The Reward Page 4

  “It would be better to eat with a spoon, no?”

  Feeling more foolish by the second, she simply stared. He stared back. She didn’t take a mug and he didn’t move.

  “Leigh?”

  She snapped back into herself. What in God’s name was she doing? Taking the mug from him, she averted her eyes and set it next to her bowl, willing him to take a seat across from her at the table and to let go of her shoulder. The table was relatively small; it only sat four people comfortably, so he wouldn’t be too far away, but he’d be farther away than her shoulder. Taking the spoon from the coffee, she stuck it in her mouth to get the taste of coffee off it. And still he stood next to her.

  Sit down, dammit.

  She glanced back up and felt herself start at the fierceness in his gaze. At this moment, she was very nearly afraid of him—she, who feared almost nothing. His black gaze fell to her mouth and the spoon clunked in the mug in his hand, as if he were trembling. She licked her lips nervously and tasted coffee.

  “Malcolm?”

  He closed his eyes and took a breath. Sliding sideways, he finally plopped into the chair across from her. The mug landed on the table with a smack and some of the coffee splashed on his hand. He looked at his hand, but didn’t react to the scalding hot brew.

  What just happened?

  Her life experience with men was limited to Sean and ranch hands. Any romance she’d experienced, even with Sean, could fit in a thimble—

  something she didn’t think she owned anyway. Whatever had just happened was beyond her meager experience, but she knew it had something to do with men and women.

  He couldn’t possibly find her attractive. She was a big woman, almost as tall as he, with round hips and big breasts that constantly got in the way. At round-up time, she bound them so she could work unfettered. She must weigh nearly one hundred fifty pounds or better. She knew she was no raving beauty. She was very plain and blind as a bat without her spectacles. What did she have to excite a man? Not much, and she had that from the horse’s mouth, so to speak—from her husband. Then again, her marriage to Sean had been a most atypical union.

  Leigh knew she needed to get on solid ground again.

  “You’d better eat up before it gets cold. I can’t vouch for the taste, but it’s filling.”

  She dove into the chili. Grabbing a piece of cornbread, she dipped it in the chili and took a big bite. Malcolm hadn’t moved. She glanced up at him and he smiled, the tension melting from his face. He took his spoon from his mug and licked off the coffee. The sight of his tongue was enough to make her heart flip. All of her love, her longing and her foolish dreams congealed like gristle in her stomach. All he was would never be hers.

  Giving herself a mental pinch, she again dipped her spoon in the chili and, head down, proceeded to consume the rest of her dinner. Whether or not she tasted it was another matter.

  She wiped her mouth across her sleeve—hell, I forgot the damn napkins, too—and laid her spoon on the table when she was finished.

  “Okay, now how about you tell me everything.” She stared at him until he looked up from his own dinner with those black eyes. “Now.”

  Chapter Five

  She had a backbone and was used to ordering people around, that was for damn sure. Malcolm didn’t appreciate being told what to do and had to restrain himself from standing up and leaving the room.

  “Did no one ever tell you that you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar?” Malcolm’s jaw tightened and he silently counted to ten.

  He thought he saw her blush, just the barest hint of rose under her tanned skin.

  “Look, Malcolm, I want to help you. I can’t do that unless I know what the hell is going on. If you don’t want to tell me, there’s the door.”

  Leigh stood and took her dishes to the sink. They clattered as she tossed them. She never paused in her stride and kept right on walking, right out the door. Malcolm stared after her, wondering if he could tell her enough of the truth to appease her. He wasn’t ready to tell everything.

  He walked outside in search of Leigh. He didn’t have to go far. She sat on the steps of the back porch, looking out into the deepening darkness. She appeared so alone at the moment, watching the endless sky, he was tempted to put his arms around her. He knew what loneliness was.

  Whoa! Pulling back on his own reins, he shoved that thought into the wind where it belonged. What the hell would he do with his arms around Leigh? She was almost his little sister, wasn’t she? Shaking off his strange thoughts, he sat down and stretched out next to her.

  Leigh broke the silence. “Pretty night.”

  He opened his mouth to reply when she spoke again.

  “Sorry I was such a pushy bitch. I…I don’t seem to be able to be anything but that lately.”

  Well, that was certainly the last thing he expected to come out of her mouth. Leigh didn’t know the meaning of the word bitch. He smiled a little into the night.

  “You are no bitch, amiga. Believe me, I know many, and you aren’t even in the same room with them.”

  She pushed her spectacles up onto her forehead and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Yeah, I am. I’m used to having to fight for everything. The last two years have left me no time for anything but daily battles and bloody skirmishes.”

  The glasses dropped back on the bridge of her nose when she took her hands away. She pushed them up with her finger.

  Malcolm sat up and listened very carefully. “What about the last two years?”

  She shook her head. “Ever since Sean died, things have just gone wrong. Cattle missing, coyote in the hen house, a fire in the barn, milch cow with an infected udder, the damn root cellar flooded, and…I could talk until I’m blue in the face, Mal. Fact is, I’m tired of fighting.”

  Her shoulders drooped as she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers.

  “Pobrecita. Tonight we will not fight. We will talk about happy times and be friends again.”

  She sighed, long and hard. Malcolm vowed right then he’d find out exactly whom she’d been fighting. And stop them. Or kill them. She tried to gently extract her hand, but he wouldn’t let go.

  “Do you remember the tree house?” He watched her face as a smile spread across it.

  “Yup. My favorite place in the whole hacienda. That big old fig tree and our tree house. It was more like a bunch of scraggly boards nailed together wrong.”

  He squeezed her hand. “But it was ours. Our special place. We would sneak my mama’s churros up there and eat until we thought we’d burst.”

  This time she laughed. “I think one time I did. All over your shoes.”

  Malcolm remembered it well. She had been ten and he was about thirteen. He had been furious she’d ruined his one pair of boots. She surprised him the next day with another pair. Didn’t know where she got them or how, he hadn’t asked. He took them as a gift from a friend.

  “How about the time we took the pie?” Malcolm asked.

  “Ha! I thought your mother was going to pull your britches down and whoop you in front of the whole crew.”

  He smiled at the memory, although at the time he’d been terrified that’s what she would do. A ten-year-old boy does not want his bare ass hanging out for the world to see. Especially in front of his seven-year-old friend, who happened to be a girl.

  “I miss her.”

  “So do I, amiga, so do I.”

  They were quiet for a few moments. Reliving memories buried beneath the day-to-day problems. Memories that brought laughter, joy, tears and perhaps a bit of sadness. They had shared so much together. How could he have stayed away and ignored her for so long? She had been his friend, his only friend, in a world of hate and ugliness.

  “Malcolm? Did you ever get hitched?”

  Taken aback by the question, he laughed, a rusty, croaky sound. “No, I didn’t. No little bastards for the bastard either.”

  “That’s
not what I meant,” she said, sounding embarrassed, and tugged on her hand again.

  “I know. I was just teasing, Leigh.”

  “Not funny.”

  He shrugged. “If I don’t laugh at myself, others laugh at me.”

  She turned and looked at him in the deepening darkness. “That’s a big difference between you and me, Mal. You’re an eagle, talons raised, not afraid of your prey. I’m a turtle, in my shell, keeping everyone out. Hiding.”

  He squeezed her hand, then reached out to brush his knuckles on her cheek, which was as soft as satin. It was something that shouldn’t, but did, surprise him. The lights from the house reflected on her spectacles, turning her eyes into flaming mirrors.

  Dios. Leigh was beautiful.

  “Ah, amante, we are more alike than you think. Maybe I am an eagle and fly away. But you, you are no turtle. You are more like a wolf. Ready to fight, to protect, to survive.”

  She turned her gaze to the road leading to the ranch house.

  “Rider.”

  They watched the approaching horse. When he got about a hundred yards away, Leigh scrambled to her feet.

  “Damn. Go inside now.” She pulled on his arm and tried to drag him up. Unsuccessfully. Malcolm was not a small man and if he didn’t want to move, he didn’t.

  “Come on, you big galoot. Move it.”

  “Not until you tell me why. Is this your sweetheart?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No. It’s…it’s business. Now andale.”

  He stared at her until she threw up her hands in disgust and stomped down the steps to the yard.

  “Fine with me. Maybe you ought to say howdy to Damasco. I’m sure he’d be glad to know you’re back.”

  ———

  When Leigh glanced behind her, Malcolm was gone. He’d disappeared without a sound to give him away. That was a little spooky. The man moved like a shadow.

  Turning back, she watched Damasco Zarza ride in on his big black stallion. He really was a fine-looking man. He and Malcolm had the same build. Big, broad shoulders, wide chest, long, muscular legs. And they both rode a horse like they were born with one between their legs. Damasco rode like a king surveying his realm. Malcolm rode like a natural extension of the horse.

  “Ah, Mrs. O’Reilly, what a pleasant surprise.”

  She let out a very unladylike snort. “Oh, for God’s sake, Damasco. For one thing you just rode up to my front porch. Not much of a surprise to actually find me here. Second, we were in nappies together. ‘Mrs.’ just doesn’t cut the muster.”

  He looked a little taken aback by her, but quickly recovered. He smiled his gorgeous smile and swung off the horse fluidly. The man was so graceful, he couldn’t fall down if he tried. Leigh had always envied that about both Damasco and Malcolm.

  “Why are you here, Damasco?”

  She knew Malcolm was listening with his ear pressed against the door. Serve him right if he got a splinter.

  Damasco secured his horse to the hitching rail and stepped up to the porch, his shiny spurs jangling. He seemed to be dressed to go to a church social with pressed black pants, a crisp, white shirt, and a leather string tie sporting a big turquoise center. He swept off his hat and held it to his chest.

  “You wound me, querida. I have come to see you. To court you properly. You know I want to marry you.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her gaze.

  “I’ve told you before. There’s no courting between me and you, and damn sure no marriage. And don’t call me querida.”

  “Not querida, not Mrs. O’Reilly. Then what should I call you—my queen?” He reached toward her and she stepped back, banging her boots on the bottom step of the porch.

  “You’re being ridiculous. I’m no one’s queen or sweetheart. How about you call me Leigh? It’s a small word. I’m sure you can manage it.”

  Leigh thought she saw a flash of annoyance in his chocolate eyes, but it vanished quickly behind a screen of false sincerity.

  “You make me forget myself. I only wish to show you how I feel.”

  Faster than a snake, he was on her, wrapping his arms around her back, slamming her into his chest. He squashed the breath out of her and her arms were trapped beneath his. When he leaned in and started kissing her ear, her temper flared.

  “Let go,” she growled.

  “We don’t have to fight it anymore, querida. I know you have longed for my touch. Even as I watched you blossom as a woman and a wife, I knew one day we’d be together again.”

  Leigh tried to laugh at that. “Are you kidding? I can barely tolerate the sight of you, Damasco. Let me go.”

  He kissed down her neck with practiced precision.

  “Let me love you. Let me show you how a Spaniard can make a woman scream with passion.”

  She tried to take a deep breath but all she smelled was his bay rum. Apparently he bathed in it. She heard the screen door rattle and knew Malcolm was back there watching in the dark, like a brewing storm.

  “Let go, Damasco, or so help me God, you’re going to be sorry.”

  When he squeezed her behind with one big hand, she imagined his funeral, down to the damn daisies on his grave.

  With no more warning, she brought her right leg up and kneed him as hard as she could in the balls. When he let loose a screech—it couldn’t be called anything else—and his arms fell away, she brought up her fist and laid him flat out with an uppercut to his jaw. He landed on the ground in a cloud of dust certain to mess up his pretty clothes.

  “That’s what an Irishman teaches his wife.” With throbbing knuckles, she picked up his hat and threw it at him. “And if you ever touch me again, Damasco, you won’t get kicked in the balls; I’ll blow ‘em clean off. Now get off my land.”

  Leigh was sure Damasco would pick himself up, at least after he stopped puking, and go home. She spun on her heel and nearly ruined it all when she tripped up the first stair. Regaining her balance, she pulled a muscle in her back. With a grunt of pain, she yanked open the screen door and went inside.

  It was almost pitch black in the room. A remote shadowy world of sound and touch.

  “I was about to kick his sorry ass, but I see you took care of that already, my wolf,” came Malcolm’s voice.

  Leigh slammed the kitchen door closed behind her, shutting out Damasco and the rest of the world.

  “If you Zarza men don’t leave me alone soon, I swear I’ll—”

  He hissed in the darkness. “Do not call me a Zarza.”

  She turned away from him and started to leave the kitchen. Enough was enough. His warm hand touched her arm.

  “I’m sorry, Leigh. I don’t mean to snap at you.”

  “I know you don’t, but you don’t trust me either. And I can’t trust anyone.”

  He sighed as his thumb caressed her inner wrist. The roughness of his calluses gently scraped on the tender skin. The friction sent skitters racing up her arm straight to her chest. Her nipples hardened and puckered, pushing against her undershirt. Now that was startling.

  She wanted to pull her wrist out of his grasp, but was immobile. The sensations caused by that one touch were so foreign, so unsettling, she had no clue what to do.

  “I want to trust you. And I want you to trust me.” His deep voice was rough and scratchy, revealing how upset he was.

  “What’s wrong?”

  His hold tightened on her arm. “He touched you.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t think he’ll do it again.” Amazingly, she felt herself grin. Oh yeah. Damasco would be cursing her name all the way home. Bouncing up and down. On that hard saddle.

  “If he touches you again, I may have to kill him.”

  She had no doubt he meant every word.

  “Why?”

  “Because he touched what does not belong to him.”

  “Belong?” She wasn’t following his thoughts. “My ass doesn’t belong to anyone but me.”

  “Wrong.”

  Before she could eve
n take a breath to answer, she was in his arms and his lips slammed down on hers.

  He was hard. So hard. From top to bottom. Especially the part of his anatomy that was initially soft. It was hard now and knocking on her belly.

  And his lips. Rough and demanding, they ruthlessly plundered her own. She felt like she was in the middle of a twister. Whirling head, lurching stomach, pulsing between her legs. His whiskers scraped her chin, her cheeks. It was exhilarating; it was exciting. It was terrifying.

  She grabbed onto his shoulders to ground herself. She was getting dizzy. Probably because she wasn’t breathing. As quickly as it began, it ended. With a last gentle kiss, he pulled away.

  She took a shuddering breath and clasped her hand to her stomach.

  “What the hell just happened?”

  Was that her voice? She nearly turned to look behind her to find the woman who just spoke with a sexy, sultry sound.

  “I just proved you wrong.” His tone was deeper, if that were even possible.

  “Wrong? About what?” Her mind just damn well refused to focus.

  “About your ass.”

  “My ass?”

  She felt him smile in the semi-darkness. “I’m going to check to make sure we’re not in a canyon, because there is an echo in here.”

  She shook her head to try to clear it. Stepping away from him, she felt the loss of heat as keenly as if he were a bonfire. Okay, just forget the kissing. Ha!

  “Look, Malcolm. This isn’t going any further until you tell me the truth. All of it. You have one day. By tomorrow night you’re spilling the beans or you’re packing your shit.”

  She walked, or at least pretended to walk since she was shaking so much she couldn’t feel her feet, out of the kitchen.