Chapter Five

Cole climbed the ranch house porch with weary steps. They’d lost the trail, which was no more than he had expected. Still, he was disappointed. One man dead and they were not a bit closer to proving Statler’s connection to the rustling. The man had been smart from the very beginning. He, too, had lost cattle to the rustlers, or so he claimed. Of course, if he were the one behind it, such losses weren’t very costly, and they served well to win him community sympathy. Cole should have guessed that he’d have an answer for what had happened today, too.

Not that things weren’t bad enough, but now he had to face Rachel. After what had happened this morning, he had a feeling that she wasn’t going to be very happy to see him. For a fleeting instant, he recalled Lettie’s words and wondered if Rachel, too, would like to see him dead, if she, too, would be sorry that Kirk and his bushwacking friend had missed this morning. He stepped into the parlor and, as if he’d conjured her, he saw her standing there in the middle of the room, waiting for him.

He marveled at the joy that surged through him at the sight of her, even the sight of her glaring at him, and he wondered what it would be like to have her smile and rush into his arms to greet him with a kiss. His arms fairly ached to hold her, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen, so he quashed his feelings as best he could. “Hello,” he managed in a neutral voice.

Rachel knew that she should hate the sight of him, but she could not seem to help feeling happy to see him nonetheless. Unwanted emotions stirred in her as she watched him remove his jacket and hat and hang them up. In spite of her anger and humiliation, she had not been able to stop herself from remembering the night before and the way he had made love to her in the darkness. The memories had assailed her all day, attacking at the most inopportune times, catching her unawares and turning her knees to jelly. Each time she had pulled herself up short, reminding herself of the rest of it. Lupe had been right about one thing: if they were ever going to get together, they’d just have to do it in the dark with no talking and no fighting. Every time they faced each other in the light of day, they ended up quarreling.

Right now was a perfect example. He was watching her as if she were a rattler getting ready to strike, and she was wishing that she had a pair of poisonous fangs with which to do him in. How dare he look so appealing when she wanted him to look like the cad that he was?

The silence stretched between them, almost as if it were a contest of wills to avoid being the next to speak. Finally, Rachel could stand it no longer. “Did we lose any more cattle today?” she asked, knowing the answer would probably be “no,” that the rustlers would probably not risk striking two days in a row.

Cole almost replied, “No, but you almost lost a husband.” But that sounded too much like whining, and besides, he suspected that she wouldn’t care quite enough to suit him. Instead he said, “No, but somebody took some potshots at me and Miles.”

Rachel’s gasp startled him. Her hand flew to her throat and her face actually paled. Something stirred in the region of his heart and he felt suddenly warmed. She did care about him just a little. At least she didn’t want to see him dead.

Rachel couldn’t believe the pain his news caused her. If she had had any reason to doubt the depths of her feelings for him before, those doubts were gone now. She loved him. No matter what he did or said, no matter how he treated her, she still loved him, and the thought of losing him as she had lost her father tore through her with an unbearable agony. She had an irrational urge to ask if he’d been hurt, but resisted it. If he had been hurt, he wouldn’t be standing here right now, would he? she asked herself sternly, trying to get control over her faltering emotions. She didn't want him to know how his news had affected her. “Was Miles hurt?” she asked instead.

He fought down his minor irritation at the fact that she had inquired about Miles’s welfare instead of his own. “No, neither one of us was,” he said. There, now she didn’t have to ask about him, and he’d never know whether she would have or not. “We got one of the men who ambushed us, though,” he added, coming farther into the room.

“Got? You mean you captured him?” Rachel drew closer to him, too, her eyes wide with anguish in spite of her efforts to disguise her fear.

“No,” he admitted reluctantly, “I mean I killed him.”

Responding instinctively to the pain she sensed in him, she reached out to him, one slender hand going to his arm in a comforting gesture. But no sooner did she touch him, then she felt him flinch, felt his muscles bunch beneath her hand, and she withdrew it immediately. Did he not even want her to touch him? He hadn’t found her touch so repugnant last night, she recalled bitterly. “I... Wh—what happened?” she stammered in an effort to cover her chagrin at being rejected.

Cole could hardly believe the surge of heat he had felt at just the simple brush of her hand. For a moment he had imagined that she was reaching out to him, that she had sensed his anguish over taking a human life. It had only been a natural reaction, though, something she would have done for anyone, and she’d certainly pulled back quick enough when she’d realized what she was doing. “Me and Miles were riding along, and two men started shooting at us. They missed. I guess they weren’t expecting any trouble, so when we started shooting back, they took off. One got away. The other didn’t.”

Rachel blinked at the stark simplicity of his words. How briefly he managed to tell her how he had almost lost his life. How carefully he refrained from casting himself in any heroic role. She longed to throw her arms around him, to murmur the words that would dispel the clouds that shadowed his eyes. She would have, too, if she thought for one minute he would allow it. Remembering his reaction to her earlier overture, however, she held back, crossing her arms over her waist to help her fight the temptation. “Did you know him? The man you shot, I mean?” she asked.

To her surprise, Cole gave a bark of mirthless laughter. “Yeah, I knew him all right. He worked for Statler.” Seeing the hope flare in her eyes, he quenched it. “It didn’t do any good though. We took him to town, and Statler claimed that he’d fired the man last week because he thought he was working with the rustlers.”

“And the sheriff believed him?” Rachel asked incredulously.

“The sheriff' wasn’t there,” he informed her. “But Marshal Aldrich was only too happy to believe him. The sheriff probably will, too, when he gets here, especially after all Statler’s men swear to it.”

Rachel’s shoulders sagged in defeat. No wonder Cole looked so discouraged. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, wishing she could find the words to make it right.

They stood looking at each other for long seconds, neither of them able to think of another thing to say. Cole inhaled her delicate fragrance, and suddenly recalled what his own scent must be like after a day in the saddle. “I’ll go get cleaned up for supper,” he said at last.

Rachel watched him go, wishing she could follow, wishing she could close the door behind them and thus close out the outside world and all its evil. Then he would hold her and kiss her and before long nothing else would matter except the two of them, together. Rachel sighed, feeling more than a little foolish. Why should she long so for a man who had said such awful things to her just this very morning? She had no answer. She only knew that she ached for him.

Supper was an ordeal. Cole brooded and Rachel watched him, unable to find appropriate words to break the awful silence. For once even Lupe had nothing to say as she bustled about serving them. She had not even inquired about the events of the night before, although Rachel knew that she had changed the sheets on Cole’s bed, so she must have seen the bloodstains. Rachel was very much afraid that Lupe had overheard their argument this morning and therefore did not need to ask any questions. Rachel should have been thankful to escape Lupe’s interrogation, but at the moment she would have welcomed the distraction.

After supper, Rachel sat down before the fire and picked up some embroidery. She felt a little ridiculous, stitching bouquets of flowers onto pillowcases while her husband paced the floor smoking cigarette after cigarette and fighting whatever demons assailed him on a night like this, but Rachel needed something to do with her hands. Hoping he would, at last, turn to her, she sat there for a long time.

Finally, she could endure it no longer and excused herself. She paused at her door, looking back just in case. He had been watching her, but when she turned, he looked away, tossed the butt of his latest cigarette into the fire with a careless gesture, and began to roll another one. Sighing with regret, Rachel entered her room and closed the door.

A good hour later she was still wide awake and reflecting grimly on the vow she had made earlier about not allowing him into her bed. She shouldn’t, she knew. She was a fool to even think about it, but she hadn’t suspected how large and empty and cold her bed would seem after having slept with Cole, or how very much she would want him there with her.

He might yet come to her, she reasoned. He had promised, or rather, threatened that he would come to her whenever he felt the urge. What Rachel could not guess was how soon he would again feel that urge. She tried to figure out what a man’s needs might be. She knew, although no one had actually told her, that the men made monthly trips to the nearest bawdy house. What she did not know was whether they went monthly because that was as often as they wanted to go or because that was as often as they could afford to go. After all, they always went on payday and never in between times. If a man had a wife, though, a wife he could go to whenever he wanted, how often would he want to?

Rachel’s mind boggled at calculating such a thing. All she knew was what Lupe had told her about men and their urges and that their urges were stronger than women’s. If Cole’s were stronger than hers, she couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t come storming into her room long ago. As much as she hated to admit it, she certainly wished he would have. She wanted him more than she would have thought it possible to want anything.

She wondered if she were demented or something. After all, less than twenty-four hours had passed since her first experience. Besides which, she well knew that no self- respecting woman should desire a man who had said the things Cole Elliot had said to her. She considered herself self-respecting in the extreme and yet she did feel that desire. The more she tried to deny it, the stronger it got, until the aching and the wanting were almost painful. Cursing Cole Elliot, she snatched up a pillow and clutched it to her to ease the emptiness.

Cole glanced toward Rachel’s closed door and lit yet another cigarette. Then, snarling an obscenity, he threw it, unsmoked, into the fire. It wasn’t right. He knew it wasn’t right. He shouldn’t take advantage of Rachel. She wouldn’t like it, couldn’t like it. Lord only knew how she had stood all the things he had done to her last night. She wouldn’t be too anxious for a repeat performance, certainly not this soon.

But he needed her. God, how he needed her. He needed to hold her, to bury his face in the soft curve of her neck, to lose himself in her sweet body, to let her absorb the pain and the horror. Even just to hold her would almost be enough.

Almost.

Angrily he paced from the fireplace to the window where he stared out sightlessly into the darkness. Damn it, she was his wife. If he wanted her, he had every right to take her. He ought to just march right in there and climb in bed with her.

But what if she said no, what if she refused? a tiny voice whispered inside his head. What if she told you to get out and never come back? Cole's lip curled in contempt. Just let her try, he argued. She was his and he’d take her if he wanted her. Seizing the lamp, he strode up to Rachel’s door.

The door flew open and Cole was there, holding a lamp and looking almost angry. His abrupt entrance startled her upright, and under his intense gaze she guiltily snatched up the pillow and clutched it to her bosom.

“What do you want?” she demanded, although her voice sounded a little too breathless to her own ears. She would have to be careful. She couldn’t reveal how very glad she was he had come.

Cole closed the door behind him. “You know what I want,” he said, moving toward her. In the flickering lamplight he looked almost sinister, but Rachel wasn’t afraid. She felt a tingle go through her.

Knowing she shouldn’t appear too eager, she surrendered to a perverse desire to goad him. “Do you think you can just come in here anytime you want and...”

“Yes,” he said, setting the lamp on the bedside table with an authoritative clunk.

The tingle spread down her legs and up her belly. She clutched the pillow more tightly to her breast. Briefly, she entertained the thought of ordering him out, just to see what his reaction would be, just to make him angry. She did not do it, though. Too risky, she decided. He might really leave. Instead she pouted prettily as she watched his long slender fingers release the buttons of his shirt. “You could at least have...” she began, but the words died on a startled gasp as he peeled the shirt from his body.

Rachel went weak at the sight of that broad chest. Tearing her eyes from the sight lest she betray herself, she made a little show of putting aside the pillow she was clutching and positioning it for his arrival. If she looked at him one more second, she was going to make an absolute fool of herself and fling herself at him. Nervously, she adjusted the covers across her lap. “You could at least have knocked,” she reproached him, remembering to maintain her pout.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Cole replied sarcastically, and ignored her outraged cry. Turning abruptly, he sat down on the edge of the bed and began to remove his boots.

Rachel watched the play of his muscles beneath his smooth skin. Because she longed to run her hand over those muscles and feel the smoothness of that skin, she clutched the bedclothes more tightly against her. Soon enough, she told herself. Don’t act too anxious or he’ll know. She took a steadying breath and inhaled the odor of tobacco that clung to him. She recalled that smell from their first night, and it triggered all sorts of delicious memories.

Cole pulled off his first boot. This time he’d do it differently. This time he wouldn’t shame her, wouldn’t strip her, wouldn’t fondle her like he had done before. He’d be quick. He’d lift her nightdress just far enough and no more, and then he’d do it. He’d just do it, that was all, he decided as he pulled off his other boot. She’d probably appreciate that, and she’d never guess how very much he wanted her. Setting his boot very carefully on the floor beside the bed, he stood and blew out the lamp.

Rachel felt a small pang of disappointment as she heard him removing the rest of his clothes in the darkness. She wanted to see all of him, to find out if the rest of him were so beautifully formed, and she especially wanted to see the desire burning in those blue eyes. There was time, though.

They would have the rest of their lives together for such discoveries. For now she would take what she could get.

Swiftly she released the tiny buttons of her nightdress and slipped it over her head. Now that she knew how these things were done, she would be ready. Besides, this time she would know exactly where her nightdress was when she wanted to retrieve it. She let it fall silently to the floor and then lay back down against the pillow, tingling with anticipation.

Naked now, Cole slipped into the warmth of the bed. She was there, her heat radiating toward him, the scent of roses enveloping him, drawing him. Still, he hesitated one moment before reaching for her. “It won’t hurt this time,” he said into the darkness. There, he had done what little he could to ease her fears.

Rachel’s heart lurched in her chest and tears stung her eyes. Oh, how she loved him! He thought she would be afraid. She wasn’t, though. She wasn’t afraid of this. No, she was afraid of many things concerning Cole Elliot, but not this. “I know,” she told him in a husky whisper.

Rachel turned toward him eagerly. More eagerly than was proper, perhaps. More eagerly than she wanted to, certainly.

He reached for her, desperate for the comfort she could give. She came willingly into his arms, all molten softness, molding her silken body to his. The shock of skin against skin wrenched an agonized groan from his throat. He had expected fabric and gotten flesh instead. Velvet, vital flesh. Rachel’s flesh. He called her name. Or thought he did.

She heard him whisper her name as his mouth came down on hers. Her arms went around him, touching him at last, holding him at last. His skin was cool, but she would warm him. Even as she thought it, she could feel the heat that burned within him rising to the surface, coaxed there by her teasing fingers. Her own body, too, had caught fire, and it seemed that her very blood sizzled in her veins. She moved against him sinuously, stoking the fire and spreading it, teasing herself against all the hair-roughened places that teased back.

His hands were everywhere, smoothing along her back, kneading over her buttocks, drawing her against the cradle of his hips, and then sliding down to stroke her quivering thighs. His mouth was busy, too. When he had devoured all the sweetness that her lips had to offer, he moved lower, sampling of her throat, her shoulders, and then nuzzling into the tender valley between her breasts. When she could stand it no more, she shifted under his weight, forcing her aching nipple into the haven of his mouth. He soothed it eagerly and then its mate, until Rachel was panting with want.

Cole wondered vaguely how he ever could have thought that simply holding her would be enough. His questing fingers sought out her center as he told himself he only wanted to know if she was wet. He was lying, and he knew it. He wanted to touch her, wanted to feel her shiver, wanted to feel the velvet folds swell beneath his teasing touch.

When she could stand it no longer, she called out his name, not knowing the words to use to tell him of her need. He understood, and he came to her. This time it did not hurt, unless the soul-rending pleasure that she felt could have been called pain.

She enfolded him into that sweet oblivion that comes when the world narrows down to hold only two people, two people who are striving to become one. They strained together, moving in that ancient rhythm, as if by sheer determination they could break the bonds that held them separate and join their very souls.

It was different this time. No golden glow, no peaceful drifting. This time the ending was shooting stars and soaring ecstasy that made her cry out and cling to him to keep from falling into that dark void where she would be lost forever. Cole’s shudders shook her then, the groan that rumbled from his chest vibrating in her own and making her cling more fiercely still. She would not let him fall either.

After a while his glorious weight became uncomfortable, and Rachel stirred beneath him. With a small grunt of protest, he rolled off her but kept her precious body in his tight embrace. She snuggled up against him, and their sighs of contentment mingled.

And Rachel was content, desperately so. He hadn’t said the words, and perhaps he did not actually love her yet, but he had come to her. On some level, at least, he needed her, just as she needed him. Knowing that would help her break through the protective shell she now realized he had built around himself. He had not been able to confide his feelings to her earlier in the evening, but he had bared his soul to her here in the dark. She would not forget, and she would use this insight to make him love her. The step from need to love was short, as she well knew, and Cole Elliot would soon take it. That was her last thought as sleep claimed her.

Cole wasn’t quite asleep, and he was smiling in the darkness. He had been right to come. All those faces, those haunting faces were gone. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was Rachel.

***

Cole’s eyes flew open. For a minute he couldn’t think where he was, but then he remembered. He was with Rachel. Cautiously, he turned his head and looked at her. She was still sleeping soundly, her face peaceful in the dawn light, and he realized all over again just how really beautiful she was. He studied her face, admiring the way her dark hair framed it, the way her lashes fanned out on her cheeks, the way her nose turned up on end, the way her lips curved into a perfect cupid’s bow.

He entertained a small fantasy about what would happen if he kissed that perfect cupid’s bow. Her eyes would fly open in surprise and then she would smile and kiss him back. One thing would lead to another and they’d be making love again.

He didn’t kiss her, though, certain that he would be a fool to do so. It was bad enough that he’d come in here at all last night. Now she knew for certain just how weak he was, just how much he wanted her. And needed her. Cole Elliot, who had always prided himself on needing nothing and nobody, needed her, Rachel McKinsey, a woman.

Long ago he had determined that to need was to be weak, and so he had learned to be self-sufficient. He kept people at arm’s length, knowing too well that trusting the wrong person could be fatal. Only at the Circle M had he finally felt free to bend that rule a little. First Sean McKinsey had chipped away at his barriers, winning first his respect and then his loyalty. Miles, too, had broken through. Wary at first, as wary as Cole, Miles had slowly revealed parts of himself, secret parts, as Cole did the same, until they could truthfully say that they knew each other. With that knowledge had come friendship, the first Cole had ever really known.

Finally there was the Kid. Cole hadn’t asked for that, had even tried to avoid it, but the Kid was too much like him, too much like the boy Cole himself had been. He couldn’t let the Kid make the same mistakes he had made, and so he had helped him along as best he could. The Kid had sort of wormed his way under the barriers, but he too had joined the small group of men whom Cole cared about, and whom he had, finally, learned to trust.

The problem was that now Rachel was in there, too. Unfortunately, Rachel was not someone Cole could trust. First of all, she was a woman. That was a mark against her right there. A person never knew what was going on inside a woman’s brain, and women never did what you expected them to. One minute they’d be sweet as pie and the next they’d turn on you like a rattler. Rachel had already shown her colors, purring at him one minute and snarling the next and for no good reason that he could see.

Now, he’d made things even worse by crawling back to her after swearing that he never would. At least he hadn’t made that promise to her. In fact, he was covered there, because he’d actually promised her that he would come to her. She shouldn’t have been surprised.

He’d been surprised, though. He’d never suspected how uncontrolled his own response would become when he had a naked Rachel in his arms. She’d played her part well, too, almost making him believe that she liked it as much as he did. It only proved how devious women could be. There was just no telling how far a woman would go to get what she wanted, and Rachel had gone pretty far, indeed, to insure that her new husband stayed home where he belonged.

Well, she needed him, too, he reasoned. Without Cole Elliot she didn’t stand a chance of winning out over Will Statler. That sort of evened the score, so he’d let her go on pretending, go on keeping him in line. He deserved it, and he had a sneaking suspicion that before he was finished with Statler, he would have earned it. He’d have to be careful, though. He couldn’t come in here every night or then she’d know the truth, that he just couldn’t keep his hands off her. No, he’d have to be more careful in the future. He’d discipline himself.

Starting now, he decided, slipping silently from the bed. He watched her carefully, but she did not move. Quickly, he retrieved his jeans from the floor and pulled them on. Glancing back at her to make sure she was still asleep, he tried not to notice the bare shoulder peeking out from under the covers, tried not to remember that the rest of her would be just as bare, and tried not to think about the way she felt pressed up against him.

With a silent moan, he scooped up the rest of his clothes and padded barefoot to the door. Turning the knob with care, he opened the door, and risked one last look back before closing it behind him. God, she looked just like an angel lying there.

“Bueno.”

Cole jumped a foot at the sound of that voice. Spinning around, he confronted a very smug-looking Lupe.

The old bat looked him up and down real careful like, and he felt naked as a scalded dog. He didn’t like being examined as if he were a stallion she was considering for stud. “What the hell are you looking at?” he snarled, still remembering to keep his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Rachel.

Lupe grinned up into his scowling face. “Mucho hombre,” she replied, flashing her gums at him again.

Cole hated the flush that he knew colored his face. He only hoped that he wasn’t red all the way down to where the heat started. “Is my breakfast ready?” he tried, to cover his chagrin. She hadn’t walked in and caught them doing it, for heaven’s sake. And he had every right in the world to be in Rachel’s room. There was absolutely no reason for him to feel guilty.

“Si,” Lupe said with a knowing look. “You are hungry. Riding all night make a man hungry.” With a fiendish cackle, she turned away and moved toward the kitchen, her shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

Muttering a curse at the old witch, Cole strode into his own room and slammed the door, remembering too late about the still-sleeping Rachel.

Miles had filled the rest of the men in on what had happened the day before. After a solitary breakfast, Cole found them lounging around the bunkhouse porch, waiting for their orders. Cole changed his instructions slightly this time, telling the men to travel in threes from now on, instead of in pairs, and to be on the lookout for ambushes. Cole thought that the one he and Miles had run into had not been an accident, but rather something Statler had planned to demoralize his men. There was nothing that made men more skittish than to know somebody might be waiting over the next rise to take a shot at them.

He also told them the first step in his master plan.

Everyone knew that the Circle M would have to make a cattle drive this spring, rustlers or no rustlers, in order to have enough working capital to get them through the coming year. They would start the roundup and the branding now. It was a little early, but Cole knew that they’d have to take it slow, work the cattle in small bunches So they would have enough extra men to serve as guards while they worked. Then they would have to scatter each bunch, not daring to hold a whole big herd for feat; the rustlers would overpower them and drive the whole shebang off to kingdom come. When they’d finished scouring the whole range, they would have to redo all their work, rounding up all the cattle again for the drive.

That would be the most dangerous part, and that’s what Cole was counting on. He figured that Statler was just greedy enough to hold out for the one big steal and that he’d wait until he could get the whole herd at once. Oh, he expected Statler would badger them some, just to keep them on their toes, but he was betting all his chips on the one, final showdown. This part of the plan he didn’t share with the men, however. There was no telling who might be a spy.

“Kid, I’ve got a special job for you,” Cole said when he had given the other men their assignments. The Kid stepped forward eagerly, his ever-present smile even brighter at being singled out by his hero. “I want you to go to town today and wait for the sheriff to come. As soon as he gets there, hightail it back and let me know. Meanwhile, I want you to hang around the saloon and socialize. Let it slip that we’re starting our roundup early, that we’re planning a drive, but that we’re being careful. Let Statler know we’ll be watching for trouble, so it won’t be easy to hit us until we’ve got the whole herd together.”

The Kid’s handsome brow furrowed. “You can’t mean you want him to hit the whole herd? That’s when we’ll be the weakest. We can’t protect the whole herd.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan,” Cole soothed, clapping the Kid on the shoulder. “And don’t let on to the other men about your job. They’re likely to bushwhack you when they hear you get to go to town while they’ll be beating the bushes for strays.”

Cole mounted up and joined the rest of the men as they rode out of the yard. He cast one last look back toward the ranch house just before it disappeared from view. Was Rachel up yet? And what had she thought when she awakened to an empty bed? Had she even thought of him at all? Feeling foolish for even wondering, he turned his attention back to the job at hand. At least he would have enough to keep him occupied today. Maybe the work would help him not to think about Rachel.

Maybe.

The Kid looked down to where Lettie walked beside him on the dark street. Impulsively, he reached out an arm, encircled her waist and drew her to him. God, she felt good. He’d wanted her for a long time, and he’d waited for her for a long time, longer than he’d ever waited for any other woman. If it had been any other man but Cole, he would simply have shot the bastard and taken Lettie for himself. Unfortunately, it had been Cole, the one man he had ever called “friend.”

How that friendship had begun, he couldn’t even remember anymore. It just seemed that from the very first day he’d come to work at the Circle M, he’d hit it off with Cole Elliot. Of course, he’d heard of him long before he’d ever come to Canaan. Everybody’s heard of Cole Elliot. Then again, everybody’d heard of Kid Collins, too, when it came to that. You never judged a man on his reputation alone, though, and so the two of them had sized each other up pretty careful before making a decision.

Looking back, the Kid now knew that the two of them had a lot in common. Both had lost their mothers when they’d been still in shirttails. Both had fathers who weren’t worth the powder it would have taken to blow their brains out. Both had been on their own for far too long. They hadn’t known all that in the beginning, but somehow they’d still felt some kind of kinship that had drawn them together. Cole had taken the Kid under his wing, had shown him that it took a lot more than a fast gun to be a man. The Kid had repaid him by granting his undying loyalty. Now Cole knew that no matter what happened, the Kid would back his play.

All that was why the Kid had never bothered Lettie before. Many nights he had watched with burning jealousy as Cole and Lettie had gone off together into the darkness, knowing that Cole would spend the night in Lettie’s arms while the Kid would ride back to the ranch alone, to his cold, lonely bed in the bunkhouse.

But things were different now. He was still a little mad about the way Cole had married Miss McKinsey without so much as a word to Lettie, but Miles had explained all that to him. Cole hadn’t had any choice. Hell, if Miss McKinsey had asked him, he would have done the same thing. Any man would have. And the Kid couldn’t be too mad about Lettie’s being free, now, either.

Smiling to himself, he pulled her closer to his side, blessing Cole yet again for sending him to town. He had done his job well, pretending to drink too much and then getting a little free with his tongue. He had announced that he was in town to await the sheriff and bragged that while he got to sit on his duff, the other men were out working up a good case of saddle galls getting started on the roundup.

Lettie had watched him curiously all evening. The Kid figured she knew him too well to buy his act, but she was too straight to let on. She’d played along with him, pouring him drinks and listening. She’d even acted like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to walk her home, too. Of course, she’d need a new man to protect her now that she’d lost Cole. That was common sense. The possibility that she might pick him was pretty exciting. She hadn’t picked him yet, though, he reminded himself as they approached her tiny cabin.

Lettie snuggled a little closer to the Kid and thought that he, at least, was honest about what he wanted from her. Not like Hank Oliver who’d walked along pretending to be a gentleman when all he wanted was to get under her skirt. The Kid would ask for what he wanted, too, not wait for an invitation. He was young, but he was a man.

Lettte sighed, her breath making a cloud of vapor in the chill night air. She was getting tired, too tired to play the game anymore. There had been too many men on too many nights and too many of them had turned out to be bastards. She wondered idly if the Kid would also turn out to be one. No, she decided. He would be one worth keeping. At least she would be safe with him. No one would dare bother Kid Collins’s girl, not even Will Statler. Hank Oliver had provided her with protection for one night, but a man like Statler wouldn’t be scared off by a storekeeper for long. If she wanted to be really safe, she’d have to tie up with somebody like the Kid, and she knew it.

They paused on the front stoop. Lettie turned, lifting her face to him, waiting. She did not have to wait long. His face came down to hers, and he took her mouth in a hungry kiss. After a long time, he lifted his head and asked huskily, “You’re going to let me come in, aren’t you?”

Lettie shifted her body suggestively against his. “Sure,” she agreed coyly. “I’ll fix some nice hot cocoa to warm you up.”

His chuckle vibrated through her body, too. “Is that the only way you know to warm a man up?”

“Oh, I know a few others,” she allowed, and then added thoughtfully, “In fact, I’ll bet I can do you up so good, your ears’ll melt.”

The noise he made was half groan, half laugh. “You’re on, lady.”

“I’m on?” she teased, opening the door. “Is that the way you like to do it?”

“That way or any way at all,” he replied agreeably, and followed her inside. He closed the door behind them, and reached for her.

“Let me light the fire first,” she protested, laughing.

“I know a better way to keep warm,” he said, burrowing beneath her coat with both hands.

“Don’t you even want the light?” she asked, working the buttons of his coat.

“The light? Mmmmm... yeah, that sounds nice,” he murmured into the curve of her neck.

Laughing again, she pulled out of his embrace and felt her way over to the table. Fumbling in the inky darkness, she found the matches and struck one, holding it away from herself for a moment while the sulfur burned off. Then with her free hand she lifted the lamp chimney and touched the match to the wick. Replacing the chimney, she shook the match out and then turned back to face the Kid. He had the funniest look on his face.

“You’re so beautiful, Lettie,” he said softly.

The compliment warmed her in places that had been cold for a long time. She knew it wasn’t true, of course, and she’d been in rooms like this with too many different men to be affected by mere flattery. What had touched her about the Kid’s remark had been the absolute sincerity of it. Whatever the truth might be, the Kid believed she was beautiful. For the first time in her life, she actually felt like she was. She smiled at him.

“You’re not so bad yourself, cowboy,” she said quite honestly, slanting him a provocative look.

She had expected him to come to her then, but he held back, and she realized that he had grown suddenly shy. She even thought he might have been blushing. Knowing instinctively that it would never do to let him think she had noticed, she rubbed her hands together briskly to warm them and said, “I think I’ll light that fire now. How about a drink?”

He did not reply at first but simply watched her go about the motions of building and lighting a fire in the small stove that served for both cooking and heating in the tiny cabin. When she had finished, she once more turned to look at him, giving him an inquiring glance. “Did you want something to drink?”

“Hot cocoa?” he asked, slanting her a grin.

She almost sighed with relief. He had recovered from his momentary bashfulness. She grinned back at him. “I had something a little stronger in mind.”

The Kid shook his head. “I’m feeling strong enough. Come over here.” He beckoned with his hand.

Lettie hesitated only an instant before going to him. She would have to be careful. The Kid was young and vulnerable. If things did not go well between them, he might blame himself, might think he wasn’t man enough for her or some other such nonsense. She could not risk that. She needed him, needed his protection. She stepped into his arms.

They kissed for a long time while tongues mated and hands groped. As the room warmed, they shed their coats, letting the garments fall unheeded to the floor while the two of them continued to nuzzle. When Lettie sensed that he was losing control, she drew slightly away and took his hand, leading him toward the bed. He followed willingly.

She undressed for him then, letting each piece of clothing slide seductively away until she stood naked before him. He groaned out her name, but before he could move toward her, she reached up and began to unbutton his shirt. By the time she had opened it, his breath was coming in shallow gasps and his whole body was trembling. When she had opened his longjohns as well and run her hands over the smooth plane of his bare chest, he could stand it no more, and he hauled her into a bone-crushing embrace.

“You’re freezing,” he whispered into her hair, running his hands over her back and buttocks.

“I thought you’d warm me up,” she replied.

She was a little startled when he pushed her away.

“Get under the covers,” he commanded, pulling back the bedclothes. “Right now, before you freeze off something important.”

“Yes, sir,” she said around a smile, sliding between the icy sheets. She shivered deliciously and then pouted. “It’s cold in here, too.”

“I’ll only be a minute,” he promised, sitting down beside her to pull off his boots. He actually took far less than a minute to finish undressing, and when he straightened from stepping out of his longjohns, Lettie gave a delighted gasp.

“Kid! You should have warned me!” she told him with mock horror, making him grin. The truth was that she was grateful. She wasn’t likely to have any trouble keeping the Kid’s interest, at least not tonight. For a minute there, earlier on, she had been afraid that he had held her in so much awe that it would affect his performance. Her fears had been groundless, though. Everything was going to be just fine.

It was, too. What the Kid lacked in expertise, he made up for in enthusiasm, and although Lettie was a little worried that she might have some bruises tomorrow, she was pleasantly surprised to discover that she had almost enjoyed the encounter.

Afterward he held her tenderly, stroking her hair and planting tiny kisses on her face. Lettie savored the moment. She could never remember being held like this.

“Was it... I mean, did you like it?” he asked just as she was about to drift off to sleep.

She came alert instantly, sensing his insecurity. It wouldn’t be enough for him to pleasure himself. He needed to know that he had pleased her, too. One part of her brain registered the fact that this was of paramount importance to her because it proved he cared about her and virtually assured her future protection. Another part of her simply delighted in the heady sensation of being loved.

“Mmmmm,” she purred, moving against him. “You’re quite a man, Kid Collins. I wonder how I ever got so lucky.” She heard his sigh of relief and felt him quicken against her as she had guessed he would.

“Lettie?” he asked, renewed need thick in his voice.

“Come here,” she ordered. “I’m still cold. I don’t think I got enough of you before.”

“That’s funny, I’m still cold, too,” he said, moving over her again.

While the Kid was getting warmed up, Cole was trying to cool down. He’d worked himself nearly to death today in an effort to attain complete exhaustion. He’d thought surely if he were tired enough, he would be able to fall right to sleep. He’d been wrong, though. He wasn’t falling right to sleep, and he had to suffer the added torture of knowing just exactly what... and who... would put him right to sleep. And knowing she was in the next room.

The whole evening had been an ordeal. He’d decided to act like nothing had happened, and a good thing he had because that’s exactly how Rachel had acted. Oh, she’d given him a little smile when he’d first come in and said hello and everything. He guessed it was easy enough for her to smile, though, knowing she had him right where she wanted him. Then she’d watched him all evening, almost like she was waiting for something. What it could have been, he couldn’t imagine, but finally she’d gone on to bed.

He had used up all his willpower to let her go alone, too. It was almost funny. For some reason he’d imagined he would be able to let a whole week go by before making love to her again. A week had seemed like the proper length of time. Short enough that he wouldn’t go stark raving mad and long enough that she wouldn’t get the idea he couldn’t stay away.

Yes, it should have been exactly the right amount of time.

He’d only gone to see Lettie once a week and sometimes even less often. Of course, he hadn’t had to see Lettie every day, or eat with her or watch her move around the house or smell her perfume in every room. Hell, he could even smell it in his own room. For one wild second he wondered if maybe that witch Lupe had sprinkled some in his bed to drive him crazy. Then he decided it was more than likely just his own imagination. He was probably perfectly capable of driving himself insane without any help from the old woman.

Sighing, he stared up into the darkness. Only six more days and then the week would be up, he told himself grimly.

Rachel lay in her own bed staring at her own darkness. She had vowed to be a good wife to Cole Elliot, but she had never imagined the job would be so undemanding. Oh, last night had been wonderful. The mere fact that he had come to her had been more than enough, but she also knew he had come because he had needed her. She wasn’t exactly certain how the physical act of making love met the needs and soothed the pain she had sensed in him, but she knew it had, and that was all that mattered.

When she had awakened to an empty bed, she had known he had purposely slipped out without waking her. Whether he had been too shy to face her or hesitant about revealing his feelings or afraid of another argument like the one they’d had after their first night or whether he had just been trying to be considerate, she had no idea. Somehow she hadn’t been surprised, though. She had suspected he would be gone.

She had also suspected he would be wary when he came home again. She had tried to act normally, although exactly what was “normal” for their marriage was a little difficult to ascertain, but her smiling welcome had bounced right off him. He still wasn’t ready to open up to her, to let her see past the tough exterior. What he didn’t know, what he didn’t even suspect, was that it was far too late to hide from her. She knew him now, understanding for the first time why the Bible used the word “know” to indicate sexual relationships.

Yes, she knew him intimately, in the darkness with all barriers cast aside.

He could pretend if he wanted to. He could convince even himself that he was hiding his true feelings from her. She’d seen the longing in his eyes tonight when he’d looked at her, though. She knew how much he wanted to be in her bed right now. Smiling a little at the foolishness of his stubborn pride, she acknowledged that it was also something she could not fight. He’d just have to learn for himself that whatever he imagined he would be giving up by falling in love with her wasn’t worth holding on to. She only hoped he figured it out soon.

“Hot Iron!”

Cole could hear the call from where he sat his horse, even though the men doing the branding were nothing more than tiny specks in the distance. He studied the scene below, the milling herd, the choking dust, the men going through the motions with practiced ease. The man on horseback cut out an unbranded calf from the herd, separating it from its mother, and then roped it. Dragging the calf to the fire, he turned it over to a man on foot who threw it to the ground and called for the branding iron. Yet another man applied the brand while the second cowboy used his knife to mark the calf s ear and then, if the calf were a male, moved to castrate it with one swift swipe. After dabbing some creosote dip on the cuts to keep the flies away, he released the calf which ran, bawling, to find its mother.

Repeated with endless monotony, the process took on the structure and grace of a dance. The mooing, bawling herd provided a discordant accompaniment.

Cole watched intermittently, often swinging his gaze to study the surrounding landscape for intruders, and then looking back to check the positions of the other sentries. He’d had to work roundups with guards before, in other places at other times, but never had his vigilance seemed so vital. He supposed that was because this time he had a vested interest in seeing that this cattle made it safely to market under their original ownership.

Smiling grimly, he considered his new sense of responsibility. It was ironic how often in years past he’d been grateful not to have such responsibility, how often he had been only too glad to take his pay and ride away when the fighting was over. He had loved the freedom and thrived on the excitement of constant danger. As soon as the threat of that danger passed, he had become bored. This time, however, he could hardly wait for the danger to pass. This time, the outcome mattered far more than just being certain of getting paid off in the end. This time the outcome would affect Rachel.

Cole sighed at the thought of her. In spite of his resolution, he simply had not been able to stay away from her. Once a week, ha! He’d been a fool to ever set such an impossible goal for himself. He was doing good to keep it down to twice a week, even with her still sleeping in the other room.

Reaching into his vest pocket, Cole pulled out his Bull Durham sack and began to roll himself a smoke. Whenever he thought about their sleeping arrangements, he needed some distraction. How on earth they’d ever gotten into separate bedrooms and why he’d felt like he should go along with the idea, he would never know. Oh, he could have just told her to move her stuff because she was bunking in with him from now on, but for some reason that never seemed like the right thing to do. She already had a pretty good notion of how much he wanted her. If he turned to her every night, the way he wanted to and the way he would if she slept in his bed, she would know for certain. He simply could not give her that power over him.

Things would be different if she wanted him, too, of course, and sometimes in the dark of night when she was warm and soft in his arms, he could almost convince himself that she did. Then dawn would come and with it the reminder that she was only doing her duty to keep him home. Not that he’d ever be going out for it again. No, she’d ruined him there. In his younger days, he’d thought that sex was the same no matter who the woman was, but now he knew different. Making love with Rachel was like nothing he’d ever experienced. Separate bedrooms or not, he guessed he was a lucky man.

Or he would be if Rachel felt the same way about him. Cole took a deep drag on the cigarette he had just lit and pondered the potential for such a situation. He couldn’t expect her to fall in love with him, of course, not with a man who’d never had a home, who made his living selling his gun, who could barely read and write. That would be asking a little much. But maybe he could win her respect.

Cole straightened in his saddle. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? In fact, she probably already respected him. Why else would she have chosen him to be her husband? She knew he was the best man to lead a fight. All he had to do now was prove her right.

All he had to do now was beat Statler.

Squinting into the distance, Cole tried to decide if he’d seen movement. With a curious sense of disappointment, he realized that he hadn’t. Suddenly, he was itching for a confrontation with Statler and his men. Until now, he had been glad that Statler’s harassment had been fairly minor, limited to an occasional potshot taken when they’d ridden into an arroyo to collect some steers or when somebody’d gotten separated from the rest of the men. Cole knew a surge of excitement at the thought that from this time on, they could expect an attack at any time. The branding would be over in a day or two and then they would begin the full gather of the cattle.

When Statler came, Cole would be ready for him. This was a fight Cole intended to win. He owed it to Mr. McKinsey for taking him in and giving him a home and then making him a friend. He owed it to the Circle M and the men because they had been entrusted into his care. But most of all, he would fight for Rachel. Winning would mean winning her, winning his rightful place in her life. And he would win. He had to.

Rachel looked up from the book she had been trying to read for the past two hours, and for the tenth time in as many minutes tried to stare a hole in the office door. She had been sitting in the parlor all evening waiting for Cole to finish his meeting with Miles, and she was just about ready to march in there and demand to know what they were discussing. She had already guessed that it was important.

From what Cole had told her, she knew they had finished with the branding. The next step, of course, was to organize a trail drive, but Rachel had a sneaking suspicion Statler wasn’t going to let them simply drive her cattle peacefully away for sale. He had already harassed the men on several occasions during the branding. No one had been hurt, but shots had been fired, and the men all had an edge of wariness about them. They knew the trouble had just begun. Cole and Miles would be planning for the attack they expected.

At long last she heard the outside door open and close and she knew Miles had left. A few more minutes passed, and Cole came out. Rachel closed her book and waited expectantly.

Cole seemed a little surprised to see her still sitting there. It was very late, after all, but didn’t he know she would wait up for his report? “What are your plans?” she asked.

Now he really was surprised, and Rachel knew that once again he had underestimated her. He was obviously having a hard time believing that she had guessed what his confab with Miles was about. “Plans?” he hedged, sitting down in a chair opposite her with an air of caution. Rachel tried not to notice how his worn jeans hugged his thighs or the way his shoulders moved under his shirt when he reached up and pushed the shock of hair off his forehead.

“Yes, plans,” she echoed impatiently. “What are you going to do to stop Statler?” That is what you and Miles were talking about in there, isn’t it?”

She saw a tiny glint of admiration sparkle in those blue eyes. Irritation tweaked at her because she knew he had been amazed at her perception. “We’re going to round up a herd, just like we were really going to run a drive north,” he explained. “Then we’re going to wait for Statler to try to rustle it.”

It sounded so simple. Rachel lowered her eyes and ran a fingernail over the spine of the book that still rested in her lap. Too simple. Sitting around waiting to be attacked by a gang of murdering rustlers was not a healthy thing to do. It was, instead, a rather dangerous thing to do. They would have no way of knowing exactly when they would be hit or where or even how many attackers to expect. Hampered by a large herd of nervous cattle, her men would be sitting ducks. Her man would be a sitting duck. The thought settled in her stomach like a lead weight.

Rachel slowly raised her head. The blue eyes she loved so well were watching her carefully, waiting to see what her reaction was. She tried not to show him how frightened she was. “When are you going to start the roundup?”

“Tomorrow,” he said. The word hung in the air like an ugly cloud. “I figure it’ll take a couple-three weeks to finish the gather,” he added. “We’ll have to sleep out, to guard the herd.”

Sleep out. Now Rachel understood the hungry way he was watching her. He was telling her that this was the last time he would be sleeping at home for a while. In spite of the skirmish that fear was holding with her nerves, she almost smiled. The man was an absolute caution. Here he was, planning to go out tomorrow to risk his life for her, but the thought uppermost in his mind was that he wanted to make love with her one last time before he left. And he wasn’t even going to come right out and say so.

As if she’d mind. Had she ever done anything to make him think she would? She knew that she hadn’t. In fact, she had done everything she could think of—within the bounds of common decency—to let him know that she didn’t mind one bit. Still he persisted in acting as if her bed were some sacred shrine that he could only visit on occasion. And after the second time when she had told him he should have knocked, he even did that. Sometimes Rachel thought she might cheerfully strangle him.

At other times she toyed with the idea of simply moving into his room, but something within her rebelled at the thought. She knew that he didn’t quite trust her and might very well suspect her motives, and to tell the truth, she didn't quite trust him either. He had never, not even in the heat of passion, said anything to indicate that he returned her love. Although she felt sure that he cared for her, she couldn’t do anything so brazen as forcing herself on him until she had some proof. She had used up just about all the brazenness she possessed in getting her marriage consummated in the first place. In fact, she decided with perversity, if he wanted to bed her tonight, he was going to have to say so.

Cole watched her closely, wishing he could hear what was going on inside that pretty little head and trying to decide whether she had gotten his hint or not. Maybe he should have made the plan sound more dangerous, maybe tried to scare her. The thought of a tearful Rachel clinging to him was a little repugnant, though. And he didn’t want her coming to him out of gratitude, that was for damn sure.

He knew he was a fool to care what her reasons might be, but he did. Even as he let his wayward gaze stray to the bodice of her dress and allowed his wayward imagination to recall just how those luscious mounds felt under his hands and mouth, he knew that it mattered very much why she came.

Rachel watched him closely, wondering what was going on inside his head. He was probably calculating how much longer until she would go off to bed and how much longer after that until he could follow her. Oh, no, Cole Elliot, that’s not the way it’s going to be tonight, she thought to herself. Not only would she not make it easy for him, she would make it very difficult.

“I guess you’re going to have a busy day tomorrow,” she ventured innocently. He did not reply, and Rachel pretended not to notice the suspicious way his blue eyes narrowed. “You’ll need to get a good night’s sleep, so don’t feel that you have to wait up for me. I’ll just sit here and read for a while. Good night,” she told him sweetly. Then she ostentatiously opened the book she still held and began to read.

Cole sat there a full minute in stunned silence as he fumed over the fact that he had been dismissed. Just what in the hell was she trying to pull? For a second there he had thought that maybe she hadn’t understood what he wanted, but he quickly dismissed that thought. She wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t innocent either. No, she was doing this on purpose, the scheming little... and then he noticed something. Something very peculiar. “Rachel,” he murmured menacingly.

Delicious little shivers danced over her body, but she schooled her expression to blandness. Steeling herself to meet those glittering blue eyes, she peered cautiously over the top of her book. “Yes?” she inquired, pleased that her voice was not quivering as the rest of her was.

Cole rose slowly from his chair and crossed the space between them with two very deliberate steps. He stopped just inches from her knees.

Rachel slowly raised her dark brown gaze to meet his piercing blue one, and by the time she could see his face, her heart was pounding wildly, so wildly she thought he must hear it, too. She knew she should speak but her throat felt paralyzed, so she just stared.

Cole glared down at her for a long moment. Then he reached out and grasped her book. With painstaking care he turned it over and returned it to her hands, right side up.

Heat flooded to her face, but not from embarrassment. “Oh, my,” she said without the slightest trace of sincerity, and gave him a wicked and very unrepentant smile.

He made a noise that was part growl, part groan. With one hand he pulled the book from her hand once more and tossed it aside. With the other, he simultaneously grasped her wrist and jerked her to her feet, straight into his arms.

Rachel made a startled sound but it was muffled by his mouth, which ground down on hers with punishing force. She returned his kiss with equal force, sliding her arms around his neck and clinging as if she would never let go. He was clinging, too, even more fiercely, until she had to rise up on her toes to meet him. His hands clasped her buttocks, feeling for her softness beneath the layers of petticoats and cradling her against the heat of his desire.

She heard his moan and echoed it, sharing his frustration at the barriers that thwarted their efforts to get closer. Her arms were around his neck now, and she moved against him with an urgency that he matched.

Cole groaned again, knowing that he had to have her and soon. There was no time for niceties or rituals. Without any conscious decision to do so, he scooped her up into his arms and headed for the bedroom. She pulled her mouth away from his, and he thought she smiled before she snuggled down against his shoulder. He almost missed a step when she started nibbling on his neck, and when her tiny teeth closed over his earlobe, he actually stumbled.

“Careful,” she murmured into his ear, her warm breath sending shivers down the entire length of his body. He whispered a silent prayer that his legs would continue to function until he got her to the bed, knowing that it would take a small miracle.

Without hesitation, he entered his own room and kicked the door shut behind him. Tonight he wanted her in his bed, the way it had been the very first time. Tonight he didn’t want to feel like an intruder or a supplicant. Tonight was his night.

In the total darkness, he moved instinctively to the bed and they tumbled down together in a tangle of arms and legs and petticoats. For a while they simply cuddled and kissed, fully clothed. Cole explored every inch of her mouth, swirling his tongue in the moist, sweet cavern, drinking of her essence as if that were enough to satisfy the craving that he felt.

Rachel let him drink, even though it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, and she teased him, her own tongue tasting and tangling. Meanwhile, his hands were questing, roaming over the breasts that were still so tightly bound, and rummaging among her skirts to find the secret, sensitive places. Then he started on her buttons, but either he was out of practice or else just a little bit clumsy in his haste. After a moment of struggle, his head lifted and she could imagine him squinting, trying to see in the darkness to do the job that was so vital. His muffled curse told her that he was having no success.

“Need some help?” she asked, brushing his hands aside and making short work of the tiresome buttons that ran the length of her bodice.

He didn’t move. He was very close, one leg thrown over hers, and she could hear every rasping breath he took, could almost imagine that she heard the beating of his heart. But perhaps it was only her own she heard. He couldn’t see what she was doing, could only hear the rustle of the cloth, so she swiftly opened her camisole as well, baring the breasts that ached for his touch.

Still he waited, poised over her so that the heat of his body enveloped her like an invisible cocoon. She longed to take his hand, to draw it to her, but she lacked the courage to be so bold. Instead she reached out for his own buttons and opened his shirt. The instant her fingers touched the material and he realized her intent, his breath caught with a rasp. He held it for the small eternity while she worked her way down the placket, and then released it with a groan when her silken hands reached inside the opening to draw him close.

First hands to chest and then breast to chest and mouth to mouth. They came together as if the flesh of their bodies were irresistibly compelled to join. For delicious minutes they brushed skin to skin, smooth satin against furred velvet, until that, too, became too much and not enough.

There was no help for it. They had to separate long enough to free themselves from all constrictions. Struggling, grappling with boots that would not give and bows that knotted and sleeves that stuck, they tussled side by side, bumping knees and elbows, testing each other’s progress with hands that brushed not quite by chance.

At last they both lay still, each telling the other by their complete silence that they were ready. For several heartbeats, neither of them moved. Each listened to the other’s breathing; each imagined, drawing out this delicious moment of anticipation on gossamer threads of willpower until nerve endings fairly crackled from the strain.

Rachel wanted him, ached from wanting him, but she dared not move. This was a contest, one in which the loser would win, and she very much wanted him to win. Silently, she called his name, called him to her. Her heart wept within her, tears of joy and wonder that gathered in those secret places, waiting for him.

“Rachel.” Her name on his lips was both entreaty and command, triumph and surrender, and he did not wait for her response. Even as the word escaped, his arms enfolded her, drawing her to him.

In the thundering silence where mere words cannot be heard, they came together in a communion far more intimate. Hands and lips stroked and caressed; bodies molded together, seeking, seeking. He probed and prodded, searching for a refuge. She opened, offering him sweet sanctuary. She gave him that mysterious refuge, and he returned an offering that was life itself. Together they climbed the heavens and touched the fleeting glory that unites. Even more together, they sank back to earth, bound to each other in the fusion of shared ecstasy.

Much later, sated and snuggled under the covers in the haven of his arms, where she would have believed herself safe from such assaults, Rachel tasted fear again. For a short, blissful time, she had been able to forget the danger that lay ahead. Now, once again, she remembered.

“Cole?”

“Hmmm?” His muttered response was more reflex than comprehension.

“Please be careful,” she whispered into the warmth of his shoulder. Tears stung her eyes and laced her voice. “I love you so.”

His arms tightened around her for a moment and then relaxed, but he did not respond.

In the morning, he was gone.