Wish Upon a Cowboy (15 page)

His fingers closed over the cold metal protectively. Then he stood up, walked past her, and laid the buckle down where she'd found it. "It was my mother's," he said, running his fingertip gently across the brassy circles. "Elias told me she wore it every day," he inhaled sharply. "My father gave it to her –"

"When they were married," Hannah finished for him and stood up, turning to face him.

"Good guess." His expression blank, he refused to give an inch.

She shook her head and smiled at him, hoping to ease the storm in his eyes. "It wasn't a guess, Jonas. Where I come from, everyone knows the story behind that circlet."

"And why's that?" His voice sounded raw with choked emotion.

She walked to his side slowly and stopped in front of him. Her gaze dropped briefly to the gleaming belt buckle. The brassy gold metal shone in the lamplight, defining each of the three, intertwined circles. Nicks and scratches pitted its surface, attesting to the centuries it had survived.

Her eyes misted at the thought. Since the time of the Druids, his family had loved and died and loved again. She wanted him to know the pride she felt in her own heritage. She wanted him to remember all of the Mackenzies who had come before him. All of the people through the ages who had formed him, made him the warlock he was today.

As her family, the Lowells, had survived and prospered, so had his. He had the right to know who he was, and to take pride in that knowledge.

Turning back to him, she lifted her chin and looked up into his eyes. "That brooch," she said quietly, "has been passed down from generation to generation in your family. Since the first Druid warlock fashioned it as a gift for his betrothed, it's been given by the Mackenzie to the woman he's chosen for his wife. The brass circle has belonged to the hereditary head of the Guild—the Mackenzie—for centuries."

He sucked in a gulp of air and shifted his gaze between her and the buckle and back again. The clear color of his eyes darkened as a quick succession of expressions darted across his features. Outrage, confusion, anger, and briefly she thought she recognized fear. And then all emotion was gone from his face and he met her gaze with a studied veil of blank indifference. But her moment had come and she wouldn't be ignored.

Hannah reached up and laid both palms against his chest, feeling the heat of his body and the warmth of his banked power enter her, surge through her blood and pool at her center. The time had come. At last. A shiver of anticipation rippled along her spine.

She would need every ounce of courage she'd ever possessed to do what she must do next. A blush stole over her, but she set the warm tide of embarrassment aside. This was not the moment for modesty. It was instead, the moment to seal their bond and take the first steps into their destiny.

"And now," she said, forcing the words from a suddenly tight throat, "the circlet belongs to you. The Mackenzie."

A curl of uneasiness unwound in the pit of Jonas' stomach. Memory whispered at the edges of his mind. His brain filled with images—half-formed, blurred shapes and shadows of things and people he didn't know. Didn't remember.

But this was worse than anything he'd ever experienced before. Because now he sensed… he felt… that he should know these things. These people.

He groaned tightly and let his head fall back on his neck. It wasn't true. None of it. And she had no business trying to make it real.

"In time, we will give it to our son," she said, "when he's chosen his mate."

Son? Jonas blinked and realized she'd moved away from him toward the bed. She stopped at the edge of the wide oak frame and turned to face him.

"Our son?" he heard himself ask and was surprised to find that his voice worked.

"Yes," she said and gave him a smile that rocked him to his heels. Still reeling from everything she'd said already, he barely understood her now as words tumbled from her mouth in a rush of nervousness.

In the soft lamplight, he saw deep pink color flood her cheeks before she dipped her head momentarily. She seemed to gather her strength before lifting her chin and looking at him again. Swallowing heavily, she started talking.

"I'll help you, Jonas. I'll help you remember who you are and what you come from." Her hands twisted together at her waist and even from this distance he saw her knuckles whiten. "When our first son is born, he'll be a strong warlock, in heart and power. He'll care for the sisters and brothers we give him, Mackenzie. The joining of our families will strengthen the Guild for years to come."

She gave him a tremulous smile and took a deep, steadying breath before she began lifting her nightgown up her legs. "Of course"—she kept talking, nerves making her words tumble from her mouth in a stream of sound—"we'll have to be married right away, but there's no time like the present to start our first child."

"First child?" he muttered, his gaze locked on expanding length of creamy white skin exposed to as she drew her nightgown higher and higher. Ankles shins, knees, thighs. His breath came hard and fast. His pulse pounded in his head. He felt the roaring of his blood and his body thickened and hardened until he thought he might burst.

"You are the Mackenzie, after all," she was saying, "so I'm sure if you concentrate all of your will you should be able to give me a baby tonight." She paused to sigh, with the hem of her nightgown just below the apex of her thighs.

Palms damp, mouth dry. Jonas watched her, unable to move.

"I suppose you can tell I'm a little nervous," she said softly. "But this is my destiny. And yours. It's why I'm here. With you."

"Uh-huh."

"A baby, Jonas," she went on, her voice dreamy now, "will seal our joining. Won't it be wonderful? Won't we have a splendid life together?" Humming slightly to herself, as if to bolster her courage, she pulled on the nightgown and he caught a heart stopping look at the soft golden curls that lay at the base of her abdomen.

He sucked in air like a dying man.

And still she went on, pulling the fabric up and up and over her head. She shook her hair back from her face as she dropped the nightgown and stood before him as naked as the day she was born.

Stunned speechless, Jonas nonetheless took advantage of the moment to admire her shapely body. Narrow waist, rounded hips, straight, slim legs, and full luscious breasts topped by pale pink nipples, already erect and calling to him.

"I'm ready, Mackenzie," she whispered and crossed her arms over the breasts his hands itched to touch, caress.

"Ready?" He reached up and shoved both hands through his hair as she jumped up onto the mattress and edged herself into the exact center of the bed.

From somewhere in the shadows, Hepzibah yowled.

"Ready for what?" he asked, squeezing the words past the knot in his throat.

"To be taken," she said, as if he should have known that already. Then she settled her head onto one of his pillows.

Jonas groaned. Just when he thought she couldn't surprise him again, she managed to make a liar out of him. Heart pounding, body hard and tight, he stared at the tiny woman in his bed.

She looked like a picture he'd seen once of a fancy statue lying atop a stone tomb. Her legs were locked together as if she'd been tied up, her arms crisscrossed her breasts, her eyes were closed, and her lips pursed as if she'd been sucking on something sour.

Like a damn sacrifice, he thought and felt the mad rush of desire that had been crowding him ebb just a little. Then snippets of what she'd been saying began to rise up in his mind and Jonas told himself that he had to start paying closer attention when she talked.

Did she really believe that telling him a story about his belt buckle was going to change his mind about marriage?

Turning, he walked across the room and snatched up his boots. The damn cat scuttled out from behind a chair and he gave it a look that should have scalded it.

"Jonas?"

He didn't look at her. Didn't trust himself to be able to leave if he did. "Go to bed, Hannah."

"I am in bed."

"I mean your bed." He tugged his boots on, stamping into them.

The mattress creaked and groaned as she sat up.

Don't look, he told himself firmly and grabbed his hat.

"But Jonas," she said, clearly confused, "I'm ready."

And so was he. That was the problem. He put on his shirt, stuffed the tails into the waistband of his jeans.

"Hannah…"

All right, one last look. He spun around to face her and regretted it almost instantly. Her creamy skin seemed to glow in the lamplight. Her hair fell around her shoulders and hid her breasts, with only the rigid pink tips peeking from behind that golden, shimmering curtain.

But it was her eyes that nearly undid him. Wide and miserable and disappointed, they stared at him, tugging at what used to be his soul.

"I am not going to marry you, Hannah," he said slowly, carefully. Then, taking one step closer to the bed, he grabbed his jacket off the bedpost and draped it across her, covering her from chest to thigh. His breath came a little easier even as he told himself he'd be damn cold outside without that jacket. Still better she wear it now. Protect them both from something far worse than the cold.

She clutched at his coat, holding it in front of her and he thanked her silently for it.

Proud of himself for being able to resist the tempting package she made, he said, "Don't get me wrong. I want nothing more than to make love to you right now. It's taking everything in me to resist the urge."

She smiled, but her eyes still looked wounded. "Don't resist, Jonas," she said softly. "This was meant."

Meant. Destiny. Witchcraft.

His brain raced with everything she'd told him Everything his gut told him was true and his brain insisted was a lie. Hannah swung her legs off the bed and stood up in front of him. Her eyes met his as she let the jacket drop to the floor. He groaned tightly and watched a slow rush of color warm her cheeks.

"We are meant," she said.

Good intentions or no, he was only human.

Reaching out, he drew her to him, wrapped his arms around her, and lowered his mouth to hers. She sighed as their lips met and he took her breath inside him. This kiss was deeper, more intimate than that first brief meeting of lips. But like then, a flash of white-hot energy erupted between them, sizzling through his veins, humming across his brain. Something inside him trembled as awareness fluttered to the surface of his mind. And then it was gone and there was only this moment. His hands smoothed up and down her spine, learning her curves, feeling the silky softness of her skin.

She leaned into him and when he parted her lips with his tongue, she gasped quietly and trembled against him. Another, stronger shimmer of something he'd never experienced before shot through him and Jonas's soul shook. He wanted to lose himself in her. Dive into her sweetness and submerge himself in the innocence he saw shining inside her.

Yet he realized that if he did, he might stay lost in her forever. Reluctantly, acting against every instinct he possessed, he drew back, breaking their kiss and the strange, almost electrical thread joining them together.

"Jonas?" she whispered.

He didn't… couldn't answer. Turning around, he left her, walked through the house and out into the cold, clear, empty night.

Chapter Nine

The cold night air hit him with a fisted punch.

He sucked in a gulp of the frosty night and hoped the chill would cool the fire in his blood. But somehow, he doubted it.

Jamming his hands into his jeans pockets, Jonas jumped off the back steps and hurried across the ranch yard to the barn. Visions of Hannah dashed through his mind, her bare skin, creamy in the lamplight. Her lips soft and full and eager beneath his. The brush of her breath against his cheek, the feel of her body beneath his hands. Her eyes, wide and green, shining with passion as she talked about his future—their future.

"Married," he whispered, disgusted. "Not me. Not again."

Never again would he be responsible for someone else's life. Happiness. The burden of that one miserable failure had weighed him down for ten years. He couldn't imagine another such burden being heaped on his shoulders.

He yanked the double doors open and stepped into the shadowy barn. Instantly, the scent of horses, straw and weathered wood invaded him, making his breath come easier.

His bootsteps echoed eerily as he walked down the center aisle to the stall at the end. The big black horse whinnied a greeting, lifted its head, and stretched out its nose toward him.

"Hope you're feeling up to riding night herd," Jonas told the animal as he ran a still-shaking hand over the horse's jaw and neck. "I need to get out of that damned house."

"Run you out, did she?" a voice from behind him asked in a tone half colored with subdued laughter. Scowling, Jonas looked the horse in the eye and muttered, "You could have warned me." The stallion shook its head, sending a long, black mane flying.

"So, what'd she do now?" Elias asked as he stepped out of the stall across the aisle and latched the half door behind him.

Instead of answering, Jonas looked past the older man to the pregnant mare Elias had been checking on. "She all right? Her leg healing?"

Elias tossed a glance at the gray. "She's fine. I was just feelin' a bit restless. Thought I'd sit with her awhile." Turning his gaze back to Jonas, he asked, "What're you up to?"

With only the barest hint of moonlight entering the barn, Jonas saw his old friend as a silhouetted shadow against the darker blackness behind him. "Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd spell Billy on night herd."

"Uh-huh."

Jonas grimaced tightly and turned to snatch the saddle blanket off the stall wall. As he spread it over the horse's back and smoothed out wrinkles, Elias went on.

"Seems a mite cold out tonight to be ridin' without a jacket."

Jonas closed his eyes briefly, trying not to remember the sound of that jacket dropping to the floor at Hannah's bare feet. "I'll take Billy's when I send him in."

The older man chuckled, a harsh, grating sound in the stillness. "She did run you out, didn't she?"