My Heart's Desire (27 page)

"Jarret?" she called. There was a hint of anxiousness in her voice.

"Right here," he said.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting ready to go to sleep."

"Out there?"

He stretched out on his blankets and turned to face the fire. "That's my plan."

"Then, I'm coming outside, too."

He bolted upright. "Stay where you are, Rennie. It's too cold out here. You'll be more comfortable in the tent."

She poked her head through the flap. "So would you."

"I'm fine."

She shook her head, retreated, and began gathering her blankets. She stopped when the flaps to the tent opened and Jarret tossed his things inside. "You changed your mind," she said as he hunkered down and filled the opening.

"I wasn't given much choice." He crawled inside as Rennie hastily made room for him. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

She looked away and smoothed the waves in the blankets under her. Her hair fell over her shoulder and curtained the side of her face. "I don't want to be alone," she whispered. "I'm afraid."

Her admission made Jarret's insides clench. Proud, willful Mary Renee Dennehy acknowledging her fear was not something he had ever expected to hear. "All right," he said quietly. "Lie down and I'll tuck you in."

She giggled a little at that. "You sound like Jay Mac." She obligingly stretched out on the blankets.

"I'm not your father, Rennie."

"I know." She fastened the last button of her nightshirt, closing it at the throat while Jarret covered her. "I didn't mean—"

"I know what you meant," he said gruffly. Jarret blew out the lantern and set it outside. He closed and tied the flaps, then rearranged his own bedding. Between them they shared her heavy fur coat and his sheepskin-lined jacket.

They lay facing one another, neither moving, hardly breathing. They could feel each other's stiffness and discomfort, but they didn't know how to alter it. Jarret would have never reached for Rennie without her permission, and Rennie did not know how to ask to be cradled.

"How did you find me?" she asked at last.

"Jolene told me you left." His voice was soothing, a husky whisper that eased the tension between them. "I had to come after you."

"I didn't plan it that way," she said. "I never thought you would follow."

"I know."

She shuddered a little and quite naturally moved closer to Jarret. Her knees bumped his. Self-conscious now, she started to scoot away.

"No," he said. "It's all right. You can stay where you are. You're shivering."

Rennie relaxed slowly, warmed as much by his voice as his nearness. Tears dripped slowly from the corners of her eyes. "I act foolishly sometimes." She spoke so softly it was almost as if she had only mouthed the words. "But I'm not a fool, Mr. Sullivan."

Because she couldn't see him, he smiled. "You called me Jarret before," he said. "And I've never thought you were a fool."

She shook her head, not believing him. "It's kind of you to say so."

"I'm not particularly kind, Rennie, you should know that. I'm not saying it to spare your feelings. You
did
act recklessly tonight, but I don't confuse that with you being a fool." And, in part, he blamed himself for not appreciating the depth of desperation that was her motivation. If he had understood that, he could have predicted what she would do next. Her experience with Tom Brighton and Clarence Vestry could have been prevented. "I know now what it means for you to find your father, what you'll risk to make that happen. I should have realized it earlier."

For a moment she was hopeful. "Then, you'll help me?"

"I didn't say that," he told her. He felt, rather than saw, her disappointment. "We'll talk about it later. You should sleep now. Are you warm enough?"

"Mostly."

"In this weather that's not good enough. You can come closer if you want."

"I don't—"

"I won't hurt you, Rennie."

"You didn't have to say that." She hastily swiped at her tears and rubbed the salty traces from her cheeks. "You may be the only man I
can
trust."

He would have liked to ask her about Hollis Banks, but it wasn't the time. She followed her enigmatic statement with turning on her side away from him and fitting the contours of her body warmly to his. She stiffened briefly when his arm curved around her waist, but when he started to remove it, she grasped his wrist and held it there. Her fingers knotted with his. In minutes she was asleep.

* * *

It was the sound of an animal in pain that woke Jarret. Outside the tent the horses pawed the ground restlessly. He fumbled for his gun, found it, and waited for the cry to be repeated. He did not have to think about what he would do. A half-crazed animal might not shy away from the fire. It could attack the horses or the tent. The only sure way to end its suffering was to end its life and Jarret was prepared to do that.

Until he realized the animal was human.

Jarret laid his gun aside as Rennie screamed again. The night terrors had shrunk her body into a tight, guarded ball under the blankets. Her knees were drawn close to her chest, protected further by the arms that clasped them. Her head was bent. The entire length of her neck and spine was a rigid curve.

He did not ask for her permission now. He reached for her, circling with his arms, hauling her against him in an embrace that was more powerful than tender, more securing than security. He held her, rocking, even after his right arm went numb from shoulder to fingertips. The feeling returned intermittently, much as it did for Rennie as she woke and confronted the horror and pain, then retreated into an insular void.

She gasped for air as her body shuddered with great wracking sobs. Tears flooded her eyes and spiked her lashes. Her fingers curled in the material of Jarret's shirt, gripping it as she might a lifeline. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder. Crying came from deep within her, from a broken spirit and wounded soul.

He stroked her hair with fingers that could not always feel it. His chin rested against the crown of her head. He repeated her name, calling her Rennie at first, then Mary Renee as he suspected her family might at such a time. In some manner he reached her. She whimpered, snuffled. He drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and thrust it in her hand. She didn't seem to know what to do with it at first.

"Instead of my shirt," he said.

The words washed over her. It took her a moment to absorb them. She became aware of the way she was huddled against him, curved so tightly to his body that she might well have been part of him. Embarrassed, she began to ease herself away.

"No," he said. "You're fine. Take the handkerchief and wipe your face."

Her fingers unwound stiffly as she released his shirt. Rennie dabbed at her eyes and gently blew her nose.

"Blow," he said. "Like you mean it."

Her eyes filled again. It was his peculiar, rough-edged kindness that undid her. Her unseen smile trembled as she lifted the handkerchief and blew for all she was worth.

His chest heaved once in a silent chuckle as she started to return it. "No, you keep it." Then, because he was not certain that he liked the fact that she could still make him laugh, he said, "There's still a lot of night in front of us. You might need it again."

The thought that the nightmare might be repeated caused Rennie to tense. "I won't sleep, then."

He wished he had said nothing. "You're not disturbing me," he said when she tried to slip off his lap. "Unless you're not comfortable."

She stayed where she was. "No, I'm fine. I thought you must want to get rid of me."

All the time, he thought, but for reasons that were no longer so clear in his mind. "No, I don't mind holding you."

She nodded, comforted. She reached for her coat and draped it around her shoulders so that they both could share the warmth. "I was dreaming about those men," she said.

"I thought it might be that."

"I wish I had killed them."

He said nothing, stroking her hair from her shoulder to the base of her spine, encouraged by the tension seeping out of her.

"I had a gun."

"I know. A Smith and Wesson pocket revolver. I found it."

"I would have used it."

"I know that, too."

She laid her cheek against his shoulder. Her breath was warm on his neck. "Do you regret killing them?"

"There's never any pleasure in killing," he said. "But them... I came close. No, I don't regret it... and I'm glad it wasn't you." Jarret shifted his weight and Rennie's. "Let's lie down. You never know, you might sleep." And he had been getting a little stiff—in all the wrong places. He thought he had managed to move her before she felt the swell of his groin.

Even inside a pair a thick woolen socks, Rennie's toes were cold. She rubbed her feet against Jarret's legs as he stretched out beside her. She was too intent on finding a comfortable position for herself to hear his sharp intake of breath.

"Comfortable?" he asked, gritting his teeth as she settled down. He swore; she purred. It wasn't enough that she used his leg like a scratching post, snuggled against him with feline grace, or watched him with emerald cat eyes. She had to purr, too. "Try to get some sleep."

Minutes passed where neither of them closed their eyes or thought about sleeping.

"Rennie? What's wrong? You're wider awake now than you were a while ago."

She was, but she didn't know how he knew that. She'd been careful not to move, to breathe evenly, to lie relaxed beside him. "I can still feel their hands on me," she whispered.

Jarret didn't know what to say. If he could have absorbed her pain, he would have.

"I washed myself. You know, scrubbed. It doesn't matter. I can still feel the pressure of their fingers, their mouths."

"What can I do?"

"Take it away."

He shook his head. "I can't do that, Rennie. I wouldn't know how."

"Then replace it."

"What?" He could barely breathe.

"Replace it," she said. "Put your hands where theirs were, your mouth where they touched me."

"You don't know what you're saying." Or asking, he thought. If he touched her in the way she suggested, it wouldn't end there. "What about Hollis Banks?" he asked.

"Hollis isn't here," she said bluntly. "You are."

"That's selfish, Rennie. Even for you it's selfish."

His observation stung. The truth of it cut deeper. "I can never seem to do the right thing around you," she said.

"Go to sleep," he told her. "Right now that would be the right thing."

* * *

The scent of her was like that of a heady wine. It tantalized and promised. The fragrance of musk and lavender lingered, mingled. Her lips were soft, pliant and mobile beneath his mouth, returning his kisses and searching pleasure on her own. He traced the ridge of her teeth with his tongue. Her mouth opened. If there were a taste for yearning and hunger, then he tasted them now.

Her hands cradled his head, holding him to her. Her fingers wound in his hair. She explored with her lips, teeth, and tongue, making forays across his jaw, his cheeks, the cord of his neck. What she felt inside herself now was powerful, a desiring that pushed her beyond the boundaries of reason. Having him consumed her; the consummation was everything.

The force of her own emotion woke her. Rennie gasped, trembling in the wake of her dream. Jarret was asleep beside her. One of his hands lay across her breast, cupping it through the material of her nightshirt. Her flesh felt oddly swollen beneath his palm; the nipple was distended. She drew up her knees slowly, uncomfortable with the vague sense of aching between her thighs and the sudden conscious thought of an emptiness there. There was a peculiar, fading tension in her muscles, a prickling, not unpleasant sensation that she felt skittering just below her skin.

What had just happened to her?

"Jarret?"

He didn't stir. "Hmm?"

She turned toward him. His thumb grazed her nipple as his hand slid away. An unfamiliar coil of heat radiated sparks from her breast to her womb. Rennie moved closer and raised one leg across his. She pressed her pelvis against his hip. The ache inside her was numbed for a moment. She exhaled softly, her breathing a sigh. Then the need for something more returned with a vengeance until it was almost a physical pain.

Rennie raised her face toward Jarret's, rubbing against him as she moved. Her lips grazed his mouth. Her thigh grazed his sex.

She had Jarret's complete attention now. His eyes opened wide, then closed again, surrendering as her mouth moved over his. His hands cupped either side of her face and stilled her, drawing her back so that she was only touching him with her breath. His voice was husky, whiskey laid over velvet. "Is this what you really want?"

She didn't know what she wanted, but she understood that he did. She was willing to let him teach her. "It must be," she said. "I ache when I'm not touching you."

His resolve collapsed with her softly spoken admission. "Do it, then," he whispered against her mouth. "Touch me."