Adam (10 page)

The wedding celebration was a lively affair. Now that Adam had done the right thing by Tate, her brothers were more than willing to treat him like one of the family.

As the morning wore on and Adam had a few glasses of champagne—and more than a few glasses of whiskey—he began to think maybe things hadn't turned out so badly after all.

Now that he and Tate were married, there was no reason why they couldn't make the best of the situation. He couldn't feel sorry about the baby, even if it meant Tate had lied to him about sleeping with Buck. He had always wanted children, and this one would be especially beloved because it would belong to him and Tate.

After he made love to his wife, Adam would tell her that he loved her. They could forget what had happened in the past. Their lives could begin from there.

Tate's brothers might have stayed longer, except Honey called to make sure everything had turned out all right. When
Jesse hung up the phone, he said to his brothers, “I know you don't want to be reminded, but I have work that has to get done today.”

Faron guffawed and said, “Tell the truth. What you're really concerned about is getting home to your wife.”

The three brothers kidded each other good-naturedly all the way out the door. Once they and the preacher were gone, Tate closed the door and leaned her forehead against the cool wood frame.

“I'm sorry, Adam.”

He crossed to her and slipped his arms around her waist from behind. “It's all right, Tate. It wasn't your fault.”

“They're
my
brothers.”

“They only did what they thought was best for you.” Despite the fact he was a victim of their manipulation, Adam could sympathize with her brothers. If Melanie had lived…if he had found her in the same circumstances…he might have done the same thing. And hoped for the best. As Adam was hoping for the best now with Tate.

He kissed her nape and felt her shiver in his arms. “Come to bed, Tate. It's our wedding day.”

She kept her face pressed to the door. She was too intent on giving Adam back his freedom to hear the message of love in his words and his caress. “I can't stand it—knowing you were trapped into marrying me.” She felt his body stiffen, and said, “I promise I'll give you a divorce. As soon as the baby is born I—”

Adam grabbed her by the arm and jerked her around to face him. “Is that the reason you agreed to marry me? So you can have a name for your bastard?”

“Please, Adam—”

“Don't beg, Tate, it doesn't become you.”

Tate had slapped him before she was aware she had raised her hand. She gasped when she saw the stark imprint her fingers had left on his cheek.

Adam grabbed her wrist. Tate could feel him trembling with rage. She waited to see what form his retaliation would take.

“All right,” Adam said in the harshest voice she had ever heard him use. “I'll give you what you want. Your baby will have my name and you can have your divorce. But there's something I want in return, Tate.”

“What?” she breathed.

“You. I want you in my bed every night.” His grasp on her wrist tightened. “Warm. And willing. Do I make myself understood?”

Oh, she understood, all right. She had offered him the divorce hoping he would refuse. His ultimatum made it clear what he had wanted from her all along. Well, she would just show him what he was so willing to give up!

“Believe me, you're going to get what you're asking for, Adam,” she said in a silky voice.
And a whole lot more!

He started for the bedroom, his hand firmly clamped around her wrist. Tate hurried to catch up, afraid that if she fell, he would simply drag her behind him.

When they arrived in the bedroom he closed the door behind her. Only then did he release her. “Get undressed,” he ordered. He crossed his arms and stood there, legs widespread, staring at her.

Tate held herself proudly erect. Sooner or later Adam was going to realize the truth. The child she carried was his. Meanwhile, he was going to get every bit of what he had demanded—and perhaps even more than he had bargained for.

Tate had never stripped to tease a man. She did so now.

The T-shirt came off first. Slowly. She let it hang by one finger for a moment before it dropped to the floor. She looked down at her breasts and saw the aureoles were pink and full. She reached down to brush her fingertips across her nipples, then returned to tease the pink buds until they stood erect.

Adam hissed in a breath of air.

Tate didn't dare look at him, afraid she would lose her nerve. Instead she smoothed her hands over her belly and down across the delta of her thighs, spreading her legs so that her hand could cup the heat there. She glided her hands back up the length of her body, feeling the textures of her skin, aware of the prickles as her flesh responded to the knowledge that Adam was watching every move she made.

She shoved her hands into her hair at the temples and then gathered her hair and lifted it off her nape, knowing that as she raised her arms her breasts would follow. She arched her back in a sensuous curve that thrust breasts and belly toward Adam.

She actually heard him swallow. Then she made the mistake of looking at him—at his bare chest. His nipples were as turgid as hers. As she relaxed her body into a more natural pose, she met blue eyes so dark with passion they were more the hue of a stormy sky.

His nostrils were flared to drink in the scent of her. His body was wired taut as a bowstring, fists clenched at his sides. His manhood was a hard ridge that threatened the seams at the crotch of his jeans. As his tongue reached out to lick at the perspiration on his upper lip, she felt her groin tighten with answering pleasure.

Tate felt exultant. Powerful. And oh, so much a woman. Encouraged by her success, she reached down for the snap of her
jeans. Adam's whole body jerked when it popped free. The rasp of her zipper as she slid it down was matched by the harsh sound of Adam's breathing.

She slowly turned down each side of her jeans in front, creating a V through which the white of her panties showed. Then she spread her legs, stuck her thumbs into her panties and let her fingers slide down inside the jeans, pulling her underwear down and slowly exposing a V of flesh on her belly.

Adam swore under his breath. But he didn't move an inch.

Tate took a deep breath and shoved both panties and jeans down low on her hips, revealing her hipbones and belly and a hint of dark curls at the crest of her thighs. She put her hands behind her and rubbed her buttocks, easing the jeans down a little more with each circular motion.

She stuck her thumbs back in the front of the jeans, and met Adam's gaze before skimming her fingers across her pubic arch. A pulse in his temple jumped. His jaw clenched. But otherwise he didn't stir from where he was standing.

Tate smiled, a feminine smile of enjoyment and satisfaction. She gave one last little shove and both panties and jeans began the slide down to her ankles, where she stepped out of jeans, panties and moccasins all at once.

At last Tate stood naked before Adam. Her body felt languid, graceful as it never had. She realized it was because Adam adored her with his eyes. Because he desired her with his body. She made no move to hide herself from him.

It wasn't until she took a step toward him that Adam finally moved.

He glided toward her like a stalking tiger. Tate felt the sexual energy radiating from him long before their bodies met.
His kiss was fierce, consuming. His hands seemed to be everywhere, touching, demanding a response. She arched against him, feeling the swollen heat and hardness beneath the denim.

Adam didn't bother taking her to bed. He backed her up against the wall, unsnapped his jeans to free himself, then lifted her legs around him and thrust himself inside.

Tate clung to Adam's neck with her arms and to his hips with her legs. His mouth sought hers, and his tongue thrust in rhythm with his body. His hand slipped between them and sought out the tiny nubbin that was the source of her pleasure. His thumb caressed her until he felt the waves of pleasure tightening her inner muscles around him. He threw his head back in ecstasy as his own powerful orgasm spilled inside her.

Then his head fell forward against her shoulder as he struggled to regain his breath. He finally released her legs so that she could stand, but found he had to hold her to keep her from falling, her knees were so wobbly. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed, throwing the sheets back and setting her down gently before joining her there.

He pulled the covers up over them both and found he could barely keep his eyes open. But there was something he wanted to say before he fell asleep.

“Tate? Are you awake?”

“Mmm. I guess so,” she murmured against his throat.

“You can admit the truth about sleeping with Buck. It isn't going to make a difference in how I feel about you.”
Or the baby
, he thought.

Tate pushed herself upright. The sheet that had covered her fell to her waist. “I'm telling the truth, Adam, when I say I never slept with Buck. Why won't you believe me?”

Adam levered himself up on his elbow and met her gaze with a flinty one of his own. “Because I have the medical tests to prove you wrong.”

“Then your tests are mistaken!” Tate retorted. She leaned back against the headboard and yanked the covers up to her neck.

Tate had never looked more beautiful. Adam had to lie back and put his hands behind his head to keep from reaching for her again. The three hours Maria had promised to stay gone were nearly up, and he had no doubt the housekeeper would come looking for him to find out whether he had told Tate that he loved her.

He was glad now that he hadn't. At least he had been spared the humbling experience of confessing his love to a woman who had married him only to have a name for her child. Adam lay there trying to figure out why Tate persisted in lying about the baby.

“Does Buck know about the baby?” he asked.

“He guessed,” Tate admitted. Buck had known from the glow on her face that something was different and had confronted her about it. She had told him the truth.

“I suppose he refused to marry you because he's still in love with Velma,” Adam said.

Tate lurched out of bed and stomped over to where her clothes lay in a pile on the floor. She kept her back to Adam as she began dressing.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Anywhere I can be away from you,” she retorted.

“Just so long as you stay away from Buck, I don't care—”

Tate whirled and said, “Buck is my friend. I'll see him when and where and as often as I please.”

Adam shoved the covers out of the way and yanked on his jeans. “You took vows to me that I don't intend to see you break,” he said.

“You're a fool, Adam. You can't see what's right in front of your face.”

“I know a whore when I see one.”

Adam was sorry the instant the words were out of his mouth. He would have given anything to take them back. He was jealous, and hurt by her apparent devotion to Buck. He had said the first thing that came into his head that he knew would hurt her.

And he was sorry for it. “Tate, I—”

“Don't say anything, Adam. Just get away from me. Maybe someday I'll be able to forgive you for that.”

Adam grabbed his shirt, underwear, socks and boots and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Tate sank onto the bed, fighting sobs that made her chest ache. This was worse than anything she had ever imagined. She had ample evidence in Buck's case of how suspicion and mistrust could make a man act irrationally. She had just never expected to see Adam behave like a jealous jackass.

What was she going to do now?

A
DAM HAD AMPLE TIME
all through the day and overnight to regret his outburst. Tate had spent the rest of the day in the office, then retreated to her own bedroom for the night. He had decided it would be best to meet her over the breakfast table and try to mend fences when Maria was there to act as a buffer.

But morning sickness had once again brought Tate to the kitchen early. Instead of waiting to have coffee with Adam, she left the house to go for a walk, hoping it might settle her stomach. Buck waved to her from the loft of the barn, where he was forking down hay. After looking back once at the house, Tate headed toward the barn to talk to him. She had better give him fair warning that Adam was on the warpath and looking for scalps.

Adam's mood wasn't improved when he realized, after sitting at the table for half an hour alone, that Tate wasn't coming to breakfast. He had snapped at Maria like a wounded bear when she started asking questions, and now she wasn't talking to him, either. He shoved his hat down on his head and headed out to the barn to work off some steam by cleaning out stalls.

Adam's eyes had barely adjusted to the shadows in the barn when he spied Tate standing next to the ladder that led to the loft. His heart gave a giant leap—then began to pump with adrenaline when he realized that Buck was standing right beside her. And that the lanky cowboy had his arm around Tate's shoulder.

Adam marched over to Buck and ordered, “Get your hands off my wife.”

Buck grinned. “Jealous, huh? You've got no reason—”

Adam thought he had damned good reason to be jealous. After all, his wife was carrying Buck's child. His fist swung hard and fast, straight for Buck's nose.

Buck fell like a stone, his nose squirting blood. Tate quickly knelt beside him, grabbing the bandanna out of her back pocket to staunch the bleeding.

“You idiot!” she snapped at Adam. “Go stick your head in a bucket of water and cool off!”

Adam wanted to yank Tate away from the other man's side, but it was plain he would have a fight on his hands if he tried. His pride wouldn't allow him to ask her nicely to come with him. Not that he could have forced the words past the lump in his throat. “Do as you please,” he snarled. “You always have.”

With that, he turned and marched right back out of the barn. They heard gravel fly in the drive as he gunned his pickup and drove away.

“Who put a burr under his saddle?” Buck asked, dabbing gently at his nose with the bloody bandanna.

“How did you like the way he treated you?” Tate asked.

“Damn near hated it,” Buck replied.

“Think about it the next time you see Velma with another man and decide to take a punch at him. Because that's what
an unreasonable, mistrustful, paranoid sonofabitch looks like in action.”

Buck's lips quirked at the corners. “Are you saying that's the way I act around Velma?”

“Bingo.”

Buck tested the bridge of his nose to see if it were broken. “Maybe this bloody nose wasn't such a bad thing after all.”

“Oh?”

“Adam might have knocked some sense into me. I know damn well he has no reason to be jealous, even though he thinks he does. He should have trusted you.” Buck struggled to his feet. “Maybe I'll just go see Velma again.”

“Is there any chance she'll speak to you?”

“If she's been as miserable as I have the past few weeks, she will,” Buck said, a determined light in his brown eyes.

“I wish you luck,” Tate said.

“I don't think I'm going to need luck,” Buck said. “I've got something even better.”

“What's that?”

“I think I just might have had some trust pounded into me.”

Tate gave Buck a hug, which he was quick to escape with the excuse of dusting the hay off his britches.

“I may have become a trusting soul,” he said, “but Adam's still crazy as a loon. No telling when he'll turn right around and come looking for you. I'd feel a mite safer if you go on back to the house.”

Tate did as he asked. She hoped Buck's experience with Adam had shown Buck once and for all the folly of being needlessly jealous. Because if Buck could learn to trust Velma, there was some hope that Adam would one day come to trust her.

Meanwhile, Adam had driven north toward Fredericksburg and was almost into the hill country before he calmed down enough to look around and see where he was. He made a U-turn in the middle of the highway and headed back the way he had come.

Jealousy.
Adam had never before had to cope with the feeling, and he had been doing a pretty rotten job of it so far. He could spend the little time he and Tate had together before she sought out a divorce condemning her for what was past. Or he could simply enjoy the company of the irrepressible, lively hoyden he had come to know and love. Between those two choices, the latter made a whole lot more sense.

When Adam arrived back at the ranch house he sought Tate out first in the barn. He found Buck working there.

The lanky cowboy leaned on the pitchfork and said, “You finally come to your senses?”

Adam grinned ruefully. “Yeah. About that punch—”

“Forget it.” Buck had been working out how he could use his swollen nose to get Velma's sympathy, and then explain to her the lesson it had taught him. “Believe me, I can understand how you must have felt when you saw me with Tate.”

“Because of Velma?” Adam remembered how devastated Buck had been when he had found out his wife was cheating on him.

“Yeah.”

“Uh, have you seen Tate?” Adam asked.

“She went back to the house. Look, Adam, you don't—”

“You don't have to explain, Buck. It doesn't matter.” Adam turned and headed back to the house. He found Tate working in his office at the computer.

“Busy?”

Tate jumped at the sound of Adam's voice. She looked over her shoulder and found him leaning negligently against the door frame, one hip cocked, his hat in his hands. The anxious way his fingers were working the brim betrayed his nerves.

“Not too busy to talk,” she said. She turned the swivel chair in his direction, leaned back, put her ankles on the desk and crossed her arms behind her head. It was a pose intended to be equally carefree. In Tate's case, her bare toes—which wiggled constantly—gave her away.

In his younger days, Adam had ridden bucking broncs in the rodeo. His stomach felt now as it did when he was on the bronc and the chute was about to open. Like the championship rider he was, he gave himself eight good seconds to make his point and get out.

“I'm sorry. I was out of line—with what I said last night and today with Buck. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'd just like a chance to start over fresh from here.”

Tate sat there stunned.
Adam apologizing?
She had never thought she would see the day. But like Velma, once burned, twice chary. “Does this mean you're rescinding the bargain we made?”

Adam swallowed hard. “No.”

So, he still wanted her, even though he was convinced the baby was Buck's. And he was willing to keep his mouth shut about her supposed indiscretion—and give his name to Buck's child—in return for favors in bed.

A woman had to be out of her mind to accept a bargain like that.

“All right,” Tate said. “I accept your apology. And I agree to abide by the bargain we made yesterday.”

Adam noticed she hadn't forgiven him. But then he hadn't
asked for forgiveness. More to the point, she had agreed that their marriage continue to be consummated.

Tate thought she must be an eternal optimist, because she took Adam's appearance at her door as a good sign. She hadn't given up hope that she could somehow convince him of the truth about the baby, and that they would live happily ever after. It might never happen, but at least now they would be living in amity while they tried to work things out.

“It's beautiful out today,” Adam said. “How would you like to take a break and come help me? I still have to move those cattle from one pasture to another.” Work that hadn't been done yesterday because they had gotten married instead.

A broad smile appeared on Tate's face. “I'd like that. Just let me save this material on the computer.”

She dropped her feet and swiveled back around to face the computer. She was interrupted when Adam loudly cleared his throat.

“Uh. I didn't think to ask. Did Dr. Kowalski say everything's okay with the baby? There's no medical reason why you can't do strenuous exercise, is there?”

Tate turned and gave him a beatific smile. “I'm fine. The baby will enjoy the ride.”

Nevertheless, Adam kept a close eye on Tate. When he saw her eyelids begin to droop late in the afternoon he suggested they take a siesta. He led her to a giant live oak that stood near the banks of a creek on his property. There he spread a blanket he had tied behind the saddle and provided a picnic he had packed in his saddlebags.

Tate pulled off her boots and wiggled her toes. Then she lay back on the blanket with her hands behind her head and
stared up at the freckles of sun visible through the gnarled, moss-laden limbs of the live oak. “This is wonderful! A picnic! I had no idea you had this in mind when you asked me to come with you today.”

Actually, Maria was responsible for the impromptu picnic. Adam had thought of the blanket himself. The delight on Tate's face was its own reward. Adam sat down cross-legged across from her and passed out ham and cheese sandwiches, deviled eggs and pickles. There was a thermos of iced tea to drink.

“I don't usually care for pickles,” Tate said, crunching into the sweet gherkin in her hand. “But you know, this tastes pretty good.”

Adam smiled to himself. In his experience, pregnant women had odd cravings. He had once had a patient who'd eaten liver with peanut butter.

Soon after she had finished her lunch, Tate yawned. “I can't believe how tired I feel lately.”

“Your body is going through a lot of changes.”

“Is that a medical opinion, Doctor?” Tate asked, eyeing him through half-closed lids. But she didn't hear his answer. The moment she laid her head on her hand and closed her eyes, she fell sound asleep.

Adam cleared away the picnic and lay down beside her to watch her sleep. He had never realized how very long her lashes were, or how very dark. She had a tiny mole beside her ear that he hadn't detected before. And dark circles under her eyes, which he also hadn't noticed.

As a doctor he knew the strain pregnancy put on a woman's body and her emotions. He made a vow to himself to take care
of Tate, to make sure that the dark circles disappeared and that the smile stayed on her face.

He knew how she would resent it if she thought he had taken on the role of caretaker. After all, she had fled her brothers because they had been overprotective. He knew he would have to be subtle if he were going to get her to rest. Like the picnic today. He was sure she had no idea she was being manipulated for her own good.

When Tate awoke, she stretched languorously, unaware that she had an appreciative audience. When she blinked open her eyes she realized it was nearly dusk. She sat up abruptly and made herself dizzy.

Adam was beside her instantly, his arm around her shoulder to support her. “Are you all right?”

“Just a little woozy. I guess I sat up too quickly. Why did you let me sleep so long?”

“You were tired.”

Tate leaned her head on his shoulder. “I guess I was. Hadn't we better head back now?”

He nuzzled her neck, searching out the mole near her ear. “I don't have anything planned for this evening. Do you?”

Tate chuckled. “No, I can't say that I have.”

Adam slowly laid her back down and found her mouth with his. He brushed his cheek against her long lashes and slid his hands into her hair, smoothing it back where the breeze had ruffled it into her face.

As the sun slipped from the sky, Adam made sweet love to his wife. They rode home by moonlight, and after they had taken care of the horses, Adam made sure Tate went right to bed. In his room. With his arms around her.

“I'll have Maria move your things to my room,” he murmured in her ear. “It'll be more convenient since you'll be sleeping in here.”

Tate opened her mouth to object and shut it again. After all, she wanted this marriage to work. It made sense that the more time she spent with Adam, the better chance she had of making that happen. She intended to become absolutely irreplaceable in his life.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the invisible wall of mistrust between them did not come down. Though she made love with Adam each evening, the words “I love you” stuck in Tate's throat whenever she tried to say them. It was too painful to expose her need to him. Especially since she didn't want to put him in the position of feeling he had to say the words back. Which she was afraid he wouldn't.