Wild Is My Heart (36 page)

A bolt of riveting pain shot through Sam. “Did you and Colt… did you …”

“He is a man,” Lola’s answer was short, her implication clear, “and I am a woman.” She did not tell Sam that Colt had refused her, for no man had ever refused Lola.

“Yes, he is a man,” Sam agreed, closing her eyes and insulating her heart against the hurt Lola’s words evoked. “My man. Please leave, Lola, my husband needs rest.”

“Of course, Senora,” Lola agreed sweetly, too sweetly. “I am needed in the cantina anyway.” Casting a long, lingering look at Colt’s sheet-clad body, she quietly left the room, her breasts bouncing beneath her thin white camisa and generous hips setting her short red skirt awhirl about bare tan legs.

Three days later full awareness returned to Colt. He’d experienced brief intervals of lucidity before, but since that first day when he h d called Sam Violet Eyes he seemed not to recognize her. So it came as somewhat of a shock when she looked up from her inspection of his wound to find him regarding her with interest.

“What are you doin’ here?” he croaked, moistening dry lips with the tip of his tongue. “Where am I?”

Sam’s hand immediately went to Colt’s forehead, noting with heartfelt relief that it was only moderately warm. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Colt’s brow knitted in contemplation. At length he said, “I was trailin’ the Crowders across the border, hopin’ to find their hideout. They must have ambushed me. Came out of hidin’ with guns blazin’. I remember bein’ hit, then nothin’ else. Am I back at the ranch?”

“You’re in Laredo, in your room at the cantina.”

Colt frowned. “How in the hell did you get here? For that matter, how did I get back to Laredo?”

“You can thank Phil Smith for that. He found you badly wounded and brought you back to town. He paid Lola to look after you and then took off to find Jim Blake. Dolly Douglas directed Phil to the ranch, where he told me his story. We left almost immediately.”

“Thank God Jim is with you,” Colt said, vastly relieved. “Where is he?”

Sam hesitated. “Jim isn’t here. He was shot by an unknown assailant several days before Mr. Smith arrived. I… came alone.”

“Christ! Is Jim dead?”

“He was well on his way to recovery when I left.”

“I’ll have his hide for allowin’ you to come out here alone.”

“Don’t get your dander up, Colt, Mr. Smith was all the escort I needed.”

“What about Jake?” persisted Colt. “I can’t believe he’d let you ride through Indian territory with no one but Smith to protect you. What in the hell was he thinkin’ of?”

Sam studied her fingernails with great interest. “No one but Laura knew I left with Mr. Smith. Jake and the ranch hands were branding mavericks, and I couldn’t tell Jim because he was too ill to be disturbed.”

Though still too weak to bestir himself, Colt found the strength to let loose a string of well-aimed oaths.

“Why are you so angry?” Sam wondered. “If I hadn’t come you’d be dead. Lola’s skills hardly lend themselves to nursing, and you weren’t up to enjoying what she does best. Though she hinted you made good use of her while you were still able.”

“Dammit, Sam, the whore is lying’. She—”

Just then the door opened and Smith stepped inside, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt. A wide smile split his weathered face from ear to ear.

“Damn if your voice ain’t music to my ears,” Smith remarked. “You were more dead than alive when me and your missus arrived in Laredo. You can thank the little woman for pullin’ you through. Truth to tell, I gave up all hope the minute I laid eyes on you. Yes sir, Colt, you’re one lucky hombre.”

“My … wife is extraordinarily talented,” Colt said wryly, his voice beginning to fade after the exertion of talking with Sam.

“You ain’t just flapping your jaws,” Smith said, grinning cheekily. “And powerful beautiful.”

Colt’s eyebrows shot up a notch, but further conversation was delayed as weakness and exhaustion combined to plunge him once more into the healing world of slumber. He awoke later to find Sam still seated beside him, sponging him with cool water as darkness brought on a resurgence of the fever ravaging his body.

Each day brought Colt much closer to recovery. Finally Sam felt secure enough to leave him a few hours at a time, returning only to find him petulant and complaining of her neglect. Once she entered Colt’s room to find Lola leaning over him, her camisa gaping open and her full breasts all but falling into his face.

“I was inquiring if there was anything I could do for Colt,” Lola explained in a seductive whisper. “Anything,” she stressed.

“Colt is hardly up to doing what you’re suggesting,” Sam bit out. “Vamoose. If my husband feels in need of a whore I’ll certainly let you know, but I seriously doubt it will be anytime soon.”

Indignant, Lola drew herself up, hissing a string of Spanish the meaning of which Sam could only guess at. She flounced out the door, leaving Sam immensely satisfied with herself.

“She was just tryin’ to help,” Colt remarked blandly. “She took care of me till you arrived.”

“I’m well aware of
how
she took care of you,” Sam snapped with ill-concealed rancor. “I reckon a randy goat like you made good use of her while you were able.”

Sam’s barb earned her a reproachful look. It rankled to admit he couldn’t bring himself to bed Lola despite her blatant invitation. She had come to him on a night when thoughts of Sam’s soft, yielding body and lush curves, responding to him, loving him, had driven him nearly crazy. At first he considered taking what she so brazenly offered, but in the end he sent her packing and it didn’t sit well with the little puta. Now she was trying to make trouble between him and Sam.

Colt couldn’t forget Sam; could only remember the sweet taste of her flesh, the smell of wildflowers he associated with her. And their explosive coming together. Like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Not in a million years could he forget those incredible violet eyes—or her Comanche blood.

He couldn’t purge Sam from his mind no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many exciting women flaunted themselves before him. His biggest worry had been that Sam might leave the ranch before he returned. Then Lola had approached him, his mood dark and perverse. Surely, he thought, a woman as gorgeous, provocative, and experienced as Lola had the power to cure him of his all-consuming need for Sam—a woman whose Comanche blood made her an enemy. What transpired next proved to Colt beyond a reasonable doubt that only Sam was possessed with the power to move him. Using all her considerable skill, Lola tried desperately to coax Colt to her bed, but failed miserably.

Strangely, Colt felt as if he were cheating on someone he loved, though he thought himself crazy for refusing Lola, for whores as young and fresh as she were an exception. But Colt had spurned her generous offer. Did that mean he loved Sam? Did it really matter that Sam was a half-breed? Suddenly Colt became aware that Sam’s remark still hung in the air between them, heavy and encompassing.

He wanted badly to dispense with the pretense they had erected between them, to toss aside the cloak of bitterness, but he had no idea how Sam felt about him after the deplorable way he had treated her and the terrible things he’d said to her. He wanted to tell her the truth about Lola. Yet some perverse demon within him made him say, “I’m no monk. We made no vows to one another.”

Sam paled. Had Colt forgotten already the joining ceremony in Black Bear’s village? Of course he had, Sam answered her own question. Because it meant nothing to him. She meant nothing to him, and neither would their child. “I have no right to question your actions. You’re free to bed whoever you please as long as it isn’t me.” Then, noticing his trembling, which she attributed to weakness, Sam quietly left the room.

Later that day Sam had a violent row with Lola, and it shook her up more than she cared to admit. She stopped the woman from entering Colt’s room and Lola loudly voiced her displeasure.

“Are you afraid I will take your man?” Lola challenged contemptuously. “Is that why you guard him so jealously?”

A slow anger built up inside Sam. “Colt is still too ill for visitors. Jealousy has nothing to do with it. If my husband,” she stressed the word, “asks for you, I’ll see that you’re notified. Until then, I suggest you tend to your customers.”

“Puta! I’ve already had your man,” Lola lied. “He is too much man for a puny woman like you. When he is well enough to speak for himself he will ask for me.

Lola knew full well Colt would not ask for her. He had repeatedly resisted her best efforts and stubbornly opposed all attempts to get him into her bed. It surprised her to learn Colt had a wife—he didn’t look the type to be faithful to one woman. The more she thought about the way Colt had spurned her advances, the angrier she became. Her beauty was legend, and men came from far and wide to buy her body. She was probably the best-paid whore in Texas. She had no need to throw herself at one man when dozens of others begged for her favors. Someday she’d make that Texas Ranger sorry he’d ever turned her down, Lola thought vengefully. His wife would rue the day she looked down her nose at Lola Cortez. Little did Lola realize that her revenge was close at hand.

For some reason Colt was restless tonight. Being confined to bed was definitely not to his liking. But weakness and pain prevented him from rising. He hated to think of the long days of convalescence ahead of him. He still wasn’t entirely free of fever—it rose and fell with alarming frequency. But tonight something else nagged at him. His glance fell on Sam as she lay sleeping on a cot nearby.

He recalled the surge of elation he had felt on seeing her when he awakened from his stupor for the first time. Smith had told him how she insisted on coming to Laredo despite the arduous journey. Smith’s words gave him a warm feeling he was hard pressed to explain.

“You’re a lucky man, Colt, to have such a faithful missus. If I hadn’t brung her here she would have taken off on her own. I reckon she loves you somethin’ fierce.”

Did Sam love him? Colt pondered. If she didn’t, would she have faced the rigors of travel across Indian territory to come to his aid? In the deep recesses of his brain he could still hear her calling him back from the edge of death. Her words came back to haunt him—urging him to live, telling him she needed him, that their child—Sweet Christ! It couldn’t be. Did Sam really tell him she was breeding, or was he hallucinating? A groan of anguish left his lips, and Sam stirred, alerted by his cry.

“Colt? What’s wrong? Are you ill?” Clad only in a thin shift, Sam approached the bed. A lamp left burning in the corner cast its dim glow on the man tangled in the covers on the narrow bed. His eyes were wide and staring, alarming Sam. She raised her arm to test his forehead, but Colt’s hand shot out to capture her wrist.

He had to know. Was she carrying his child or had he imagined those words? “Sam, lie with me,” he urged, pulling her down beside him. “I want to talk to you.”

“Can’t it wait till morning? You need your rest.”

Colt was adamant, and rather than agitate him further, Sam acquiesced, lying full length beside him. Hips and thighs touched, a bolt of fire jolted his loins, and suddenly all thought of talk fled. He wanted this special woman in his bed, in his arms, loving her, forever.

“We’ll talk in the mornin’ if you prefer, darlin’, but lie with me for what’s left of the night.”

His request startled her. “I… I might hurt you.”

“It would be worth it. I need you beside me, Sam. Please stay, you don’t belong on that cot.”

“All right, Colt,” she consented with reservation.

Fitted snugly in the curve of Colt’s body, Sam began to relax, her breathing slowing as she slipped naturally into a light doze. She was aware of nothing but the comfortable warmth against her, the tingling sensation in her breasts and the slow acceleration of her heart. The tingling grew. The heat spread to her loins, and Sam could not still the erotic movement of her hips in response to the mysterious stimulation that caused her breath to leave her chest in ragged gulps.

Hands. Warm hands, teasing hands. Hands sure and gentle were stroking her breasts, fondling her nipples, exploring the softness between her thighs.

“Sam, turn around.”

Fully awake now, Sam lacked the will to resist the low seductive pull of his voice coaxing her into the web of sexual yearning. It had been so long … so very long.

“Kiss me, darlin’.”

His lips, soft as down, touched her eyes, caressed the high ridges of her cheekbones, slid down
the
lengthy curve of her throat as she arched her neck to give him unlimited access. After pressing tantalizing kisses in the fragrant hollow at the base of her throat and across her shoulders, his mouth slid upwards. Desire was a bright flame within her when Colt finally found her lips. A sigh parted them and his tongue found the opening.

Colt groaned, savoring her taste as his tongue sipped greedily. She was sweet—oh, so sweet, and he deepened the kiss, continuing his gentle plunder until she lay breathless and quiescent in his arms.

“Colt, you can’t,” Sam gasped, fully aware where this kind of play would lead.

“It’s okay, darlin’, I won’t hurt myself. Not if you help me. I need you so damn bad I’ll go up in smoke if you don’t let me love you.”