Montoya's Heart

by Bonnie Gardner

  “I need to get something,” he said, and headed for the kitchen. Rance located the bottle that Maggie had left on the table and unscrewed it with shaking fingers. He poured a good two inches into the glass and tossed it back. He hadn’t been much of a drinking man, but he needed the stuff now. His body felt chilled to the bone, and he would do anything just to ward off the cold.

  “You can bring it with you if you want.” Maggie had come up behind him, and Rance spun around guiltily. “It’s okay,” she said reassuringly. She took the bottle and tightened the cap. “We’ll take it with us.”

  Mutely Rance followed her to the door. Potts and his deputy had seated themselves in the living room and were discussing something in low tones. Rance didn’t want to think about them or what they were thinking. He didn’t want to think at all.

  Maggie waited at the door, and Rance followed slowly, grateful to be spared any more discussions. When he reached her, she pushed the door open and stepped outside. Rance started to follow, but stopped and looked back.

  Potts glanced up. “It’s all right, son. We’ll call you as soon as we find something.”

  Rance nodded and followed Maggie outside to her minivan. He watched as she took the driver’s seat, and then he tugged open the passenger door and settled in beside her.

  The little trailer house looked warm and welcoming in the late-night darkness as Maggie pulled the van into the lane and drew to a stop in front She’d left the lights on in her earlier haste, and now the cheery glow invited them in. Such a contrast to the eerie Hightower place.

  “I know it won’t be easy for you, but I think you should try to get some sleep,” Maggie told Rance as they walked up to the door.

  Rance didn’t respond, but Maggie hadn’t expected him to. She wondered if he was in shock, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he was.

  “You can sleep in my bed,” Maggie told Rance as she opened the door. “I’ll be just down the hall in Jennifer’s room, if you need anything.”

  He nodded slowly as Maggie showed the way.

  The bed was still rumpled, the covers tossed and tangled from her sleepless thrashing earlier. Though it would be perfectly normal to find a bed rumpled at this time of night, Maggie fought the urge to blush. The only man she’d ever had in her bedroom before was her wedded husband.

  She glanced at the clock, half hidden on the floor. It was 2:00 a.m. Had it only been two hours since she heard the sounds that sent her running to Rance’s house?

  Maggie set the bourbon on the nightstand and smoothed the bedclothes. She turned down one side. When she bent to retrieve the pillow she’d tossed to the floor, the clock thumped to the carpet. “I’ll just take this and put it in the kitchen,” she murmured, displaying the clock. “It makes an awful racket when you’re trying to sleep.”

  “Fine.” Rance sank heavily onto the bed, hugging his arm to his ribs. He reached for the bottle and grimaced. It was plain as day that he’d reinjured himself. He unscrewed the lid.

  “I’ll bring you a glass.”

  “Okay.”

  “And some liniment, if you need it,” Maggie added as she saw his jaw clench and his face harden as he raised the bottle to his lips. “I’ll be right back.”

  The liniment was not where she thought it was, and it took several minutes for Maggie to locate it finally on top of the refrigerator. Carrying it and the glass, she hurried back to the bedroom.

  Rance had gotten undressed and into the bed. His clothes lay folded neatly at his feet, and his shoes were lined up carefully along the side. He had propped up the pillows behind him and lay on his back, with the sheet pulled up over his hips and arranged carefully at his waist. His eyes were closed, but Maggie knew he wasn’t sleeping.

  Her breath left her at the sight. As needy as Rance might be this night, he was still a magnificent man. And it had been a long time since there was a man in her bed—even if she wouldn’t be there with him. She would have had to be dead not to appreciate the sight of him, and Maggie was definitely not dead.

  She paused at the door, taking a moment to control her speeding heart. She tried to banish the erotic thoughts that had suddenly come charging to mind. Yes, Maggie, she told herself. He needs you tonight, but not for that.

  “Do you want me to pour you another drink?” she asked breezily as she tried to pretend that she was not looking at a nearly naked man in her bed.

  Rance opened his eyes and lethargically waved her away. “I don’t need any more,” he said languidly. “Just give me the liniment.”

  Maggie handed him the bottle and watched as he tried to unscrew the top. The bottle was old, and the cap stuck. Rance’s face paled as he tried to wrench the top free.

  “Let me run some hot water on it. That should loosen the lid,” she told him. He handed the bottle back to her, and Maggie hurried out.

  It took a moment for the water in the bathroom to run hot, so Maggie took a quick inventory of herself in the mirror. She wished she hadn’t. Her hair was disheveled, and she wore no trace of makeup to darken her pale lashes or to cover her freckles. She resisted the urge to powder her nose, reminding herself that she was there in the capacity of nurse, not...lover?

  Tossing her head in an attempt to banish the errant thought, she found it hard to ignore since she and Rance had already become lovers. Maggie tested the water. It was hot enough. She let the scalding water run over the sticky lid, and after a moment it was loose enough to open. Unscrewing the top, she padded back to the bedroom.

  “Got it open,” she announced as she entered.

  “Thanks.” Rance reached for the bottle.

  “Well, I’ll go now.” Maggie started to leave, but a muffled groan of pain called her back. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” he said through clenched teeth. “I just got some of that stuff into one of the cuts.” He sucked in another sharp breath.

  “Maybe I can do it. I can maneuver around the raw spots better than you can,” Maggie volunteered.

  Rance hissed again. Had he found another cut with the stinging medicine? Maggie didn’t think that was the only reason he had made that sound, but it was too late to back out now. Was he reacting to the medicine? Or to her?

  “Thank you,” he said huskily.

  Rance placed the bottle of liniment in Maggie’s outstretched hand, careful not to touch her porcelain skin. He was conscious of the rising color in her face; she had the kind of complexion that made it hard for her to hide anything, and he knew she was remembering what had happened earlier. Had that just been a few hours ago?

  . It seemed as if a lifetime had passed. And now everything had changed. He knew she was as uncomfortable as he was about the situation, but there was nothing he could do now. They’d started on this path; they would have to finish the walk to see where it went.

  Maggie’s eyes widened as his fingers briefly touched hers, but she lowered her eyes quickly as even more color flooded her face. Was she sorry she’d made love with him?

  Why was it that every time he was alone in a bedroom with Maggie, she was nurse and he was her patient? Well, almost every time. He was in the right place but the wrong situation again. Rance felt a tightening in his groin as he watched Maggie pour some of the liniment into her cupped hand. He willed his body not to react as she rubbed the pungent liquid into her hands to warm it. He wasn’t successful.

  “Tell me where to put it,” Maggie said, her voice breathy and soft.

  Pointing with his hand, Rance indicated the lower right side of his chest, just below the nipple. He had situated himself on the left side of the bed and Maggie had to climb across the sheets to reach him. That was a mistake, but it was too late to change it now. He watched as she inched across the mattress toward him.

  Rance sucked in a lungful of air as Maggie’s fingers, slick with the warming balm, touched his chilled flesh.

  “Did I hurt you?” she asked, alarm on her face.

  “No,” he answered huskily. You definitely put me in pa
in, but not the kind you meant, he didn’t say. He closed his eyes and tried to think of anything unpleasant enough to keep his body from reacting to her gentle touch.

  Maggie’s fingers caressed him lightly, massaging the healing liquid into his sore muscles. Her touch was light, but still he flinched as the liniment occasionally found the raw spots left by the flying chips of concrete and cement.

  Her anointing fingers forced the soreness out of his muscles as she caressed and massaged. The liniment worked quickly, and Rance should have told Maggie to stop, but her soft fingers on his bare skin felt too good to refuse. He reveled in the sensation as her fingers tenderly worked heat into his muscles and into his soul, and he could not prevent a low moan from escaping his tortured lips.

  Maggie stopped abruptly. “Did I hurt you?” she asked, alarmed.

  Rance drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “No. It feels too good.” He pulled the sheet up to disguise his all-too-evident desire for her. “I think that did it,” he whispered huskily. “Thank you.”

  The door closed behind her. The gentle click of the mechanism belied the finality of the simple action. Maggie had seen Rance pull the covers up to conceal his body’s response to her. She sighed. Was it regret or relief? It was all too apparent that Rance did not want to stay, in spite of his body’s reaction.

  If he had only asked, she would have stayed. But he had all but sent her away.

  Maggie paused in the hallway, undecided. Should she go back to Rance and try to change his mind? Or should she just shrug it off and go to bed—alone?

  She did neither. Instead, she went back into the bathroom and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Had seeing the “real her” doused the flame that had burned so bright earlier in the evening?

  Her light robe was streaked with dirt and traces of Rance’s blood. Maggie grimaced and resisted the urge to peel it off. She might need to check on him again, and she wanted to be appropriately covered. Even if he had already seen everything the garment concealed. She washed the pungent-smelling ointment off her hands, soaping and rinsing twice. Then she splashed water on her face, repeating the same ritual she had performed hours before.

  She always washed her face, brushed her teeth and combed the tangles out of her hair before she went to bed. She might have done it already tonight, but she was starting over, trying to sleep again. She knew there was no chance of success if she didn’t perform her regular nighttime routine, no matter how late it was. She looked into the mirror again.

  She tugged the comb through her unruly curls with more force than usual, catching it on every tangle and snarl. Tears sprang to her eyes as the comb snagged on yet another knot. Finally it ran through without encountering obstacles. Maggie put the comb down.

  Only then did she realize that tears were streaming from her eyes. She wiped at them with the back of her hand and blotted her face with a towel, trying to convince herself that the pain from the tangles had made her cry. Or maybe she’d gotten some liniment in her eyes. But she knew that neither excuse was the real reason. Maggie had experienced her first rejection since those awkward days as a teenager. Funny, it seemed to hurt even worse now.

  She looked again into the mirror and forced herself to smile. Not that it would help much. Now she not only had invisible eyelashes and visible freckles, but puffy, red eyes, as well. She snorted in disgust.

  There was no way she would sleep at all.

  Get a grip, Callahan, she told herself. Stop acting like a lovesick teenager. She drew in a deep breath that turned into a sigh and stepped into the hall.

  The hallway was dark except for a thin sliver of light leaking from under her bedroom door. Could he not sleep, either? Maggie started toward Jennifer’s room, then stopped. She turned, mentally debating the pros and cons of going to Rance.

  Her common sense won the argument. She turned back toward Jennifer’s room.

  “Maggie?” Rance’s voice came soft and muffled through the closed door. He sounded as tenuous and uncertain as she felt. Or did the distance and Maggie’s imagination give her hope?

  “Yes?”

  There was a long silence. Too long. Maybe Rance had only called her name to identify the sound he’d heard in the hall. Curiosity satisfied, he had no other reason to talk. Maggie started back toward the other room, and the empty bed meant for one.

  “Please don’t go.”

  Maggie stopped. Did he want her? Or did he need something? Like aspirin, or a drink of water?

  She responded slowly, not certain what Rance wanted of her. She turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open.

  Rance’s handsome face was drawn and pinched, but he smiled as she stepped into the room. Maggie’s heart leaped as she positioned herself at the foot of the bed, waiting. “What do you need?”

  “I need you,” Rance said softly, barely loud enough to hear. Had she only imagined what she wanted him to say to her? “I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Stay with me, Margaret Rose.” He offered his hand to her.

  Her full name sounded like a caress on Rance’s lips, sensuous and soft. He pronounced it lovingly, smoothing out the syllables and giving it a life of its own. How could she refuse him?

  Maggie harbored no illusions that Rance needed more than a warm body to help him through the night, but for now it was enough. There had been no talk of love, no whispered promises. Earlier, they had just been two people alone in a romantic situation. Now he needed nothing more than comfort. But she needed it, too. She stepped forward and accepted Rance’s outstretched hand.

  Rance’s breath caught in his throat as Maggie’s soft fingers touched his. How easily a man could get used to this—and he was a man weary of being alone.

  Maggie’s trembling fingers were cool on his heated flesh. Or was it he who was shaking? Maggie slid onto the edge of the bed and waited, primly, almost virginal in her demure white nightdress. She had an ethereal, Victorian look about her, with her simple gown and her softly flowing mantle of carrot curls, but he remembered the passion she’d displayed in his bed. Had it only been a few hours since she was there? So much had happened in such a short time.

  She must have sensed his thoughts. Self-consciously Maggie reached up and smoothed her hair, as if to douse the flames.

  “Turn out the light,” Rance whispered huskily.

  She did.

  “I’m a little new at this,” Maggie murmured softly. “In spite of what happened earlier.”

  Good. She had brought it up. Rance held his breath and took a long moment to ponder his next move. “It’s all right,” he told her carefully. “I’m a little shaky, too.”

  The curtains were open, and moonlight bathed her in enough light for him to see her smile. He reached out and gently touched her velvety-soft face. He traced the outline of her lips with uncertain fingers. “Lie beside me, Margaret Rose. I need to hold you.”

  “I like the way you say that,” Maggie whispered breathlessly. She turned away and fumbled with the sash of her robe.

  “You like what?”

  “The way you say Margaret Rose,” she explained as she loosened the tie. “I always hated it when I was growing up, but you make it sound different. Intimate.” Her voice was soft and breathy.

  The fabric covering her nightgown slid away from Maggie’s shoulders and pooled around her feet. She turned shyly back to Rance, drew a shaky breath, and lifted the sheet, sliding under it in one graceful motion.

  It took all the self-control he had to keep from grabbing Maggie and clutching her to his pounding chest, but he forced himself to wait until she had settled beside him. She rolled to her side and faced him, pillowing her head with one bent arm. With the other, Maggie found Rance and touched his hand.

  “Hold me, Margaret Rose. I need you.” Rance hardly recognized his own raspy, emotion-filled voice.

  Maggie pulled him to her and enfolded him in her arms as she would have a child, but he felt like anything but that. He breathed in her soft, womanly scent and nuzzled into the be
nd of her neck, burying his face deep in her luxuriant hair.

  The tightening returned to his groin, and Rance groaned. Maggie shifted in his arms and angled herself until they were face-to-face. She worked her hand up his back and to his neck. Her fingers were gentle but strong as they urged him toward her slightly parted lips.

  Rance wasn’t sure who kissed whom, but then, did it really matter? Maggie’s lips were soft, yielding, yet returning his passion with more of her own. His hand found the curve of her neck and traveled lower. He cupped her full breasts in his hand, feeling the nipples beneath the thin layer of cotton harden in response to his exploring fingers.

  “Margaret Rose,” he breathed between kisses. “I want you.”

  “I know” was all she said. Maggie snuggled deeper into his arms and gave herself to him. “I want you, too.”

  And with infinite care not to worsen his injuries, she showed him just how much.

  Later, when his breathing slowed and she thought Rance must be asleep, Maggie rolled onto her side and with her head pillowed on her bent arm, she stared out the window. The clouds had long since evaporated, leaving the moon and the stars shining bright in the dark summer sky.

  Maggie sighed. This would have been wonderful if there had been any sort of declaration or promise. But there had been nothing. The first time had been pure, unbridled desire. The second time had been... what? Need? Comfort?

  How could such a beautiful, giving experience leave a woman feeling so satisfied yet so confused at the same time?

  She wished she could wake Rance and ask him all the questions for which she had no answers, but she knew that after what he’d found in his cellar—or thought he had—he needed to rest. Tomorrow would be soon enough for answers.

  She lay for a long, long time, watching him sleep. Wondering how it must have been for a small boy to believe for so long that his mother had abandoned him. No wonder he had grown to be such a guarded person. He’d given his unconditional love to two people in his young life, and they’d both left him. Both by death—one by his own hand, but his mother...?