Tallchief for Keeps (21 page)

“He’s been in wars. He knows everything.” Shark Malone’s freckles caught the afternoon sun. Shark didn’t know that Alek had failed the diapering rodeo twice before succeeding—somewhat.

Alek reached to ruffle a boy’s unruly hair, and another small boy—Tyree—timidly placed his hand in Alek’s. His mother had made Jimmy take Tyree, and Jimmy wasn’t happy about a kid brother in tow. Alek knew the feeling; as a boy, he’d been mortified when stuck with Anton and his sisters.

A horseback rider came down the center of the street, and people came from their offices and stores to watch.

Alek stood slowly, keeping Tyree’s hand
in his.

Maybe he needed the boy’s support; maybe he needed to take a breath before he passed out. Electricity played along his skin, and his pulse rate zapped into overdrive.

Megan squealed with delight and bounced on Alek’s back as she recognized her aunt.

Elspeth sat straight, shoulders back, the wind tugging at her dirty and torn blouse. Each movement of the horse caused a soft movement of her breasts. Her hair, loose around her shoulders, rippled and gleamed, black as a crow’s wing. The chaps covering her jeans were as worn as her western boots. Her gloved hand rested on her thigh, and the other skillfully managed the reins.

Beneath the straight brim of her black western hat, Elspeth’s eyes were steady heat, searing Alek’s. She stopped the horse directly in front of him. There wasn’t a shadow touching her; she was all steel, all woman and knew what she wanted.

Alek sucked in his breath and knew that
what Elspeth wanted, she would take. Maybe it was Una’s shawl…maybe, just maybe it might be him. His brain swarmed with dreams and hopes, while a solid ache lodged low in his body, turning his thighs into stone.

Elspeth’s mare held still as the squad hopped on their bikes and circled Elspeth on Main Street.

Birk’s pickup, laden with a portable concrete mixer, slowed to a stop. Calum, laden with grocery sacks of Talia’s latest craving, placed the sacks on Birk’s hood. The brothers stood side by side, legs spread, arms across their chests, their faces impassive.

“She always was the best horsewoman around,” someone murmured behind Alek. “Her mother rode like that. Straight back, eyes that could see into a man’s soul and find the dirt in it. She was a judge right here in Amen Flats. I saw her mother wound up, one day, and Elspeth right behind her. The two of them came after Lacey MacCandliss’s mother. You could feel the spit and fire coming off them when they rode into town that day. Everyone knew that when Pauline Tallchief rode like that on horseback and came into town by herself, someone had stepped over the line. Though only a bit of a girl, Elspeth was right at her side, riding straight backed and looking like steel. Never knew what they said to Ms. MacCandliss, but she didn’t treat her little girl as bad after that.”

Lee Braker picked up the Tallchief
story. “The Tallchiefs all pulled their weight when they lost their folks. Sometimes they’re plenty hard to understand because of those times. Every one of them has that Tallchief steel, clear through. Elspeth took on her mother’s chores right then and never complained. She was a champion trick rider when she was fourteen and making a nice penny at it, too. Or else she was at her loom, earning another penny, or in the kitchen trying to keep her family fed.”

As Elspeth sat straight, watching Alek, he knew he’d pay hard for loving her. Deep down, there was the steel that had kept the Tallchiefs together, and they’d fight when pushed. But from the look of Elspeth now, the fights would be out in the open, not in the shadows of the past. It was worth the battle. She didn’t give an inch, her expression unreadable, and Alek wanted it that way; she had a right to her privacy.

Tyree’s eyes were enormous as Alek walked with him to Elspeth. The four-year-old boy clung to Alek’s leg, peering up at her. “He’s afraid of the horse,” Elspeth noted curtly.

Alek slowly took in her hat, the faded pink blouse, jeans and boots. “Did you get it settled?” he asked, even as he knew the shadows had shifted in Elspeth.

She’d gone to the mountain, searching for answers and a measure of peace. He ached for her, because she’d torn herself apart along the way. Alek wanted to reach for her, to wrap her safely in his arms, but knew she’d have none of that tenderness between them now. Sunlight slanted down the set of her jaw. Sometime during the day, she’d cried, a tear streak dragging across her cheek.

Elspeth ignored Alek’s question; she’d answer him when she was ready and not before. She tipped her hat western-style, and went dizzy with the sight of Alek. On the afternoon after their loving and subsequent cereal dumping, he was dressed in low-riding jeans, a faded T-shirt and a teething infant’s drool on his shoulder. He stood there, combat boots locked to the pavement the color of sundown, his jaw set, a tense muscle working beneath his dark skin. Slashing cheekbones, soaring black eyebrows and beautiful, curling lashes ran into a nose that had been broken and then to a tight, scarred, unforgiving mouth. She preferred that mouth in its natural sensual curve or widened in a grin that softened his face. When he fused his mouth to hers, assaulted her senses—

She gripped her thigh with her glove
and remembered Alek’s big hands soothing her. Rawboned, big and tough, there wasn’t anything sweet about him—until he tasted her, because that’s surely what he did, tasted. There in the dying light, shadowed by the mountains she loved, Alek stood amid the children he deserved. The infant strapped to his back could have been his own. Alek wanted a family and he wanted her. Fear shot through Elspeth, and she gripped the reins tighter, startling Delight.

She wouldn’t know how to keep him when the excitement outside Amen Flats beckoned to him. She couldn’t bear loving him one day and then finding him gone the next.

She didn’t know how to trust her emotions; she’d kept them locked and safe too long.

“We’re planning a Fourth of July soapbox derby,” Alek said, and she knew that he wanted something from her that she wasn’t ready to give. The currents were there, running through Elspeth’s eyes, though her face remained impassive.

“I’ve never ridden on a horse like that. Can I ride on your horse?” Tyree asked shyly, and Elspeth shivered in the late heat of the day.

Alek realized suddenly that Elspeth kept her distance from children this age. She looked strong enough to take anything now, and he decided to push her a bit more; Alek wanted her eyes to flash and smoke at him. He bent to lift Tyree to his hip. “She’s got a hot date tonight. She might not want to right now.”

Elspeth shot him a look that would have made her brothers take two steps back. Instead, Alek took one toward her and pushed again. “I bought the Kostya place.”

The moment he’d seen the old ranch, he knew it suited Elspeth; laden with flowers and vegetable gardens, the yard spread into fields and the fields spread into mountain meadows. He could see Elspeth rocking a baby on their front porch, running after a toddler and swinging a child.

He could see her in the old house, busy at her loom or walking and spinning on the huge old wheel on the front porch.

Alek’s heart skipped a beat
as he saw her in the old bedroom, dressed in yards of old-fashioned nightgown and waiting for him.

The mare pranced backward; Elspeth’s soft mouth firmed, sunlight catching on the edge of her jaw, spilling down to her breasts, flowing with the horse’s restless, sidestepping prance. “The Kostyas haven’t wanted to sell their ranch.”

Smolder. Steam. Heat
Alek pushed her again. The lady had a chip on her shoulder, and he liked prodding it into a precarious tilt. “I’m from Russian stock, and they knew a Petrovna once. They like the idea of ties to their homeland continuing their ranch and want to retire into town. I traded them this house and any modifications they want. They’re in their new motor home, headed to a South Dakota reunion of their native village.”

Elspeth narrowed her eyes. “What are you going to do with their ranch?”

“Grow things.”
Hold you. Kiss you. Love you. Marry you. Make children with you. Adopt children and give them homes. Keep them safe and then love you more.

“You’re not a rancher, Alek. It isn’t easy.”

“I’ll learn what I have
to. I’ll make mistakes, but I’ll learn.”
I’ve made mistakes with you
—
I’ll learn what makes you happy.

Delight pranced beneath Elspeth, and she ran a gloved hand down the mane’s neck, soothing her.

Alek stood and waited for her to make her call; he realized that he hadn’t known the meaning of fear until now. Living in war zones, lit by rockets and bullets, hadn’t prepared him for the freezing terror that she might not want him on a permanent basis.

If she didn’t, he’d get drunk first and fall apart later and pick himself up to try again. She’d have a hard time getting rid of him. He locked his boots to the pavement and waited.

Elspeth’s brothers walked
to Alek. Birk lifted Megan from Alek’s back and cuddled her on his hip. “Say ‘Birk,’ Meggie. Birk is your favorite uncle. You’re wet, kid. Uncle Alek needs diapering lessons, doesn’t he?”

Calum snorted and placed his hand
on Alek’s shoulder as they watched Elspeth manage the mare easily. “Women,” he said, as if the word explained the intricacies of the universe. “Elspeth the elegant can take the heart out of you when she rides. She hasn’t in years.”

She’s got my heart now.
Alek crossed his arms over his chest. Because if he didn’t, in another minute he’d be up on that horse, taking her out of town.

Elspeth smiled at Tyree, a strand of hair whipping along her cheek and flowing into the wind. “Her name is Delight, and she’s the gentlest horse on the Tallchief spread. Her grandmother was my first horse, and they both loved little boys the best. Do you really want to ride with me?”

“I…I guess so.” Tyree was too scared to know that Elspeth rarely came close to children this age; Alek ached for her.

Tyree’s thumb was almost in
his mouth when his big brother pushed it down firmly. “If you wet your pants, you’re in double-dutch trouble, shrimp.”

Tyree turned slowly to his brother and from his look, his brother would pay for that one day.

“I’ve never ridden in a soap box. Do you think I could ride in yours?” Elspeth asked Tyree, distracting him from the wet-pants shame.

Tyree’s eyes went wide.
“You never? You can sure ride in mine.”

Alek lifted Tyree in front of Elspeth and envied the little boy. She placed her hat on his head and wrapped one arm around him. With the other, she guided the mare through her paces, circling the street slowly, then trotting, then stopping, shifting directions and repeating the fancy steps.

Alek went lightheaded just looking at her. The dying sunlight caught on Elspeth, her hair swirling around her, and his heart stopped. Somewhere violins played—he was certain of it—and rose blossoms fell like rain. Maybe it was rain, sparkling in sunlight. Maybe it was moonlight and angels singing. He tossed in butterflies and magic fairy dust and listened to the uneven flip-flop of his heart. He dragged in a necessary breath of air and hoped no one heard it come out as a lovesick sigh. He locked his knees, because they were getting weak at the sight of Elspeth’s taut body, moving as one with the mare, controlling her.

“Welcome to the pack, Petrovna. You’re in love,” Calum remarked dryly. “You’re also drooling. The thing about all this is that from now on, you won’t have an idea what hit you. By the way, did you know Megan wet your back?”

“Babies, laundry and a spare tire around his belly. Having to explain a beer at Maddy’s and why the dishes weren’t done. It’s all downhill from now on,” Birk added, and returned Megan’s wet kiss.

“Getting up at midnight and waking
up the grocer when she wants pistachio ice cream with kraut.”

Calum rummaged through the grocery sacks. “Good. I didn’t forget the pickled artichoke hearts.”

“Gag,” Mad Matt commented, his finger in his mouth.

“I think I’m going to swoon,” Alek stated, meaning it. The Tallchief brothers’ eyes widened, and then they began to laugh, rolling laughter that turned the townspeople’s attention to them.

Mrs. Schmidt began to weep, and Maddy wiped a tear from his eye with a bar towel. He gave the towel to Mrs. Schmidt, who blew her nose on it. An old cowboy, bent by years of ranch work, drew out his harmonica and began to play “The Yellow Rose of Texas.”

Alek leaned back into the shadows and knew that if Jeremy Cabot put one finger on Elspeth, he was—

Jimmy peered up at Alek and
asked, “Who’s dead meat?”

Elspeth struggled out of Jeremy’s arms for the twentieth time that night. The effort cost her; she ached from head to toe and back again. She’d discovered that a man’s hands could be sweaty and soft. Then the tiny muscles within her body reminded her of her night with Alek. There was nothing soft about Alek, all hard angles and strong, rippling muscles…he’d demanded and took, and she’d given and demanded more, hungry for him.

Jeremy’s flabby body pressed against hers again; it seemed as if she were fighting a living, sweaty swamp. She’d regretted her impulsive date with him from the moment he placed his hand on her knee—which was an immediate event, once they were in his car. Jeremy’s sneaky looks at her thighs beyond her new short skirt disgusted Elspeth, almost as much as his eating habits.

Sideburns did nothing for his chubby
face and fat lips. His shirt barely closed over his round belly, a middle button severely strained. She’d liked him while they were in school, but Jeremy had truly gone to pot and to pork. Somewhere between shy Jeremy with glasses and this Jeremy with busy hands, he’d lost that sweetness that she remembered.

“Let’s not say goodnight just yet,” Jeremy crooned, sneaking another appreciative look at her thighs. “You are a strong woman, Elspeth. Uh…I don’t suppose you’d ask me in for a drink?”

“No, I don’t suppose I would.” If Jeremy tried one more move, he’d find out just how strong she was. He was her first experience with a man who—She realized suddenly that Alek hadn’t forced his hands on her. When Alek leered, something rose out of her that wasn’t disgust, rather the need to pit herself against him. In one day, her male menu was certainly varied—from Alek to Jeremy.