Call of the White Wolf Page 20

  Flora flung her arms around his neck and clung to him as if she never meant to let him go. “I don’t want you to leave,” she whispered against his shoulder. “I love you, Zohn Whoof.”

  “I love you, too, squirt. I always will. But one day, when you grow up, you’ll leave Paradise Valley, too. All the children will.”

  “I won’t,” Flora insisted. “I’m gonna stay here forever and ever.”

  He patted her shoulder, then set her on her feet. “If that’s the case, then we better make some more repairs around here so the place will still be standing forever and ever.”

  Hand in hand, they strolled into the barn to construct the new stalls to house the mustangs that he and Samuel were training. John and Flora were just getting started when Maureen appeared with a message from Derek, who had developed a severe case of cabin fever.

  “Derek said he is ready to come outside and sit by the corral,” Maureen reported.

  John nailed the lower rail in place, then handed the hammer to Flora. “Make sure all the nails are secure, squirt. I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll hammer the hell out of them.”

  “Flora, shame on you!” Maureen gasped.

  John winced. “Just hammer them flush with the lumber and leave off with the bad language, young lady.”

  “How come? Samuel and Derek say hell all the time,” she said, rat-tat-tatting with the hammer.

  “Then I need to have a talk with them,” John replied. “You have to be at least eighteen to curse.”

  Flora stopped hammering and peered up at him. “How come?”

  “Because it’s the rule,” he said lamely.

  “There’s rules about saying hell and damn?”

  John flung up his arms in exasperation. This precocious kid delighted in tossing around the curse words she’d heard. John was definitely going to have a chat with Samuel and Derek about that!

  With Maureen trailing alongside him, he headed for the house. “I don’t want you to go,” she murmured.

  John looped his arm around her shoulder, wishing he had more time to get to know this pretty lass who seemed to hold too much inside. “I’d like to stay, Maureen, but I have obligations elsewhere. But I’ll be back.”

  The girl didn’t look as if she believed him. He suspected that nothing short of a return visit would convince her that he meant what he said.

  “Would you mind fetching a chair for Derek?” he requested. “We can pad it with a quilt to make him more comfortable.”

  She nodded, then to his complete surprise, she wound her arms around his waist and hugged the stuffing out of him. “I’ll miss you, John, so very much. I love you.”

  As quickly as she’d hugged him, she darted up the steps. Gawd, thought John, these impulsive displays of affection were getting to him. If these kids kept this up, he’d be sentimental mush by dusk. Surely Derek wasn’t going to hug him, too. The kid might strain his tender ribs.

  Derek was perched gingerly on the edge of the bed when John entered the bedroom. He glanced at the pallet where Tara slept so she would be close at hand to give the boy round-the-clock attention and encouragement.

  “I’m going crazy in here,” Derek groused, squirming restlessly.

  John was going crazy, period. This was his last day at the ranch. Hell! The thought sat in his belly like an indigestible meal.

  Since Maureen had already helped Derek don his shirt, John handed the kid his breeches and assisted him into them. Ever mindful of the boy’s injured ribs, he hoisted him up and carried him outside.

  Maureen had positioned the padded chair beneath a shade tree near the corral. The mustangs pricked their ears and shied away as they approached.

  “All of the horses have been broken to halter,” John reported as he settled Derek in the chair. “Samuel and I led them around the canyon for more than hour this morning. They behaved reasonably well. I’ll fetch some grain for you to feed them by hand so you can gain their confidence.”

  Derek nodded, but he didn’t speak until Maureen ambled back to the house to prepare lunch. “Couldn’t you stay a few more days, just till I’m back on my feet?”

  Here we go again, thought John. Another arrow straight into his heart. “I wish I could, Derek, but I’ve already stayed a week longer than I should have. The outlaws’ trail is getting cold. Every day I delay puts another innocent life in danger.”

  “But what’s so damn important about this particular outlaw gang? It’s not like the territory isn’t overrun with a half-dozen gangs. Why can’t some other marshal do the damn job?” Derek complained.

  John didn’t want to get into that right now. “And that’s another thing,” he said, diverting the boy’s attention. “You and Samuel have to mind your tongue around the younger children. Flora was tossing hells and damns all over the place in the barn this morning. Believe me, you don’t want a little sister who can outcurse you. She looks up to you and tries to be like you. Same goes for Calvin. Let them identify with the best of you, not the worst.”

  “Okay,” Derek agreed. “But I still don’t want you to go because…I look up to you. If I could have a father I’d want him to be you.”

  Derek’s softly uttered words knocked the air clean out of John’s lungs. The compliment and the sentiment humbled John.

  “Thank you, Derek. That means more to me than you’ll ever know,” John managed to choke out.

  The kid blinked rapidly, then stared at the mustangs. “Well, you mean a lot to me, John. Always will. I hope you return every chance you get.”

  While his emotions churned like a volcano on the verge of eruption, John hurried off to retrieve the bucket of grain. Hell and damn, he thought. If this kept up, he’d be bawling like a newborn baby by nightfall!

  Chapter Fourteen

  John’s last day with the children was emotionally draining. In between putting the final touches on his repairs and climbing on the backs of the mustangs for jolting rides, he’d had Calvin and Samuel each approach him in turn. John had been prepared for Calvin’s tearful request that he stay, but Samuel’s attempt to hide his emotions and prevent breaking down really did John in. The boy insisted he would become the man of the family and do his best to fill John’s boots.

  For several moments, John had experienced flashbacks of his past, seeing in Samuel that same willingness to accept the lion’s share of responsibility. For Samuel it was a struggling family. For John it was a vanquished Apache nation and a blood brother who had gone on the warpath and was wanted—dead or alive.

  John had promised himself years ago that what was valued and important would be protected. With his braided hair sheared off, and dressed in unfamiliar white man’s clothes, he had stood before Gray Eagle and solemnly vowed to be the buffer between the Apache and the whites.

  Now here was Samuel, all of fifteen years old, promising to protect and defend Tara and the other children. So proud, so determined, so eager to prove himself worthy of respect. Well, the kid had certainly earned John’s respect and approval.

  When Samuel had extended his hand to say his private goodbye, John had forgone the handshake and hugged the kid close to his heart.

  Damn, could it be more difficult to leave this family behind after they’d burrowed into his soul and resurrected emotions he’d buried years ago?

  Now tormented, John rolled over on his pallet in the loft and stared through the window at the canopy of stars, hoping the serenity of the night would comfort him.

  It didn’t. It didn’t even come close.

  The nicker of horses in the stalls brought John upright on his pallet. When Tara ascended into the loft, John inwardly groaned. Considering the kind of day he’d had, he wasn’t sure he had enough willpower to say farewell from a safe distance. Those adorable, exasperating kids had already played hell with his emotions.

  As for Tara, she’d tested his resistance on a daily basis, until his willpower was worn too damn thin for comfort. And too thin aptly described Tara’s
threadbare nightgown. He could see the lush curves and swells of her feminine body when she passed through the shaft of moonlight.

  “Irish—”

  “Don’t talk, just listen,” she requested as she knelt beside him, a solemn expression etching her bewitching face.

  John tried not to breathe, for fear of inhaling her alluring scent and losing what little self-restraint he had left. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear those kids had purposely left him swinging on an emotional pendulum so he’d be clinging to the frayed strands of resistance by the time Tara showed up to say her own private goodbye.

  Resolutely, John ignored the need to tug her into his arms and forget everything except the feel of her supple body molded intimately to his.

  “I came to thank you for all you’ve done to improve the ranch,” she whispered. “I also appreciate all the skills you’ve taught the children. Because of you, they have developed confidence and pride in themselves. You can leave here knowing your kindness and good deeds are greatly appreciated, John. You know that you will always be welcome here, that the children will eagerly await your return, even if it can only be for a few short hours. They have made a special place for you in their hearts.”

  John could feel himself getting all choked up. “You know I’m crazy about those kids,” he managed to say without his vocal apparatus failing him completely.

  She nodded and smiled. His heart twisted and tied itself in a Gordian knot.

  “Yes, I know you are, John. They are wonderful children. You can see why I became so attached to them at the orphanage and why I couldn’t bear to be separated from them when we reached the end of the rails in Texas. They’ve come into their own here in Paradise Valley.”

  Her gaze locked with his and he could feel the impact like a lightning bolt. “I did what I had to do, then, just as I have come to do what I must do now, which is to say goodbye,” she whispered brokenly, her green eyes misting with tears.

  She reached out to trail her forefinger over his cheek, his jaw, his eyebrows and lips. She knew this wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d rehearsed while she lay on her pallet, waiting for Derek to fall asleep on her bed.

  Tara wanted to say her farewell to John in private, but when she touched him this one last time, it seemed that the cruelest punishment she could impose on herself was not telling him how she felt about him. Honesty and sincerity were simply a part of what she was.

  “I love you, John Wolfe,” she murmured, holding his gaze. “I expect nothing except your acceptance of my affection. I will remember you always, because you are the man who holds my heart.”

  She leaned down to kiss him, to express just a small degree of her affection—and found herself enveloped in his powerful arms. His masculine scent engulfed her and she breathed him in, savoring the moment.

  “Don’t love me, Irish,” he rasped. “Don’t make this more difficult than it already is.”

  Tara lifted her head from his shoulder and smiled ruefully when she noticed his anguished expression. “Don’t love you? You might as well ask me not to breathe, because loving you feels just as vital and necessary. These feelings have become part of who I am. I took a new identity, as you did, to protect the children, and myself, but that doesn’t change what’s in my heart. Ask anything of me, John, but don’t ask me not to love you. It’s about two weeks too late and two centuries too early to expect me to forget how I feel about you.”

  John knew defeat when it was staring him in the face—the face of an angel of mercy, a siren from his forbidden dreams. Her words, the sincere tone of her silky voice, the expression in her green eyes were the final blows that shattered what was left of his resistance.

  For the life of him, John couldn’t recall any of those noble reasons why he shouldn’t make love to her one last time, why he shouldn’t fill this aching emptiness that left him hollow and incomplete.

  Wasn’t it enough that he wanted her with every fiber of his being? Did he have to need her with that same burning intensity?

  “Love me for all the lonely tomorrows I’ll spend without you,” she whispered as her lips lingered a hairbreadth from his.

  John pulled her head to his and kissed her with penetrating thoroughness, savored the sweet nectar of her lips. Flames of undeniable, incomparable desire spread through him like wildfire. He slid his hand beneath the hem of her gown, then pushed it out of his way to caress her from ankle to hip, marveling at the silky texture of her skin.

  Ah, she was pure heaven to touch, so unbelievably responsive. He wanted her naked in his arms—now, this very second. He wanted to touch every inch of her satiny body, taste her thoroughly and absorb every fervent response he summoned from her. He wanted to memorize every little sound of pleasure she made, every provocative movement of her body, so he could revisit those sounds, scents and exquisite sensations in his dreams during all those lonely nights of isolation to come.

  Her voice would come to him on a whispering breeze; her scent would drift to him in the rain. The feelings she stirred in him would be imprinted on his mind and body. No matter where he was, she would be only a memory away, a delicious fantasy waiting to accompany him into sleep.

  He removed her nightgown and feathered his lips over her shoulder, finding that sensitive point he’d discovered at the base of her neck, delighting in her helpless response. His kisses trailed over her breast, his tongue flicking at the rosy peak. Her arms glided around his neck, cradling his head against her satiny flesh as he suckled her, then tugged ever so gently with his teeth. She moaned softly and her fingertips flexed in his hair, assuring him that he gave her pleasure.

  John traced the soft flesh of her inner thigh as he brushed his lips over her taut nipples. He stroked the secret petals of her femininity and felt her shiver, then melt upon his hand.

  Sizzling pleasure rippled through him as he probed deeper and felt her contracting around his fingertip. The moist heat of her desire radiated from her body and burned him like a searing flame.

  Hungrily, his mouth came back to hers, absorbing her ragged cries of need, his tongue imitating the tender stroking of his fingertip.

  He cherished her wild response, marveled at the indescribable pleasure that consumed him when he touched her. Ah, he could kiss and caress her for hours on end and never grow tired of discovering new ways to arouse her.

  John’s thoughts scattered to the four winds when Tara began to caress him tenderly in return. He clenched his teeth and hissed in tormented pleasure when her adventurous hand trailed along the band of his loincloth, then dipped inside to enfold his hardened flesh.

  His breath left his lungs in a shuddering gasp when she unfastened the garment, then touched her probing fingers to his throbbing shaft. She traced him with her thumb, caressed him with her fingertips. He couldn’t contain the groan of pleasure that rumbled in his chest, nor could he stem the flow of titillating sensations that flooded through him, engulfing him with immeasurable pleasure.

  Lips as soft as silk whispered over the ultrasensitive skin of his chest and neck. When her hands glided over his hips and swirled downward again to stroke his erection, sensual lightning throbbed through him. The tender pressure of her hands folding around his rigid length left him shaking with ardent need, made him gasp in an effort to draw breath. Pulsating pleasure thrummed through him, drawing him closer to the edge of his control—what little was left of it, which wasn’t all that much when Tara cast her sensual, magical spell.

  A silvery drop of need betrayed him and the last shred of restraint came dangerously close to deserting him. He should stop her, he knew, but the pleasure she aroused in him seemed to have a will all its own.

  John kept hearing a voice whispering inside his head, telling him this would be the last time they touched each other, held each other, loved each other. He also knew he’d been deceiving himself all along. Making love to Tara for only one night hadn’t been enough to satisfy him. Two nights wouldn’t be enough, either, but this was all he had and
he wanted it to last until dawn. But he’d never last if she plied him with another round of exquisite torture.

  John eased away, pressed her to his pallet and dipped his head to capture the peak of her breast once more. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, then suckled her gently. Her back arched in helpless response, and he cupped his hand around the creamy globe, kneading her, arousing her until she was chanting his name like an incantation.

  His free hand trailed deliberately over her stomach. His prowling fingertips coasted ever nearer to the triangle of golden hair between her legs. When he cupped his palm over her again, he found her as hot and wet as before.

  His ability to make this woman want him desperately gave him a heady sense of masculine power. He brushed his thumb over the hidden nub of passion, once, twice, and felt her entire body quiver with anticipation. He dipped his finger inside her once more and felt her weep upon his hand. Then he shifted her above him, opening her to his intimate kiss. He circled her softest flesh with his tongue, his lips, traced her with his fingertips and smiled in masculine satisfaction when she cried out his name again and again.

  Her hands clenched on his shoulders, as if trying to steady herself against the sensual waves of passion that buffeted her. He felt helpless shudders consume her, and he waited a heartbeat, then aroused her once more. She came undone on his fingertips, his lips. She caressed him secretly, burning him alive with her need for him.

  “No more,” Tara breathed raggedly as she twisted from his grasp. “I need to touch you again.”

  “I want—” His voice dried up when she leaned over him. Her silky hair grazed his belly; her fingertips circled him, stroked him until he groaned in unholy torment. A white-hot bolt of desire speared him, robbed him of another precious breath and held him suspended in immeasurable pleasure.

  He was amazed that Tara had become such a skillful seductress in two quick lessons. But he remembered thinking that first time that she would be beyond dangerous if she realized the power she wielded over him. Now, she had to know, without question, that she could leave him begging for more. She was touching him everywhere, turning his muscles to pudding beneath her butterfly caresses.