by Nina Bruhns
"But—"
"Shh." She heard the thunk of something heavy on the porch and Roman's voice call out, "Cara, I'm back."
It was him! Her heart leaped in her chest.
But why weren't Philip and the Chairman standing down? She opened her mouth to return his greeting, but a stealthy hand snaked over it.
"I see you've got company, but I'm a mess from the drive," Roman called through the closed door. She struggled against the Chairman's hold. The nerve of the old gaffer! What did he—
"I think I'll just run on up to the hot springs," Roman shouted, his footsteps turning away. "For a quick bath."
And if the hand gagging her mouth hadn't told her, that simple statement along with the sharp bite of a cold blade against her neck certainly had…
There was something terribly, terribly wrong.
* * *
Chapter 17
«^»
Roman was about to keel over from sheer panic. RaeAnne hadn't answered him. There was somebody in the cabin with her—the car outside told him that much—but she hadn't come out to greet him, nor had she said a single word. Not even when he'd mentioned the hot springs.
There was no way she'd have let him go up there without her. They'd made plans for those hot springs.
Campanelli must be holding RaeAnne hostage. Somehow, Roman had to lure him away from her.
He loosened the snap on his boot knife, cocked the slide on the Python and prayed the damned bastard would follow him up the hill to the hot springs.
Where the hell was O'Donnaugh?
Roman lifted his eyes to the mountains, as he felt the hot rush of adrenaline in his blood. It was showdown time. Would the silent sentinels be with him, or against him? Clouds parted, and light from the moon poured down the hillside like golden honey. He smiled. With him, then. When had they changed their minds?
He could hear the heavy plodding of boots on the trail behind him. Campanelli was awfully sure of himself, not bothering to conceal his approach. When Roman reached the hot springs, he turned, ready to face the devil his father'd said had vowed to see both of them dead.
"You think like an Indian," the Chairman said, folding his hands in front of himself.
Implying the Chairman didn't? A week ago that revelation might have surprised Roman, but not today. Revenge was a white man's game. And what could this be other than revenge? Though for what, he still wasn't sure.
"You got it backward, old man," Roman said, nodding at the thin dagger tucked in the Chairman's belt, which appeared to be his only weapon. "It's just like an Indian to bring a knife to a gunfight."
The Chairman's teeth glinted in the moonlight. He seemed disturbingly unperturbed by having the Python leveled at him. "I once told you appearances aren't always what they seem. You underestimate me, my son."
"I'm nobody's son, not after today, and especially not yours. Get to the point, Campanelli."
"You haven't asked about Miss Martin. Aren't you concerned she isn't with me?"
Roman's eyes narrowed. "What have you done with her?"
"Don't worry. She's safe with Philip O'Donnaugh down at the cabin."
"O'Donnaugh?" Suspicion suddenly slammed into him. Had he been blinded by sympathy for the sheriff's all-too-kindred plight? "What the hell is going on?"
"What do you think?"
Admittedly Roman wasn't in the best of moods. He took a step forward, extended his arm and planted the Python's muzzle firmly in the middle of the old man's forehead.
"Talk. Now."
The glint wavered. "O'Donnaugh's running the poaching ring, of course. Has been since his father died."
Damn it to hell. He'd been right all along. "If he's harmed her—"
"Don't worry. If she doesn't try to leave the cabin, she'll never even know O'Donnaugh's holding her. Not until—"
"They find me with my throat slit?"
The other man's eyes said he'd guessed correctly. "But if he hears any shooting, or if I'm not back in five minutes, he'll kill her."
Roman figured the plan was to kill her regardless. They'd both rot in hell; he'd make that happen personally if he had to.
"I see." He lowered his weapon, playing along for the moment. "So, what's your role in all this, Campanelli? Distributor for the poaching spoils?"
The old man looked down his regal nose at him. "I'm the brains behind it. All of it. It was my operation from the beginning."
Roman wasn't impressed. "So you killed Danforth?"
Campanelli made a deprecating noise. "Those idiot deputies shot Danforth when he stumbled onto them during one of their hunting expeditions on Tecopa lands."
Normally Roman enjoyed when his hunches were right, but nailing this case gave him no pleasure. "You must have been nervous when RaeAnne started digging at Cleary."
"Not me. I didn't have anything to do with the game warden's death."
"So it really was the deputies who hired Toby to scare her off?"
"Yes," he said impatiently.
"And shot at us last night?"
The Chairman nodded, slashing up with a hand. "But all this could have been avoided if you'd just have taken your woman to safety as I told you," he hissed angrily. "You should have heeded my warning!"
"You mean at your office? Or the box with my father's regalia, and the eagle feathers?"
"Both! You should at least have arrested the morons for poaching! The boy gave you the envelopes and notes with all the information. That should have been evidence enough."
"Sorry to disappoint you. We need more than a list of names made more than three decades ago for an arrest." The thought of his father brought renewed fury over the whole situation. That he'd been alive and innocent all these years. "Where did you get those notes, and the things in the box? My father's things?"
"He left them behind when I helped him disappear."
Roman's banked rage burst into flame. "So it's you I have to thank for that, too." He leaned right into his face. "Too bad I already knew he was alive by that time. You should have understood a few feathers weren't going to stop me from finding him."
Campanelli made a fist and shook it. "He's been dead to you for thirty years. Why couldn't you let him stay that way? Why did you have to come back and dredge up the past? Ruin everything?"
"Balance. Honor. You should understand those concepts."
"You're too philosophical for your own good, Santangelo. And this time your outdated cultural idealism is going to cost you."
Roman barely resisted pressing the Python's muzzle back into Campanelli's skull and pulling the trigger. The arrogance of the man was truly astounding.
"Is that right?"
"But it doesn't have to cost Miss Martin. Give me your gun right now, and I'll see that her life is spared."
So that was his game. Roman pretended to consider. "There's just one thing I have to ask. Why kill my father? Why now, after all this time?"
Caught off guard, the old man's gaze focused on the darkness between them, as though looking into the distant past.
"Hector was the only one who could link me with Pritchett. The three of us had done some … business together in Nam." His eyes came up. "But now that he's dead, nobody'll ever be able to connect the dots."
He decided to let Campanelli's slight miscalculation go uncorrected and not inform him his father was alive yet.
Instead he did his best to sound outraged. "You murdered him over something that happened thirty years ago?"
"But you'll never be able to prove I did it," the Chairman said. "You'll never find the shotgun."
He'd heard enough. He had to get to RaeAnne. Every minute of not knowing whether she was okay was shaving years from his life.
He raised the Colt. "We'll see about that, old man. Dave!" he called, summoning his friend who'd been concealed a few feet away the whole time with his own weapon trained on the Chairman. Just in case.
Dave emerged from the shrubbery next to Campanelli and slapped a handcuff around his wris
t before he could reach for his knife.
"You hear his confession?"
"Every word. What's the plan?"
"O'Donnaugh won't be expecting two of us. Reckon I'll just walk in and see what happens. Try to distract him, so you can grab him from behind."
"Got it." Dave pushed Campanelli over to a tree, and cuffed the other wrist so he was left hugging the pine's trunk. "And Miss Martin?"
"I'll take care of her," he snarled as he thought of RaeAnne in the clutches of that corrupt, deceitful—
"Easy, man," Dave said. "I'm sure she's fine."
"She'd better be," Roman muttered.
If she wasn't, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. It had taken him eighteen years to find her, and he wasn't about to lose her again. Not to anyone or anything.
They'd have to kill him first.
* * *
Roman and Dave scoped out the cabin from the forest fringe, and when all seemed quiet, they scooted up to the windows. Sheets or some kind of cloth had been draped over them on the inside so it was impossible to see into the room.
Suddenly there was a loud crash in the cabin, along with a muffled scream.
"RaeAnne!"
All procedure and caution flew to the wind as Roman flung open the door, weapon cocked and ready to blast holes in the man who was hurting his woman.
He stopped dead, taking in the sight of RaeAnne and Philip, both gagged and bound, back to back on chairs which had crashed to the floor, presumably as they'd struggled to free themselves.
Two pairs of eyes blinked up at him, one filled with joy and relief, the other sheepish embarrassment.
Roman let out a long breath.
The bastard had lied.
* * *
RaeAnne glanced uncertainly at Roman as he pulled the Jeep back up beside the old stone cabin at Cleary with a jerk.
They'd spent most of the night at the sheriff's office giving statements about Chairman Campanelli and making sure he was locked up tight with no possibility of escaping justice for all he'd done, both in the past and the present.
In the driver's seat, Roman looked as broody as the mountains storming above them, clouds obscuring the sunrise. He'd had that same look on his face since finding her manacled to Philip on the floor of the cabin last night. He said he was upset about having left her in danger, but she suspected there was something more that lay beneath his moodiness.
Slamming on the brakes he reached for her. "Come here," he said, his voice rough with an intensity she'd never heard from him before. "I need to feel you close. Know you're safe."
In a single motion he unfastened her seat belt, sweeping her into his arms and embracing her with an almost desperate quality. She yelped in surprise when he stumbled from the Jeep, landing on certain feet.
"I'm safe now," she whispered against his shoulder, holding him tight. "And you are, too."
She sent up a silent prayer of thanks, knowing how close she'd come to losing him over something he'd had nothing to do with. Something that had happened so long ago.
Tears sprang to her eyes at the parallels to their own situation. How foolish she'd been to have run away from home those many years ago, refusing to hear his explanation if he'd chosen to come back and give it. How much they'd both lost because of a lack of trust!
With an arm under her knees he picked her up and made straight for the cabin, all the while kissing her like there was no tomorrow. Her heart nearly broke, knowing that it could well be true. For them, there would probably not be a tomorrow.
She met his thrusting tongue, grappling with his flannel shirt, tearing at the buttons, tugging up on his T-shirt when he set her down to unlock the cabin door.
In their flurry, she reminded herself this was just physical. They couldn't keep their hands off each other, but for her own sake, she must try for some kind of emotional distance.
They tumbled through the door and right onto the bed, and suddenly she was naked and so was he, and he was over her.
In her.
He slid home and for a brilliant second neither moved.
He'd be leaving her again soon. This time for good. His case was solved, the bad guys all in jail. He'd found his father. He had to get back to work.
"This is how I need you," he said between harsh breaths. "Under me. Around me. Holding me tight. So I know nothing can hurt you."
It was no use, she couldn't do distant. Not in the face of the overpowering emotion spilling from his every word. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. Wanting so badly to believe he needed her. It might kill her tomorrow when he left, but she couldn't deny him the depth of feeling he so obviously sought tonight. Not when she felt it to her very soul.
He made love to her ferociously, almost savagely. And she reveled in it. In the pure, raw emotion. The primitive contact. The intense need between the two of them.
She felt claimed. Taken. They were one as she'd been with no other man, and it was all she could do to hang on to the roller coaster her heart had become. He took possession of her, body and soul, not allowing her any quarter. Again and again he thrust into her, eliciting a fireball of sensation between her thighs and through her whole being.
"Roman," she cried over and over, unable to form a single thought that wasn't of him.
He kissed her mouth and suckled her breasts and touched her in places no one else ever could. She was his. Totally. Completely. Without reservation.
She came apart under him in sweet surrender, giving him everything that she was and all that she would ever be. And then he rolled her on top and she did to him what he'd done to her.
And when it was over, and she lay panting, slicked with his sweat, covered with the scent of his sex, she thought she had never lived before this moment. Never experienced love. Never been in love. She ached with it, with the sheer intensity of the sweetness and the sting.
The night he'd left her those many years ago, she'd had a similar feeling—after the prom when they'd made endless, young love on this very same blanket, nestled under a warm, star-strewn quilt of desert sky.
Then, as now, she was overwhelmed with the fathomless depth of her feelings for this man. In that long-ago moment, she'd thought they were invincible. That nothing could ever mar the perfect love she'd carried for him in her heart.
She'd been wrong, then. And she wanted to weep, thinking she could be so wrong now, too.
But the difference was, tonight she was acutely aware of what would happen in the morning.
But it didn't matter. She would give him a lifetime of love tonight, while she still held him in her arms.
And face tomorrow when it came.
* * *
Much later RaeAnne dozed, but Roman's mind was too full to sleep. He lay for a long time with his arms around her, his leg draped possessively over hers. Their hearts beating as one, within inches of each other.
He was lost. Utterly lost. Desperate in his feelings for this amazing woman who tonight had given him what seemed to be her very soul. His own heart lay prostrate before her, basking in the glow of her blissful surrender.
He drew in a deep breath, smelling the poignantly familiar peach blossom scent of their passion, and trembled with fear.
Would she still send him away, even after a night like this?
She smiled, meeting his eyes.
"You're awake," he whispered.
"Mmm-hmm." She snuggled closer, tucking her body under his in a way that never failed to arouse him. "You?"
"Never slept."
"No?"
At her worried expression, a frisson of something warm and fuzzy spread through him. He shook his head. "I wanted to watch you sleep."
Her mouth formed an O of surprise. "You did?"
She looked adorably rumpled, and wonderfully, thoroughly loved. And he did—love her. To distraction. That had been the one constant certainty in his life since the first moment he'd noticed her in that junior high school bus. But did she love him? Could she
learn to trust him? He was so afraid he knew the answer.
He kissed her hair before tears could well up. "I've always loved watching you sleep."
Her smile returned. "Did I snore?" she asked, though a shadow of uncertainty underlay her teasing banter. Did she sense his inner turmoil?
His lips curved bravely up. "Only a little."
"Liar."
"Who, me?" Only to myself.
For he was deceiving himself if he thought he could ever make it through this life without her by his side.
She stretched under the blanket, and he loved the way her soft skin felt against him, all the way down. Not wanting to spoil the morning, he shook off the melancholy gripping him. He slid a hand onto her bottom, coaxing a sexy moan from her throat, and he wanted her all over again.
Then it occurred to him the moan could be in response to something other than his touch. He could feel the muscles in his own back and legs, and he'd only ridden half as long as she had.
"How's your backside? After all that riding?"
Throwing him a grin, she laughed and painted lazy kisses up his throat. "A bit sore, I'll admit. Especially after last night. A horse wasn't the only wild beast I had between my thighs yesterday. I could definitely use a hot tub."
He chuckled lasciviously. "Me, too."
"Guess we never made it to the hot springs."
"Then what are we waiting for?"
With that he scooped her out of bed into the chilly morning air, cutting off her surprised gasp with a thorough kiss. They gathered clean clothes and a thermos of coffee and hiked the quarter mile or so up the hillside to the bathing pool. Stripping bare, they slid into the hot water.
"Heaven," she sighed.
He grasped her fingers and tugged her onto his lap, not wanting to be farther away from her than skin to skin. "Oh, yeah. Definitely heaven."
He moaned as they sank neck deep into the hot, mineral-rich bubbles and relaxed, attempting to shed the stress and tension of a lifetime.
"What a day," he sighed, leaning his head back against the stone rim of the basin, letting his fingers play over RaeAnne's smooth, bare skin under the water.
