His touch was stirring, as she knew it would be. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve learned to put you and everything about you out of my mind.”
He gently shoved her aside, lifted the kettle off the stove and poured hot water slowly over the coffee grounds. “Yeah,” he said, his tobacco-rough voice working the magic it always had. “I can tell by the way that little pulse at your throat is throbbing that you’ve recovered from our many sweet, hot, delightful little skirmishes.”
Her fingers automatically went to her throat where her pulse fluttered and she stepped away, just in case their bodies touched. She had a feeling that if they did, she would singe her clothing. “That’s not fair,” she murmured. “You startled me, that’s all.”
He waited for the water to filter through the grounds, then added more. “I remember that night, brat. Your pulse was pounding then, too. At first I hadn’t known if it was from fear or desire. All I knew was that in either case, I was probably the cause.”
Pulling the lapels of her gown closer, she asked, “You thought I was afraid of you?”
He gave her a brief glance before returning to his task. “On some level.”
He’d been right, of course. She remembered clearly how her heart had hammered at his nearness. But it hadn’t been fear of him exactly, it had been fear of what she felt for him. Reluctant to move away from the warmth of the stove, she turned, warming her backside. The entire front of her body was suddenly cold as it was robbed of the heat. A feeling not unlike being sent away with an order to find herself a life without him.
“It’s my baby, isn’t it?”
The question took her by surprise. She swallowed the apprehension that gathered in her throat. “I told you before,” she said, forcing a calm she didn’t feel. “It’s mine and only mine.”
He gave her a husky chuckle. “It’s been a while since womankind has been able to pull that off.”
She looked at him, noting the dimple that delved into his cheek. How she’d grown to love it. How silly she’d been, thinking he’d gotten it in a fight for his honor, only to discover he’d been kicked by a cow. In any case, she’d envied the cow. It had put a permanent mark on him. Something she wished she could have done, she thought, a softness settling over her.
“There’s that look again, brat.”
Blinking, she pulled her gaze away and clasped her stomach with her arms. “You have a vivid imagination, Buck Randall. I was merely looking at you. I had no feelings about it one way or another.”
He laughed, a sound tinged with bitterness. “When are you going to give it up and finally see what’s best for you?”
She turned and studied him, knowing her eyes were filled with pain. When are you? He met her gaze, and she quickly looked away.
Buck finished pouring water into the upper cylinder of the coffeepot and set the kettle back on the stove. In the quiet room, the sound of the water, as it dripped through the grounds into the cylinder below, was magnified.
They stood side by side. She felt Buck’s gaze as it wandered over her face, her neck. She suppressed a shudder of delicious pleasure. Suddenly his fingers were at her lapel, and he pulled it aside.
“So, that’s where it went. I wondered what happened to it.”
Embarrassed that he’d discovered she slept in his shirt, she tried to shrug off his touch, but he turned her toward him. She felt a blush creep into her neck and cheeks as he opened her robe, his penetrating gaze searing her skin. Her breasts tightened and her nipples suddenly itched. She sucked in a breath, hoping to stifle the urge to rub them against something.
“I always liked it better on you than on me,” he said in a husky whisper.
She couldn’t meet his gaze. “Again, don’t flatter yourself. It’s simply more comfortable to sleep in, that’s all.” She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly. The itch became unbearable, and she wrenched herself from him, turned away and brought her forearms to her chest, rubbing hard.
Buck’s hand pressed her shoulder. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, hoping he didn’t hear her shudder of relief.
He turned her around quickly. “No. Something’s wrong. Is it the baby? Is something wrong?”
A mortified chuckle escaped her, and her cheeks grew hotter. “No,” she said, trying not to laugh. “It’s not the baby.”
Grabbing her by the shoulders, he shook her gently. “I don’t believe you. Tell me, dammit. I have a right to know.”
She looked up into his face, surprised to see such deep, honest concern. Her nipples tingled, signaling their desire to be rubbed again. She tried to hold back a nervous laugh but didn’t succeed. He wanted to know? Well, fine. “It’s my nipples,” she said boldly. “They itch.”
His eyes, already nearly black in the dimly lit room, darkened further. His nostrils flared. His gaze moved to her chest where her feisty nipples gave him the desired reaction. They pouted, pressing their hard points into the soft, clingy fabric of his shirt.
She saw his Adam’s apple bob nervously at his throat, then he uttered a rough sigh and shoved himself away from her. “You’re going to marry me.”
All humor gone, her stomach dropped, leaving an empty hole in her chest. “Is that your decree, Oh, Exalted One? Well, be still my heart,” she drawled, fanning herself dramatically with her hand. “How could a girl refuse such a sweet-talkin’ fool.”
Turning, he pinned her with a hard glare. “You’re going to marry me,” he repeated.
Fury laced through her pain. “Just like that?” she asked, snapping her fingers in his face. “I’m not that desperate. If I’d merely wanted a father for this child, I could have been married already.”
His gaze narrowed dangerously. “I was afraid of that.”
“Although it’s none of your business,” she snapped, “you don’t have to be. However, I will say that my other proposal was a lot more enticing than yours.”
He swore, the sound raw and savage. “What in the hell do you want? Flowers? Champagne? Little sweet messages written on heart-filled paper? Dammit,” he swore again. “That isn’t me. You should know that better than anyone.”
Briefly closing her eyes, she walked numbly away from the warmth of the stove. The cooler air assaulted her, keeping her focused on her anger. Her feelings infuriated her. She loved him. She wanted him. She’d marry him in an instant—if only he would tell her he loved her. Even if he cared enough to make a life with her—that would almost be enough. But she wasn’t going to marry him just because she was carrying his child.
“Tell me something, Buck.”
He turned, raising an eyebrow in her direction. “What do you want to hear?”
Frustration gnawed at her. “Anything. Anything that will make me want to do this.”
Sighing, he turned away and lit a cigarette. “The baby is mine. Unlike before, now I can provide for my own.”
She pressed her lips together. It wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear. Not at all. “I almost made a mistake once, Buck.” She turned, shaking her head. “I don’t intend to make it again. I decided before I left Texas that marriage without love just doesn’t work.”
Turning, he studied her for a long time. The moment stretched to the point of pain. Flickering changes passed over his face, as if he were having a multitude of quiet conversations in his head. Suddenly he grabbed the lid lifter, lifted the stove lid closest to him and tossed his cigarette into the fire.
He crossed to where she stood, continuing to watch her. “Don’t be too quick to turn me down, Molly. Despite what you might think, I can give you and the baby a decent life.”
She watched him go outside, hunching slightly against the cold winter morning. It had finally happened. He’d become the responsible man she knew he would be one day. It had been the day she’d waited for. Now she knew it wasn’t enough. She’d learned of his inheritance. Yes, he could take care of her and the baby and Dusty and Tomas. “But
can you give me your love?” she asked quietly, wishing she could have said it to him. She went back to the warmth of the stove, huddling near it, and was certain she’d never be warm again.
Astride their mounts, Buck and Nicolas studied the land. It was a brisk, cold morning. Frost cloaked the ground like an icy cape. Buck sucked the cold air into his lungs, watching the mist dissipate onto the breeze as he exhaled.
“There, Buck,” Nicolas said, pointing toward a grove of pecans. “From that point to the edge of the vines and back to where we’re standing is about twenty acres. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but—”
“It sounds like a lot. Let’s get back to the house and iron out the details.”
Startled, Nicolas said, “No dickering? No trying to get the price down?”
“No.” He gave Nicolas a knowing grin. “The price is more than fair, and you know it.”
Nicolas chuckled and nudged his mount with his knees. “In the meantime, I still want you to take over Sky’s responsibilities. It will help me, and it will also give you a little extra income.”
Buck turned Thunder around and followed him. He would gladly help at the vineyard, although he didn’t really need the money. But it would be best to keep busy. Keep his mind off other, more frustrating, things.
He let his gaze move slowly over the acreage Nicolas was willing to sell him. It was perfect for raising horses. It was perfect for raising his sons. It would have been perfect for everything. Damned changeable woman. He should have known that what she’d felt for him in Texas had been a fleeting infatuation. And damn Campion for making her marriage-shy.
The two men took the road slowly back to the ranch. Buck’s thoughts were filled with Molly as he’d seen her earlier in the morning. She’d sounded strained, like she’d wanted to ask him something but hadn’t dared. Her beauty stole his breath, his reason … his sanity. That he hadn’t swept her into his arms and kissed her senseless had been a surprise, even to him.
The moment he’d seen her again, after so many months, he knew he loved her. But he still wasn’t completely convinced he was good for her. He hadn’t had much luck with women. His track record was terrible. He’d promised himself he’d never marry again, yet even before he discovered Molly’s pregnancy, he’d decided his luck had changed, and marrying Molly would be worth any price he, alone, had to pay. As long as it didn’t jeopardize her.
And Dusty … Hell, the boy had only praise and adoration for her. He’d told him of their talks, and how she’d always treated him like a “man,” and not like a little kid. He’d waxed poetic on her beauty and her kindness and her willingness to listen to his dreams.
Discovering that she wore his shirt to bed had planted a seed of hope in his chest. Her admission that her nipples itched had planted other feelings elsewhere—where his own itch had yet to be scratched. Her bluntness made him smile.
“You’re deep in thought, Buck. Are you making plans?”
He swung his gaze to Nicolas. “It isn’t as easy as all that.”
Nicolas chuckled. “Women never are.”
“Are we both so obvious?” he asked with a bitter chuckle.
“You must remember, we are your family. We know both of you perhaps better than you know yourselves. I remember many years ago when the two of you glared at each other across my dinner table. Mutinous. Even then, Anna and I knew that your supposed hate for one another would one day become a love just as strong.”
Buck gave him a rueful smile and shook his head. “I hadn’t known we were that obvious.”
“Keeping Molly from getting into trouble with her friends was only one of the reasons we sent her away.”
“And I was the other?”
Nicolas nodded. “You were the other.”
Buck was quiet for a moment. “I would never have dishonored my marriage, Nicolas. And I wouldn’t have acted on my feelings for Molly.”
“No, perhaps not. But Molly was the one I was most concerned about. She was wild and reckless and determined to get what she wanted. And though she never said it aloud, Anna and I knew she wanted you.”
Buck pulled out a cigarette and let it dangle from the comer of his mouth. “I’ve always lived with the guilt that had I loved Honey even half as much as I’ve always loved Molly, she wouldn’t have died.”
Nicolas gave him a sharp look. “That’s a foolish waste of energy. I think it’s time you talk to Jason about Honey. I think it will finally put your guilt to rest.”
Twenty-Two
After dropping Anna and Josh off at the church for the Sunday service, Buck stopped in to see Jason. What Nicolas had said to him the day before about erasing his guilt had kept him awake most of the night. He couldn’t imagine Jason held that key, but he’d wanted to find out.
“Have a chair,” Jason said, sitting down across from him on the sofa.
The house was quiet. Buck had seen Rachel and the children waiting for Anna and Josh at the church entrance.
He glanced around the room. It was homey, snug. Something he wondered if he’d ever have. Again, he was reminded just how lucky Jason was to have found a woman like Rachel. The looks that still passed between them confirmed Buck’s intuition that their love had grown over the years. He still felt a bite of envy for what they had. And although Rachel had absolved him of his guilt, he still felt pangs of remorse for the way he’d treated her years before.
As he lowered himself into a high-backed easy chair, he found Jason studying him. “It’s great to have you home, Buck.”
“It’s good to be here.”
“And you’re here to stay?”
“Of course. This is where I belong.” He noticed Jason’s slightly sardonic expression. “Don’t you believe me?”
Jason chuckled softly. “Oh, I believe you. What about Molly?”
He suddenly felt uncomfortable. “What about her?”
“Are we finally going to get the truth about the baby she’s carrying?”
Buck frowned. “What do you mean?”
Jason sighed and leaned against the back of the sofa. “I’ve been examining her for months, and she still refuses to tell me who the father is.”
“Hell,” Buck muttered. “That’s no secret. That baby is mine.”
Jason grinned. “I know that. What are you going to do about it?”
Buck threw his head back and groaned. “Whatever I’m doing, I’m not doing it right.”
“You’ll figure out something,” Jason said around another chuckle. “I don’t doubt that.” He poured them each a cup of coffee. “Something else on your mind?”
Buck straightened. “What do you know about Honey’s death that you haven’t told me?”
Jason showed brief surprise. “Why are you concerned about that now?”
Buck drew his hand over his face, then rubbed his neck. “Nicolas seems to think I’m carrying about some guilt I shouldn’t feel.”
“Are you?”
“Am I carrying around guilt? Hell, yes. As to whether or not I should feel it … I don’t know. Maybe you can tell me. Nicolas seems to think you can.”
“You’re serious,” Jason said, assessing him briefly before sampling his coffee.
“Of course I’m serious. Dammit, Jason, I was supposed to meet Honey at the school that day. If I hadn’t gone out and gotten drunk, I would have. And she’d still be alive today.” He often wondered what different turns his life might have taken if Honey hadn’t died. Taking a slow pull on his coffee, he settled back and watched Jason.
“Are you telling me you’ve felt responsible? That your drunken orgies after she was dead were because you thought you’d killed her?”
In his saner, now sober moments, Buck recognized the irrationality of his thoughts and actions. The guilt had been with him so long, it had been hard to see beyond it. Even at the times when he’d come to terms with his remorse, fresh guilt at loving Molly even before Honey was killed shoved all reason asi
de.
At Jason’s question, he shrugged. “Yeah, something like that.”
Jason stood and went to the window. “Christ, man. If I’d known …”
Frowning, Buck studied his friend’s back. “What do you mean?”
Jason turned abruptly. “There were things I found out about her I thought were better left unsaid. Especially after she died.” He grew thoughtful. “You weren’t getting along very well at the time, were you?”
“Hell, no. But it was my fault, I—”
“No, it wasn’t,” Jason interrupted.
“But I was supposed to meet her—”
“And maybe that one time you could have prevented the inevitable,” Jason finished.
“Inevitable?” Buck felt an odd sensation spread into his gut. “What do you mean?”
Jason swore, then returned to the sofa. He sat forward, his elbows on his knees. “This isn’t going to be easy to say, Buck.”
“Nothing can be worse than what I’ve gone through. Believe me, nothing.”
Jason nodded, appearing to make a decision. “All right. Honey had come to see me once, not long after you were married. She was somewhat embarrassed, but quite provocative as well.”
“Provocative? What in the hell is that supposed to mean? That she came on to you?” Buck felt a stir of anger.
“Dammit, are you going to listen before you pass judgment? Don’t leave her on that pedestal, Buck. Don’t glamorize something just because it’s gone and you think you’re responsible.”
Apologizing, Buck settled back. He hadn’t really thought he felt that way. He’d admitted that they had problems. He’d taken on the guilt for her death. Had it been safer than admitting he knew, deep down inside, that she wasn’t just a nagging wife, but an errant one as well?
“All right. Go on, tell me everything.”
What he heard sent him reeling. She’d come to Jason because of her own uncontrollable addiction—to sex. She’d admitted to him that one man could never satisfy her, and though she’d tried to remain faithful to her marriage vows, that had lasted only a few months. After Dusty was born, she’d become quite promiscuous, but only with the Whites who could give her money and gifts in return.
Forbidden Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Three Page 30
