The Texan (30 page)

Owen made a
tsking
sound. “Oh, ye of little faith. We can set booby traps to take care of them.”

“What if they get past them?”

“They won’t. Besides, I have some other tricks up my sleeve.”

No matter how many suggestions Owen made for ways they could protect themselves, Bay wasn’t convinced she was going to get out of the camp alive. Her fatalistic vision of the future caused her to see everything in a different perspective.

And made her reckless.

Over the next few days, as Owen recuperated, Bay let
herself enjoy looking at his masculine physique. At his sinewy arms. At his powerful hands. At his rugged jaw and sharp nose. At his washboard stomach and flat belly. At his muscular thighs and calves and feet.

She told herself that she only touched him to find out whether he was still feverish. But she managed to caress his face. And the small of his back. And the backs of his knees. She imagined his mouth doing all kinds of things to her.

Bay did all those things because they brought her pleasure, and because she figured she ought to enjoy the last few days of her life.

She hadn’t really considered the effect all that touching might have on the man in question. Until he started returning the favor.

At first she thought she was imagining it. His fingers lingered on hers as she handed him another cup of mesquite tea. He tucked her hair behind her ear when she was bent over him, to help get it out of her way. His hand rested on her knee as she sat beside him checking the stitches on his back. And his eyes followed her everywhere.

As Bay warmed up the last of the
MREs
for supper, she realized that her idyll with Owen was over. Now that the military rations were gone, they had to do something to get themselves out of here, or they were going to starve to death. Actually, they would probably die of thirst before that happened, since they only had two days’ worth of water left.

Bay set down her spoon and asked, “Why haven’t you ever gotten married?”

Owen lifted a brow. “I could say the job keeps me too busy to have a wife. But that’s not true. I’d like to be married. I’ve simply never found the right woman.”

“What about kids?” Bay held her breath waiting for his answer. And then had to breathe, because he didn’t answer right away. Although she’d had unprotected sex with Owen, she didn’t have to worry that she was pregnant. Which should have been a comfort, but never was. It hurt to be reminded that she was a woman who could not bear children.

“It might be nice to have a couple of kids,” he said at last. “I’m not sure what kind of father I’d make.”

“You mean because you didn’t have a good role model?”

Owen smiled. “I guess I’ll always see my father with different eyes than you do. I think most parents do the best they know how. My father taught hard lessons, because he believed it’s as true of men as it is in nature—only the strong survive.”

Bay had been a vet long enough to know that Owen had made a valid point. The weak died during hard times—or were overpowered and devoured by those stronger than themselves. “Maybe those weren’t such bad lessons to learn,” she said. “My father taught me you never quit.”

“Sounds more like plain old muleheaded stubbornness to me.”

“If my father hadn’t been so stubborn, your father would have owned Three Oaks a long time ago.”

“Touché,” Owen said. “I guess I would like to have kids someday. To pass on what I’ve learned about life. To share some of the good times. To leave a part of myself behind for posterity.”

Bay felt her heart sink. It was one more confirmation of her belief that most men chose a wife not only for companionship and sex, but because she had qualities he
wanted to see in his children. Which made a lot of sense when you’d grown up on a ranch and knew full well that you bred the best bull to the best cow to get the best calf.

Unfortunately, she’d let herself imagine what it might be like to have a relationship with Owen Blackthorne. Their lives might have fit together very well.

During the day, she’d be busy helping animals in trouble, while he’d be busy helping people in trouble.

In the evenings, they’d come home to their rustic cabin on the Pedernales River near Fredericksburg, sit on a big wooden swing hanging from the back porch rafters, and watch the sun set in golden majesty.

On weekends, they’d head for the smoke-filled bars off Congress Avenue in Austin, where famous country-and-western performers dropped in to play a set, and where they could waltz and do the Texas two-step and the cotton-eyed Joe.

In the spring, bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush would create a patchwork quilt of violet and orange around them, and they’d blow up tubes from giant tractor tires and float lazily down the river for hours and hours.

At Thanksgiving they’d head back to South Texas to celebrate with…

Bay’s imaginary balloon burst.

To which family’s ranch could she and Owen go and be sure they’d both be welcome?
Neither one
.

What would happen at Christmas? Her family always gathered for the holidays. Trace and a pregnant Callie had come all the way from Australia last year and brought Bay’s niece and nephew. What would happen if she tried to put Owen and Sam in the same room together? Or Owen and Luke?

She shuddered at the thought of sitting down to
Christmas turkey at the Castle with the person—or persons—who’d arranged her father’s murder. Never. Not ever could she do that. Bay understood now what might have motivated Callie and Trace to go all the way to Australia to live. Maybe the solution for her and Owen would be to stay in Fredericksburg and let whoever wanted to visit come and see them.

Bay couldn’t believe she was spending all this time working out solutions to imaginary problems. No romantic relationship had ever existed between her and Owen Blackthorne—other than a brief sexual liaison. And none ever would.

Except maybe
another
brief sexual liaison.

“Hey, Red. Penny for your thoughts.”

Bay flushed. Was the man a mind reader? Well, he’d asked, hadn’t he? “I was thinking of sex, if you must know.”

“Great minds think alike,” he said with a grin.

“Your back isn’t—”

“It’ll have to be the missionary position, Red, since my back’s still a patchwork quilt. Wait. I have a better idea. Why don’t I sit right here, and you come get on my lap.”

Bay stared at him, not quite sure whether he was serious.

Owen got up and turned the short wooden bench away from the table to make room for her, then patted his thighs. “I’m ready.”

Bay’s skin felt hot all over. “Are we really going to do this?”

“There’s no TV show I want to watch. Monopoly’s out. Don’t have a deck of cards. Couldn’t handle another one of your bedtime stories. I think this is probably the
best entertainment we’re going to be able to come up with tonight.”

Bay laughed. “You’re crazy.” But she was enticed.

He curled his index finger and gestured her toward him. “Come here, Red. Let me take off your clothes.”

That prospect was even more beguiling. “All right. You asked for it.”

“I just can’t believe I’m going to get it,” he said with a grin that made her body coil with pleasure.

Bay knew she’d have to be careful of Owen’s stitches, but that should be simple, if all she did was sit facing him on his lap. She pulled off her boots and socks while she was still sitting across from him, then rose and walked barefoot on the sandy soil until she was standing in front of him.

“Let’s see. Where to start,” he said as he looked up at her. Their eyes met, and she saw his need. And the heat of desire.

“Maybe I ought to do a little touching through this cloth before I remove it,” he said, as he splayed his hand across her belly. “Spread your legs for me, Red.”

Bay did as he asked, feeling open and exposed and vulnerable, even though she was still fully clothed. She set her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, as he slid his hand down between her legs and nudged them even wider.

“You feel soft, Red,” he said, his voice low and rough.

His touch was certain, adept and unerring. In no time at all, her knees were threatening to buckle. She settled onto his lap facing him, still clothed.

“Two can play this game,” she said, as she slid her hand down between them and held him the way he was holding her.

She watched his eyes flare with heat as she measured the size of him with her hand. She loved hearing him groan, as her thumb traced the shape of him. She leaned forward, and their mouths met and meshed.

So much feeling. It hurt. Because it felt like the last time. It couldn’t be much longer before something happened. They would be rescued and separated forever by the feud between their families. Or they would die here together.

The two hands that lay between them, his and hers, found one another and were suddenly woven tight.

Bay looked into Owen’s eyes and said, “I wish …”

“What is it you want, Red? Tell me.”

She shrugged. “I wish things were different. That’s all.”

“Trace and Callie made it work,” he said softly. “Why couldn’t we?”

“Trace and Callie escaped to Australia to make it work. You’ve already said you won’t leave Texas, which means we’d have to deal with our families. I can tell you with some certainty that Sam will never forgive you. A camp for kids with disabilities won’t give him back his legs.”

She put a hand on Owen’s lips to stop him from interrupting. “Even if Sam were willing to pardon you, I can never forgive your mother for what she did to my father.”

“That sounds like a quitter talking.”

Bay flushed. They already knew each other well enough to know which words would hurt. “I wouldn’t give up if I felt there was any hope we could make this work. I don’t like to quit. But I know when to walk away.”

“So what was this supposed to be?” he asked as he grabbed her thighs and pulled her tight against his arousal.

“Good-bye,” she whispered.

“Then we’d better get it right.”

He shoved her off his lap and stood her upright so he could unsnap and unzip her trousers. He yanked them down, along with her underwear and said, “Get out of those and come here.”

While she was freeing her feet from her trousers, he un-snapped and unzipped his own pants and peeled open the fly, freeing his erection. He grabbed her by the waist and yanked her toward him, lifting and spreading her legs as he pulled her downward, so she barely had time to latch onto his shoulders before he was buried inside her to the hilt.

His eyes burned into hers with anger. His hands gripped her hips as he held them bound together. She could feel him pulsing inside her.

“What are you waiting for?” she demanded. “Finish it.”

“If this is going to be the last time, Red, I’m damn well going to take my time!”

And he did.

Bay was drenched with sweat long before he brought her to climax. And he wasn’t satisfied with doing it once. He brought her joy again, before he filled her with his seed, unaware that there was no fertile ground in which it could grow and bear fruit.

She collapsed against him, her arms clutching his neck, her mouth pressed tightly against his flesh to prevent the wail of sorrow that sought voice. She swallowed back one sob before another broke free.

Owen held her tight against him, his hands smoothing her hair, his voice a comforting murmur. “It’s okay, Red. We’ll figure something out. This doesn’t have to be the end of things between us.”

“You don’t understand,” she wailed.

“Of course I do.”

“No, you don’t,” she persisted. “I can’t have babies. I can never give you children, Owen. I’m sterile.”

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Red.”

Bay lifted her head to look into his eyes. “I’m sorry, too,” she whispered. “You see why it wouldn’t be worth the effort of solving all those other problems to be together when there’s this much bigger problem that can’t be solved.”

“How did you find out you’re sterile?” he asked.

“I wasn’t born that way. I got pregnant when I was raped,” she said. “And … things went wrong.”

He closed his eyes and bit his lip.

“Do you want to hear the rest?”

He nodded without opening his eyes.

“It was an ectopic pregnancy—where the egg starts growing in the fallopian tube instead of waiting until it gets to the womb. I ended up in the hospital, and when I got out of surgery, the doctor said I wouldn’t be able to get pregnant again, because one of my fallopian tubes would be blocked by scar tissue.”

Owen opened his eyes. “
One
would be blocked?”

“I latched on to that hope for a long time myself,” she said. “Remember that professor I told you about? The one I fell in love with? I did my best to have his baby, but I never got pregnant. When he found out what I was doing, he admitted he had a wife and kids, and that was the end of that.”

“Lots of people adopt kids. Or maybe a fertility clinic can harvest eggs and—”

Bay kissed him sweetly on the mouth. “You’re a good man, Owen Blackthorne. I never thought I’d be saying
that,” she admitted with a smile. “Would you really be happy raising someone else’s kids?”

“They wouldn’t be someone else’s kids, damn it! They’d be ours.”

Bay stared at Owen. “You can’t want to adopt.”

“Why not?”

“It’s—”

“Too easy?” Owen challenged.

Bay stared at him. Her entire adult life she’d felt unlovable, because she was unable to conceive a child. Here was a man telling her that it didn’t matter one bit to him whether she could bear children or not.

Bay used her hands to lever herself out of Owen’s lap, and as their bodies separated, she stepped away from him. She was suddenly cold, as the night air hit her unprotected flesh. She bent and picked up her underwear and put it on, then pulled on her trousers, as Owen redressed himself.

She was sitting across from him, pulling on her socks, when he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and said, “I’ve tried telling myself that what I feel when I look at you is merely the result of being isolated with a beautiful woman in a life-and-death situation.”