Renegade Father (16 page)

He kissed her fiercely, his mouth demanding, unrelenting, and she returned his kisses with every ounce of emotion she had stored up for most of her life. Their mouths tangled then slid apart then returned together to tangle again.

Before she was completely lost to the haze of desire, she forced one tiny corner of her mind to stay alert, to record every detail—from the unbelievably erotic taste of his mouth to the texture of his skin and the rugged, male scent of him.

His face was rough and in need of a shave but she didn't care. She loved the rasp of stubble against her skin, the wild, untamed look the subtle shadow lent him.

He pressed his fingers to the curve of her collarbone just above the loose neckline of her thermal shirt and his hands were even more rough against her skin, hard and callused from working the ranch. She gloried in it, though, in the thrilling contrast between them.

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured, uncannily echoing her thoughts. “I've always thought so. Touching you is like running my finger over the petals of the season's first wildflowers.”

Coming from any other man, she might have laughed at the words, but from Joe—her gruff, decidedly un-poetic Joe—she found them enormously moving.

She smiled softly at him and saw the desire in his dark gaze kick up a level.

“Keep looking at me like that and you're going to get more than you bargained for,” he growled.

“I hope so,” she murmured. “I really hope so.”

He gave a ragged laugh and reached for her again. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, not wanting to ever let go. A low, urgent ache began to pulse inside her with every kiss, with every touch. She arched against him, craving the incredible wonder of his mouth on her again.

A few moments later her wish was granted. He pulled her shirt over her head, baring her to his gaze. She felt a flush crawl up her cheekbones and fought the urge to cross her arms in front of her.

She had always been pretty scrawny and didn't have much in the chest department. He didn't seem to mind, though. At least not judging by the heat flickering in his gaze.

“You're beautiful,” he murmured, and pressed his mouth to the slope of one breast in a kiss that seemed almost reverent. She felt a sting behind her eyes, a catch in her throat. She wasn't used to this kind of tenderness—to someone making her feel so delicate and cherished—and she wasn't at all sure how to handle it.

All she knew was that she didn't want him to ever, ever stop.

She twisted her fingers in the silky black of his hair, holding him to her while his mouth skimmed across her skin, while he drew her into his mouth. He licked and tugged, sending heat scorching through her.

She loved the feel of him beneath her fingers and she touched everything within reach—the soft hairs at the
nape of his neck, the corded muscles of his shoulders, the strong angle of his jawbone.

His chamois shirt was unbuttoned as if he'd put it on hastily, so it was an easy matter for her to slip it off his shoulders and run her hands down the warm, smooth skin of his strong arms.

He took his shirt off then returned to capture her mouth again and she explored the bounty in front of her, savoring the smooth, rippling muscles of his chest, of his back.

There wasn't an ounce of wasted flesh on him. Every bit was hard, rock-solid from years of working cattle. She wanted all of it.

Amazed at her daring, at this reckless, audacious woman who seemed to have invaded her body, her hands drifted to the waistband of his jeans and began working the row of buttons there.

He froze as her fingers fluttered over him, then he covered her hand with his. “Annie, be damn sure about this,” he growled. “Because I don't know if I'm going to be able to stop.”

The growled admission seemed to have been wrenched from his throat and a vast, aching tenderness welled up inside of her.

He was always so worried about staying in control of himself. He always had been, even when they were kids. Colt used to tease him so much about it. He called him Iron Man Joe and dedicated half his life to trying to make the stoic, serious boy Joe had been lighten up a little.

She could remember only a handful of times where Joe had completely let loose, one time with temper when one of the Broken Spur ranch hands had abused
a horse, the other times with complete, uncontrolled laughter at something either she or Colt had done.

He was always so chagrined at himself afterward that he'd let his hard-won self-mastery slip away.

She wondered if she had the power to make it disappear again. And she suddenly wanted fiercely to try.

“I'm positive, Joe.” She answered him in a murmur, barely recognizing that low, sultry voice as her own. “I've never been more sure of anything.”

Her fingers moved against the hard bulge in his jeans, caressing him through the heavy denim. She was rewarded with a strangled groan. Encouraged, she fumbled to work the buttons free, then wrapped trembling fingers around him.

He didn't protest. He was too busy yanking off the rest of her clothes with frenzied, hurried movements. Soon both of them were naked, heedless of the lingering chill in the small cabin as their bodies generated more than enough flames between them to keep them warm.

He kissed her urgently, his hands and mouth everywhere at once. Her shoulders, her neck, the curve of her breasts. She adored every second of it, loved knowing she hadn't imagined the passion and heat of the first time they made love.

She was so busy savoring his loss of control that she didn't realize her own had disappeared when she wasn't looking until his hand drifted across the swell of her abdomen to tangle in the red curls at the apex of her thighs.

She gasped at the intimate caress. As his clever fingers danced across her, she became aware too late of the pressure building to a fever pitch inside her, of her limbs going loose and pliant.

Suddenly he slipped a finger inside her, to where she
was slick and ready for him, and that was all it took, just that one touch, to send her splintering apart into a thousand, wondrous pieces.

She came back together a few seconds later to find him watching her, his dark eyes stunned and aroused.

Her face went hot as she realized what had happened, how desperately eager she had been for him. “Sorry,” she mumbled, hiding her face against his shoulder.

He gave a ragged laugh. “Sorry for what? I think that was just about the sexiest thing I've ever seen.”

She could either be embarrassed or she could go with the flow. She decided this was probably her one and only chance to be in his arms like this and she wasn't about to spoil such a gift with something as stupid as self-consciousness.

She pulled free of his shoulder and met his gaze. “Want to see it again?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

He laughed again. “Do you even need to ask?”

He kissed her again, his mouth still smiling, and her heart swelled with love for him, for this tough, scarred man who didn't smile nearly enough and who spent so much time pushing everyone away.

Although she knew he wouldn't welcome the words, she tried to show him how she felt with her body, with her mouth. Their teasing and touching took on a new urgency and when his fingers found her again a few moments later she arched against him, urging him without words to take them both higher.

He entered her slowly, carefully. It was perfect.
He
was perfect. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, not sure if her heart could contain this much emotion or if it would bubble over like a pan left boiling too long on the stove, and she had to bite back the words
of love swelling in her throat, words she so wanted to tell him.

With their bodies and mouths entwined, he moved inside her in a steady, powerful rhythm. She arched to meet him, feeling that low, wondrous softening inside her again, that unbearably sweet pressure.

He brought his hands up to curve around her face and the heady contrast between the gentleness there and the demanding force of the rest of his body was more than she could stand.

“Joe,” she gasped against his mouth, not sure what she wanted to say other than “Don't stop.”
Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop.

Their gazes locked and her stomach quivered at the raw emotion blazing in his eyes, a wild mesh of feelings she couldn't even begin to guess at. He pushed inside her hard, so hard, and she cried out once then unraveled around him.

With a harsh groan he joined her in a shuddering, powerful explosion. She held him close, their bodies joined in every way possible, as her heart boiled over into tears.

And for a moment—this moment—he was hers.

T
hey took the High Lonesome trail back down to the ranch in a thick silence broken only by the huffing breaths of the horses pushing through the deep snow.

Several times Joe looked as if he wanted to say something but he always clamped his teeth together and rode on.

She sighed. How could he act as if nothing had happened, as if a few hours ago they hadn't been wrapped in each other's arms so tightly she couldn't tell where she ended and he began?

After they made love, that incredible, cataclysmic encounter that was scored into her heart like a brand, he had held her close without saying anything and she could almost watch his defenses as they clicked back into place.

After just a few moments—far, far too few—he gazed out the window where the sun was beginning to stream in, calmly said the storm seemed to be over, and
then he rose and began to dress as casually as if they did this every morning.

They had played this scene before, the first time they made love, right down to his stony, remote expression. She knew the drill—how could she forget?—so she had packed away the pieces of her broken heart and performed her part.

What did she expect? He had spent more than thirteen years pushing her away. Why should today be any different?

No one came out to greet them when at last they rode up to the horse barn. The children were still at Maggie's, she knew, and the rest of the ranch hands were probably out looking for calves that didn't make it through the night.

“I'll take care of the horses,” he said gruffly, after they both dismounted.

She studied him, wondering how to bridge the distance he had put between them. The distance he
always
put between them. “Thanks,” she finally answered. “I need to get cleaned up and then drive over to the Broken Spur for C.J. and Leah.”

He blew out a breath. “Guess we need to figure out what we're going to do about her.”

“I need to talk to her first and try explaining as best I can the choices I made.” Some of them, anyway.

He nodded, fingering the leather of Qui's reins. “I have to leave, Annie. For a lot of reasons.”

She looked away from him. “I know.”

“But I don't want Leah to think I don't want her to be a part of my life. I want to do my best by her.”

Everything had become so messy. It would be so difficult trying to explain to her daughter what had prompted her to lie all these years. Most important, she
also had to make sure Leah understood that Joe wasn't to blame for any of it.

And what was she going to say to C.J.? He would be so confused when he learned that his favorite uncle was really his sister's father.

Despite all the complications, she couldn't regret that Joe knew the truth. The secret had been a weight she had carried for so long she didn't know how to manage without it. She was weak with relief that she wouldn't have to anymore.

She cleared her throat. “She needs a father, even if it's a long-distance one.”

“I was thinking maybe she and C.J. could come stay with me this summer for a couple of weeks. I imagine he's going to be real confused by this and I don't want him to think this is going to change anything between him and me.”

She nodded, touched by his sensitivity toward C.J.'s feelings. “We still have more than a week to work this out. We don't have to decide everything right now.”

“I know. I just wanted you to know where I stand. You're her mother and she belongs here with you and with her brother but I want to be a part of her life too.”

Stay. Stay and be a part of all of our lives.
She bit back the words, knowing she had no right to ask them.

“I know that will mean a lot to her,” she said softly, then headed toward the house.

Longing only for a shower, she let herself in and climbed the stairs to her bedroom, then turned on the water as hot as she could stand it. For a long time she stood under the spray while it eased the ache from her muscles, wishing it could heal the ache in her heart as easily.

For thirteen years she had managed to convince her
self their only other time together had been a mirage, that she had built it up into far more than it actually was.

Being with him again showed her how wrong she was, that it could be every bit as wonderful the second time. She suspected it would be just as earthshaking each and every time.

Not that she would ever know. He had made it abundantly clear they had made a mistake, one that he wouldn't let happen again.

She remained under the spray until the hot water heater ran out and her skin raisined.

Wrapped in the deep blue terry-cloth robe the kids gave her for Christmas and drying her hair with a towel, she opened the door to her bedroom only to freeze, the towel slipping from her hands to puddle at her feet.

Charlie Redhawk sat on her bed, his back against the carved oak headboard that had belonged to her grandmother and his legs stretched out in front of him.

His boots were leaving wet, muddy smears all over her Rolling Star quilt, she noted absurdly.

He gave her a mocking smile. “Trying to pretty yourself up for me? Don't bother. It's a losing battle. Besides, I'm not interested unless you've put a little more weight on that scrawny butt of yours.”

Her heart felt as if it would pound out of her chest. She drew a deep breath, hoping to calm this wild scramble of her pulse. “How did you get in here?”

“The door wasn't locked. I figured since you knew I was coming for our little appointment, you must have left it open for me.”

Today was the deadline he'd given her to come up with seventy-five thousand dollars. How could she have
forgotten? In all the emotional uproar of the last day, his ultimatum had completely slipped her mind.

She tightened the sash on her robe then slipped her hands in the pockets to hide their trembling. “You're trespassing,” she said, with as much coolness as she could muster. “I want you to leave.”

He gave her that same smirk. “What you want doesn't really matter, now does it, Annie?”

It never had. She had wanted happily-ever-after and had ended up in hell.

Charlie settled back against the headboard and crossed his arms across his chest. “I'm not going anywhere. Not until we finish our little business together.”

“We have no business together. Not anymore.”

His soft, full mouth tightened. “Seems to me we got about seventy-five thousand in business.”

She could feel the nubby fabric of the pocket stretch out with every quiver of her fingers and the knowledge that he could still push just the right buttons with her infuriated her.

Enough was enough. She had had it with men telling her what to do, how she should feel. She was a strong, confident woman and she would not let him do this to her over and over.

She lifted her chin and stared straight into his eyes. “I've thought about it and I'm not giving you any more money, Charlie.”

His boots hit the floor with a crash and despite her best efforts, she flinched.

“The hell you're not.” His voice turned ugly and mean, the voice of her nightmares.

Strong and confident,
she reminded herself even as she fought the urge to flee.
Strong and confident.
“I'm not. Even if I could put my hands on that kind of
money, which I can't, I wouldn't give it to you. We're done.”

“It's over when I say it's over.”

“No. It's over now.” Was that woman with the clear, determined voice really her? Annie wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't heard it herself.

“We're done,” she repeated. “Get out of my house, Charlie, and off of my ranch.”

For a moment he seemed nonplused by her defiance. He scowled, looking at her as if a baby kitten had just bitten off a finger, then he shrugged. “Fine. Up to you. I guess I'll just head on over to the barn and have a little conversation with my baby brother, then. I'm sure he'll be real interested in what I have to say.”

She met his mocking smile with one of her own. “You're a day too late. He already knows all about Leah.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You think I'm stupid enough to believe you?”

She might have found this heady new confidence somewhere inside her but that didn't mean she was foolish enough to answer that question honestly. “Why don't you go ahead and find Joe and ask him yourself?” she said instead. “I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see you. He'd probably love the chance to show you again all those clever moves he picked up in prison.”

His face turned a mottled red. Both of them knew Charlie hadn't bested his little brother in a fight since Joe turned eight years old.

He huffed out an angry breath. “I want my money, you stupid bitch.”

“And I want to barrel race in the national pro rodeo finals. I'm afraid neither one of us is going to get our wish.”

A muscle worked in his jaw and she could see him trying to figure out what had come over his docile, submissive ex-wife. Finally he scratched his cheek and shrugged. “Fine. If that's the way you want to play this, we'll do it the hard way. The money or the boy.”

She frowned. “What?”

“You give me the money and I walk away. You don't, and you can kiss your little Charlie Junior goodbye.”

She stared at him, an icy chill settling in her stomach. How could she had forgotten the other hold he had over her? “Are you threatening your own son?”

“I'm threatening you. Either you give me the money or I sue for custody of my boy. Wouldn't take much for me to prove you're not fit to raise a dog, let alone my kid.”

The laughter took her by surprise. It started low in her stomach, a little hiccup of air at first, then it rumbled up to work its way through her tight throat and exploded out into the room. Before she knew it, she was laughing uproariously, so hard her sides ached and she couldn't seem to catch her breath.

He stared at her like she had slipped completely over the edge. “What the hell's the matter with you? Didn't you hear what I said? I'm gonna sue for custody of that precious little mama's boy of yours. Probably do him good to have a real man in his life.”

She drew in a gasping breath trying to still her laughter long enough to speak. “I'm quaking, Charlie. Really quaking.” She sputtered again. “Let me get this straight, you really think a judge is going to give you custody of a seven-year-old boy?”

“Sure. Why not? I'm the kid's old man.”

“Right. And let's see, what else do you have going
for you? No productive employment for the last thirteen years except sponging off my ranch. A history of alcohol abuse spanning back to junior high school. Assault charges and a jail term hanging over your head. You're regular father-of-the-year material, Charlie.”

She watched his face change, saw his features go rigid with rage, but the blow took her completely by surprise. One minute she was ticking off his less than stellar attributes on her fingers, the next, red-hot fire exploded around her eye.

She swayed backward from the impact and the raw pain.

That one would leave a bruise.

She should have expected the blow and tried one of her many subtle ways of evading it, but the last nineteen months of peace must have made her soft.

Before she could gather her shock-scattered thoughts and step away—or at least relax her muscles to minimize the impact—he hit her again, this time an open-handed slap across her mouth, and she tasted the metallic tang of blood.

He shouted angry curses at her—about how stupid she was, about how she didn't know anything, about how she was going to pay for talking to him like that—and for a moment she was frozen by old patterns of fear and subjugation.

She couldn't think what to do, paralyzed by years of similar scenes. She had learned early that any efforts to protect herself always made things worse. Eventually she had just given up, had quietly surrendered her will.

But not this time.

She wasn't that weak, helpless girl anymore. In the last year she had found strengths in herself she never
knew existed and she would be damned if she would ever stand for this again.

Protests swelled inside her throat, then they erupted in violent, savage fury.

“No!” she yelled fiercely before he could strike her again.

The force of her outburst stopped him in his tracks and he stared at her, astonishment in his eyes.

“Touch me again and I'll kill you,” she promised in a harsh whisper, and she had never been more serious in her life.

Charlie obviously didn't believe her. “Right,” he scoffed, and stepped forward again, his fist already raised for another blow.

 

Joe heard the shout as he was walking past the ranch house on the way to the foreman's cottage. It was a cry of rage and of pain and he didn't stop to think twice, just raced up the porch steps and burst through the mudroom.

Inside, he heard the sounds of a scuffle and Annie yelling again, chanting “no, no, no” again and again. He took the stairs two at a time and shoved open the door to her bedroom, then paused in the doorway, astounded by the sight before him.

Charlie was backed into a corner by the bed, arms lifted in defense as Annie went after him, using her fists and her feet and her fingernails and any other resource she could find.

She looked like she was more than holding her own and he was tempted to just leave her to it for a while. Heaven knows, Charlie deserved every blow and then some. Besides, it was probably cathartic, in some
twisted kind of way, for Annie to finally fight back against the man who had spent years wearing her down.

He would have let her go at it a few more moments, but then Charlie seemed to recover from his shock at what was probably a completely unexpected attack. He pulled his fist back ready to deliver a powerful blow that would have sent her sprawling, but before he could connect, Joe wrapped both arms around Annie and pulled her out of harm's way, still kicking and clawing.