Mittman, Stephanie (39 page)

She
shrugged. "I forgot." It was the truth.

"You
forgot?" His voice was raised, and she had to quiet him down. "How
the hell could you ever forget?"

"It's
not the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning...."

The
anger left his face, replaced by a look of wonder, as if he was just realizing
that it was no longer the first thing he thought of, either.

"And
what is?" he asked her, a slight tremor in his voice.

"You.
Ben. You and me and Ben," she said, running into the arms he opened for
her. He closed them around her and rubbed her back and kissed her hair. And
then she felt one hand leave her and looked up to see him shaking hands with
his father.

"I
can't believe you're alive. For so long I refused to believe you were dead, and
now here you are, and I can't believe my own eyes. Your mother! Wait until your
mother sees you."

Sloan's
face fell. "I'm not the man I was when I left," he started to
explain.

"No,
son, I can see that. Seems you're twice the man, now." He patted Mary
Grace's back, still shaking his head in disbelief.

"This
party's a mite premature," Sloan said. "Sweet Mary and I have a son
back in that cabin we gotta get out."

"You
saying that boy belongs to her?" Sheriff Roberts came forward. The deputy
still had his gun drawn.

Ben
wasn't hers. Hell, most likely he wasn't even Sloan's. Did she really have the
right to keep that to herself and let him risk his life for a child who wasn't
really his flesh and blood? And how did she tell him now, after all she and the
baby had put him through?
Keep your mouth shut, Mary Grace, or who knows
what he'll do.
She needed him to save Ben. She needed him for a lot more
than that, but at least that seemed noble.

Still,
it wasn't his child, wasn't his fight, and he had a right to know it. The
sheriff stood waiting for his answer.

"Sloan,
I have to talk to you," Mary Grace said, pulling him slightly away from
the crowd. "There's something you should know, in case you want to change
your mind about anything...."

Still
holding his rifle, he released her and nodded his head toward the trees. She
preceded him, and he kept the gun casually trained on the sheriff and deputy
while she spoke.

"I
think, that is, I'm pretty sure that Ben is no more yours than he is mine. If
you don't want to risk your..."

He
shook his head, and his shoulders drooped slightly. "Sweet Mary," he
said impatiently. "Do you think I'm stupid, or maybe blind?"

"What?"
Did he know? Had he guessed? If he had, what was he doing here now, risking his
life for Horace Tate?

"Well,
he don't favor his mama, and he don't favor me. He's awful big for one so
young, and..."

"But
then why are you...?" She didn't know what to say.

"Why'd
you give him your tit?" he asked, smiling
when she blushed. "Why'd
you ask Wilson to shoot you, dammit, when you thought he was dead?"

She
thought it was different for her, because of her past, because she was a woman.
She had underestimated him, maybe from the beginning.

"How
long have you known?"

Sloan
smiled and put one arm around her, leading her back toward the three men.
"Oh, somewheres around the time you explained to me 'bout how bein' with a
woman can make a child, but it's love what makes a family. Havin' a kid of your
own, Sweet Mary, has more to do with love and maybe not so much to do with
blood. Don'tcha think?"

He
stood in front of the sheriff. "Ben is mine and this here lady's. Proof's
on his leg. My kid was bitten by a snake one day when we was havin' a picnic.
When we get him back, you'll see the scars where I sucked out the poison."

"How
do we know it's hers? I ain't heard you call her your wife."

She'd
been thinking biologically. The morality hadn't even occurred to her. Like her
own child, Ben was a bastard, and she was no better than a common whore,
sleeping around with any man who asked her. So she hadn't really been with
Sloan and conceived Ben. It was only luck, good or bad, that she wasn't
carrying his child now, yet another bastard....

"Don't
take a weddin' certificate to make a baby," Sloan said. "You thought
it was Emily's kid, and I sure didn't marry her, neither."

Mary
Grace's head snapped back like she'd been slapped. So she was just like Emily
to him. He didn't claim that she was his wife, or that she was going to be.

"Then
this man and you have... well, been intimate?" the sheriff asked.

She
nodded, aware the sheriff was trying to embarrass her. Well, this was old
territory. The terrain was all too familiar as she met the sheriff's eyes
defiantly.

"And
you and he... well, created this baby out of wedlock?"

"Now
that's enough," Ben Westin said. "You're talking about my grandson,
Sheriff Roberts, so you'd best watch what you say."

"I'm
still not sure she ain't foolin' us," the sheriff began again.

"Doctor
Woods knew Emily Tate," Mary Grace said, remembering that he hadn't been
surprised to see Wilson and had mentioned Emily's illness. "He treated
her. You can ask him when we get back to Jerome."

"That'll
have to do," Sloan said. "We've only a few hours till daylight, and
you sure have messed up my plans."

"They
might come down here to bathe." Mary Grace remembered coming to wash Ben's
diapers in the creek. Her cheeks reddened as she remembered that Sloan had been
watching then, and before.

"See,"
the sheriff said. "That's what I mean. You ain't just guessin', are you?
You know too much about the Tates for me." He looked at his deputy and at
the elderly man, who was still sitting on the ground where they had left him,
probably asleep.

"This
whole thing smells like three-day-old fish to me. I ain't walkin' into a trap
with the likes of you. If it turns out you're in with them, its gonna be
five... no, six—" the sheriff pointed at Ben Westin, including him in the
number "—against two. Can't count the old man."

Sloan
shrugged. With his father and Mary Grace the odds had increased threefold. If
the sheriff wanted to take his marbles and go home, Sloan wasn't gonna beg
him to stay.
Without trust he wouldn't be much help, anyway. With Ben, Sweet Mary, and
himself, he knew everyone's first thoughts would be for the baby, not for the
glory of bringing in the Tate boys, dead or alive.

"We
need a plan," Mary Grace said, and the three of them turned their backs on
the three others, not even acknowledging the sheriff and the deputy as they
shook the old man awake, then took him with them as they left.

"We
need a miracle," Sloan corrected.

Ben
Westin looked at his son, reaching out and touching him as though he wanted to
reassure himself that the man was real. "We already got one," he said
with awe.

***

Gentle
snoring filled the dark air around them, but neither Mary Grace nor Sloan could
sleep as easily as Sloan's father. She could feel Sloan's heart beating beneath
her palm as she snuggled against him in the coolness. His breath ruffled her
hair. For a long time they didn't speak, or move, or even think. They just lay
there breathing in each other's essence until Sloan's hand began to wander
farther and farther down Mary Grace's back, and he cupped her behind and drew
her closer to him.

"Sloan!"
she hissed in the darkness. "Your father's not ten feet from us. What are
you doing?"

He
kissed her temple and breathed softly in her ear. One hand worked on the
buttons of her shirt, his breaths coming faster against her face.

"Sloan,"
she said again, trying to still his hand with her own but giving his lips
access to her neck. "We can't."

"Shhh."
His mouth was doing incredible things to her neck, his tongue trailing lower
and lower until she
was as anxious to open her blouse as he was. "You'll wake my father."

His
mouth clamped onto her breast, and she arched against him. This was madness.
Still, she reached down and felt his hardness straining against his jeans. Five
buttons were all that stood between her and heaven. Five buttons and Sloan's
father. Her fingers stopped their work.

"Did
you know that the Indians make love when they get the notion, no matter who's
in their wickiup with 'em?" he asked, his hand insinuating itself into the
waistband of her jeans. "Their kids can be there, their guests, and
suddenly in the dark you can hear heavy breathing."

Their
own breaths were becoming ragged as he spoke. She had to do something to put
out the fire that was building in her belly. "And you? Did you make love
in their wickiup?" His tongue danced around her breast, skimming her
nipple, his warm breath teasing her wet skin.

"Get
'em off," he said huskily when his efforts failed to free her from her
jeans. "No damn buttons," he murmured against her midriff, his hands
everywhere at once, touching, probing, teasing.

It
was light enough to see Ben, his back rising and falling evenly. He slept on
his side, facing away from them. As she slid the zipper of her jeans down, the
metallic hiss seemed to fill the air and her cheeks warmed with embarrassment.
"I can't..." she started to say. Sloan nudged her and pulled the
blanket they rested on out from under them, wrapping it around them until they
were hidden from any prying eyes.

"Get
'em off," he said again, releasing his own buttons quickly and shimmying
his jeans down toward his knees. When she reached down to get her moccasins
off, he cursed
softly. Mary Grace wondered if he thought he was the only one in a hurry. To
hell with the moccasins. She reached for the waistband of her jeans and wrested
them down over her hips.

"Oh,
God!" he said, the air rushing out of his chest as his hands found her
naked bottom. One strong hand lowered the pants to her knees. One adept foot
pushed them further to her ankles. And then he pushed her prone onto the ground
and let his hands roam over her skin until the goosebumps melted and the sweat
began to coat her body.

He
left no part of her unkissed as he twisted her this way and that, squeezing her
behind, burying his head in her belly, tracing her ribs, suckling her breast.
She bit her lip to keep from crying out as each fiber in her body reacted to
his touch, her arms reaching for him of their own accord, her legs fighting her
jeans for the freedom to wind around his waist, to do instinctively what seemed
impossible with his stiff leg.

And
then her knees were bent and he was inside her, filling her up, pounding rhythmically
against her, each of them thrusting toward each other. His face hung over hers
for a moment, the dawn light revealing the wonder he felt at his own prowess.
When he lowered his lips to hers, she strained to touch each part of him with
each inch of herself.

Her
legs were imprisoned at the ankles by her clothing, and she bucked and fought
to free herself. "Don't," he warned her, his breath ragged and
irregular. "I... oh! Oh, God!"

Everything
was on fire, hot and liquid and pulsing, and she didn't know which spasms were
his and which were her own. She only knew when he collapsed above her that the
day that was dawning was the most important one in her life, and the promise it
had begun with was only the beginning.

"No,"
he said, stroking her hair with one hand and making sure they were covered with
the blanket with the other. "I didn't make love in that wickiup, Sweet
Mary."

She
raised her head to look in his eyes. There was something new there. Something
she had never seen before.

"I
musta poked a hundred women, Mary Grace O'Reilly. But I never made love until
you."

The
horses were restless under the three silent riders as Little Ben's family
waited behind some rocks to rescue him. Mary Grace felt strangely alone on
Climber's back. But she had no doubt that when it came to horses, Sloan's
judgment was unquestionable. If he thought they should switch mounts, it was
the least of her concerns.

The
three had agreed that the important thing was getting Ben out safely. The
disposing of the Tates could be left to Sheriff Roberts. It had been hard for
Sloan to give up his vendetta against Harlin, but in the end he had to agree
with Sweet Mary and his father. If the four of them could come out of this
alive, then they would declare it a success and be content.

Mary
Grace checked her watch. After six. Any minute now the Tates should come down
that steep hill, follow the narrow path, and wend their way to the water. Sloan
had set everything up in advance, allowing for as many contingencies as he
could think of, and now all that was left to do was wait and hope. Her heart
was pounding so loudly in her ears that she missed the horses' hooves. But
Little Ben's voice carried over the treetops, and her head went up at the sound
of his gurgling. Sloan caught her eye and nodded. He had heard it
too. They
exchanged smiles, his wide and open, hers tentative and there for his sake
only.