Heat of a Savage Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Two

by Jane Bonander

  He stood closer. “Didn’t I tell you that besides being a physician, I’m a farmer?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t tease me.”

  “I’ve never been more serious.”

  She looked at him and saw that he was telling the truth. “Farmer?”

  “Well,” he hedged, “not really a farmer, but a wine-maker.”

  “You grow grapes?”

  “My family is in the grape-growing business, yes.”

  “And… and how does that affect you?”

  He shrugged. “Every year at harvest, I put in my share of time.” He studied her carefully. “It gives me quite a comfortable income.”

  She was so relieved, she turned to him and grinned. “That makes me feel so much better.”

  Giving her a half-smile, he said, “You thought I couldn’t afford to pay you.”

  “Well… I was… I was a little concerned.”

  He studied her. “Ivy’s not charging you rent, is she?”

  “Oh, no,” she gasped. “It’s not that at all… It’s just that… that Jeremy had… had a few small debts that I… I want to pay off.” She didn’t want him to know just how deeply in debt she was—because of Jeremy’s frivolous activities.

  He turned away, but not before she saw a dismal look cross his face.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” he said. “Not a thing. If you have a chance this morning, which,” he added, looking around the empty room, “it looks as though you might, would you straighten the supply closet?”

  She arched her eyebrows. “You want me to straighten a room?”

  He gave her another half-grin. “A closet isn’t a room.”

  “Nevertheless,” she answered. “It’s a surprising request, coming from a man who apparently enjoys his clutter.”

  His grin widened. “Are you making fun of me?”

  A thrill shot through her. “Why, yes,” she said, answering his smile. “I believe I am.”

  He gave her a mock threatening glare. “You’d better get a move on, or I’ll punish you for that.” His look was far hotter than his threat.

  “Is that a promise?” She stood, stock-still, after the words had left her mouth. Had she really said them as well?

  Their gazes locked. Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat and broke eye contact. “I… I’m sorry.”

  “Rachel.”

  “No,” she answered, scurrying toward the other room where he kept his supplies. “I’d better… get that closet cleaned.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t follow her. She stepped into the small space, keeping the door ajar so she’d have some light.

  She worked industriously until she heard the clock strike ten. She’d been at it over an hour. Suddenly the room went black as the door closed behind her.

  “Wha—” She turned, stumbling into his hard, firm chest. A melting sensation heated her insides as she breathed in his scent. That, and his nearness, brought on a heaviness in her pelvis. “What are you doing?” Her voice was barely audible. She could feel his breath on her face.

  “I’m punishing you.” He pulled her against him, moving suggestively. He was ready for her.

  Putting her arms around him, she leaned into him, loving the contact. “I… I believe I’m ready to be punished.” The darkness made her brave, brazen. Standing on tiptoe, she clung to him, pressing her hips against him.

  Raising her head, she found his mouth. They kissed, long, hot, deep kisses that both weakened and energized her. He pulled up her skirt and she helped him, wanting only to feel his hands on her.

  With his other hand, she felt him fumble with the buttons of his fly. Suddenly his hot root sprang free. He pulled her skirt up and hoisted her legs around his hips. She clung to him, pushing against him as he entered her through the opening in her drawers. He turned, pressing her against the door as he drove into her. Heat became fire and their ragged breaths intermingled, driving them on.

  He came, the force so strong she swore she could feet it touch her heart. But he didn’t let her go, and he didn’t pull out. Instead, he held her tightly while he turned, slid to the floor and rested his back against the wall. With her legs still curled around him, she felt him continue to move slightly inside her. The position allowed her freedom to move against him, to find that sensitive nub she’d only discovered yesterday. She became languid, her breathing deepened and she rested her forehead against his. Suddenly that now-familiar feeling welled up inside her and she stiffened, aching for the release she knew he could bring her.

  Pushing hard against his groin, she shuddered as she came, spasm after spasm quaking through her.

  Bracketing her face with his hands, he gently kissed her. When he released her, she rested her head on his shoulder, her nose pressed into his neck.

  “I haven’t finished straightening up,” she whispered, finding it very difficult to form words.

  “It doesn’t matter. Whatever you’ve done is good enough.”

  With effort she lifted her head. “You didn’t send me in here just to take advantage of me, did you?” When he didn’t answer, she persisted. “Did you?”

  He chuckled in the darkness as he lifted her off him. “Not entirely.”

  She had to admit that it had been very arousing to be taken by surprise in a dark little room. A tiny part of her loudly questioned what his intentions were. She hadn’t been accustomed even to thinking about anyone but Jeremy. She hadn’t thought her virginal condition would be changed by anyone but her husband. A tiny niggle of shame wormed into her thoughts and she struggled to her feet.

  “I have an errand to run this evening. Would you come with me?”

  There was nothing she wanted more than to be with him. “Where are you going?”

  “I have to deliver some supplies to the ranch.”

  “Your family’s place?” Nervous excitement pounded through her. She wanted desperately to meet his family, yet the thought of it frightened her just the same.

  He opened the door and scanned the room. The light made them both squint. “Yes, my family’s home.”

  Frowning, she wondered whether or not to accept. “And… and your parents? Will they be there?”

  He nodded. “They’ve just returned from Washington, D.C.”

  “Oh,” Rachel demurred. “I don’t want to intrude—”

  “Don’t be foolish,” he interrupted. “I want you to be there with me.”

  A thrill shot through her. She looked away quickly so he wouldn’t see the raw need on her face. “I… I guess I could come with you—in case you need some help,” she finished feebly.

  He gave her a lopsided grin and turned away. “Where my mother is concerned, I can always use some help.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Rachel was nervous about meeting Jason’s family. The feeling was compounded when she spied the large, two-story home looming ominously in front of her. It gleamed white against the shadowy, tenebrous daylight, lights glimmering from the lower-story windows, sending messages of warmth and welcome. The windows above were dark, foreboding, mirroring the atmosphere outside… and the feeling inside her.

  She shivered. By now, everyone knew who she was. Her concern was for how his family would receive her—on the basis of what they knew.

  Huddled beside Jason, the warm fur blanket tucked in around them, she briefly wished they could stay this way forever. All too quickly, they stopped in front of the imposing adobe house.

  A young boy, bundled up in a sheepskin jacket, must have been watching for them, for they hadn’t even come to a full stop before he threw open the front door and bounded down the steps.

  “Jason! Concetta’s fixing your favorite tonight!”

  Giving the boy a wide grin, Jason hopped down from the carriage. “I thought Concetta had retired. What’s she doing slaving away in the kitchen?”

  The boy returned the grin. “Aw, you know she only retires when she’s
got the rheumatiz.” He turned his gaze on Rachel and stared. “Who’s she?”

  Jason walked around the carriage and helped her out. He gave her a sly wink. “Where are your manners, Josh? Mother would stand you in a corner if she heard you.”

  Josh hooted. “Ma? Stand me in a corner? Heck, maybe Concetta would, but not Ma.”

  Rachel felt Jason’s hand on her arm. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Sounds to me like maybe she should. Anyway, Joshua Gaspard, I’d like you to meet Rachel Weber, my nurse.”

  Rachel forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Joshua.”

  The boy peered up at her. “Thanks. I’ve heard about you.”

  Rachel’s stomach dropped. No hope of being anonymous.

  “Josh, take care of the horses, please. Are you eating with us tonight?”

  “Nope. I’m eatin’ with Dusty at his grandma’s.” The boy went to do Jason’s bidding.

  “You’ll have to excuse Joshua. He was, you might say, an afterthought. Although Summer and I were adopted, we do have three other siblings besides Joshua. They’re all away in boarding school or college.” He gave her a smug grin. “Joshua wasn’t planned. That’s why he gets away with murder.”

  “Well, he’s just a boy. What is he, seven, eight?”

  Jason nodded. “He’s eight. The same age I was when I first met Anna, my mother.”

  Rachel remembered Dixie’s story about Jason and his sister. “Did your father really kidnap your mother?”

  “He did.” His answer was light.

  She stared at him, finding it hard to distinguish his features in the waning light. “I’d like to hear more about that sometime.”

  He took her arm. “We’ll see.”

  Remembering Joshua’s remark, she asked, “What has your little brother heard about me?”

  He turned her toward him, holding her firmly by the shoulders. “Don’t start freezing up. There’s no one in my family who is so small-minded that they’d have an opinion about you before they even meet you.” He gave her a wry half-smile. “Except me, of course.”

  In spite of his reassurance, Rachel’s stomach dipped again. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, we’d better get inside. They knew the moment Josh left the house that we’d arrived. They’ll begin to wonder what we’re doing out here in the dark.”

  She tried to smile, but her jaw was clenched so tightly, she knew she’d failed. Before they reached the door, it opened wide again.

  “Come in! Come in out of the cold, you two!”

  “Mother, my love,” Jason said, sweeping the woman into his arms. “You’re looking as beautiful as ever. Washington must have agreed with you.”

  The woman gently pushed herself out of her son’s embrace and lovingly touched his face. “No, actually being home agrees with me. And,” she added, “you’re in an unusually fine humor, my moody, cerebral son.”

  He pulled Rachel forward. “I thought I should be on my best behavior. Mother, this is Rachel. Rachel, my mother, Anna Gaspard.”

  Rachel murmured a proper greeting. Mrs. Gaspard stood back and looked at her, a gentle smile on her lips. “Yes, I imagined as much. Welcome to our home.”

  Warming to her immediately, Rachel thought, with an unusual sense of humor, that “captivity” had agreed with her. “Thank you,” she answered, allowing Jason to take her cape. Looking around her, she made a quick assessment of the foyer. Tapered candles set in a delicate brass chandelier softened the entry with muted light. The staircase was directly in front of her, the graceful scrolled banister a dramatic accent to the carpet of green and gold flowers that covered the stairs. The deep brown hardwood floors against the pale walls gave an even greater illusion of light and space in the anteroom.

  “You have a very lovely home,” she said.

  “Oh, thank you. We’ve done quite a lot of remodeling over the years. My husband’s father built this house almost fifty years ago.” Mrs. Gaspard looked around the room, her eyes warm and her face pensive. “But I’m not sure he’d recognize it if he were still alive today.”

  “If I remember right,” Jason added, hanging Rachel’s cape on the coatrack, “Father had to nearly twist your arm to make the first changes.”

  Her smile changed, and there was a hint of whimsy in her eyes. “We didn’t make any changes for years. It was beautifully furnished when we moved in. I saw no reason to buy anything new.”

  “Yes, well, after being forced to live in a bucolic cabin for so many months, this probably looked pretty good to you.”

  “Oh, Jason, let’s not drag up all of that. Rachel isn’t interested in that old history.”

  But Rachel was. Suddenly she wanted to know everything about them. The little bits of family history were mere teasers.

  “Your father will be down shortly. Come,” his mother ordered genially, “let’s go into the parlor.”

  Rachel was ushered into the warm, cozy room and took a seat by the fire. Here, again, the walls were painted the color of cream, as was the mantelpiece around the fireplace. Hanging over the mantel, attached to it by an extension of the fireplace molding, was a rectangular mirror. A charming old chime clock sat regally on the mantel. Scroll-shaped brass sconces with graceful tulip shades bracketed the mirror.

  “Pour Rachel a glass of sherry, Jason.”

  “One for you, Mother?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll wait for your father.”

  Rachel studied the woman. She was petite and quite beautiful. Her hair, the color of melted caramel, had barely a hint of gray.

  “I hear you helped out quite a lot after the fire, Rachel.”

  “I… I did what I could,” she answered, grateful that she actually had, despite her earlier trepidations.

  Mrs. Gaspard sighed and shook her head. “I was so sorry to hear about that. And your father,” she added, rolling her eyes at Jason. “You can imagine what he had to say about it.”

  “I said,” came a deep, resonant voice from the doorway, “ ‘you can always tell when a fire’s been set by angry Indians. They leave clues as big as horse droppings.’ ”

  Rachel watched Anna Gaspard’s face when her husband came into the room. She smiled, her eyes filling with love as she lifted her hand to grip his. “We have a guest, darling.” Her voice was soft and gentle, although it was obvious she was trying to scold him. “Don’t be crude.”

  He bent to kiss her. “I didn’t think I was being crude, my sweet. Remember, initially I didn’t say ‘droppings.’ ”

  Rachel turned away, feeling like an intruder. Her eyes met Jason’s, and she felt her face flush. He was watching her intently.

  Her gaze returned to Jason’s father. The man continued to stand beside his wife, her hand still gripped in his. Rachel couldn’t help but stare at him. He wasn’t as tall as Jason, but he was noble looking. His Indian features were obvious, his face stark and severe and his coal-black hair shot with gray. There was a dark scar over his left cheekbone. To Rachel’s eyes, he wasn’t particularly handsome, but he certainly exuded power. The look of love and warmth he exchanged with his wife was one Rachel yearned for from a man of her own. It was also a look that Rachel felt he didn’t share easily.

  “Nicolas,” Mrs. Gaspard said, “this is Jason’s new nurse, Rachel Weber.”

  Rachel’s heart thudded madly. He’d been imposing enough when he’d entered the room, but now that his gaze was on her, she felt the blush steal into her cheeks and all the old insecurities storm to the surface.

  If any man on earth could get away with kidnapping, this man could. But, just by the looks of him, she would bet her last dollar that it hadn’t been a smooth courtship. She was relieved that she’d put her glass of sherry down on the table beside her, or she’d probably have snapped the stem in her grip.

  A brief, secret look, so quick most people wouldn’t have noticed, passed over his face. Rachel knew, then, that these people were com
pletely and totally aware of what Jeremy had done.

  “You enjoy nursing, Mrs. Weber?”

  “Yes. I… I worked for my uncle, who was a doctor before I—” Hesitant even to mention Jeremy’s name, she stumbled over her words. “Before I came out here,” she finally added.

  “Jason tells me you’re quite competent.”

  She merely nodded, guessing he was only making conversation, which, she sensed, was something he rarely felt obliged to do. He, unlike his wife, made no attempt to make her feel entirely welcome. Maybe she was just especially sensitive because of Jeremy, but she felt sure that was part of it. She could sense his distance.

  An elderly Mexican woman loudly announced dinner. Certain she couldn’t swallow a bite of food, Rachel reluctantly took Jason’s arm and followed him into the dining room.

  The round table, covered with a delicate lace tablecloth, was set with impeccable taste. The china and crystal were simple, yet somehow Rachel knew they were expensive. Jason held her chair for her. She noticed that his father still held his mother’s chair.

  A young Mexican girl ladled a delicious-smelling cream soup into the bowls on their plates. She wasn’t particularly skilled at it, but from her concentrated expression, it was obvious she was determined to do a good job.

  “So,” Mr. Gaspard began, smiling at the girl as she left the room. “Has Earl come to any conclusions about the fire at the school?”

  Jason took a spoonful of soup. “We’re sure it was set on purpose. I don’t think he’s gone beyond that.”

  “What do you think?”

  Rachel brought a spoonful of soup to her mouth, enjoying the creamy texture with the chunks of mushroom in it.

  “Well,” Jason answered, passing Rachel a basket of dark rye bread. “I’ve been wondering if maybe Ty Holliday isn’t somehow mixed up in this.”

  His father lifted his eyebrows. “What about Buck?”

  They all gave Rachel a brief glance. She quickly concentrated on buttering her bread.

  Jason sighed. “I don’t want to think so, Dad.”

  “I’m sure you don’t want to think he was in any way responsible.”