Apache-Colton Series

by Janis Reams Hudson

  The only thing he couldn’t figure out was, why? Why would she even want him back, knowing what she knew about him?

  Maybe she didn’t believe me.

  Could that be it? If it was, he thought grimly, he wouldn’t have any trouble proving his impotence to her, if he were willing to humiliate himself like that, which he damn sure wasn’t.

  Whatever her game was, he would set her straight and send her home. No way in hell was he going to let her take over his ranch.

  Son of a bitch, he thought as he sat on a hill overlooking Los Alamos and checked out the scene below through binoculars. The little hussy had taken over his ranch! Back near the barn a man was shooing several head of cattle from one corral to another.

  “Unless I miss my guess, that’s Enrique Gonzales,” Pace muttered to himself. What the hell was one of the Triple C’s top hands doing at Los Alamos?

  Pace swung the binoculars back to the house in time to see Joanna step out onto the veranda. Despite his resolve to keep her out of his life, his hungry gaze drank in the sight of her. The sun, slanting low off the western horizon and cutting underneath the roof of the porch, struck fire in her hair. She had it pinned up on top of her head and Pace’s hands ached to remove the pins and feel those soft, silken tresses fall against his arms.

  His mouth went dry with the realization that she was trim again. Trim, yet more rounded. As graceful as ever, but what had once been a feminine yet coltish grace now held a new womanliness that made his pulse pound in places it might as well forget about, because nothing would come of it.

  He almost laughed at his own unintended pun, but the joke was on him. And her, if he didn’t keep her out of his life.

  Someone had repaired the porch swing. At the other end of the veranda from the swing sat a two-foot tall blue wooden box, three feet long and maybe two feet wide. She’d probably planted flowers in it, he thought with a snort. Women did things like that. Something about their nesting instincts, he figured.

  What the hell was she doing indulging her nesting instincts on his ranch? Who had replaced the rotting boards on the porch floor? Who had replaced the missing shingles on the roof?

  It was damn sure he wasn’t going to find out by hiding up on the hill. With resignation, he stuffed the binoculars back into his saddlebag and started down the hill. Facing a hangman’s noose would have been easier than facing Jo again, but he couldn’t let her get away with whatever game she thought she was playing.

  Joanna’s entire body shook. He was coming! She saw him from the corner of her eye, but pretended she didn’t. Kneeling on the floor of the veranda, she dipped her paint brush into the can and began applying a second coat of white paint to the swing.

  When he was close enough that to pretend not to see or hear him would have been entirely too obvious, she replaced the lid on the can of paint and laid the brush across it and stood, wiping her hands on the rag from her apron pocket. “Hello, Pace.”

  He drew the buckskin to a halt five feet from the porch steps and leaned one forearm on the saddle horn. With his other hand he nudged the brim of his hat up so she could see his eyes more clearly. Sharp, narrowed, and as blue as the summer sky, they stared at her.

  He was wearing denims now instead of buckskins. His hair was as long as ever, but the black dye had finally worn away, leaving strands of white threading through his otherwise black hair. He’d never looked so good to her. He sat there for a long minute without speaking, a feast for her starving eyes. Dear God, how she’d missed him!

  “What are you doing, Jo?”

  The quiet voice didn’t fool her. Anger was plain on his face. “Painting the swing,” she answered, her heart in her throat.

  Pace clenched his jaw, took a slow, deep breath, then let it out. “Why are you here at Los Alamos?”

  If her smile was slightly unsteady, she couldn’t help it. “Waiting for you,” she admitted.

  “So I was right,” he bit out. “This is all just a trick of yours to get my attention.”

  Her smile turned wry. “I guess that’s pretty accurate.”

  “Why?” he demanded.

  She took a deep breath for courage. “Because—”

  A loud wail split the still, afternoon air.

  “Chance!” Joanna dashed to the box at the other end of the veranda.

  “What the—” Pace leaped from his horse and rushed onto the porch. “What happened?”

  Joanna lifted a squalling Chance to her shoulder and rubbed his back. “There, there, sweetie, Mama’s sorry. That mean ol’ horsefly was so big he just scared the stuffing right out of you, didn’t he?”

  “Did it bite him?” Pace demanded over his son’s continued cries.

  “No, no, I don’t think so,” Joanna crooned to Chance rather than Pace. “He didn’t bite you, did he, sweetie?”

  “Well? Check him, dammit.”

  “Yes, yes,” she soothed. “We’ll check you, won’t we, sweetie? Come on now, let Mama put you down so we can have a look.” She placed the baby back on his blanket and examined him, with Pace hanging over her shoulder.

  “Do you see anything?” Pace asked anxiously. His warm breath feathered the loose hair at her temple and sent a shiver down her spine.

  “No bites from a horsefly. But a mosquito’s been chowing down on his arm. Come on, big boy, let’s go inside and put some baking soda on that bite, whatdaya say?” She lifted the baby again from his blanket.

  Pace dogged her steps and held the door open for her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “You can thank me by explaining why you keep my son in a damn box outside. Where the hell’s his crib?”

  Over the baby’s head, Joanna looked up at Pace and arched a brow. “His crib is right where it belongs—upstairs in his room. I don’t like to leave him alone and Rosa is doing the wash, so I took him outside with me. Is that all right with you?”

  The sarcastic tone of her question wasn’t lost on Pace. He looked away quickly and muttered, “There ought to be a way to keep him from being eaten alive.” His eyes widened and he looked back at her. “The netting. That’s what you want the netting for.”

  “Ah, you’ve been through Bisbee, have you? Mr. MacIntyre was most helpful, even if he didn’t have what I was looking for.”

  “It’ll be in by the end of the month.”

  “My netting?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Here, hold him a minute.” She thrust Chance into Pace’s arms and turned away quickly before the sight of the two of them together made her cry.

  “Wait,” Pace exclaimed. “Dammit, Jo, I don’t know anything about holding babies.”

  She shot him a quick look, then turned away again. “You’re doing fine. Just don’t let his head flop. Everything else will take care of itself.” She busied herself making a paste of baking soda and water, then dabbed it on the raised welt on her son’s arm. “There, that should stop the itching. Carry him upstairs for me, will you?”

  Pace paused as if he wasn’t sure he should agree, then nodded. “Upstairs.”

  Upstairs, Joanna made sure that it was Pace who laid Chance in his crib. If Pace could resist the pull of his own son, then he wasn’t the man Joanna wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

  Pace leaned over the crib for a long moment, and Joanna saw the aching yearning in his eyes. He was not unmoved by the flesh of his flesh, and her heart started to melt. He stepped away from the crib and looked around the room, his eyes settling on the double windows in the east wall.

  “If we had some screen wire, we could leave the windows open and cool this room down some when it’s hot.”

  We. Joanna’s eyes misted. To hide that fact, she turned for the door. “Where would we find screen?”

  Pace followed her downstairs. “One of the stores in Tombstone is bound to have some, or can get it. But Jo, you can’t stay here.”

  Joanna stopped in the middle of the front room and turned to face him. “Why not?”

&nb
sp; “Why not?” he cried. “You can’t run this place by yourself.”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  “Okay, so you’ve got Enrique and Rosa to help, but that’s not enough. Enrique’s a fine worker, would make a good foreman, but only if there’s somebody around to give him orders.”

  Joanna squared her shoulders and prepared to fight for her life, for her son’s life. For Pace’s life. “You can give Enrique the orders he needs.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t, Jo.”

  “You mean won’t.”

  “All right, won’t.”

  “You’ll leave us here, then?”

  “No, I’ll take you home.”

  “This is home.”

  He shook his head again. “The Triple C is your home.”

  “You’re wrong, Pace. Los Alamos is your ranch. That makes it my home, and Chance’s. This ranch is our son’s legacy. He and I are here to stay. I’d hoped…you would want to stay with us.”

  “After what I told you when I left the last time?” he cried in disbelief. “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “I heard you.”

  “But you don’t believe it.”

  “Believe what, that you’re not a real man anymore? No, I don’t believe it.”

  “What do you expect me to do, prove it to you?”

  “I expect you to give us and our marriage a chance,” she fired back.

  “The only chance we have is the one upstairs in that crib. You damn sure picked the right name for him. As for you and me, there’s no way I’ll stay here and put either one of us through the hell our lives would become. No way, Jo.”

  “This hell you speak of,” she said. “Would it be any worse than the hell of never seeing each other again? For you it might not be so bad. If you ever think you want to see me or Chance, to know if we’re all right, if we’re taking care of ourselves, you’ll know right where to find us. You can ride in, take a look around to satisfy yourself that we’re all right, and you can ride right out again. But what about me?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean, what am I supposed to do when I can’t stand not knowing where you are, if you’re all right, if you’re happy, warm, well-fed? If you’re even still alive, for God’s sake? I’ll never know where you are unless you choose to tell me. What if something happens to Chance? How will I find you? What if something happens to me? Will you leave Chance to be raised by relatives, let him grow up thinking his father wants nothing to do with him, when all the time it was only his mother you didn’t want?”

  “Didn’t want?” Pace clenched his fists at his sides. “You think I don’t want you? My God, woman, I want you until I’m half crazy with it.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” she shouted at him in fear, frustration, determination.

  “The problem is,” he shouted back, “that I can’t do a damn thing about it!”

  Joanna reined in her rioting emotions as best she could and strove for a reasonable tone. “Explain it to me, Pace. Explain exactly what’s wrong.”

  A harsh laugh burst from his throat. “You know what’s wrong, you just won’t believe it.”

  “What I believe is that you don’t believe you’re the same man I fell in love with.” When he smirked, she lost her temper again. “Dammit, Pace it’s not what’s between your legs that makes you a man, it’s what’s in here.” She thumped a fist against his chest, right over his heart. “I didn’t fall in love with your crotch you, fool—”

  “Joanna!”

  “I fell in love with you.”

  “Listen to me!” Pace gripped her shoulders and gave her a slight shake. “Do you remember the day we made love? Do you?”

  “I’ll remember that day until I die.” Her anger gone, she touched his stubbled cheek with her fingers. “It was one year ago today.”

  “I know.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up, then down. “Do you remember what it was like? Do you remember how it felt when I was buried so deep inside you that we couldn’t tell where one of us stopped and the other started?”

  “Yes.” Gripping his arms, she closed her eyes to hold the vision tightly inside her heart. “Yes, I remember.”

  Pace let go of her and dropped his arms to his sides. Bleak lines of pain etched his face. “I can’t give you that anymore. I can never give you those feelings, those sensations again.”

  Don’t fight fair, girl, Kali had told her. Fight as dirty as you have to. Dare him. Shock him. If you want him, do whatever it takes to get him to stick around long enough to try again, and to keep trying again and again.

  Joanna stepped back, propped her hands on her hips, and dared him with a look. “You can’t, huh?”

  “No, goddammit, I can’t!”

  “What happened, did your hands and mouth stop working too?”

  It took a minute for him to get her meaning—that there were other ways to give her pleasure. When the words sank in, shock that she would speak in such a manner registered comically on his face. “Joanna!”

  “Do you know you only call me that when you’re angry or upset?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’ve made more than one dirty crack today. Where’d you pick up such a gutter mouth? I don’t think I like it.”

  “I don’t recall asking for your approval. What I asked was that you stay.” He opened his mouth to speak—she saw the denial in his eyes, watched it form on his lips—and she cut him off. “So help me, if you tell me one more time about what’s best for me, no one will ever find all the pieces of your body.”

  “If I stay with you, you won’t have to kill me! I’ll die one piece at a time every time I see you or hear you laugh, every time I walk in a room where you’ve been and smell your fragrance. Every time I admit to myself how much I want you, then remember that I can’t do a goddamned thing about it. Hell, part of me curls up and dies every time I just think about you, don’t you know that?”

  “No,” she whispered, aching for him, for herself. For them. “I didn’t know, Pace. How could I? You’ve never told me before. All I know is that you keep leaving me. You say you can’t make love to me anymore. How do you know until we try?”

  As she watched, all emotion drained from his face. She could have kicked herself for asking such a question. If he answered truthfully, she knew what he would say and she didn’t want to hear it.

  “I have tried,” he said woodenly.

  It was three full breaths before she could speak in anything calmer than a shriek. “Oh, really?”

  He glanced at her, then looked quickly away. His fists and his jaw were clenched tight. “More than once.”

  Joanna hadn’t known until then that fury could be cold. Hers turned her blood to ice. “More than once?”

  “That’s right.”

  “With whom did you try?”

  “Nobody you know.”

  She tried, she honestly tried to bite back the acid that rose in to her throat. She failed. Her fists matched his for hardness. “How dare you!”

  Finally an expression crossed his face—wariness. “Joanna, it’s not what you think.”

  “How dare you take something that belongs to me and give it to another woman. More than once.”

  “I didn’t! I told you, in the end, I couldn’t. It didn’t work.”

  “It damn sure better not have worked! If it had, you wouldn’t have to bother worrying that that thing you’re so proud of seems to be failing you, because I’d cut the damn thing—”

  “Joanna!”

  “—off! No wonder it didn’t work, you fool! You tried it out on the wrong woman! Don’t!” She held up her hand to stop him from speaking. “If you’re about to tell me you tried it with more than one, I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I, uh…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “No, I wasn’t going to say that. I guess this means you don’t want me to stay after all.”

  “That’s not what it means. It means don’t you ever take what’s mine and offer it to another woman, P
ace Colton. Don’t you ever!”

  “Damn, Firefly, don’t cry.”

  Joanna swiped at her tears with the back of her hand, but more took their place. “Don’t tell me not to cry.” Sniff. “Maybe I like crying. And don’t call me Firefly. Not if you’re just going to leave again.” Sniff.

  A heavy weight that felt like defeat bore down on Pace’s chest. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have tempted himself with the sight of her. He should never have let her pull him into this conversation, because he had hurt her so damn bad, when all he wanted to do was protect her from his own inadequacies.

  But who was supposed to protect him? How could he stand there and watch her cry, hear the pain in her voice, and walk away? Staying would kill him and might very well destroy what feelings she still had for him, but God help him, he wasn’t strong enough to walk away again.

  His voice, when he spoke, sounded rusty, his words, unsure. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking for, but I’ll stay until you’re ready to go home, until you realize that life with half a man is not what you want.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Pace stayed, but not in the manner Joanna had dreamed of. He acted like a hired hand. He tried to go so far as to sleep in the bunkhouse the first night, but Joanna threatened bodily harm if he did.

  “Dammit, Jo, you expect me to sleep with you? I’ve already told you more than once—”

  “I know what you told me. I believe you, all right? But I thought this was something you intended to keep between us. Would you shout the news to Enrique and Rosa, and whoever else they might tell, that Pace Colton prefers to sleep anywhere, as long as it’s not with his wife? Would you shame me like that?”

  She won that round. She wasn’t proud of her tactics, but pride be damned. She and Pace would never have a chance at a real marriage if he wouldn’t even sleep under the same roof with her.

  So he slept under the same roof with her, technically. He spread his bedroll out in the empty bedroom downstairs.

  “This is not what I had in mind,” she muttered to herself as she went to bed that night, angry, hurt. Alone.