Remember Me (Defiant MC) (25 page)

Yet, despite the bruising words Jensen had delivered, Maddox felt curiously sorry for him.  His brother suffered poor health, a lying wife, and evidently was folding under a mountain of bitterness.  Maddox had wasted a lo
ng time on bitterness.  He realized he actually cared for Jensen enough to want better for him. 

“Jen,” he said gently, but his brother’s eyes were cold when they met his and Maddox gave up for the moment.  Let him wind down, he figured.  Then they could talk.  They could for once and all set aside these petty battles and remember the bonds which had once linked them.  Maddox was surprised to realize how the past few weeks had dramatically reordered his mindset.  He wasn’t the same glib asshole who had roared back into Contention ready to piss on it all. 

“Dad,” Miguel had broken away from his mother.  He looked hesitantly from one man to the other as he approached. 

“Yeah, son?” Jensen said and his voice had returned to normal. 

“Me and Mad went on another hike today.   We found treasure.”   Miguel smiled and Maddox could tell he was desperately trying to ease the tension.

“Did you?” Jensen said absently.  He ran a hand through his dark hair.  It appeared to be a habit, one made sadder by the fact that his hair had visibly thinned, displaying the pink vulnerability of his scalp. 

Gabriela quietly sidled over to Maddox and took his arm.  He looked down at her and nodded.  This was all right, he was silently telling her.  This would pass. 

Miguel was wrestling the bandana from the pocket of his jeans.  He carefully untied the knot and triumphantly held the gold pebbles in his palm.  “See?” he said. 

Jensen glanced at Gaby, ignoring Maddox.  “I’ll pick him up tomorrow night, like usual,” he said. 

Gabriela nodded casually.  “All right,” she said, as if a painful clash of old resentments hadn’t just occurred in plain sight. 

Jensen seemed to relax.  He focused only on his son, smiling indulgently.  “So where’d you find that there treasure?  Panning in the river?  No,” he hunkered down to Miguel’s level, frowning and examining the small rocks more closely.  “Looks like it might be the real thing.”

“It is,” Miguel said, clearly relieved his father’s anger had dissipated for the moment.  “It’s gold, Dad.  Mad and me, we found it in a safe in the cemetery.” 

Maddox happened to glance at Jensen’s face while Miguel spoke.  He still wasn’t well versed in his brother’s moods but he saw how the color drained from his lips at the mention of the old cave.  The place which had been their peculiar boyhood secret.  The place no one seemed to know about except the two of them.   Jensen straightened up and looked toward the Scorpion Mountains.  When he looked back the stricken cast to his expression had vanished. 

“A safe, huh?  Well that’s w
eird.  Must be all kinds of stuff hidden up in those hills.”  

“How’s your house, Jensen?”  Maddox suddenly piped up.  He didn’t know why he had asked.  Except something had troubled him ever since he saw the ornate Victorian mansion.  It had evidently been renovated at some considerable expense.  Jensen was a low rank cop in a small town.  And one look at Casey told that she was not the sort who came from money.  She was the sort who glued herself to it. 

“My house?” Jensen’s eyes darkened.  He glared at Maddox but it was different from earlier.  The fiery look of betrayal was gone, replaced with a cautious glint.

“Yeah, no damage from the flood, right?”

“You know there wasn’t,” Jensen growled.  “And what the hell are you going on about as if we’re old pals?”  Just before he limped to his truck he paused next to Gabriela.  He spoke in a low voice but Maddox still heard.  “You’re an idiot if you believe a goddamn word he says.” 

Before he closed the door to the pickup he threw over his shoulder.  “We’re not done, Maddox.  We’re not done by a damn long shot.” 

Gaby tightened her arms around him as Jensen drove away.  Miguel’s dark eyes kept searching him with distressing uncertainty.  Maddox tried to smile at him to let him know it was all going to be okay.  He put an arm around each of them as they made their way back to the house.  Only in his head did he answer his brother. 

No, w
e’re not done, Jensen.  We’re not fucking done at all. 

Contention City, Arizona Territory

1890

The flood had claimed twenty seven lives.  Twenty seven people who breathed and
laughed while the Orange Grove Dam was contained were silenced forever when it was breached.   The victims were a mixture of families who had farmed the low valley and miners who had disdained the Scorpion camp and eked out an existence by the river.  Contention City struggled under the weight of its grief.  Annika was not personally acquainted with any of the lost souls who had perished in the waters of the Hassayampa but she felt their loss acutely, knowing that but for Mercer she would have been one of them. 

James would not look at her when she returned the following morning on Lizzie Post’s old mare.  Desi’s father, Carlos, had gotten word to him of her rescue.  He knew where she had spent the night and James was not a fool. 

As city marshal his duties were considerable and he had only paused for an hour to stop at home and change his muddy clothes.  She knew the last twelve hours had been horrible; he’d endured the gruesome chore of helping to collect bodies as the water receded.   The heaviness of the awful tasks which were still unfinished weighed down his broad shoulders as he faced away from her. 

“James,” she had reached for him, hating the anguish of his bent posture. 

He would not yield, turning his head away and coughing. 

“You want to be his whore,” he said flatly, “then go be his whore.” 

Annika stumbled as if his words had struck a physical blow.  They had been said and couldn’t be taken back. She knew she had never been fair to James.  She had married him with his brother in her heart.  It was unforgivable, really.  Yet she raised her head and defiantly gazed into her husband’s bitterness she knew it was not all her fault.  James Dolan had become this broken man for reasons which had little to do with her.  She would not accept blame for it all. 

“Damn you, Annika,” he swore, finally turning to her.  She thought she saw hate in his eyes and she faced it as his words sunk in.  The charade of her marriage was over. 

“Maybe I am damned,” she nodded.  “Maybe I was from the moment I met him.”  The she laughed hoarsely, recalling that moment, how Mercer had held a gun as his gang robbed the stage.  

“Yes,” James nodded.  “I think that’s true.” 

He watched as she removed her wedding ring and limped over to the kitchen table, placing it carefully on the surface.  James exited without another word, leaving her alone in the home they had shared.  Annika took the sheet from the mattress and carelessly tossed clothing and other belongings into the center before tying it together at the edges.  She’d had to plead with Mercer not to accompany her.  As she recalled the burning hatred in James’s eyes, she was glad that the brothers had not been in the same room together. 

She limped back to the horse and struggled to mount her, sadly thinking of Lizzie Post’s last wish.  She had wanted Mercer and James to make peace.  It would certainly never be possible now.  But then, perhaps it never was.  Even without her, they had been at odds since they’d headed in separate directions as men.  Annika tried to imagine that level of bad will between herself and any of her siblings.  She could not. 

She did not look back as she turned the horse, forever leaving James’s home.  Yes, she thought of it already as James’s home, not hers.  Her home was wherever Mercer was.

On the third day after the flood Annika returned to the schoolhouse.   Carlos and Desi de Campo were already there, sorting through the ruins. 

“Mrs. Dolan,” Carlos said, politely moving to assist her as she climbed from Lizzie Post’s staid old mare.  Her ankle was still quite painful and was tightly wrapped for comfort.  Mercer had cut the top from an old boot so that she might have a shoe of sorts to wear. 

Carlos took her arm and encouraged her to lean on him as she ruefully surveyed the damage. 

“I suppose class won’t be resuming anytime soon,” she sighed. 

Desi turned to her excitedly.  “Mrs. Dolan, will you come teach us at the Contention City schoolhouse?” 

Annika stared at the boy, confused.  His father cleared his throat and spoke. 

“The school board has seen fit to allow
all
the children of Contention to be educated in the schoolhouse.  Fortunately the place sustained no damage in the flood.” 

“We start on Monday!” Desi piped up. 

Annika was surprised.  “I had not heard.” 

Carlos de Campo cast her a sidelong glance.  “James was quite insistent to the other members of the school board.”

“Oh,” Annika blushed.  From the careful way Carlos was regarding her, she felt sure some gossip had reached the town’s residents regarding the troubles between her and James Dolan. 

Annika managed to smile at Desi.  “How wonderful.  Miss Hardwick is a wonderful teacher I hear.”

Desi’s face fell.  “You won’t be my teacher anymore?”

“Well, Desi,” she put an arm around his thin shoulders, “that’s the thing about learning.  It doesn’t need to be confined to one place.  You are a wonderful student.  I would be honored to continue additional studies with you.  That is,” she said quietly, “if it is all right with your parents.” 

Annika glanced at Carlos de Campo.  The man didn’t appear to be listening as he stared thoughtfully at the makeshift schoolhouse.  Soon it would be common knowledge that she had left James Dolan in favor of his disreputable brother.  A father might not want his son in the company of such people. 

“Desi would like that,” Carlos said softly. 

As Carlos helped her mount the horse once more, he reminded Annika that Misty was still in his barn due to the fact that Desi had ridden her home the day of the flood.

“I can bring her to you,” he offered, not meeting her eye. 

“Thank you.  I am staying at Lizzie Post’s ranch,” she said with firmness, wondering how he would respond.

However Carlos de Campo was paying little attention.  He watched as his son hopped over fallen tree trunks and pinwheeled his arms to keep his balance.  When he turned to Annika she saw the tears in his eyes. 

“To say ‘thank you’ wouldn’t be enough,” he said with emotion.  “
Gracias,
Annika Dolan
.
  From the bottom of my soul.” 

Annika looked at the boy who capered about, oblivious to their worries.  She smiled.  “He will have a fine story to tell someday,” she said. 

Carlos nodded, smiling back.  “Of course he will.  To his children and their children’s children.”  He gestured toward the mountains which hovered over the Scorpion mine.  “After all, like I always tell him, before there was gold and before this country rose, there were de Campo’s here.”   He tipped the wide brim of his hat at her.  “There always will be.” 

Mercer had returned to work at the mine.  Annika did not understand it but he would hear no argument.  Once he told her cryptically that it would only be for a short time.  Somehow that worried her more. 

She sat on a narrow chair and waited for him.  The door was open to invite the faint autumn breeze into the house.  The sight of Mercer riding briskly up on his treasured black stallion caused her heart to flutter as she tried in vain to quell the nervous excitement which always overwhelmed her whenever he was near.  He was a naturally fluid rider and looked so absurdly at ease in the saddle she could not imagine him doing anything else. 

Then, when he dismounted, she gaped at him in astonishment.   

“Mercer!  You’re soaking wet.” 

“Of course, sugar,” he shrugged as he removed his shirt.  “Had to take a dip in the Hassayampa if I didn’t want to come home to my lady with a foul layer of the deepest earth clinging to me.” 

Her mouth twitched.  “Most men would remove their clothes before jumping into the water.” 

Mercer slammed the door behind him as he casually unfastened his trousers.  He watched her face as she stared between his legs.  “I’m not most men,” he reminded her gruffly. 

Annika swallowed as her body began to respond to the certainty that Mercer would do what he liked with her.  “Supper will get cold,” she said, gesturing weakly to the beans and biscuits she had laid out for him. 

“
I’ll
get cold,” he answered, lifting her out of the chair and setting her down on the bed of quilts before the hearth. 

When he abruptly pushed up her skirts and buried his face between her legs she gasped.  He quickly silenced her objections with his tongue.  Mercer was incredibly skillful at finding her deepest center of pleasure.  She felt herself opening to him, bec
oming wetter as the slide of his tongue tormented her. 

He stopped abruptly, hovering over her and smiling.  He loved to do this, bring her to the brink and pull back, just long enough to drive her crazy. 

“Please,” she moaned, shifting her body around, desperately close to the frenzy and willing to do anything to get there.