Adrienne deWolfe - [Wild Texas Nights 03] (49 page)

Her husky words shivered through him. His feelings of failure began to subside when he touched her lips with his own and tasted her eager response. It was easy to get lost in her desire, in the need it fanned in him. It was easy to forget the inappropriateness of reaching down to grasp her buttocks, lifting her hips higher while Jerky fed the dogs in the kitchen.

Zack felt the rush of her pulse, the thunder of his own. Confidence surged through him when she plunged her tongue into his mouth.

Pushing her shoulders into the wall, he relished the way she squirmed to get closer. He'd never needed to teach Bailey much; she'd always surrendered to her instincts. And what her instincts led her to do invariably drove him wild.

She hiked herself up, wrapping her legs around his hips, and he groaned when she pulled him between her thighs, moving with an urgency that made him curse the restraint of clothes. He kneaded her buttocks in time to her rhythm, and her breathing grew more shallow.

"Take me here," she whispered, "on the table."

His eyes slitted, and his brain spun with the temptation.

"Can't do that." He heaved himself away from the wall, carrying her with him to the stairs, and her laughter was a throaty rumble in his ear.

"You know you'd like it."

"There are five migrant Mexicans camping outside who could peek in the window and carry tales."

"Not to mention what Jerky would say." Her teeth fastened on his ear. "Aw, you didn't get shy on me again, did you, darlin'?"

She was goading him, the little hellcat. He chuckled, tingling to the roots of his hair as her hot breath blew inside his ear. "One of these days I just might take you up on that table thing."

"Promises, promises."

He kicked the door closed and toppled with her onto the bed. She squealed, trying to roll away and claim the upper berth, but he was faster, pinning her with his weight.

"Hey! No fair. I started this, Zachariah Rawlins—"

He fastened his mouth over hers, sliding a hand between them and wrestling with her jeans. "And I'm going to finish it," he growled, finding her pulsing center, feeling it hot and wet and welcoming as it wrapped around his finger. She arched and shuddered, and he plunged again.

"Zack," she gasped, writhing as if torn between the pleasure he would give her and her determination to be the conqueror. He knew she'd just torment him if he gave her the upper hand. They'd played this game before.

"I want—"

"Hmm?" he taunted, stroking the places he knew she liked best.

She sighed, then she whimpered, her fingers clawing his shoulders. He reveled in the yowls and growls she made when he unleashed her femaleness. He loved when she tossed her head and pitched beneath him, consumed by her own need, taking him to heights he'd never dreamed of.

"I want... to do... the loving," she panted, licking her lips, the gleam in her eye promising a retribution worth dying for.

He reached rather feverishly for his own jeans. "Why?" he whispered. "Don't I make you feel good?"

"Yes, but—"

He slipped his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his finger. "Don't you like when I love you so you don't have to think about business? So all you have to do is be my woman?"

A gunshot cut off her answer. A second report bounced off the canyon walls and shook the windows. Their bodies tensed as they listened, straining with every nerve and fiber.

"What was that?" she asked, her breaths mingling with his.

"I don't know."

Their eyes locked, and the worry he saw in hers made him curse himself all over again for failing to protect her spread. Easing from her length, he slapped his buckle back into place, and threw open the door, running for his rifle. Within heartbeats, he heard her footfalls behind him on the stairs.

The shearers were all awake and armed. Beneath the slice of the harvest moon, their stubbled faces were tense, either with unease or frustration, as they peered at the ghostly fleeced shadows in the livestock pens. The guard dogs were barking furiously.

"Pancho," Zack called, sliding to a halt beside the burly Mexican. "What the hell's going on?"

"El diablo,
senor
," the shearer said grimly. "He had a taste for more
cabrito
but dined instead on
camera."

"What?" Somewhat disheveled but properly buttoned, Bailey caught up with Zack and shook his arm. "What did he say?"

Zack turned away, too guilty to face her. Jerky, who was carrying a lantern, emerged with Pris from the rams' pen. Pokey was snuffling and growling in their wakes.

"Two yearlings dead." Grunting, Jerky halted and reached unceremoniously for Zack's rifle. "Gimme yer gun. Gotta shoot Grumbles."

"What?"
Bailey wedged herself between Jerky and the Winchester. "Why?"

"Damned cougar ripped his guts out."

Her face turned ashen. She pivoted as if to run for the gate, but Zack grabbed her arm.

"Hold on, Bailey. You don't need to see that."

"Don't tell me what I need!" she fired back, and twisted free. Pokey and Pris bounded after her. Zack cursed, giving chase.

The ram was in bad shape, all right. Wheezing, he lay apart from the younger males, all of whom had packed into a huddle as far from their fallen leader as they could get. They were eerily quiet, unlike the cattle that would have been mooing and milling in terror on Zack's ranch. He remembered something Mac had told him: "When the flock falls silent, ye know there's trouble, lad. Sheep willna bleat when they're scared. They stand like stones, hoping the predator willna notice them."

"Grumbles," Bailey murmured, dropping to her knees and placing a hand on her beloved stud's horn. "Jerky, bring me the lantern!"

"Aw, hell," the old man groused, stalking through the gate. "A thousand dollars or not, I told you he ain't worth savin'."

Zack's jaw hardened with his shame. In the stark light of the lamp, he could see that Jerky's prognosis was grimly accurate. But the lamp bared other truths too. Cougar paws had tracked through the blood.

"One Toe, you bastard," Bailey sputtered. She glanced up at Pancho, who'd followed Jerky into the pen. "Did you shoot him?"

"I do not think so,
senorita
. My men, we were, uh..." His gaze darted uncomfortably toward Zack. "We were busy when
el diablo
struck."

"Busy?
Doing what?"

The Mexican fidgeted under her piercing stare. Zack sighed, sparing the man a lie.

"They were removing four doe carcasses at my command," he said quietly. "One Toe struck the goats last night."

Bailey's breath whistled through her teeth. To her credit, she didn't explode with the outrage that darkened her face. "Jerky, put the ram out of its misery, please. Zack, I'd like a private word with you."

He nodded tersely, handing over his weapon as Bailey marched stiff-backed and tight-lipped out of the enclosure. When the report ricocheted off the canyon walls, her stride faltered, but she continued onward to the house without looking back.

Silent, seething, she held open the door to the porch and gestured him inside. He cooperated, moving past her with a worried glance into her eyes. He was relieved to see anger, not tears.

He faced her in the sitting room. "I know what you're going to say—"

"Do you?" she bit out, crossing to the one dimly burning lamp on the wall and turning up its wick. Her features leapt into harsh relief, as if they'd been hammered out of bronze. "Actually, I don't think you do. I don't think you know me well enough to guess."

"All right." He perched on the arm of the settee. He didn't know why his heart was pounding so fast. It wasn't as if she could fire him. "I won't read your mind. Tell me."

"I want you to get busy tracking One Toe tomorrow. I'll oversee the shearing."

His breath released in a rush. Until that moment, he hadn't realized he'd been holding it. "That's all?"

"That's all."

He eyed her narrowly. He'd gotten off too easily. "Then what?"

"Shoot him, of course. I'll have my hands full here. Think you can manage that?"

"I reckon so," he said cautiously.

"Good. Then, good night."

She started walking to the hallway. He blocked her way.

"Wait a minute. I know you're spitting mad. I feel responsible for what happened. I tried to tell you earlier tonight about One Toe, but you kept distracting me. Not that I'm complaining..."

He knew he'd said the wrong thing when she stopped dead in her tracks. The look she gave him had the force of an iron fist.

"You see, you don't know me." One corner of her mouth curled faintly. "I'm not blaming you for the cougar's return, Zack. That would be foolish. But keeping the report of the predation from me, that was inexcusable. You deliberately undermined my leadership in the eyes of those shearers."

"No, Bailey, I was trying to protect you—"

"Don't give me that crap," she flared, her metallic facade finally cracking. "That wasn't protection, that was out-and-out sedition. To say I'm spitting mad wouldn't do my feelings justice. You showed a complete lack of faith in my ability to make business decisions.

"Well, I've got news for you, Zack. Female or not, I'm no man's lackey. And if you don't like the idea of me being your equal in bed, in business, and in every other conceivable place, then you might as well pack your bags and get the hell off my range!"

He stiffened. Her words had cut. Cut deeply. All he'd ever tried to do was keep her from the pain she would feel if she saw what that cougar had done to her prized animals.

"I'm sorry," he said curtly. "That was never my intention."

"Perhaps not. And yet you continue to try to run this ranch. What's the matter, Zack? Can't you bear for your woman, your
wife,
to handle her own affairs? To have her independence? Tell the truth, please! Break my heart now, because I can't keep holding on, waiting for you to see me as an asset instead of a burden."

He saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes, and his heart ached so much, he thought it might crumble into the churning acid of his gut.

"Bailey, you're not a burden. If you were, I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my days as your husband." He tore his gaze away from hers and stared miserably over her shoulder. "And I'm not trying to take over your business. It's just that I don't know how to behave with you. You say you love me, but there doesn't seem to be a place for me here."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't... I mean, you never..." He blew out his breath and ran a rough hand through his hair. Finally, he shrugged.

"You don't ever seem to need me," he said in a low, hollow voice.

She sighed, and a long while passed. He could hear the clock in the hall ticking away his confidence as he waited, endlessly, for her answer.

Finally, he heard the floorboards creak as she shifted, continuing to stand her ground a foot or more away.

"Zack, of course I need you." Her tone was quieter now, a delicate balance between exasperated and beseeching. "I need your support, your advice, your comfort when I'm upset. What I don't need is a struggle for control. We're two headstrong people. You keep saying you don't want to argue, and yet everything you say challenges everything I try to be. Don't you understand? I want a man to stand beside me, not on top of me."

He stole a glance at her. She looked calmer, less tense. He was glad to see that, but he wasn't sure he understood what she was objecting to. If anyone did the challenging in this relationship, that person was Bailey.

Still, he did have a modicum of sensitivity. He figured now was not the time to point out that fact. He wanted to make peace, not war.

He stepped forward, bridging the distance they'd somehow created. He sensed rather than saw her quiver, like some wild thing poised for flight. Tenderly, he reached a hand to cup her cheek. Her pulse skittered as he lowered his head.

"Zack—"

When she turned her face away, he raised his other hand, brushing his thumb across her cheek, gentling her for his kiss. He was stunned when she tasted like fresh tears.

"Stop it!" She threw her arms out, knocking his away.

"Bailey—"

"No!" She backed away from him like a caged animal, her chest heaving, her breathing shallow. "I won't let you trick me like that anymore!"

He gaped, dumbfounded. Now what was the woman prattling about?

"Trick
you? How am I tricking you?"

"Y-you seduce me, and then you use sex to control me."

"Oh, for heaven's sake—"

"That's exactly what you do. Don't deny it! You did it in the line shack, you tried it at the hoedown, and now you're doing it again!"

"Bailey, what I'm trying to do is show you I love you, for God's sake."

"Well, if you loved me, you'd find some other way to make peace. Sex doesn't make our problems go away, it makes them worse. Just because you're feeling all satisfied after we make love doesn't mean I'm as happy as a clam!"