The Half-Breed's Woman Page 8

  He removed the saddle, then led the horse inside the barn. Callie came in behind him.

  “Jax—” She hurried to him, and he turned, reaching for her.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  Callie molded herself to him, her head tucked under his chin, eyes squeezed shut. Here was her safety. He always had a way of making her feel protected, standing between her and the rest of the world.

  “Just hold me for a little while, Jax. Please?” The words were out before she could stop them. Once they tumbled from her lips, she didn’t care. All that mattered was the strong arms encircling her; the steady heartbeat under her ear, the even breathing that brushed the top of her head.

  “As long as you want, querida.”

  Callie smiled into the dim lantern-lit darkness. “Querida,” she murmured. “What does that mean?” She lifted her head to look at him. “It’s Spanish, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “It means ‘darling’.”

  “Like ‘cara’ in Italian. That’s Mrs. Manley’s name.”

  He chuckled at Callie’s mercurial mood swing. “So you got to know your traveling companions pretty well, huh?”

  She pulled a wry face, and he laughed at her. “The Reverend and Mrs. Talmadge Manley, who seem very nice, and Aunt Tildy Rienholdt and her niece, MayBell, who—oh well, never mind.”

  “What happened?”

  Callie sighed. He was not going to be put off. Haltingly, she confided what had gone on during their ride. When she was finished, Jax gave her a slow smile. “You held your own with her, it sounds like. With a little help from the preacher.”

  Callie’s lips quirked up.

  “Come on. Let’s go eat.” He winked at her. “It’ll be all right.”

  “How’s your side?” Callie asked as they started back toward the station house.

  Jax grimaced. “Hurts.”

  “It’ll feel better once you can lie down,” Callie soothed, as if she’d read his mind. “That last couple of hours must have really been hard. You need to rest. I’ll re-wrap your bandage before we turn in.” How easily she’d slipped into the role of his “woman” she thought, accepting the fact that they’d be sleeping together tonight once again. She flushed at her own words, and his easy acceptance of the situation.

  “That’ll help.” Jax opened the door, and they entered a dining hall with two long trestle tables side by side, running almost the entire length of the room.

  “Jaxson McCall, you son-of-a-gun!” A short, wiry man hobbled over to Jax and pumped his hand vigorously. “Marta’s been wondering where you’ve been. Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age, boy!”

  “I’ve been around, Ethan. How’ve you been?”

  “Oh, never better, never better. Marta! Marta, here’s Jax!”

  A heavyset woman with sagging blonde curls came bustling out of the kitchen, and Jax hugged her with the familiarity of long years of friendship.

  “Marta, you’re just as gorgeous as I remember,” Jax told her. “Why did you have to be married when I met you?”

  “Oh, go on, Jaxson McCall!” the big woman answered, obviously flattered by his teasing. “I’ve got thirty years on you. I’m old enough to be your mother.”

  Jax grinned at her. “But you’re not my mother, Marta.”

  “And you’re not the marrying kind, Jaxson.” She swatted at him playfully with her cup towel. She nodded in Callie’s direction. “Speaking of gorgeous, Jax.” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “Go sit. I’ll bring you two some dinner.”

  Jax promptly steered Callie to the end of the table, seating her to his left, then dropping fluidly into the vacant seat between her and Tildy Rienholdt.

  “Miss Rienholdt,” Jax greeted her levelly as he unfolded his napkin.

  She glared at him, without speaking. Callie laid her hand on his thigh and he automatically reached to enfold her cold fingers in his sure, safe grasp.

  “Warm enough?” he asked, turning to face Callie.

  “If she’s not, she will be soon enough, I’ll warrant. In your bed.”

  Jax quirked an eyebrow and slowly turned back to face the vindictive shrew. He looked at her for a long, cool moment.

  “Jealous, Miss Rienholdt?”

  Tildy Rienholdt gasped and drew her hand back to slap him, but Jax caught her stout wrist and held it firmly. His voice was like satin steel when he spoke. “You’re in my territory now, Miss Rienholdt. Don’t ever forget it. Not for one minute.”

  “You are the devil, Marshal! A red devil!” Tildy Rienholdt’s eyes swam with angry tears as she sputtered in outrage.

  “You only believe that, ma’am, because you’ve never been at the mercy of the Apaches or the Comanches.” Or Wolf Blocker and his crew. Jax’s eyes narrowed. “If we run into a war party,” he nodded, “you’ll learn what a ‘red devil’ truly is.”

  “That’s why you’re with us,” the big woman spat, “to provide us safe passage. To speak their language and arrange for our protection. You do speak their language, don’t you, Marshal?”

  Amused, Jax slowly released her thick wrist. “Yes, I do, Miss Rienholdt. But you don’t. So…you’ll never know what I might be telling them. The Apaches prize white women. Especially those with a little meat on their bones.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “No man has ever spoken to me so rudely!”

  Callie squeezed his fingers, but Jax ignored her. He wasn’t done yet. “If we have to give up a hostage for the safety of the others…” he let his voice trail off meaningfully.

  “Are you saying—”

  Jax shrugged. “Take it as you will, ma’am.” His tone was unyielding; a promise.

  Just then, Marta set bowls of stew and a plate of cornbread in front of Jax and Callie, giving Callie a motherly pat on the shoulder.

  “I refuse to sleep under the same roof as this—this savage and his doxy!” Tildy said as Marta started back by. “I demand you do something. This is an outrage to decent folk!”

  “Well,” Marta said slowly, her brows coming together in an uncharacteristic scowl, “it seems we have only one choice. You can seek accommodations elsewhere. Ethan and I have a spacious stable, and it stays plenty warm. I’ve known Jax ever since he was a young lad.” She shook her head. “He’s always welcome here. Always.” She smiled at Tildy’s stormy expression. “You let me know, m’dear, if I can get you some blankets to carry out to the barn, or—” she looked toward the warm fireplace, “—if you might reconsider and just have a pallet by the fire.”

  Tildy’s turned a venomous glare on Jax again as Marta hurried back toward the kitchen.

  “My territory, Miss Rienholdt.” Jax reached for the cup of strong black coffee Ethan handed him, giving the man a silent nod of thanks. “I was raised here. I know every piece of it.” He took a sip of the coffee.

  “Aunt Tildy,” MayBell said timidly, “perhaps we ought to—to eat and turn in for the night.” It was clear to Callie that Maybell was prepared to swallow her discomfiture at sleeping under the same roof, whether her aunt was or not.

  Tildy tore her gaze away from Jax’s stare after a long moment. She heaved an exasperated sigh.

  “Aunt Tildy?” MayBell questioned when she didn’t answer immediately.

  The older woman nodded. “Yes. All right.”

  ****

  Later, Marta showed Jax and Callie to their chamber at the far end of the hallway. A bowl with rose petals scented the air of the small, homey room.

  Jax laid his saddlebag on the back of the chair, and Callie noticed the way his breath caught. He stood perfectly still for a moment. Callie came up behind him, putting her arms around him gently.

  “Let’s go to bed,” she murmured.

  Jax smiled wearily, turning to face her. “Is that a proposition, lady?”

  Callie arched a brow at him. “You must have me confused with someone else, Marshal, for no ‘lady’ am I. ‘Doxy’, I believe, is the latest description of my person.”

  “Even better,” Jax
leered. “I could use one of those tonight.”

  “What would you do with one, with your ribs like they are?” Callie shot back.

  Jax gave her a slow grin. “Let’s find out.” He made a grab for her as she tried to slip out of his embrace. She laughed at his teasing, but as he pulled her to him, the laughter faded, and her eyes took on a soft glow as she looked up into his face.

  He’s so alone. Like me. The thought slammed through her, and she was sure it showed in her expression.

  “Jaxson…”

  He bent slowly, putting his mouth to hers. Her fingers traveled up, entwining in his dark hair. He made a sound in his throat, a low groan, as he pulled her close to him. Afraid she had hurt him, she started to push away. But she didn’t want to be apart from him. She wanted to be even closer than she already was.

  And they both knew the only way to accomplish that.

  “Christ, Sarah,” he breathed, lifting his head, his gaze holding hers. “You taste so damn good.” His thumb traced a gentle track across her lips. “I think maybe…if I asked you tonight…you wouldn’t mind being mine would you? The half-breed’s woman…” He gave her a piercing look. “Would you, Sarah?” His lips brushed hers again, gently, and a slow, hot fire began in her belly, burning through her body as his mouth claimed her thoroughly.

  Callie knew she couldn’t lie anymore, no matter what it cost her. Strange, that losing this night with him suddenly seemed far more important than losing her life. But she wanted to hear him say her name. Her real name. Know the truth about her. He would understand. He had to.

  “Jax,” she whispered, her lips a hairsbreadth from his, “there’s something I-I need to tell you. I’m—not really who you think I am.” Her hands twisted nervously, and she bit her bottom lip. “I’ve done something so horrible you can’t imagine it,” she whispered shakily. “Something that I’ll have to live with forever.”

  Chapter 8

  Tonight, there had been no reticence in Callie’s touch as her fingers locked in his hair, brushing the nape of his neck. His weariness had fled at the warm compliance of her mouth under his. There was no denial hovering on her lips…his kiss wouldn’t allow for it. She looked up at him now, fear lining her face, and whether it was due to the confession she was about to give him, or the love they were about to make, he wasn’t sure. “You didn’t kill him, Callie.”

  He felt the numbing fear as it coursed through her, threatening to turn her knees to butter. Lowering her eyes, she leaned against his body as he wrapped his arms around her.

  “How long have you known? From the moment we met?” Her voice was low and shaking.

  Lifting her head very slowly, she looked fully into his face. Her eyes glistened, but she blinked back the threatening tears. For a long, silent moment they stood, neither of them moving.

  “You—You know who I am—what I did—” She stumbled over the words as if she couldn’t bear to speak them.

  “I know what you tried to do.”

  “I stabbed him! There was…blood—everywhere. How could I not have killed him?”

  “He was stronger than you thought, honey. Believe me, he’s alive and well.”

  Jax quietly watched the telling emotions pass across Callie’s lovely features. He knew it wouldn’t take long for her to reason it all out. He braced himself, not sure how he’d be able to deal with seeing her hate for him fill her eyes, now that she realized why he was here with her.

  “He hired you to bring me back to him, didn’t he?” She asked dully. “Well, I’m not going back there.” Her voice was hollow. “If he’s not dead, and you’re here, it must mean that he wants me arrested for attempted murder. Did he hire you to return me to Washington to stand trial?” She darted a quick look at him.

  Jax slowly released her and walked to the bed, lowering himself stiffly to the edge. Callie needed time to work through everything. “He doesn’t want you to stand trial, Callie. Says he just wants you returned safe to him; that he promised your mother—”

  “Dunstan Treadwell killed my mother, Jax.”

  Jax’s gaze arrowed instantly to Callie’s. She wasn’t lying. After a moment, he looked away, his thoughts roiling. “Killed her—how?”

  Callie carefully sat down beside him, her eyes far away. “I’m not sure,” she answered finally. “Poison, I think. Very slowly. I think she suspected it, too, at the end.”

  Jax frowned. If Treadwell had killed Callie’s mother, and Callie had known, she would’ve become a liability Treadwell couldn’t afford. But somehow, Jax didn’t think that was the reason Treadwell meant to see her dead now. “Is that why you tried to murder him, Cal?” he asked quietly. He understood having to helplessly watch someone you loved killed by another so evil…

  But Callie shook her head. “No. There was…something else.”

  He was puzzled when she didn’t elaborate. “Well?” he asked after a few minutes. “You gonna tell me what it was?”

  “I—I can’t!” Callie lowered her head. “Dunstan thought he could—” she shook her head. “No, Jax,” she whispered. “Please…don’t ask me.”

  A hot, fiery anger began to build within him. It was all beginning to fit. From Dunstan Treadwell’s accusing his stepdaughter of being insane, to the sheer desperation Jax knew Callie had experienced. Jax would have never thought her capable of going after anyone with a pair of scissors. But she had stabbed her stepfather with deadly intent.

  Treadwell had planned to use her for sex. Or had already done so. Had he raped her? Was that what had led up to the stabbing?

  Jax put his arm around her shaking shoulders, drawing her close to his side. He held her tightly, willing his warmth and strength to flow into her. “You go ahead and cry, baby.” He kissed the top of her head. “You don’t have to fight the world any more. Let me be strong for you, now.” He stroked the flame gold of her hair, loosening the pins.

  As her tears subsided, she hesitantly lifted her head.

  “Go wash your face.” Jax nodded toward the stand beside the door that held the wash basin and pitcher of water.

  When Callie returned, Jax had removed his shirt and lay propped on the bed waiting for her. He watched her from half-lidded eyes. She stood before him, squaring her shoulders.

  “You don’t know everything, yet, Jax.”

  “I think I’ve figured it out.” He flipped the covers back. “C’mon. Get in bed. You can tell me the rest if I don’t get it right.” A ghost of a smile played on his lips. ‘The rest’ was totally unimportant to him, but for the fact that, if he was right in his suspicions, when he returned to Washington for the rest of his money, he was going to kill Treadwell himself.

  Jax watched as her hands moved slowly to the buttons at the front of her dress. She began to undo them one by one, her eyes holding his smoky gaze. Spiky black lashes veiled his thoughts. He was remembering the way she’d looked at him in Fort Smith as she stood facing him in nothing more than a towel after her bath. Like a kitten backed into a corner.

  She was running on guts, and determination, and fear. Had been for longer than Jax cared to think about. And, as he lay watching her working her way down the row of buttons that held the dress together, the look in her eyes made him wonder about a lot of things.

  Just for a very brief moment, he’d seen what could have been mistaken for—for love—cross her face, softening the determined set of her jaw, warming her eyes. But, he’d been around long enough to realize one thing. Pretty words of love and letting your heart venture out too far in the heat of passion led to disaster by the cold light of morning.

  Somehow, though, Callie Buchanan was different. She seemed frightened, but at the same time, she wanted him. He recognized that look, if nothing else. He’d seen a lifetime of desire in the eyes of a variety of women. But, it all boiled down to the same thing. A woman wanting a man for the night. Callie looked like she knew what to expect, he thought. And, after all, she would soon be eighteen. Old enough to have had a man or two. Spoiled as she h
ad been in her raising, she’d probably done as she’d pleased after her mother had died. Perhaps Treadwell realized she’d already engaged in a liaison or two, and thought she’d accept him, as well.

  As Callie let the dress and petticoat drop to the floor, Jax held out a hand to her. She took it, climbing over him in her camisole and pantalettes to lie down on the bed.

  ****

  What would it hurt? Callie asked herself. Just this one night. Something to remember for the rest of her life. She didn’t want to die, but she especially did not want to die without having known what it was to make love with a man of her own choosing. Whether she was falling in love with Jaxson McCall or not didn’t matter now. The only thing that did matter was this night. Together.

  If she had remained in Washington, she told herself, she would have been forced to service men she cared nothing about, men whom she detested. Her stepfather would use her anytime he wanted, as well. At least, if Jax did return her to Washington, Dunstan Treadwell would find his ripe plum already picked. She would go back without her maidenhead.

  She shivered and reached for the covers, but Jax was already pulling them up over her legs. He stood up, cupping a hand around the top of the lamp, and blew it out. In the darkness, Callie heard the soft whisper of his denims falling to the floor. The bed gave a little as he slipped under the quilt with her.

  They lay quietly in the cloak of night, not touching.

  “Callie, you don’t have to—” Jax began.

  But she came up on her elbow, unerringly finding his mouth with her own, stopping his words with a gentle kiss. “I know. I want to Jax.” She swallowed hard, then kissed him again. “I want…you.”

  Jax put his hands on either side of her face, looking into her eyes in the dimly filtering moonlight.

  Callie could see the doubt in the set of his sensuous lips, though he didn’t voice it. “I know what you’re thinking,” she whispered. That brought a faint smile to his lips, relieving the harsh lines of moments earlier.

  “I doubt that.”

  “You’re older. I’m too young. I’m…I was rich, aristocratic…”