The Humbug Man (9 page)

She closed her eyes on a groan and got into bed. She had to forget. No, she had to make plans. She’d been coasting, loving Tate, getting to know him. But there was no future in it, and she’d been making dreams, not plans. Now she had to decide. Did she keep the ranch? Did she send Blake back to school? Did she go back to Tucson?

She worried the question for hours. Finally, in desperation, she got out of bed. Surely Tate would be asleep by now, and she needed a cup of coffee and an aspirin for the headache she’d given herself. Hopefully she wouldn’t run headlong into Santa Claus out there, she mused.

But when she went into the dark kitchen and collided with a warm shape, she let out a faint gasp until she saw Tate’s face silhouetted in the light from the Christmas tree.

“What are you doing up?” she faltered.

He let his dark eyes run slowly over her body in the pajamas, and he smiled because she was so obviously embarrassed at not having on a robe.

“I’m about to make coffee,” he mused. “But now that you’re up, you can do it while I put some clothes on.”

That was when she realized that he didn’t have anything on. She kept her eyes on his face with wide-eyed apprehension that tore a deep laugh from his throat.

“My God, is it that much of a shock?” he whispered wickedly.

“I’ve never even seen a naked man!” she screeched, and it was true because she’d never looked at her husband, not once.

His eyebrows arched in the faint light from the tree. “And you were married? Well, lady, you’re overdue.”

“No, I’m not.” She closed her eyes tight, and he laughed as he turned back down the hall.

“All right, coward.”

But she peeked. Just as he went into his room, the streaming light from it silhouetted him and she got an eyeful. He was the most magnificent man she’d ever seen, with or without clothes. She turned into the kitchen feeling poleaxed. He could have been a centerfold, all right, she thought dazedly.

He was back in less than five minutes, but only clad in his jeans. His feet were bare, like hers, and so was the rest of him.

“I thought you’d gone to sleep,” she murmured. She plugged in the percolator, having already filled it with water and coffee and laid out cups and saucers and cream.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said quietly. “I wanted you too badly.”

Her eyes lifted. “But…”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. His lean hand touched her cheek. “I know. I frightened you off. Maybe I meant to.” He sighed heavily. “I’m still in the learning stages about seduction.”

“I thought you didn’t want me.”

“I finally realized that,” he said on a soft laugh.

She managed a tight smile and let her eyes fall to his chest, but the bare expanse of it disturbed her, so she averted her gaze to the tree.

“I forgot to call Michael,” she mentioned.

“Is it too late?”

“The time zones are a couple of hours apart,” she recalled, “and it’s later on the East Coast. I guess he’s asleep. It’s just as well, anyway. I haven’t quite decided what I’m going to do.”

He caught her waist and leaned back against the kitchen counter, bringing her lazily against him. “Decided to do about what?”

“About the ranch. And Blake.” She stared at his chin. “And me.”

“Well, I can’t see any real problem, honey,” he said carelessly. “I want to buy the ranch, so that gets it out of the way. And Blake doesn’t want to go to military school; he wants to live here and learn the cattle business. That takes care of him. Which only leaves you and me.”

She swallowed. Her heart was going wild. She looked up hesitantly, her eyes faintly pleading. “You and me?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He bent, brushing her nose with his. He smiled softly. “And that means,” he whispered at her lips, “that you’re not going anywhere until I say so, pretty girl.”

“But I can’t…my job…responsibilities…” she protested weakly, the words muffled by his lips.

“Hush,” he chuckled, and his mouth opened lazily, taking her lips with it. She made a faint sound, but he held her close until she gave in, and then he unbuttoned her pajama jacket.

“Tate!” she protested against his hungry mouth.

“God, you’re soft,” he whispered as his hands tenderly took the soft weight of her breasts. He eased the fabric away from them and pulled her against him, holding her there, drawing her lazily from side to side so that the thick hair on his chest made delicious patterns on her softness, so that the hunger got worse by the second and she began to make noises that he liked.

Her nails bit into his shoulders and she clung, her mouth as eager as his.

His lean hands slid down to her hips and pulled them gently against his thighs, pressing her to him so that she could feel how much he wanted her. “I go crazy when I get close to you,” he said huskily. “Eventually I’ll give in to it, and so will you. We have to do something about it.”

Her hands slid over his broad chest, savoring the feel of it, adoring him. “Yes.”

He bit at her mouth. “When?”

Her eyes opened. “What?”

“When do you want to get married?” he asked simply, his black eyes soft, tender.

She stared at him blankly. “You…you want to marry me?” she stumbled.

“Of course I want to marry you.” His shoulders lifted and fell and his mustache twitched. “Can you see us living in sin with Blake around?” he chuckled.

“But, marriage,” she said quietly. Her pale eyes searched his dark ones. “You haven’t wanted anyone around you.”

“Yes, that’s true,” he said honestly. “But you know how it’s been for the past week. You have opened doors for me.” His hands slid up her bare back and down again, smoothing her breasts against him, shuddering a little with the sweet pleasure of it. “Maggie, I’ve learned that I can’t live in the past. And I don’t want to, not anymore. I want a family. I want you. And Blake. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone, and I don’t think you want to, either.” His dark eyes narrowed. “Or have I read it wrong? Is it just a physical thing with you?”

“I want you like crazy,” she admitted without embarrassment. “But it isn’t just a physical thing. I love being with you. I feel safe and happy.” She stared down at his chest, where her fingers were buried. “I…”

“Don’t stop now, for God’s sake,” he whispered huskily. “Say it.”

She looked up, flushing. “You didn’t.”

“I won’t—not until you do,” he said. “What’s the matter, city girl, balking at the last fence?”

Her chin shot forward and she glared at his smug expression. “Well, you know already, don’t you?” she challenged.

“Of course I know,” he said with barely concealed impatience. “You were trying to seduce me before we went to see the pups, weren’t you? That isn’t the kind of thing a virtuous woman does unless she’s pretty stuck on a man.”

Her blush got worse. “Maybe I just got hot and bothered,” she muttered.

“Fat chance. Say it.” He nibbled at her mouth and his hands slid up her sides, smoothing blatantly over her breasts and making her moan. “Say it, woman, for God’s sake!”

“I love you,” she murmured. “I love you, you horrible, wonderful man—” His hard lips cut her off, and her mouth was taken, possessed, absorbed, the second the last word was dying on the air, his hands strong and warm and tender on her soft breasts as he made them burn with pleasure.

He bent, lifting her, his big body shuddering with unconcealed hunger. “It’s been years,” he whispered roughly, “and I want you like hell. But I’ll be gentle with you.”

Her arms tightened around his neck and she buried her face in his throat, trembling. “I don’t care if you aren’t,” she whispered. “I love you so much. I want you just the way you are, Tate.”

He groaned, laughing, as he carried her down the long hall. “My God, this is going to be sweet,” he whispered.

She flushed, laughing. “I go all giddy and wild when you touch me.”

“Just remember that Blake’s a light sleeper,” he whispered.

She nibbled at his jaw as he carried her, savoring the feel of his broad, warm chest, the clean scent of his body. He was going to be her lover, and she could hardly wait. This was like nothing she’d ever experienced, not even in the excitement of her first marriage. This was the promise of heaven and only the beginning of a long, achingly sweet relationship….

“Santa Claus!”

They’d just passed Blake’s room and were at the door of Tate’s when the sleepy young voice froze them in place. If Tate hadn’t been quite so hungry, the look on his face would have been comical as he swung around with Maggie close in his arms to see Blake ambling slowly toward the living room with his crutch under his arm and cast bumping the floor.

“Santa Claus!” Blake called again.

“Damn,” Tate whispered huskily. “He thinks he heard Saint Nick.”

“Thank God,” Maggie whispered back, frantically buttoning buttons while her face blazed with embarrassment.

He put her down, smiling faintly at her panic. “Calm down,” he said gently. “Nothing happened.”

“By the skin of our teeth,” she moaned. She looked up at him and her heart stopped. “Oh, I love you,” she breathed huskily. “And if it had happened, I wouldn’t be sorry.”

“I wonder,” he mused. He bent and brushed his mouth gently over hers. “I lost my head, but I think it might be a good idea if we do it by the book. For Blake’s sake.”

She smiled dreamily. “That sounds nice. Too bad your heart’s giving the show away,” she added, pressing her hand over its hard, heavy beat.

“My body and my mind don’t always agree,” he confessed, but he was smiling, too.

Lights went on in the living room. “Wow!” came a hearty exclamation from a young voice. “Mom! Mr. Hollister! Wake up! Santa’s been here!”

“Make that Mom and Dad, Blake,” Tate called down the hall.

There was a short, shocked pause, a gasp and then a yell that could have awakened the dead.

“I think he’s pleased,” Maggie murmured.

“Do tell,” Tate said, grinning. “I am, too. Well, we might as well go and open our presents, since we aren’t going to give each other our best one just yet.”

“There’ll be time for that,” she replied.

His dark eyes searched her gray ones. “All the time in the world,” he agreed. “But we get married first.”

“Yes, Mr. Hollister,” she whispered.

Blake was already through his first two packages when they joined him, his eyes bright with love as he showed Tate and Maggie his new copy of the
Stockman’s Handbook
and the software for his computer.

“But my best present,” he told them, “is my new dad.”

Tate ruffled his hair affectionately. “I hope it was worth that broken leg,” he murmured dryly.

Blake flushed. “You knew?”

“I used to be a boy myself,” Tate chuckled. “Yes, I knew.”

“But how?” Maggie asked gently.

He gave her a rueful glance. “Well, you see, honey, while he was trying to get himself lost, I was busy sabotaging your generator so you’d have to spend Christmas week with me.”

“Tate!” she gasped.

He smiled at Blake, who was laughing openly. “A man gets lonely. Maybe old Scrooge had a humbug attitude toward Christmas, but I wanted a tree and someone to help me enjoy it.” He shrugged. “Hard to find company up here in the mountains, unless you trap it.”

Maggie hugged him on one side, and Blake did on the other. He held them both gently, fighting the sting of moisture in his dark eyes. Christmas had brought him gifts he’d never imagined, and he had them in his arms.

* * *

A week later, Blake was in school in Deer Lodge, crutches and all, and Maggie and Tate were just home from the justice of the peace’s office. They’d just been married, with Blake as a witness and had dropped him off at school on their way back to the ranch. Maggie and Tate were alone for the first time, and she was afraid.

It was harder than Maggie had realized, the newness of belonging to a man after so many years of being alone. She felt like a beet when she glanced at her husband and hated her own feelings of inadequacy and nervousness.

He took her gently by the waist and looked down into her soft, frightened eyes. “Listen,” he said gently, “I’m just as nervous as you are. Probably more, because I’ve got to set the pace. So just relax, Mrs. Hollister, and we’ll kiss each other stupid and see where it gets us. Okay?”

She lifted her face to his, smiling shyly, and closed her eyes as his mouth settled gently on hers.

As he’d thought, once she relaxed and stopped being shy with him, everything fell into place. Minutes later, they were on his king-size bed, fighting the clothes that separated them until nothing did, not even the faint chill of the air.

“Slowly,” he whispered, stilling her movements, holding her. “Slowly, honey. Yes. Yes, like that,” he murmured against her mouth as she shifted, letting him guide her. His lean hands caught her hips and held them as he moved. His mouth became demanding then, his hands insistent. He paused, breathing roughly, and felt her trembling. Then he moved again and it was easy. So easy. So sweet.

She clung to him, feeling his movements, feeling him breathe, feeling the wildness of his heartbeat over her breasts as his body slowly merged with hers. She’d been afraid, but there was nothing to be afraid of. He was her husband and she loved him, and this was the most beautiful expression of love that she’d ever dreamed of.

Her eyes closed as he shifted again and she opened her mouth against his throat as she heard him whispering, heard the words, burned with the passion in them. She arched, trembling, clinging, and heard his breath catch even as her body began to echo the sweet rhythm of his. And all at once they were soul to soul, as close as flesh could get to flesh. One.

She could barely breathe at all, and she was still trembling in the aftermath when she felt his eyes on her face. She opened her eyes, looking up, fascinated, into the black tenderness of his gaze.

“I love you,” he whispered huskily.

“I love you, too.” She reached up, clinging to him, shuddering in completion. “Tate, it was…it was never…”

“Never like this,” he finished for her. He nuzzled her cheek with his. “I know.” He wrapped her close, savoring her soft warmth in his arms. “You know,” he whispered, “if we do this enough, you might get pregnant.”