Her kisses burned through his blood, thundered through every part of his body. Her breasts filled his hands, heated silk that felt like nothing he had ever known. She was home and heaven, need and want, wife and lover.
Her fingers plucked at his shirt buttons, smoothed away fabric until there was only air between them. He felt her need, not just for sex but for a man to depend on, a man to trust.
Yet even in her urgent kisses, in her tantalizing fingers curling through his chest hair and then trailing down to wrap around his already erect shaft, there was a holding back—of her heart, of her deepest self.
He wanted that part of her. Wanted her to know he was a man she could trust—now and until the end of time.
"You're ready for me," he whispered in her ear when his fingers found her wetness, felt the way she arched against his palm.
"Yes." She spoke against his mouth.
"You're always ready for me." His chuckle came low, deep as desire, as dark as the night.
She could not deny it, just as she could not deny her body's reaction to him—swift, hard, melting want. She ached for him deep inside, in those inner muscles clenching tightly at his touch.
He was like dreams that come in the dark of night, all wanting and wishing, impossible to be true. Yet he was flesh and blood beneath her fingers, exciting male scent and taste.
His hands cupped her fanny, lifting her against his hips, and she clasped her thighs around him. His erection surged against the heat at her center, pulsed with his heartbeat against the curve of her belly. His wondrous male hardness was all she could think about, all she could feel, breathless.
Need sparked in her blood, then fed an inferno as Jack pressed her against the unyielding wall of chinked logs, hard against her back, but not as hard as he. She arched against him, wanting that thick pulsing hardness buried deep inside her.
"Please," she whispered.
"You need me?" Low and teasing, his voice rumbled against her chest and within her, as if it were her own.
"Yes." It was always a bad idea to need anyone too much, but when his shaft nudged against her inner thigh she tilted her hips, capturing that part of him within the tightness of her body. There was so much instant sensation there, where they joined, and deeper, bigger, that she had to have more of him, all of him, slow inch by slow inch.
"This must be what you need." His whisper curled along her spine, wrapping her in a cocoon of shivering desire.
"Yes." She ought to be embarrassed, but as his hard thickness filled her she could only feel a joy and pleasure and caring so great that it threatened to undo her—to blow apart every reserve, end every fear, make her scarred heart new.
Release scorched her like a firestorm, all flaming wind and greedy flame. Bright, blinding heat engulfed her so much that it hurt, it frightened her, it made every part ache and pulse and burn. She felt Jack's release, the pulse of his shaft, the spill of his seed, the groan tearing through his throat, leaving him spent.
A final pulse moved within her, sparking a fast, hard ripple of heat. She hung helpless, draped against his body, held in his arms, weightless and crying out with sharp aching pleasure, with the power of all he threatened to make her feel.
Gradually, the rippling sensation faded. She heard once again the music of the rain, the harmony of the wind, yet she was still in Jack's arms, still under his spell, joined to him.
Instead of letting her down, he only tightened his hold. His face dipped low as he carried her through the house, and she shivered hard at the feel of his mouth at her breast sucking until the fire of need ignited again. He laid her back on the bed, rising up over her, already hard, setting a rhythm she could not keep.
Already pleasure spiraled through her, bold and dangerous like flames licking high in the sky. Every rippling contraction of her body told her how much she needed him, how she could never let him go.
When he collapsed, spent leaving her far too sated, she buried her face in his chest and closed her eyes, afraid of what she might feel, what she might say.
When he moved away, withdrawing from within her, leaving her cold and alone, she clenched her hands, fighting against feeling that loss of him. He moved away in the dark, a big presence with gentle hands, covering her up with the sheet.
She didn't stir, and he didn't speak, and she felt the distance between them grow. Tears beat at her eyes as he moved away, leaving her alone when all she wanted was to feel more of that sweet oblivion. Making love with Jack was the only time when it was all right to need him—the one time she did not have to feel alone and afraid.
She heard the back door close, knew he was out there in the rain, waiting for rustlers with his armed men, waiting for the chance to keep more of his promises.
Thunder shattered the peace of dawn. Lissa was startled out of sleep, torn out of dreams. A gentle peach glow warmed the windows, brushed the corners of the room. Then she saw the bed beside her—empty. Memories came of Jack carrying her to bed, laying her down to sleep. He had work to do, he'd told her in that deep, hazy voice, so sexy that it alone, without his touch, could make her shiver. He was out there in the morning.
Another rumbling crackle of thunder sheared the silence. Prickles skidded across her skin, burrowed into her stomach. A distant popping sound confirmed her fears. Gunfire, not thunder, had awakened her. The rustlers. Trouble had returned to her ranch.
Jack! She was out of bed in a flash, pulling on her clothes as she ran for the door. Chad's door was open. No sign of him or his little puppy, and no sound of them, either.
Another string of gunfire sounded closer to the house. Fear clenched hard around her chest. Lissa raced into the kitchen. Her heart stalled when she saw the back door wide open to the sunny world beyond.
Barefoot, she dashed out into the yard. She felt the thunder of cattle before she could see them, a vibrating drum that rocked the earth at her feet
"Chad!" She ignored the bite of rocks and the stab of fallen twigs. "Chad!"
She saw nothing but green grass and rows of growing corn, empty fields. No little boy's head popped up above the thistles and seed-heavy grasses. "Chad!"
No answer.
Prickles skidded across her skin, burrowed into her stomach. Where was her little boy? The bellow of cattle, sharp and high, spun her around at full speed. She rounded the corner in time to see the first of the frightened cows cresting the hill.
"Mama!" Chad's call came, filled with excitement.
"Chad?" There he was, on the lawn at the edge of the road.
"Look what Puddles did." Laughing, Chad held up the small length of a thin stick. Already Lissa was running as the boy tossed the stick. It flew a few feet, the puppy bounding after it.
Lissa was only aware of the drum of the cattle and the shaking earth as the stampeding animals approached. Dirt spun in the air. The world became a blur of browns and whites, moving cows, and raw, coppery fear.
"Chad!" She screamed his name, running as fast as she could. Rocks bit into the soles of her feet, but the pain hardly registered. One cow overtook her, galloping wildly toward the road and open space, toward where Puddles had retrieved the stick and now was tucked safely in the boy's little arms. But the child, defenseless and small, was not safe from the herd.
"No!" Terror drove her forward. Panicked cattle loped around her, bellowing protest. Like an unstoppable river, the current of wild-eyed animals cut around her. Where was Chad? Where was he? Dirt swirled in the air. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe.
"Lissa!" Her name rang above the chaos, strong and clear, but she would not stop. She would not lose her only child.
His mile-wide shoulders set, Jack appeared out of the dust and dirt and driving animals, tall in the saddle. His horse wove through the milling cattle, headed her way.
"Chad! Get Chad!"
Jack's gaze hardened. Realization passed across the features of his face, turning them to stone. He hesitated only a second, and for the first time in her life she could feel, could
hear another's thoughts. He had to make a choice between her and Chad.
Before she could draw in another breath, he was gone, wheeling his mount to the west where she'd pointed. She tore after him, screaming her son's name, but the driving hooves and bellowing cattle created enough din to drown out the world. She couldn't see Jack astride his big bay, couldn't stand knowing her son might be trampled, might be dead.
No! her heart screamed with every step. The herd kept coming, driven by the gunfire from behind. Sharp popping sounds lifted above the drum of the herd and the taste of fear. A cow knocked against her spine, rocking her off her feet.
She hit the ground on her knees, felt the impact of a cow's shoulder against her arm. Pain rocked through her. The blur and drone of motion spilled around her. She tasted dirt and pain. Then a cow, unable to dodge her, jumped over her head.
Lissa ducked and rolled and saw two sets of hooves aiming directly for her. She felt the impact against the curve of her forehead, saw the earth rise up to meet her. She fought hard against the blackness, pure and silent blackness.
* * *
"Lissa!"
He saw her go down in the same instant he spotted Chad, clutching his puppy to his chest, tears running like muddy rivers down his dusty cheeks.
How could he leave her now? Yet the child wasn't safe. She could never live without her son. He knew this without asking, sensed this in the same instinctive way that he felt what she needed in the dark of night when their bodies joined. He knew her—just as he knew he could not live with his choice if he let a child die.
Teeth gritted, he drove the gelding harder, reached down and snared Chad by the waist He lifted the small boy and tiny dog and swept them high, safe from danger. He settled the child on the saddle in front of him, saw Chad's tears, heard his crying, felt his fear.
"I want my mama," he choked out above the puppy's terrified whines.
Jack spun his gelding around. He saw no sign of Lissa in the herd. Gunplay punctuated the terrified drum of driving cattle, frightening the wild animals into greater panic. She had to be gone, he knew.
Grim, he kicked his tired gelding straight into the fray. Cows, eyes white-rimmed and nostrils flaring, dove around him. One steer after another slammed into the gelding's shoulder, once almost bringing them all to the ground.
"Lissa!" Her name tore from his throat, but he couldn't shout loud enough to be heard. Yards felt like miles. His fear was so big that he could taste it. Cattle thundered over the spot where he'd seen her fall. In a flash he saw the torn earth, the mud where her body should lie. There was nothing.
"Lissa!" He stood up in the stirrups, one hand holding Chad steady, the other trying to keep his gelding from being knocked over by the oncoming cattle.
Then he saw a shiver of blue beyond the shelter of a pine tree, the tall, rugged trunk reaching high but not wide enough to fully protect her from danger. Jack kicked his gelding into a hard gallop, cutting his way to her.
Every step of his horse brought him closer, but he could see her bleeding, see her take another blow from the sharp end of a steer's horn as he raced past.
Jack's breath stopped as he reached out, unable to help her. She didn't go down, though, and then he finally swept her into his arms, onto his lap, holding her alive and whole against his chest, against his heart.
She didn't speak, but he felt her need, felt all he could be to her. He held her and her son tight, felt her tears of relief as if they were his own. Chad was safe. She was alive. It was all that mattered.
'Jack, I—"
"Shh," he interrupted her with a kiss to her temple. They could talk later. He helped her to the ground near the strong split rail fence he'd built, then lifted down Chad and his puppy.
That woman and little boy were his everything. Anger beat hard and lethal in his heart; anger at the men who had dared to put his wife and son in danger.
Jack wheeled the gelding around the charging animals. He saw his profit running away down the road, past fenced barriers to the forest and freedom beyond. He saw the fight up on the hill, where his men had the rustlers trapped. Gunfire filled the air, fast and furious.
"Is Lissa all right?" Will handed him a loaded revolver.
"For now. But not if we don't get these bastards." Jaw clenched, Jack slid to the ground, dodging the bullets whizzing past, thudding into the trees behind them. He kept low, running fast for cover. "You boys did good. You've cut off their only escape."
"What do we do now?"
"Draw 'em out. "Jack knew in an instant what he needed to do, felt it in his blood as if he'd done it all his life. He wanted those bastards, dead or alive. He didn't care. They could have killed Lissa or Chad, taken his whole life from him.
"We've got you cornered," Jack shouted to the cowards hidden behind a boulder. "Toss out your weapons."
"Not on your life, Murray."
"Then it will be on yours." This was personal. That scared him. It told him something else. With the better fences and the night watches, only a fool would risk stealing cattle in plain sight, or someone with a different purpose. They had stampeded the cattle past the house. They could have taken the back way, even with the higher fences.
"What do you want?"
"You, Murray," said a deep voice, one Jack didn't recognize. "You killed a friend of ours. And you're next."
Jack spun open the chambers of his Colts. Empty. He thumbed in bullets. He lowered his voice, leaned close to Will.
"We go in after them." Jack took a breath, knew what he had to do. "Will, I want you to circle them from behind."
"And then what?"
"Shoot." He thumbed back both hammers, knowing all too well the fear before battle. "You'll be all right. Just follow my lead."
"You're the boss."
Jack came out shooting. He wasn't scared. He didn't have time to be, with bullets whizzing past him. Anger focused him, made him cold and accurate. He saw nothing but the image of Chad, muddy and crying, of Lissa screaming her son's name.
He smelled the panic in the air, sensed the rustlers' desperation. Every step brought him closer to them, to the men who had nearly killed his family. Jack's Peacemakers spit fire and bullets, and he took down one of the outlaws. Only five more to go. He felt a burning along the outside of his arm, the sting of a bullet. It only iced his determination.
Will's firing dropped one rustler, scared the others out of hiding. Jack was ready for them. Before they could turn on Will, he fired a volley of shots that caught two more of them, killing all but one of the men. He swung around and dropped him, but not in time. Will's knees hit the ground, blood staining his left side.
"It's not bad, I don't think." The young man looked pale. Strain tightened his face.
"Hold on." Jack checked the dead first, making sure there was no pulse, kicking the revolvers far out of reach. Only then did he check Will's wound.
"You're going to need a doctor." He pressed Will's shirt back over the injury, found a handkerchief and added pressure.
Blood stained his own shirt, but it was nothing, not when compared to the young man's wound. They had to get him to town, and fast.
Jack's gaze swung past the bodies, already wondering how the lazy sheriff would take to the news, then lingered on Lissa's face. Shock slackened her jaw, and he realized for the first time what she must see, realizing for the first time the true heart of the man she married—a man able to kill.
Jack could not remember his past, but he knew this about himself as well as the sight of his own face in the mirror, with a certainty that left no doubt:
He didn't belong here in this haven of peaceful sky and reaching meadows.
Chapter Eleven
"You're a lucky man, Jack Murray." Doc's voice echoed in the small room. "Another inch and you would have lost a kidney."
Jack saw again the image of the stampede, tasted the fear when he'd searched for her in the mud. He knew if he didn't stop the rustlers she would never be safe. "How is Lissa?"
> "She's bruised pretty bad, but nothing that can't heal." Doc tied the last edge of the bandage into place. "You're a good man, Jack. She's alive because of you. I'm glad you came to this town, came to her."
Jack reached for his shirt. "Has the sheriff been by?"
Doc shook his head as he moved toward the door. "I sent a message over to the undertaker. He took the bodies, as far as I know."
"Did you recognize any of them?"
"Can't say that I do. I see a lot of people from all over this countryside. I can say with certainty that those men weren't from around here." Doc stepped out into the hallway. "I'll check on Will."
"Thanks, Doc." Jack slipped on his shirt, teeth clenching at the pain in his side and then again in his right arm.
When he'd first rushed to town, he'd been worried over his foreman's bullet wound and Lissa's injuries. Now that the crisis was past, the realization of all that could have gone wrong, all that could have happened, ached through his heart.
What if he would have lost Chad? Or Lissa? Pain as black as his memory wrapped around his heart He'd done what he'd come here to do, and now they were all safe. He could rebuild the ranch and give Lissa the chance to love him, the way he was beginning to love her. He had a new start, a future, a family that meant more to him than his own life.
Jack headed down the hall, and she was the first thing he saw. Her tangled blond curls, her gentle face, her goodness as soft as morning's light.
He noticed the worry tight around her eyes, and he headed toward her. "Will's going to be fine."
"The doctor told me." She stepped forward, hand out, then hesitated. Her skirts whirled around her ankles, moving after she had stopped, and he saw the length of the room, felt the distance she wanted between them.
He stopped, not at all sure what he should do. He wanted to wrap her in his arms; he wanted to tuck her close to his heart where she was safe, where she was closest to him.
Jillian Hart Page 12
