“You all know I wouldn’t have called this family meeting unless it were of paramount importance to all of us,” Cisco began at four o’clock Sunday afternoon, as they gathered in his office. Aware how pale and nervous Gillian looked, he made sure everyone had coffee, then settled down beside Gillian and clasped her cold hand in his. He knew she had no desire to do this, just as he also knew it was absolutely necessary. Gillian had lived a life of terror long enough; working together, he and the McKendricks would help end her nightmare once and for all.
“We know that, son,” Max reassured gravely, as he rested his Stetson on his buckskin-clad knee.
“What I don’t get is why I was invited,” Pearl interjected quietly as she passed around a plate of homemade Ranger cookies she’d brought over from the diner.
“Because you’re as much a part of the McKendrick family as I am,” Cisco told her gently.
“And you could be even more a part of it if you’d just give me a chance to make things right with you,” Max interjected emphatically, looking straight at Pearl until she blushed.
“All right,” Pearl said, still looking as if it was going to be a very hard sell, convincing her of his love. “I’ll hear you out, Max.” She glared at him stonily as she settled on the opposite side of the room from him. She folded her arms in front of her. “But only after the family meeting has concluded.”
Max nodded. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it would do. He turned to Cisco. “Back to the emergency that brought us here.”
Briefly Cisco explained what Gillian had told him. Everyone listened quietly. Not surprisingly, they were all clearly as concerned for Gillian as he was. When he had finished, Gillian broke in, looking more uncomfortable than ever. “I wanted to leave well enough alone, rather than involve any of you in my past.”
Patience reacted as generously as Cisco had predicted she would. “Nonsense, Gillian. That’s what family is for,” Patience said, settling into the curve of Josh’s arm.
“Patience is right. You should let us help you,” Susannah said softly, taking her husband’s hand in hers.
Cody nodded and swept a hand through his long wheat gold hair. “Take it from me, Gillian. I spent seven years withdrawing from the world in the old outpost, only to discover that all I’d done was take my troubles with me and make them worse, in refusing to deal with them.”
Remembering the sweet, giving way Gillian’s body had felt beneath his a few hours before, Cisco kept a firm clasp on Gillian’s hand. “The only way out, the only way you will ever be able to have a full life, Gillian, is if you face this situation head-on and let us call in Sheriff Anderson.”
“The law can help you,” Patience’s husband, Josh, interjected quietly, putting his two cents in. “I know they’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe from harm, as will all of us.”
Gillian sighed. She plaited the fabric of her split skirt between her fingers and stared down at her knee. “I’m scared.”
Cisco heard the tears in her voice even before he saw them brimming in her eyes.
“I don’t want anyone to be hurt on my account,” Gillian finished on a husky whisper of soul-deep regret that only made Cisco’s heart go out to her all the more.
“I felt the same way,” Callie said softly as she wrapped her hand in Cody’s. “But Sheriff Anderson and Cody helped me fight and win a years-long battle with my kin.” Callie sent Gillian a reassuring look. “Because I stood up to them, I’m safe now. And you will be, too, if you let us all work together to help you.”
Gillian looked at Callie, then at Cisco, then the rest of the clan. As he had figured she would, when confronted with such love, warmth and understanding, she gave herself over to them. “All right, then,” she said, forcing a tremulous smile, first at Cisco, then at everyone in the room. “Let’s go for it.”
“I TALKED TO PETE LLOYD,” Clsco told the group assembled in Sheriff Anderson’s office thirty minutes later.
“Did he recall how he knew me?” Gillian asked, aware she did feel safer with Cisco beside her.
Cisco put his arm around her and drew her in close to his side. “Not until I told him you’d been a student at Kansas State University, but had had to leave the state because of threats against your life. Then it all came back to him—your alleged suicide leap off the Kansas River bridge, and the suspected abuse at the hands of your ex-husband before that. Apparently, the local papers carried the story—and your photo—for weeks afterward.”
Gillian rubbed the back of her neck anxiously, feeling as though the tension there would never leave, no matter what she did.
“What happened to her husband?” Callie asked.
His expression serious, a clipboard full of notes in his hand, Sheriff Anderson joined the family members gathered round. “That’s what I need to tell you,” he said quietly. “I just got off the phone with the Kansas police.”
Gillian drew in a quavering breath and wished like hell she could get a grip. But that was something easier hoped for than accomplished. Just talking about her ex had brought back all the ugly memories with jarring force. “And?” she asked.
“Phillip Wingate’s dead.”
Gillian felt the blood drain from her face. She swayed, feeling as if she might faint, while everyone clamored at once.
“When?” Gillian demanded as Cisco tightened his grip on her protectively.
Sheriff Anderson looked as reluctant to be relaying the information as Gillian was to hear it. “He took his own life about a year after you were presumed dead.”
Gillian paused and bit her lip. “That doesn’t sound like him.” And because it didn’t, she found she had a hard time believing it.
Sheriff Anderson regarded Gillian solemnly. “Apparently your ex-husband was distraught by the note you left behind. For a long time he didn’t believe you’d committed suicide. He made a real nuisance of himself looking for you and was arrested on disorderly conduct charges several times.”
“How did the police react to that?” Cisco asked, reminding them all that in the ten years that had passed, law enforcement had taken a much tougher stance against domestic violence, and stalking laws had been changed and strengthened in many states.
“Although they couldn’t prove anything, since Gillian—” the sheriff paused to consult his clipboard and correct himself “—or Meg Wingate’s body was never found, they considered Phillip a suspect in his ex-wife’s disappearance, as did many other people in the KSU community. Unable to live with the damage to his reputation, and the loss of his teaching assistantship at the graduate school—the university dismissed him when it all came out—Phillip Wingate drove to the same bridge where Gillian’s car had been found, and took a suicide leap into the river. There were several witnesses that saw him jump, but as in your case, a body was never found to verify his death.”
“Which means—like me—he could still be alive,” Gillian whispered as that information sank in, her nerves stretched tight on the razor’s edge.
Sheriff Anderson and Cisco exchanged concerned looks with each other and the rest of the McKendrick men. “The police there admit it’s possible, but they deem it highly unlikely that anyone, no matter how determined or strong a swimmer, could have survived a plunge into the river that night,” Sheriff Anderson said finally. “The Kansas River was swollen from recent heavy rains, and the current was very fast. It’s more likely that he drowned and his body was swiftly swept away.”
“I’m sorry, Gillian,” Josh said softly.
“We all are,” Cody agreed.
Trace nodded. “We wish you’d never had to go through that.”
“But now it’s over,” Callie concluded with heartfelt relief, taking Gillian’s hand and squeezing it hard. “And you’re finally free to go on with the rest of your life,” Susannah whispered joyfully as she and Patience embraced Gillian, too.
“All that’s left to do is confirm the facts,” Max said, “which we’ll do immediately with the help of my crack private investigating team.”
“And, of course, clear up a few legal matters after that,” Cisco said.
Everyone seemed to think it really was over, Gillian noted as the grief and guilt she knew she ought to feel mysteriously continued to elude her.
But if that were truly the case, Gillian wondered uneasily, if her ex-husband was really no longer a threat to her, then why did she still have this sick, scared feeling in her heart?
“I’M SURE the dining hall is fine,” Cisco insisted as they drove toward the logging camp a short while later. Gillian knew it was, too, but she had to be doing something to settle her nerves, and in the past, it was her work, her love of cooking, that had calmed her. “I’ll feel better if I check it and make sure there are no more raccoons taking up residence in the storeroom,” Gillian said, trying her best not to let on how uneasy she still felt. Besides, the business was soon going to be hers, and she needed to show some responsibility so Max wouldn’t think he’d make a mistake in willing it to her in the first place.
Cisco slanted her a concerned look. “You think the family of raccoons that tried to move in last night might have made an encore appearance?” he asked with a look that said he knew exactly what she was worrying about.
Even though they were married, she didn’t want him feeling anxious on her account. Gillian settled back in her comfortable leather seat. “It’s possible, especially if their original home was destroyed in the storm we had the other night. Not to mention the fact the plastic we taped over the window was pretty flimsy. I’d hate to think of the chefs who will show up tomorrow being scared the way I was last night.”
The logging camp dining hall came into view. “Looks like we weren’t the only ones with the idea to come here,” Cisco said, noting the interior lights were on.
Realizing they weren’t alone, Gillian’s heart took on a slow, heavy beat.
“Is anyone supposed to be here?” Cisco asked.
“No.”
His mouth tightened. “You wait here.” He handed her his cell phone. “I’ll check it out.”
“Cisco—”
Cisco reached past her, into the glove compartment and pulled out a small but lethal-looking handgun she had not realized he had. “Wait here,” he repeated firmly.
Stopping only long enough to make sure his gun was loaded, he stepped out of the car. Gun held in front of him, he disappeared into the dining hall. Sweat pooled between Gillian’s breasts and trickled down her rib cage as she held on to the cell phone so tightly, her hands ached. Was this what she had brought into Cisco’s life? Fear? Uncertainty? Danger? And how could she allow it to continue, when he had been so good to her?
Seconds later, Cisco was back in the doorway, waving her in. “It’s just Tom Turner,” he told her in a confident, relaxed tone.
“I’m sorry I scared you, Gillian,” the burly logging camp crew chief said as he, too, ushered her in. “I came by to check on the window that was broken out in the storm.” His bearded face split into a worried frown. “And it’s a good thing I did, too.”
“Why? What happened?” Gillian asked as another prickle of unease slid down her spine. Maybe it was all the talk about Phillip earlier, but she couldn’t shake the feeling something was amiss. “Was the plastic torn off the window?” By raccoons, or something—someone—else? she wondered nervously.
“No, it wasn’t ripped off, but the whole bottom part had sort of worked loose. Packing tape doesn’t usually do that. Generally it holds up pretty well, but I. guess in this instance the moisture from the storm must’ve affected it. Anyway, as you can see, I boarded up the opening with plywood until we can get the glass company out to replace the pane first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you see any evidence of raccoons?” Cisco asked Tom, going on to explain they’d had some in the storeroom the previous evening.
“No, but I wasn’t looking for any, either.”
The three walked to the storeroom. To their mutual relief, all was in order—though only Gillian seemed to suspect that the plastic hadn’t come off the window all on its own.
“Well,” Tom said, “if you don’t need me, I’ll be going.”
Gillian smiled. Some honeymoon this was turning out to be. Her life couldn’t even stay calm for twenty-four hours. “Thanks for stopping by to check on things.”
Tom smiled. “All a part of my job here.” He tipped his head at her respectfully. “‘Night.”
“Good night,” Cisco and Gillian replied.
After Tom left, Cisco turned to Gillian. He looked more than ready to call it a night. “Ready to go?”
Gillian nodded. Unless she found something to occupy her mind completely, it was going to be a very long night. “I just want to get a couple of my cookbooks. Susannah and I have been trying to perfect a recipe for low-cal manicotti, using ground chicken or turkey in the filling instead of ground beef—”
“Don’t let Cody, the cattle rancher in the family, hear you say that!” Cisco interjected, as if she were speaking the ultimate heresy.
Gillian grinned and, ignoring his teasing, continued, “I’d like to study them tonight, and then if I have time tomorrow I want to experiment a bit in the kitchen.” He abruptly looked so crestfallen, she wondered if he had made other plans for them he had yet to disclose. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Cisco tugged her close and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Not as long as I get some attention from you tonight, too, and I get to taste whatever it is you cook up tomorrow.” He wrapped his arms around her and fit her lower half to his, in a way that let her know he couldn’t wait to get back to the honeymoon cottage so they could make love. As her heartbeat picked up, Gillian realized that she wanted that, too.
“It’s a’deal.” Gillian smiled, reluctantly extricating herself from the warmth and tenderness of his protective embrace. She tilted her head back to his. “Anyway, it’ll just take a minute for me to get what I need, so—”
“Go ahead.” Cisco brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “I’ll turn off the lights in the storeroom and lock up.”
Both anxious to be out of there, they headed off in opposite directions. Let’s see, Gillian thought, as she headed for her rack of cookbooks. She needed Volume III of the West Coast Publishing Series “LowCal Cooking” and the American Classics cookbook on “Italian Cuisine.”
Her mind racing to the task ahead, Gillian reached for the books then stopped dead in her tracks. That was funny. Neither book was where it should be. She was certain she had arranged them in the right order the previous night. Once again, a chill slid down her spine and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. What was going on here?
Without warning, Cisco appeared in the doorway to the dining hall office. He took a look at her face and the happiness faded from his silver eyes. He gazed into her face as if trying to see into her heart. “Everything okay?”
Gillian tore her eyes from his. This was ridiculous. She was panicking and overreacting, just as she had last night with the raccoons, and there was absolutely no reason for her to be behaving this way. There was not one hint, not one clue, that Phillip was still alive. In fact, everything they knew pointed to exactly the opposite conclusion.
Taking a deep breath, she decided she had to get a grip, for both their sakes. She stared at the shelf in front of her, to her chagrin still feeling embarrassed and off-kilter. “I’m having trouble locating the right cookbooks,” she murmured, then just as quickly realized what had happened. “They’re just a little mixed-up, that’s all. Usually I put the general recipe books over here, the low-cal books down here, but it appears I’ve got them reversed. I guess I was distracted last night when I was reshelving them.”
“You’re sure that’s all it is?” Cisco queried, stepping nearer.
Gillian nodded. She was not going to upset him.
“You look pale,” Cisco continued.
She shrugged off his concern. “I’m just more tired than I realized,” she replied, knowing it was true, even if she didn’t want to admit it. “It’s been a long day.” She tucked her arm in his. “Maybe we should get out of here?”
Cisco nodded. “Right away.”
AN HOUR LATER, Gillian stood at the window of the honeymoon cottage. At long last, she and Cisco were alone again and, though she cherished the solitude, Gillian couldn’t help but wonder—realistically speaking—if the next few hours were all the time they were ever going to have.
She wanted a real marriage with him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. The problem was, she didn’t know what he wanted.
In the past twenty-four hours they’d already made love three times, and kissed more than that. But it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough for her. And judging by the way Cisco kept touching her at the slightest excuse, and holding her close, it wasn’t enough for him, either.
They hadn’t mentioned love, either of them, though she knew in her heart that was what she felt for him. But what did he feel for her? Besides the heed to rescue her? Or the yearning for a passionate affair?
She knew they were going to have to talk about it before this arrangement of theirs ended. She just wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the answers.
Nor, as he drew the drapes in the living room and made sure the cottage was locked up tight as a drum, did he look ready to give them.
“Okay, what gives?” Cisco asked finally. Taking her arm, he guided her to the long leather sofa, sat down first and pulled her onto his lap.
Gillian curled into him, as a fresh wave of fear, that their love was not strong enough to make it over the long haul, washed over her.
“I’m just edgy, that’s all,” she said, burying her face in Cisco’s strong shoulder.
“About Phillip?”
And us. Especially us. What if he decided when all was done, all he had ever wanted from her was an affair? What then?
Gillian curled her hands around his waist, holding on for dear life even while the unspent adrenaline, still left over from the nagging suspicion someone had been at the dining hall, sifting through and rearranging her meager belongings, pulsed through her. She didn’t want to be the only one who felt love in this relationship; it would hurt too much, if that were the case.
Needing Cisco more than ever, she cuddled closer and ran a hand over the solidness of his chest as she continued. “It’s just hard for me to believe it’s really over.”
“I know what you mean. The resolution does seem almost too easy after all you went through the last ten years,” Cisco commiserated gently, as he stroked a hand through her hair.
Gillian sighed and drew back to look at him, feeling stunned by the closeness, the intimacy, that had developed between them in so little time. If it wasn’t love they felt—what was it?
“I just want to put the ugliness of the past behind me and get on with my life,” she told him. I want to have a real marriage to you.
Cisco’s gaze softened as he lifted her hand and pressed a light kiss across the back of her knuckles. “I want you to be able to forget the bad times, too,” he said huskily.
Gillian released a shaky breath and then shivered as a chill, caused by her nervousness, came over her.
“In the meantime—” Cisco reached for the afghan on the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders and back “—you’re safe here, Gillian,” he told her, pulling the folded edges of the afghan together, using them to draw her closer to him as her pulse took on a heavier beat. “You’ll always be safe with me,” he said, and then he kissed her.
The need he generated was deep and aching and not to be denied. Desperate to forget the grief and trauma of the day, Gillian let herself fall into the kiss, let herself take pleasure in the feel of his lips on hers, his hands on her breasts, moving between her legs. When he unbuckled his belt and shucked his trousers, she shimmied out of her skirt and panties. Loving the look of pleasure and adoration on his face as she straddled his lap, she opened herself to him, needing to feel him inside her, needing to be as one. There was so little time. So much she wanted. So much she didn’t know. But one thing was certain, she thought as she abandoned herself to the pleasure of their lovemaking. If the police were right and her nightmare had ended once and for all, then she was free now. Free to love again. Free to build a life. Free to walk down the street without fear. And that was something she wanted desperately to believe was hers. Something she wanted almost—almost—as much as she wanted, and why not say it, loved Cisco Kidd.
Cisco knew, even as he made her his, that this was, perhaps, the last thing they should be doing, given the shock Gillian had had earlier in the day. He couldn’t help it. He was a man and she was a woman, and everything they had been through today, when combined with their need for each other and the passion sizzling between them, demanded they take this time for each other, shut out the rest of the world and just be together, as a husband and wife were meant to be.
He didn’t know what tomorrow held, or the day after that, but for now, for tonight, he wanted to protect her, take away her pain, her past, and give Gillian this moment in time. He wanted to love her and make her his with every stroke of his hand, every thrust, every deep, searching kiss, every flame fueling the burning in his loins. He wanted to offer comfort and give her her future back, he wanted to ease her loneliness and his, and discover the possibilities of what could be, in this crazy spur-of-the-moment marriage of theirs.
And, as they clung together and her hips moved in perfect rhythm with his, and he absorbed the comfort of her soft warm body and she lost herself in him, he felt in some way he had.
She tangled her hands in his hair and whispered his name as her climax gripped her. And then it was too much. Her thighs burned against his, her whole body trembled and melted into his. He was caught in the grip of feeling so intense, he couldn’t breathe. He surged into her, spilling his seed as the need flowed over them, bonding them together just as surely as the wanting.
His heart still pounding heavily in his chest, he held her close, their bodies shuddering. This, he thought tenderly, as she clung to him wordlessly, was what it was all about. Being close to someone. Wanting them as they want you. Sharing. The good times and the bad. The fears and the grief. The innermost secrets, dreams, hopes for the future.
Max had been right, Cisco thought, still holding her tight. They could have all that, and so much more if they just gave themselves—gave this marriage—a chance.
And that was when Cisco felt it; the dampness of her tears on his shoulders, soaking through his shirt.
Alarmed, he tucked a hand beneath her chin and lifted her face to his, knowing that tenderness and love was her undoing, just as it had once been his. Yet she needed his protection and tender loving care, even if she wouldn’t quite admit it to herself. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Gillian shook her head, looking as if she didn’t trust herself to speak.
“Tell me,” he commanded softly, with the pads of his thumbs wiping away the tears that continued to flow. Were they a simple result of the overabundance of adrenaline that had been running through her all afternoon, he wondered, knowing at heart he was an old-fashioned guy trying to deal with a woman who was as decidedly un-old-fashioned and independent as could be. Or were the tears caused by something more? Something she had yet to tell him. There was no deciphering the source of her conflicted state, given the guarded, vulnerable look on her face, the way he could already feel her drawing herself in, pulling away from him, the way she did whenever she seemed to think he was getting too close to whatever secrets she still held in her closely guarded heart.
Finally getting a grip and pulling herself together, Gillian drew a breath and looked away in embarrassment as she confided shakily, “I was just thinking this might be the very last time we’re together, given the deal we made. But I want you to know something, Cisco.” She rushed on, putting up a hand before he could interrupt. “My time with you has meant everything to me. Everything.”
Cisco stiffened. Past experience had shown him that when people said reassuring things like that it was generally a prelude to their walking out the door on him and not looking back. No one had ever meant to hurt him, he thought as he, too, put aside his own vulnerability and desire and pulled himself together, but they had just the same. He just hadn’t expected it from Gillian. Not now. Not this evening. But, Cisco thought, maybe this was what he got for pushing the envelope where their spur-of-the-moment marriage was concerned and making love to her that first night together.
“It’s meant a lot to me, too,” he replied gently, his deeply ingrained gallantry intact, even as the rest of him felt like a rodeo cowboy who’d been slammed to the ground by a bucking bronc.
“But…” she prodded, wrapping the afghan closer around her slender form.
Cisco sighed and rubbed at the tension in the back of his neck. Call him a damn coward if you want, call him just flat-out selfish, but if a kiss-off was coming, he didn’t want it to happen until after the full forty-eight hours Max had alloted them were up.
Wordlessly he shot to his feet, swept her up into his arms and headed for the stairs. Whether she wanted to lean on him or not, she was going to do it, at least for the next twenty-four hours. And maybe even longer than that….
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
“We’re going to bed. Under the terms of our agreement with Max, we’ve got one more night together,” he told her determinedly as he carried her into the bedroom that was theirs, ever so gently lowered her onto the comfortable bed and draped her body with his. “And I for one don’t intend to waste it.”