Annie’s hold on him loosened and her arms drifted limply to her sides, her fingertips resting lightly on his bare hips.
His arms shaky, his muscles quaking, Brett lowered himself atop her, feeling her damp skin against his, and drew her close. His mind whirled without thought. Star patterns created a confusion of numbness and bliss.
His throat was dry, his mouth parched, yet he’d never felt so content in all his years of bedding women. With Annie, it felt like the first time, only better. With Annie, it wasn’t bedding, it was loving.
He used to think he was the one who held all the power. Not anymore. Annie owned it all.
“I love you, Annie.”
She brushed her fingertips across his temple and whispered, “I know you do.”
For a long time after Brett fell asleep, Annie lay beneath his solid weight, staring at the inky branches above her.
She’d wanted to remember—that incredible sensation of being touched, of heat climbing through her body, of nerves quivering with need.
And she’d wanted to forget—the horrid taste of helplessness. Of invasion. Of having choice and dignity stripped away at another’s whim. . . .
Annie knew if she hadn’t experienced the wonder and joy of intimacy before that night four years ago, she might not ever have wanted to share her body with a man again. Knowing that the last vision that had filled her husband’s eyes were of his wife submitting to another man in a vain attempt to save his life had filled Annie with self-loathing so deep it had become a part of her. She hadn’t thought herself capable of anything else.
But almost from the moment she’d set eyes on Brett Corrigan, desire had flared to life. And had grown. And built. Now that she’d allowed herself to give pleasure and receive it in return, a numbness took its place, uncurling in her belly, spreading outward, slowly invading her bloodstream until not one vein was left untouched by the hollow sensation.
She grappled for the bliss felt only moments ago; tried to seize it. When that failed her, she sought refuge in the numbness that had been her friend and companion since that night—only to find that it, too, had deserted her.
She’d lain with a man.
She wanted so badly to think it didn’t mean anything, that she hadn’t enjoyed being with Brett. That she’d simply used him to fight her demons. To prove. . . . something.
But she couldn’t lie to herself. If there was ever a time Annie had felt so complete, she couldn’t remember it. Her life had begun and ended with Sekoda. Everything before and everything after had remained a foggy sensation, a cloudy memory.
Yet in Brett’s arms, life felt precious again. She could almost believe in second chances.
Almost.
Carefully, Annie slipped from beneath Brett so as not to disturb him. Chance and Fortune watched as she wandered toward the creek, wind whipping the shirttails about her legs.
She climbed onto a sheet of shale overlooking the ravine. She folded her legs, rested her cheek on her knees and watched the diamond-tipped current chase itself around a bend. Her throat felt swollen and raw, her eyes painfully dry.
She’d been with a man. For the first time since that night, she’d lain with a man willingly, giving of herself that which had before belonged to one and one alone.
And the worst thing was, she’d do it again.
Already she missed Brett’s warmth, the scent of his skin, the touch of his hands on her body—and the knowledge filled her with such shame she could hardly bear it.
She shut her eyes and whispered, “Forgive me, Koda.”
How could she not only have welcomed Brett into her arms, but boldly invited him? How could she have thought for one minute that being with one man would help her remember another, and forget still yet another?
When had Brett become his own entity, his own memory, his own . . . force?
Annie had no idea how long she sat struggling with her own confusion before an odd instinct compelled her to open her eyes. Her breath trapped itself in her lungs as, like specters of ancient old, a band of thirteen white stallions approached the water’s edge several hundred feet away.
Slowly she lifted her head in amazement.
She’d heard once of the band of bachelor al binos up near the Canadian River . . . what would bring them to the Palo Duro?
Another, deeper, sense of foreboding drew her notice to the towering formation of Lighthouse Rock. On a narrow ledge bridging the canyon wall, a dark, shadowy phantom stood silhouetted in wan moonlight, watching the band below with a ferocity that touched Annie down to the soul.
Suddenly the band went on alert, ears high and perked forward, bodies chillingly still. In the next instant, they broke into a gallop away from the stallion.
Not a sound had broken the stillness, not a motion had stirred the calm. The only thing that remained of the vision was a settling of dust near the side of the creek.
Had it been an apparition?
Or a forewarning?
Dread stole through Annie’s bloodstream as she realized that the number of white stallions equaled the number of months she’d spent with her husband before he was slain. But what—or who—did the black stallion represent?
Her past?
Or her present?
Chapter 22
Brett stirred and reached for Annie with a contented smile, only to discover the space beside him empty. His eyes snapped open, and he rose up and propped his weight on his elbow.
Had he only dreamed that Annie had given herself to him? Dreamed he’d held her in his arms, felt her body melt into his, heard her cries of pleasure?
God, was he losing his mind?
When his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, he released a breath of relief at the sight of her sitting beside the creek on a pile of rock, wearing nothing but his shirt. Her arms circled her up-drawn knees, and summer moonlight kissed her bare legs. Blonde hair cascaded down her back and one shoulder in silky fall.
“Annie?”
Slowly, she turned her head and met his gaze, and the emptiness in her eyes nearly brought Brett to his knees. There was something frightening about her lack of emotion—as if behind it lay an anguish too heavy to bear.
A sudden chill chased across his skin.
He wrapped the blanket around his waist and strode across to her. “What is it?”
She didn’t answer. She simply turned her face away to look out into the canyon.
Brett followed the direction her gaze had turned. “Oh, my God . . . it’s him!”
“Forget him, Brett.”
“What?” Her words surprised him as much as the flatness of her tone.
“Forget the stallion,” she repeated harshly. “I got your fillies back; be satisfied with that.”
“Wait a minute—that wasn’t part of the deal.”
“Sleeping together wasn’t part of the deal either, but that didn’t stop you.”
Astounded, he watched her swing off the rock, grab her trousers and shove first one foot, then the other into the pant legs.
“This whole thing was a mistake.”
“Going after the stallion?” he asked with a false calm. “Or making love with me?”
She shot up to arrow-straightness. “You are the most conceited, arrogant—I didn’t make love with you. I let you poke me because I felt sorry for you.”
Brett sucked in a hard breath. No words had ever pierced so deeply or stung so badly. Could the rapture she’d shown in his arms have been an act? Could she really feel nothing for him?
No, he wouldn’t believe that. He couldn’t believe that. What he and Annie had shared had gone beyond sexual gratification; he felt it down to his soul. There had been connection between them that surpassed mere physical needs, and he’d bet his fortune that she hadn’t counted on it any more than he.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” he challenged with sudden understanding. “You’re feeling guilty because you enjoyed being with me.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’r
e talking about.”
“Don’t I? You’re not the only one who lost someone, Annie. I lost my whole family.”
“I lost my soul!” She smacked her fist against her chest. “I lost myself!”
“But you’re finding her again, aren’t you? And that scares the hell out of you—that you might just want to go on living, that you want to feel alive again.”
Her eyes flaming, she began gathering her clothes from the rocks where they’d been laid out to dry earlier that day.
Brett clutched the blanket around his middle and followed her. “You learn to deal with it, Annie. Day by day, week by week. You go numb. You get angry. You hurt, you grieve, then you learn to let go.”
“I am dealing with it.”
“You’re hiding from it—just like you hide from everything else that threatens to break through the shield you’ve built around yourself.”
“You bastard.” She raised her hand to slap him; he caught her wrist in a firm but gentle grip.
“How many men have you lain with since your husband died?”
The question—more of a challenge—hung in the air with the weight of a tombstone. He stared at her, daring her to answer, and she stared back, silently defying him with every breath left in her.
“There hasn’t been anyone but me, isn’t that right? Because I’m the only one who touched you here.” He pressed three fingers against her heart. “He might have been the first Annie, but I’ll be the last. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I’ll be right there with you.”
She slapped his hand away. “This is just another game to you, isn’t it, Corrigan? Someday you’re gonna learn that not everything is about winning and losing.”
“No, sometimes it’s about the difference between living and dying.”
He looked at her with such profound sadness that it made her heart ache. Annie twisted away, wanting to deny the truth of his words, knowing she couldn’t. Because he was so right.
She didn’t want to die. She wanted to live.
She just didn’t deserve to.
Warm hands closed around her shoulders, and she felt Brett’s solid strength against her back.
“Grief is like the seasons, Annie.” His voice was soothing as a campfire at night and sunshine at dawn. “In the autumn, winds rip the trees bare to the branches. Winter cold sets in, freezing everything it touches. Then in the spring, the earth thaws, and grass begins to grow, and in the summer, the sun warms you from the outside in. There are calm days and stormy days, but it takes both the sun and the rain to make a rainbow.”
Annie’s breath caught and her eyes went misty. “My husband used to say that.”
“He sounds like a smart fellow.”
“He was.” She swallowed the knot forming in her throat. “When we were together I felt . . . saved. Forgiven. As if I had every right to love and be loved as any other decent woman.”
“You do, Annie.”
Her eyes shut. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I’ve done.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that?”
Annie twisted around, and the compassion in Brett’s eyes made her want to. After a moment’s hesitation, she began to speak. “The first time I saw Sekoda, he was walking through a herd of mustangs right here in this canyon. I remember feeling both awed and envious that they trusted him enough to let him do that, but over the years, I also understood why. He and I became friends quickly. Over the next six years, that friendship deepened, and we became lovers. We met whenever we could, in spite of the fact that if anyone ever caught us together, one or both of us would die.
“After my grandfather hanged, I stayed with the gang for a while—I told you that. It was a huge mistake, because the looks I’d been getting from the men escalated into touches. It got so bad I started sleeping with a pistol under my pillow. I told Ike if it didn’t stop, I’d leave, and he could get his own horses. Ike told me if I left, he’d make me regret it.
“I didn’t believe him. I went to Sekoda and told him what was happening. He promised me the moon on a silver platter; I promised him I’d never steal another horse. He offered me a new life, and I took it. I was afraid he’d wind up being forced onto a reservation, so I convinced him to marry me and move into my granddad’s house, because the gang didn’t know anything about it. That was my mistake. Thirteen months later, Ike, along with a couple of his men and a couple of Comanche, came after the horses Sekoda and I had spent the last year rounding up.
“Koda . . .” She stopped to draw in a deep breath. “Koda tried to stop them and they hit him over the head. I dragged him into the house so he wouldn’t get trampled. That’s when Ike and one of the men burst in.” The whisper sent a chill climbing up Brett’s spine.
Annie closed her eyes and folded her arms around her waist. “I tried to . . . get away from him. A lamp fell. I tried to hit him with it, but he was too strong, and too angry. Ike ripped my clothes, then forced my husband . . . to watch. I was afraid they’d kill Koda. I thought if I just let him do what he wanted to me, he’d get his revenge and leave us alone. But he didn’t. When he finished with me, he slit Koda’s throat, then set the house on fire.”
“Jesus. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“It’s not something I want to think about, much less talk about. If you want the truth, it feels like it happened to someone else. All I can really remember is the sight of his blood on my dress, and the smell of burning biscuits, and pounding the marker into his grave. I can’t tell you details even if I wanted to. I can’t even tell you where I spent the next year, because I don’t remember and I didn’t care. I couldn’t go forward. I couldn’t go back. It was better to not exist.”
Pieces of the puzzle started clicking into place: her reaction that night in the wagon, the titled cross on an abandoned plain, her constant rejection of his touch.
The thought of Ike Savage laying his filthy hands on Annie filled him with a cold, dangerous rage. Somehow, Brett vowed, he’d make the man pay. For he hadn’t just taken Annie’s body against her will and killed her man; he’d also stripped her of her self-worth.
Three cautious steps brought him to her. With one finger, he tilted her chin, and his heart bled for what she must have endured.
“We’ll get through this, Annie. And there will come a time when you can think about it without wanting to cry, and talk about it without your heart ripping in half. It’s just going to take time.”
“It been four years!”
“And it might be four more, or forty more. But you’re not alone anymore, Annie.”
Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears; her chest heaved with the force of her silent sobs. “I . . . don’t know . . . how to do this, Brett. My hu . . . husband was everything to me. The breath I took, the beat of my heart. He was patient and safe and gentle; you are daring and ambitious and wild—everything I used to be. If he’d lived, we’d still be together and be happy. But he’s gone. And I’m older and alone . . . and if you hadn’t come along with your . . . damned . . . proposition, I never would have known how alone. Or how afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Living again. Loving again.” She loosed a teary laugh. “Koda taught me everything I knew about horses, but he forgot to teach me how to live—or love—without him.”
He held her face in the palm of his hands. “I’ll show you again, if you just give us a chance.”
She wanted to. It amazed her how badly.
In his eyes she saw a little boy who’d been forsaken by everyone he loved. She didn’t know what she felt for him. Sometimes her emotions got so tangled up with what she’d felt for Sekoda that she couldn’t tell where one man ended and the other began.
But she wanted Brett. And she wanted him to love her. When he looked at her like that, as if his every breath depended on her decision, her senses reeled and her defenses crumbled. And she wanted nothing more than to be his breath, his very heartbeat—and he hers.
God, how selfish of her. Her happi
ness cost people their lives. Her sadness incited their rage. Her fear drove them to reckless bravery.
Two wonderful men had already lost their lives on account of her. She’d not be responsible for a third.
Her heart broke as she removed his hands from her face. “Some chances aren’t worth the cost to take.”
And before he could stop her, she grabbed her belongings, leaped onto Chance’s bare back, and fled.
Brett ran after her, tripping over the blanket around his waist, paying no heed as it dropped in the dirt. Brush ripped through his soles and a stitch formed in his side.
Finally, his lungs screaming for air, he brought himself to a stop and bowed over, hands on his knees, eyes trained on the buckskin speck in the distance as he gasped for breath.
Damn it. Damn it. When was he ever going to learn to stop pushing her? Learn that when he sat back and let her come to him, she didn’t run away?
Obviously not soon enough.
“Okay, Annie,” he panted. “You win. Go ahead and run away if you have to. I won’t chase after you anymore.”
Chapter 23
Fortune picked his way down a slim and treacherous trail as Brett followed the stallion with cold determination. When he reached bottom, he brought out his telescope. A gauzy image of Annie filled the lens. Grimly Brett brought the scope away, rubbed his eyes, then refocused. Annie’s image disappeared as he’d known it would, for the sun had been playing tricks like this on him for days now.
Instead, a glossy blue-black coat and wild mane nearly hidden behind a peninsula of rocks below filled his sights.
“There you are, you damned devil.”
Brett tucked the scope into his saddlebag and unsnapped his lariat.
It’s all in the wrist.
“Get out of my head, Annie.”
Three days had passed since she’d left him. Three days he’d spent searching for her, trying to track her down, knowing it was useless even as he did so. Annie had spent years eluding the law, and it had only been a fluke that he’d been able to track her down in the first place.
Mustang Annie Page 20
