Comanche Moon (31 page)

Irritation made his voice rough. “Why would I bother, if I didn’t want to keep you safe?”

“That’s a good question. Why are you bothering?” When he didn’t say anything, Deborah gave an angry shrug to hide her pain. “I wish I knew why I allow you to do this to me, but I don’t.” She felt his stare, glimpsed his quick, impatient step away.

“I should leave here and not bother with you again.”

“I suppose you should,” she returned coolly, despite the burn of pain in her throat.

Turning back to her, he was a lethal silhouette of anger as he took the one step back to the bed and grabbed her, his hands hard on her wrists.

“Just once,” he ground out, “it would be nice to hear how you really feel.

You make me so damn mad, always prim and proper and cool, even when your eyes say the opposite of what your mouth is trying to tell me.”

“And just what do my eyes say?” she shot back. “That you aren’t exactly honest with your feelings, maybe?”

“Dammit.” This time when he kissed her, he wasn’t soft or tender. His lips were hard, almost hurtful, but there was a driving intensity that made Deborah lean into him and seek out that wildness. Despite her pain, despite her anger, she felt a certain satisfaction in being able to provoke Zack to passion. It seemed only fair that he should feel the same hot need he made her feel.

When his hands spread over her back, Deborah’s arms rose to wind around his neck, and she pressed closer to him. She could feel the thunder of his heart against her breasts, hear his ragged breathing when he lifted his mouth from hers and stared down at her in the shadows.

“You make me do the craziest things,” he muttered in a low, rough voice. He shifted to hold her breast in his palm, his thumb raking across her nipple and making it tighten. A hot jolt shot through her at his touch. When his mouth came down over her breast, wetting her gown and making her grab his hair to hold his head still, she shivered with the intensity.

It was obvious to her that he wasn’t the only one doing crazy things. If she had any sense, she would insist that he leave immediately before someone found him in her room. It would be a complete catastrophe for both of them if he was caught there.

But it was hard to think of that—hard to think of anything but what his hands and mouth were doing. All her self-discipline vanished at his touch.

The lessons she’d learned as a child and a young woman, the strictures that had ruled her life for so long, had blown away with the west wind when she’d met this man. He violated every principle she had, yet she surrendered to him easily. There had to be something wrong, but it was difficult to remember what.

“Someone might come,” she finally found the strength to murmur when his hands were inside her gown and stroking her bare skin. “We need to stop before it’s too late.”

“Too late for who?” His voice was rough and guttural, and she shuddered when he captured her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it gently.

His mouth was so hot, yet she was shivering. With his hands on her breasts and his lips moving to take her mouth again, she was fast losing any control she still had. Her hands dug into the muscles of his arms, and she dragged her lips away.

“You’ve got to stop . . .”

“I will. I will.”

The coiling fire deep in her belly made her squirm, and her hips brushed against his, her gown catching on the buckle of his gunbelt. He made another rough sound and moved to pull her up against him, tucking her between his legs and hard against his rigid body.

Then he was backing her across the room until she felt the bed at her knees, and his body leaned so that his weight pushed her back and down. The mattress sagged beneath her, feathers and quilt cushioning her as he stood between her legs.

Somehow, Zack had his hand beneath her nightgown and his palm was cupping the mount between her thighs. The touch was hot and alarming and enticing, and she didn’t know whether to push him away or surrender all. It seemed as if she always surrendered when she knew she should resist, and part of her wondered why she was so weak where he was concerned.

Then it didn’t matter anymore, because he was unbuckling his gunbelt and unbuttoning his pants, and there was not time for anything else but an ease to the driving urgency she felt. He kissed her fiercely while he undid his buttons, and then he was pulling her up with his hands on her hips, fitting her to him. When he slid into her she gasped, arching up to take him, her legs lifting. There was something primitive and arousing about him taking her like this, with her on the bed and him standing between her legs.

Beyond him, moonlight poured in through the open door. A full moon.

A Comanche moon, he’d once told her. It seemed fitting that he should come to her like this on a night when even the moon heralded his presence.

He stood with feet apart and braced, looking down at her, the moonlight behind him and his outline blurred with silver. It was almost as if she was dreaming it again, as if he were an impossible god, a pagan symbol of the intangibles in life.

Bending, he kissed her again, hot, sweet and wild; they were both breathing raggedly, soft pants for air laced with steamy sensuality. The summer night pressed down outside, and the cool light of the moon washed them as Zack took from her and gave to her, all of him.

He shuddered, absorbed her shattering cry with his mouth, then relaxed his big body across hers. He leaned there, braced with one hand on the mattress and one foot still on the floor.

Finally he lifted his head to gaze down at her, and she felt it. Opening her eyes, she smiled as she traced a finger over the erotic outline of his mouth. He bit the tip gently, then took her hand and turned it over, kissing her palm.

Propped up on one hand and a knee, he curled his fingers over her hand and said, “I’ll come back for you.”

“I can’t go.”

An oath ripped from him, but it was more resigned than vicious. He pushed up and away from her, then stood. As he buttoned his pants and reached for the gunbelt he’d laid within easy reach on the mattress, he eyed her carefully as she sat up and smoothed her nightgown down around her bare legs.

“Deborah, I know you are loyal to your cousin. I admire that. But it won’t do her any good if you both die. Let her make her own choice, but don’t let her make yours.”

“You don’t understand,” she began, but his steady stare stopped her.

“It’s not understanding that’s needed now. It’s caution. Don’t take risks because of some misguided notion of loyalty.”

“Misguided?” Deborah stared at him uneasily. “Judith is my cousin.”

“And old enough to make her own choices.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t risk your life for someone you care about,” Deborah said with a trace of bitterness, though she saw the truth in what he said. She turned her face away, chewing on her lower lip with anxiety.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Her head jerked back around at his soft words. It was the closest he’d ever come to admitting he cared. Zack was tucking his shirttail into the waistband of his pants, and he looked up at her as coolly as if he had not just set her world in a whirl.

“Yes,” she whispered. “You’re here.”

“Then listen to me.”

“I’m listening.”

He crouched down in front of her, taking her bare feet in his hands.

“Give me two days. I’ll come back like I did tonight. Be ready. Take only what’s necessary.”

“What if—” She paused and licked suddenly dry lips. “What if something goes wrong?”

“Send me a message.”

A shaky laugh erupted from her. “I don’t think Don Francisco will allow me to just send over a man with a note for you, Zack!”

“Then I’ll be here.”

Deborah toyed with an eggshell thin
cup of strong coffee and tried to avoid Don Francisco’s irate gaze. The meals had been awkward enough since Macklin had arrived; now, with the news that Dexter Diamond had filed a claim against Velazquez lands in Sirocco, they were positively tense.

That must have been what Zack had meant.

As soon as Don Francisco had discovered it, he had ordered his men to post lines of armed riders along every road leading anywhere near the rancho.

Then he had dammed up the river that flowed from Velazquez lands to the Double D, cutting off Dexter Diamond’s most plentiful supply of water.

With the summer sun drying up shallow water holes, Double D cattle would soon die of thirst. Battle lines had been drawn and a challenge issued. Now the place looked more like an armed military camp than a functioning cattle ranch.

“If there is a confrontation, Don Francisco,” Jeremiah Macklin was saying, “I suggest you allow the authorities to handle it. Mr. Diamond cannot win. This is only an aggravation tactic.”

“And we are more aggravating, no?” Don Francisco asked smoothly. He smiled, and the flickering light made the smile look positively evil. A heavy, silver-branched candelabrum graced the center of the long table. Elegant wax tapers shed light across the table in wavering patterns as servants served the meal. Macklin frowned. “I cannot condone illegal actions, Don Francisco.

And I will not participate in anything remotely against the law.”

“Is it against the law to protect one’s property?” Don Francisco shook his head. “I do not think so. I have a right to place a dam on my property where I wish it, sí?”

Clasping his hands together around his coffee cup, Macklin said heavily,

“Yes, legally that is true. Morally, it can get sticky. There is a fine line that cannot be crossed. I suggest that if you are expecting trouble, you send for the sheriff.”

“I value your suggestions, señor, but Sirocco is too far away for the sheriff to be of any help. We are the law out here.” Macklin sighed. “I find that to be true in many remote areas of Texas, but the end results are always regrettable.” Don Francisco’s voice vibrated with intensity. “Here, we are fighting for our homes, our very lives. I will not let that
hombre
steal what has been in the Velazquez family for over a hundred years. He is arrogant and greedy, and he will swallow up other lands without remorse. But I, Don Francisco Hernando Velazquez y Aguilar, will not allow him to take what is mine.” Deborah heard the undercurrent of tension in his voice and shivered.

He meant it. And if what Zack said was true, Dexter Diamond meant to try and take the Velazquez lands. There would be a bloody range war, and she would be in the middle of it.

Her glance moved to Judith, who was looking at Jeremiah Macklin. The brawny attorney occasionally cast her furtive glances, obviously admiring Judith’s golden beauty. In the time he’d spent at the Velazquez hacienda, he had made more than one effort to draw her into conversation. Judith had avoided him so far.

Deborah looked down at her still-full plate. It was hard to think of food when she knew what was just ahead. She had to talk to Judith shortly. Zack might return before they were ready if she did not.

Once the uncomfortable meal ended, Deborah managed to get Judith alone for a few moments before Tía Dolores joined them. She caught her by the back of her dress, a mint green organdie that billowed out like a fluffy cloud around her.

“Judith—I must speak with you.” They stepped into an alcove near the veranda where the men had gone to smoke cigars and have after dinner drinks. Judith smiled, and put a hand on Deborah’s arm.

“Everything will be all right,” she said softly.

“No, Judith, I don’t think so. At least, not for a while. There’s going to be trouble.” As Judith’s smile faded, Deborah rushed on, “We have to be careful. And we need to get away from here before the trouble begins.” Judith stared at her, blue eyes widening. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You heard Don Francisco and Mister Macklin. There is going to be trouble. Do you understand what that can mean?” Judith’s hand tightened on Deborah’s arm. “No,” she whispered.

“Shooting. And they won’t be careful. We could end up as hostages if things turn out very badly.” She watched Judith carefully. Her lips worked soundlessly for a moment as she digested what Deborah had said, and then she began to shake her head.

“No. I can’t go through this again. Not again. Not guns and shooting and men screaming—”

“No, no, we don’t have to,” Deborah said quickly. “Listen to me—we can leave here before it gets worse.”

“Leave?” Judith’s face paled. “But how? And where would we go?” Inhaling deeply and praying Judith would hear her out, Deborah said softly, “Please don’t say anything until I’ve finished. I know how you feel about Zack Banning, but right now he may be our only hope. He has offered to take us to safety if we—Judith!” 

Jerking her arm free, Judith spun on her heel and pushed from the alcove. Deborah caught her arm.

“You’ve at least got to listen! Please!”

“Listen?” Judith shook her head, blond hair falling into her eyes in small wisps. “No. He’s bewitched you or something. I know he has. Besides, we haven’t seen him since the day he shot that man. His friend. If he’d do that, do you think he would help us?”

“You’re getting things mixed up, Judith. Braden was not his friend, and Zack does want to help us.” Judith’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that? Have you heard from him?”

Not quite trusting Judith not to be angry if she found out he’d come to her room, Deborah said slowly, “He’s contacted me. He’s trying to warn us.”

“I’m sure he is.” Judith’s tone was dry. “What makes you think we’d be any safer with him than we are with Don Francisco? Does he intend to take us to live with savages again?”

“No. Will you come?”

Agitated, Judith clasped and unclasped her hands. She whirled away, shuddering. “I don’t know,” she finally said in a quivering voice.

“Judith. You have to decide. I know it’s frightening, but you need to take this chance.”

“How,” Judith asked huskily, “can you
trust
that man after everything that’s happened?” She turned back to look at Deborah, her blue eyes swimming with tears. “Don’t you remember what he did to us?”

“Yes. I remember. I also remember that he released us as he promised me he would. Now he promises to help us. Can you not trust me?”