Taming the Lone Wolf (7 page)

The first words out of Tess's mouth when she saw the two of them was, “Those are her Sunday school socks. She'll ruin them if she walks around in them without shoes.”

“I'll buy her another pair,” Stony said, exchanging a glance with Rose, who beamed back at him.

“I don't want you spending your money on us,” Tess countered.

“It's only a pair of socks,” he argued.

“Maybe to you it's only a pair of socks,” Tess said, meeting his gaze. “To me it's an hour of work behind a counter.” She turned to Rose and said, “Go put on a pair of shoes. Now.”

Rose turned to Stony. “Do I have to?”

Stony saw the alarm on Tess's face at this clear sign of rebellion in the ranks. His own mother had died when he was very young, so his father's word had always been law. Now he saw what might have happened if his mother had lived. When there were two adults in a child's life, there was room for appeal. Only, Rose wasn't his daughter, and he had no right to be making decisions that affected her life.

“Do as your mother says, Rose. She's the boss.”

To his surprise, Rose didn't argue, just stomped her way back to the bedroom.

He let Rose go, then had an awful thought. “Where do you keep her shoes?”

“On the floor of the closet,” Tess replied.

He heaved a sigh of relief. At least she couldn't knock anything over. He realized he was worrying about her—as if she was his responsibility or something. Which she wasn't. And never would be.

But he was plagued with guilt at the thought of how dire Tess's circumstances must be if she had to be careful not to ruin a pair of child's socks. It was small solace that her husband would probably be in jail now, if he weren't dead. Perhaps a good lawyer might have gotten Charlie Lowell off with a short sentence. Perhaps he would already have been out of prison and back helping his family.

They needed help from someone. For a while, so long as Tess and Rose stayed, it might as well be him.

* * *

I
N THE MONTHS
that followed, whenever he went out hunting the ever-elusive rustlers, Stony wore the navy
blue mittens and scarf Tess had knitted and given him for Christmas. When he was home, he spent his days playing in the snow with Rose, and his nights loving Tess.

If he let himself think about it at all, Stony had supposed Tess would have less time for him because of the child. It had been that way with his father. Time and attention given to his new family had taken away from time and attention given to him.

Somehow, Tess managed to make him feel a part of the time the three of them spent together. Her warmth and joy enfolded both him and the child. The jealousy he had expected to feel toward Rose—akin to the shameful resentment he had felt toward his halfbrother—never materialized. He wondered if it was because he didn't want or need Tess's attention as much as he had wanted or needed his father's love.

Actually the opposite was true. What he needed from Tess far exceeded the care and respect he had wanted from his father. It dawned on him as he lay in bed with her spooned against his groin, his arm under her breasts, that he wanted her love.

The thought terrified him.

What if Tess was like his father? Would he always come second behind the child? Would he always end up with whatever love—and time—was left over after she had given to Rose first. It was selfish to want Tess's love all to himself. But he did.

He was unaware he had made a disgusted sound in his throat.

“What's wrong?” Tess whispered into the dark
ness. She turned in his arms and pressed herself against him. His body instantly hardened.

“Don't, Tess.” He didn't want to need her any more than he already did.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

He heard the caring in her voice. She had plenty of time for him now. Rose was sound asleep. “I don't want to talk about it.”

She sat up. “You've been moping around for the past three days. You might as well tell me what's troubling you. Neither of us is going to get any sleep until you do.”

“It's nothing,” he insisted.

“Fine,” she said turning her back on him. “Keep it to yourself.”

When he tried to put his arm around her, she shoved him away and said, “Leave me alone.”

Here at last was the rejection he had expected from her all along. He refused to accept it.

“Don't turn away from me, Tess.”

Tess heard the longing in his voice and recognized the need for what it was.

“Oh, Stony.” She turned back into his waiting arms, pressing herself against him. And felt the fire ignite between them as it always did.

She tried not to let her love show, tried not to give too much of herself. When Stony thrust inside her she arched into him. When his mouth captured hers, she surrendered to his passion. When their bodies joined at last, she knew her soul was lost. To a man who didn't want to love her, a lone wolf who couldn't be caged.

S
TONY HAD REALIZED
over the course of the winter that he couldn't live without Tess. He resented the time he had to spend away from her hunting down rustlers. He was ready to admit he needed her in his life. However, he had some daunting hurdles to get over before that was possible.

He had to tell Tess that he was the man who had killed her husband. And he had to come to terms with the fact that he would always have to share her with Rose, in the same way he had been forced to share his father with a half brother. Both obstacles loomed, seemingly insurmountable, before him. The need to resolve them consumed his waking moments and haunted his dreams.

He knew Tess was aware of his distraction, yet she didn't confront him about it. He was glad, because he had no idea how he could explain why he had kept his part in her husband's death a secret from her all these months. He was living a lie. Unfortunately he knew exactly how Tess felt about lies.

The second time he had returned to his cabin, having left it to return to Jackson following his brief Christmas holiday with Tess and Rose, he had found things achingly familiar, even to the savory stew bubbling on the stove.

At supper he had said, “I don't know when my house has ever seemed so much like a home. Thank you, Tess.”

She had blushed, those marvelous roses appearing in her cheeks. “Do you mean it, Stony? Really?”

“I don't lie. Especially about important things.”

“That means a lot to me,” she said, her eyes downcast. He thought she wasn't going to explain herself, but the rest of it came tumbling out. “I was devastated when I found out that Charlie had been lying to me—about the rustling, I mean. To this day, it's the one thing I can't forgive him.”

He had felt a pang of remorse at the lie of omission he was perpetrating.
Tess, there's something I have to tell you. I killed your husband.
The words were on the tip of his tongue. He could hear himself saying them. They remained unspoken.

Surely, when the time came to tell Tess everything, he would find a way to make her understand why he had kept the truth from her. Fear of what she might say and do when she learned his part in her husband's death upset his stomach. He had laid down his fork, the pleasant meal abruptly ended.

During the past four months, the right time had never come to confess. The longer the lie lay between them, the more difficult it became to tell her the truth.

He was running out of time. The snow was melting off the mountain. It was already gone in town. Soon the tourists would begin to arrive, and Tess would leave him to return to her life in town.

Unless he could make things right about what had happened with her husband. Unless he could offer
love, even when it meant accepting second place to someone else in her life.

Stony turned on his side in bed and stared at Tess in the early golden light of morning. She was more beautiful to him than ever. And infinitely precious. He should wake her up and confess the truth.

Now was not the right time, either. He had gotten a call last night, a lead on the rustlers who had proved so elusive all winter. He was closing in on them. He had to leave this morning and return to Jackson. He didn't know how long he would be gone.

He lay back down and folded his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He was going to lose her. Deep in his gut he knew it, and he was bone-deep scared.

One second the room was silent. The next, a tornado of energy came whirling in. Rose's pajama-clad behind plopped down on his stomach, and her hands landed flat against his bare chest. He gave a
“woof”
as the air in his diaphragm was pushed out by the weight of her. She rubbed her nose against his and said, “Good morning, Stony.”

Her visits had become a morning ritual. After the first nearly embarrassing episode several months ago, he had stopped sleeping naked. It was a small enough sacrifice to enjoy the light she brought with her each morning.

“Hi there, little bit,” he said. “What's up?”

“Is it spring yet?” she asked, glancing out the window.

Snow from an early March storm was melting from
the tin roof, dripping off the eaves. “Almost,” he said.

“You promised to let me ride a pony when spring comes.”

“So I did.” He rubbed his morning beard. There was no putting it off. “I have to leave for a while, Rose. I have to go chase the bad men again.”

She frowned, a ferocious glare worthy of the vilest villain in a penny dreadful. “I don't want you to go.”

A sudden lump formed in his throat. He didn't want to go, either. How had Rose become so dear to him when he harbored such resentment against her for the place in her mother's heart she stole from him? It was hard not to be enchanted by Rose, who gave love freely and demanded nothing in return.

She bounced up and down on his stomach. “Don't go. Don't go. Don't go,” she chanted.

He grabbed her hips to save his solar plexus. “I won't be gone long. And when I come back, it will be spring.”

“Promise? And I can ride a pony?”

“I promise. And you can ride a pony.”

“Yippee!” The bouncing started again, as though she were already on the horse, a wild bucking bronc.

“Whoa, there, cowgirl! Wait until you have the horse under you.” He slid Rose onto the bed between them, tickling her once he had her down. She giggled delightedly. It was all part of the game between them.

Rose turned to Tess, who by now was always awake and leaning on her elbow with a grin on her face, watching their antics.

“I'm hungry, Mama,” Rose said.

“Breakfast will be ready as soon as you put on the clothes I left at the foot of your bed last night,” Tess said.

Rose hugged her mother and got a kiss on both cheeks and the tip of her nose before she disappeared into her own bedroom to dress.

Stony proceeded with the next part of the ritual, which involved him and Tess and a few drugging early-morning kisses that occasionally turned into hard, fast and unbelievably satisfying sex. But not this morning.

Tess leaned back and searched his face, looking for something.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Remind me what it is, precisely, that you don't like about kids,” she said.

His eyes shuttered immediately. This was forbidden territory, and she knew it.

“Don't shut me out, Stony. Talk to me.”

“What is it you want me to say?”

“Explain why you profess not to like kids when I can see with my own eyes how good you are with Rose.”

He sat up against the headboard and shoved an irritated hand through his hair. He couldn't tell her about the lie. Maybe he could tell her about this. “It's not something I'm proud of,” he admitted, hoping that would be enough to placate her.

“Can you tell me what it is? Will you?” she persisted.

It came out in a rush, before he could stop himself. “My mom died when I was little, and it was just my
dad and me. He must have missed my mom a lot, because after she was gone, he lost himself in his work. He never had any time to spend with me. So I spent my time alone.

“When I was thirteen, my dad remarried and started a second family. He changed his priorities. My half brother, Todd, suddenly got all the attention I'd been yearning for ever since my mother's death.” He shrugged. “That's it.”

He was amazed at her perception when she said, “I see. Oh, I see. Why you profess you don't like children, I mean. You resented sharing your father's love with a baby.”

“I don't want to share you,” he said, the words torn from him almost against his will.

“Oh, Stony.” Tess slipped her arms around Stony's waist and laid her head against his chest, where she could hear his heart madly thumping.

“Don't you know love is boundless?” she said quietly. “It doesn't have limits. I can love Rose and still have more than enough left over for you.”

It was an admission of love, of sorts. Even that was more than Tess had intended to say. Yet, she knew Stony had needed to hear her say it.

“Leftovers,” he grumbled, pulling her tightly, possessively, against him.

She hesitated only a second before plunging even farther into dangerous waters. “No. Not leftovers. I love you differently than Rose. She's my own flesh and blood. I feel responsibility and delight and devotion when I look at her.

“But you, Stony. You're the other half of me. I've
been looking for you all my life. I love you with every particle of my being.”

His arms tightened until she thought her ribs would crack. She waited to hear the words from him, needed to hear them. She silently begged the wary wolf to take the few steps necessary to reach the hand she had held out to him.

“God, I love you, Tess.”

She felt her nose burn and tears sting her eyes. She clutched at him, a sob of joy clogging her throat. “Oh, Stony. I love you so much.”