Nighthawk & The Return of Luke McGuire (16 page)

He spread his hands. “I cannot tell a lie. I would have brought her but I was worried about you and there was no way just then to separate the dogs so…” He shook his head. “I’ll help pay for whatever costs there are from this.”

Esther couldn’t allow it. “Absolutely not. Guin set off on this misadventure all on her own. She’s
my
responsibility and I won’t have you paying for her misconduct.” She shook her head and tsked. “I was afraid she was going to get to Mop. Do you suppose dogs fall madly in love?”

“Those two seemed to have. Mop’s never gotten this excited or mopey over Bucket.”

“Poor Bucket,” Esther said whimsically. “Her husband has been unfaithful. Whatever will she do now?”

Craig stared at her then let out the heartiest laugh he had in years. “What will she do? She’ll keep on herding sheep with Enoch, and at some future date she’ll make puppies with Mop. He may be wild about Guin, but he’ll probably find Bucket’s blandishments too much to resist when the time comes.”

“Just like a man.”

His smile faded. “I hope you’re joking about that.”

“Should I be?” She tried to take the sting out of the words with a smile but failed.

“I realize your father formed your impression of men, Esther, but some of us are okay, you know? We don’t believe in cheating, we don’t beat women, we don’t get drunk, and we love our kids. Some of us belong to a very different class of person.”

She instinctively reached a hand toward him, but didn’t touch him. “I know that,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“I wasn’t insulted. I’m just tired of being lumped into groups without regard to the kind of person I really am. Lazy, drunken Indian is another category where I don’t fit, but lately I seem to be getting lumped into the ‘men are rotten’ category even more often.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t lumping you into any category at all, Craig. If I had been, I’d never have said those things.”

“Now how am I supposed to take that? That as far as you’re concerned, I’m not a man?”

She took a quick step back, obviously frightened by his vehemence. That made him even madder, but before he could act like an absolute jerk, he caught himself. She had good reason to think poorly of men, he reminded himself. Plenty of reason. He had no business getting on her case about it, and when it came right down to it, maybe he did belong in that Rotten Men category. Just look at how he was haranguing her over a stupid, perfectly innocent remark. The kind of remark people—both men and women—made a thousand times a day.

The real problem, he realized unhappily, was that he didn’t want Esther to lump him in with her father. In her eyes, he wanted to be as far removed from that man as possible. She was hardly likely to do that if he kept jumping on her.

“Sorry,” he said. “I guess I’m getting too sensitive.”

Her expression softened and she stepped closer. “I can understand that. Male bashing seems to have become a national pastime.”

“Bashing
anything
seems to have become a national pastime.”

They looked at each other for several moments, as if allowing themselves time to regain their balance and absorb their new perceptions of one another. Esther spoke first.

“Is there…any chance that Guin will come home tonight?”

“Oh! Sure. I should have mentioned, my brother-in-law is going to bring her over as soon as—well, you know.”

Dusk had grown too deep for him to be sure, but he thought she blushed. He liked that about her, that she could still blush. He was all for women’s equality, but he didn’t see why that had to mean that women became as tough as men. Of course, to be fair, he still held some old-fashioned, pigheaded notions. Esther was exactly his kind of woman in a lot of ways.

Except, he reminded himself, that she was rather prickly and a little too emotionally wounded. God, how he hated knowing that he was always being judged according to what her father had done. Every time she got that scared-rabbit look in her eyes he wanted to shake her and shout, “Look, I’m not your father!” Which of course would have proved he was no better than Richard Jackson. Regardless, he wouldn’t do such a Neanderthal thing anyway. But sometimes he sure as hell wanted to.

“It’s nice of your brother-in-law to offer to bring Guin back,” Esther said uncertainly.

“Oh, I think he just wants an excuse to meet you.”

“Meet me? Why?”

“Because I’m spending so much time over here.” Now he was sure she blushed.

“Oh.”

She looked down at her toes and Craig became suddenly aware of how dressed up she was today, and how pretty she looked. “You look nice,” he heard himself blurt.

Esther’s blush deepened and she looked shyly up at him.

“Thank you. Would you like to come inside? I can make us something to drink.”

Grabbing at anything that might set the world back onto an even keel, he said, “I could kill for a glass of orange juice right now. You wouldn’t happen to have any?”

“I have some frozen concentrate. I’d be happy to make that if you like.”

“I’d like it very much.”

She had to unlock the door to let them in.

“I got worried when I saw all these lights on,” he told her. “You don’t ever have your place lit up like this.”

She gave him a wry smile. “It was a totally childish impulse on my part. Without Guin I started to get really uneasy, and when I finally decided to go out and look for her a bit, I realized the last thing I wanted to do was come back to a dark house. Of course I understand perfectly that light is no protection, and that an intruder could have hidden just as well with all the lights on but—” She shrugged and gave a self-deprecating laugh.

“I might have done the same thing.”

“You?” She laughed again. “Oh, I don’t believe you’re ever scared.”

He watched her pull a can of orange juice from the freezer, open it and dump it into a blender with water. “I’ve been scared.”

She turned to look at him, the blender whirring behind her, and he could tell from her expression that she realized she had said the wrong thing. It was no big deal, he told himself. What did it matter if she thought that he was never afraid. They were just neighbors and she could believe anything she wanted about him.

But somehow it was important to correct the record. “I was scared to death when I was in jail for a crime I didn’t commit. I could hardly sleep most nights, and sometimes I thought I couldn’t stand another minute of it. I get scared sometimes when I walk down the street and I realize some people are staring at me like I’m going to pounce and kill one of them at any minute. I get scared that some night some of them might decide to take the law into their own hands.”

“Craig!” Her voice was full of horrified sympathy.

He shrugged. “It hasn’t been that long since this area was settled. Some folks around here still think Indians are vermin.”

“But—”

He interrupted her. “Most people here don’t feel that way. I know that. That’s one of the reasons I settled here and brought my sister’s family here. But how many people does it take to form a lynch mob?”

Her hand flew to her mouth. Behind her the blender labored on.

“I realize that those things aren’t supposed to happen anymore, but there are a lot of ways to kill a man without making it look like vigilantes did it. I’ve been beaten bloody for no reason other than I’m an Indian, so it isn’t hard for me to believe that somebody might take that extra step, especially when they still think I hurt that little girl.”

He shrugged, looking straight at her. “I’ve been scared lots of times, Esther. But I still live here, and look those people right in the eye. That’s what I was trying to tell you last night.”

She shook her head as if she could forestall what was coming.

“You have to face what you fear, Esther. Honest to God, if you keep running, the bogeyman just gets more powerful. Spit in the devil’s eye. Meet him head-on.”

“He could kill me!”

“I’m not suggesting you meet him alone. Just that you set up a meeting with him at a safe place. I’ll be there. Hell, half the Conard County Sheriff’s Department would be there if you asked. Meet him and face him. Take his power away from him!”

E
sther stared at Craig with huge, horrified eyes. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

He thought he’d never heard sadder, more hopeless words. He rose from the table and crossed the kitchen to her, reaching around behind her to shut off the blender. “I know,” he said finally, a sense of hopelessness bleeding into his own words. “I know you can’t. But it would still be the best thing you could do.”

She looked up at him, her hazel eyes beseeching him. Damned if he knew what she wanted, but he knew what
he
wanted. His whole damn body was screaming at him to just lean against her so he could feel her womanly softness.

But he wasn’t going to do that. Standing before him looking as enticing as a tall glass of icy water on a hot summer day was the biggest trouble a man could walk into. Never mind that she was white and he wasn’t and that the racial purists would have a field day trying to make her miserable. Never mind that the looks and stares would finally be more than she could handle. Never mind any of that hogwash he usually used as an excuse to keep his distance.

No, the real problem here was that this woman was wounded in a very essential way, and that she didn’t have the inner fortitude to face her demon. As long as her life was being controlled by fear, she wouldn’t have room in it for much else.

He kind of wished that wasn’t so, because it would be the easiest thing in the world to just lean into her right now and drive all her fearful thoughts away with the heat that was pounding in his loins. He was hot and heavy and aching so fiercely he could hardly believe he had gotten to this state just from being in the same room with her.

“Face him, Esther,” he heard himself say hoarsely. Then with more self-control than he thought he had, he turned away and resumed his seat at the table.

Esther stared after him, feeling frightened and disappointed all at once. Something had happened in the last few moments. She had seen it in the sudden fire of his gaze, in the way he had loomed over her as if she were prey and he the hunter, as if she were all that existed in the universe.

The moment had passed quickly, but she knew she hadn’t imagined it. The air was almost too thick to breathe, and her body was responding to something powerful. Deep down inside, where her womb throbbed yearningly, she knew she wanted his possession and damn the consequences.

Just once, whispered some pleading voice in her mind, just this once. Let me know. Let him teach me. Take me. She was willing to give herself completely if only she could have one taste of the forbidden fruit.

But he had turned away just as she had almost fallen into his arms. He had turned away as so many before him had, but this time she didn’t think it was because of her brace. This time, even worse, she felt he turned away because he found
her
lacking in some essential way that had nothing to do with her injury.

Face him, Esther.

She turned her back to Craig and with shaking hands finished mixing the orange juice. It was ridiculous of him to expect that of her, she told herself. He didn’t know anything about her father, about the vicious, deadly kind of man he was. Face him? She would be facing her own executioner.

She placed a glass of orange juice in front of him, but as she started to turn away, he gently caught her wrist.

“Esther.”

She looked down at him, resentment, fear and anger all warring within her. “You don’t know,” she said thinly.

“No. You’re right. I don’t know.”

She jerked her wrist out of his grip and stepped back. “I don’t like to be grabbed. I don’t like to be picked up. Don’t touch me like that again.”

A knock sounded on the door before either of them could say another word.

“That must be Enoch,” Craig said. “I’ll get it.”

She let him because of course it might not be Enoch. It might be Richard Jackson. Fear was a worse prison than iron bars, she thought bitterly. Far worse.

She heard voices from the front of the house. The next thing she knew her kitchen was suddenly filled to overflowing with two ecstatic dogs. Guinevere and Mop ran in circles chasing each other joyously. They managed to knock over a chair, and nearly knocked Esther over, too.

“Hey,” said Craig from the doorway. “Mop, cut it out.” The komondor let out a joyous groan and skidded to a halt right in front of him. Guinevere skittered across the linoleum, bumped into the cabinets and stopped beside Esther. She looked up at her mistress with a big grin, her tongue lolling to one side.

“That good, huh?” Esther asked her. “Well, I hope you’re prepared for the consequences, Guin. There are
always
consequences.”

“Esther,” Craig said, “this is my sister’s husband, Enoch Small Elk.”

Esther found herself looking at a man who was considerably shorter than Craig but with a strong, stocky build that reminded her somehow of a workhorse. His hair wasn’t quite as dark as Craig’s, and it was worn short. He also had a pair of friendly brown eyes that made Esther feel immediately at ease.

“Sorry,” Enoch said, “but Mop just wouldn’t let your dog go. I finally decided to bring them both because I sure couldn’t see any other way to get your dog home.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly all right,” Esther assured him. “But will Mop go home with you? What are you going to do without your sheepdog?”

“Oh, he’ll come with us all right,” Craig said, an amused glint in his eye. “He just doesn’t listen to Enoch.”

“Why ever not?”

Enoch smiled. “It’s just that I work with Bucket and Craig works with Mop. Believe me, Bucket doesn’t listen any better to Craig than Mop does to me.”

“But they both listen to Paula,” Craig said.

“They listen to her
broom,
” Enoch corrected.

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.”

Esther found herself laughing at the men’s repartee, forgetting all the dark things that had been making her so miserable only minutes before. “May I offer you orange juice, Enoch? I just made it.”

“Actually, Paula and the kids are out in the truck so I’d better be going. But thanks.”

Hardly even hesitating, Esther said, “Why don’t you ask them if they’d like to come in, too? I’m sure I have cookies somewhere for the children, and I can certainly make more orange juice….”

Paula Small Elk was a beautiful woman with a round, friendly face and her brother’s hair and eyes. The children were adorable, although Esther had little experience of young children and didn’t quite know what to say to them. They seemed perfectly happy to sit at the table with juice and cookies, though.

“It’s about time we met,” Paula told her warmly. “I know we haven’t been the best neighbors, but that’s only because we’ve been so busy trying to get the sheep operation up and running.”

“I’ve been busy, too.”

“Oh, I know! Craig says you’re a painter. Do you have anything hanging in the house that I could see?”

Esther always got a little embarrassed when anyone wanted to see her work, but Paula’s smile was so open and friendly, and so eager, that she answered, “Well, I
do
have one hanging in the living room.”

She took Paula to see the picture while the men watched the children. Craig’s sister was instantly appreciative of the painting of seagulls above the gray waters of Puget Sound.

“You have a love for nature.”

Esther nodded. “It’s so…perfect, in its own way. Oh, I’m not saying there’s no ugliness in it, but it’s just…I guess what I’m getting at is that there’s no malice.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Paula argued seriously. “I’ve watched a cat play with a mouse it caught. Is that really so very different from when a human bully picks on a weakling?”

“But cats are only obeying their instincts.”

“So, unfortunately, are bullies.”

Esther started to argue, but then thought better of it. It didn’t matter. Besides, maybe
bully
was the best description for men like her father who picked on women and children. She willingly would have bet that her father never beat up another man his size in his entire life.

“I think there’s an instinct,” Paula said, “to kill those who are smaller and weaker. Or to drive them away. You see it in a lot of animals when the runt of the litter is pushed out of the nest and not allowed to nurse. Unfortunately, I think the instinct sometimes goes a little out of whack in humans.”

Esther nodded. “And of course, we’re supposed to be civilized.”

Paula laughed at that. “Civilized? If you ask me, that’s very superficial. It sure disappears quickly enough when people get upset about something.” She turned her attention once again to the painting. “You find peace in nature. That must be what Craig is drawn to.”

Esther felt her heart skip two beats in rapid succession. Craig was drawn to her?

“Oh, you’re very pretty,” Paula hastened to say. “Don’t misunderstand, please. But Craig avoids women, even pretty women, and I was wondering what made you so different.” She indicated the painting with a jerk of her chin. “Now I know. Do you have many more?”

“Oh, they’re all out in my studio in the barn. I’m getting them ready for an exhibition in London.”

“London? You must be a big deal.”

Esther quickly shook her head. She didn’t like to think of herself that way. “It’s just that my paintings sell better in Europe than in the States.”

Paula smiled. “You’re a big deal. I can tell. Well, sometime you come over and have dinner with us, okay? And sometime I’ll come over here and you can show me some more of your paintings.”

They returned to the kitchen to find that the children had finished their cookies. Craig was washing Mary’s hands at the sink, and Enoch was using a damp paper towel to clean Billy up.

“There’s a beautiful painting of seagulls in the living room,” Paula told her husband. “Go look at it while I finish cleaning Billy.”

“It’s a beautiful painting,” Craig offered. “I was admiring it last night.”

“Thank you,” Esther said, feeling embarrassed. As her paintings went, it was not one of her best executed, nor one of her most brilliant. She kept it simply because she needed to be reminded that even on the grayest of days gulls soared freely.

A short time later the Small Elks departed, explaining that the children needed to go to bed. That left the two dogs and Craig, and the dogs didn’t seem interested in anything but one another. They lay side by side on the cool tile floor of the kitchen and watched the world from sleepy eyes.

Feeling suddenly awkward, Esther looked at Craig. He was staring at her, his gaze resting at a lower point on her body. Instinctively she looked down and saw that the swelling of her nipples plainly showed through the layers of her bra and her blouse.

All of a sudden she couldn’t breathe. She knew what he was thinking and she was paralyzed, torn between conflicting fears. She was terrified he would touch her and terrified he wouldn’t, and she didn’t know which possibility scared her more.

He apparently had no qualms. In three strides he was across the kitchen and standing right in front of her. She backed up a half step and came up hard against the counter. There was nowhere to go.

He could have trapped her with his body against the counter, but he didn’t. Instead he trapped her another, easier way, by the simple expedient of reaching out and running his index finger in a small circle around her nipple.

It was the lightest of touches, but the effect was electric. She gasped and let out a small whimper as arcs of pure delight shot through her.

Never had she dreamed that a touch could bring such pleasure. Walls almost as old as she was began to crumble as she realized that a man’s touch could be gentle and giving. As she realized how much she could want it and more.

He smiled at the sound of her whimper, not a satisfied or triumphant expression, but one that suggested he was enjoying her pleasure as much as she. His finger continued to trace tight little circles around the hardening bud of her nipple until she thought her knees were going to give out.

As if he sensed it, he lifted her onto the counter and stepped between her legs. She didn’t have time to panic over being lifted, and now that her insides were turning into warm syrup, she didn’t especially care that she was trapped. Just please don’t let him stop!

Now he traced both nipples in the same maddening way, his brow furrowed as if he were concentrating intensely. As her womanhood began to dampen and throb, it was at once frustrating and seductive the way his hips held her legs open. She wanted, needed, to bring her knees together, but his body prevented her. The openness of her position, though, made her feel more incredibly soft and feminine than she would have imagined possible.

More! Oh, please, more! her mind cried out.

But he continued to taunt her with those maddening little circles, until of their own volition her hips began to rock gently, almost imperceptibly. She needed something more and she hardly knew what.

“God, you’re so responsive!” he said huskily. “So warm and willing and…” He trailed off.

The brace, she thought with a sudden burst of panic. He’s thinking about my brace!

But no such thought had entered his head. Instead he reached for the concho belt around her waist and released it. It fell to the counter with a clatter that seemed unnaturally loud. Esther stopped breathing.

Slowly, slowly, he lifted the hem of her peasant blouse.

“Lift your arms,” he demanded huskily.

She couldn’t have protested to save her life. Something magical was happening here and she didn’t want to miss it. Once, just once, and damn the consequences. Slowly, wondering how she managed it when her muscles felt like thick syrup, she raised her arms.

He continued to lift the hem of her blouse slowly, and it was the most exquisite sensation she had ever known to feel the fabric whisper across her skin, revealing her secrets.

She had always believed that if this moment ever happened, she would be mortified by her own nakedness. Mortification, or even mild embarrassment, never entered her head. Instead she was filled with impatience, wishing he would hurry and show her all the delights that awaited beyond the threshold she had never crossed.