Malachite (The Jewels of Texas Historical Romance Series Book 5) (17 page)

“Through the night?” Millie glanced at him in alarm. “Do you intend to watch him all night?”

“I have no choice.” Malachite kept his tone even to hide the emotions churning inside him. The sight of Millie had his palms sweating and his throat dry. He’d love nothing more than to lie with her in the big feather bed upstairs. But the situation right now was impossible. He cautioned himself to keep his wits about him. “For the next couple of days I can’t let Diablo out of my sight.”

“Because he’s a devil,” April said solemnly.

“No. Because he’s a wild horse who wants to escape back to the wilderness.”

Millie wasn’t even listening to the sparring between her daughter and Malachite. All she’d heard was the words Malachite had spoken. The next couple of days. Millie gathered up the dishes and turned away to hide her disappointment. For the next couple of days, she and Malachite would have to remain apart.

But at least, she reminded herself, he was back home with them. Safe and sound after his adventure. And he had returned bearing the prize he had sought. She would take comfort in that and bide her time until he could enfold her in his arms again.

As if reading her mind, Malachite tossed his cigar into the fire and crossed to her. Rubbing his knuckles over her cheek, he muttered, “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” She wanted desperately to put her arms around his waist and rest her head on his shoulder, just for a moment. Instead she stood very straight, avoiding his eyes. “And I’m so glad you’ve come home.”

He was aware of the control she was exerting. He wouldn’t add to her discomfort, though it took all his willpower to keep from dragging her against him and ravishing her mouth.

He turned away and pulled on his heavy cowhide parka. As he let himself out into the frigid darkness, her words played through his mind.
So glad you’ve come home.

Home. Did she have any idea what she had just said? All his life he had longed to hear those words. Yet he had spent a lifetime feeling adrift. A man between two cultures. Believing that he had no real home.

As he strode toward the barn he turned and glanced through the window, which was illuminated by firelight. It framed such an ordinary picture. A mother and her three children clearing the table, then washing and drying the dishes. But to him it was the most extraordinary scene.

And all because he had somehow begun to believe that he could put himself in the middle of it. And belong.

“G
ood morning, Malachite.” Millie closed the barn door on a swirl of snowflakes. “I brought you some...”

When she turned, the words died on her lips. She caught her breath at the sight that greeted her.

The townspeople had been right. This creature, rearing and pawing the air, was watching Malachite with a look of pure hatred. He looked like the devil himself. As did the man who faced him.

“Not now, Millie.” Malachite’s voice was deadly calm.

“But you haven’t eaten since...”

He flicked her a glance, then returned his attention to the mustang. “Go back to the house. It isn’t safe for you to be here.”

“But, the girls...”

“Keep the girls away from the barn today.” Despite the softness of his tone, there was a thread of steel to it.

She studied Malachite. A heavy dark beard covered his cheeks and chin. His eyes were red from lack of sleep. But there was a look in them as wild, as determined as that of the stallion.

She hadn’t really come to bring him the food on the tray. That had just been an excuse to satisfy the need to see him. But seeing him made her realize the futility of her actions. He had gone to a place she couldn’t follow. A place as dark, as daunting as the creature facing him.

“I... yes. Of course.” She set the tray down in the straw.

She needed no coaxing as the mustang reared again, bringing his deadly hooves crashing into the boards of his stall. As she pulled the door shut behind her, she could hear the sound of wood splintering.

Perhaps, she thought, Diablo really was a devil. He was certainly the strongest, most defiant mustang she’d ever seen.

But if she were a betting woman, she’d put her money on Malachite.

* * *

Millie and the girls watched as Malachite led Diablo out of the barn, keeping a firm grip on the lead rope.

In the past week he and the stallion had not been apart. Malachite had slept in the barn, washed in the barn, taken his meals in the barn. And though Diablo still resented him, the animal had been driven by hunger to accept food from this man’s hands.

Each time Malachite entered the stall, the stallion flew into a rage. But slowly, inch by painful inch, the rages had lessened, until this morning the horse had stood, silent and quivering, as Malachite slipped the lead rope over his head.

Now, as they passed the corral filled with Diablo’s harem, the horse lifted his head, filling himself with the scent of the mares, which carried on the air. The herd reacted restlessly, moving in slow circles, keeping their leader in sight.

Malachite led the horse to an empty corral and turned him loose. At once the stallion charged the enclosure, bucking and rearing, battering the prison with his hooves.

And all the while Malachite stood just outside the corral, watching, waiting.

When Diablo grew weary of the fight, Malachite opened the gate and walked toward the horse, holding out his hand. In it was a carrot, dug from the dirt of the root cellar.

“I think you’ll like this,” he muttered as he offered the treat.

Diablo snorted and pawed the ground. When that threat didn’t work, the stallion backed away. But when Malachite continued coming toward him, the animal sniffed, then accepted the carrot.

“A wise choice.” Malachite smiled. “But then I never doubted that you were a very smart horse.”

Diablo pricked up his ears, listening to the familiar sound of Malachite’s voice. It had become a constant in his life. Soothing. Murmuring. As had this man’s hands. Gentle. Easy.

“Before this day’s over, you’re going to trust me enough to accept something more from me.” Malachite uncoiled the leather draped around his shoulder. When he held out the bridle, the stallion sidestepped away. Unconcerned, Malachite kept coming toward him until the horse relented enough to sniff the leather.

“Take a good smell,” Malachite whispered. “It’s going to become a part of you. Very soon now, you won’t even notice it.”

As he spoke he lifted the bridle over the horse’s head, brushing its mane, its ears, until the ripples of tension ended and Diablo stood perfectly still. Then, moving slowly and deliberately, Malachite adjusted the bit and draped the ends of the reins over the horse’s neck.

All the while Millie watched with growing fascination. The relationship between man and animal was as complex as a courtship ritual. She felt her cheeks begin to burn. Had Malachite played her as patiently? Doing everything he could to gain her trust, before leading her to the next level? Dear heaven. She lifted her hands to her face and turned away.

“Where are you going, Mama?” April stood a little apart from the others, watching every movement with a kind of horrified fascination, convinced that this would be a duel to the death.

“Inside, honey. I thought I’d start supper.”

“But Malachite is getting ready to saddle Diablo,” June cried. “Can we stay and watch?”

Millie nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll call you when supper is ready.”

“Don’t you know anything?” April chided her youngest sister. “Diablo will never let Malachite ride him.”

At her oldest daughter’s somber tone, Millie shivered. Before making her way inside, she turned for one last glimpse of man and horse. They were, she had to admit, evenly matched. Each was fiercely independent. Truly magnificent. And each was determined to win.

* * *

“Mama. Come quick.”

June’s shouts had Millie racing toward the porch. What she saw took her breath away.

Malachite was in the saddle. But at first glance, it wasn’t clear who was in control. The stallion took off at a dead run, racing across the corral, heading directly toward the fence. When he reached it, he reared up, frantically pawing the air. When that failed to dislodge the weight on his back, he circled the corral, bucking and twisting. Several times he threw himself sideways against the railing, hoping to crush the legs of his opponent. With incredible speed, Malachite was able to fling himself from one side of the horse to the other, deftly gripping the pommel for support.

As each of his attempts was thwarted, the stallion seemed to be losing speed. Though he continued circling the enclosure, his rage gradually dissipated. And without realizing it, the horse began responding to the gentle direction of the man in the saddle. With soft words of encouragement, with a nudge of his knee or slight tug on the reins, Malachite was able to take the animal through a series of commands.

Finally, as proof of his success, Malachite slid from the saddle and ordered the horse to stay. Walking from one side of the corral to the other, he never once turned to look at the horse.

“He’s going to be trampled,” April predicted. “Diablo has been waiting for this chance.”

Millie found herself holding her breath.

Malachite paused at the gate, turned and reached out a hand. When he gave a whistle, the stallion came trotting to his side. At once Malachite patted Diablo’s head and dug a carrot from his pocket as a reward for a job well done.

The horse nuzzled his hand before chewing contentedly.

“See.” Little June couldn’t resist taunting her older sister. “You were wrong, April. Malachite wasn’t trampled. In fact, Diablo likes him.”

“He only pretends to like Malachite. Mrs. Thurlong said we should never trust the devil.”

“Malachite says Diablo isn’t the devil. He’s just a horse.”

Instead of being persuaded of the horse’s innocence, April seemed even more determined to believe the myth. “If bad things aren’t happening to Malachite, maybe they’re going to happen to one of us instead. Mrs. Thurlong says...”

Millie had heard enough. “All right, girls. I think it’s time to go inside and wash up for supper.”

As the three little girls made their way inside, Millie remained where she was, watching Malachite put Diablo through his paces. There was no reason to believe Lavinia Thurlong’s nonsense. But April’s words disturbed her more than she cared to admit. A tiny chill coursed along her spine. She trusted Malachite completely. After all, he truly believed that the stallion was nothing more than a clever, beautiful mustang who had managed to elude capture through sheer luck. But it was hard to discount the fact that this animal had roamed freely for more than a year, despite the fact that dozens of cowboys had hunted him. And it was impossible to deny that everywhere Diablo went, death and destruction seemed to follow.

* * *

The house was quiet. April, May and June had long ago gone to their beds. Millie banked the fire in the kitchen and poured the last cup of coffee. Sipping, she stared out the window at the darkened outline of the barn, wondering if Malachite was already asleep. It wouldn’t be surprising, considering the bone-jarring hours he’d put in today.

She understood Malachite’s need to be close to the mustang. Yet she missed him. Desperately.

Was it selfish to want him here with her, holding her, comforting her? She couldn’t help it. The ache around her heart seemed to grow with each day. Sometimes she found herself wishing Malachite had never heard of the defiant black stallion or the legend that surrounded him. Still, if he hadn’t been challenged to hunt the mustang, he would have stuck to his original plan to return immediately to Montana. They would have never had the chance to know each other. To fall in love.

Love. It was so wonderful. And so terrible.

She loved Malachite. Loved him desperately. And that fact was definitely complicating her life. She knew her feelings for him were damaging her relationship with her firstborn. And if April’s distrust wasn’t bad enough, there was her reputation with the people of Hanging Tree.

Oh, why couldn’t life ever be simple?

She pressed a hand to her mouth. With a sigh of frustration she turned away and nearly collided with the man who had been occupying all of her thoughts.

“Malachite. I didn’t hear you come in.”

His hands closed over her shoulders. “That’s obvious.”

“Would you like to share my coffee?” She offered him the cup and he drained it.

“I could make you some more—”

She started to turn away but he held her still.

“I didn’t come here for coffee.”

“Food, then.”

“You know what I’m hungry for, Millie.” His fingers reached for the top button of her gown.

She went very still, feeling a rush of heat that left her weak. “What about Diablo?”

The smile he gave her was wicked. “He and I have been sharing a lot lately. But he’ll have to learn that I don’t share my woman.”

My woman. The sound of it sent a little thrill racing along her spine.

He watched her eyes go soft and cloudy as he undid the second button.

She brushed her tips across his cheek. “Your hands are cold.”

“Sorry. It’s freezing out in that barn.”

“I’m not complaining. It’s just that I’m so impatient to have them on me,” she whispered against his lips.

The urgency of her words had him fumbling with the next button. “For nights I’ve been thinking of you, upstairs in that big feather bed. The pictures in my mind almost drove me mad.”

“The bed’s still there,” she murmured as he gathered her close. “Just waiting for us.”

“I don’t think I can wait that long.” He brushed his lips across her cheek. “I need to taste you. Right now.”

The kiss was long and slow and deep. And when it ended, he continued holding her, raining kisses across her nose, her cheek, her temple. And all the while his hands caressed her as though he were holding a fragile doll.

The tenderness was so unexpected she released a sigh, whispered like a prayer.

He responded to the change in her. In himself. He had come here in a rush, hungry for the taste of her, the touch of her. But now, he realized, there was no need to rush. Now there was time to feast, to savor.

He loved the sweetness of her, the clean, unexpected freshness. She offered herself like an unexplored treasure.

He lifted his hands to the pins in her hair, tossing them aside as his fingers combed through the strands. He loved the silky texture of her hair. He buried his face in it, delighted at the faint fragrance of sugar and flour and vanilla that clung to it, enticing him, making him hungry for more.

This was a rare pleasure. One he’d wanted to savor for such a long, long time. Here, with Millie in his arms, he could put aside the cares of the day and lose himself in long, slow kisses and whispered promises.

His hands were careful now as he slid the gown from her shoulders.

“Your skin is so pale.” He brushed a kiss, as gentle as a snowflake, over the soft, sensitive curve of her neck and felt her tremble.

She reached a hand to the buttons of his shirt and he stood very still, watching her as she undressed him. When his clothes joined hers at their feet, he drew her close, needing the feel of her flesh against his.

“I love these freckles.” His lips burned a trail of kisses down the slope of her shoulder.

She smiled at the unexpected tenderness. “I always hated my freckles.”

“I love them. Every one of them.” He drew out the flavor of her warm flesh as he counted them with the tip of his tongue,

She brought her hands to his waist and lifted herself on tiptoe to nip at his throat. At the brush of her flesh against his, he gave a quiet moan and drew her down to the floor, cushioning her body with his own.

She lay on top of him, her hair falling around them like a fiery curtain. And still his kisses were light, feathery whispers over her face, her throat. When his lips moved lower, he began to feast on her breast.

Even now, with the fire slowly building between them, their movements were slow, unhurried. As though they had all the time in the world.

She floated on a cloud of contentment. This was what she’d been craving. The demands of the day behind them, a log blazing on the hearth and Malachite’s hard, firm body beneath her.

She loved the feel of his hands on her, stroking, soothing. And his clever mouth, teasing, arousing.

“I’ve missed you so much.” She brushed soft kisses down his throat, across his shoulder. Her hair swirled forward, tickling his chest. “Missed this.”