Daisies In The Wind (26 page)

“That true?” Wolf asked.

Rebeccah pushed back her chair. She rose and
paced back and forth across the sunlit kitchen. “Bear never
mentioned anything about a silver mine to me. His solicitor made no
mention of it either. I’ve already disposed of everything he left
me, except this ranch—and you can see how much that’s worth. But if
Bear had a rich silver mine tucked away somewhere, he didn’t leave
a bit of it to me.”

“What do you mean, you’ve disposed of
everything but the ranch?”

She stopped in her tracks, then turned slowly
to face him. Maybe it was time to be honest. Maybe if she told him
the truth, he would tell her the truth about last night, about
everything that had happened at the dance—and after. She had to
know. “I donated the proceeds from Bear’s bank accounts and stock
holdings to charitable institutions,” she said quietly. “I kept
only the ranch—which he won fair and square at poker. I didn’t want
any ill-gotten riches or anything tainted by bloodshed,” she rushed
on, suddenly eager to explain. “This ranch is my chance to make a
clean start, to live a decent, independent life. I loved my father,
you see, but I didn’t love his thieving and shooting and running
away. I made up my mind while I was at school that I wouldn’t
profit by it. Whatever I make of this ranch will be mine—the
product of good, solid, honest labor. And no one can take it away
from me or say a word against it. Now,” she finished, meeting his
gaze with a defiant tilt of her chin, “I’ve said all I intend to
say about Bear, about the silver mine, and about this ranch. I know
nothing, I have no deed, no map, and no reason at all to believe
that any of them exist. They cannot exist! Bear would have told me
or left them for me. He was good at planning things out, and he
would have planned for me to inherit that mine. But the problem
is”—and here she took a deep breath and stared out at the purple
haze crowning the distant mountains—“how do I convince Neely Stoner
and the others of that? They’re not inclined to believe me.”

Wolf was out of his chair and at her side in
two long strides. He turned her to face him. “Maybe I can convince
them.”

“How?”

“Let me worry about that, Rebeccah.”

“This is my problem, not yours, and I will
not allow myself to be beholden—”

“Stop, Rebeccah,” he said impatiently,
pulling her to him before he even realized what he was doing.

As he tilted her chin up, she was forced to
meet his eyes. He could feel her trembling within the circle of his
arms, but she didn’t try to break away.

“I need to know something, Wolf,” she said
desperately. She moistened her lips, obviously distressed, and
distracted by the magnetic power of his gaze. “What happened last
night?”

“You talked a lot.”

She swallowed. “About the mine? And what
else?”

He slid a finger along the curve of her
delicate jaw, watching the violet of her eyes darken. She was like
a sparking electric wire beneath his touch. He debated telling her
what she’d revealed about her dreams of kissing him and all her
girlhood yearnings. He wanted to see that adorable blush tint her
cheeks and her eyes widen with horror, but somehow he couldn’t do
that to her.

“Nothing too important,” he replied casually
with a wicked grin that made her wrench free of him with a
shriek.

“You said you’d tell me everything!”

“I might—in time.”

“Oh!”

She lifted a hand to slap him, but Wolf
caught her wrist, holding it just tight enough to restrain her
killer instincts, not tight enough to cause any pain. “Simmer
down.” He grinned. “I’m just trying to get a rise out of you. And
you always seem to oblige. But if you’re so set on knowing
everything you said last night, here goes,” he added, suddenly
conscience-stricken by the real anxiety in her face. “Aside from
mentioning the mine, you said you were afraid of your father’s old
pards.”

“Oh,” she murmured faintly.

“And you told me about Neely Stoner.”

“I ... told you?”

His voice softened as she took in several
deep breaths. “Not in so many words, but I figured it out. He raped
you, didn’t he, Rebeccah?”

She gasped, tried to jerk back, was held taut
where she was, and at last her head drooped forward in a defeated
nod. “Yes,” she whispered.

He’d known it was true, but somehow her
confirmation of it was like a fist in his gut. “How old were you?”
Somehow he managed to keep his voice calm.

“Tw-twelve. It was ... not long after that
day you found me in the shack. Bear ... nearly killed him. I wished
he had.”

Twelve.
Twelve
. He released her
abruptly, his hands coiling into taut fists that he forced down to
his sides. Wolf feared that the whipcord fury flowing through every
fiber of bone and muscle in his body would somehow bolt out to hurt
her. And the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

“I’m sorry, Rebeccah.” The words were
woefully inadequate, particularly in view of the pain shadowing her
eyes. But he said them anyway, needing to say them, his tone low
and hard. “I promise you, if he ever comes near you, I’ll kill
him.”

“I don’t n-need your protection. I’m a crack
shot, and I’m not afraid to use a g-gun. I’m not a defenseless
child anymore.”

“I know that. But ...”

“Don’t feel sorry for me!” she cried, unable
to bear the sympathy in his eyes. “I don’t want your pity or your
help or ... anything!”

She shoved at his chest as hard as she could,
but she didn’t budge him an inch.

“Rebeccah—”

“Leave me alone,” she shouted, and in
frustration she spun toward the door. She needed to run, to flee
from the furious emotions he aroused in her, from the memories he
was forcing her to confront. She flung open the kitchen door and
raced outside, her feet pounding across the yard and tears burning
at her eyes as her heart ached with the desperate need to
escape.

He caught her near the spruce tree. He swung
her around and into his arms. “Come on, Rebeccah. Running away
won’t solve anything.”

He was right. But she’d rather die than admit
it. “What else did I say last night?” she demanded, needing to
change the subject, needing to divert both of their thoughts from
what had happened to her long ago. Wildly she cast about for
something to distract him, for something to put them back on
familiar, fighting ground. “You said you’d tell me everything,” she
accused suddenly, her eyes lighting. “But I don’t think you have. I
... vaguely remember saying something about you ... us. I mean, me
...”

“You mean about how you used to dream about
me kissing you?” Wolf retorted.

“I never said that!”

“You sure did.”

“Liar!” Pure mortification surged through
her, making her strike out at him with feverish desperation. “For a
lawman you’re damned close to dishonest!” she cried. “You make up
ridiculous tales just because it suits you, so that you can
embarrass me, or confuse me. And,” she added, struggling futilely
against him, “that’s twice now you’ve broken your word—you were
supposed to tell me what happened, not what you wish had happened,”
she finished triumphantly, hit by a stroke of genius. “And another
thing, Sheriff Bodine—I wish you’d stop chasing me—and kissing me.
Why you keep doing that when it’s clear we detest each other, I
simply don’t understand!”

“For an intelligent woman you’re damned close
to stupid,” he said, echoing her words with light mockery. But
there was a gentleness in his tone and in the hands that held her
that made her forget about struggling. She froze and glared up at
him, uncertainty holding her motionless beneath the shimmering blue
sky.

Against all reason, against all of his good
intentions, Wolf felt desire quickening in his blood. She was as
wild as a mustang caught fresh from the hills—untamed, wary, and
spooked. Wolf wanted inexplicably to gentle her.

Suddenly his mouth quirked upward at the
absurdity of comparing this lovely, sensuous Rebeccah Rawlings to a
horse.

“What’re you smiling at?” she demanded,
suspicion once more darkening her eyes.

“I’m thinking about—”

“Liar.”

“Now you’re hurting my feelings.”

His wounded air sent a wave of irritation
through her. “Oh, I forgot,” she said, yanking free of his arms.
“Lawmen don’t lie. Lawmen are good, pure, honest, upright—”

“Lawmen are men, Rebeccah,” Wolf said tautly,
his arms flashing out to snare her tight against him once more. Her
glowing, sunlit face upturned toward him sent his blood pounding
and turned his voice husky. “Flesh-and-blood men. Don’t ever forget
that.”

How could I?
Rebeccah wondered
dazedly, when he was kissing her with such succulent, demanding
kisses, again and again, holding her so tightly within those corded
arms, she might have felt trapped but instead felt oddly,
gloriously free.

Wolf was touching her breasts, cupping them
in his hands, freeing them from the confines of her scooped-neck
blouse while all the while his mouth sent flames of heat searing
through her to the very depths of her soul. The autumn air
whistling down from the mountains was cool, but there in her open,
isolated yard Rebeccah felt herself burning up, like a candle set
aflame. Her fingers flew to the buttons of his shirt, flinging them
apart. She pressed wild kisses against his bare skin, closing her
eyes as he tugged at her skirt.

Then the pounding of approaching hoofbeats
startled them both out of the fever engulfing them.

“Who is it?” Rebeccah gasped, yanking her
blouse frantically into place.

Wolf was already squinting out toward the
road.

“Navarro.” There was an edge of grimness in
his tone and in the gray depths of his eyes as he started buttoning
his shirt.

Chance Navarro. Oddly enough, with all she’d
forgotten from the previous evening, she vividly recalled her
engaging, wavy-haired dancing partner. As Rebeccah hastily smoothed
her hair, shook out her skirt, and then, her cheeks still burning,
put several yards between herself and Wolf, she cast a fleeting
glance at his taut, flushed face. Was he jealous? Or merely annoyed
with Navarro because he’d interrupted them?

Rebeccah could only be grateful that someone
had brought an end to her mad sojourn into passion. Being alone
with Wolf Bodine destroyed all her good sense and reason, and
melted her defenses.
Defenses?
she asked herself bitterly,
taking deep breaths of cool air.
What defenses?
When it
came to Wolf Bodine, she had no defenses at all.

“Good morning, Miss Rawlings,” Chance called
out as he reined in his big bay before them. Today he wore an
elegant broadcloth suit, string tie, and brocade vest, with his
derby set at a jaunty angle upon his head. “I just wanted to see if
you were all right,” he drawled, “but I see that you’ve still got
the deadliest sheriff in the West to protect you.”

Wolf regarded him through narrowed eyes. “I
reckon I’m here to do whatever Miss Rawlings needs me to do,” he
returned cryptically, hooking his thumbs in his gunbelt.

Rebeccah tried to blot out everything that
had happened a few moments ago. She tried to think about this very
handsome and very appealing Chance Navarro. But she was intensely
conscious of Wolf’s virile presence, of the way he had touched her,
aroused her, and brought her to a point of such heated desire that
she had nearly made love to him a scant few moments ago. She
quivered like a drawn bowstring when he sauntered to her side and
draped an arm across her shoulders.

“Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr.
Navarro?” she offered weakly, hoping he wouldn’t notice how rapidly
she was breathing, or how her cheeks burned.

But Wolf answered before Chance could get out
a single word.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Rebeccah. He’s
leaving. He only came out to make sure you were all right. Well,
any fool can see that you are, so ...” He threw a meaningful glance
at the other man, still seated on his horse. “
Adiós
, Navarro.”

Chance chuckled, and swung down from his bay
with the same smooth grace he’d exhibited while dancing. “But there
was something else I wanted to talk to Miss Rawlings about,
Sheriff. That can wait until we’re alone, though. Meantime,
Rebeccah—I can call you Rebeccah, can’t I? I’ve got to say you look
right pretty this morning. Doesn’t she, Sheriff? Have you ever in
all your days seen a prettier woman?”

Rebeccah held her breath as she waited for
Wolf’s reply.

She is the most beautiful, complicated,
and extraordinary woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. And if you value
your hide, Navarro, you’ll stay away from her.

Aloud, Wolf said, without once glancing in
Rebeccah’s direction, “I’m in no mood to engage in a flattery
contest with you, Navarro. Miss Rawlings and I have some important
business to discuss. Come back another time and try to turn her
head, if you reckon it’ll do you any good, but right now we’re
busy.”

“I don’t think I like your tone, Bodine,”
Chance growled, the genial smile fading from his face and an
indignant flush replacing it. “Maybe we should just ask Miss
Rawlings whose company she prefers at this moment....”

“Gentlemen, this is a fascinating exchange,
and I’m honored to be the subject of such attention, but I have too
many chores to attend to this morning to stand around jabbering
with a couple of roosters both trying to ruffle the other’s
tailfeathers. Good day to both of you.”

And without another glance at either one of
them she turned on her heel and stalked into the house. Slamming
the door, Rebeccah leaned against it, listening for sounds of
retreating hoofbeats. Part of her wanted Wolf to stay, to continue
where they’d left off, and another part of her prayed he would
leave and give her time to
think
.