Breed True (13 page)

Need coiled hotly in her belly. Grady Hawks called forth wildness in her that had been repressed a long time. She was very afraid that he knew his effect on her and would use it ruthlessly.

"No, I have dishes to do." He'd stacked the dirty dishes in the washtub and pumped water in to cover them. She tried to remain indifferent to him as he watched her roll up her sleeves and prepare to do the night's cleanup.

Grady Hawks interrupted her retreat with a request. "Fetch me that oil from the counter, Julie." His voice was stern, demanding obedience.

Irritated with herself and the flash of heat that seared her skin, she slapped the dishrag against the counter and grabbed the can of oil, carrying it to him defiantly.

When she handed it over, his hand closed around her wrist, causing her to jerk and step back as old reflexes sprang to life. Jewel clenched her other hand into a fist, preparing to fight or run. "My name is Jewel," she told him flatly.

"I wish Frank Rossiter was alive," he answered mildly, still holding her prisoner as he slowly examined her burned fingers. Then he opened his callused palm and allowed her arm to slide free.

"Why?" she asked. "If that's true, Grady Hawks, that makes you the only person alive who misses the gambler."

She retreated from him, but he stood and followed her. His answer, although softly spoken, was fierce. "So I could kill the sonovabitch with my bare hands."

The social flirtations and calculated conversation that she had learned to engage in as the gambler's wife, words that had kept men at bay at the same time she'd helped part them from their money, didn't work on Grady Hawks. When he looked at her, he stripped away the veneer of toughness she'd donned to survive.

She stared out the window, deliberately avoiding his gaze as she plunged her hands in the soapy water to do supper wash-up. He joined her, standing so close his shoulder brushed hers as he looked outside too.

"Make yourself useful," she ordered him, slapping a drying cloth in his hand. He accepted her order and remained beside her, his shoulder bumping against her arm, as he dried the plates. She fought the wild longing that his heat and male scent called from her.

She lingered over the dirty dishes as long as she could, but when the last fork was clean and there were no more plates giving her an excuse to keep her hands hidden in lukewarm water, he handed her the drying towel.

"The twins…" she said desperately.

"…Are asleep," he finished her excuse and took the cloth from her tense hands and picked her up, setting her on the counter beside the clean crockery.

"I will have another taste of you before you run and hide." He flipped her skirts high on her thighs. She was momentarily ashamed at the display of her worn pantalettes but forgot that embarrassment as he lifted her and tugged them from her body.

Grady boldly ran his hands up her legs, parting them as he looked at her woman's secrets. "I don't want this," she told him.

He parted the lips of her sex and thumbed the moisture that already gathered there. "I think you do," he answered.

Before she could protest or argue, he lowered his head and set his mouth where his thumb had been.

Shock replaced resistance as he hooked her legs over his shoulders and tasted the tender flesh that readied itself for him. His tongue traced a path tasting the slippery evidence of her desire. He licked her from her channel to the nub of nerves at her apex.

When he reached her swollen clit, he set his teeth around it, nipping it gently.

A moan of need escaped her as her hips jerked in helpless response, and he pulled her higher, cradling her rump in his hands to bury his face in her heat and feast.

Two fingers breached her channel, plunging in and out of her as he sucked and laved first her velvet folds and then the magic button that made her want to scream out her need. When her body could take no more, she convulsed in an orgasm that swept over her, and her soft screams of pleasure echoed in the cabin.

Again he carried her sated body to the bed she shared at night with the twins, and although he made no move to gain his own release, he stared at her with lust-filled eyes.

Before he left her to a restless night, he claimed her mouth, and she tasted herself on the tongue that he slid through her lips.

"You taste like honey," he whispered and left her alone with her babies.

In spite of Grady Hawks' determined seduction, she relaxed and began to enjoy her respite from the hardscrabble existence of before. By the second week, she answered automatically to Julie when he called; by the third, he'd trained her body to coil with need at his touch and her years as Jewel Rossiter began to recede.

Then on the eve of the babies' six-month birthday, things changed again.

* * * *

Grady was in the high pasture running down loose strays, trying to save their mangy hides from freezing or starving, when Navajo Leonard appeared on the ridge above him, waving his hat.

"We've got company," were the first words out of the Indian's mouth when Grady rode up to meet him.

"The Double-Q outfit's heading toward your lodge with Hamilton Quince's woman driving a buckboard piled high with our monthly order."

Grady didn't waste time asking how Leonard knew that. If he'd wanted to, the wily warrior could have slipped into the wagon and stolen half the merchandise while the Quince outriders remained oblivious.

They made fast time, gathering more crew members as they rode to the ranch house.

The buckboard entered the ranch yard at the same time Grady rode in the other side. For a tense moment, both outfits faced off.

Then Hamilton swung down and crossed the clearing to where Grady sat his horse.

"Had news I thought you should hear. Comfort decided to bring your supplies up to you and save you a trip to town."

"The Mercantile delivering now?" Grady asked ironically. But he dismounted to shake the hand Hamilton offered. Tensions abated and the riders of both outfits relaxed in their saddles.

"Comfort decided to visit with your wife while we transact our business." Quince nodded at his own wife, who in spite of their rough travel still looked beautiful and composed.

Had the Eclipse rancher been alone, Grady would have let him stand in the cold while they talked. But outmaneuvered by the pair, he crossed to the buckboard where Comfort Quince waited patiently.

"I expect Julie's got the coffee on by now. Better step down and come in. She'll be interested in hearing what you have to say, I'm sure."

If it wasn't a welcome, it was still an invitation. Hamilton Quince lifted his wife from the wagon bench and accompanied her into the cabin.

Grady had a moment of unease as he remembered the fine upholstered furnishings in Comfort's parlor. For the first time he wondered if Julie found his home wanting.

Julie kept him between her and both the Quinces, testifying silently that she wanted no part of whatever conversation Comfort intended.

Hamilton interrupted the tableau, though, with his next words. "Teddy James is putting it around that Mrs. Rossiter," he paused and awkwardly changed that to, "your wife, colluded with you in Frank Rossiter's murder. He's stirring up trouble as fast as he can. No doubt that Alan Michaels is behind it, but whatever the reason, the upshot of it is they're urging Hiram Potter to arrest you."

Grady flashed a cold smile with his question. "Who thinks he can ride on Hawks Nest land and do that?"

"Nobody. We all know you've got the place barricaded. I didn't see our escorts, but I know our progress was tracked the whole way to the ranch yard. It made my ranch hands a mite jumpy coming up the trail."

"I didn't kill Frank Rossiter, and I didn't even know Grady Hawks until the day you witnessed our marriage." Julie's words were a fierce denial, but her hands trembled as she poured coffee for their unexpected guests.

"Did you take the two thousand dollars from his pocket when you found him dying?"

Hamilton Quince took the coffee she offered and asked his own hard question. His voice was steely, and for once, he ignored his wife's efforts to hush him.

"Would I be here if I had two thousand dollars to set my children up in their own home?" Grady felt the slap of her rejection as her bitter answer rang true.

"I guess she answered that question for you, Quince." Grady pulled his hat on and headed for the door. "The wagon needs to be unloaded. I'll be in the barn."

Hamilton followed him, leaving the two women to face each other alone.

*

Julie set two cups of coffee on the table and invited Comfort Quince to join her there.

She silently faced the woman who had tried to buy her children.

"We brought Grady a two-month supply of everything. That way, he won't have to make any trips into town until Hiram gets this cleared up."

Julie didn't know Hiram Potter, but Comfort Quince seemed to think the sheriff was capable of unsnarling the mess and solving the mystery of Frank Rossiter's murder.

While she listened, the Quince woman said the words that had brought her into the cold in an open wagon. "I came to apologize to you. What Hamilton and I tried to do was unconscionable. Forgive us, please."

When Julie remained quiet, not responding with social niceties that smoothed over the wrong, Comfort continued, "My former husband was quite brutal, and the final beating he delivered left me unable to have children."

For the first time, Julie felt her heart soften toward the woman. But she refused to allow any future attempts to steal the twins. "There are a lot of babies who need a good home. Mine have one."

Comfort looked over the sparse furnishings dotting the floor before she spied the wooden cradle where the babies slept.

Without permission, she rose and crossed to them, kneeling beside the baby bed to stare at the rosy-cheeked girls sleeping there.

"They are so beautiful." She smiled as Emma pursed her rosebud mouth and sighed softly, dreaming baby dreams.

Then, in spite of the tears that had marked tracks down her cheeks, Comfort Quince stood, once again the elegant lady in control, and said briskly. "I owe you. If you ever want to leave Grady Hawks, or Texas for that matter, get word to me and I'll help."

Then she turned around and laughed, spilling the rich husky sound throughout the room. "And if you decide to stay, tell your husband I sell furniture at the Mercantile."

* * * *

The Double-Q riders escorted the empty wagon back through Hawks Nest land, leaving discord behind them. Grady couldn't forget Julie's public rejection, and Julie couldn't forget Comfort's offer to help her leave.

Two nights later, after a day and a half of silence between them, Julie was roused from sleep by a mouth pulling on her breast. One of the babies had found her in the night.

She struggled to open her eyes when teeth nibbled her nipple, and then firm lips settled around her teat and suckled so strongly she felt the pull all the way to her womb.

"What…" she gasped, and then she realized the head that nursed at her breast wore thick hair …
Grady Hawks.

He switched his attentions to her other teat, kissing the heated flesh that demanded his concentration now that he had relieved the pressure from the first.

Even as she lay appalled under his assault—
no, not assault; I agreed to this
—Julie gritted her teeth to keep from protesting. At the same time she clamped her hands on the sheet to keep from pulling him closer.

When he opened her cleft with searching fingers, she tried to remain still while he explored her intimately, arousing the passion he knew she horded like a rich man's silver.

She stifled a gasp, as he riffled fingers through her feminine curls, teased her flesh knowingly, stroked her folds that were suddenly wet—and finally invaded her with two fingers, all the while he suckled at her breast.

Julie tried to remain still and quiet, conscious of the two babies who slept in the bed beside them. But her wayward body arched under the knowing touches that made her belly coil with need. Her hips rose to meet his plunging fingers, and pleasure coursed through her body, making her cunnie clench as if begging him for more.

At last she gave up the struggle to remain aloof. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on tight as he swept her control aside and claimed her cries with his mouth. Her climax rolled over her in wave after wave of wicked pleasure.

He didn't wait for her to recover, but instead guided her hand to his engorged flesh, wrapping his palm around hers, as he fitted himself to her opening. His cock nudged inside the channel that still clenched with aftershocks from her release.

He radiated heat, power, and control. It would be easy to relax and let his seduction give her pleasure. She squashed that thought when he pulled the old, tattered, nightgown she had worn under her first husband's attentions over her head. She chanted silently,
I
will not catch, I will not catch, I will not catch,
willing her body to obey.

He spread her thighs wider and entered her while she clutched his shoulders against the burn of his invasion. Even softened from her recent climax, her tunnel hugged his thick length and made this first possession slow as he tested the limits of what she could handle.

He rocked his groin against her mound and finished the burning slide of man into woman with a quick thrust that seated his cockhead against her womb. Bracing his weight on his arms, he stared down at where they were joined. She froze, determined to show him neither passion nor pleasure.

When he lowered his head to kiss her, she buried her face in his shoulder, determined to keep what control she could. "Get it over with," she muttered.

She forced her body to relax and pressed her pelvis upward. He slid into her even more deeply, with a grunt of disgust at her words. He abandoned her pleasure for his own then.

Julie clenched her jaw and gripped his naked shoulders, receiving his thrusts but making sure that it remained a passionless union. When she swiveled her hips, clenching her inner muscles, sweat dropped from his face onto her shoulder, as he increased his rhythm working above her.