Читать книгу Rio: Man Of Destiny - Cait London, Cait London - Страница 10

Two

Kallista Blaylock eased to her side, the baby kicking to protest the move as she snuggled into her husband’s arms. Roman Blaylock was certainly a comfortable man. Early March swooped around the corners of the addition they’d made to Boone Llewlyn’s stately two-story home. Snug in her bed, Cindi, another granddaughter of Boone’s, slept soundly. Cindi didn’t know yet that she was really Kallista’s half sister, and Boone’s granddaughter—but in time she would. Meanwhile, Roman had adopted her to keep her safe. The eleven-year-old child had had enough trauma in her life, thanks to her parents. Boone Llewlyn’s irresponsible, bigamist sons had left a trail of unwanted children. But Boone had provided for his grandchildren, Kallista and the rest; he’d paid a fortune to keep his sons’ offspring from publicly being branded as illegal. They only knew their grandfather as a family friend, their parents dropping them off to visit the old man. As executor of Boone’s estate, Roman had been given the secret task of bringing each one home—to the big Llewlyn ranch. When it was time, each of Boone’s grandchildren would know how their grandfather loved them. Kallista’s fingertip stroked Roman’s curved lips. “Roman, are you going to tell me what’s pleasing you so much these days? Other than the baby.”

His big hand moved to circle and warm the hard mound, their baby, and she sighed. Against her cheek, Roman grinned and she punched him lightly. “Okay, I’m not worried about Paloma Forbes returning to Jasmine. She’s half owner of the feed store, and since Rio went to buy her out, he’s been acting like a growly old bear. Else thinks he’s found ‘the one.”’

“Boone kept files on all of us grandchildren, and his file on Paloma said she’s not looking. Something happened in her early twenties and she hasn’t dated since. Roman, can’t you tell Paloma who she is—Boone’s granddaughter? She’s had such a rough life. As a child, her mother drove her ruthlessly. She was left in hotels, locked in rooms alone and poorly fed and clothed—until it was time for her to perform.”

“All of you have had a hard time, but I promised Boone that I wouldn’t tell anyone but my wife—and his grandchildren, when it was time for them to know. It’s not time yet, to tell Paloma. Boone wanted them to come here, to love the land, before telling them. You know, she’s the image of his mother. Tough, too. ‘Made to stand the weather.’ She won’t give up her half of the feed store. But Rio never backs off once he’s set on a course.”

Kallista punched his side again. “You’re enjoying this. Women dote on your brother. He’s easygoing and lovable... and used to doing as he pleases.”

Roman grinned again. “So is she. She’s the payback for the easy life Rio’s had with women, though he hasn’t been in the dating game for years.”

Roman turned to bend over his wife, love in his eyes. “If Rio decides she’s the one, he’ll go after her. Just like I went after you.”

“You’ve got that turned around, big boy. I bagged you—you didn’t have a chance. And you deliberately gave Rio Paloma’s location to start the fireworks, didn’t you? Stop smirking and kiss me.”

“She’s here. That Paloma Forbes woman. Turned up riding a big, flashy motorcycle. She’s walking around the place and snooping. Dressed all in black leather. She’s an Amazon—hard to picture her as some high-class piano player—and I don’t like the look in her eye...I seen it before, just before women start messing with things they hadn’t ought to,” Pueblo Habersham had whispered into the telephone when he thought Paloma wasn’t listening. “Get over here, Rio, and get her out of here. She ain’t sweet, like she was as a kid with Boone. She just comes right to the point and asks questions bald-like. I’m only the manager. I ain’t no encyclopedia.”

Paloma placed her biker boots on a sack of chicken mash, stripped off her black leather jacket and settled back to wait It had taken her two nonstop weeks to complete her affairs, and now in the middle of April, she was exhausted and ready for the seclusion of Boone’s cabin. Boone. Was he her father? Why had her mother kept that secret all those years?

The rough-hewn timbers running across the old feed store ceiling were the same, the wooden bins of bulk garden seed, even the small barrel seats used by Jasmine’s elderly spit-andwhittle males. The smells, dark and laden with memories, surrounded her. She listened to the baby chicks cheep in their cardboard boxes and thought of how Boone had brought her here to buy feed for his animals. She’d always loved him. She’d measured every man she met by Boone and none had come close. Once, she thought she was in love, but that bnef affair ended painfully, her lover moving to another virgin, another conquest.

As an adult, she couldn’t bear to return to Jasmine, to see the man who’d rejected her. When Boone died, the happiest part of her life had been torn away. She’d come now to answer Rio’s challenge, or was it her own? She had to resolve her tangled emotions, her feelings about Boone, her suspicions that he was her father. Lou, her booking agent, had turned pale when she told him that she wanted a year off to rest and to resolve the past. “You’re giving me a heart attack, kid. Say you don’t mean it. You’ll ruin everything we’ve bmtt—” But in the end, Lou agreed that she badly needed a break. “You’re too thin, kid. Try to get healthy, will you? You got from April to next Apdl—one year to rest. Next time I see you, no circles under your eyes, got it?”

Paloma spread her slender capable fingers, studying them. This feed store was all she had of Boone. She couldn’t let go, couldn’t sell it to Rio, not yet. She couldn’t bear to see Llewlyn House or Boone’s grave. Her last tour had swelled her bank balance and she didn’t have to worry about money. Now it was time to sweep away the old, and create a new life for herself. For months, she’d felt like a mechanical woman, though only she knew her performances lacked the fire she could give them. At first, the passionate storms within her had fired her career, but now she had to find peace. She’d start by cleaning the feed store, placing her music aside long enough to discover who she was and what she wanted. Was she her mother’s daughter? Boone’s?

April to next April. Would she be able to make peace with a lifetime of Boone’s rejection in just one year? Was she his daughter? Why hadn’t he wanted her? Paloma glanced outside the feed store to the snow-covered Rocky Mountains and damned Rio Blaylock for challenging her to face her fears.

For the past few months, she’d wondered about her career. She was tired, edgy and had just realized she did not love playing the piano. She hated concerts, was drained after them. Was that her mother’s gift to her—to be owned by the life her mother had created?

Paloma watched Rio’s black pickup glide into the parking lot and smiled. She was really going to enjoy this payback.... She listened to Rio’s boots hitting the ancient boardwalk outside, and savored the impatient, angry tattoo.

Rio stepped into the cluttered feed store office, a small section of adobe brick warmed by an ancient cast-iron heating stove. A lean, tall Westerner, dressed in a lined flannel jacket, he hadn’t softened in the three months since she’d seen him. Beneath the dark stubble on his jaw, a cord moved rhythmically as if in anger. He whipped off his black Western hat, slapped it against his leather chaps and found her instantly, his black eyes narrowing. She denied the little shiver lifting the hairs on her nape. She’d faced hard audiences before, and the best method was to step right up and launch into the job she had to do. Right now, that was keeping her control and putting this cowboy in his place. She lifted her eyebrows and met his stormy gaze. “Did I catch you at a...” She paused to wrap her next words in a smirking insinuation. “Busy time? You weren’t interrupted, were you?”

“You picked a fine time all right,” he stated in a low dangerous tone and took off his denim jacket to reveal a battered red plaid work shirt. The thermal shirt beneath it was frayed. He tossed the jacket to a rickety chair and Paloma disliked the sudden raw sensual impact to her body as Rio turned his back, a powerful, graceful sinewy male. He took his time pouring coffee from a battered pot atop the old woodstove and turned slowly to her. His black eyes leveled coolly at her over the coffee mug. “I take it you came to do business.”

“I have.” She almost felt sorry for the confident, impatient male in front of her, his hair shaggier than when they’d met, just past his collar. He hadn’t bothered to shave. With the shadows of the large, old room hovering around him and the weathered logs as a backdrop, Rio could have been a mountain man coming down to purchase his goods at the old trading post.

The man lacked a soft melody. He was too earthy, too raw, too—just too. And just the sight of him set her off, reminding her of how he’d left the bus, tossing her fears at her feet. He really-shouldn’t have kissed her-palm, those warm lips resting against her skin, branding her. A guarded, solitary woman, she couldn’t forgive the intimacy, the trespass.

“Good. Name the final price, I’ll write the check and you can be on your way.” Rio took the checkbook from his shirt pocket and tossed it to the scarred old desk.

She’d expected the arrogant contempt in his tone. This was a man who had lived in one place all of his life, tethered by family and land. She locked her gaze with his and settled back to enjoy the impact of her next words, “I’m staying and I’m not selling. I think my half would make a great country boutique.”

Pueblo’s shocked gasp behind the slightly opened door to the storage room said she’d scored a hit on at least one male. Rio’s cold, tight smile almost caused her to shiver. Almost. “I suppose you think that’s funny.”

“I’m staying, partner,” she said cheerfully and stood up. “See that those girly pictures get stripped from the bathroom, will you? And that it’s scrubbed down. Until we can remodel, adding another bathroom, layers of gray on the porcelain won’t suit my lady customers. Be seeing you. Hey, Pueblo,” she called. “I’m parking my bike in the storage shed. I’ll be down from the mountain when I’m ready.”

Rio caught her arm as she passed him and Paloma resented those four inches up to his face. She wasn’t used to looking up to anyone. “What mountain?” he asked roughly. “There are avalanches up there, lady, and spring flooding. I wouldn’t want to have to pull you out from under a ton of snow.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Have I asked for your help?”

There was just that flick of temper, to show she’d scored a hit. He smelled of smoke and fire and leather and dangerous male, packed with enough exciting edges to make her feel alive, really alive. “Where are you staying?” he asked roughly.

“Boone’s mountain cabin. I know the way.” She’d been safe there, with Boone. Now, as an adult, she had to sift through her childhood memories and find peace. “Boone wouldn’t want me to sell. He gave me his half for a reason. I’m going to find out why.”

Rio’s dark eyes softened; “Spanish eyes” the locals called the Blaylocks’ expressive trademark. “I’ll take you to his grave—”

“No!” The answer came out too sharp, too fierce, and Paloma hated that Rio had seen inside her fears—the man saw too much. He was frowning slightly now and studying her face. He’d known Boone...was her likeness to him easily seen?

“I’ll take you to Llewlyn House. My brother and his wife have added on to it...their family is growing, but there’s plenty of room. You’d be welcome.”

“No...I’d...rather not.” A wave of panic smashed against her, all the old memories coming back, the old piano... Boone.... She wasn’t ready; she had to prepare, to protect herself before—

“When you’re ready, then,” Rio murmured as if understanding her fears. His tone was soft, gentling, and Paloma sucked air, fighting the panic. Rough warmth curled around her hand, and she looked down to see his larger hand holding hers. The sight terrified her, too intimate, too close, too warm.... She jerked her hand away and hurried out the door.

She heard his footsteps, then for a second time, Rio’s hard grasp caught her, spun her around. “Listen, you hardhead It’s dangerous up there—”

She managed to smile coolly, despite fears fluttering around her like vulture wings. She was good at that, managing to look cool and hard, when inside, she was in agony. She’d learned first under her mother’s cruelties, and then fighting stage fright in concerts. She knew how to shield herself. “Worried about little old me?” she taunted.

Pueblo came outside, peering up at her. “Rio is our local ranger, ma’am. He’s rescued plenty of people in his time. There was a forest fire a few years back and he almost killed himself, trying to rescue a little boy. The boy didn’t make it and—”

“That’s enough.” The quickly shielded look of pain etched in Rio’s face surprised Paloma.

“I’ll be all right,” she said quietly. “Your brother, Boone’s executor—Roman—said there’s plenty of wood and I’m welcome to use the cabin. Boone taught me how to live up there. A friend is helicoptering in food and supplies. I’m looking forward to being alone. You’re not stopping me. Now let go of my arm.”

She wished Rio weren’t looking at her so closely, that his hand hadn’t just reached to stroke her long, loose hair. She wished that she didn’t tremble when his fingertip brushed back a tendril from her cheek. She wished her heart hadn’t started racing at that close, intimate look as he bent slightly to brush his lips against hers. “Good luck. I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he whispered in a deep, uneven smoky tone. Then he leaped off the platform and strode toward his pickup.

“I’m not looking for a cowboy like you, lady-killer,” she whispered when her breath returned to her body. She managed to pull her eyes away from that stalking symphony of broad shoulders and fine backside, cupped in worn denim, and placed a check-in call to Lou, her agent. To her disgust, Rio Blaylock’s backside and long legs fascinated her.

Rio slowed the horses, hushing the uneasy mare. Frisco, his saddlebred gelding, settled with the touch of Rio’s gloved hand and the Appaloosa mare quieted. He waited until the bear, awakened from his winter nap and foraging for food, crossed the path leading to Boone’s cabin. Rio pushed down the panic that the bear had already found Paloma, alone and unprotected. He’d given the stubborn woman two weeks, two long weeks of wondering if she were alive, if she needed him. He grimaced, unsettled by his admission that he needed her—his woman. Irritating, mule-headed woman...

May sunlight dappled the thick pines, and animals scampered in the forest’s thickets. The mountain blueberries would be thick and sweet this year. Waxy yellow buttercups would soon rise, and he hungered for her, this woman who softly haunted his sleepless nights, blending with the nightmares of the boy he couldn’t save....

“Perverse...contrary...maddening,” he muttered, beginning his journey again after glancing at the mare, packed with supplies. Why should he care if the obstinate woman had food? Would she be safe? Why did he care? Why had he promised himself after that first meeting that he’d come for her—if she didn’t return to Jasmine?

That shy dimple on her left cheek created the whole problem, he decided stormily. He couldn’t wait to see it again, that bit of magic on her smooth cheek.

It was her hands, he corrected as he watched deer move through the thicket, heading for lush summer grazing meadows on higher ground. He wanted those lovely, active, slender hands on him, touching his face, his hair, tethering him. He wanted that angular feminine body to be a part of his. He wanted to hold all that silky river of hair in his fists and kiss that—

He almost smiled. Paloma would bite.

Rio shook his head, not understanding his need for her, his need to keep her safe. She wouldn’t like his visit, of course, his checking up on her. He released his smile. Those sky-blue eyes would darken, slashing at him—His heart leaped at the thought, the excitement of seeing Paloma respond to him, almost vibrating under his touch, shocked as he’d kissed her palm, stunned as he’d touched her hair. Hell, he’d been stunned at the feel of her skin beneath his, the widening of her eyes, so blue a man would think he was floating in the sky.

He whipped the reins through his fingers. He should be at home, tending his Corriente and Hereford cattle, plowing and seeding and keeping his accounts. The beefy Herefords were a practical choice, but the contrary Corrientes matched Rio’s Spanish heritage—edgy, dark, dangerous. He smiled; the cattle reminded him of Paloma’s fire and the excitement she gave him; his heart raced just looking at her.

His remodeled house—an old barn—always needed work, and he was behind on his ranger and deputy rounds. He’d taken time away from his duties to see about Paloma, and to explore his shocking hunger for her. He scoffed at himself, now thirty-seven, desiring a woman who wasn’t sweet-natured, cuddly or curved. He recognized the age-old instinct to capture and claim her for his own-he’d known it the moment he’d seen her left hand, her third finger barren.

The Appaloosa mare was his first gift—she’d need the horse; that injured leg wouldn’t like the mountain hike. And Rio had just discovered that he liked the traditions of his Apache ancestors—like the bridal gift. A tracker and a hunter by nature and by Blaylock blood, Rio had followed Paloma to the cabin, watched her struggle, laden with a backpack. She had begun limping just before she’d reached the cabin, but she had reached it. He’d smiled when she’d let out that victorious whoop. Then he’d slid away into the forest; she wouldn’t have appreciated his concern.

“The ride with her won’t be easy,” he muttered as he moved into the clearing. Boone’s rough-hewn log cabin stood as it had for years, frequented now by Roman, Kallista, their adopted daughter, Cindi, and soon their new baby. Roman’s new family had nudged Rio’s nesting urges—okay, he wanted Paloma in bed, under him, over him. The savage need to mate with her, a primitive fire that would create new life, awoke him and he blamed her—that exotic scent, those agile pale fingers.

When he managed to stop staring at the lacy underwear hung to dry across the porch, Rio swung to the ground and tethered the horses to the old hitching post. He quickly unleashed the supplies from the mare’s saddle and tossed them on the board porch, expecting Paloma to come out, temper blazing. She didn’t, and the house was too quiet. Rio scanned the pines circling the house and slowly walked up the steps—at any moment, Paloma would rush at him and he didn’t care to sprawl in front of his lady—his ladylove, he corrected grimly. After all, he’d come to court her, hadn’t he? The admission went down uneasily.

Everything about her was expensive and classy. Exactly what did he have to offer a woman who had traveled around the world? He liked to carpenter, to smell the wood and work with his hands. He liked good hard work, he liked his ranger and deputy duties, because he felt he was helping preserve the land Other than a few sound financial investments, he bad a barn he’d remodeled, part of the original Blaylock homestead, his cattle and a deep need to love Paloma as she’d never been loved before. He wanted to protect her—no woman should have to awake in terror, protecting herself.

Rio’s jaw tightened. A relationship with a woman as strong and independent as Paloma might take time to craft, but he would. His first priority was to prevent a boutique from replacing half of Jasmine’s feed store. Part of the man-woman sorting process was that a man’s century-old gathering place stayed intact.

When she didn’t respond to his knock, Rio opened the door and entered the cabin. The shelves were lined with canned and dried foods, the cabin neat. Too neat—as if Paloma was ready to move easily, quickly. Boone’s big bed was littered with women’s magazines, all with one theme—country collectibles and crafts. A quick glance at her lists—Rio ran his thumb over her large, loopy feminine handwriting-said she was going through with her plans. “Boutique makings,” Rio heard himself mutter. “No way.”

He wondered who had dropped the supplies. An old boyfriend? He didn’t like the sudden unfamiliar surge of jealousy. One hand on the old woodstove said that she’d burned a fire at night and let it die in the morning. Where was she?

She could be anywhere on the mountain, and in danger. He inhaled sharply, remembering the trees clawed by a cougar and a bear, each marking their territory. There were timber wolves on the mountain, and coyotes and bobcats, none of them friendly. There was that old mine, where he’d finally found the boy—

He pushed down his leaping fear and hurried outside; panic wouldn’t help find Paloma. He glanced-at the old avalanche, the rock slide now covered with moss, and just over that hill was a cliff, a sheer drop to the bottom that no one could survive. Visions of Paloma’s mangled body terrified him. Rio quickly unsheathed his rifle from his saddle and looped a circle of sturdy rope across his shoulder. Minutes later, he shook his head—Paloma’s footprints led to the cliff. She’d broken a pile of sticks, the stacks small and neat as though she’d been placing her thoughts in order. “The footprints are a few days old. Contrary, mule-headed...”

At a run, he headed for the old mine—that killer mine—the timbers rotting and treacherous, and if she were lying at the bottom, unconscious...Rio pushed away the fear clawing at him. He’d failed to save the boy; maybe he was too late to save Paloma, too. The vise around his heart tightened, and then he saw the gold mine’s fresh cave-in. “Paloma?” he called, bracing himself for her call—he prayed she would be alive. “Paloma?”

Silence echoed his fears. He took one step, moving toward the tree that would hold his rope as he eased down into the opening. Suddenly the crumpling sound of rotted wood enveloped him; the earth gave way beneath his feet and he slid into the cold musty darkness.

Returning from her walk and furious with herself for think ing of Rio Blaylock, Paloma had heard the earth rumble. She paused, frowning at the two horses in front of the cabin. Then Rio’s shout sounded in the vicinity of the old mine. At a run, she made her way through the red-barked pines and found a new cave-in. “Rio?”

“Stay back.”

“Are you hurt?” Her body frozen in terror, she prayed he wasn’t.

“A few bruises. Get my horse over here and—” A coil of rope surged up out of the cave-in and landed at her feet. “Tie this to Frisco’s saddle horn. He’ll pull me out. He is the gelding, the other is a mare,” he added very carefully. “He’s bigger and—”

“I know the anatomical difference,” she muttered, nettled by his male arrogance, and just that little need to torment Rio slipped out again. “You say you’re not hurt?”

“Uh-huh. I don’t exactly feel like wasting time chitchatting,” he answered daddy, returning her comment to him when they first met.

“You don’t? You say you’re not in any danger now?” She had to be certain before she set about provoking Rio, about making him pay for disturbing her thoughts and dreams and for her wanting that brush of his mouth to deepen into a very warm, hungry kiss. His silence provoked her and she grabbed a tree limb, easing closer to the cave-in.

He swore tightly, efficiently, as a small rock, dislodged by her foot, fell into the mine. “You’re a contrary woman. Muleheaded—”

“You don’t sound like a man who wants to be rescued, sweetie.” She eased closer, she had to see him to make certain he was safe, and to enjoy her upper hand at the moment,

“Just get the horse and—”

“Who invited you to my party? Don’t you know that this is private property? Stop ordering me—” The branch broke and the earth gave way. She slid on her bottom down to land at Rio’s feet. She scrambled to stand, terrified of the small dark space closing in on her, taking her breath away. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw Rio, hands on hips, his Western hat tipped back on his head, his chap-covered legs braced wide.

“You’re not hurt. You slid down all the way on that beautiful butt. Well, this is just great, Ms. Forbes,” Rio muttered in disgust. “My rope is upstairs and it’s a long way up. If for once, you could act like any other normal woman and—what’s wrong?” he asked urgently as she hurled herself against him.

She clung to his strong, warm male body, anchored herself to him, her arms locked around his shoulders, her head tucked into the safety of his throat. “Don’t let me go,” she whispered shakily as his arms enclosed her. “Just hold me.”

He stood too still, not moving, and terror clawed at her. If he didn’t hold her, she’d shatter into tiny pieces. Against her cold, damp temple, Rio whispered, “I won’t let you go. Honey, your heart is facing, you’re shaking and you’re perspiring. You’re terrified.”

She closed her eyes, holding on to Rio, listening to the safe solid thump of his heart. She wasn’t alone in the dark. She had to cling to that comfort. “You’re here...with me.”

“Yes. We’ll get out.” His voice was even, confident, wrapping around her like a warm safe cloak. His hands robbed her back, comforting her.

“You promise?” As a woman, she regretted the childish plea. But she couldn’t stop shivering, haunted by visions of the locked closets she’d been in as a child—cold, alone...but she wasn’t alone. Rio was here, his hands smoothing her hair, his body rocking hers, his murmur comforting.

“I promise, honey. Take a deep breath. That’s tight. Take another. That’s my girl. Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you and we’re getting out of here. But first tell me—”

That’s my girl. Boone had said that and she’d been so safe—She swallowed, clinging to Rio, panicked. Her terror came out in spurts—“My mother locked me in closets. I’m claustrophobic. I can’t breathe.”

Rio’s harsh curse sailed past her ear into the musty shadows. Then his tone softened and he bent to lift her into his arms. “Hold on to me. Let’s sit and talk for a while.”

“I want out of here. Now!” The earthen walls began to close in on her. She clung to him as he settled on the dirt floor with her on his lap.

“Just let me hold you for a while. rve got a plan, but you’ve got to calm down. Talk to me.”

The terror of her life spilled out of her. She dragged in air, forcing herself to breathe, though panic crushed her lungs and fear dampened her forehead and upper lip. “She’d lock me in closets if I didn’t perform well. When I was four, I broke my ankle and couldn’t be the ballerina she wanted. She was furious. Then the piano—one wrong note and—I can’t stand it!”

“But she isn’t here now, honey. I am.” Rio’s voice curled around her as he stroked her hair back from her face. He removed his denim jacket and draped it around her, tucking it beneath her chin. “And we’re getting out, but right now we’re just resting, okay? Here, suck on this. Suck, don’t chew. When you’re finished we’re leaving.”

He’d placed a candy in her mouth and offered her hope and comfort. Paloma curled toward him, shaking. “Don’t leave me. I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Why, honey, I came all the way to see you. I’m not leaving you. I said we’re getting out and I always keep my promises. See that timber over there. I think it will support your lighter weight, with me helping. All you have to do is to let me help you up on it and then you’ll be out, okay? Breathe, Paloma. There’s sunshine upstairs and that’s where we’re going... to the sunshine and wind and trees.”

“Hurry,” she whispered, managing to breathe more easily with hope in sight. She saw his rifle. “Shoot it. Someone will hear.”

“No. The vibrations could cause more damage.” He tipped her chin up and gave it a playful wiggle as he smiled. “You cheated. You chewed that candy, didn’t you? We’re going to take this nice and easy, and you’re going to do what I say. Okay? Can you stand?”

“Okay.” Paloma tethered her hand to Rio’s strong one as she stood shakily. He placed her arms in the jacket as though she were a child, and buttoned it to her throat. She hadn’t expected the tender look, the smoothing of her hair, his finger brushing away a bit of dust from her cheek. He reminds me of Boone. she thought. That same safe tone, as though he knows everything will be fine. She had to trust him... “What do I do?”

With Rio’s gentling voice directing her, his hand locked to hers, Paloma stepped up on the slanting timber. She eased her way upward to the end of it, and Rio placed another timber beneath her bottom, pushing her higher. At the edge, she grabbed a branch and pulled herself to the grassy surface, flattening against it.

From the depths, Rio spoke softly, his tone relieved. She hadn’t realized he’d been frightened; he’d made it seem so simple. “You made it.”

“Yes. I’ll get the horse.” She managed to get to her knees, then to her feet, nmning for the gelding. Within minutes, the horse was backing away from the cave-in, the rope tied to his saddle horn, and Rio was pulled to the surface.

He stood free, his scowl smudged with dirt, his legs braced against the earth, his leather chaps gleaming in the sunlight, his body outlined against the blue sky. When he tossed his rifle to the ground and looked at her, Paloma didn’t hesitate—she ran straight for his arms and began crying and laughing as they locked fiercely around her.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, his tone a mixture of humor, curiosity and delight.

Then he tipped her chin up and looked down into her eyes. “This won’t hurt a bit. But I need it like I need to breathe,” he said before his hands cradled her face and he took her mouth.

She hadn’t expected the sudden fire, the slant of his lips hungrily fused to hers. Savage and demanding, the kiss tasted of fire and need and...and dreams and longing. Caught in the whirlwind, she traveled with him, the heat growing, warming her, filling her. She ached now for him. Rio’s mouth slanted, tasted, linking them as though nothing could tear them apart. She could feel his blood pound, race, and her own leaped and heated, causing her fingertips to dig into his shoulders, to the safety of Rio, to anchor herself to him in the storm.

Deep within her, she knew that Rio had claimed a very feminine and guarded portion of her, that she’d remember this devastating kiss forever. Then his mouth moved softly over hers, comforting, brushing and seeking, tasting the corners of her lips. He held her face, cupping it in his hands, his thumbs smoothing her flushed cheeks. In his black eyes, she saw herself—a woman warmed, soft and waiting.

With a reluctant groan, Rio bent, sweeping her up into his arms, and strode toward the cabin. An independent, worldly woman, she should have objected, but her legs were weak, both from fear and from the shattering, savage, then tender kiss. One look at Rio’s dark determined expression and she knew she’d have a fight freeing herself. He was scowling, anger in the hard lock of his muscles, the set of his jaw. For once, Paloma tossed aside her pride and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He kissed her temple and whispered roughly, “We’re in sunshine now, honey. Feel the breeze. Listen to the birds sing. You’re safe.”

“Boone said that same thing years ago.” She shivered, the bands of fear closing around her chest. He shouldn’t be carrying her, a six-foot woman, like a child. But still wrapped in terror and her shocking discovery that she liked kissing Rio, Paloma wasn’t certain she could walk by herself. “You’ll put me down now,” she whispered in an effort to salvage her shields and her pride, to withdraw from what she had given him—an insight into her terror and into her needs as a woman.

“No. Shut up.”

He trembled within her arms and the pulse at Rio’s throat pounded, racing against her cheek. She recognized the fear etched in the taut lines of his jaw, the set of his mouth. “You were frightened.”

He didn’t answer, his arms tightening around her as he moved up the steps to the cabin.

“It’s the boy, isn’t it?” she asked as he carried her into the cabin. At the feed store, when Pueblo had mentioned the boy, Rio’s expression had quickly closed over pain. When he didn’t answer this time, she knew the boy haunted him. Rio had been afraid he couldn’t save her, either.

“Sit still.” He plopped her on a chair and hurriedly stoked the old stove, placing fresh water in the kettle. His movements were angry, sudden, tearing the old tin tub down from its peg and placing it on the floor. He looked at his shaking hands, the fingers spread. “You’ll want a bath. But first a cup of tea and something to eat.”

He quickly rummaged through the shelves to find chamomile tea, placing a bag in a cup and almost slammed it to the table beside her. He pushed his hands through his hair, glanced angrily at her and muttered in a disgusted tone, “You look like a child, huddled there in my jacket—frightened, shivering, wide-eyed, streaks of dirt across your nose. And damn it, your mouth—It’s swollen. I hurt you.”

He glanced at the bed, closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. He picked up the two water buckets and left the cabin.

Paloma sat and shook, her hands trembling as she sipped her tea. Rio returned, placed the buckets on the stove. With each glance, his expression darkened and his anger lashed at her. “I’ll be outside,” he said too stiffly. She sat for a time, collecting safety around her. Rio was clearly angry, the cabin still vibrating with it

She managed to kneel by the galvanized tub and wash her hair. Then she bathed, sundown skimming through the pines to enter the old glass windows. She pushed her tenor back into the past and dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. She’d given away too much to Rio; he’d seen too much inside her. She pushed and shoved and gathered her shields; as a survivor, Paloma knew how to protect herself.

“Finished,” she said, coming out into the chilly night, her hair combed and free, falling to her waist.

“rll fix supper.” Rio had been sitting, staring off into the forest, his expression grim. His hair was damp, as though he’d bathed in the icy creek, and he’d changed clothes. His sleeping bag was propped against the horses’ saddles on the porch. She noted that her lacy underwear had been tossed on a chair.

He surged to his feet, hauled the packs into his fists with one sweep and stalked inside the cabin. Uncertain of his mood, she followed him inside. “Don’t bother to cook for me.”

He lasered a dark look at her. “I’m hungry, okay?”

“Why are you angry? Because you kissed me?” Paloma swallowed the dry lump in her throat. She didn’t appeal to men. Too rangy, too big, too bold and tough—Jonathan had made that very clear. Rio would be regretting it now, that savage hungry kiss and his tenderness.

He placed his hands on his hips, then one hand shot out to capture a length of her damp hair, lifting her face to his angry one. “What do you think you’re doing, slim? Coming up here, walking around, free as a bird while a bear could taste you at any moment?”

That wild need surged inside her, the hunger that had simmered in her for months. She studied him, that savage expression, those dark eyes lashing her. “Is that what you did? Taste?”

His tone wasn’t nice. One black eyebrow lifted at her wamingly. “Honey, you’re not up to sparring with me. And I’m not Boone.”

She snorted at that “I’ll say. He was the sweetest man I’ve ever known.”

His gaze slowly took in her face, and darkened as he looked at her mouth. “Don’t count on me being sweet. Not where you’re concerned.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I should never have told you anything,” she shot back, angry with him, angry with herself for giving him an insight she’d locked away for years. She pushed his hand away. “I know you regret kissing me. I’m not your usual fare. But we both had a reaction to a deadly situation. I know I—”

Rio slapped a cast-iron skillet on the old stove; the metallic crash echoed against the cabin’s walls. “Lay off. While I’m cooking, why don’t you go make friends with your new horse? Her name is Mai-Ling.”

“My horse? But I couldn’t.” She’d never owned an animal, or wanted to; loving ties could so easily be torn away.

“If you’re going to live up here, you’ll need her.”

Rio was right; her damaged ankle had protested the hike up the mountain. “I’ll buy her or rent her and you can have her back when I’m done. How much?”

Rio looked up at the ceiling as though asking for divine help and shook his head. “You just don’t get it, do you?”