Under The Desert Moon (Desert Sky Series Book 2)

by Mary Tate Engels

  "I know." She giggled as his hot breath tickled her, then her voice grew low and serious. "But I want to know if this rush is more than lust."

  "What's wrong with a little lust? It proves my love."

  "Let's explore that... after a swim." She twirled away from his arms and grabbed a gold lame swimsuit from her suitcase. Dangling the slinky item at arm's length, she wriggled her eyebrows tauntingly. "Wouldn't you like to see this on me?"

  "I'd rather see the exciting parts that fit into it." He made a bear-like lunge toward her.

  She laughed and dashed into the bathroom, just barely out of his reach.

  They played in the pool for a while, and when they returned to the room, a bottle of chilled champagne awaited them. Brett assumed the job of popping the cork.

  Annie sat on the bed, legs outstretched and watched as he eased the cork out of the bottle with a muffled pop. His hands dwarfed the crystal goblets as he filled two, and returned the bottle to the ice bucket.

  With a flourish he presented her with a goblet, then sat facing her and insisted that they hook arms to drink. Before the act was completed, each had laughingly spilled chilled champagne on the other, and attempts to lap up the mess led to more succulent kisses.

  Annie turned her face up to receive his thirsty kisses. And then, with an appetite of her own, she returned his ravenous affection. She felt his tongue slide along the line of her lips and opened immediately to the gentle probing. He tasted of mint and champagne and the nebulous essence of growing desire. As his kisses intensified and her responses blossomed, Annie felt an exciting and wonderful passion bubbling through her like champagne.

  Brett paused long enough to take another sip from his goblet and encouraged her to do the same. Then he set their glasses aside.

  Dazed by the combination of champagne and intoxicating sensuality, Annie remained seated while Brett placed one bent knee beside her and leaned to kiss her earlobe, then her neck. Sweet kisses followed his hands along each shoulder as he slid the straps of her bikini top down. Annie gasped softly, her body responding with a pulsating drumbeat to each moist kiss. His hands framed her bare ribs and moved up to the sides of her breasts, caressing the sensitive skin. He pushed her swimsuit down to her waist.

  Her bare breasts were achingly full and seemed to fit naturally into the cupped palms of his hands. He lifted and admired and gently buffed both at the same time with a sureness of knowing her reactions. He squeezed the magenta tips between his thumbs and forefingers until she moaned with the tormenting pleasure. She arched her hips while he skimmed the rest of her swimsuit down her long legs.

  He paused long enough to make their loving safe, a brief hesitation that only increased the desire that flamed their passion. She reached out, drawing him to her. She delighted in the brown smoothness of him, the extreme masculinity he exuded. She couldn't bear much more of this physical torment, the unfulfilled act.

  She lifted her arms above her head, arching her back. Each movement causing sensual friction of her body against his, heat magnifying heat. Oh, how she wanted him—wanted him forever. Every part of her ached for him, and she began to move beyond her awareness, rhythmically rocking, reaching the bounds of sensuous pleasure and plunging beyond ascending into ecstasy.

  Repeated volleys of desire rolled through her, rising in her with fierce intensity, crashing in a flood of relief, then building again. For a while she thought the frenzy would never end. She clung to his shoulders and cried his name. "Brett, Brett – "

  They pressed together, hands clutching, perspiration mingling. Completely and totally enmeshed. Content with each other. Needing no one or nothing else. Annie drifted somewhere between heaven and the most wonderful earth she had ever experienced.

  Brett stroked her, feeling toward this woman as he had never felt toward any other. He was a dominating man, in control of himself and his destiny, and he liked to dominate his women. But this one was different.

  Here was this small dynamo with wild honey hair and enchanting brown eyes that had captured him completely. She conquered him, body and soul, spirit and emotion, without lifting a finger. Without an element of aggression, she could have her way with him, and strangely he would go willingly.

  She stirred, lifting her head. Moist curls straggled around her face. His chest glistened with a healthy sheen. They had shared everything—their lives, their bodies, their love... everything but an avowal of love. Oh, how Annie wondered about that.

  "We have something special between us, you know," she began hesitantly.

  "Yeah." Eyes still heavy with passion, he nodded. "I'm not sure I understand it yet. But I'm working on it."

  Perhaps she shouldn't say it. Or perhaps she didn't trust looking at him when she confessed. "I'm afraid. . . afraid I love you, Brett."

  He sighed. "I'm afraid so, too." He knew he should be saying Me too, but he wasn't. Couldn't. But, afraid. . . was the key word. She knew her risks.

  Annie shivered. It wasn't the answer she wanted. Needed. "Brett..." She would tell him that he didn't have to concur, that she wouldn't create a problem over this.

  But he stopped her. His voice was quiet. "We're like two magnets. Drawn together in spite of. . . everything."

  "In spite of not wanting."

  "I'll admit I didn't come to Silver Creek to find you."

  "Or to settle down."

  "Yeah." He almost growled the word.

  "I hope I haven't caused you trouble, Brett."

  "You're no trouble. You're... the only light in my life, Annie."

  She caught her breath. What was he saying? Maybe the more important thing was what he wasn't saying. "I didn't mean to embarrass you, Brett. Or put you on the spot. But I don't take this kind of intimate relationship lightly. And I wanted you to know that my feelings are running deep. Maybe too deeply."

  "I don't want. . . to hurt you, Annie."

  "There's only one way you could do that, Brett." She knew that if he ever left, she would crumble inside. He knew it, too.

  "Only one?" he repeated with a sad chuckle. "I'm sure I could think of a dozen. And I don't want to. Believe me, Annie."

  After a moment of strained silence, she said, "I believe you, Brett."

  Their lovemaking had added another dimension to their relationship. But the conversation afterward had left them both pensive and withdrawn to inner thoughts they were reluctant to share right now.

  Rather than eat in the hotel's fancy restaurants that night, they chose an historic Mexican restaurant. Taking the recommendation of one of the hotel bus boys, they crossed the bridge over the mostly dry riverbed of the Rillito River and drove downtown to El Charro, an establishment run for generations by a local family.

  Replenished by Mexican music and food, Brett reminisced about his childhood. "Family was very important to us, especially to my mother. All her relatives would gather, usually at our house, and eat and sing some of the old songs from Mexico. Now when I hear them, they're familiar."

  "Do you know the words?"

  "Not all of them. But the words aren't really that important. It's the emotion that's felt in the songs. And that's apparent whether you understand or not."

  "You're right," she agreed. "I love some of the songs, but have no idea what they're saying."

  "I particularly remember my grandfather and his brother singing together. Los abuelos."

  "The grandfathers," she said softly.

  He nodded. "Even at their advanced ages, they could harmonize beautifully. Their favorite was an old song called Volver, Volver. Very hard to sing."

  "Return, return?"

  "Return to the old country, Mexico, and family. Actually, many of the old ones were born in Mexico, but when Arizona and New Mexico made statehood in 1912, what was once their Mexican homeland became the United States. As you might imagine, they greeted that revelation with mixed emotions."

  "It sounds like you have some wonderful childhood memories, Brett."

  He reflected for a moment
. "Some of them were. Not all, though."

  Annie decided not to pursue the matter now. On the way out of the restaurant, she spotted a small poster advertising a mariachi spectacular tomorrow in the downtown plaza.

  "We could go, Brett. Oh, please. I'd love it. You would, too." She squeezed his hand. "You know you would." She could see reluctance in his eyes, but she couldn't understand why. "Come on, Brett! This is a rare opportunity for me."

  "For me, too." He gazed down at her, his dark expression softening. "All right. Para ti," he agreed in Spanish. For you. See what control she had over him?

  The next day, the Mexican festivities in the plaza proved to be nostalgic for Brett. He explained the traditions that Annie didn't understand and, in the process, examined them in his own mind. Soon they found themselves caught up in the gaiety of the day, and whatever strain had existed between them vanished.

  They mingled among the street vendors, eating hot tamales cooked the old fashioned way in corn husks and nibbling fruit ice to keep cool. She bought him a straw hat with a bright red hatband. He bought her a lovely shawl with intricate embroidery around the edges that evolved into long, decorative fringe.

  Various mariachi groups performed traditional music, and dancers in brightly colored costumes entertained the crowd. Annie glanced at Brett. He had been so reluctant to come today, she'd wondered if he would enjoy it. But the rapt expression on his face revealed more happiness than she had ever seen. And it made her feel good that she had insisted on the expedition.

  In a special appearance, the famous pop singer from Tucson, Linda Ronstadt, joined her brother and sister for a couple of songs. One was obviously a crowd favorite, Volver, Volver.

  Annie leaned close to Brett's ear as the family on stage blended their harmonic voices. "Is that the song you told me about? The one your grandfathers sang?"

  Brett nodded. He seemed to be mesmerized, perhaps transported to another time and place. Annie didn't interrupt his reverie, but just held his hand.

  The grand finale, held against the backdrop of a spectacular sunset of golds and oranges and brilliant pinks, presented a rousing song featuring all the day's performers. Young dancers, swishing their full colorful skirts, surrounded the stage and mingled with the crowd. The stage was filled with the mariachi groups as well as small children with their violins and guitars and trumpets, all wearing costumes, becoming a part of the traditions. They were the future, the keepers of the flame.

  When it was over and the crowd started milling around in the twilight, Annie said sincerely, "This was the most spectacular folk event I've ever attended. I'm so glad we came."

  "Me, too." Brett's voice was low and strangely quiet.

  Annie smiled happily, knowing they had shared something else very special. It could only bring them closer. "The Mexican culture is expressed so beautifully through their music. And I'm glad to see that they're keeping it alive by teaching their children."

  "Some things," he responded solemnly, "are worth saving."

  "Yes. And these traditions definitely are." Annie clung to his arm as they maneuvered through the crowd. She wondered privately what Brett considered worth saving. Cultural traditions? An old family ranch that never reached expectations? Their relationship? She supposed time would tell about all those things. No one, not even Brett, knew the answers tonight.

  Sometime after midnight, after another round of intense lovemaking, Annie's phone rang. She answered sleepily. Brett rolled over.

  Annie listened for a moment, then sat up, immediately alert to a river of moonlight in the room and the soft voice on the phone. "Lacy? Lacy! Are you all right?"

  "I'm excellent. Just a little overwhelmed."

  "The baby?" Annie began bouncing around on the bed, which of course, woke Brett completely. "The baby – the baby?"

  "What's that?" he grumbled.

  "Baby!" Annie pointed excitedly to the phone. "Lacy, are you in labor? Are you on your way to the hospital in Tucson?"

  "No time for that. Dr. Teresa took care of everything. We're still here in Silver Creek."

  "We? You mean. . . the baby?"

  "Annie, it was incredible. And OMG, fast! He arrived two hours ago, 7 pounds, 6 ounces, absolutely beautiful." Lacy paused, crying.

  Annie laughed through her own tears. "And his name?"

  "We haven't decided yet. But everyone's already calling him Rowdy."

  "How are you, Lacy?"

  "Fine. Better than fine. Just tired. I wanted you to know, Annie."

  "I can't wait to see you both. Get some rest." Annie sat in the middle of the bed, full moon trail lighting a path across the room, and cried.

  Brett sat up and pulled her close. "Honey, is everything all right? What's wrong?"

  "Oh yes, it's just perfect," she babbled through her tears. "I'm just so happy for her. She's tried so hard, for years, and now, the baby came so fast, they didn't have time to come to her doctor in Tucson, which Holt insisted they do, but Dr. Teresa took care of everything and it's just so wonderful... A baby, little baby Rowdy, I can't believe... "

  Brett held her against his chest and patted her back. "Hmm, yes, a baby... "

  All too soon, their beautiful escape weekend was over, and they headed back to Silver Creek. The bonds they had forged were difficult to assess at the time, but Annie found herself wondering how she had managed before Brett entered her life. She'd merely been existing, proceeding with the necessary acts to keep the apple farm going and profitable. Her social life had dwindled to practically nothing, and she had been totally lacking in the kinds of emotional relationships she needed.

  Annie felt that in spite of their differences, she had that kind of intimate relationship with Brett. She could only hope it would last. But that would mostly depend on him.

  As soon as they pulled into the driveway at the farm, Annie was thrust back into her highly charged and dangerous position with the refugees hiding on her farm. When she got out of the car, she looked around anxiously. No one was in sight, but she could feel eyes peering at them through the darkness. Brett took her suitcase into the house, and she followed with a shopping bag of gifts they had purchased.

  A willowy woman with long, dark hair and a big belly stepped from the darkness and hugged Annie. "Seňorita Annie, I am so glad you are back."

  "Carmen, you're still here." Annie couldn't help feeling a little relief. She would have hated for them to be gone before she returned, though she didn't know why. She knew they were destined to leave. "How are you? And Isabel?"

  "Fine. All are fine."

  "Have you heard from Thomas?"

  "No! Nothing!" She gripped Annie's arms. "I am worried sick about him. I am afraid something bad has happened to him. What if—"

  Annie interrupted. "Everything is going to be all right, Carmen. Don't lose hope. We... I'll try to find out next week where he might be."

  "Oh, seňorita, would you?"

  "I'll try. I'm not sure how, but I'll see if anyone knows anything about him." The only way Annie knew was to check with the sheriff and law enforcement. Otherwise, no one would know.

  Carmen hugged her again, squeezing her arms in the process. "Oh, thank you! You are a good friend, Annie!"

  "I've got to go now," Annie whispered. "I'll talk to you later. After my friend leaves." She nodded in the direction Brett had taken. She looked up and saw that Brett stood waiting for her on the porch steps. He had witnessed the emotional exchange with Carmen. Annie hurried toward him.

  "She's living here?" he observed coolly.

  Annie fiddled nervously with the key and led the way inside. "Yes, she is. For a little while."

  "Is she working for you?"

  "Uh, yes." Annie switched the light on and dumped her parcels into the first chair she saw. "This has been a great weekend, Brett. I'm so glad we went. I needed it. And I think you did, too."

  He nodded. "I enjoyed it very much. You know that." He placed the suitcase in the hall and turned back to her, a puzzled expression
on his face. "She isn't the woman I saw here the other morning."

  "No, that was, uh, her mother-in-law."

  "Oh. So she's one of the migrants who helped you with the blossom thinning?"

  Annie nodded. Why was he questioning her like this? Why was she holding back? They had shared so much this week end, there should be no secrets between them. Maybe it was time to tell him.

  "That woman looked pregnant, Annie."

  Annie sighed with an open mouth. "She is."

  "Is it safe for you to hire a pregnant migrant worker? What if she has the baby here? What if—"

  "Brett, please." Annie raised one hand to stop his questions. "This is probably the time to tell you something I've been intending to for a long time."

  He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets and gave her his silent attention.

  "They, uh, Isabel and Carmen aren't exactly migrants. Well, they are, but. . ."

  His face was dark, shadowed, and she wondered what he was thinking. And if he knew. Of course, he did.

  "Then what... are they if not migrants?"

  "Brett, I want you to try to understand my position here. I didn't intend for this to happen. And I didn't purposely keep secrets from you," she paused. "Well, yes, to be perfectly honest, I guess I kept this one until... I knew I could trust you."

  "Trust?" He repeated it in a deadly low voice. "You expect me to –"

  She rushed on. "But it got worse when you took the special assignment with your dad. And worse yet when you agreed to teach criminal justice and all that talk about deviant behavior."

  "No Annie, it isn't worse. It's the same. I'm the same."

  He gazed steadily at her. She was hiding something from him. And she did it poorly. Maybe it was a good sign that she couldn't lie readily to him. But deep in his heart, he suspected—and feared—what she would say next. And he feared his own reaction. Feared what it would do to them.