Comanche Woman (44 page)

Long Quiet blew out the candle and they were once more shrouded in darkness. He muttered a vicious curse and heard Bay whimper in response. He cursed again, more loudly, and stomped into the other room, throwing himself into one of the rawhide chairs that sat before the fireplace.

He couldn’t let her touch his head or she’d have discovered there wasn’t any knot. And there wasn’t a knot because he hadn’t been thrown from a horse. His horse had been shot out from under him. Again.

He knew now that whoever had shot at him before had done exactly what he’d intended to do when he shot Long Quiet’s horse. This time, Long Quiet had been riding hard, knowing that Bay was at home waiting for him. His fall when the galloping horse had crumpled beneath him had caused the raw scrapes Bay had cleaned up. The blood on his shirt was the result of his impatience to get back to Bay. Knowing she’d be worried if he didn’t show up, he’d tried to make a break for cover before it was completely dark. He’d felt his head explode in pain as a bullet creased his scalp and had felt the warm blood begin to run down his neck and onto his shoulder before he’d lost consciousness.

He’d woken in the dark, wondering why the bushwhacker hadn’t finished him off. Maybe the arrogant villain thought he had. Maybe he hadn’t been careful enough to make sure. Or maybe things were happening exactly the way Jonas Harper had planned them all along. Long Quiet leaned back in the chair, careful to keep the pressure off the spot where the bullet had grazed his head.

He’d had a lot of time to think on the walk home, and although the answer had been slow in coming, he believed he’d finally figured out what Jonas had in mind. Long Quiet had played games with a quarry before, similar to the game he believed Jonas was playing with him. Eventually, the object of the hunt became his own worst enemy, fearing his shadow, afraid and ineffectual, a shell of a man. It appeared Jonas wanted Bay to see Long Quiet craven and quaking before he finally shot him dead.

Unfortunately, divining what Jonas had planned didn’t make it any less nerve-racking to endure. Because the truth of the matter was, for the first time in his memory, Long Quiet was afraid.

He wasn’t afraid of dying. As a Comanche, he’d always considered dying inevitable. The only consideration was whether a warrior fought bravely to the end. And he would face death bravely however it came to him.

No, what he feared was leaving Bay alone and vulnerable to a smooth-talking thief—and bushwhacker—like Jonas Harper. But he didn’t plan to die without ever having a chance to face the man who intended to kill him. Tonight he’d visit Jonas Harper and give a little of what he’d gotten.

But he’d take a moment to rest—and to be sure Bay was asleep—before he left again. His head throbbed. He reached up to check the crease, which had already scabbed over. The wound had probably left him more stunned than he’d realized. He could think of no other excuse for why he’d kissed Bay when he’d vowed to himself he wouldn’t touch her until he was sure she no longer regretted giving up the things Jonas Harper had promised her. He shook his head in disbelief. Another moment and he’d have done a lot more than kiss her. Fortunately, his pride had reared its ugly head and saved him from himself.

Long Quiet’s musing was interrupted by a cry from the other room. “What’s the matter?” he called. All he heard was another low moan in response. He was up and into the bedroom in a matter of moments.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Bay said, teeth gritted against the cramp in her leg. She’d already clutched the muscles of her right calf with both hands trying to work out the cramp, but she couldn’t help groaning as the muscles tightened even more despite her efforts. Since her pregnancy she’d been getting slight cramps in her legs when she stood too long during the day. But this one was much worse than any of the others.

Long Quiet lit the candle and pulled the sheet away. He hadn’t paid much attention to what Bay was wearing while she’d ministered to him. Now he was quite aware that she was wearing only her chemise and knee-length drawers. He saw the flash of white skin in the shadows. He forced his gaze away from the darker nipples visible through the thin cotton chemise, focusing on the flesh she’d gripped in both hands. He knew at once what her problem was. He took her calf between his callused hands and worked his thumbs deep into the clenched muscles to relax them.

Bay was still curled over by the pain, unable to lie flat without worsening the problem, so their faces were close. She’d been too worried about Long Quiet before to notice how he smelled, but now every breath brought her the odor of a hard-working man. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell—horses and honest male sweat. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she didn’t dare.

“How does it feel now?”

“Better,” Bay said. “Thank you.” Her calf muscles had begun to relax but still ached, and the arch of her foot began to tighten, threatening a cramp there. “Now my foot—”

“I’ll get it.” Long Quiet continued his massage down to her ankle and foot.

Bay groaned in relief. “That feels good.”

Long Quiet massaged the muscles of her calf and foot, glad for the opportunity to touch her and know the touch was welcome.

When she was sure another cramp wasn’t going to seize her, Bay lay down with her head on the pillow.

Long Quiet watched absently as she clasped her hands in her lap . . . actually, over the dark shadow at the apex of her legs. His hands never left her leg, but worked the muscle closer to her knee, his hands brushing the inside of her thigh. He felt her quiver before he slid his hands back down to her ankle. He took her foot in both hands and pressed the sole of her foot, ran his thumbs down the arch, eased each toe between his fingers.

It wasn’t until Bay spoke that he noticed that she was quivering with tension.

“What do you expect from me in this marriage?” Bay asked softly. “I . . . I need to know.”

Long Quiet’s hands stilled. His eyes sought hers before he said, “Only that you be my wife.”

Bay sat up so she could see his expression. “What does that mean, to be your wife? Is it only cooking and cleaning? Or does it include loving and sharing, too?”

He released a gust of air. “What would you like it to be?”

“I’ve always loved you.”

“You told me once before that you loved me—and then made sure I knew that you loved the things Jonas Harper could buy you a helluva lot more. Don’t speak to me about love. You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“If you’ll listen, I can explain everything.”

He rose from the bed as though he were in danger of succumbing to some siren’s lure if he stayed. “Just say what you want from me,” he snarled. “Don’t try to dress it up in a fancy wrapping with words of love.”

“All right,” Bay snapped, disgusted at having been cut off a second time while trying to tell him the truth about why she’d agreed to marry Jonas Harper. “What I want is you, inside me, pleasuring—”

Long Quiet’s hand abruptly covered her mouth, cutting off the sensual request. “Do you know what you’re asking for?”

Bay met his eyes with a determined gaze. Since she couldn’t speak, she nodded.

“Then so be it,” he rasped.

He dropped his hand from her mouth to her breast, cupping the new fullness the baby had caused. He lowered his head and kissed her breast through the cotton. He felt the nipple peak in his mouth and lifted his head to stare at the wet cotton.

“Please,” Bay begged.

“What?”

“Don’t stop. I . . . I need you.”

He sought out the other nipple through the chemise and sucked it into his mouth. Bay groaned and arched beneath him, until she’d bucked up against his loins. He reached out his hands and grasped her waist to hold her close, then pressed her back down upon the bed and used his knees to spread her legs so he could settle himself between her thighs.

“Oh, Bay,” he breathed. “You feel so good. It’s been so long. I’ve missed you so much.”

He tantalized her with his kisses, teased her with his tongue. She caught fire and he burned in the flame. In the Comanche camp he’d only wanted her desire. Now he discovered her desire wasn’t enough; he wanted her love. He would find a way to have it, he vowed to himself. But he could no longer deny himself the warmth of her willing body.

He stripped himself and then her, anxious to make sweet, passionate love with his wife for the first time since he’d left her at her father’s door. He was tender, even more so because of the child, his child, which she carried within her.

“Your stomach with the baby inside is so round,” he marveled as his hands caressed her curved belly with all the gentleness he felt for the two of them, his wife and his child. “And it’s not soft anymore, it’s firm and taut, like a peach before it ripens. But you’re still soft here . . .” He suckled her breasts as his child would suckle, and knew jealousy of his own babe’s right to do the same.

Tears gathered in Bay’s eyes at the wonder in Long Quiet’s voice. He gave her ample proof that he cared for her as well as the child, through the warm wetness of his lips upon her naked breasts, with the love bites at her neck and shoulder, with the teasing, taunting foray of his fingers and mouth, preparing the way for his swollen shaft.

Bay held her breath at the slow, deep penetration, filling her, possessing her. She echoed his deep groan of satisfaction with an equally satisfied groan. And then she laughed because they’d both sounded so pleased with the feel of one another. She felt, as much as heard, his rumbling laugh in return.

She dug her fingers into his buttocks and wrapped her legs around him to keep him deep inside, but he wouldn’t be bound. The slow, steady thrusts built in speed and strength, shoving her upward toward the head of the bed. She began to reach for the ecstasy with each thrust, feeling the tension build.

“More!” she panted. “Give . . . me . . . more!”

Then they were both out of control, their breathing ragged, their hearts pounding, their bodies slick with sweat, their voices spilling guttural sounds of pleasure.

“Please, now,” Bay cried.

Long Quiet answered with a cry of exultation as he spilled his seed within her. He’d cherished Bay as he never had before, telling her of his love in the only way he knew. With his last bit of energy, he whispered, “Mine.” Then he fell asleep, fulfilled, his head pillowed on his wife’s breast.

Bay was still gasping for breath after Long Quiet had fallen asleep. It had been a tumultuous coupling, and as she brushed a curl from his brow, she claimed him as well.

“Mine.”

A moment later she was also asleep.

Bay woke later feeling chilled. The covers had been pushed to the end of the bed by their lovemaking, and Long Quiet no longer lent her his warmth. In fact, he was lying as far away from her as he could get, on the opposite side of the bed. Slowly, she became aware he was also awake.

“The bed’s too soft, isn’t it?” she said, whispering because it was dark and the night seemed to require it.

He said nothing, and she thought he wasn’t going to answer her. At last he replied, “Yes, it is too soft. I haven’t slept much in a bed since I lived in Boston. It’s going to take some getting used to.”

“We could sleep on the floor,” Bay offered.

Long Quiet chuckled. “There’s not enough floor to sleep on. The bed takes up all the room. I guess we haven’t much choice except to get used to it. Try to get some sleep. Morning comes early.”

Sleep eluded them both. Finally, Bay said, “I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about the mustang you were trying to tame—the one that threw you. Can you tell me more about what happened?”

“I’d rather tell you about the beautiful
bayo
mare I’m working with. I’m taking the time to gentle her rather than break her, as the
mesteñeros
are doing with the rest of the mustangs. I wish you could have seen her running with the herd, Bay,” he said, his voice full of enthusiasm. “She’s the most beautiful mare I’ve ever seen, sleek and graceful. I’ve only been working with her for two days and Lady’s already starting to trust me.”

“Lady?”

“I’ve named her Golden Lady,” he admitted.

Bay wished she could see his features to know whether he was even a little red-faced at deciding upon such a beautiful, feminine name for a horse.

“I’ve been able to put a blanket on Lady’s back and rest a little of my weight on her. She’ll even let me rub her nose and—”

“You always were a great one for rubbing a pony’s nose,” Bay interrupted with a smile.

Long Quiet laughed. “You got to be pretty good at that yourself.”

He was quiet then. Bay thought he must be thinking about the life he’d left behind. “Has it been hard for you to adjust to living here in Texas?”