Malachite (The Jewels of Texas Historical Romance Series Book 5) (8 page)

“Just feel.” He saw her eyes glaze before his mouth covered hers, swallowing her protest. He took the kiss deeper, feasting on her sweetness.

She tasted as cool, as clean as a mountain stream. And yet, beneath the sweetness, there was a deeper, darker flavor. A sultry hint of passion, of seduction. This was a complex woman, capable of so many emotions, which she kept carefully hidden. And he had the sudden urge to uncover all of them. And savor.

When at last his lips left hers, he moved his mouth along the smoothness of her throat.

With a little moan of pleasure she let her head fall back, giving him access.

He shoved aside the loose neckline, almost tearing the fabric in his impatience. And as his lips closed over her breast, his hands, those strong, knowing hands, explored and aroused until her breath was coming in short, ragged bursts.

His vision blurred with passion as he nibbled and suckled and drove them both higher, until, with uneven breaths and soft moans, he reclaimed her lips. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Wanted all. And he could have it. It was within his grasp.

As he took the kiss deeper, he sensed that the woman in his arms was beyond stopping him. He could take her here, now. That knowledge, that power sang through his veins. He felt himself standing on a precipice. One step, one move and they would both tumble into space. And they could soar.

Still, he held back. Dimly, as he lifted his head, he could hear her voice, strained, breathless, against his throat. Each word, each vibration brought him closer to the edge.

“Malachite. This isn’t—I need time.”

He stared down at her, eyes huge in a pale, lovely face, her heart stuttering wildly. He wanted her as he’d never wanted anyone. Wanted her warm and naked in his bed. But he’d never taken a woman against her will. Though this time he’d come dangerously close.

Did she know how close they’d both come to crossing the line?

He let out his breath on a long, slow sigh. With great care he released her and lowered his hands to his sides. “I think I’d better take that coffee now.”

The heat that had enveloped her just moments ago slipped away, leaving her chilled. “I’ll—I’ll get it.”

As she started to turn away he caught her by the upper arm. At once the heat flared between them, and he pulled his hand away as though burned.

“No. I’ll get it. You go on up to bed.”

“But I...”

He forced himself to take a step away, needing to put some distance between them. Even then he could feel the heat pulsing, drawing him back. She wasn’t safe yet. Neither of them was. “I said go to bed, Millie. You don’t want to be here now.”

She heard the urgency in his tone. Recognized the danger in his eyes. Eyes that seemed to see clear through to her soul. “All right.” She darted a look at him as she backed away toward the stairs. “Good night, Malachite.”

He listened to the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. When she was gone, he bent and picked up her shawl, lying forgotten on the floor. He gathered the soft fabric to his face, inhaling the clean, spicy fragrance that still lingered in the folds.

What in the hell had he been thinking of? The truth was, he hadn’t been thinking at all. She’d caught him in a weak moment. He’d have to be more careful in the future. If he didn’t watch it, he’d be repeating the sins of his father. And that could be disastrous.

A woman like Millie Potter had no need of a man like him.

D
awn light was barely breaking over the horizon when Millie entered the shed. Her breath misted in the cold air as she hung the lantern on a hook and began gathering eggs in a basket. While she worked she thought about Malachite. He had been her last thought as she’d drifted to sleep, her first thought upon awakening.

That scene last night had convinced her that she’d made a terrible mistake. His presence was turning her neat, orderly life upside down. He was unlike any man she’d ever known. He wasn’t disciplined like Marshal Regan, or methodical like Cal McCabe. He lacked the gentleness of Reverend Dan Simpson, or the smooth polish of Byron Conner. He had a way of looking at her that unnerved her. As though he knew more than he let on. And a way of smiling—suddenly, without warning—that could make her heart soar.

And when he touched her... Oh, sweet heaven, when he touched her, she lost all decency. All common sense. The man was dangerous. Hadn’t he warned her he was a savage? She had no way of knowing how to deal with him.

She looked up when the door opened, then felt the heat rush to her cheeks when she spied the object of her thoughts, looking even more dangerous in the light of morning. And twice as handsome, she thought, dressed in the clothes she’d washed for him and with his hair slicked back.

“Good morning.” He leaned into the door, latching it against the cold wind.

“What are you doing up so early?” To avoid looking at him she nudged the straw with her foot, uncovering another egg.

“Last night I noticed this latch was working loose. Thought I’d repair it before I go off to work at the ranch.”

With his back to the door he watched her. This morning she wore a gown of faded yellow, reminding him of a buttercup. He itched to touch her. Instead, he remained where he was, his hands clenched firmly at his sides, a little frown between his brows.

“That’s very kind of you, Malachite. But it isn’t necessary. You’ve done enough.” She bent to retrieve another egg, then gathered her courage and turned to face him. “I was in the cellar earlier and saw the meat. You’ve given me enough to feed the entire town.”

“Some days I think you do feed the entire town.” He retrieved some tools from his saddlebags.

When he started to work on the latch, Millie set the basket near the door. Pulling up a small stool beside the cow, she began milking. “Now that you’ve had a chance to see your father’s ranch, what do you think of it?”

His father. The word still grated. “It’s big.”

“But isn’t it grand? Some say it’s the grandest ranch in all of Texas.”

“Do they? I still say it’s big.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to stop the mustangs from overrunning the rangelands?”

“If I ever find them.”

“According to Diamond, their wranglers have tried tracking them. But they’ve vanished without a trace.”

His eyes narrowed. “Nothing vanishes without a trace. Sooner or later I’ll find them. And when I do, I’ll find their leader, Diablo.”

From the icy tone of his voice, Millie had no doubt of it. She deftly changed the subject. “Where did you learn to do so many things?”

“I had no choice. Drifting around the West at an early age, I had to make myself useful if I wanted to survive.” He glanced over and felt himself warmed by the sight of her, seated beside the cow, her cheek resting against its hide as she filled the bucket. “Where was your home before you came west?”

“Virginia.” She knew he had smoothly turned the tables so he wouldn’t have to talk about himself. But she didn’t mind. “My parents came from Ireland and hired out to work on the farm owned by Mick’s parents. Mick and I practically grew up together.”

“What brought you to Hanging Tree?”

“Mick was seized with a desire to pull up stakes and try his luck in Texas. So we kissed our families goodbye and never looked back.”

Malachite tested the latch, opening and closing the door several times until he was satisfied. “How old were you?”

“Fifteen. Mick was almost twenty.”

He turned to study her. “That’s young to leave home.”

She flushed as she set aside the stool, then lifted the pail filled with milk. “Times were hard. I guess we had to grow up quickly. But we wanted better for our children.”

“Why didn’t you go back to Virginia after your husband died?”

“It was too late. Our families were all gone. Our parents were dead, the farm sold. Besides,” she said, “Hanging Tree is my home now. There’s no turning back.”

As she crossed to the door he took the bucket from her hands. “That’s too heavy for you. Here, you carry the eggs.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that she carried this milk pail every day of her life. But she held her silence, enjoying his gallantry.

At the back door he set down the bucket, then turned away.

“Did you forget something?” she asked.

“I thought I’d take your wagon down to the livery. See if the blacksmith can check my repairs. I’d like to make sure it’s safe before you use it again.” And to see if the smith concurred with his suspicions that the wagon wheel had been deliberately tampered with.

Millie was touched by his concern. “The smith’s name is Neville Oakley. Tell him I’ll stop by later to pay him.”

Inside, as she started breakfast, Millie found herself thinking that it had been a long time since she’d had someone to chat with while doing her early morning chores. It had been so pleasant the time had flown by.

“Mama.”

She turned at the sound of May’s voice.

“Why didn’t you wake us for school?”

“Malachite took the wagon to Mr. Oakley’s for repair. So it looks like you won’t be going today.”

The little girl’s face fell. “I know all my spelling words.”

Millie gave her a gentle smile. “That’s all right, honey. You’ll still know them tomorrow.”

“But I—”

They both looked up at the crunch of wheels. A moment later the door was opened and Malachite strode in. As always, Millie was struck by the way his presence seemed to fill a room.

“Neville Oakley gave me the loan of a wagon while he looks over yours.” He caught sight of May’s happy smile and paused to tug on one of her curls. “I was going to refuse, but I thought as long as I was headed out to the ranch anyway, you and your sister might want to ride along.

“I’ll wake June,” the little girl shouted as she raced up the stairs.

Millie watched her daughter disappear, then began nervously wiping her hands on her apron. “Thank you. That was very kind of you, Malachite.”

“Maybe I have some cold, calculated reason for doing nice things.” He took a step closer and watched the way the color sprang to her cheeks. He couldn’t resist touching a finger to the spot.

She forced herself not to back away. “And what would that be?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to impress you, so you’ll let down your guard.”

“I’d have to say your plan is working.” The feel of his work-roughened finger against her flesh caused an ache deep inside. She had to resist the urge to catch his hand and hold it to her.

“I’ve been meaning to give this to you,” he said as he reached into his pocket and handed her thirty dollars.

“You don’t have to...”

“I agreed to pay you in advance.” He closed her fingers around the money.

Just then the back door opened and Birdie hurried inside, her cheeks red, her breath coming in short bursts. Millie took a step back, putting some distance between herself and Malachite.

“Morning, Mrs. Potter. Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re just in time,” Millie said as Malachite turned away and headed toward the door.

“The air’s colder today,” he called. “I’m going to fork some straw into the back of Neville’s wagon so the girls can burrow in and stay warm.”

Millie watched until the door closed behind him, then sent Birdie off to locate some warm quilts to cover the straw. For a moment she studied the crumpled bills in her hand. Since Mick’s death, it was the most money she’d ever held at one time. As she shoved it into the pocket of her apron, she began mentally picking out warm winter coats for the girls. She couldn’t wait to visit Durfee’s Mercantile.

A few minutes later Millie was surprised to see April coming down the stairs. “Oh, honey. You shouldn’t be out of bed. How are you feeling?”

“I feel better, Mama. I’d like to go to school with May and June.”

Millie touched her daughter’s forehead. “Your fever’s gone.” Maybe, she mused, there was something to Malachite’s herbs. “But I really don’t think you’re strong enough yet to face that long ride.”

“But I don’t want to miss all the excitement,” the little girl cried.

“What excitement?”

“May and June and Birdie told me all about their adventure. It isn’t fair that I have to stay in bed while they go off and have all the fun.”

Again Millie found herself marveling that Malachite had reacted so calmly to their crisis that the girls thought of it merely as an adventure, instead of the near tragedy it had been. Or had Malachite planted that thought so they wouldn’t be afraid?

She drew her daughter close and pressed her lips to a tangle of red curls. “Oh, honey,” she whispered. “If you had asked May and June and Birdie how exciting all this was yesterday, while they were going through it, they would have admitted that they were cold and hungry and afraid.”

“Really? Do you think so, Mama?”

“I do,” Millie murmured against her temple. “It’s a sad fact that many of our greatest adventures in life seem more wonderful in the telling than in the living.”

April shivered and Millie released her. “Why don’t you run upstairs and snuggle under the blankets. Later, if you’re feeling well enough, you can dress and come down and sit by the fire. And if the fever doesn’t come back, I’ll let you return to school tomorrow.”

Satisfied, the little girl scampered away, and Millie turned.

She spotted Malachite standing quietly in the doorway.

“Your breakfast will be ready in a minute,” she called.

As he removed his cowhide jacket and wide-brimmed hat, he mulled over what she’d just said. Millie was right. The telling was easy. It was the living that required courage. Sometimes, more courage than any one person should need. And sometimes a body had to dig deep to find the courage within to survive what life handed out.

* * *

“Mama, how many places should I set?” April, freshly washed and wearing a white pinafore over her gown, looked rested. She’d spent the afternoon in front of the fire, reading aloud to her mother.

“It’s so blustery outside, I expect there will only be the five of us.” Millie hummed a little tune while she set the rolls aside to cool.

She’d planned a special dinner for tonight. She owed it to Malachite for the meat he’d given them and the healing he’d offered her daughter. Not to mention the other kind things he’d done since his arrival.

She had taken the money to Durfee’s Mercantile, where she’d bought new winter coats for her daughters, as well as sacks of flour and sugar and coffee.

She heard the crunch of wagon wheels and smoothed her damp palms down her skirt. She’d taken pains with her appearance, adding a clean apron and sweeping her hair into a neat knot.

“Mama, look.” May was the first one in the door. In her hand was a pretty blue ribbon. “I won the weekly spelling bee.”

“That’s wonderful!” Millie kissed her cheek. “I’m proud of you, honey.”

“She wouldn’t have won if April had been there,” June said as she hurried over to warm herself by the fire. “Everybody knows April’s the best speller.”

“It isn’t nice to spoil your sister’s moment.” Millie’s voice was soft, but her meaning was clear.

June hung her head and realized that she’d once again let her quick tongue get her in trouble.

Malachite entered on a gust of cold air. “What’s this?” he asked. “Something smells wonderful.”

“I made a special dinner.”

“What’s the occasion?” Malachite asked as he hung his jacket and hat on a peg by the door.

“Nothing special.” Millie watched as he rolled his sleeves and began to wash. “I just thought we’d enjoy the meat you brought us.”

“You can sit here, Malachite,” she said, indicating the head of the table.

May chose the chair on his left, while June sat on his right. Millie sat across from him, with April beside her.

“This is nice, Mama,” little June said, “having just us here tonight. Now May and I will tell you all about what we did in school today.”

“That’s fine, honey. I’d love to hear it. As soon as we say a blessing.”

Just as they bowed their heads, there was a quick, hard knock and the front door was opened. Footsteps sounded in the hall. Before Millie could even get to her feet, several faces peered around the doorway.

“You see, Effie,” came a high-pitched female voice. “We’re not too late for supper.”

Town gossips Lavinia Thurlong and Gladys Witherspoon stood framed in the doorway. Behind them stood Effie Spitz, wife of Deputy Arlo Spitz, who could always be counted on to furnish her two friends with news of everyone’s latest transgressions.

“Oh my.” Millie struggled to hide her disappointment. “I didn’t expect anyone to be out on such a night.” Clearly flustered, she motioned to April, who began scurrying around, setting additional places at the table. “Come right in, ladies.”

“Well.” Lavinia, tall and stick-thin, came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Malachite, who got to his feet.

Gladys, as round as she was tall, bumped into Lavinia and bounced backward, nearly knocking Effie into the wall.

The three women gaped until Lavinia managed to find her voice. “You’d be Onyx Jewel’s son. The news is all over town. I heard you looked like your father. But I wouldn’t have believed how much you look like him if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

Behind her, the other two women merely stared.

Remembering her manners, Millie said, “Malachite Jewel, I’d like you to meet Lavinia Thurlong, Gladys Witherspoon and Effie Spitz.”

He acknowledged them with a slight nod of his head. “Ladies.”

They found their places at the table, all the while studying the man who bore an eerie resemblance to one they’d known all their lives.