p;

He was lying on the narrow cot, wearing faded jeans and a blue flannel shirt unbuttoned around his tanned chest. His feet were bare, his hair damp, and there was a glass of whiskey on the floor beside him. She couldn’t see his eyes in the shadows, but she could recognize the tension in his body as he watched her step inside the meager shelter of the cabin.

And then the tension in him vanished, leaving only a slight wariness. “Thank God,” he said. “I was afraid you were Ginger.”

If she hadn’t still been feeling guilty she would have turned and left at that remark. “Why were you afraid?”

“Because she’s damned hard to get rid of,” he said frankly. “I underestimated my powers of attraction.”

If she hadn’t hurt so much she would have smiled. “When did you get rid of her?” she asked, not caring if she was giving away too much of what she’d rather keep hidden.

Thank heaven, he didn’t smirk. He didn’t even smile. “I didn’t let her in the cabin.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. You could have done it in the car.” Now she was shocking herself by her outspoken misery.

“Ellie,” he said, “she drove me home and I sent her away. Immediately.”

“Did she want to go?”

“Not particularly.” He pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning against the rough wall. “But she went. Does it matter?”

She didn’t move. Her heart was pounding, a heavy slamming against her ribs, and she felt cold and hot at the same time. She was on the precipice, at the edge of a momentous decision, and if she had any sense at all she’d turn around and run, rather than take that final step.

She’d been sensible all her life. “Yes,” she said. “It matters.”

His sigh was a quiet sound in the cabin, a strange, whispery counterpoint to the steady beat of the rain on the tin roof. It was a sound of sorrow and resignation, of acceptance and delight.

“You’re complicating things,” he said.

“I know.”

“Things are already complicated enough.”

“I know,” she said. “Should I leave?”

He considered it for a moment. “It would be better for you if you did.”

It wasn’t what she wanted, but she no longer knew how to tell him that. Without a word she turned to go, when his voice stopped her.

“Come here, Ellie,” he said, his voice a sinuous thread of sound on the night air. She turned back, and saw that he was holding out his hand to her.

She put her doubts, her fears, her reservations in a box and shut the lid. Moving across the room, she took his hand in hers and sank to her knees beside the narrow cot.

“I’m sorry about this afternoon,” she said, her voice low and hurried. “You were right and I was wrong. I’m neurotic and possessive about Shaitan, and I don’t know if I can explain this properly. It’s just that...” She took a deep, steadying breath. “I’ve always felt that I don’t belong to myself, that I belong to this town, that everyone has a piece of me. The one part of my life that belonged wholly to me was Shaitan. As long as no one could touch him, no one could go near him, he was mine, a part of me no one else could have. When you were able to touch him I knew he wasn’t mine anymore.”

She was close enough to see his eyes in the deep shadows, but she didn’t look. She was feeling too miserable and guilty to raise her gaze from the faded quilt that lay beneath him on the cot.

His hand was warm and dry and strong in hers. “He’s still yours,” Tanner said. “You just have to make room for me.”

She smiled ruefully. “With Shaitan.”

“Shaitan’s already accepted me. I’m talking about you.”

She looked up then, directly into his eyes. Why had she ever thought they were cold? They were the blue of the big sky of Montana, clear and bright and glorious. She didn’t say a word; she didn’t know what to say. She just looked at him, and after a long, silent moment he tugged at her hand, and she went willingly, into the narrow cot beside him.

His skin was warm, almost hot to her cool, damp hands. She lay there passively, letting him arrange her against his body, the two of them pressed against each other, his arms wrapped around her, her face pressed against the smooth flesh of his shoulder. The flannel shirt was soft beneath her ear, and she could feel the whisper of his breath on her damp hair, the steady beat of his heart next to hers, the subtle throb of pulses that were either his or hers.

His hands were gentle on her, pushing the thick hair out of her face, easing her against him. “Relax,” he whispered. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.”

She let out her pent-up breath, not even realizing she’d been holding it, and softened her body against his. “I’ve never done this before,” she confessed, her husky voice as quiet as his. The flickering light from the kerosene lamp was fading as the wick soaked up the last traces of fuel, and the shadows that closed around them were friendly ones. For the moment the memory of Charles Tanner was gone.

He was stroking her hair, and at her shy words his hand stopped for a moment, then continued the steady caress. “You’re not in the habit of climbing into bed with strange men in the middle of the night?”

She’d come to the inescapable conclusion that he was going to find out sooner or later. “I’m not in the habit of climbing into bed with anyone.”

“Dear God,” he said, and she didn’t know whether it was a prayer or a curse. “Not even the Judge?”

“Not even the Judge.” It was easier to talk in the semi-darkness, her face hidden against his skin, his arms warm and hard and safe around her. “That wasn’t supposed to be part of our marriage agreement.”

He seemed to know intuitively what she was leaving out. “But he changed his mind?” he asked.

He might as well know the whole sordid truth. “Yes,” she said. “But it didn’t do any good. He couldn’t—I mean, he didn’t—” She was getting agitated, and his hands kept up their hypnotic, soothing caresses.

“I get the idea,” he said wryly. “And there hasn’t been anyone else?”

She never considered lies or evasions. “There was Lonnie,” she confessed in a low, miserable voice.

“Well, then,” he said, and then stopped. He must have felt the tension in her body. “What happened with Lonnie?”

“The same thing.”

Tanner let out a sigh, and Ellie unconsciously did the same. There was nothing worse for him to know, it was all out in the open. “Poor Lonnie,” he said absently, his lips brushing her forehead. “He really can’t do anything right.”

He smelled like the rain. Like warm male flesh, and whiskey and the faintest tang of kerosene. She closed her eyes, pressing her face against him, drinking in the scents and textures of the night. “Tanner,” she whispered, “would you hold me? Just hold me tonight, and nothing more?”

His hand didn’t stop its rhythmic stroking of her hair. “I’ll do anything you want me to,” he replied, his voice low and rumbling beneath her ear.

She believed him. She trusted him, more than she had ever trusted anyone in her life. It didn’t matter that they were wedged together in a narrow cot in the deserted cabin that had seen one man’s descent into madness. It didn’t matter that he clearly had been through half the women west of the Rockies, and that there was no foreseeable future for them. Nothing mattered but the surprising comfort of his arms around her, the feel of his long legs entwined with hers, the heat of his body warming the chill that seemed to emanate from the very marrow of her bones. Nothing mattered but Tanner.

He was amazed how little time it took her to fall asleep. He was amazed at how comfortable he was, how relaxed with her surprisingly delicate body in his arms, despite the narrowness of the cot, despite the very normal pulse of desire vibrating through him. He lay there, at ease, watching the light burn lower and lower in the kerosene lamp he’d unearthed from behind the cabin.

He didn’t want the light to go out. He liked watching her shadowed profile resting so trustingly against his chest, he liked looking at her legs stretched out with his, he liked the sight of her hand curled up in his shirt.

The rain was slowing its relentless downpour. The lamp flickered and went out, the cabin was swathed in darkness, and instead of seeing her he could feel her, the softness of her skin and the seeming weightlessness of her body. He could smell her, the faint scent of flowers that clung to her, and he could hear her, the quiet, steady breathing of someone deeply asleep.

He waited for the familiar restlessness to wash over him. He’d long ago lost count of the number of women he’d bedded. It wasn’t a fact he was proud of. And of all those countless, some of them faceless, women, he had never slept with one of them. Once the act was completed, whether it was adequate, boring or sublime, and his partner had drifted into sleep, he’d taken his leave.

He’d figured it out once, when the lady of the moment, one who’d stayed around longer than usual, had pointed out his dereliction. He knew it was like his reluctance to shake hands. Making love was something natural, mutually pleasurable and temporary. Falling asleep with someone, sleeping through the night next to her, was an act of trust and faith, one he wasn’t going to make.

Ellie sighed, dropping her head lower on his chest, and her hair tickled his chin. He could get out of the bed easily, he knew it. She was deeply asleep, and it wouldn’t take much of an effort to untangle himself. He had a sleeping bag he could spread out on the floor, or he could even head outside. The rain had almost stopped by now, and he wasn’t unused to sleeping on the wet ground.

But the odd thing was, he didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to escape from Ellie Johnson Lundquist. In this narrow bed there was still room behind him, if he wanted to back away. Instead he slid his hand up inside her cotton sweater, gently cupping the soft round swell of her breast. She sighed again, pushing against him in unconscious longing, her nipple hardening instinctively against his fingers. And with that small victory he fell asleep.

Somewhere in the night the rain had stopped. Somewhere in the night the moon had risen, sending faint tendrils of light through the open doorway of the cabin. Tanner awoke, slightly disoriented, his body very still.

Ellie slept on, wrapped around him. He didn’t move, he scarcely breathed as his body resettled itself against hers. He didn’t wear a watch, and tonight neither had Ellie, so he had no idea what time it was. It didn’t matter. There was nowhere else on earth he would rather be, day or night, dawn or dusk.

And then he heard it again. The unmistakable rustling of the bushes out back behind the cabin. The stream had swollen in the downpour, and the rushing water almost masked the sound of careful footsteps. Almost.

Tension raced through his veins like fire. Someone was outside, watching. Someone with a gun?

There were no animals here, but maybe whoever it was had already graduated to humans. There were more than enough people around who owed Charles Tanner revenge. People whose sons had been killed. Would it make some twisted kind of sense to kill Charles Tanner’s own son, fifteen years later, a posthumous evening up of the score?

He could smell the whiff of tobacco. Tomorrow when he went out he’d find a crumpled butt outside his window. If he waited that long. If he got up right now he wouldn’t have to wait to find out who was behind this macabre game of repeating history. He was used to being silent in the wilderness—he had no doubt at all that he could sneak up on his watcher before he was even aware he was being stalked in return.

But he wasn’t going to do that. For one thing, he didn’t know what he’d find lurking behind his cabin. Forcing a confrontation would mean involving Ellie, and he wasn’t convinced of his ability to keep her safe.

For another, a tiny, twisted part of him was afraid of what he might find. Maybe his father was out there, maybe he’d never died. Or maybe no one was out there at all; maybe Tanner had gone crazy just like his father and was imagining things. Or perhaps half the town of Morey’s Falls was there as a lynch mob.

But most of all, he didn’t want to leave Ellie. He didn’t want to risk waking her, risk having her panic and leave him. Right now he was willing to shut his eyes to the watcher in the trees, to the evil that lingered outside the cabin, and hold on to the goodness within his arms. Whether he’d regret that choice sooner or later didn’t matter. The choice was made.

When he awoke again it was bright daylight, and he was alone. He sat bolt upright, instantly awake, dimly aware of a sweeping sense of desolation, of a sharp aloneness such as he’d never felt before.

“Thank heavens you’re awake,” Ellie said from the open doorway. “I would kill for a cup of coffee, and there was no way I could start a fire, much less figure out how you could work that contraption of yours.” She gestured toward the dismantled coffee maker.

He couldn’t read her mood. Or maybe he was afraid to. She was looking across at him, smiling, her hair a tangled cloud around her face—and he could see no regrets, no hesitation in her eyes.

“You could have left.”

“You know, I considered that.” She advanced into the room, brushing her hands against her jeans. “I thought I could drive over to Addie’s and beg a thermos of coffee from her, bring it back and… Oh,” she said suddenly, her eyes going blank. “You didn’t mean come back.”

“I don’t know what I meant.” This was coming out wrong, but he was wary, too wary. He swung his legs out of bed, watching her.

Color had stained her face, a soft blush spreading across her cheekbones. “I’m sorry. I suppose you want me to leave. I don’t really understand the etiquette in these situations, and I mishandled…”

He’d reached her by this time, and it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world to pull her into his arms and kiss her as he’d wanted to the night before. If he’d expected opposition he found none. She slid her arms around his waist, pulling him closer, and tilted her head back, her mane of hair hanging down over his arm as he tasted the sweetness she offered so willingly.

It was beguiling, the innocence and enthusiasm in her untutored mouth. He kissed her slowly, lingeringly, giving her time to get used to the contours of his mouth, the dampness and texture, before using his tongue. He loved her little start of surprise at his intrusion, the acquiescence, the growing boldness as her tongue touched his.

Her hands tightened on his waist, digging in slightly, and if his mouth hadn’t been busy he would have smiled. Instead he encouraged her, teasing her, his mouth sliding wetly over hers, lips nibbling, touching, biting, tongues dancing against each other.

A distant part of his brain wondered if she could feel how he wanted her. If, with her limited experience, she could sense his desire. She was pressed up against him, her hips rocking gently against his, and if her mind didn’t know, her instincts certainly did. He groaned, deep in the back of his throat, and broke off the kiss.

“No, I didn’t want you to leave,” he said, his voice a ragged growl of frustrated desire. He kept his arms around her, kept her held against his fully aroused body. Her eyes were smoky and slightly dazed as they looked into his, and her mouth was damp and swollen from his kisses.

“I don’t want to go.” She stood then on tiptoe, her body rubbing against his, and the gentle friction was agonizingly erotic. She pressed her mouth against his, seeking him, and he was lost. Without even realizing what he was doing he scooped her up in his arms, never breaking the kiss, and started back across the cabin to the narrow bed.

Reality intruded seconds before he would have dropped her onto the cot and covered her body with his. Slowly, reluctantly his mouth left hers, slowly, reluctantly he set her down, every nerve in his body screaming with frustration. “No,” he said, taking a step back from her, knowing if he kept touching her he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“No?” she echoed, uncertainty clouding her eyes.

“Not here,” he said gently. “Not now. I don’t want to make love to you in Charles Tanner’s bed, worrying whether your friends or townspeople are going to walk in on us at any moment.”

It was her turn to be frustrated, and if his body hadn’t been crying out in need he would have laughed at her expression. “I don’t mind        “

“I do.”

“But when?”

He wanted to kiss her again, but he didn’t dare. He wanted to soothe the taut lines of her shoulders, but he didn’t dare. “When it’s right,” he said, his tight voice belying his certainty.

She looked around her, at the weather-stained walls and shabby, broken furniture and sighed in reluctant acceptance. “Soon?” she inquired, like a child asking for an ice cream cone.

This time he did laugh, breaking some of the tension that held him in thrall. “Damned soon,” he said fervently, still not daring to touch her. “Come on, Ellie. We’ll go out for coffee.”