The Pride of Jared MacKade (9 page)

“He likes me,” Savannah repeated, baffled. “Why?”

“Partly because you don’t like him. Dev can be perverse. Partly because I do, and he’s loyal.” He rubbed his dripping face with a dish towel. “And partly because he’s got good instincts and a fair mind.”

“Are you trying to make me ashamed?”

“No, I’m telling you about my brother. Rafe’s cocky and driven. Shane’s good-hearted and laid-back. Devin’s fair.” Thoughtfully, he laid the towel aside. “I guess it bothers me that you can’t see that.”

“Old habits die hard.” But she could see it, had seen it. “He was sweet with Emma.”

Satisfied that he’d found a chink, he grinned. “We’ve all got a way with the ladies.”

“So I’ve noticed.” She took the beer from him and helped herself. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I thought you’d like to go out.”

“No.” She smiled at the yellow tulips on the table beside him. “I’d like to stay in.”

Big Mae, who had run the Tilt-a-Wheel in the carnival where Savannah had worked one educational season, had always said if she ever found a man who could cook and who didn’t turn her stomach at the breakfast table, she would give up the high life and settle down.

After being treated to Jared MacKade’s Cajun chicken and rice, Savannah thought Big Mae had had a very valid point. She sipped the wine Jared had gotten into the habit of tucking into her refrigerator and studied him over the candles on her dining room table.

“Where’d you learn to cook?”

“At my sainted mother’s knee.” He grinned. “She made us all learn. And, as she had the most accurate and swift wooden spoon in the county, we learned good.”

“Close family.”

“Yeah. We were lucky that way. My parents made it easy—
natural
I guess is a better word. Growing up on a farm, everybody has to pull their weight, depend on each other.” His eyes changed, and looked, Savannah thought, somewhere else. “I still miss them.”

A little jab of envy reminded her that she hadn’t known either of her parents well enough to miss. “They did a good job with you. With all of you.”

“Some people in town would have said differently once. Some still would.” The smile was back in his eyes. “We got our reps the old-fashioned way—we earned them.”

“Oh, I’ve been hearing stories about those bad MacKade brothers.” Smiling over the thought, she
rested her chin on her fist. “‘Swaggering around town’ is how Mrs. Metz puts it.”

“She would.” His smile changed, edged toward the arrogant. “She’s crazy about us.”

“I thought as much. I was getting the car filled the other day at the Gas and Go when she pulled into the station and got Sharilyn out there by the pumps to reminisce.” And, Savannah remembered, to try to pump out a little gossip.

“Oh.” Jared cleared his throat. “Sharilyn, huh?”

“Who has some very fond memories of you…and a 1964 Dodge.”

To his credit, he didn’t wince. “Hell of a car. How’s old Sharilyn doing?”

“Oh, she’s fine and dandy. Says, ‘Hey.’” Amused, she switched gears. “So, which one of you bad MacKade brothers was it who stuffed the potato in the tail pipe of the sheriff’s cruiser?”

Jared ran his tongue around his teeth. “Rafe got blamed for it.” He lifted his wine. “But I did it. We always figured whatever one of us did, all of us did, so whoever took the heat deserved it.”

“Very democratic.” She rose to put the dishes in the sink. “I could have used a few siblings on the rodeo circuit. There was never anyone to pass the blame to.”

“Your father was rough on you.”

“No, not really. He was…” How could she describe Jim Morningstar? “Larger than life, and hard as a brick. He liked a good horse and a bottle of cheap whiskey. He could handle the first, but he didn’t do quite so well with the second. He didn’t know what to do with me, so he did his best. It just wasn’t good enough for either of us.”

She leaned back when Jared’s hands came to her shoulders as he asked, “Did you learn to ride?”

“So early I don’t even remember learning. Could rope and tie a calf, too. Pulled in a few prizes.” She laughed and turned to set her hands comfortably on his hips. “Honey, I learned to do all kinds of wild, wicked things while you were busy steaming up the windows of a ’64 Dodge and sticking potatoes in tail pipes.”

“Oh, yeah?” He tipped up her chin so they were eye-to-eye.

“Oh, yeah. I could take a horse that looked like two miles of bad road and groom him up till he shined. I liked the ones with temper,” she drawled, rubbing her hands up his sides, over his hips. “The ones with fire in their eyes and just a little mean in the heart. I’d make him come to me. Right to me. Then I’d ride him.” Eyes open, she scraped her teeth over his bottom lip. “I’d ride him hard and long. And when I was done, he’d be spoiled for anybody else.”

His blood went instantly to boil. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Somebody’s got to.” Taking a good, firm grip, she fused her mouth to his until the heat burning through her engulfed him like a flash fire.

His hands gripped like vises on the edge of the sink behind her, his body pressing against hers. And then she was moving against him, sliding, rocking, turning him to iron while her mouth took big, hungry gulps.

“Jared, touch me.” Desperate, she yanked his hand free, closed it over her breast, where her heart was pounding like steel on an anvil. “Touch me. Touch me,”
she repeated, even as his hands streaked under her shirt and filled with her.

She was like some dark, forbidden dream, warm limbs straining against him, sliding, tight denim against tight denim, in painful friction. The flesh in his greedy hands was firm and full and hot. He pressed his mouth to her throat. He could have sunk his teeth into it, such was his sudden, outrageous hunger.

He knew that if he didn’t have her now, tonight, he’d be insane by morning.

When he pulled back, dizzy with appetite, she moaned. “For God’s sake, are you trying to make me crazy?”

He stared, fighting for his breath as she fought for hers. Though his hands were at his sides now, he could feel her on his fingertips.

“That was the first part of the plan,” he said as he took a deep gulp of air, then added, “I’m finished with the first part.”

“Hallelujah.”

He could almost have laughed. “Bryan’s staying at Connor’s?”

“Yes.” Impatient, edgy, she grabbed his hands. “Come upstairs.”

“No.”

Her smile was slow and willing. “All right.” But when she lifted her arms, happy to take him where they were, he caught her hands.

“No.”

“Jared, don’t make me hurt you.”

He could laugh. “I’m hoping you will. Get a blanket.”

“A blanket?”

“I want you in the woods.” He turned her hand over in his, caught her wrist in his teeth. “I’ve always wanted you in the woods.”

“I’ll get a blanket,” she managed, and nearly tripped over her own feet in her rush.

She had herself under control again as they walked together under the arching canopy of trees tender with spring, under the dazzle of stars and the glow of a three-quarter moon. She’d meant to seduce him tonight, to draw him slowly, cleverly in. To surprise him.

She hadn’t meant to eat him alive.

Then he stopped where the ground was soft and flipped the blanket down. And she was very much afraid she wouldn’t be able to stop herself.

“Tell me something, Lawyer MacKade.”

He looked over the blanket at her where she stood, hip shot out, chin angled, eyes full of power and sex. He’d have chewed through glass to get to her. “What’s that?”

“Is your health insurance up-to-date?”

His teeth flashed white. “You don’t scare me.”

“Honey, you won’t be able to get your tongue around your own name when I’m finished with you.”

She lunged, agile as a trick pony, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands fisted in his hair. He swung her around once, so that his body would cushion hers when they fell laughing to the blanket.

It knocked the breath out of him, and gave her first advantage.

Her hands were everywhere at once, tugging the shirt
over his head, running down his chest to yank at the snap of his jeans. And, to his giddy amazement, her mouth was chasing after them.

“Hold it.” In self-defense, he rolled on top of her. “Keep that up, and this’ll last about twenty seconds.” He kept her pinned until his libido could remember it wasn’t sixteen anymore. “I’ve been saving up for you, Savannah.” He lowered his head, and the kiss was staggeringly deep.

The sound she made was a feral purr that shuddered into his mouth and out the soles of his feet. While his lips devoured hers, he gave his hands the pleasure of learning that long, lush body.

Firm and smooth, it moved under his touch sinuously, inviting him to linger. She smelled like the woods—dark, mysterious, full of secrets and hidden pleasures. The taste of that mouth feeding avidly on his was full of spice and heat.

Her hands were working on his back, tensing his muscles, nails nipping into his flesh to urge him to press harder, grip tighter. To take, and take, and take. Her breath came in low, throaty moans so erotic he knew he would hear them again in his sleep.

When he reared back, she arched and crossed her arms over her body. With her eyes on his face, she pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it aside.

She saw the fresh, wild desire bolt into his eyes, and reveled in it. In her youth, her body had been a curse—some had said her downfall. But now, watching the man she loved look at her for the first time, it filled her with a sense of soaring pride.

“It should be illegal.” His voice was hoarse and thick. “Looking like you.”

He didn’t touch her, not yet. Fascinated, he unsnapped her jeans, drew them down and away. His oath was reverent. Then his hands skimmed up, from ankle to knee, to thigh and hip, over the muscled stomach that quivered unexpectedly.

“You’re the most terrifyingly beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Her smile was slow, confident. She sat up, hooked an arm around his neck and brought his ready mouth to hers. Her murmur was approving as he explored her, inch by slow, delicious inch. She thought he had wonderful hands, firm, and just rough enough. Her eyes fluttered closed, dreamily, when he used his thumb to torment the tip of her breast.

She could wallow in the lovely feel of flesh sliding on flesh, of the light breeze whispering, the hot blanket beneath. There were owls hooting in the trees, ghosts walking in the air.

Never in her life had she known the magic and the generosity of love. She knew only that she would give him anything here. Whatever he asked. Whatever he wanted.

When he twisted her hair around his fist, pulled her head back, she was prepared for anything. But he only pressed his lips to her shoulder, rubbed them gently over the curve.

And she trembled like a startled doe.

“Surprised?” Darkly pleased, he lifted his head and looked into her confused, clouded eyes. “You have beautiful shoulders.” This time he laved his tongue over
them. One by one. Her breath caught on two indrawn gasps. “Sensitive shoulders. They look like they should be carved in marble, but they’re soft.”

He nipped lightly at her collarbone, and would have sworn it melted. Enthralled with the discovery, he exploited it, lifting her into his lap, so that he cradled her, rather than the ground.

When she was limp. When he knew she was utterly open, he quickly, and with concentrated skill, ripped her ruthlessly to a peak.

She cried out, bucking hard, then pouring into his hand.

Love and pleasure burned through her. Unbearable heat. She turned to him, turned on him, in a wild frenzy of hands and lips. Later, he would think that they had both gone completely mad. But, for the moment, what they did to and for each other was all that made sense.

She made him hiss out her name, and the sound of it sang through her like music. When his heart pounded like thunder under her mouth, she knew it was for her, and only for her. The taste of salty sweat on his skin bewitched her.

He lifted her as though she weighed nothing. She opened, arched, took him deep, so deep that her hands reached out to grip his, from the sheer joy of it. She who cried only when there was no one to see, no one to hear, let the tears fall.

She rocked, matching his rhythm, matching the savage, fearless beat of her own pulse. Endlessly, endlessly, with the stars raining over them and the moonlight slicing through the tender leaves, they took each other.

He was nearly blind from the beauty of her face,
electrified from what her body brought to his. He thought he felt something break inside him, around his heart. Then, like some ancient goddess summoning her forces, she lifted her arms high. Gleaming in the stardust, her body went taut, and tightened around him like a velvet fist, and tore him over the edge.

S
avannah awoke with a moan and flung her arm over her eyes to shield them from the blast of sunlight. Her body felt as though she’d ridden a wild bronc over rocky ground.

And then she remembered she’d pretty much done just that.

Her lips curved as the night reeled through her mind. She had thought she knew what it was like to want—a home, a life, a man. She’d been certain she’d experienced every kind of hunger—for food, for shelter, for love. But nothing she had felt before matched what had churned through her for Jared MacKade.

There had been men in her life before—some had passed through, some had stirred her blood. But she had never needed one. And that, she realized, was both the risk and the wonder of this.

There would never be another man. He was the first, and he would be the last, to take her heart.

As both mind and body woke, she heard the song of the birds, the far-off yip of Shane’s dogs. She felt the strength of the sun beaming through the spring leaves, and the chill of the early breeze. With her eyes still shielded, she stretched lazily, feeling like a cat waiting to be stroked.

“You have a tattoo.”

She made a long, contented sound, flung her arm over her head, and at last opened her eyes.

He was sitting beside her. His hair was tousled from sleep and her hands, his eyes were heavy and focused thoughtfully on an area high on her right thigh. She wondered if there was any other woman in the world lucky enough to wake to such a sight.

“You look good in the morning,” she murmured, reaching out to stroke him. “Naked and rumpled.”

He wasn’t sure how long he’d watched her sleep. But he did know that when he tugged the blanket away from her, to pleasure himself with a long study of her body in the sunlight, he’d discovered the colorful little bird on her thigh.

He simply hadn’t been able to get past it.

“You have a tattoo,” he repeated.

“I know that.” With a little laugh, she rose on her elbows. Those dark-chocolate eyes were heavy and touched with humor. “It’s a phoenix,” she explained, amused at the way his brows drew together as he focused on it. “You know, rising from the ashes. I got it in New Orleans, when I realized I wasn’t going to be poor for the rest of my life.”

“A tattoo.”

“Some men think they’re sexy.” Of course, she hadn’t gotten it for a man, but for herself. A brand, to remind her that she could remake herself, rise above what she had been. “How about you?”

“I’ll have to take it under advisement.”

He couldn’t say why he was so fascinated by it. So jarred. What other secrets did she have? What other permanent marks from her past? He looked away from it, into her face, and was shaken all over again. The sleepy smile in her eyes, the curve of those lips.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like I spent the night having wild sex in the woods.” Laughing, she moved to link her arms around his neck. “I feel wonderful.” Her lips found his and lingered, soft and warm. “How about you?”

“Exactly the same.”

She hoped so, she hoped he could. She would have lived her life in bliss if he could feel for her even a fraction of what she felt for him.

He gathered her close and held her as no one else had ever held her. As if it mattered.

“I don’t suppose we could stay here forever,” she murmured.

“No, but we can come back.” He needed to think, and knew it was impossible as long as he held her. There were responsibilities at the farm that he was neglecting, he reminded himself. “I have to go.” But he buried his face in her hair, and his arms stayed around her. “Farms don’t take Sundays off.”

“I have to pick up Bryan soon.” But her head nestled into his shoulder, and her arms stayed around him.

“Why don’t you bring him over and…just bring him over?”

“All right.”

“Savannah.”

“Hmm?”

He caught her hair in his hand, drew her head back. His mouth crushed desperately over hers. “Just once more,” he murmured as he lowered her to the blanket.

When he walked back to the farm, his mind was fogged from her. He’d never known a woman who could leave him so dazed, so weak-kneed. He passed the pigsty, where the stock caught the scent of man and grunted hopefully. In the chicken coop, hens clucked and fluttered over their feed. Distracted, Jared nearly tripped over one of the barn cats, who’d come out to stretch in the sun.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he made it to the back door. The smells of breakfast hit him hard, and his stomach realized it was ravenous. He could have eaten the sausages Devin was grilling, and the skillet along with it.

“Coffee.” He nearly whimpered the word as he stumbled to the counter.

Devin glanced at him, then over at Shane, who was already gulping down his second cup. A look of pure enjoyment passed between them.

“Your shirt’s inside out,” Devin said mildly.

Jared scalded his tongue on the coffee, cursed, then collapsed at the kitchen table.

With a grin cracking his face, Shane leaned on the counter near the stove, where Devin was frying up breakfast. “Brother Jared looks a little rough this morning. Looks like he spent the night crawling through the woods.”

“I guess I should have sent out that search party.” Enjoying himself, Devin cracked eggs into the pan. “It’s tough on a man, spending the night in the haunted woods. Alone.”

“I feel real bad about it. Let me get you some more coffee, Jare.” All solicitude, Shane brought the pot to the table. “Then you can tell us all about it. Don’t leave out a thing. We’re here for you.”

Jared picked up the coffee Shane had just topped off and scalded his tongue again. “I’m in love with a former exotic dancer with a tattoo.”

With an expert’s finesse, Devin flipped eggs. “She was a stripper?”

“Where’s the tattoo?” Shane wanted to know. It earned him a halfhearted jab in the gut. “Okay, just give me the general area.”

“I’m in love with her,” Jared repeated, weighing each word.

“Well, hell, you’ve been in love before.” Shane strolled over to take biscuits out of the oven. “At least you’ve picked one that’s interesting this time.”

“Shut up,” Devin muttered. He heaped food on a platter and came to the table. Then he sat and studied Jared’s face. A long moment later, he leaned back and took a considering breath. “All the way in love?”

Experimentally, Jared rubbed the heel of his hand
over his breastbone, which ached from the way his heart was swelling. “Feels like it.”

With a shake of his head, Shane dumped biscuits into a bowl. “Man, we’re dropping like flies. First Rafe, now you.” He brought the biscuits to the table, sat, and propped his head on his hands. “It’s getting scary.”

“Did you tell her?” Devin asked.

“I’ve got to work it out.”

“Next thing you know, we’ll have to put on suits again and get married.” Grumbling at the thought, Shane started to fill his plate.

“I didn’t say anything about
marriage,
” Jared said quickly. Panic reared up and kicked him in the throat. “I’ve been there. I didn’t say anything about marriage.”

“You weren’t married, you were contracted.” Cheering up, Shane shoveled in a man-size mouthful of eggs. A good solid breakfast always lifted his mood. “You might as well have cuddled up with a spreadsheet.”

“What the hell do you know about it?”

Shane washed down the eggs with coffee. “Because I never saw you look then the way you look now, bro.”

Devin ate slowly and nodded in agreement. “Is it the kid that bothers you?”

“No, Bryan’s great.” Frowning, Jared helped himself to what was left on the platter. He liked the boy, liked spending time with him, talking with him. And the truth was that one of the reasons his marriage had been doomed was that he’d wanted children, and his wife hadn’t.

No, the boy didn’t bother him. It was the man who had helped create him who stuck in his craw. And, he realized, the other men since.

He just couldn’t intellectualize them away. And he didn’t like himself for it.

He caught Devin’s look, that quiet, knowing look, and jerked his shoulders restlessly. “I just have to get used to it.”

Devin dashed some salt on his eggs. “The trouble with lawyers is, they like to gather up all the little facts, every little piece. Then they can argue either side. You were always good at that, Jare. Dad used to say you could twist something simple around from right to wrong and back again. Maybe this is one of those times you should just take it as it is.”

Jared wanted to. And he hoped he could.

He didn’t move in with her, technically. But he spent most of his nights there, and some of his clothes found their way into her closet, his books onto her shelves.

He got into the habit of swinging by after work to pick up Bryan on practice nights. More often than not, they lingered on the field, tossing the ball.

If a case kept him late at the office, he phoned her. Sometimes he phoned her just to hear her voice.

With casual regularity, he brought her flowers, and baseball cards or some other treasure for Bryan. They were a trio on outings, and they gave the town a great deal to buzz about.

Bryan accepted him without question—a fact that both pleased and distressed Jared. He wanted to believe it was because the boy cared for him, considered them a kind of family. But he wondered if Bryan was simply accustomed to having a man stake a claim.

When that nasty toad of a thought jumped into his head, Jared did what he could to bat it away. It was, after all, the now that mattered. The way she looked at him. The way she laughed when she watched him and Bryan tussle on the lawn. The way, he thought, she arched her back after she’d been bending over the flowers she tended, or how complete her concentration was when she worked in her studio.

It was the way she smelled that mattered, when she walked out of a steaming bath. It was the way she strained against him night after night in bed, as if she could never get enough. And the way she would reach for his hand when they sat together on the porch swing in the evening.

Court had kept him late, and the strain of the day refused to be shaken off. He’d brought work home, and he knew that the headache that was drumming behind his eyes would be violent before it was over.

He stopped off in town to pick up aspirin, searching the shelves in the general store for something that promised to kick big holes in the drums in his head.

“Hi there, Jared.” Mrs. Metz, armed with a loaf of bread and a box of Ring Dings, cornered him. She was an expert at the ebb and flow of gossip.

“Mrs. Metz.” The rhythm of small towns was too ingrained for him to hurry on, and he liked her, had fond memories of her feeding him homemade cookies. And chasing him off with a broom. “How’s it going?”

“Fair to middling. Need some rain, that’s for sure. Spring’s been too dry.”

“Shane’s a little worried about it.”

“We’re going to get some tonight,” she predicted. “A storm’s brewing. Heard that Morningstar boy played a good game Saturday.”

“Three RBIs, initiated two double plays.”

She gave a cackling laugh that sent her trio of chins waggling. “You sound like a proud daddy.” Before he could comment, she hurried on. “Seen you and the boy and his mama here and there. She’s what my boy Pete would call a stunner.”

“Yes, she is.” Jared chose a painkiller at random.

“Hard, though,” Mrs. Metz continued, shifting her ample weight to block his retreat. “Raising a boy on her own, I mean. Not that lots of women don’t find themselves in that kind of fix today. She’s from out west, isn’t she? I guess the boy’s father’s still out there.”

“I couldn’t say.” Because it was the literal truth, the pounding in his head increased.

“You’d think the man would want to see his son now and again, wouldn’t you? They’ve been here close on four months now. You’d think he’d want to come around and visit a fine-looking boy like that.”

“You’d think,” Jared said, careful now.

“’Course, some men just don’t give two hoots, much less a holler, about their children. Like Joe Dolin.” Her cheerfully homely face puckered up on the name. “I’m happy as I can be you’re handling Cassie’s divorce and making it smooth for her. Mostly they’re not smooth— I know when my sister’s second boy got his, the feathers flew. I’d wager Savannah Morningstar’s divorce was a rough go.”

Oh, no, you don’t, he thought. He wasn’t going to give her any fuel by saying there’d never been a divorce, since there’d never been a marriage. “She hasn’t mentioned it.”

“You used to be more curious, Jared.” Before he could snarl at her, she beamed a smile at him. “And just look at you now, a lawyer carrying a briefcase. I’ve come up to watch you in court a time or two.”

His anger with her deflated. “Yes, I know.” He’d seen her there, in her large flowered dress and sensible shoes. Like his own personal cheering section.

“Better’n watching Perry Mason, that’s what I told Mr. Metz. That Jared MacKade’s better’n Perry Mason. Your folks would be right proud of you. And here we thought the lot of you would never be on the right side of the law.” She found that so funny, she almost doubled over with laughter. “Lord, you were bad, boy. Don’t think I don’t know who blackened my Pete’s eye after the spring dance in high school.”

The memory was very sweet. “He tried to muscle in on my girl.”

“Sharilyn got around in those days. It was Sharilyn in high school, wasn’t it?”

“Briefly.”

“Anyway, she got around, and so did you, as I recall. Girls always fluttering around you and your brothers. Young Bryan’s mother must be right pleased to have hooked herself a MacKade, and I got to say, the three of you look real nice together. I got a feeling your mama would’ve taken to that girl.”

“Yeah.” Jared felt a clutching in the stomach. What would his mama have said about a woman like Savannah?

He thought about it on the way home, and it added weight to his headache. If his mother were alive, how would he explain Savannah? Unwed mother, exotic dancer, carnival worker, calf roper, street artist.

Pick one, he thought, and rubbed at his temple.