Only Mine (28 page)

The leap and shudder of his flesh beneath her hand awed Jessica. She felt the spreading, silky heat of Wolfe’s fulfillment and knew that she was touching the beginning of life itself. She returned his kiss fiercely, wishing that life within her.

“I didn’t mean to shock you like that,” he said when he could draw a whole breath again. “When you kissed me so intimately, I all but lost control.”

“You didn’t shock me.”

“Bloody hell I didn’t. You tasted me.”

“Yes,” Jessica whispered. “That was the best of all. You taste like tears, only more silky and mysterious.”

Her words went through Wolfe like dawn through night, transforming and renewing him in the space of a single rushing breath.

“You’re going to be the death of me, elf,” Wolfe said huskily, rolling over until he had Jessica caged between his body and the bed. “But first, I’m going to be the death of you.”

Jessica didn’t understand until she felt Wolfe’s mouth on her breast and his hand sliding down her body to seek the scented petals of the flower that opened only for him. She was already sleek, sultry, hungry, for pleasuring him had aroused her. The first brush of his fingers made her gasp. The second made her cry out. The third sent a silky heat spreading between them.

The fourth sent her to the sun.

A
LTHOUGH
Wolfe’s expression had been rather grim when he came in from outdoors, the sight of his wife spooning chili into a big serving bowl made him pause. The slow, very male smile he gave her as he peeled off his leather work gloves told Jessica that he was remembering what had happened between them in the hushed silence of dawn three days ago—and every night since.

As Wolfe took the big bowl from Jessica, he slid the palms of his hands over the back of her fingers. Because there were other people nearby, he didn’t bend to take her soft mouth in a kiss. But he wanted to, and the catch in her breathing when his palms touched her skin told Wolfe that Jessica wanted the kiss as much as he did.

“How’s the little man doing?” Wolfe asked Willow, turning away from the temptation of Jessica’s mouth.

Willow looked up from the shallow basin where she was carefully bathing the baby, who seemed to be enjoying the warm water and his mother’s touch.

“Ethan Caleb Black is doing wonderfully well,” Willow said, smiling.

“Ethan, huh? You finally decided.”

“It was Caleb’s father’s name.”

“Big shoes for the little one to fill,” Wolfe said. He looked appraisingly at Willow. “Are you sure you should be up and working so soon?”

“Lying in bed is for people who are sick. I’m not.”

Frowning, Jessica looked up from the pan of cornbread that was staying warm near the stove.

“In England, the women stay in confinement for several weeks after giving birth,” Jessica pointed out.

“Figures,” Wolfe said. His voice was rich with disgust for the aristocrats of Great Britain. “The whole lot of them is as useless as teats on a boar hog.”

All Willow said was, “The longer you stay in bed, the weaker you are when you get up.”

“You look tired,” Jessica persisted.

“I’ve been a lot more tired. Ask Caleb.” She picked up Ethan and wrapped his bottom in a soft cotton diaper as she continued talking. “Ethan and I had a nice long nap this morning, didn’t we, button? And after lunch, we’re going to have another one.”

Wolfe shook his head, but it was in admiration rather than disagreement. “And here I thought that Cheyenne women were tough. Caleb must have been standing under a whole sky full of lucky stars the day he found you.”

Jessica bent over the pan of cornbread, rearranging the clean cotton towel so that no warmth could escape. The fussing wasn’t necessary, but it gave her an excuse to hide her face until she was certain that none of the hurt she felt at Wolfe’s comments would show in her expression. Even
knowing that he hadn’t meant his words as a backhanded slap didn’t remove the sting of them.

She had begun to hope that he was accepting their marriage. Since the night when Wolfe had discovered the source of her fear of men, marriage, and childbirth, he had been the affectionate companion of old. He had also been a restrained, generous teacher of the ancient arts of sensuality.

But now Jessica realized Wolfe hadn’t accepted her as his wife. Nor was he likely to do so. His contempt for the aristocracy was as deep in him as his blood.

Jessica had been born into that aristocracy. Wolfe never forgot that, not even when in the grip of a passion for her that made him shake. It was why, after three nights of the most intense sensual explorations, Jessica was still a virgin. She was born of the aristocracy, which made her the kind of woman with whom Wolfe might play sensuous games, but not the kind of woman he thought was fit to be his true mate.

The wind flexed against the house, testing its strength and reminding the men inside of what awaited them after they had eaten. A faint scratching sound came from the windows, particles of ice or grit flung against the glass by the strengthening wind. As one, the men stopped eating and exchanged wary looks.

Without a word, Wolfe stood and went to the back door. Ignoring the ice-tipped wind, he walked away from the house until he had a clear view of the sky around the mountain peaks. The air had an odd sheen to it. The wind was alive, potent, and smelled of winter.

Although it was barely noon, the elemental harmonies
of wolf packs on the prowl shivered through the forest.

Motionless, silent, Wolfe stood and absorbed all the subtle messages of sky and earth, wind, and wildlife. When he turned and came back inside, his face was impassive and his eyes were bleak.

Caleb watched Wolfe sit down. “Well?” he asked softly.

Wolfe hesitated, then shrugged. The truth would come on the wind no matter what was said or not said now.

“It’s making up to snow.”

Caleb muttered something Jessica chose not to overhear. Quietly she set down another pan of warm cornbread and a bowl of chili.

“How hard?” Caleb asked.

“It’s going to be a real Hell-bringer.” Wolfe’s voice was very soft, but very certain.

“Then nobody rides but me. It’s too easy to get lost in a blizzard.”

“I’ll start bringing in the cows and calves,” Rafe said, ingoring Caleb. “My bullwhip makes the horses too skittish, but it works like a charm on those cattle.”

“I’ll ride shotgun for you,” Reno said. “Thank God not too many calves have been born yet. They’ll be a lot safer in their mother’s bellies. Have the mares started foaling yet?”

“No,” Wolfe said. “My steeldust will probably be the first. Once she foals, the rest won’t be far behind. When they start dropping their foals in a blizzard…”

Caleb narrowed his eyes but said nothing. There was nothing he could say that would turn back the cold northern wind.

“Once we get a rope on my mustang,” Wolfe
continued, “Ishmael will make sure the rest of the herd follows.”

“Hell,” Caleb said in disgust. “The last time I tried roping that steeldust of yours, she ran rings around me.”

“Quick little thing, isn’t she? Smart, too.” Wolfe’s smile faded. “If I can’t talk to her—”

“Talk?” interrupted Jessica.

Caleb smiled oddly. “In Cheyenne. It’s the damnedest thing I ever saw. Wolfe can go up to a mustang and ‘talk’ to it and half the time it will follow him like a big dog.”

“That’s what the Cheyenne call them, Big Dogs,” Wolfe said dryly. His voice changed. “If the steeldust won’t listen to reason, and we can’t get close enough to rope her, I’ll have to try creasing her with a bullet.”

Jessica looked unhappily at Wolfe. She knew the steeldust was the core of the horse herd he hoped to build.

“I’ll do what I have to,” Wolfe said.

B
Y
the the third day of the blizzard, the men were exhausted from lack of sleep and long hours spent riding under the most miserable conditions imaginable. Jessica made gallons of stew, rafts of cornbread, and lakes of coffee. She kept all of it hot in the kitchen no matter what the hour, for she never knew when one of the men would walk in the back door shivering with cold and hungry as a spring bear.

“Go back to bed,” Jessica said to Willow.

“You’ve been up cooking since dawn. It’s late afternoon now. You must be exhausted.”

“I’m fine. I’m stronger than I look. I always have been.”

Willow looked at Jessica’s drawn face and understood what was bothering her.

“The men will be all right, Jessi. They’re used to riding wild country.”

A tight nod was Jessica’s only answer. She didn’t know how much Caleb had told his wife about the problems they were having with so many wolves prowling in the storm, with the contrary cattle, and with cows calving at the worst possible time. Not to mention the wind itself, edged with thousands of icy teeth that ripped into flesh and stole the very warmth of life from livestock and man alike.

But Jessica knew all of those problems, for Wolfe had told her more than he knew with his terse answers and eloquent silences.

“If only the bloody wind would stop,” Jessica said suddenly.

“Yes. If only. At least it’s not snowing any more,” Willow said, walking to the window. She picked up the spyglass she had put there. In the magnified circle of its view, she looked across the pasture, counting horses under her breath. It was impossible to be certain through the waisthigh curtains of snow, but she thought the count came up short.

“What is it?” Jessica asked, coming to stand by Willow.

“At least four of the mares are missing.”

“Ishmael will bring them back.”

“Not if they’re foaling,” Willow whispered. “No stallion will disturb a mare when she quits the herd to give birth.” There was a tense silence before Willow added, “I saw at least one wolf. The packs are moving again.”

For an instant, Jessica closed her eyes. She had seen Willow’s Arabians when they were brought
to the home pasture. Even heavy with their unborn foals and thick with winter coats, the mares had an elegance of form and movement that enchanted Jessica. The thought of those mares lying down in the cruel wind to give birth while wolves circled hungrily around made her feel ill. The mares would be all but helpless, captive of the need to give birth. For a time, they would be almost as vulnerable as the foals being pushed from warm wombs onto frozen ground.

“The foals…” Jessica whispered.

Willow looked through the spyglass, saying nothing.

“Can you see any of the men?” Jessica asked.

“No. They’re probably combing the forest for cows. When the wind started coming from the northeast before dawn, the herd drifted out of Eagle Creek Basin.”

With growing tension Jessica waited while Willow searched as much as she could see of the pasture through the swirling snow. When she collapsed the spyglass with barely restrained violence, Jessica knew that the mares were still missing.

“I don’t see the steeldust anywhere,” Willow said finally. “I think the foaling has begun.”

“Dear God, no,” Jessica whispered. “We can’t lose the steeldust now. Wolfe was so relieved when she came to him as though she understood he would keep her safe.”

Willow set aside the spyglass. “I nursed Ethan a few minutes ago. If he cries before I come back, just—”

“No.”

The curt refusal startled Willow.

“Stay with your baby,” Jessica said tightly. “I’ll check on the mares.”

“I can’t let you do that. The cold is too dangerous.”

“That’s why you’re staying with Ethan. If anything happens to you, the baby will die. If anything happens to me…” Jessica paused and then spoke the bitter truth with no bitterness in her voice. “No one else will die of it.”

Willow clasped her hands together until the knuckles gleamed whitely. “Jessi, you mustn’t go out. You don’t know what this mountain wind is like, how quickly it can take the living warmth from you.”

“I know about cold and wind. I’ve seen sheep freeze standing up in the fields and wells frozen from top to bottom like stone.”

Willow’s eyes widened into startled hazel pools. “I didn’t know England was so cold.”

“It isn’t. Scotland is. Do you have winter clothing that would fit me?”

“Jessi—”

“Do you or not?”

“In the bedroom. I’ll show you.” Willow smiled oddly. “Some of the clothes will be familiar. Caleb got them from Wolfe. They were yours. There’s a shotgun over the front door. Take it. I’ll bring you extra shells.”

Very quickly, Jessica was on the way out of the house, wrapped in layers of wool and buckskin that were familiar, and a hooded fur jacket that was not. She wore pants instead of a skirt and carried a borrowed shotgun. The pockets of her jacket were heavy with extra shells.

The only horse in the corral that didn’t look half dead on its feet from work was a tall black gelding.
He didn’t want to be bridled, saddled, or ridden. Jessica managed the first two, but was very nearly thrown before the horse gave up and left the corral with ears laid back. As she rode out into the storm, she was grateful that Wolfe had insisted that she learn to ride difficult horses and do the work of stablehands.

Before Jessica reached the pasture, she saw the first of the wolves. They were sniffing the wind eagerly and moving as though they had a destination in mind. Acting on instinct, she followed. She lost the trail partway into the sparse forest. The wind was less brutal in the trees, but not by much.

Just as Jessica was going to give up and go back to the pasture, she heard the unmistakable sound of a horse screaming in anger and fear. She spun the black gelding around and headed toward the sounds at a dead run, dodging branches and clinging to the saddle horn when the horse lunged through low spots where snow lay in powdery drifts.

At first, Jessica saw only wolves. Then she saw the steeldust mare trying to struggle to her feet in order to face the circling predators. Jessica brought the shotgun up and fired into the wolves. They scattered away, only to circle back to the mare almost instantly. Jessica fired again and again, reloading rapidly despite the clumsiness of her gloves.

After the third shot, the wolves withdrew, vanishing into swirls of wind-blown snow. Jessica dismounted and went to the steeldust. The mustang flinched and laid back her ears but was too caught up in the ultimate moments of giving birth to resist the gentle hands helping her.

As soon as the foal was born, Jessica sat down and pulled it into her lap so that the icy ground wouldn’t sap the newborn’s strength. Very quickly, the mustang was back on her feet and nosing curiously at the slick, wet bundle that overflowed Jessica’s lap. A surprisingly long, agile pink tongue appeared and began a vigorous cleaning of the foal. When Jessica’s hand or leg got in the way, it was cleaned too.

Suddenly, the mare’s head went up and her nostrils flared. She shied away, but came back instantly, for the foal was a lure she couldn’t refuse. She nickered urgently to her foal. In response, the foal tried to stand.

With a few strategic pushes from Jessica, the foal managed to come to its feet, but very quickly went sprawling, its stilt-like legs sticking out every which way. As Jessica reached for it, a harsh male voice cut through the storm.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing out here! Southern lady, sometimes you don’t have the sense God gave a goose!”

Before Jessica could say a single word she was snatched off the ground by large hands. Instants later she found herself staring eye to eye with a perfectly furious Caleb Black. There was no sign of the sensual lover, gentle father, or loving husband in him at the moment. He was a dark angel of justice with blazing gold eyes.