Montoya's Heart

by Bonnie Gardner

  As far as she knew, Rance’s legs were fine. More than fine, she thought distractedly as she eyed the corded muscles that displayed all their leashed power in spite of the bruised flesh. His powerful legs had carried him downstairs, Maggie reminded herself. They would take him back up. “Okay. Here’s the plan,” Maggie announced, hoping her brusque manner would mask the concern she felt.

  Rance looked at Maggie absently, as if he hadn’t realized she was there. “What?”

  “You’re going upstairs.”

  “Oh, yeah. But how did I get down here?” Rance looked blank, definitely showing the effects of his medication.

  If it hadn’t been so serious, Maggie would have laughed. Rance looked downright addled, but she knew an intelligent and very real man was in there, hiding behind the painkillers.

  “You’re going to have to walk up the stairs.” Maggie waited for her statement to register. When it looked as if it had, she continued, “I’ll be right behind you to catch you if you lose your balance.”

  That tactic always worked with toddlers, but Maggie was not at all certain she would be able to catch and hold Rance if he should fall. Her one hundred twenty-eight pounds were no match for his well-muscled bulk. She took a deep breath and prayed to whatever spirits were listening for help.

  “Are you up to it?”

  “I guess I have to be.” Ranee set his jaw and stared determinedly at the stairs. “Let’s do it.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened as Rance resolutely put his foot on the first step. That seemed easy enough. He pulled the other foot up. A spasm of pain marred his handsome face, but he lifted the other foot.

  One step done and eleven more to go, Maggie thought as she watched Rance’s determined progress. He advanced another step, and she couldn’t help admiring the way his well-defined muscles worked together to propel him upward. His rate of ascent increased, and his determined efforts gained momentum. He actually charged up the stairs, making Maggie hurry behind him.

  She reached the top and caught Rance, who was swaying dangerously. Whatever had given him the strength to negotiate the stairs had deserted him at the summit. Even in the dim light of the hallway, Maggie could see beads of perspiration on his forehead that hadn’t been there before.

  She offered her hand to steady him, and Rance took it, closing his long fingers over hers. His muscles trembled from the exertion, and Maggie wondered how much longer he could hold himself up. She willed herself to pass some of her strength on to his fatigued and trembling body, while she watched to see if he would fall.

  “I think we made it,” Rance muttered, his breath still coming hard.

  “Don’t talk, it’ll just make it worse. Let’s get you back to bed.” Maggie wanted to put her arms around Rance to hold him up, but she didn’t, partly because she was well aware of his taped ribs, and partly because of what she was feeling inside.

  In spite of his pain, in spite of all the medication that kept him going, Rance Montoya was very much a man. And Maggie was just as much a woman. This enigmatic man, full of contradictions and masculine stubbornness, had touched her in a way no man had since Chet. She didn’t even know who Rance really was, but she was physically attracted to him. And it scared her to death.

  Her feet seemed to carry her to Rance’s room without her consciously telling them to, but once there, her maternal instincts took over. She helped Rance lower himself to the bed until he was seated on the edge.

  “Thanks, Maggie.” Rance’s strong, callused hands closed over hers.

  “You’re wel—” Maggie stopped, stunned, as Rance brought her hands to his mouth and kissed them. A faint tingle crept up her arm as she felt Rance’s lips on her hand. If she had been the type of person to swoon, she would have. She looked into his dark eyes, darker now from the pain. His gaze locked with hers and seemed to pull her in as he let go of her hands and touched her face. He gently caressed her cheek, his thumb teasing her lower lip.

  “I want so much to kiss you,” Rance whispered, low and husky. “A real kiss,” he amended. “But I won’t. I don’t think I’d want to stop with a kiss, and I doubt I could go further right now.” With that, he released Maggie’s trembling fingers and eased himself carefully into a sitting position on the bed.

  “Hell,” he muttered, and grasped Maggie at the curve of her neck, his clumsy fingers surprisingly gentle. “I won’t be able to sleep until I know what I can dream about.”

  Rance pulled her to him with a strength she hadn’t imagined he had. She knew better than to resist. Not because she feared him, but because a sudden movement might startle him and make him fall. She brushed a quick kiss across his lips and tried to ease away. He needed rest, she tried to convince herself, though the gentle ache deep inside her urged her to follow his lead. “That’ll have to do for now,” she told him lightly. “You need to sleep.”

  But Rance’s will was stronger than hers, and he pulled her to him. “I won’t. Not until I know how this feels...” His voice trailed off as he pulled her face toward his. Knowing it would be easier to give in than to resist, Maggie met him halfway. Not that it was a great sacrifice, for she needed the kiss as much as he wanted it.

  His lips met hers, and Maggie closed her eyes, wondering how she could be drowning in waves of sensation, when he must be nearly dead with pain. But the way his lips moved over hers, taking and tasting, belied any discomfort he might have. And when his tongue sought invitation, Maggie parted her lips to let him explore. Then, all too quickly, it was over.

  Rance sighed. Or groaned. He leaned back slowly, grimacing from the strain. “It was everything I’d expected and more,” he whispered, his face beaded with sweat. “But I’m afraid I’m just not up to doing us justice right now.”

  She watched as Rance lowered himself gingerly to the mattress. That was better. All he’d needed was a goodnight kiss. Maggie reached over to adjust the covers, trying to ignore the hot breath that brushed her cheek as she leaned across him.

  “I’d feel a lot better if you’d stay here beside me,” he whispered. “What if I try to get up again?”

  Maggie closed her eyes and breathed an aggravated sigh. Rance’s argument was hard to ignore, and she reluctantly joined him on the bed. She lay on top of the light spread, as far away from him as she could be and still be touching him, her back modestly turned to him. He shifted slightly and draped his arm possessively across her. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  Or was it?

  But it felt so good to be lying next to him in the quiet dark of night Maggie convinced herself she would just stay with him until he fell asleep.

  The hand caressing her hip so possessively stroked and teased and sent her nearly to the brink of madness. More than once she tried to get up, and more than once his languid ministrations kept her snug with him. Maggie closed her eyes, feeling the half-forgotten moves of love and wondering what it would be like to complete the act with this man who so intrigued her. And frightened her just as much.

  Her breath grew ragged as his fingers wandered up her side to the curve of her breast. Her breath caught as he moved his hand closer to her heart, and her heart beat furiously when he stopped in response to her instinctive reaction. After an endless moment, he resumed his teasing exploration. His fingers probed and massaged until Maggie’s traitorous nipples beaded into hard, throbbing nubs, and a once familiar aching trailed from his exploring fingers to the deepest part of her being. For one brief moment, she wished he was capable of making love to her.

  Whatever Rance had taken to relieve the pain seemed to have relaxed his inhibitions. Almost as if he’d sensed her need for completion, his hand moved lower, stroking her hip, her thigh, until he reached the hem of her dress. Gently his fingers closed around the cotton fabric. Slowly, inexorably, the material inched upward in his grasping hand. Then he touched bare skin.

  Maggie’s breath stopped for an instant as she felt the warmth of his fingers on her skin. When she became accustomed to the heat there, s
he breathed again. But it was only a moment of ease, because his hand began to move again until he reached the brief scrap of cotton that covered her most private spot.

  If he withdrew his hand now, Maggie would die of frustration, but she was certain that if it stayed she would never be able to look him in the eyes again. He paused. Had the sedating medication made him more sensitive to her needs than he would have been otherwise?

  His searching fingers found the tender spot at the center of her being, and though a thin barrier of cotton separated his exploring hand from her, he began to caress and massage until Maggie found herself straining to increase the sensations of pleasure that were flooding through her. Her breath grew ragged and harsh, and she feared that the noise would stop him.

  What was she afraid of? That he would stop? Or that he wouldn’t.

  Wave after wave of sensation flooded through her. Helpless to resist, Maggie felt herself drowning in a sea of dark and forbidden pleasure. She rode the waves, rising and falling, until she reached the climax, then the last giant wave lifted her higher and higher, leaving her breathless and gasping with shuddering release.

  If only he could have joined her in the final moment of satisfaction.

  He must have been feeling the same as she, for he groaned—it was a ragged, heart-wrenching sound of frustration—and withdrew his hand, leaving her cold and surprisingly bereft. He hugged her to him, and after what seemed like an eternity, his breathing slowed. Had he fallen asleep?

  Maggie waited a few minutes longer to be certain he had sunk deep within the arms of sleep, then eased herself out of his possessive grasp, holding her breath for fear that her breathing might wake him. She rolled quietly off the mattress, wincing at the gentle creak, then stood for a moment and watched him. Certain that the gentle rise and fall of his chest meant he was safely asleep, she tiptoed back to her haven in the chair.

  Rance looked across the room to where Maggie dozed. With the greatest difficulty, he had feigned sleep, allowing her to escape. Anything to keep her from tempting him further. As much as he wanted her, there was no way he could do anything about it in his present condition. And he wasn’t fool enough to prolong the torture.

  So he had let her creep quietly out of his bed and resume her position in the chair across the room. It was a sacrifice, but maybe the wait would be worth it, when he finally did make love to her. And he knew as surely as he knew the sun would rise in the morning that he would. And she would love him back.

  He had accomplished something, though. Before now, he hadn’t been sure how Maggie would feel about his attentions. Then he’d seen the light in her eyes as they gazed into his soul. She hadn’t pulled away, and her response had told him more than volumes full of words could have.

  Maggie wanted him as much as he wanted her. He hated that he would have to wait to make her his. He didn’t just need time to heal; he needed to find out who he was. Everything would come together someday. Knowing that would have to hold him for now.

  Rance closed his eyes and hoped to dream. Not the same dream that had haunted his sleep in recent days. He wanted to dream of Maggie.

  Maggie woke with a start.

  Feelings churned through her that she had once thought she would never feel again. Her heart beat erratically in her breast, and she pressed her palm against it to still its frantic pounding. She feared that its insistent drumbeat would wake Rance and alert him to her distressed state. She willed herself to sit in the old recliner across from him and watch him sleep as she waited for her heart to return to normal speed.

  That Rance wanted her was an exhilarating thought, but frightening at the same time. It had been so long since she gave herself to a man, and she didn’t trust her roiling emotions.

  For that matter, how did Rance really feel? He would probably remember nothing in the morning. He’d taken enough drugs to knock out an elephant. Elephants might never forget, but Maggie hoped Rance would. How could she have allowed him to caress such an intimate part of her? How could she have let him give her such pleasure when he was in so much pain?

  Her face burned with embarrassment and shame at the knowledge that she had enjoyed the experience. What kind of wanton woman would allow a man she barely knew such access to her body and her secrets? And when the man was supposed to be in her care?

  Please let him not remember, she prayed silently. Let him think this was all the effect of the painkilling drugs.

  If Rance forgot what had happened between them, Maggie wouldn’t have to deal with it, and perhaps that would be best. She wasn’t certain she could handle those reawakened urges, after suppressing them for so long. And she wasn’t sure she could face him.

  Maggie glanced over at Rance. Her eyes caressed his brow and memorized the lines of his strong face, his jaw shadowed with night and a new growth of beard. She didn’t know what to do about him when he woke up in the morning, much less at some unknown time in the future. The prospect was frightening. And wonderful.

  Maybe if she’d taken one of those horse pills that Rance had, she would be able to sleep now. But she couldn’t. She had a job to do. A responsibility. Maggie sat in her chair and stared across the room to where Rance slept. She knew she shouldn’t envy his sleep; he needed it to heal his injured body. But she was tired, and she needed to sleep, too. She had a job to do, she reminded herself again, and she had to stay awake. She couldn’t just assume that the next time Rance decided to walk in his sleep he would be able to negotiate the house safely.

  Maggie sighed, picked up a newsmagazine, and tried to read it.

  Help me. I’m here.

  Maggie looked up, instantly alert. Had she heard something? Or just imagined it? She held her breath, hoping the sound would come again.

  She hadn’t imagined it. Maggie was positive that something had gotten her attention. And it wasn’t Rance. The sound hadn’t come from his direction. It hadn’t come from any direction. Yet she was sure she had heard something. Or felt it. Maggie had the impression that somebody needed her. She cocked her head and listened again, straining to filter out the other night sounds.

  Whatever it was, it was gone. Or at least now it was quiet. There was no sense sitting around scaring herself, like the last time she’d stayed in this house—in this very room, she remembered. But it was different this time.

  The first time, when she was sixteen years old, something had frightened her. Frightened her so badly that she ran from the house, all the way back to her own home. What she heard this time wasn’t really frightening. She turned back to her magazine.

  I’m here.

  There it was again! This time, Maggie didn’t bother to look up. She had been listening for a sound, she realized, but she hadn’t heard one. She’d felt it. It hadn’t come from somewhere outside the room. It had come from within. Not from inside the room. Inside her!

  Maggie shook her head, trying to expunge the notion she was formulating. She was a practical, educated woman, and paranormal experiences were things that she hadn’t thought about since she was an impressionable kid. Yet since Rance Montoya had moved into this house, every bit of her grown-up sensibility had deserted her.

  The longer she stayed here, the surer she became that someone was calling to her from the other side. Had called her years before, and was calling her now. She had sensed something. Call it ESP. Call it a hunch. Call it whatever you wanted.

  Somebody was trying to get her attention.

  And, more than that, whatever she’d heard beckoning her had a decidedly feminine aura.

  Her scalp began to tingle, and Maggie reached up to smooth her hair down, although it wasn’t really standing on end. She laughed nervously at the silliness of her impulsive action and quickly pulled her hand away.

  “Get a grip, Maggie,” she told herself. “There’s no mysterious dead woman connected with this house.” She started when the words hit the air. She hadn’t realized she was voicing her thoughts aloud.

  Rance stirred, and Maggie glanced over
to him. The last thing she needed to do was wake him. He murmured something unintelligible, then settled again. Maggie breathed more easily. How could she have let her imagination run so rampant? Voices calling, indeed.

  I need your help.

  There it was again. The same thing she’d heard that night twenty years ago. A silent plea for help. Only then she hadn’t understood.

  Maggie scrambled to her feet, and was halfway down the dark hallway before she realized what she was doing. Yet the feminine entity compelled her to continue.

  She crept down the unlit hallway, silently trying to talk herself out of this foolishness, but helpless to stop herself. She tugged open the cellar door and grimaced as the smell of decay and neglect assaulted her nose again. Maggie yanked on the light string as she hurried down the stairs. Almost as if she were being pulled, she found herself drawn to the same place where she’d found Rance earlier.

  Had Rance heard the same entreaty? That must be it. He had obeyed the same unheard summons as she now did. More fascinated than frightened, she let her instinct draw her on.

  Just like Rance before her, Maggie found herself facing the bare cinder-block wall in the cellar. She stopped and stared. She couldn’t go any farther.

  Remembering the slew of paperback ghost stories she’d read as a girl, Maggie first thought that there was a hidden door. She glanced around for any sort of protruding object that she could push or pull. But the wall was smooth. There wasn’t a knob, there wasn’t a knot, there wasn’t so much as a mouse hole as far as she could see.

  Maggie reached out and tentatively touched the wall.

  Yes!

  She glanced behind her, knowing that no one would be there. The internal voice had increased in intensity.

  Gooseflesh formed, and Maggie shivered as she felt the dampness that had settled on the clammy blocks. No one was there. She shouldn’t be here. She should be upstairs with Rance, where she belonged.

  Knowing full well that her duty to Rance wasn’t the real reason for her retreat, Maggie turned and hurried upstairs.