Adrienne deWolfe - [Wild Texas Nights 03] (47 page)

"Anyway," she continued drearily, "it's in the past now."
Like everything we ever shared.

He didn't look mollified. "Nick Rotterdam is a bastard, and whatever passed between you and him tonight I leave entirely at his door—along with all the other humbugs he's ever pulled. I'm sorry, Bailey, but I just can't be as forgiving as you."

"That's your prerogative, of course
." I guess you won't be very forgiving of me, then, either.

Tugging her foot from his hands, she tucked both legs beneath her skirts. She kept her eyes carefully trained on her fingers, which she'd knotted in her lap. She couldn't bear to see the relief on his face when she told him his personal hell was over, that he was rid of her at last.

"There's something else you should know," she said. She struggled for an impersonal tone, a businesslike tone, to hide her misery as her childhood dream crashed and burned around her. "You were away when it happened, so I didn't have the chance to tell you until tonight. But you'll be pleased to know that my, er, moontime has started. You aren't a father."

Zack sucked in his breath.

"I realize this is the end of our arrangement," she continued briskly. "Of course, I will return your mother's Bible. And I'd appreciate it if you would drive me home tonight, as you agreed. After that you're free to go, to get on with your life."

"No!"

She winced, biting her lip. "You mean... you won't drive me home?"

Zack stared at her, aghast. How could she be so calm, so collected, when she was dooming him to a life without her?

A blistering cyclone swept through him, a storm of emotions so violent, so turbulent, he began to shake. He couldn't exactly decipher them all, but he did recognize the ache in his chest: Desolation.

Never in his life had he killed a man. But he would have done so that night, without the slightest regret, when he'd thought Rotterdam was forcing his attentions on Bailey.

Now she was telling him there was nothing between them, nothing worth holding on to, because his seed hadn't blossomed? Did he mean so little to her, then? Did she have no affection for him at all?

"Bailey," he whispered hoarsely, rocking forward to touch her knee. "Don't do this. Nothing has changed. I—I still want you to be my wife."

She flinched, dashing the back of her hand across her eyes. She refused to look at him.

"I told you how it was, Zack. I won't marry a man who doesn't love me."

A knife twisted in his heart. For a moment, he couldn't breathe.

Then, as the sun's rays cleaved the darkness of a storm, he felt beams of radiance flood his chest. The sensation was so dizzying, so dazzling, he felt as if he were floating in light.

"But I
do
love you, Bailey," he said in growing wonder. He gave a breathless laugh to feel his soul smiling in agreement.
My God, it's true.
"I... never realized it before. Isn't that strange? I'm not even sure when it happened, or how. Maybe at the rodeo... No." He grinned as the memories flashed through his mind. "It was before that, I think. The night you stormed into the Bullwhip with your daddy's scattergun and that old hound. I didn't think I was going to get you out of that saloon alive."

His elation ebbed at the thought, and he gazed earnestly into her eyes. "I want to take care of you, Bailey. I want to be the one you turn to when you need help. Or comfort. It nearly killed me this afternoon when I knocked on your door and you wouldn't let me inside. I knew something was wrong, but I thought you were crying over Mac. Not the baby," he added softly.

His heart wrenched to think she'd been weeping in the dark all alone over a child they'd never made. "We can make another baby," he said impulsively. "Once we're married, we can make as many babies as you want."

"Isn't that just a tad convenient?" she said in such a low, choked voice, he had to strain to hear. "Deciding you're in love with me so I'll marry you and have your babies?"

"No, sweetheart. I know it must seem that way, but I've never been in love before. I didn't know how strong my feelings were until I saw Rotterdam's hands on you. That had to be the worst moment of my life." Straddling her knees with his arms, he leaned forward, willing her to understand, willing her to forgive and relent. "I went crazy, thinking you'd been hurt."

She jerked her head away from his kiss. Her chest heaved, and her cheeks glistened silver with tears. "I don't believe you," she said brokenly. "I don't think you even care about me."

"Bailey." Dismayed, he tried to cup her chin, but she wedged her shoulder against his chest and sought to push him away.

"It's true!" she cried. "Admit it! The only thing you ever cared about in the beginning was the baby."

He felt the stab of that blade again, only this time it cut deeper. "Bailey, I swear, that's not—"

"Then you got accustomed to the idea of ranching my land," she accused him, and a sob hiccupped free. "You don't want to marry me, y-you want to marry my homestead. You're

j-just like all the rest of my suitors. And it's not fair, Zack. It's

n-not fair, when I love you so much...."

The sobs overwhelmed her, and she buried her face in her hands, curling into a tight little ball. The sounds that ripped from her throat were excruciating to hear, like the cries of a wounded animal. He felt the sting of his own tears.

"Bailey, honey, don't cry." Pulling her into his arms, he rocked her, stroking her back, kissing her hair. The sounds she made only grew more anguished, so he stilled, resting his chin on her head. He struggled to swallow the lump that was nearly choking him.

"Bailey, please," he murmured, "don't cry. We don't have to end this way. We can try again. I
want
to try again. Don't you? Bailey?"

He threaded his fingers through her curls, lifting the heavy mass from her bowed neck. He blew a current of air across her damp skin before he massaged her knotted muscles. She whimpered.

"I love you, Bailey." He touched his lips to her cheek, tasting a tantalizing trace of salt, feeling the pulse that skittered beneath his thumb. "I was so lonely without you this past week. I need you, honey. Don't turn me away."

She shifted uncertainly, as if torn between resistance and surrender, when his kneading fingers moved down her back.

"Will you be my wife? Will you marry me?"

She sniffled, finally withdrawing a hand to peek up at him through spiky lashes. "It'd never work," she said in a childish voice.

"Why not?"

"'Cause we fight all the time, and we have nothing in common."

He brushed her tears away. "We love each other. That's something."

Her bottom lip jutted, and he rubbed his moistened forefinger against it.

"You don't believe me?"

She shook her head, the tip of her tongue darting out to taste the tear he'd left behind.

"How can I prove it to you?"

Her mouth trembled open, as if she would answer, and he cupped the back of her head, tilting it for his kiss. He felt the tremor move through her when his lips grazed hers; he felt her hesitation as his mouth gentled, coaxed, pleaded. His heart hammered so hard, he thought she must surely hear it above the rushing of the water and the singing of the crickets. Yet he willed himself to patience, fighting back the panic that threatened to steal his better sense away. He couldn't lose her, not now. Not after he'd finally found her.

She sighed his name, half in plea, half in protest. Then her hands crept up over his shoulders, and her fingers weaved through his hair. He groaned, deepening their kiss, plundering the velvety sweetness he'd been yearning to taste all night.

He pushed her down to the grass, fanning her hair out around her. She tasted of tears and peppermint; she smelled like citrusy sunshine. His hands shook as he touched her ravaged bodice, and he buried his mouth there, aching to repair the damage he'd been too slow to prevent. Groaning her name, he tugged on the laces of her corset, and she squirmed when he drew her nipple into his mouth.

"Z-Zack, please. We can't d-do this," she panted. "We'll just be in the same mess we were in before."

He growled his disappointment, licking her taut nub. She shivered beneath him in a way that made his loins throb with primal pleasure.

"Bailey." He slowed his ragged breaths long enough to nibble her ear. "I promise, we won't. I've been to town, and I've purchased a, er, preventative I can use."

He smoothed his hand along her hip and down her thigh, reveling in the whispery softness of the satin beneath his palm. She tensed, her fingers tightening in warning over his shoulders.

"But I have... er, I mean, I'm—"

"Indisposed?" he finished for her.

She nodded miserably.

"And that bothers you?"

She nodded again.

He smiled wistfully. He'd never been that finicky about lovemaking, especially if he had a sheath to wear. He reminded himself harshly, however, that since he'd been such a clodhopper the first time, he wanted the second time to be especially tender and romantic.

"I understand. Will you let me hold you through the night, then?"

She swallowed. "Y-you mean here?"

"Actually..." He nuzzled the corner of her mouth. "I was thinking about taking the wagon to a hilltop I know, where we can watch the constellations spin across the sky."

Bailey's skin flushed fever hot at the very suggestion. Her body and heart were at war with her head, because there was nothing in this world—in this universe, truthfully—that she wanted more than to watch the sun rise in Zack's arms.

But wasn't there an inherent danger in that kind of surrender? If she yielded to her longing to be loved, to be touched, wouldn't she lose her personal freedom? Her independence?

She struggled to sort her raging cyclone of feelings. What was the matter with her? Zack had said he loved her. Hadn't she been living for this moment? She should be blissfully happy that the man of her dreams needed and wanted her, that he'd pledged to repair their relationship and was willing to start anew.

Instead, she was... afraid.

The realization staggered her, rocking her whole world. Having Zack, having his love, simply weren't enough. She needed to know she could control her own destiny—as her father had. As Zack did.

She wanted to be loved as a partner, not as a possession.

"All right, Zack," she conceded, her heart bullying her into compliance. "I'll go stargazing with you."

He looked so radiantly happy, she had to bite her lip to keep from promising him the moon too.

She busied herself with her boots and shawl. Avoiding his eyes, she then rose. Her hardheaded side had decided, at least for then, to hold out against his marriage proposal. Things were moving too quickly for her peace of mind. She wasn't yet convinced of anything he'd told her. For all she knew, he'd confused love with lust.

If Zachariah Rawlins truly loved her, if he wanted to be her man, then he would have to learn to treat her as an equal in business and in bed. He would have to let her be the woman she wanted to be, boots, spurs, and all.

She drew a ragged breath. She wasn't demanding too much from him, was she? After all, she was only asking to be treated the way he'd always wanted her to treat him.

As they walked arm in arm toward the wagons, she glanced hopefully at the handsome man who was smiling down at her.

Dear God, I want this second chance so much. Please help us find a way to make it work. I'll do my part if he does his. Amen.

Chapter 20

The rest of that evening, Bailey's prayers seemed to be answered. Zack did his best to be a tender companion and thoughtful partner. While they cuddled under the stars, she got up her nerve to ask again about the cattleman-sheep rancher treaty and confessed how deeply her exclusion had hurt her. When she finally gave him the chance to defend himself, his patient explanation made her feel like a first-class heel, and she apologized profusely for doubting his intentions.

The peace between them was so profound, that she was able to doze the rest of that night in his arms.