by Cait London
It seemed that Liam had a family, with Sybil and Elspeth and the rest cherishing his son, and the Tallchief males accepted him easily enough. “Aye,” Liam said to the cold October wind, letting the warm family feeling curl around him. It was time for him to claim his love, to watch her ignite and to love her. “Aye,” he murmured again, tasting the word upon his lips, and looked down at the small cut on his thumb—The five Tallchief children, filled with lore of their Native American ancestor, had originated the blood-brother custom, much to the distaste of their mother. Liam’s scar was a link to their family, an acceptance; he treasured the brothers giving it to him. He narrowed his eyes, checking the cut and wondered how much sympathy it was worth. “Hmm. It might be worth a date at least.”
Then he looked to the Hot Spot’s front door, just slammed behind Michelle as she came out into the October wind. He knew from the toss of her head and from the way she marched straight to him, that silky mass of hair whirling around her head, that they’d clash and she’d ignite—and he couldn’t wait.
Strange, he thought just before she opened her lips to scald him, and he closed it with a kiss, quickly taking the sweet hunger of her mouth into his own. Strange how she could make his heart leap, tear away his shadowy past and make him eager for the future.
They stood in her open doorway, J.T. straddling his father’s lean hip. To Michelle they looked like orphans who needed claiming. Liam didn’t look at all like the man who had nabbed her in front of Maddy’s two days ago. He had closed her “You can’t’s” with a searing kiss until she’d dived in to equal his hunger. Once he’d tasted that—her need for him—Liam had simply placed her in his truck and took her to a dark lane near Tallchief Lake. They hadn’t needed the pickup’s heater as she’d discovered just how exciting steaming windows could be.
Now Liam stood, looking as if he hadn’t touched her, ignited her, until she was nothing but a warm, drowsy smile. It was hard to refuse a man who brought his son with him, the two looking as if they needed care, with hair too long and clothes that needed tossing away. She knew that J.T. had better clothing, because Liam took good care of his son.
He gave her a grin and his son to tend, kissed her and closed the door behind him. What chance did she have, Michelle wondered, as she helped J.T. take off his coat. The little boy’s eyes widened as he looked around to her paint cans and the old table she’d been sanding. Michelle’s heart tilted precariously. She wanted to gather him against her. She wanted children, as simple as that, and she knew how Liam’s wife had felt—the need to give him a family, a child, a part of herself.
Liam entered her house, stirring the sawdust in the room as he carried in long poles. He glimpsed her rumpled bed in the other room, and his gaze seared hers. The image of his long hard body intertwined with hers leaped into her mind. “Daddy, can I tell her?” J.T. asked excitedly. When Liam nodded, J.T. rushed to explain. “My daddy made you something. It’s to make quilts to keep you warm. It was my idea. Elspeth’s mommy had one, and she sewed in the winter when she couldn’t play outside. I want to hide under the blanket you make like Elspeth and Fiona did under their mommy’s.”
J.T.’s growing need to have a mother like the other children became stronger every day. “You can be my mommy, if you’d like. We’ll adopt you, just like the puppy I’m getting from Mrs. Rainey. She says that Calum’s Olaf is the daddy. He’s big and shaggy and my daddy says he’ll eat more than he weighs. I get to feed him. If you came and lived at our house, I’d let you feed him, too.”
Liam shook his head, clearly surprised by J.T.’s unusual outburst. “He used to be a quiet boy…. It’s a quilting rack. You can lift it up to the ceiling when you’re not working on it. Fitting quilting pieces together seems to fit you. We brought you a basket of old clothes to practice on, though you’ll probably want new material.” Liam was busy fitting the poles together, J.T. hurrying to help, kneeling to hold the wooden sticks.
“It’s a perfect gift.” Michelle’s throat almost closed with emotions. She’d had a sleek apartment, push buttons to make life easy, but she’d never had anything so thoughtful. “You’re right, J.T., I do like to make things fit. I’m going to enjoy this, and you can come play under it while I sew.”
“No dolls. Just trucks,” J.T. stated firmly. “You have to sew pieces together, before you use this. My dad says so.”
They looked so perfect together, father and son bending over their task, that she couldn’t tell Liam of Oswald’s latest threat. Over the telephone lines, his voice was shrill and chilling, raising the hair on her nape. And he’d hurt anyone who got in his way, he’d said. She could manage; she’d always managed her own life. She would keep Liam and J.T. safe by leaving Amen Flats and just the glimpse of happiness she’d had. For tonight she would imagine them as a family, warm and safe. She’d give herself to cuddling J.T. and Liam’s sweet, seeking kisses. She’d stuff the happy mix into her heart as a memory.
But it was time for her to go—and she knew exactly what to do to protect Liam and J.T. and the family she adored. Her life had been a lie, created by her parents. But she was good, Michelle decided firmly, not allowing doubts to sway her. She couldn’t doubt herself now, not in this, when it came to hunting Oswald. She’d find him and put him away. Meanwhile, she had to leave Liam and J.T. She couldn’t bear to think of Oswald hurting them. There was only one safe way to keep Liam away—
Michelle’s letter was harsh and cruel and didn’t ring true. Her handwriting was uneven and stained as if tears had dropped upon the linen stationery. Liam held her letter, the words telling him that their “moment” was over and that she was bored, ready to move on in her life; small towns weren’t for her. The bitter surprise had been waiting for him when he stopped by her cottage before opening the station. J.T. was already at Sybil’s, eating her blueberry pancakes as if starved and waiting for the television’s morning cartoons.
Liam looked out into the frosty morning and knew that he couldn’t let a part of his heart fly away so easily. He picked up the telephone and dialed Sybil, asking her to mind J.T. until he returned. His son wouldn’t mind the time apart now, secure as he played with other children. His hand still on the telephone, Liam noted the light blinking on Michelle’s message machine. “I know where you are now,” the man’s voice hissed. “I watch you every day, and you’re going to pay for ruining my life.”
His blood chilling, fear making his hands tremble, Liam telephoned Abe McDonald who always milked his cows early and who lived near the only highway coming or leaving Amen Flats. Yes, Abe had seen Michelle’s flashy red pickup, but much earlier, when he’d come out to check a sick cow. She’d been driving fast, and the sheriff had pulled her over, his “danged” operas making the hounds howl. Abe’s wife had awakened and she “gets real cross without her sleep.” Abe sternly informed Liam that he needed to “keep better tabs on your woman.”
“I intend to.” Liam’s next call delighted Warren Morales, who could pump gas after school. Shaking his head, Liam called the elderly woman who had applied for a job to help her pension money. Sara Fay Jenkins wanted daytime duty and informed Liam that she would clean up the garage, too.
Twenty minutes later Liam drove out of Amen Flats. In rural Wyoming, there weren’t many main highways, and a city woman wasn’t likely to take off into the farm roads; she’d want the driving ease and the convenience of gas and food and shelter. Liam trusted his hunting instincts, and prayed he was right. In his two hours of driving one hundred miles on the highway, several service station attendants had confirmed she’d passed by in that “snazzy” red pickup, and she’d asked one of them where was the nearest motel. Liam spotted Michelle’s pickup parked outside the motel room. Heart pounding, fearing that Theron Oswald had already—No. No, he wouldn’t think that way. The clerk didn’t question that he was Michelle’s husband, needing another key, or her lover, meeting her on a rendezvous. Jamming a flower bouquet under his arm, Liam didn’t knock; if Oswald was in the room, surprise wa
s on Liam’s side.
Inside the room Liam breathed quietly, listening to the sound of the shower. On the desk Michelle’s laptop was open, patterns of words running down it; paper slid from the miniprinter. Someone was feeding her information, expertly tracing Oswald.
Liam placed a Do Not Disturb sign outside the door, then tossed the bouquet aside—his first apart from those he’d brought Karen when she’d given him J.T. Propped up with others at the last gas station, the mixed-flower bouquet reminded him of Michelle—sweet, complex and fragile, easily crushed. He wanted to go into the bathroom, hold her tight and know that she was safe. He prowled through what he could say, how to say he loved her, and every thought dropped away as she stepped out of the bathroom, clad only in the towel knotted at her breasts. “Liam!”
He tossed her letter upon the bed. “Nice. What about J.T.?”
Her face was pale in the shadowy room, her fingers trembling as she pushed back her damp hair. Outside, on the highway, trucks roared by, but the sound was quiet compared to the beating of Liam’s racing heart. Michelle spoke quietly, her husky tone uneven. “I thought I’d send him toys.”
“Toys won’t cut it. Did you think I wouldn’t come after you? Did you think so little of me that you didn’t trust me?”
“You know why I left.”
“Yes. I know you’re tracing Oswald. You could have done that in Amen Flats.”
“I didn’t want him near Amen Flats. He won’t stop at hurting others, not even a child. I know his profile…what choices he’s likely to make. A friend, a former police officer, is running a check on stolen credit cards now on the computer. According to Ray’s information, Oswald prefers a certain victim—young, sweet with a purse filled with credit cards. He likes to watch their faces fill with fear. He usually leaves them where they can’t report the loss until he’s used the cards. Once Ray pinpoints Oswald, and I have enough proof, I’ll turn everything over to the police.”
She punched his shoulder and wiped away the tears shimmering in her eyes. “He’s after me, and he’ll hurt anyone close to me. Don’t you think I love your little boy? Don’t you think I love you? If anything happened to either—”
“You love me?” he asked harshly, looming over her, his eyes the color of steel.
“Don’t let it go to your head, but yes. I’m not certain I like it. I like neat plans, and since I’ve met you, nothing has been neat and scheduled. I thought I’d deal with the immediate danger, get myself far away enough to protect you and J.T., and once you’re safe, I’d—”
Liam took off his coat and tossed it in a chair. He sat on the bed and bent to unlace his boots. “What are you doing?” she asked as he propped himself against the headboard.
“Watching you get all lit up.” He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her too intently, that slow dark gaze warming her beneath the towel.
“This is serious, Liam. Oswald means business.” As she did in her office, she paced the room. She tried to ignore the way Liam tilted his head to study the towel barely covering her bottom. She braced her hands on her hips and frowned down at him, jerking aside from the big hand that reached to stroke the inside of her thigh. Liam knew just how to distract her. “How did you find me?”
“A pickup like yours is hard to miss around here. Since the last gas you got was at my station, I knew you’d have to stop. I just asked questions. But I would have kept looking until I did.”
“I thought my note explained everything quite clearly,” she stated with an imperial sniff that sent most men running. “I’m bored. I’m moving on. Get out of my life.”
“Are you now? Then you shouldn’t have told me you love me. You can’t just throw a thing like that at a man and tell him to get lost.” Liam tugged lightly on her towel. Only a slightly civilized tether kept him from tearing it away. He wanted to tell her with his body—because the fine words wouldn’t come easily to him—that he loved her. “Sit down and let me brush your hair before it tangles too badly.”
In a gesture he’d seen before, Michelle threw out her arms and issued a frustrated feminine “Aargh!” The towel slipped, unfurled and Liam tumbled her into his arms. He moved over her, holding her squirming body beneath him, his hands shackling her wrists. He could no more stop himself from kissing her than he could stop breathing, and she met his hunger with her own, just as he knew she would. Then he looked lower, to the softness tipped in peaks he wanted to taste. “Tell me about that love part again.”
Michelle trembled beneath him, her eyes dark-green as the currents ran between them, sizzling the air. Her hips thrust up to his heavy desire, just that once, that telling single time, and when she licked her lips, the jolt shot straight down to his need. “There are maids outside the room, Liam. It’s only ten o’clock,” she whispered shakily as he cupped her breast and brought it to his lips.
Michelle cried out, twisting and heating beneath him. Yet he asked, because he wouldn’t force her. “Do you want me?”
He had to know, to salve his torn emotions, that she wanted, that she needed him. If only like this, in the wild brew of soft limbs and sighs and pulsing heat. He had to fit himself to her, tearing away his clothing, but only after her kiss told him she wanted him as desperately.
“Yes, but I’m going to regret it. You can’t just take me this way—look at me with those wonderful gray eyes, as if you can’t think of anything but me. It goes to my head, and I can’t think straight. I’m a cool-thinking businesswoman, Mr. Tallchief. Do you know what that does to my ego—to know that I want to toss you on the ground and have you?”
He laughed outright then, joy racing through him. “I’ll let you take me the same way. Fair is fair.”
“You’re cocky, Tallchief. Someone needs to bring you down to size.” She ran a fingertip across his lips, and he caught it with his teeth. They were breathing hard, holding each other tight, not ready to give just yet.
“That wouldn’t be you, would it, Ms. Farrell?” The flint and the fire, Liam thought, and knew he’d never been so alive. One spark could set them off, but more than that ran between them—something that would last when the fever had burned low, a tenderness that would have them holding hands at ninety.
Right now Liam had to deal with the fever, the fire between them. She tossed her hair, and he wrapped his fingers in it, letting her know that he wasn’t letting her get away easily.
“You’re going to be insufferable, but I’m letting you get away with it this time.” She flung herself at him, that soft, sweet surrender of her flesh gathering him close and tugging him deeper. She was glowing now beneath him, tossing against him, pitting herself against him. Her hands ran over his back, anchoring him close. He locked his hands beneath her hips and gave himself to her, captivated by the tightening rhythm of her body. He fought to keep hold, to tell her that he loved her, but with the last of his strength he managed to ease down beside her, holding her close.
Her head on his shoulder, the scent of her shampoo and shower blending with their lovemaking, Michelle was already asleep. He cuddled her close, smoothing her breasts and back and down her hips. Just the feel of her in his arms made the world right, to know that she wanted him and that she was alive.
“I’ll kill him. I’ll wrap my hands around that beautiful thick neck and I’ll strangle him—” He’d left her with a tingling deep within her, the laziness of being well and quickly loved. The new pair of boots he’d given her were perfect for tracking him. And he’d taken her printouts, leaving her nothing, but a note telling her to “Stay put. L.”
Well, he had left his Tallchief tartan and a snapshot of him holding J.T. “Beast,” she muttered, fighting for breath and fighting his pickup through the gears. He’d taken her automatic drive pickup, and with the Do Not Disturb sign on the motel door, she’d slept for hours.
In the late afternoon, the mountain shadows were already sliding across Amen Flats, and first of November air was so cold she could see her breath as she tramped up the mountain p
ath. Agnes Morefield had said she’d seen Liam earlier, hunting with the Tallchief “boys” up on the mountain.
The path twisted and led upward, and Michelle panted and plotted what to do with Liam every step of the way. She grabbed a bush, hauling herself up a small embankment hand over hand. She glanced at the deer leaping from the woods, Tallchief Mountain soaring cold and high above her. “Fine. He wants to play games. I can do that. I can’t believe he left with Ray’s printouts, that he actually left me. Not after I told him I loved him. There should be a certain amount of consideration after that declaration. I question his status as a gentleman.”
She slung the woolen tartan around her shoulders against the cold, the fine mist gathering on her hair and clothing. Only her anger kept her going now, the sound of a dog barking high on the mountain—the shot seemed to shake the rocks beneath her feet. Her knees almost gave way, and Michelle thrust out a hand to grasp a tree. “Liam….”
The moon slid behind a cloud, and the path was more difficult to see. Yet she hurried—Oswald wouldn’t care who he hurt. “Dear Lord, don’t let Liam be hurt….”
The white shadow running toward her wasn’t a ghost, it was Thorn, Duncan’s huge hunting dog. She wrapped her hands in his pelt, avoided his licking tongue and ordered, “Find him for me.”
But Thorn was running away already, and tall men moved toward her as the clouds cleared the moon. She couldn’t move as the Tallchief men came closer, shoving Theron Oswald none too gently ahead of them.
She searched and couldn’t find Liam, then suddenly he was beside her, looming over her. “Looking for me?”
Michelle couldn’t move, and when she could, she flung herself at him, burrowing against his chest, holding him tight. Liam’s hand held her face against him, where the solid thud of his heart told her he lived. She grabbed his ears and pulled his face down to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around her, picked her up until their mouths were level and met her tiny kisses with his own. Between kisses, he whispered, “Hush, Michelle. Don’t cry, honey. It’s all over.”
