Defiant (31 page)

“But you did,” he said with childish logic.

She sighed. “He may not be with us long,” she said. The words hurt, but she needed to say them. For herself if not for Jeff. “You have to start taking some responsibility for yourself. I depend on you, you know,” she added, softening her tone.

“I just thought he needed some help …”

“I know what you thought,” she said. “But he never would have gone off by himself if he didn't think he could handle it. How would you feel if you started to do something, and someone secretly tried to help you even though you didn't want any help?”

“I wanted to see the Indians,” he said after a moment's consideration.

“You've done that well enough,” she said with the slightest smile.

“I like 'em.” He looked at her almost defiantly.

“I do, too,” she said. “They saved your life, and I'll always be grateful.”

“They're not savages,” he persisted.

“No,” she agreed, feeling regret now that she had ever used that word in front of him. But she hadn't been the only one; everyone used it. Except Wade. Guilt stuck in her throat; she would never rush to judgment again.

Before she could say anything more, Shavna came back in with a pitcher. She poured some liquid into the pottery cup Mary Jo had seen the night before and kneeled before Jeff, urging him to drink. He made a face but took some swallows. Mary Jo watched as his face relaxed, the little indications of pain around his mouth vanished. He gave her that devil-may-care grin of his, but with a sheepish edge to it, and then he closed his eyes.

Mary Jo just watched him for a while, thinking of the transition that was going on, that treacherous journey between childhood and manhood. Part of her dreaded the time the transition would be complete. He was still her baby, her child, and he wanted so much to be something more. She wasn't sure she could let go.

Then she felt Wade's presence behind her, and suddenly she felt as if she were floating on air.

“He's going to be fine,” he said.

“I know. Thanks to you and—”

“Friends,” he said simply.

“Friends,” she confirmed, looking up into those haunted eyes, wanting something more than the friendly tone he was offering. But his face was shuttered, as usual. “I have some horses for you to see,” he told her.

That had been his original purpose in coming here. Or had it? Had he been running from her, from Jeff, from what had been happening between them? Would she ever know?

She ached to take his hand, but he strode toward a copse, leaving her to follow or not, as she wished. She stiffened her back. She wouldn't plead. She could act as indifferent as he.

Then why did she ache all over with need for him? Did he feel even a fraction of that yearning? His stiff back gave her no answers.

19

Wade felt as if he would shatter into a million pieces. He wanted to touch Mary Jo so badly, to pull her to him and claim her forever. He needed every ounce of self-control he had not to do exactly that.

He tried to mask that need as he led her to where he'd separated his twenty horses from the others. He knew each one of them: the mountain ponies he'd bred from the wild herds descended from those brought by the Spaniards hundreds of years ago. He had no use for them now. With a useless arm, he couldn't take them alone into the mountains as he'd planned. The horses had been his wealth when he was married to Chivita, her prestige, her security, if anything happened to him. They would have secured a place for her in the tribe, made it easier for her to find a good husband. Now they meant little to him other than what they could bring to Mary Jo and Manchez. His farewell gift to both. Even his pride in them, he told himself, was gone, crushed in the anger and despair of the last months.

He heard Mary Jo's exclamation of delight. He turned to see her face awash with pleasure as she looked at the sturdy, swift animals. She clearly knew animals, but then she was from Texas and had been the daughter of a rancher and wife of a Ranger, both of whom depended on good animals for survival.

She ran her hand down the neck of one of them, the best one in fact. It was a gray, the horse he'd ridden yesterday in the search for Jeff. Fast and intelligent, it could move over these mountain paths like a goat. She turned and her eyes met his. “This is the one you rode.”

He nodded.

She went to another, and then another, her hands running over their sides, down their flanks. “They're fine horses.”

“Pick out ten,” he said.

She hesitated, meeting his eyes. “I can't afford them.”

“Yes you can,” he said. “You've already paid the price in full. You saved my life. Not that it was worth saving.”

“No. Only one,” she said. “And thirty dollars each for three more.”

“My life's only worth one horse?” he teased. “That's even less than I thought.”

She appeared startled by his gentle barb. “I can't,” she said miserably. She was being stubborn again; he'd come up against that stubbornness before.

“Ten or none at all,” he said implacably. “You will need them all, and more, if the Circle J is to survive. The ones you don't take go to Manchez. I have no use for them where I'm going.”

He saw her swallow hard before speaking. “Where is that?”

“Where I can't hurt anyone,” he said.

“You're leaving Manchez?”

He nodded. “If the sheriff ever learns the truth about me and those miners, he and his people would be the ones to pay for it.”

“You could tell them what happened,” she said desperately.

He smiled that sardonic half smile again, all the brief, gentle humor gone. “Three whites killed for an Indian and her half-breed kid? Hardly even, in the eyes of civilized society. Nits make lice, the army is fond of saying. Hell, those miners did a public service.” His bitterness made her shudder, but he ignored her reaction. “Take your pick.”

“You do it,” she said, “but I insist on paying you.”

“You saved my life, lady,” he said. “There's no price on that.”

“Mary Jo, dammit,” she said. “Don't you dare call me lady again.” Anger kept the tears from flowing.

“Mary Jo,” he said softly. “Prickly Mary Jo who would risk a posse to save a man she didn't know and take on an Indian band she didn't trust to find her son. Is there anything that daunts you?”

Losing you
. The words hung between them, unspoken.

When he couldn't bear to look at her anymore, couldn't bear to look at what he was giving up, he turned away. Every moment he spent with her was dangerous. If he were smart, he would let Manchez guide Mary Jo and Jeff back to their home. But he couldn't ask that of his brother, nor could he let Mary Jo go alone, not with Kelly back there.

Kelly had to have something more in mind than he'd mentioned, and that something was probably the bank. He wished now he had asked Mary Jo to withdraw her money. He could still do that. But then knowing Mary Jo, she would probably want to protect her neighbors too. Questions would be asked, the sheriff would get involved, and the truth would come out about Mary Jo shielding and protecting a murderer.

Goddammit, Kelly was
his
problem.

The silence between them lengthened. Their eyes clashed, their wills engaging once more, their wills and so much more.

“Will you return with us?” she finally asked.

“For a short while. Until I know things are working out.”

“How short?”

He shrugged. “A week, ten days.”

She turned and he couldn't see her expression. “Which horses do you suggest?”

He was relieved that she changed the subject. “The smart ones. Speed doesn't matter much in a cow pony. Learning how to cut, to respond to its rider, is. On the other hand, speed is important to the Utes, so you won't be taking what's most valuable to them.”

“What about you? Will you keep the gray?”

He nodded. “We're getting used to each other.” He walked over to a short, stocky bay. “This one has a lot of endurance, and smarts. It would make a good second horse for Jeff.” He continued on, making quick assessments of each horse until together they had selected ten. He was pleased she hadn't argued more about the gift of horses, but then she might just be waiting. She was good at that, waiting and then springing something on him. He started to turn away.

“Wade.”

He stopped, hesitating at the sound of his name on her lips. Damn, he wished it didn't have such a strong effect on him.

“Is there a place to take a bath? In private?”

His hand touched his scratchy face. Hellfire, it was time he did something about his own bathing. The Utes didn't place much value on cleanliness and when he was with them he didn't, either. At first he had bathed as usual, but they all thought it was rather funny and foreign, and before long he'd adapted to their ways. A bath now, however, seemed inviting. He knew it was yet another mistake, but the temptation of bathing with her was too strong for someone of such low moral character to resist, and at this moment his moral strength was very low indeed.

“There's a spring a thirty-minute ride from here,” he said, hoping she might object. Part of him hoped, anyway, the sensible part.

But her face lit up with delight. “I'll get some clothes and soap.”

His throat tightened, knowing he was every pound a fool. “I'll saddle your mare.”

She didn't give him a chance to take back his offer. She was gone in a second, leaving him to saddle her horse and ponder his idiocy. Still, his pulse raced and his body tingled with anticipation.

It had been so long since he'd gone swimming with a woman, and never in a spot like the one he had in mind. The pool was fed by both a waterfall and one of the many hot springs in the area. The Utes used it for medicinal purposes, and years ago, they had built a hut next to it to warn off invading tribes.

He had gone there once with Chivita, but she had been shy with him and had waited for him inside the hut. He knew she had always been somewhat in awe of him though he hadn't the damnedest idea why. He sensed, though, that Mary Jo would love this place. He had discovered she was a deeply sensuous woman, relishing the taste of the wind against her cheek, delighting in the quiet beauty of a summer evening.

She was back almost immediately, as if afraid he would change his mind. She had a small bundle with her that she tied to the saddle. “Jeff is still sleeping,” she said as she easily mounted without any help from him.

He, on the other hand, was far from sure he was going to make it. He'd tried several times in the Ute camp to mount without a saddle, failing on the first two tries. It used to be as easy for him as with a saddle and stirrups, but his wounded right arm threw off his balance. Still, he preferred riding without a saddle. It gave him a sense of freedom, of being one with the animal, and now he wrapped his left arm in the horse's mane and swung up with an ease that pleasantly surprised him.

Wade wrapped his legs around the animal, using them to signal his instructions. It was late morning and the sun's rays drifted through the trees. He loved these mountains as much as the Utes did, and now he was sharing them with a woman he knew was learning an appreciation of her own. He fought the warm contentment that knowledge stirred in him. She moved her horse abreast of his, and his eyes met hers. She smiled, and shadows lifted from him—for this day, anyway. It was such a glorious smile, full of quiet happiness and anticipation. She always made his heart hum when she smiled like that, made him dream impossible dreams.

The pool was empty, as he knew it would be. He slipped down from his gray and went over to her, holding his left hand out to help her dismount. He held it a moment longer than necessary, reluctant to lose that warm touch, the pull on his fingers, the closeness of their bodies.

He finally let go, moving away. He watched as she approached the pool, which was surrounded by tall pines, the ground carpeted by aged needles, softened by elements and time. The pool was below a high cliff, and a steady but thin stream of water tumbled over jagged rocks and down into it. An eagle soared over them, circled and cried out, and he was certain there was a nest above.

“It's beautiful,” she said.

He remembered what she had told him weeks ago about not being able to swim. He didn't dare allow her to go in alone. God, he wanted to teach her, both her and Jeff. But there wouldn't be time. If he made time, he would be irretrievably lost. Every minute he spent with them drew him closer, tightened the web trapping them together.

“It can also be dangerous,” he warned. “You're safe enough if you stay on the ledge, but toward the middle it drops off.”

“You'll be with me?”

That damned trust again. Some help he would be with his bad arm. But he nodded.

She opened her bundle and took out some soap. She went to the edge of the pool, sat down, and started to undress. He liked the way she did it. No fake modesty, no darting glances toward him. But he appreciated more than the efficiency of her movements. He had never seen her completely undressed, just bits and parts. She was even more desirable than he'd imagined.

He'd known she worked hard. He'd watched her around the ranch, and he knew feeding a station full of hungry Rangers must have been wearing. Whatever the cause, her body was firm and slender, though rounded enough that she always felt soft to him.

He wanted to discard his trousers, but he'd already done enough damage. If he did that, they would make love and he'd be risking a child once again. The bastard child of a fugitive and killer. The thought cooled some of the growing heat in his groin, and he decided to wait to wash until she'd finished. But he would be on the side, ready to help if she needed it. He could watch, even if he couldn't touch.

Wade carefully took his arm from its sling to enable him to slide the shirt from his body. He replaced the sling, then folded his legs, Indian style, at the edge of the pool as she slipped in, wincing for a moment at the chill, and then taking a step and finding the heat below. That mischievous gleam danced in her eyes. “Ahhhh,” she murmured and held out her hand to him.