to stay with Grannie while you and my mama go on a honeymoon?” Becky asked Gabe.
He sighed. “Sweetheart, it won't be much of a honeymoon. Just overnight, in fact, but I think Grandma's got a special cartoon movie just for you to watch on the VCR.”
“For me? What is it?”
“Go ask her,” he said gently.
She jumped up, forgetting the frog. Gabe studied it and Maggie, then grinned as he offered it to her.
“I already have one handsome prince,” she whispered, reaching up to kiss his chin. “But thanks anyway.”
He smiled at her gently and went off with the frog.
That night, after Madeline and John and all the guests had gone, they drove to Abilene and checked into a luxury hotel, where Gabe had reserved the bridal suite. He carried her across the threshold and stared wickedly at the huge king-size bed.
“That's sure as hell going to beat the sofa in the parlor,” he told Maggie with a grin. “My back still hurts from it.”
“Maybe there's a vibrator built into this one,” she suggested, although she felt a little shy about saying it.
He put her down and went to check. “So there is,” he chuckled, and glanced at her with raised eyebrows. “Want to try it?”
She stood in the middle of the room in her demure off-white shirtwaist dress and tried to affect a sophistication she didn't feel. “If you like,” she said weakly.
He turned, frowning. In his gray vested suit, Maggie couldn't help admiring him. He looked marvelously handsome. “What's wrong?” he asked, coming over to her. “You aren't afraid of me, surely?”
“No,” she replied quickly. She stared at his vest. “We haven't spent a lot of time alone, that's all. It's a little strange, now.”
He sighed, taking her by the arms. “I should have thought of that. But I was too afraid of losing my head with you. I guess I went overboard the other way.”
“It will all work out, won't it?” she asked, really worried, her eyes wide and soft as they looked up into his.
He searched them, feeling wild shivers of pleasure all over. “Sure it will,” he murmured. He drew her closer, loving the exquisite sensation it gave him when he felt her tremble. “I'm going to take a long time with you tonight,” he whispered at her lips. “It may not be our first time, but I'll make you think it is.”
She reached up to his mouth, felt it move slowly over hers, minty and smoky and softly penetrating. And she trembled because this slow ardor was so much more shattering than violence. Drawing closer, she moved her body against his in a gentle rhythm.
His tall, lean body vibrated at the contact. His breath quickened, and he bent, lifting her, his pale eyes darkening as they searched hers. He carried her to the bed, laid her down and stretched out beside her.
The lights were on but Maggie never noticed. The bed was large enough to give them plenty of room, and they needed it. He was insatiable, his body first over hers, then under it, his hands touching, touching hers, guiding. She learned the warm, hard contours of his powerful, hair-roughened body in a new way, a shockingly bold way that made him laugh and shudder all at once.
“Come on, touch me,” he chided when she drew away. He brought her hands back, holding her shocked gaze. “We're married. It's all right.”
“I know, but it's new,” she whispered. “It's still new.”
“I hope it always will be,” he whispered back. He smoothed his lips down her body as he spoke and felt the sweet, slow trembling start all over again.
He took an eternity arousing her, until she was moaning and crying and writhing like a wild thing. And then he took her—he was patient even then, despite the storm and fire of it—in a rhythm that was slow and deep and demanding.
Maggie never felt afraid, not even when the tenderness reached a peak that threatened to tear her apart. She felt the mattress shudder beneath them, heard his tortured breathing at her ear. Her nails bit into his back, and she couldn't even help it. She reached up with her legs, catching his hips, holding them, her body arched like a bow. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she trembled uncontrollably, crying out in exquisite anguish as the pleasure slammed into her.
Above her, Gabe was feeling it just as intensely. His voice broke at her ear, his powerful body crushing down on hers, shaking her as it convulsed. His hands on her hips dug in and hurt, but even that was sweet.
She heard him hoarsely whisper her name. And then he relaxed, his full weight settling damply over her, his heartbeat almost frightening in its heavy, hard quickness.
She touched his hair, exhausted, sated. Part of her, she thought dazedly, loved him until it was pain. Her eyes closed and she drew him even closer, her arms loving.
He felt that surge of possession and it aroused him all over again. He was tired, so tired, but her body was tormenting him with its exquisite softness, its eager submission. He trembled and his hands moved under her hips, lifting them into his again.
“Gabe?” she whispered, stunned.
“Shh,” he whispered back. His mouth found hers, tenderly. “Shh, it's all right.” He moved, and she trembled. His head lifted, his eyes searching hers. “Is it all right if I do this again?” he whispered softly. “I won't hurt you?”
His consideration made her cry. “Of course you won't,” she whispered. She reached up, touching his face, her eyes so filled with emotion that he had to look away.
He didn't want gratitude. That was what this was, he convinced himself. He was saving Becky, he was giving them both a home and security. Maybe she was attracted to him, too; but the rest was all sacrifice and submission. That wasn't at all what he wanted.
When he turned his face back to hers, Maggie saw that the light had died in him. “What is it?” she asked softly. “What do you want that I'm not giving you? You'll
have to tell me. I know very little about this.”
He lifted his face, hard now, and taut, and looked into her eyes. “I think you know what I want,” he said half under his breath. “But part of you is afraid to give it to me.”
She searched his eyes slowly. Yes, she knew. He wanted passion. He wanted more than submission. He wanted…this.
She let instinct guide her, forcing down the fear of violence that had consumed her for so many years. She reached out and touched him, stroked him, relishing the feel of his body shuddering against hers.
“I can be anything you want,” she whispered. She lifted her hands to his face and tugged. “Anything, Gabriel.” Her mouth opened against his, and she thrust her tongue gently inside his mouth, twisting her body up against his in quick, hard advances.
“God!” he cried.
It was the last thing he was capable of saying. He trembled like a boy, hurting her without meaning to in the violence of passion she aroused in him. He held her, gripped her, took her in as sweetly primitive a way as he'd ever dreamed of doing. And she went with him eagerly, every step of the way, matching the hard, sharp motions of his body, matching the ardent hunger of his mouth, holding him, encouraging him, her soft voice whispering things that drove him out of his mind.
Suddenly everything exploded in a spasm of color and back-breaking pleasure, a convulsion of joy that made him cry out against her, that drowned out the sounds of her own savage ecstasy. He saw, felt, heard, knew nothing except the drumming crash of onrushing oblivion. For the first time in his life, he came close to a faint.
He was staring up at the ceiling when her face blocked it out. She looked down at him with pure pride, smiling into his exhausted face, his faintly surprised pale blue eyes.
“What an expression,” she murmured demurely. “Didn't you think I had it in me?”
“No,” he said flatly. He was still trying to breathe.
“Well, now you know, don't you?” She bent and kissed him very gently. “I'm famished,” she sighed, stretching lazily, unconscious of his appreciative gaze. “I think I'll order a steak. Do you want something?”
“Liniment,” he groaned. “For my aching back.”
She grinned as she got out of bed. “I'll rub it for you, later,” she offered enticingly.
He sat up, watching her open the suitcase and take out a gown and peignoir before she waved at him and disappeared into the bathroom. He felt poleaxed. He'd expected a nice little night of lovemaking and had found himself in bed with a wildcat. What a sweet, unexpected surprise. He watched the door, frowning slightly, and then he smiled. As marriages went, this one was starting out well. He rolled over on his back and lit a cigarette, conserving his strength. He felt he was going to need it before morning.
In the bathroom, Maggie was feeling pretty smug herself. She'd surprised him. Good. Maybe it would start him thinking. She loved him utterly and completely. Now all she had to do was show him, with her own actions. And perhaps, in time, he'd be able to return her love.
But once they were back at the ranch, Gabe was caught up in business. Phone calls, out-of-town trips, a thousand-and-one daily irritations that she couldn't share or prevent. In business, he was still like a stranger—all cold, shrewd logic and hard-hitting determination; a real bulldozer.
In bed, everything was wonderful—and it got better all the time. But it seemed to be their only meeting place. And when the custody suit came up in court, Maggie was more nervous than she'd ever been, because she felt alone again.
Becky stayed behind with her grandmother while the adults all met in court for the first time.
“Don't be nervous,” Gabe told Maggie quietly. “He won't get her. I promise you, he won't.”
But that didn't reassure her. She loved Becky so much. The child had blossomed at the ranch; she was like a different little girl, and she worshiped her new father. She delighted in showing him off to people in town or in Abilene when they went shopping together. And they were like a family, even though Maggie felt more like a housekeeper than a wife. Gabe shared nothing with her except his body. His body was magnificent, and they'd achieved a beautiful peak of pleasure together, but Maggie wanted so much more: she wanted his love. And that seemed to be something he wasn't capable of giving her.
The judge was a woman, black and very beautiful and very young. Maggie's heart sank; she would have felt a little more secure with someone older, perhaps someone with children of her own.
It was just as bad as she'd expected it to be. Worse. Dennis sat beside his attorney, smiling at Maggie with open contempt. His new wife was sitting beside him, more intent on her nail polish than she seemed to be with winning the case. Dennis jabbed her, and she glared at him, blonde and beautiful, as she put up the polish and assumed a bored look.
Dennis's attorney accused Maggie of carrying on a long-standing affair with Gabriel Coleman. He added that despite their subsequent marriage, Maggie had been more interested in her own sensual satisfaction than in the welfare of her daughter. He even added a tidbit about Becky's stay in boarding school, which he claimed was obvious evidence that Maggie didn't want her child with her.
Maggie felt sick all over. How like Dennis to twist the truth. She sat there, dying inside, grateful that Janet hadn't been forced to come and hear so many vicious lies.
“Stop looking so terrified,” Gabe whispered in her ear, and actually grinned. “It's our turn now. Just listen and you'll find out what we've got on that smiling jackass over there.”
She looked up, shocked. Her attorney was on his feet now, a nice elderly man with a voice that carried like that of a Shakespearean actor, deep and rich and authoritative. He had a folder in his hand, which he opened.
“We would like to acquaint the court with Mr. Blaine's most recent activities,” he began, glancing at Dennis, who'd just assumed a wary posture. He read from the folder. “On the evening of March 15, he and his…wife…hosted a party that was subsequently joined by two plainclothes policemen. Mr. Blaine and his wife were arrested for possession of cocaine,” he added with a bland smile in Dennis's direction. “On the evening of March 18, Mr. and Mrs. Blaine attended a party at a neighboring home. They were observed using cocaine, and participating in a…how shall we put it, Mr. Blaine?” he added, turning toward Dennis. “Orgy?”
“Your Honor,” the other attorney broke in, rising, “this is nothing more than a deliberate attempt on the part of the defendant to discredit my client. I feel—”
“I have the arrest record right here, Your Honor,” Maggie's attorney said blithely. “Along with a detailed report of Mr. Blaine's activities for the entire month of March, prepared by one of the most respected private detective agencies in Texas.” He moved forward. “Your Honor, the defense maintains that Mr. Blaine has no interest in his daughter other than control of a milliondollar trust left for her by her late grandfather. We can show beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Blaine is continually in debt, that he gambles, that his amorous activities are not confined to the home, that he uses illegal drugs…In short, we feel that to allow the child to live with him would be nothing less than condemning her to a day-to-day hell!”
“Lies!” Dennis shot to his feet, pale. “It's all lies! It's just her, trying to make me look bad!”
Gabe started to get to his own feet, feeling a red-hot urge to tear Dennis apart for what he'd done to Maggie. His own Maggie. But her hand restrained him. He glanced at her and, miraculously, calmed down. He sat but didn't let go of her hand.
“One more outburst, Mr. Blaine, and I'll hold you in contempt of court,” the judge said with majestic dignity. “Continue, please, Mr. Parmeter.”
Mr. Parmeter nodded. “Thank you, Your Honor.” He put the file folder down. “Your Honor, my client, Mrs. Coleman, was recently married to Gabriel Coleman. He owns the very successful Coleman Santa Gertrudis Ranch, the C-Bar Cross, just outside Abilene. He is rather well-known in these parts as an honest, responsible, highly respected businessman. He and
my client have taken excellent care of the child, Rebecca, and Mr. Coleman is prepared to adopt her—”
“Over my dead body!” Dennis raged.
“Sit down, Mr. Blaine!” the judge said sharply.
Dennis sat, glaring at Gabe and Maggie.
“—as soon as the legalities are finalized,” Mr. Parmeter continued. “Your Honor, a little girl's only hope of a happy future lies with you. We entrust her fate to your hands.”
Mr. Parmeter sat down. Maggie clung to Gabe's hand, her face white with horror.
The judge studied a paper on her bench and then lifted her head, pursed her fingers and studied both sides of her courtroom. “I don't approve of divorce, as a rule,” she began. “I prefer it when people try to work things out, especially if children are involved.”
Maggie's eyes closed. Here it comes, she thought.
“However,” the judge continued, surprising Maggie, “in this case, I can understand very easily why a divorce was necessary. Mr. Blaine—” she looked at the stiff man beside the fluffy blonde “—having gone over the records provided by defense, I am certain that remanding Rebecca to your care would be a mistake. Your entire history is one of deception and selfishness and self-indulgence. Once you acquired control of the child's inheritance, and went through it, you would have no more interest in her welfare than you would in a blade of grass.
“Now, I've spoken to Becky,” she added, surprising everyone except Gabe and Mr. Parmeter, “and asked her where she thought she'd be happiest.” She glanced at Gabriel and smiled. “She told me she wants to live with her new daddy, because he's kinder to her than anyone else in the whole world except her mama.”
Gabe bit his lip and looked away. Maggie leaned close to him, her hand clinging to his.
“On the other hand,” the judge continued softly, “when I mentioned letting Becky go with her real father, she turned white as a sheet and had hysterics.” Her dark eyes narrowed as she looked at a now pale Dennis. “She told me a great deal about you, Mr. Blaine, including some things that she hasn't even told her mother. And you are indeed fortunate that you haven't been charged with child abuse. In fact, if the Colemans would like to press charges against you and pursue them, they would be well within their rights to do so.”
