The comment had surprised Blake. He’d never heard Lucy sound possessive of him before.
The next morning he loaded his Arabians on the train for Tucson. As the dry landscape fled past the train window, Blake smiled grimly. Jessie, not good enough? Aunt Lucy, you’ve got it all backward.
Oh, he remembered the shock of hearing Jessie say she’d spent the night with him in San Antonio so he couldn’t interfere with her mother’s plans. He remembered his own inability to decide if he believed her. But hell, she hadn’t planned on what happened between them. Blake knew that. She’d been warm and willing, and he had taken advantage of her innocence. He had seduced her. She might have thought it was her idea, but he knew the truth.
Not good enough for him? She was everything he’d ever wanted, and more. And now he had her. She was his wife.
But she hadn’t come willingly. It still cut him like a knife that she hadn’t told him about the baby. Had it not been for his trial, he might never have learned she carried his child. And if she hadn’t believed in him enough to realize he had planned to free Pace from jail, she had more than made up for that by coming to his trial.
Blake had spoken with Bernstein after Jessie and her father left. He’d learned that Jessie had come proclaiming his innocence before she even knew whom he was supposed to have killed. The faith that act displayed shook him with its depth. Shook him, and gave him hope that she had gotten over her earlier distrust of him. That maybe she loved him, if only a little.
But was it enough to build a life on?
Yes. It had to be.
Yet every time he thought of Lucy’s worry that Jessie might not be good enough for him, he remembered that night in Geronimo’s tent. For the first time in his life he’d had the chance to avenge his mother’s death. He would have been able, for once, to give the answer his father craved every time Lucien demanded, “You killed that red bastard yet, boy?”
It had been there, his one real chance, right there in that tent with lightning flashing and wind roaring. And he’d walked away.
He couldn’t even fool himself any longer that he’d done it to save his own skin, to keep from getting caught or having to live on the run. To keep from losing Jessie. He’d known, even as he’d used those arguments that night, that he could have gotten away with killing Geronimo. No one would have had a reason to point a finger at him.
So why had he let the bastard live? Why had he walked away from the most important goal of his life?
That’s the question that came to mind and made him wonder just who wasn’t good enough for whom. Made him wonder what kind of man he was. What did a man who didn’t understand himself, who doubted his own convictions, have to offer a wife and child?
It was a question with no answers, and it was asked too late. He had a wife, and the child was on the way. He’d better make damn sure he had something to offer them, because they were suddenly the most important things in his life, more important than anything, even finally gaining Lucien’s approval. More important than avenging his mother. More important than…
Hell. He’d started to think they were more important than even his honor and his peace of mind. But he didn’t want Jessie to have to spend her life with a man with no honor, a man who doubted himself. She and their child deserved better.
So what the hell was he going to do? How did a man bring honor to his new family, when he wasn’t sure he even had it within himself?
The question echoed through Blake’s mind the next day when he reined his stud in on a low rise overlooking the impressive headquarters of the Triple C Ranch. Behind him, the string of mares resented being forced to travel with the pack mule he’d rented from the livery in Tucson. The mares showed their displeasure by snorting and stomping and pulling on their leads.
With a low command for them to settle down, Blake studied the ranch before him. The sprawling adobe house with it’s red tiled roof sat in the center of a half-circle of barns and sheds, bunkhouse, smokehouse, corrals and pens. The Coltons had apparently done well for themselves over the years. The place had a look of permanency about it that could comfort a man, if he belonged here.
But Blake didn’t belong. He got his first taste of that as he rode up to the house and a man stepped out of the last barn. At first Blake thought it was Jessie’s father, and he tensed, only just then realizing how nervous he was. But a second look told him that although the resemblance was more than strong, the man before him was too young. This must be Jessie’s stepbrother. Serena’s husband.
The tall, broad-shouldered man nudged his hat back at an angle and braced his hands on his hips. Sweat ran down the sides of his face.
Blake waited, but the man gave him a thorough going over without speaking. There was no point in a contest of wills. “I’m Renard.”
“Figured you were. Been expecting you.” But his tone and the look in his eyes said he wouldn’t have been disappointed if Blake had been found dead along the trail somewhere. Gelded.
So much for a welcome into the family. But then, Blake hadn’t expected one. Not under the circumstances. And he couldn’t honestly say he blamed the man.
“So. You came.” Travis Colton emerged from the dim interior of the barn and stood beside his son. Except for the years between them, they could have been twins, right down to the nearly identical scars on each one’s right cheek.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Blake bit out.
One corner of Travis Colton’s mouth curved up. “You didn’t. I’m a better judge of character than that. That’s some pretty fancy horseflesh you’ve got there. Climb down and come on up to the house. Matt’ll see to them and your gear.”
Surprised by the sudden change in attitude, Blake eyed his new father-in-law and slowly dismounted.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Travis said as they walked toward the front of the house. “I’d still like to string you up by your balls for what you did to Jessie. But any man who’ll risk a noose to keep my daughter’s name free of scandal can’t be all bad. Not to mention your help getting Pace home.”
Travis turned and faced him with both heat and ice in his dark, narrowed eyes. “I’ll tell you this, though. Jessie’s my baby. You hurt her again, I’ll kill you.”
This was more what Blake had expected, so he didn’t bat an eye. He gave back glare for glare. “If you think I’m going to live with the threat of you coming after me every time Jessie gets mad, you’re wrong, Colton. She may be your daughter, but she’s my wife. And she’s no baby, I assure you. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself. She doesn’t need you to protect her from me. And just so we get it straight, that excuse you used in San Antonio to get her away from me won’t wash anymore. You won’t have any more trouble, not from Washington or the military. Now if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to see my wife.”
“In a minute.” Travis blocked the doorway and planted his hands on his hips. “Explain that remark about Washington.”
“There’s nothing to explain. He won’t bother you or yours again.”
Travis cocked his head. “How’d you do that?”
Blake was saved from having to answer by the timely arrival of a barking mass of black and white fur running around the corner of the house. Hot on the puppy’s tail came two shrieking, dark-skinned little boys with hair the color of midnight.
The puppy ran between Blake’s feet and around behind Travis, to end up crouched against the door, panting and grinning, tongue lolling and dragging in the dirt. The first little boy, around two years old, barrelled into Blake’s legs, bounced back, and landed on his rump in the dirt. Instantly silent and obviously unhurt, he stared up at Blake with surprised black eyes. The second boy, around four, couldn’t stop fast enough to avoid falling over the first.
“All right, you little heathens,” came the cry of a young girl as she rounded the same corner. “If you’re in Gran’s flower bed—Oh!” She came to a skidding halt at the sight of Blake looming over the two boys. Flame-red braids fl
ew forward then flopped down against the front of her calico dress. Her eyes widened, as did her grin. “Hi.” Her gaze flicked to Travis. “Is this him?”
Before Travis could answer, she squealed with delight. “It is him! Jessie was wrong—you did come!”
Blake reeled. Jessie thought he wouldn’t come?
“I knew you would,” the twelve-year-old went on, as though she hadn’t just delivered a blow to his gut. “What are you doin’ standin’ outside? Come on in the house.” She grabbed Blake by the arm and shoved her way around the two goggle-eyed boys and Travis. “I’m Jo,” she told him. “Hey, everybody! He’s here! Jessie’s new husband is here!”
As Blake was hauled past Travis and through the door, Travis shrugged and gave a reluctant grin. “Welcome to the Triple C.”
Jessie was coming down the hall with a tall armful of wadded sheets—so tall she had to peer around to the side to see where she was going. She recognized the shrieks as belonging to Joanna, but, with an earful of sheet, couldn’t decipher what the child was saying.
“Joanna, dear, you have a lovely voice and we all enjoy hearing it, but do you think you might lower it to a level that will not rattle the windows? And you were not raised in a barn. Please close the front door before that mangy fleabag you call a puppy runs in here and leaves another puddle on the floor for your brothers to play in.”
The precariously piled sheets began to tilt off balance. Jessie shifted her arms, but the pile leaned even farther. “Oh.” She grabbed again, then stilled. A warm prickly feeling came over her. The sensation was somewhat familiar, but it was a moment before she remembered when she’d last felt it. That day she’d boarded the train in Bowie to follow Pace. She’d felt the same tingling all over and had looked up to find…Blake.
“Oh!”
About all Blake could see was a pile of wadded sheets with a swatch of blue calico topping two dainty feet below. Walking laundry coming toward him from the side hall. He didn’t need to see behind the pile to know it was Jessie. The sudden thrumming of his heart and that certain feeling that always came over him in her presence told him it was her. His Jessie. His wife. Carrying a load way too unwieldy for someone in her condition. Ignoring his new father-in-law and the young girl, Jo, Blake leaped forward and caught the pile just as Jessie lost control of it.
“Oh,” she cried again.
Blake tossed the laundry to the floor and filled his eyes, filled all his senses with her. Right then he didn’t care how mad she was that she’d been forced to marry him, or how mad he was that she hadn’t told him she was carrying his child. He just wanted to look at her, to take in the soft smell of her perfume, part roses, part sunshine, all woman.
Her golden hair, piled on top of her head in a soft clump of curls, was slightly mussed on one side where the pile of sheets had rubbed. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and clear and locked on his, and her mouth…He had to taste her mouth.
Completely forgetting their audience, Blake tossed his hat onto the pile of sheets on the floor and reached for the woman in blue calico. He cupped her face in his hands and drew her toward him until their lips were only a breath apart. “Hello, Jess.”
It was the name Jess that finished her. She’d been trying to decide how to gracefully get out of kissing him without causing a scene. But he called her Jess, the way he had that night in San Antonio, in the dark heat of their lovemaking, when he’d branded her as his and planted the seed now growing inside her. At the sound of that name on his lips so close to hers, she was lost. Her eyes slid shut. Her hands reached for his wide shoulders. Her mouth opened to the welcome pressure of his.
The shock was instant and complete. How could she have forgotten the taste of him, the feel of his lips on hers, his hands against her skin? Her senses reeled from the onslaught of emotions unleashed, passions aroused, hunger stirred. She dug her fingers into his shoulders to hold him tight, lest the sweet, sweet dream of him slipped away from her grasp.
“Golly, Grandad, would you look at ’em?”
A bucket of cold water would not have been any more effective in bringing Jessie back to her senses than was Joanna’s giggly voice and the sound of her father clearing his throat.
What was the matter with her, falling into Blake’s arms as though she’d lived and breathed for the sight of him after the way he’d behaved in San Antonio? He’d been only too eager to send her home with her father. He hadn’t cared enough to kiss her at their own wedding, for heaven’s sake. How could she welcome him in such a wanton fashion? And with an audience! And how dare Blake take advantage of her surprise in seeing him!
She tore her mouth from his and jerked back, a powerful rage filling her, taking over. Before she even had the thought, her hand flew out and slapped him. “How dare you show up here a week late and maul me as though I were some trollop you found hanging from a barroom door on Maiden Row.”
Blake reeled back, totally unprepared for her attack. In shock, he rubbed a hand along his stinging cheek. But then, he shouldn’t have been shocked, he knew. Not after their last exchange, and the one before that, and the one before that. He dropped his hand and caught sight of their audience. Both the girl and the man looked like they didn’t know whether to laugh or run. “Maiden Row?”
Travis shifted his weight, not knowing whether to defend his daughter from her new husband’s attentions, or to throw back his head and laugh. The fire in Jessie’s eyes was the first life he’d seen there since he’d brought her home from San Antonio three weeks ago. Dani was right, it seemed. His little girl was going to be fine. She could definitely hold her own with this man. He felt like weeping with relief, and grinning at the same time. The confused look on Renard’s face was priceless.
Travis reached over and pressed his hands over Jo’s ears. “It’s, uh, the, uh, red light district—”
“Oh, Grandad.” Jo shrugged out of his grasp with a look of tolerant disgust. She grinned up at Blake. “It’s a street full of whore houses over in Tucson.”
“Joanna!” Jessie cried.
A large shadow darkened the open front door, and Matt Colton stepped inside with Blake’s saddle bags over his shoulder. He pierced Joanna with a hard look. “What was that I just heard come out of your mouth, young lady?”
Jo looked up at him with an exaggerated look of innocence. “Nothing I haven’t heard you say.”
“Serena!” Matt bellowed. “Get the soap and wash this little girl’s mouth out.”
The two little boys tottered in. Each grasped one of Matt’s legs. The older one giggled. “JoJo’s gonna get it,” he sang. “JoJo’s gonna get it.”
Joanna huffed up like an outraged hen. “I am not a little girl.”
With narrowed eyes, Matt slid the saddle bags to the floor.
“Now, Daddy.” Joanna started backing toward Blake and Jessie, away from Matt Colton, with her hands out to ward him off. “You know we’ve been all through this before. You know I don’t like being called a little girl. I’m a young lady.”
Matt advanced. His lips twitched once before he controlled them. “With words like I just heard coming out of your mouth, you sound more like some gutter rat.”
“Well!” Highly affronted, Joanna plopped her hands on her hips. “What a thing to call your favorite daughter.”
Matt advance again. “You’re my only daughter, and I’m still gonna wash your mouth out, little girl.” He made a grab for her.
Joanna shrieked, giggled, then turned to flee. She ran smack into Daniella Colton.
Daniella grabbed the girl by the shoulders. “What’s going on out here? Blake!”
In the next instant Blake was swamped by Daniella, then Serena, who came on her heels. Both women hugged him and kissed him and laughed.
Stunned, Blake could only submit to their joyous enthusiasm and the maelstrom of voices as everyone spoke at once. Something in his chest squeezed tight. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t thought to be greeted with such exuberance. Not by Jessie, certa
inly, but not her family either. Such boisterous, good natured shouting. For him? He just couldn’t take it all in.
It was confusing and delightful and made his throat tighten with emotion. This was what a family, a real family, should be. This was what he’d craved all his life, this free-flowing affection that spilled from one person to the next.
With people this passionate in their rowdy greeting, he could imagine other times, when the atmosphere wouldn’t be so pleasant. Tempers would explode, harsh words might sting, tears would gush. Then the air would clear and laughter would ring out again.
He felt at once a part of it, yet separate. This wasn’t his family, it was Jessie’s. And he wanted it. Wanted his own family. He wanted, desperately, to build this much love with Jessie and the children they would make.
If, he thought wryly as someone slapped him on the back, he lived through this greeting.
Serena saw his dazed look and laughed. “Welcome to chaos, Blake.”
Daniella squeezed his arm, a gentle look of understanding in her eyes that made his throat hurt. “Welcome to the family, son.”
The lump in his throat expanded.
But amid all the greetings and laughter and teasing, one voice was missing. Blake raised his head, like a wolf sniffing the wind for his mate. He knew she was gone, could feel her absence. He looked anyway, hoping he was wrong.
A flash of blue calico disappeared down the hall.
“Go on,” Daniella said quietly into his ear. “Go after her. Third door on the right.”
Having never been on the receiving end of such demonstrative affection, Blake had never been overly affectionate himself. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had given Lucy a spontaneous hug. It was with some surprise that he found himself hugging his new mother-in-law and kissing her cheek. “Thank you,” he mouthed.
Without a backward glance he slipped through the bodies and the laughter and entered the hall. The third door on the right was closed.
“Hey,” he heard from the entry hall. Joanna, he thought. “Where’d Blake go?”
Apache-Colton Series Page 139
