The Redemption of Jefferson Cade Page 7

  As she looked away, her hair fell from its center part to drape over her cheeks. Absently, with both hands, she raked it back, her fingers threading through it like a comb. Jef­ferson was fascinated by the way it fell so orderly to her shoulders once more. He was fascinated by the way the gesture lifted her breasts against the taut leather of her vest. Even with a road that demanded unwavering attention, it was hard not to steal a second glance at the curve of her narrow waist as it flowed into the slender line of her hips and thighs.

  Except for concerned glances, he'd kept his gaze reso­lutely forward for the duration of this roughest part of the drive. But he'd been fiercely aware of everything about her from the moment she'd walked away from the plane.

  Once they were sealed in the small cab of the truck, he sensed more than saw every move. Every slow, controlled breath that lifted her breasts against the vest.

  He was aware of each rare and restless shift of her long legs. On the plain she'd worn leather. Today, new denim. Part of Raven's purchases made during a quick trip to Mad­ison, a small college town near the valley.

  The denim had been faded and softened by an artificial aging process. It was Simon's directive that Marissa's clothing not attract attention by marking her as a tenderfoot going Western with a new wardrobe.

  "Didn't work."

  The words were no more than a breath, his lips barely moving in a quirking smile. The worn, aged look that was supposed to make her blend like a native, drawing no in­ordinate attention to her, hadn't come close to the effect Simon wanted.

  Instead the supple fabric clung to her lean body in ways that made a man enjoy watching her move in that gliding stride of taller, lithesome women. The dark red shirt, though slightly faded, too, was the perfect foil for her dark hair and tawny skin.

  With her boots and hat and open vest, she could fit on any ranch. But she was too damn beautiful to go unnoticed.

  Fighting the familiar surge of desire, gripping the steer­ing wheel, Jefferson drove in silence. Leaving Marissa to her thoughts. Deliberately turning his to the trip home.

  Home. This venture proved that after four years Arizona had become home. And after the time away, it would be good to be back in the canyon. Good to see Satan again.

  Perhaps that eagerness contributed to making today's journey interminable. The first part of his route from Simon's valley had been complicated. With secret stops and switches. Until the last, a commercial flight from Belle Terre. It was then he'd discovered his original tickets had been used, rather than canceled. Anyone curious enough or interested enough to make note of his arrival, or to check the point of origin of his flight, would assume he was re­turning from a visit with his family.

  After he'd left the canyon with Rick, Billy had driven the truck to Phoenix. Leaving it in long-term airport park­ing gave credence to what the sheriff hoped would be the natural assumption that Jefferson had returned to the low-country for a few days.

  Once he'd collected the truck from the airport, as instructed, he'd followed a circuitous route to the private landing strip to meet Marissa. Which left this final drive.

  "Tired?" he asked as she sighed softly.

  "Maybe a bit." The admission was made with a half smile.

  "After weeks on the Argentine plain, the trip to the val­ley, then to the ranch, how could you not be? But I suspect it's more than a bit." Reaching out, his fingertips brushed briefly over her wrist. "But it won't be long now."

  At his touch, memories she'd struggled to ward off wouldn't be denied. Bittersweet memories that made her body yearn for the touch of his weathered, brawny hands. Hands that were beautiful in their strength and tenderness. Gentle hands that could tease and seduce, leaving a trail of sweet, wanting flame with each caress. Knowing hands that incited needs and desire beyond imagining.

  No one had ever touched her as Jefferson had. Never before. Never in the years since. Once she would have said that hadn't mattered. That the life Paulo had given her was enough. That freedom, education and his wise guidance compensated for the absence of vigor and passion. Then on the plain and in the valley, as she'd watched Jefferson through half-shuttered eyes, she'd known all she'd tried to believe was a lie.

  Now, as she saw those powerful, virile hands guiding the truck skillfully over nearly impassable terrain, she remem­bered what she'd never truly forgotten. She understood that for as long as she lived she could never forget those rough­ened, beautiful hands, that could soothe and gentle the wil­dest of horses, had soothed and gentled an innocent young woman as he taught her the sweet secrets of passion.

  "Hey, pretty lady. Penny for your thoughts."

  Startled, ridiculously afraid he'd read her mind, she pressed her hands against the sudden rush of heat that burned her cheeks. Regaining her composure, when she faced him the guilt for her disloyal admission of the short­comings of her marriage to Paulo had begun its ugly taunts.

  Ungrateful, selfish, cold. An adulteress in heart and mind, if not her body. A wicked woman who lusted for another man when her aged, benevolent husband had been dead only six weeks.

  Puzzled, risking a look away from what had deteriorated into a body-battering track, Jefferson reached across the cab to trail the back of his hand over her cheek. "I didn't mean to upset you, sweetheart. I'm not sure what I said or did, but I'm sorry."

  "Don't! Please don't!" Lurching beyond his reach, Ma­rissa huddled against the door. Her hand gripping the han­dle as if she would flee if she could. But was any place far enough? Her breath was labored, the harsh sound of it fill­ing the stunned silence of the truck. Gradually as it calmed, she released the handle and clasped her hands in her lap. Her posture was rigid, her eyes shadowed when she whispered in a voice brimming with regret, "Don't be sorry, Jefferson. Not for anything. But, please, don't touch me again."

  The sun had slid behind the mountains, and though he could just barely see her face, he stared at her. Even in darkness he could comprehend her rigid posture, the wooden expression and interpret their message. "Marissa, sweetheart..."

  When she flinched at the endearment, his teeth clenched, his lips closed over questions he would have asked. Clutch­ing the steering wheel harder, he stared through the dusty windshield, while he wondered how his life and hers would go from here.

  He wanted to apologize for whatever sin he'd committed, but he knew she wouldn't listen. He wanted to brake the truck, to haul her into his lap and kiss away her pain and grief. Her fear.

  But his endearment was offensive. His touch abhorrent.

  Yet she hadn't minded that he touched her on the plain. Nor in the valley. What changed? What was different?

  Separate silences settled over them as the truck continued its slow, bumpy path, its lights joining with moonlight to guide them. Marissa returned to her vigil of the land. If she'd really seen it, she would have discovered yet another facet of this endlessly changing terrain. But she didn't no­tice as she tried to forget what a fool she must seem to Jefferson.

  After a searching look seeking answers, but finding her stiff and remote, Jefferson kept his eyes on the road ahead. But his thoughts were not as riveted on the road as his glaring stare.

  Please, don't touch me.

  Don't touch me.

  Her cry was like an omen, a knell, sounding in his mind. At first, he'd thought he was mistaken when she'd drawn away so abruptly. But when he moved past the shock of her reaction, he knew it would take worse than a simpleton to misunderstand.

  She couldn't bear to have him touch her. He had dis­covered this new Marissa was a quiet woman. Perhaps, withdrawn in her grief, even more quiet than usual. But until just now he hadn't sensed her loathing of the feel of his hands on her.

  Loathing of him? Or of what he might want from her?

  Then he understood. Even though it had been judged the safest of places for her, she hadn't wanted to come to the Broken Spur. Because that meant she would be alone with him. With her friends around, as Juan and Marta had been on the plain, o
r in the valley with Simon and his men never very far away, she was comfortable with him. At least com­fortable enough to function.

  "But never when we're alone." Jefferson didn't realize he'd muttered out loud through gritted teeth, until she fi­nally faced him, a questioning frown drawing down her brows. "It was nothing," he assured her. "Just thinking."

  "What were you thinking, Jefferson?" That she was in­sane? An ungrateful bitch? Was he regretting that he'd ever received her message? Didn't he have reason to, given her strange behavior? '

  'It must be that I'm an ugly, insensitive person. Awful. Rude."

  Her hands still clasped in her lap, her fingers twined over each other with a brutal force. ‘‘After you've done so much for me, stopping your life in midstride, abandoning your responsibilities...you must think I'm terribly ungrateful."

  "You couldn't be ugly if you tried, Marissa. Or awful, or rude. And I don't want your gratitude." Pausing for breath, he recalled he'd said almost those exact words to her in the valley.

  I don't want your gratitude, Marissa... in fact gratitude is the last thing I want.

  "But that doesn't matter now." A jackrabbit bounded across the road. Braking and swerving to avoid it, he waited until the truck returned to an even keel before he continued. ‘‘The important thing is to get you settled in at the ranch. Then, within the next two weeks to a month, Juan and Marta will be moving to Jake's new property."

  "Two weeks to a month. It seems as long as forever." Thankful for a change of subject, Marissa fought the urge to babble out her appreciation for this opportunity for Juan. Jefferson was indirectly responsible, but he wouldn't want her thanks for the Elias any more than he wanted it for herself. "I'll miss them, especially Alejandro."

  "You love that little boy, don't you?"

  She didn't answer. Then, her gaze locked on her tortured hands, she whispered, "As I would have loved my own son."

  Jefferson heard another layer of grief in her voice. And he wondered if her life of wealth and influence had been so wonderful after all. Suddenly, he realized Senora Ma­rissa Rei was a woman of secrets. Pain-filled secrets.

  The need was there to touch her. To ease hidden hurts. Instead he settled for platitudes. "I know you didn't want to come here. But it's for the best. Once you've settled in and we get you on horseback, you'll find time flies in the canyon.

  "And you will like it here, Marissa. I can promise you that, at least."

  "Here?" Curious in spite of herself, she sat up straighter. Though she'd stared out the window hours on end, in the last miles her eyes had been blinded by thoughts turned inward. Now, gaze darting, she strained for a glimpse of the range she'd heard so much about. "We're on the Bro­ken Spur?"

  "Not quite, but at any second we will be."

  "Then this is Benedict land." Even that was intriguing. She'd heard much of the Rafter B, and the Benedict empire.

  "We've traveled across it for nearly four hours."

  "That long? His land covers that great distance? Then it rivals some of the greatest estancias in Argentina."

  "It's big," Jefferson agreed. "If Jake could've had his way a few years back, it would be bigger. And he would have what he's wanted for a long time. Steve Cody's Sun­rise Canyon."

  "Obviously he didn't get it." It was good to speak of something other than her own troubles, and the unthinking hurt she'd caused Jefferson. "What went wrong?"

  "It shaped up to be quite a fracas. Then it wasn't."

  "Because?" Marissa prodded when he said no more.

  "Because Steve came away with all he ever wanted. The Broken Spur and Jake's daughter, Savannah."

  "Savannah Cody. Savannah Benedict Cody, currently in England with her husband and their daughter Jakie." Ma­rissa laughed softly. A sound as rare in her life now as it had been in Jefferson's. "A fairy tale come true."

  "Not a fairy tale," Jefferson said. "A love story come true. Sure Steve ended up with the ranch and the woman he loved. But if he'd had to choose..."

  "He would have chosen Savannah," she supplied, and was certain she was right.

  "No contest."

  "It turned out wrong for Jake Benedict, but right for everyone else."

  ‘‘In the end, it was right for Jake, too. Thanks to Sandy Gannon and a baby called Jakie." But that was a story for another time Jefferson decided as he let the truck glide to a stop. He turned the key and stepped out. Crossing to her side, he opened the passenger door, careful not to touch her. "Come with me."

  When she stood beside him he went with her, leading her across rough and rugged ground to a precipice. Without taking her arm, as it had been drummed into him all his life he should. Old habits of Southern gentlemen died hard, but he was learning.

  He hadn't planned to arrive just as the moon struck the stream, turning it to a ribbon of silver, but he had. A globe of cold fire, its light filled the canyon where the grass was belly deep and only a few horses grazed, waiting for the rest of the herd to come from a pasture deeper in the can­yon.

  A barn huddled a little away from the stream. Beyond a grove of aspen, the house that had been no more than a cabin, lay in darkness. The hand Sandy sent to fill in had finished the day's chores and returned to the Rafter B for the night.

  His gesture swept over the entire vista. "Welcome to Sunrise Canyon and the Broken Spur, Marissa. The home of Steve and Savannah Cody. And—for a while—yours as well."

  She was quiet as she looked from one side of the canyon to the ridge of the precipice where they stood. Far longer than it was wide, and with water plentiful and good grass, it was a natural corral. Perfect for horses and for a woman who loved them. Perfect, Jefferson was certain, for this woman who needed a place to heal. A refuge, not just from the man who posed the threat, but from herself and what she believed. What she feared.

  Jefferson hoped the healing had begun when she looked up at him and smiled. A small smile, a gentle lift of the corners of her mouth. No more. But for the first time, there was pleasure not tinged with hurt and grief.

  Turning back to look again at the canyon, she was still smiling. "It's beautiful, Jefferson."

  "Yes." As he agreed he knew it was right she'd come.

  * * *

  Viewed from the canyon floor, Steve Cody's land was no less spectacular. As she stood by the truck, Marissa turned in a slow circle. "It's no wonder Jake Benedict wanted this. No matter how much land he might have, any cattleman would want this. But I expected the operation would be larger."

  "It could have been. At first, even though the land was a gift, money was a factor. Steve did all the work himself, unless a neighboring cowhand happened by to lend a hand now and then."

  "One of them called Jeffie?"

  "I pitched in a few times. So did Sandy Gannon. For that matter, even when they were at war with neither ad­mitting what they felt for each other, so did Savannah."

  "You make it sound more and more like quite a love story."

  "Yeah." Moving away from her because he couldn't stand so close and not touch her, Jefferson searched the gloom beneath a tree. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

  "Here?" The house was dark. The stables, quiet. No unexpected arrival disturbed the grazing horses. "Now?"

  "Here and now. His name is Satan. I think you're going to like him. I know he'll love you."

  "He." Her head tilted. But as in the valley by the lake, his face was in shadow. Softly she repeated the unusual name. "Satan."

  Finding pleasure in the verbal fencing that recalled their time together during her years at the university in Belle Terre, Jefferson grinned. "Satan."

  "How many legs would Satan happen to have?" Before he could answer, she stopped him with her hand up, palm facing him. "No, let me guess—four."

  "Good guess."

  "Satan's a male name. Would he be in the barn?"

  Propping a forearm against the truck, Jefferson loomed over her. His fingers nearly brushed a curling tendril at her temple, before he thought to draw them
back. It would be so easy to succumb to the desire to slide his fingers through the dark wealth of her hair. But she'd laid down the rules of her stay, and he would abide by them, even if it killed him. "Satan can be in the barn, at times. But not usually."

  "Not a Cody stud," she ventured. "Not a horse at all."

  A slight tilt of his head and a drawl acknowledged she was on target. "Not a horse."

  "I don't think you're a cat man." With narrowed eyes, she considered that. "Not unless it was a bobcat." A shake of her head set her hair stirring against her shoulders and the scent of it surrounded him. "But not with horses. And that leaves...a dog."

  Jefferson answered with a shrill whistle. After two sharp trills, Satan's deep bark rumbled, then he whimpered as the pads of his massive feet pounded the red earth.

  Because Satan was the color of night, Marissa saw little more than a black shape hurling itself at Jefferson. As man and beast went down, she heard laughter.

  When the wrestled greeting ended and Jefferson had cuffed the great dog affectionately on its massive head, he got to his feet. A little out of breath he made the introduc­tions. "Marissa, meet Satan."

  Fearlessly delighted, she was down on Satan's level im­mediately. Crouched in the dust she was eye-to-eye with the magnificent creature. "Hello, Satan." Petting fingers stroked the long Doberman jaw. ‘‘I’m glad to make your acquaintance."

  Jefferson tensed while Satan shivered and danced in place. But as Marissa continued to croon to the Doberman, he realized that the massive dog looked like a puppy falling under her spell. By the time she rose to stand next to him, Jefferson knew the Dobie had fallen completely in love with her.

  A common male occurrence, he thought wryly as he watched them form a mutual admiration society. "If I can tear you away from each other, it's time to show Marissa her new home."

  Together they walked to the cabin. Marissa and Jeffer­son, with Satan between them. When Jefferson opened the door, Satan waited, determined to enter, but only after his new love.