She laughed out loud. “Priscilla.”
“Priscilla?”
Nodding, she answered, “Priscilla Pig. That’s what we’d named her.”
“No one could pry the two of you apart.”
“Me and Priscilla?” she asked lightly.
“You and Martha,” he answered on a drawl. “You did everything together. Until Nicolas and Anna sent her away to school.”
She looked at him across the tiny fire. “I remember you being around a lot in those days.”
“I wanted to be near Jason—he was still TwoLeaf then—he was my hero.”
And you were mine. She looked away, the thought almost causing her pain. When she looked at him again, he seemed far away, deep in thought. “What are you thinking about now?”
He gave her a rugged smile. “Do you really want to know?”
“I asked, didn’t I?” He was quiet for a while. Molly wasn’t sure he would share.
“I was thinking about the last time I saw you before they shipped you off to San Francisco.”
Toying with the buttons on his shirt, she said, “I don’t really remember much about that night.”
“I can believe that. You were drunk.”
A wash of embarrassment warmed her cheeks. “What an awful child I was.”
“No,” he argued. “Not awful. Just very determined to get into as much trouble as you could without getting caught.”
“No, I was awful.” She couldn’t look at him. “I remember going to the old shed with some of the others that night. We had three bottles of bad hooch and couldn’t seem to pass them around fast enough.”
“Do you remember me being there?”
Her embarrassment deepened. “Yes,” she said softly. “You kicked in the door.”
“Anything else?”
“I remember fighting you. You made me feel foolish in front of my friends.” She glanced up at him. “I hated you for that.”
“Do you remember the ride back to the house?”
She frowned, trying to think. “No. I can’t remember anything after you threatening to throw me into the river if I didn’t behave.”
“You don’t recall turning around in the saddle and facing me? Tossing your legs over mine?” His voice softened, became a tantalizing seduction.
Secret parts of her suddenly came alive, but she shook her head. “I … I can’t believe I did that.”
“Then you kissed me.”
Gasping, she threw him a look of shock. “I didn’t!”
“Oh, but you did,” he said, continuing the verbal seduction. “And when I didn’t respond to your liking, you said you thought I could do better than that. That maybe we’d try it again before we got to the house. Then,” he added on soft laughter, “you passed out.”
It couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t have done such a thing. Even drunk, she’d thought she was in control of her faculties. “I can’t believe I would have done that,” she answered, utterly mortified.
“Well, what do you think?”
She looked at him, puzzled by the question and the lazy, provocative smile. “About what?”
“Has my kissing improved?”
It was agony, this whimsical little game he played with her. It was tempting to respond, to tell him she wasn’t sure, he’d have to kiss her again. But it was a source of amusement for him, and it wasn’t for her. His kisses had opened the floodgates on her emotions, and it was all still too painful to take any of it lightly.
Desperate to change the subject, she quickly asked, “How’s Dusty? I’m surprised you don’t have him with you.”
Suddenly, Buck was on his feet, fists balled at his sides. He looked beyond the fire, past her, into the distance. “Dusty is better off where he is. With Ma and Sky.”
Carefully, Molly asked, “Don’t you want him with you?”
Buck swore. “What do you think? Of course I’d like to have him with me. But hell, I don’t have anything to offer the kid. What kind of life is this, anyway? He’s living in a stable home. He’s going to school, he has his friends. I can’t possibly give him anything better.”
“But … but you might marry again someday—”
“No,” he shot back, cutting her off. “That won’t happen. He had a mother, and now she’s gone. No one can replace her.” He paced in front of the fire. “Marriage isn’t something I intend to try again. I don’t like making the same mistake twice.”
For some foolish reason, his words were like a physical blow to her stomach, squeezing something vile up into her throat. In spite of that, she could feel his pain. It bracketed him like iron strictures, making him tight and miserable. “What are you afraid of, Buck?”
He didn’t answer. She knew he was shutting her out.
“Every child heeds his father,” she said softly. “I think Dusty would rather live with you than with anyone else in the world.”
He sucked in a deep breath that was released on a shudder. He wanted to believe her, but he remembered with haunting clarity the morning he woke up from a week-long drunk to discover that Dusty had almost died searching for him. The guilt still ate at him. It always would. Every time he thought about almost losing his son, and being responsible for it, he felt as though his body had turned inside out and every nerve was exposed to the air.
“Forget about the past, Buck. You were a different man then. You wouldn’t disappoint him again.”
He suddenly felt tired. The shit-load of guilt and miserable secrets he’d been carrying around with him all these years felt like a ton of rocks. “Do you want to know what really happened all those years ago?”
She stood and crossed to his side of the fire, sitting down beside him. She touched his arm. “If you want to tell me.”
He pulled in another deep breath before he began. “I killed Honey.”
Molly gave him a startled look. “Oh, Buck. You … you don’t mean—”
“Molly, I’ve never told anyone this. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
She nodded, her gaze never leaving his face.
“That morning …” He hated the pain the memories dredged up, because it was like it had happened just yesterday. “I was supposed to meet her at the school in the afternoon to pick up Dusty. We were going to take him over to Ma’s. She’d made him a cake. It was his birthday.” He stopped briefly, wallowing in the self-pity that comes with the pain of loss. “I told her I’d be there on time. I had good intentions.”
Her hand moved toward his. He clasped it, holding it tightly. “Honey and I had been arguing for months. She’d begun to get on my nerves. ‘Nag, nag, nag,’ was all I thought. She’d complained that I spent more time with my drinking buddies than I did with her. Kept saying if she hadn’t been pregnant with Dusty, I never would have married her.”
“Was it true?”
He closed his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair. “Hell, yes. I guess it was true. I didn’t want to admit that, even to myself. I sure as hell wouldn’t admit it to her. She wasn’t a bad woman. She was a good mother—and as good a wife as she knew how to be. But she … she always wanted something I couldn’t give her. I never made enough money to satisfy her. She liked pretty things, bracelets, bangles, you know. All the things only money can buy. And she … she crowded me. Always accusing me of cheating on her.”
“And did you ever cheat on her?”
He glanced down at Molly, her wide hazel eyes staring into his. Only in my heart. Shaking his head, he looked away. “No, I didn’t cheat on her.”
She pressed closer to him, leaning against his side. “What happened after you promised to meet her?”
Fighting the urge to pull her close, he gave her a miserable laugh. “I went out drinking. Missed our meeting by hours. By the time I finally got there, she was dead. Raped by that son-of-a-bitch schoolmaster.”
“What happened to Dusty? Did he see her like that?”
The guilt continued to e
at at him. “I don’t think so. I … I found him at Honey’s sister’s cabin. She lived on the reservation.”
Molly was quiet a long time. “But you can’t continue to take the blame. It wasn’t really your fault.”
“The hell it wasn’t. If I’d been there when I said I would, we’d have gone on to Ma’s, and everything would have been fine.”
“Oh, Buck,” Molly answered, her voice filled with sadness. “You don’t know that for sure.” She was quiet again, then asked, very tentatively, “Could … could she have … No. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“You mean, could she have been unfaithful to me?”
Molly looked at him, her face pinched with pain. “I’m sorry. It’s not a fair question.”
He shook his head. He’d occasionally suspected she was seeing someone else. The horrible thing was, he hadn’t cared enough to find out for sure. “I don’t know. It happened, I know that. Most of those Whites always had something to lure the Indian girls away. Hell, to some, any kind of life was better than the life they had.” He gazed at her. “You saw it as much as I did.”
“Yes,” she answered softly. “I saw it.”
“You were lucky Nicolas and Anna were so strict with you.”
“I can’t thank them enough now, but then …” She took a deep, quivering breath. “Putting all of that aside, couldn’t you and Dusty still have a life together? So, all right. You weren’t there when Honey needed you. But … but you could make it up to Dusty now.”
He turned to find her watching him. He touched her hair, smoothing the tawny curls down over her ears. Her beauty continued to make him ache. God, he wondered if he’d ever get over it.
“You’re right. I wasn’t there for Honey, dammit, and I’ll never forgive myself. But what you don’t know is …” He wasn’t sure he could continue.
“There’s more?” she asked, surprised.
“Ah, Christ, Molly.” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t tell her how ironic it was that he’d always been there for her. Always. It made him feel like a worthless piece of shit. He hadn’t the decency to meet Honey when she’d asked him to, and because of it, she died. He wished to hell he could change all that. Molly hadn’t wanted him watching over her, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from doing it. Why had he cared so much? There was no sense to it. None.
“What? What is it?”
“Never mind. It’s nothing.” He’d never let her down. Even when he was a falling-down drunk, he was somehow able to go out and look for Molly. He would never have let her slip between the cracks into that rotten place that he’d become so familiar with. He remembered how painful it was to learn that she’d been sent to San Francisco. He’d known it was the only solution, but when she was gone, something special had been taken out of his life.
He loved her. He always had. The horrible, tragic truth was, that if he’d loved Honey even half as much, he wouldn’t have let her die. If he’d cared enough and had been sober, she would still be alive.
Molly watched the pain drench Buck’s features. So much. He had told her so much. Letting go of all his guilt regarding Honey had taken its toll. He looked weary and tired.
She stood and moved her bedroll next to his blanket. She wanted to be close to him. That’s all. He needed her strength, perhaps even her touch. After all they’d been through, there was no reason not to spend the night within touching distance.
Buck fed the fire before lying down beside her. She turned toward him, wanting to comfort him if he needed it, but he turned away, presenting her with his back.
It was all right. She knew he was in some horrible place, whipping himself with guilt he shouldn’t feel. All those years of doing penance for a crime only his mind had indicted him for. It was no wonder he’d fled California, leaving all of his traumatic memories behind. Then she showed up, unconsciously, and, sadly, sometimes consciously, stirring up his hurt.
His back was bare; she still wore his shirt. She pressed herself against him and shyly snaked her arm around his middle. He tensed, but didn’t move away, finally relaxing beside her.
Pressing her cheek against his back, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. She couldn’t get the things he told her out of her head. It hurt so much to think he’d been quietly punishing himself for so long. It was a miracle he could stop drinking at all. Whiskey undoubtedly had numbed his pain for years after Honey’s death. No doubt it had been the only escape that had kept him sane, but he’d been wise enough to know it would also kill him. She was grateful he hadn’t wanted to die. She would have missed him…. oh, God, but she would have missed him.
She remembered the first time she’d gone home after Honey had died. She’d asked about Buck, and Jason’s wife, Rachel, had told her Buck hadn’t been seen sober for almost a year. Then, he’d disappeared. Of course Molly hadn’t known it, but he’d come to Texas, no doubt to try to forget his painful past. At the time, she’d felt some concern, but she hadn’t known the extent of his pain. Maybe she couldn’t have understood it then, either. She was admittedly pretty wrapped up in herself back in those days.
She listened to him breathe. He hadn’t moved, but she was almost certain he wasn’t asleep, either. She flattened her hand against his stomach. He sucked in a breath.
“Molly, don’t tempt me.”
Ignoring him, she rubbed her lips over his warm skin, tasting the slightly salty tang from his sweat. She pressed her nose against him, breathing in his scent. She touched his chest, marveling at the hard ridges and the firm knobby nipples.
“Molly, don’t—”
“I … I just need to be close, Buck. Please,” she begged softly. “Don’t push me away.”
His breathing was ragged as he turned toward her and pulled her into his arms. She let out a small cry as the wonder of his touch washed over her. They lay that way for a long, quiet moment, her head in the crook of his neck, and the rest of her body pressed against his. He was hard beneath the fly of his jeans. She waited for him to move away. He didn’t. She pushed, aching to rub herself against it. She’d thought that just being near him would be enough. What a fool she was. Now that she had that, she wanted more. Whatever it was, she wanted it all.
She boldly pushed against his groin. He groaned and stiffened, then suddenly his hands were everywhere, in her hair, at her neck and down her back. He lifted the shirt and splayed his palms over the skin at her waist and her buttocks, rubbing, touching, seductively teasing. She bit her lower lip when his fingers touched her bruised ribs, determined not to let their moment be spoiled.
She felt his sharp intake of breath when she threw one of her legs over his hip, pulling him closer. His hand moved down over her bottom, moving beneath and beyond to her soft, swollen nest. She gasped softly, shaking with wild need.
All those years, she thought, on the verge of tears. All those years of hiding these feelings. Of refusing to acknowledge they existed. But it was only for Buck that she felt them. Never anyone else. She felt her heart thump greedily as the place between her legs became wet and hot. He stroked her, pressing her against the rising thickness of his own desire.
When his hand left her, she nearly cried out.
“Patience, Molly,” he whispered.
“Oh,” she moaned. “But … but …”
He sat up, pulling her up with him. He looked down at her, his gaze hotter than the fire that glowed beyond them.
Slowly, he unbuttoned the shirt, exposing more and more of her flesh. Cool air touched her, drawing her nipples into tight buds.
“It’s your last chance, Molly. If you want me to stop, tell me now.”
She shook her head, unable to speak. It was so hard to breathe. Her body shivered with anticipation.
He pulled the shirt wide and gazed at her in the dim light of the fire. His hands shook as he touched her breasts, holding them, lifting them. She held her breath, forcing herself to stay passive. Every nerve inside her bou
nced and throbbed, heavy with a desire she’d never known and wouldn’t have believed existed.
The fire danced off their bodies. His gaze lowered, finding the bruising at the lower edge of her ribs. With gentle fingers, he caressed the area, then bent low to kiss it. Butterflies exploded inside her, and she touched his head, feeling her tears of joy dampen his hair.
He moved to her breasts, planting soft kisses on each. With a low, guttural groan, he pulled one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking on it, flicking it with his tongue.
“Oh, lordy,” she said, her voice shaking with desire. “Wh-why do I feel this everywhere?”
His fingers moved between her legs. He stroked, finding a spot that made her gasp. “Do you feel it here?”
“Y-yes,” she moaned, squirming beneath his magic touch. She gripped his hair, twisting it in her fist as he continued to touch her. Shards of pleasure burst deep inside her, and she spread her thighs wide, pushing lustily against his fingers.
“Oh, I … I itch down there, Buck, I itch.”
He groaned against her breast, pressing his fingers deeper, causing her to gasp again.
Suddenly, he pushed her to the blanket. Through a hungry haze, she watched, waiting for him to do something to relieve her of the ache that so gloriously assaulted her. She felt a funny stab of fear, but pushed it aside. “Buck, please. Help me,” she murmured.
He loomed over her, looking like the very devil himself. He sat rigid, his gaze moving over her. “It’s … it’s still not too late to stop, Molly.”
Stop? She was almost in tears with her need, ready to fly into a million pieces, and he wanted to stop?
She wasn’t tutored at all in the ways of love, but she knew she couldn’t bear another night of this. The hunger inside her was so intense, she felt brazen, wicked. With her good hand, she reached out and touched his groin, gripping the thick root, moving her palm over it.
He jerked, letting out a hiss of breath, but he didn’t push her away. She felt him grow further beneath her hand, but he still hadn’t moved away.
“Dammit, Buck,” she whispered shakily, getting to her knees to face him. “It’s already too late. It is. You’ve got to do something—”
Forbidden Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Three Page 17
