by Cait London
“Do I or my son look like Tallchief imposters?” He didn’t want to enter a conversation with her, but he had and he wasn’t backing up. Liam Tallchief had had enough of threats in his life. Without thinking, Liam captured her wrist, and while she was dealing with that, he tugged her toward the sink, rubbed soap compound into her hand and scrubbed it, shaken by the delicate feel of her fingers within his. He dried her hand briskly with a towel and resented cupping her chin in his hand to scrub clean that smudge on her cheek.
Her skin was just as soft as he suspected, contrasting with his darker skin, running smoothly beneath his calluses and scars. He couldn’t afford the need to stroke that willful silky hair, to grip it in his fists and hold her still as he took that lush mouth, parted in surprise.
He tossed the towel aside, disgusted with his unstable emotions. “Get out,” he said as quietly as he could, not understanding his need to reach out and tug that lean curved body against his. One look down at her T-shirt, which tightened across her breasts as she breathed deeply, caused desire to rake at him.
“Tell me why I don’t qualify as a customer. Give me one good reason. I’ve never been turned down before—for anything. My credit rating is good. I have not written one bad check in my lifetime.” She aimed a narrowed, determined look at him. “You handled me like a child. I resent that. And the next time you decide to haul me after you, you’re going to end up on your back—on the floor.”
The image of her tossing him, a woman much smaller and lighter than himself, caused a smile to flirt within him. It died when J.T. stirred drowsily on his cot, sitting up to rub his eyes with his small fists.
Liam inhaled roughly. J.T. had heard enough arguments before Reuben passed away. Explaining a sick and dying man’s bitterness to a child wasn’t easy, because Reuben had been selfish and a bully. Liam had kept Reuben from J.T., because the dying man would be left alone, if he struck out at the boy. “It’s all right, J.T. Miss Farrell was just leaving.”
“No, I wasn’t,” she said brightly, and smiled at the little boy. She looked up at Liam, the warmth in her smile dying. “I’d like a date with your son. You’re obviously busy, and I’d like to take him for a walk to look at toys and then to the city park playground. Is that okay with you?” she asked, a challenge ringing in her tone. “I’m not running away with him, and you can check out my character with Silver and Nick if you want.”
J.T. usually kept his distance from strangers, but the toy offer was too delicious. “Daddy, please?” he asked, tugging on the hammer loop sewn into Liam’s carpenter pants.
Michelle was quick to take in the child’s familiar grasp on the denim loop. “I wondered,” she said. “Men around here usually wear jeans.”
“Could be.” Liam hefted J.T. up and held him close for a kiss. Still drowsy, J.T. placed his head on Liam’s shoulder and cuddled to him. “He doesn’t usually take to strangers,” he said, holding his son tighter.
J.T. had given him more than he had taken. A child’s love and trust reminded Liam of Karen—no qualifications, stipulations or rules—just the simplicity of trust and love.
The woman in front of Liam was a fighter and clearly used to setting terms. “I’ll take very good care of him. We’ll only be gone about an hour, and it’s time.”
It’s time. Her statement said he’d kept his son too close, protected him too much and that now it was time for him to— “You’ve dug in, haven’t you?” Liam asked, and disliked sharing his son, though the time would come someday.
As if on cue, J.T. squirmed and pushed away from Liam, who placed him on the floor. J.T. slid his hand into Michelle’s free one and stood looking up at his father anxiously. “One hour,” Liam heard himself say, his heart tearing slightly. “Back in time for lunch.”
“I’ll say ‘yes’ and ‘please,’ Daddy,” J.T. said solemnly, and Liam wished for just a moment that his son was a baby again and he could hold him close and protect him—
Michelle lifted her finger to tip her sunglasses down from the top of her head. They landed neatly on her nose; the gesture was perfected, the silver lenses gleaming up at Liam. She tossed the computer printout of his life onto the work table. “I can always get another copy. See you later, pops,” she said with a flashing victorious grin that caused his heart to flip-flop.
“You didn’t blackmail me into this,” he stated evenly, setting up his defenses.
“No. You’re a pushover when it comes to J.T., and he wants to go. But don’t try me on the Tallchief matter. I intend to win.”
“You’re not playing the do-gooder in our lives. Get that straight.”
“If I want to do good, Tallchief, I’ll do it with this little man.” She rubbed J.T.’s glossy hair. “Ready, champ?”
As Liam watched her walk away, the grease mark on her soft bottom swaying gently, he wondered what had happened. Usually solemn, J.T. was chattering away and showing off his toy truck, and her delighted laughter floated back to Liam. The ache in his heart was for his son, no longer a baby and needing friends. But Liam didn’t know how to provide that for J.T., how to blend him with other children, because he’d missed that experience in his own boyhood—
Liam frowned and rubbed the ache in his chest. He didn’t understand why he trusted Michelle with his son, or why J.T. was chatting merrily with her now.
He only knew that he wanted her—the raw, sensual pleasure of holding her tight against him. While one message slammed into his body, his mind told him that Michelle Farrell was off-limits.
Two days later Michelle sat cross-legged on Liam’s living room floor as J.T. proudly showed her his best toys. She knew Liam couldn’t wait to get her out of his rented house, and that was the exact reason she deliberately stayed. With J.T., he’d quickly towed away her car, the sooner to be rid of her—but she wasn’t that easily dismissed. Every once in a while she liked to pit herself against an impossible challenge, and Liam qualified as a big one. The repairs would take a week, the dealer had said, and she had all that time to work on getting Liam Tallchief woven into the Tallchief fabric.
Her motive was simple, she told herself: J.T. needed the expansive Tallchief family, to play with children, to enter the activities. Michelle had the background and talent for finding suitable niches, and if Liam wouldn’t take action, she would. Liam’s lone wolf act, keeping himself away from a family he obviously belonged to, wouldn’t help J.T. blend with cousins. If the Tallchiefs were ready to let him do as he wished—well, she wasn’t. He would dig into a trench, and as time passed it would deepen, and J.T. would suffer the loss.
His rented house was small, very neat and barren. There were no pictures on the walls other than the bulletin board filled with J.T.’s color crayon drawings. The scarred hardwood floor gleamed, the kitchen no more than a cubbyhole off the small living room. The tiny bathroom she’d used that first night was immaculate, but the fixtures were old, the tub filled with rubber dinosaurs and yellow plastic boats. Proud of his room, J.T. had instantly tugged her into it. A sturdy wooden bed matched a battered dresser, and though not crammed with expensive toys, the room was clearly loved by the little boy. The other bedroom door remained firmly closed, like Liam Tallchief’s past.
After two days she’d settled in to nettle him. She recognized, with a soaring, eager sense, that she loved hunting out Liam’s dark little edges. He was the best entertainment she’d had in years, and a diversion from the interference of her parents in her life. Liam couldn’t say no when J.T. asked if Michelle could come in after their “date” of today. “Don’t you have something to do with Nick and Silver?” Liam asked her coolly from the kitchen as he placed the remnants of the meal in the refrigerator.
She savored the dark ridge of temper riding his deep voice. She’d brought take-out dinner to the station—J.T.’s favorite fried chicken, green beans and mashed potatoes—none of them touching on his plate—topped off by chocolate ice cream. “I’m giving my friends some privacy. My vacation is for three weeks, and I can’
t hoard Silver every minute.”
She really enjoyed how Liam stared pointedly at the clock on the wall. “J.T. should be taking his bath soon and going to bed,” he said.
“Good. Then we can talk. I still don’t—” Playing the audience for J.T., she clapped as a tiny car shot down a toy ramp and around a plastic curve. He giggled with delight and beamed when she kissed his cheek. Michelle glanced at Liam who had just inhaled sharply, clearly frustrated and displeased. “He’s a lovely child. I adore him,” she stated quietly. “You can stop wearing those carpenter pants…he’s growing up.”
Liam’s fierce scowl told her to back off, and she wouldn’t. An outsider to the beautiful valley, she knew how badly Silver and the rest of the Tallchiefs wanted to become closer to the man who preferred his shadows. She waited while Liam bathed J.T., and when the boy asked, she tucked him in, only to turn to his father’s dark expression.
When J.T.’s bedroom door was closed, Liam gripped Michelle’s upper arm and turned her to him. She glanced meaningfully at his hand and then up at him. “Don’t,” she said, aware that his thumb had started to caress her skin.
She feared the sensual interest in his eyes, that dark penetrating look. Liam Tallchief wasn’t a man to walk away from, and she wasn’t a woman for staying or for playing.
“I don’t have time to argue with you,” he said, dropping his hand. “You’re intruding in our lives. You’re not welcome.”
“He’s growing up, Tallchief. He has a family waiting for him, and they’re waiting for you. I’ve been here only three days, and it’s obvious that you can be a real pain in the backside. It’s also obvious that the Tallchiefs are too patient, and I’m working on a time line to get this whole gig flowing down the river of success. Now, I could mind my own business—”
“Yes, why don’t you?” he invited darkly. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Make time,” she tossed back. “For J.T.”
“You think I don’t make time for my son?” he asked warningly.
“You’re going to the Tallchiefs’ on Friday night, and J.T. is going to play with a whole houseful of children with the same black hair and gray eyes. You’re going to—”
“Am I? So you’re asking me for a date?” he asked carefully, a smile flirting on his gorgeous mouth.
Michelle blinked suddenly, trying to shake the thought from her. Why should she care if his mouth could soften? Why should she want to taste him? “It’s not a date exactly. You’re just coming. With J.T.”
Liam wasn’t going to be pushed by her. He wondered how she would react if he pushed back. “You’re afraid of something, Ms. Farrell, and you’re running. Tell you what—why don’t you do the dishes and the laundry, and that will give me thinking time while I’m working on the bills? I usually do housework in the evenings, because I don’t have time during the day.”
“Me? Do dishes and laundry?” Michelle glanced at the sink of dishes left from breakfast, lunch and J.T.’s snacks. On the table were more dishes, and on the floor in front of the washer and dryer were heaped laundry baskets of clothing.
“Growing boys make lots of laundry. Don’t forget to use the stain remover on the chocolate from the ice cream you gave J.T. There’s not a housekeeper or a maid in sight. For now, I do it all here, like I make the decisions about our lives.”
Clearly Liam was enjoying putting her in a position to leave or to stay and fight. “You should have a housekeeper. You could spend more time with J.T. You could hire a full-time baby-sitter and—”
“So you don’t know how to do dishes or laundry, but you’re telling me how to manage time with my son. For your information, lady, I tried just that—hiring a full-time housekeeper and baby-sitter. She mistreated my son. I’ll never forgive myself for that.” With that, Liam cleared the small table of dishes and walked into the kitchen.
“You’re willing to give up after one try—” Michelle looked down at the dishcloth Liam had just placed in her hand.
“Sorry. No rubber gloves. No hand cream.” He smiled then, one of those gorgeous, I’ve-got-you grins that caused her heart to race.
“You think I’ll leave, don’t you? You think I’ll back off because of a few dishes and a few conditions. I’ve met conditions all my life.”
“I’ll just bet you have.”
His tone lacked sincerity, and, challenged, Michelle elbowed him aside. “You’re right. I have a housekeeper and a personal assistant who keep things moving smoothly for me.”
“Gets the dry cleaning, gets the oil changed in your car, does errands for you? That sort of thing?” he asked too cheerfully, and she knew that he was mocking her.
He wasn’t the first to insinuate that her wealth made her life easy. “I’ve managed. My career is demanding. Most women in my position—”
“Oh, I see.”
Another insincere agreement hitched her temper higher. “Look. I’ll help with the housework tonight and tomorrow night, if what you’re saying is—that you don’t have time to socialize. I’ll help make time for you, and you’ll have no excuse, will you?”
He lifted a black, gleaming eyebrow. “There’s the bathroom to be cleaned. The tub scrubbed, the floor—”
“All right, all right, all right. I get the point. I’ve butted into your life and you’re going to make me pay.”
“No one invited you—” He reached to the cluttered desk for a stack of envelopes, a checkbook and a pen, and strolled off into the living room. After clicking on a boxing match on the television, he sprawled in a big well-worn chair and smiled innocently back at her.
She could have poured the liquid dish detergent over his head when he said, “I won’t have time to go if I don’t get that refrigerator defrosted. Make certain you don’t leave any perishables out, will you? And use baking soda in the cleaning water. And I’d like a glass of iced tea when you get a chance.”
Two hours later Michelle plopped down on the couch and glared at Liam. She hurled the dust rag at him. “Just how are you related to the Tallchiefs?”
Liam folded J.T.’s old diaper, scented of lemon wax and dust. He placed it on his knee and wondered how his son had grown so fast, wearing miniature shorts like his own. He knew little of the Tallchiefs, except that they were orphaned when the eldest—Duncan—was only eighteen, and they’d held the clan together, much to the admiration of Amen Flats. He wasn’t certain of the bloodline, except that he descended from the Scots bondwoman and the Native American chieftain who had captured her. There were letters in the wooden chest he’d found after Reuben’s death, and he couldn’t bear to open them just yet. The postmark had taken him to Amen Flats and for now that was enough.
Two pieces of flint rock, chipped and hard and obviously treasured, lay within a dainty lace handkerchief. They were bound in a length of old red velvet by a leather thong just as old, and still fragrant with an elusive lavender scent. Then, tethered by the thong, was a man’s silver ring, dark with age, worn almost thin and circled by Celtic designs. Topped by a simple design of a mountain and a stick man and woman, a small ancient copper box held a bit of dry, frayed straw.
What did they mean? Did he have the right to know?
“…I mean, it’s easy to see you’re related by the similar coloring and features. But are you cousins or what? Well? Are you just going to sit there brooding? I won’t go away until I have answers, you know,” Michelle was saying impatiently. “You’d fit in perfectly, if you’d put out one little bit of effort.”
“What would you know of fitting in?” he asked too sharply, resenting the anger and frustration this woman could jerk from him. “You think you fit into this small town? You think you fit into my son’s life? You think you can push and shove and place people in neat little boxes and everything will be just fine?”
She crossed her arms and glared at him, then tossed her head to dislodge the strand teasing her cheek. “I fit in where I want to. If you weren’t so stubborn—”
“You don’t fit into
a small town, and you know it. Maddy’s Hot Spot is the only so-called nightclub in town, and there’s not a spa in sight. The women here do their own washing and gardening, and they mind their own business.” Liam kept his voice down, resenting the woman tearing into his life. “You’re rich, spoiled, probably overeducated, and couldn’t manage a simple household budget if you tried.”
Michelle leaped to her feet, punched the television button off, and kicked his stocking-covered feet from the footrest. “If I wanted to live here, in Amen Flats, and run my own household, I could.”
He didn’t bother answering, because the need to stand and kiss her sassy mouth was too strong. “Tell that to someone else, and run back to Daddy, why don’t you?”
“I pay my own bills,” she said, her voice quivering with emotion. “Where do you get off, anyway?”
“The same place as you. Now get out.”
“Friday night. Be there,” she said, shooting him a narrow-eyed look before tossing her head.
“Try ordering someone else around,” he returned more softly than the emotions racing through him. Then she marched out of his house and slammed the door behind her.
Liam rose to his feet, crossed the room and jerked open the door. Hours later he wished he hadn’t seen the moonlight playing in her hair and outlining the sway of her hips and the full curve of her breasts. His instincts told him to capture her, to claim that soft mouth, to fill his hands with her hair and keep her close until she—
The woman was pure trouble—a hot-tempered, pride-filled witch that kept him awake and restless for hours.
Three
For his son, Michelle thought as she watched Liam from Duncan Tallchief’s kitchen window. Liam Tallchief would hole up, alone and wounded from whatever haunted him…but for his son he’d take a step into life.
His wrecker parked in front of the log and rock home that had been the Tallchiefs’ parents’. In the first of August heat, he wore a white dress shirt, turned back at the sleeves, and new Western jeans. He carefully unstrapped J.T. from his car seat and lifted him to the ground. Amid the cars and pickups of the assembled Tallchief clan, Liam held J.T.’s hand and looked up at the ranch house now occupied by Duncan and his family. Behind father and son, the summer sun spread across the lush fields of the ranch, and Liam lifted J.T. on his hip to better survey the ranch that had been inherited by the five Tallchief children.
