Chapter 30

 

“Oh, come now, my dear. Don’t look so surprised. You didn’t really think I’d let you get away, did you?” Treadwell chuckled, and took a step forward. “No, no, Callista. You’re worth too much for me to take a chance on losing you.”

“You!” Cara exclaimed. “Callie, how do you know this man?” Her eyes narrowed as she watched Treadwell. Callie could see no fear in the older woman’s face; only anger, and a steely resolve.

“Yes, do tell, Callista. The Reverend and Mrs. Manley would love to know the whole sordid truth about you.” Treadwell walked over closer to the table, his pistol never wavering.

At Callie’s surprised gasp, he murmured, “One never knows the company one will be forced to keep on a stagecoach. We rode over from Amarillo together this morning, my dear.” He shook his head. “Fate is quite strange at times, is it not, Reverend?”

Manley’s midnight blue gaze was steady. A flicker of disappointment passed over Treadwell’s face.

“Stranger than one could ever guess,” Manley responded cryptically, not looking away.

“Callista, you should have been more considerate. I’ve had to track you all over this Territory myself since you’ve whored yourself out to the marshal.”

“We’re married, Dunstan,” she told him, pleased to see the angry surprise on his face.

“You little bitch!” His fair skin mottled with anger, his lips a thin line beneath his moustache. “I told you I had plans for you!”

“Yes. I remember. I didn’t care for your plans.”

He chuckled softly after a moment. “You’ll care for my new plans even less.” He paused for effect, then continued. “You see, Callista, it turns out you would have inherited nearly a million dollars on your eighteenth birthday. Notice, I said, ‘would have.’ Actually, you won’t be around to inherit it. You’ll be dead. I can think of plenty of ways to spend that kind of money.”

Callie’s breath left her in a rush. So, Jaxson had been right all along.

“You see, I just found out about it myself. Otherwise, I’d have killed you long before now.”

“Like you killed my mother?”

Treadwell grimaced. “Unfortunate, that. But she was beginning to complain about my spending.” He laughed again, and Callie could see he thought he knew a secret, something she didn’t know.

“And?” she asked quietly. “What else?”

“Oh, Callista, if you only knew the trouble I’ve had to go to in order to get this money.”

Something flashed in her mind, then a memory of this man and her father, talking very quietly. Her father?

Sometimes, she felt guilty when she thought of her father. She tried hard to remember what he looked like, but she couldn’t. The memory faded with each passing year, until remembrance blurred with dreams and became something not quite real, though lovely all the same.

She looked down to hide her dismay. She had not remembered that this despicable man knew her father. Why would he have known him?

“Suppose you enlighten me, Dunstan. Other than killing my mother, what have you had to do?”

Treadwell laughed, his eyes sharp and conniving. “I don’t think I want to tell you all of the story. Not just yet, anyway.”

“Mr. Treadwell,” the reverend said, leaning forward. “I think it’d be in your best interests to just get right back on that stage tomorrow morning…and leave town.”

Treadwell jerked back as if he’d been slapped. “Or what, Reverend?” Treadwell’s eyes were cold. “What do you think you’ll do? Kill me?”

“If I have to.”

Treadwell’s smile flew. “Well, you sound quite confident,” he sneered. “But you seem to forget—I’m holding the gun. You’re not in much of a position to do harm to anyone, Reverend.” He motioned with the pistol. “Now, all of you, get up.”

Callie stood slowly, her teeth closing over her full lower lip. A caustic grin passed over Treadwell’s face. “Nervous? Good.” He licked his lips, watching her. “I still want you. Of course, you’re no virgin any longer, but I will possess you at least once—before I kill you.”

Talmadge Manley’s stare was filled with disgust, almost as if he’d read Treadwell’s mind. “You are pure evil.”

Treadwell tilted his head back, looking down his nose at the other man. “Well, preacher, it looks like ‘good’ doesn’t always prevail, does it?”

Manley shook his head.

“Dunstan, please. Don’t—Don’t harm the Reverend and Mrs. Manley. They’ve done nothing to you!” Callie said.

“Ah, but they have, Callista. They exist. They know who I am. They could make trouble for me.”

Callie’s thoughts raced. Carlos was here, too. Existing. Knowing. Maybe Treadwell wouldn’t remember him.

But in the next moment, Treadwell murmured in a quiet tone, “Callista, bring the boy out here. He’ll have to go, too.”

“Go where?” She hoped to stall for time. “He’s hurt. He isn’t well enough to go anywhere!”

“Well, now, that’s too damn bad. If he can’t go with us, perhaps I’ll just shoot him here—”

“Dunstan, no! Please, I—I’ll do anything you ask, just please, don’t hurt him. He doesn’t know you, anyway.”

Treadwell shook his head and made a little tsking sound. “What kind of fool do you take me for, my dear? Now, go and get the boy, or I will. And believe me, if I am forced to do it, I will shoot him in his bed. After all, the world would still turn if there was one less Mexican brat in it, now wouldn’t it?” He gave a thin smile, then motioned with his pistol. “Callista? I’m waiting.”

Callie moved forward, away from the table, and walked to Carlos’s bedroom, just a few steps down the hallway. She knocked hesitantly, but when there was no response, she knocked again a little harder and called his name.

Finally, she turned the knob and pushed the door open slightly. “Carlos?”

She glanced around the bedroom quickly, but could see nothing in the darkness. She hurried inside and turned the wick up on the bedside lamp, but the room was empty. The curtains fluttered in the chilly breeze from the open window.

Carlos was gone.

****

This day had been wasted, Jaxson thought as the three of them rode through the darkness. He couldn’t wait to get home and get off this horse. They’d spent close to eleven hours in the saddle today, and Jax was weary. He wanted nothing more than to get back to his brother’s place and see Callie and—and his son.

He still had trouble believing that Carlos was his, but now, only because he felt incredibly fortunate that it was so. His only regret was not knowing sooner, for those years he could never recover.

He suspected Callie had probably been right when she’d commented that Jax had known in his heart for a long time that Carlos was his son. Somehow, he’d always felt a connection to him, even though he’d pushed those feelings aside time and again. Now, he realized Carlos must have felt it too. Guilt rose up in his chest. He tamped it down. There was nothing he could’ve done.

Now, it would be different, he resolved. Now, he would acknowledge Carlos and finish raising him. As best he could. With Callie’s help. The need to do the right thing—for each of them—was all-important.

Carlos needed him, but Jax recognized that the boy had been on his own so long that he’d have to be careful asserting his authority over him at this point. Otherwise, Carlos might become resentful and angry.

Callie needed him as well, as would his unborn child. Jax felt a surge of pride when he thought of the child yet to come. At least, this one would know him as his father for his entire life. It wouldn’t be as difficult as it was going to be with Carlos, showing up ten years down the road. He still didn’t know a hill of beans about being a father, but no matter what, he was sure he’d be a better one than his own had been. He smiled as he thought of Callie’s teasing words. He had until August. That should be plenty of time.

Callie. She’d been the best surprise of his life. He carried a thousand images of her in his mind, and he never tired of replaying them again and again. She had been the unexpected treasure that had turned his life around. He couldn’t help but wonder what she thought now. Now that she was stuck with another woman’s son to raise.

Jax shook his head. No. Callie wouldn’t see it that way. Probably wouldn’t even think about Amalia. She would only see Carlos as Jaxson’s son…a boy who needed a mother.

Just over the next rise, the lights of Conway came into view. Jax breathed a sigh of relief as they swung their horses a little to the northwest.

****

“He’s gone,” Callie whispered, closing her eyes in relief.

“What?” Treadwell asked angrily, taking two steps back so that he could look into the boy’s bedroom.

Callie turned, holding the lamp up so that he could see the darkened interior of the room. “He’s gone, Dunstan.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. “He’s escaped.”

Treadwell let go a string of foul curses, his lips drawn tight, his face livid. “Come on, then!” he shouted. “We have no time to lose!” He shepherded them all toward the front door and out into the night. “Get moving!” He gave Callie a rough shove in the direction of the church.

Manley’s mouth curved into a knowing smile in the darkness.

As they neared the white building, their four black shadows stood out against it. The wind had picked up and was playing havoc with the street lamps that had been lit earlier. The lamps nearest the church flared brightly, then dimmed again with the wind.

Callie made straight for the church door, ignoring Treadwell’s shouts. She knew he’d meant for them to bypass the church; but now, she used the wind as an excuse to ignore his shouted commands.

Cara Manley followed Callie through the doorway, out of the gathering storm, where they stood together.

Treadwell grasped Manley’s arm and whirled him around. “I meant for them to keep going!”

Manley’s midnight eyes blazed with an unholy light. For a brief moment, he looked as fearsome as an avenging angel. Treadwell took a step back. The wind whipped their clothing, snapping and tearing at it, but Talmadge Manley seemed perfectly at home in these elements.

“What do you suggest I do about it? This is your madness, Treadwell.” His voice was low, seeming even more threatening in the face of the growing storm. “And you will reap the consequences of it.”

Treadwell stood, uncertain for a moment as to what to do. Manley turned his back on him and walked to the door.

“Preacher!”

Manley stopped and turned slightly, then slowly pivoted to face Treadwell fully. His frock coat was caught by the wind, and as he stood stiffly facing the other man, the lamps flickered eerily once more.

Fear was plainly written on Treadwell’s features. “What’s going to—to happen?”

Manley’s eyes were cold. “What was meant to happen since the beginning, Treadwell. You know the end to the story. It’s ageless. Good will triumph. Evil…will cease to be.” He turned toward the door and put his hand on the knob.

“And I suppose you are the paladin of—of ‘good’? Of all that is right with the world?” Treadwell came closer to stand at the bottom of the steps. He was shouting to make himself heard above the wind.

Manley looked at him again, a mocking half-smile on his weathered features. “Not just me, Treadwell. There are—others.” He opened the door. “But, if I were you, I would not think on who might deliver justice and right in this battle. I would think about who it is you represent. A bargain made with the devil is never a good one.”

****

“Callie? Carlos?” Jax walked slowly down the hallway. Somehow, he knew they weren’t there, even though the lamps were all burning brightly. The house was too empty, seemed to echo when he said their names.

Brendan and Jeremy had taken the horses to the barn to put them away for the night.

“Go on,” Jeremy had said, giving Jax a light shove. “I’ll take care of your horse. Go in and let them know we’re back.”

Jax had headed for the house, rubbing the sore muscles in his arms and shoulders as he walked. His spirits were high as he entered the front door. Now, his heart sank in his chest with the discovery that Carlos and Callie were missing.

He checked quickly for a note, and finding none, saw that Callie’s bag was in the same place it had been last night, the supper dishes still on the table.

Four places set. Company. Had to be someone she knew, he reasoned, seeing as how most of the food had been eaten. As if they’d lingered over dinner and eaten well.

But where were they now?

“Señor Jax!”

Jax turned and caught Carlos up as the boy ran to him from the front door.

“Hey, big guy. Where’s Callie?”

“Señor Jax, the bad man came. He took her and her friends away—to the church, I think.”

Jax’s blood ran cold. “What bad man? How long ago?”

“She called him—” Carlos broke off, cocking his head to one side thoughtfully, “—Dunstan. Sí, Dunstan.”

“Dammit!” Jax’s fingers tightened around the boy’s arms and he grimaced. Jax immediately relaxed his grip. “Lo siento, m’ijo,” he murmured. “How long have they been gone?”

Carlos nodded at his apology. “I think not more than ten minutes. I—I went for the sheriff, Señor Jax, but he was too drunk to come.”

Jax bit back an oath as he straightened and headed for the door. “You stay here until I come for you. Understand?”

“Sí. Comprendo.”

Jax strode quickly from the house, his thoughts racing. There was no time to tell his brothers where he was going. If Treadwell was holed up in the church with Callie and two other hostages, Bren and Jeremy would know it soon enough.

****

“Well, here we are, gathered in the church,” Treadwell observed sarcastically. “Preacher and all.” The rain had begun as soon as he’d shut the church door behind him, and was falling in huge spattering drops, the wind still howling around the corners of the small structure. “Preach us something while we wait,” Treadwell continued mockingly.

From where he sat between Callie and his wife, Talmadge Manley quirked a dark brow. “If I did,” he said in a deliberate tone, “you wouldn’t like it, Mr. Treadwell.”

“And your subject, Reverend?” Treadwell pressed.

“The wages of sin,” Manley intoned resonantly, “is death.”

“I might have known. Why don’t you try something a little more…creative?”

Manley didn’t answer for a minute. Finally, he said, “God doesn’t need me to be creative with His Word. Creativity was what got you in trouble, Mr. Treadwell, if I’m not mistaken. Creativity…due to your greed.”

Callie shivered, and Manley automatically put an arm around her in comfort. She tried to control her shaking, but her nerves were frayed after what she’d been through the past few days.

The preacher squeezed his wife’s hand. Cara looked up into his face, reading his silent request. She stood and moved to Callie’s other side. Sitting once again, she looped her arm through Callie’s, offering her support and strength, glaring at the man who held them at gunpoint.

“Reverend, should I ask for forgiveness before I kill you? I wonder, are you strong enough in your faith to forgive me, as Jesus forgave His murderers?”

Manley’s eyes turned a cobalt color, glittering dangerously in the dim lamplight of the sanctuary. “‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.’ But make no mistake, Mr. Treadwell. I’m sorry to say, I’m not the Man my Savior was.”

Treadwell appeared startled at the look the clergyman bent on him, as well as his words. Finally, he said, “No. I suspect neither of us is that kind of…Man.”

A bolt of lightning hit the ground just outside the church steps, accompanied by a deafening clap of thunder, charging the air around them. Callie could feel her skin prickle.

“No,” Manley agreed complacently, further exacerbating Treadwell’s obvious anxiety. “And I promise you, I will take my own vengeance, before I give you to the Lord for His.”

Just then, the church door swung open, slowly rocking on its hinges in the wind.

Treadwell whirled around and fired the pistol twice before seeing there was no one there. Nervously, he turned back to face Manley once more.

The preacher eyed him steadily.

“Who was there?” Treadwell demanded. “Someone was there, weren’t they? Did you see them?”

Manley smiled faintly. “They’re all around you, Treadwell. The angels.”

Treadwell’s eye ticked nervously. “What angels?”

“The ones who guard us. You have heard of—guardian angels, haven’t you?” The preacher’s voice was low and sure. And he was smiling.

Treadwell turned toward the squeaking door again, his pistol leveled. “Crazy. All this talk of angels.” He took a step, reaching to close the door, but then he stopped.

Suddenly, an apparition stood before him, illuminated by a sudden burst of lightning, as if he’d appeared from nowhere. The harsh, vengeful expression seemed to condemn him, black eyes lancing through him, like The Angel of Death. A sudden gust of wind whipped the door back and forth as a clap of thunder sounded. Treadwell stepped back and gasped.

Too late, he realized this was no angel, just a man who handled a gun much better than he. The marshal he’d hired a scant handful of weeks ago to track down his stepdaughter. He frantically pulled the trigger of the Schofield, but his fingers wouldn’t work. Two shots of lead ripped into his chest, just as the Sioux battle-knife sunk to the hilt between his shoulder blades.

Treadwell stiffened and cried out in shocked surprise and pain, his fingers uncurling from the .45 as it clattered noisily onto the wood plank floor. His legs gave way beneath him, and he fell to his knees, holding onto a nearby pew to keep himself upright as the blood drained from his chest and back, puddling under him.

He narrowed his eyes. “McCall?” he muttered.

“That’s right.”

“You bastard. I hired you…to return her…to me.”

Jax’s lips twisted. “Want your money back?”

Treadwell looked at Jax with a malevolent glare. “Can I spend it—in hell, McCall?”

“Only if I pay you in silver, you son-of-a-bitch.” Jax’s eyes glittered black with pure hatred.

Talmadge Manley came to stand beside Jax, and Treadwell leaned heavily on the pew, resting his cheek on the wooden seat.

“You’ve done…murder, Reverend.” Treadwell’s voice was a raspy whisper.

Manley bent close to him and spoke into his ear. “Go to hell, Mr. Treadwell. With my blessing.”

Treadwell started to reply, but wasn’t able. He gave a sigh, then stared sightlessly at nothing, as he began his journey.

Manley wrapped long brown fingers around the intricately carved knife handle and yanked it free, wiping the blood on Treadwell’s shirt before re-sheathing it. He glanced at Jax. “I’ll have to give it a good cleaning when we get home.”

Jax smiled. “Thanks for the help, Reverend.”

“Señor Jax!”

Wheeling at the sound of Carlos’s voice, Jax dropped to his knees as the boy raced across the room and threw himself into his arms. For a long moment, Jax held him, one palm at the back of Carlos’s dark head, the other patting his back.

Jax closed his eyes briefly. His son. In his heart, he knew that it was true. He felt Carlos’s sobs against his chest, and held him even tighter, letting him cry in silent comfort.

Over Jax’s shoulder, the crucifix hung just above the altar, within Carlos’s sight.

“Let it be so,” Carlos whispered softly. “Jesus, por favor—”

Jax carefully held the boy away for a moment. He could see that Carlos wasn’t even aware that he had spoken aloud. “Let what ‘be so’, Carlos?” The tracks of the child’s tears gleamed in the dim lamplight. Jax’s throat was dry as he waited, although he suspected he already knew the unnamed desires of the boy’s whispered prayer.

“Let it be that you—” He broke off, unable to say the words. He shook his head.

“Carlos.” Jax’s voice was gruff. “I—I am your father.” He hugged him close once more, one large hand sifting through his son’s tousled black hair. Jax’s own eyes felt hot, and he shut them tightly, savoring the moment, holding his boy.

“Did you read the letter, Señor Jax? The one my mama left with Padre Dominguez?”

Jax shook his head. “Don’t have to, Carlos.” He remembered what Callie had said. Releasing Carlos, he placed his hand over his heart. “I think I’ve known it—here—for a long time.”

Carlos grinned shyly. “Me too, Señor Jax.” He put his own hand over his heart. “Can I…can I call you—Papa?”

“That sounds good. Real good.” Jax smiled. “Carlos, why did you ask Jesus for me? To be your father, I mean.”

“Because you are a good man,” Carlos responded solemnly. “You do—right. My mama thought so, too. She told me that you might be—my papa.”

You do right.

Well, he hadn’t done such a good job of doing ‘right’ by Carlos. Not so far, anyway. But that was all about to change.

****

Jax barely remembered getting ready for bed. Stripping away his sodden clothes, Callie dried him with a thick towel, then she climbed into bed beside him. He pulled her close, and they were both asleep within minutes.

In the early hours of the morning, though, Jax was awakened sharply. Callie’s scream tore through the darkened room, and she sat bolt upright in bed, tears streaming down her cheeks, a look of horror on her face.

“Oh, Dear God!” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Callie, come here.” He pulled her down beside him.

She put her head against his neck, trembling.

After a few seconds, he said, “It’s okay…I’m here.” He held her tightly. “Just a bad dream, chica, that’s all.”

But Callie shook her head against his shoulder. “He—He killed my f-father! Treadwell! He—”

Jax turned his head so he could look at her. “How do you know that, sweetheart?”

“I kept seeing him—with my father—kind of, you know, in my mind. But I couldn’t understand why. Now, I do.”

Jax held her close, his fingers trailing lightly through her tumbling hair. “What happened?”

“I saw it all, Jax. But, being a child, I must have blocked it out, somehow. I was ten years old when he murdered—” she broke off, steadying her voice, then continued. “They said my father was murdered by an unknown assailant. But it was him. Dunstan Treadwell.

“I was coming down the walkway to meet my father. To tell him all about my day. He always wanted to know— When I got to the end of the path, I was standing between two lilac bushes. It was summer, and they smelled wonderful.

“I was waiting for him to finish talking to Dunstan. But—Dunstan took a gun from inside his coat. The sun flashed on it, on the metal. Then, he pulled the trigger. But he pushed it up close to my father so—so it would b-be muffled.

“My father fell to the ground. Dunstan looked around to be sure no one saw. I hid in the lilac bush. He would kill me, too, if he knew that I had seen what happened. When he was certain father was dead, he began to yell for someone to come help, pretending to be overwrought at finding a dead man. Eventually, he attracted the attention of a passer-by who went for the police.

“Not long after that, he began to call on my mother—” Callie’s head lifted as she remembered something else. “Jax, he said I’d be worth almost a million dollars on my birthday.” She met his eyes. “Could it—do you think—it’s true?”

Jax’s lips curved into a slow smile, and he brushed her hair back from her face. “Yeah. I think it’s true.”

She blushed. “Stupid of me, I guess—but it’s so hard to believe—”

He framed her face with his hands and she bent to kiss him.

“Jaxson, promise me something.” Her voice was soft, her eyes worried as she looked down at him.

He knew he couldn’t refuse her anything. Not now, not ever. “What’s that?”

“The money—it won’t matter will it? I mean, we won’t let it make a difference to—to us.”

“Ah, Callie, nothing as simple as money could ever ruin ‘us’. You gotta know that, sweetheart. After everything else we’ve been through…do you really think a little money will hurt us?” Jax pulled her down to him, kissing her deliberately as he rolled over, coming atop her. He felt her breathing quicken as her fingers stroked his ribs, gliding over the smooth bronze skin.

“The best is yet to come, Cal. Money or none.” He stopped the gentle caress, a smile curving his lips. “We said ‘for richer, for poorer’ in our vows, didn’t we?”

Callie gave him an answering grin. “It’s just that most times, you think the ‘poorer’ part is going to be the hardest. Oh, what am I worrying about, anyway?”

“You don’t have to worry, sweetheart.” His tone was serious. “You’ve got me, now. Let me worry for both of us.”

But Callie shook her head, and Jax could see the love in her eyes, shining bright and hopeful. “No, darling. We have each other. Now, we share the burdens, and the joys; the wonders, and the worries.”

Jax lowered his head, his mouth coming across hers, hungry and hot, and she moaned at his onslaught. His tongue met hers deliciously, and he nibbled gently at her lip.

“I love you, Jaxson.”

He thought of how close he’d come to losing her. How, if he and his brothers hadn’t come home when they did, Treadwell’s plans for her death might have become a reality. He thought of the day he’d met her, and of the determined way she’d looked as she’d tried to shoot Blocker with the little pepperbox derringer in the hotel dining room.

Saying ‘I love you’ seemed so inadequate. But it was all there was to say, and even though the words were meaningful, they would never, never be enough.

Jax had never had a woman tell him ‘I love you’ before. Women wanted him to satisfy their needs, but love had somehow eluded him. Now, it was different. With this woman, he knew he would have to be vocal—often. She was unsure. She needed to hear it. And, he realized, now that she’d started saying it to him regularly, he liked the sound of it.

“Callie, I-I’m not too good at saying everything I should. Probably say it all wrong, a lot of times.” He glanced away, then, becoming aware of her fingers in his hair, he looked back at her.

“You don’t say anything wrong, Jax,” she whispered softly, looking into his eyes. “I like to hear it, when you tell me you love me, but I’d know it, even if you never said it again. When you look at me, it’s like cool rain on a hot summer night, like wind in the trees, like—” She blushed.

“Don’t stop,” he breathed. She was speaking his own thoughts back to him. As if she was looking into his soul. “Like?”

“Like actually being able to see the sunrise, or the sunset, out here on these plains—not just the hint of it behind the buildings of a city…” Her voice trailed away, and he kissed her once more, gently.

“That’s because—you are all those things to me, Callie. Especially, the sunrise. But not even the sunrise here. More like sunrise in the Big Sky Country—”

“Where the sky looks like a big blue bowl turned upside down,” Callie murmured quietly.

Jax looked down at her, surprised. That was exactly what it looked like, but she’d never been there.

“Reverend Manley told me all about it,” Callie explained. “I…think he loves it a little bit more than you do, but I suspect it’s because he was born there.”

Jax gave a short laugh at Callie’s teasing and kissed her nose. “It’s beautiful country. Just like you, chica. Just like you.”

Callie’s hands moved slowly across Jax’s taut-muscled back and shoulders. The look in her eyes gradually deepened as she met his dark gaze.

“Can I believe what I see, Callie?” Jax’s voice was raw and husky. “The love? Can you promise me—forever?”

She nodded and tears welled in her eyes at the uncertainty in his expression. “Oh, Jax, it’ll always be there. I’ll love you til—”

He hugged her close, rocking gently. “Just promise me forever.”

“Forever, then,” she whispered, pulling herself completely beneath him. “And start with tonight.”

“Callie—” he began, his throat tight.

“Make love to me, Jaxson.”

Her hand wrapped around him, and he closed his eyes, inhaling sharply. He was at her entrance, but he stopped himself from going into her.

“What’s wrong?” Her hands reached to cup his firm buttocks and pull him to her.

“Don’t want to hurt you—” he gritted, fighting the urge to bury himself within her.

****

She understood his hesitancy now. “You aren’t going to hurt me,” she whispered, “or the baby. It’s all right.”

With a low groan, he slid into her fully, unable to stop himself.

Callie’s fingers curved into his warm skin, and she bit her lip to keep the moan of pleasure from escaping.

She bucked beneath him, drawing him deeper and deeper, until finally, he forced himself to shorten his strokes, at the back of his mind, still worrying that he might somehow hurt the child.

Callie understood why he changed the pace, and she loved him even more for it. “Jaxson, please, I…need you. Like before—harder.”

He slowed the rhythm a moment, his breathing ragged. “I want it that way too, but—”

“I asked—Cara Manley. She said it’s all right.”

“You asked the preacher’s wife?” Jax grinned. “Brazen hussy.”

“You taught me everything I know.”

“Including how to ask for the way you want me to—”

“Jaxson!”

“Don’t get shy on me now, Callie. Not after asking for it…harder.”

Callie could feel herself blushing warmly at the quiet challenge in his words.

Jax ground down into her, slow…and hard…and hot. Callie closed her eyes and bit her lip. He pulled out slowly, deliberately…

She raised herself toward him, and he moved back. “Jaxson, please—”

“Shh.” He kissed her to silence, a smile curving his sensuous mouth. “I’ll give you what you want, brat.”

She bit at his lower lip playfully as he sank into her, deep and full.

Jax swore, his control evaporating as he shuddered with completion.

Her inner muscles tightened around him sweetly as she buried her face in his neck, tasting his salty skin, and bit back her own cries of fulfillment. They both lay breathing harshly in the aftermath of their fierce lovemaking. Then, Jaxson carefully moved off of Callie after a moment, lying on his back on top of the covers.

The room was chilly, but he needed to cool off. He glanced at Callie. She was watching him with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

She moved languidly, laying her head on his good shoulder. “that was so…perfect.”

“Oh, no, Mrs. McCall. It will never be perfect. But practicing, that is something we can arrange.” He kissed the top of her head. “I do aim to please.”