Tallchief: The Homecoming (10 page)

“I hope you get what you want.” He’d returned giving his attention to the fan belt he was tightening. Properly taut, the belt would cause the alternator to charge, but Liam was already fully charged, from the first moment she had stepped out of the snazzy pickup, placed her
hands on her hips and leveled that determined look at him.

While she’d balanced J.T. on her hip, looking like any mother, her gaze burned him, taking in the grease on his T-shirt, the holes in his jeans. “You wouldn’t think that I’d be coming back for any special reason that included you, would you?”

“Kiss any frogs, lately?” he couldn’t resist asking, nettled that she probably had tested those hot, sassy lips on another man.

“The world is full of frogs. It’s a big pond,” she’d returned evenly.

Liam drained the bath water from J.T.’s rubber alligator into the empty tub. In the two months since he’d seen Michelle Farrell, he’d picked up a rhythm to his life. He intended to strengthen that tenuous peace. Thunder rolled, the mountain storm threatening to slide down onto Amen Flats. The house was empty now—J.T. on his first stay overnight with Elspeth and Alek—and Liam ached to hold his son, to read him bedtime stories and kill the bears that J.T. suspected were in the closet and under his bed. Picking up a teddy bear that had stayed at home to comfort him, Liam walked through the modest home he had just purchased. Elderly Mrs. Akers hadn’t wanted to sell, but the time had come when she couldn’t maintain the house and the surrounding twenty acres. Mrs. Akers liked the thought of a boy on the tidy little ranch, and her children weren’t moving back to Amen Flats. She’d decided to move in with her daughter and presented Liam with his first home at a good price.

He wanted his son raised away from customers’ demands and the lifestyle that had been his own as a child. J.T. needed the backyard swing under the old maple tree, the sandpile in the old tractor tire, and flowers and grass
and—Liam inhaled sharply, thinking of how he’d stripped his reserves to make the down payment on the small ranch.

The three-bedroom Akers house felt right. Though needing repair, it was filled with a sense of a loving family. Liam knew enough about repair to “make do.” Everything was in place to give J.T. a permanent home and safety, and Liam could lead a smooth, day-to-day life. Just watching his son play and yell happily and grow was enough.

Everything was in place—except for Michelle Farrell, who had come back to Amen Flats.
Liam came to stand at the window facing the little cottage. The summer home was built for a wealthy visitor to the mountains, who had promptly dropped interest in rural life. Liam had looked at the cottage while searching for an affordable home to put down his roots. Perched at the foot of the mountains, within walking distance of Amen Flats, the cottage was only a field away from the home he had purchased. Starkly highlighted by the flashing mid-October storm, the picturesque gingerbread trim needed repair and so did the wooden shake roof—it would be leaking now. The house would be cold, drafty from the lack of insulation and a proper heating stove, Michelle’s new purchase lacked electricity and telephone lines.

Wealthy and spoiled, Michelle wouldn’t know how to deal with torrents of rain washing through the house, making the rotting floors even more unstable. She wouldn’t know how to keep warm—

Why should he worry? She’d come back on a whim, and he’d leave her alone. If she got too cold, she could pile into her expensive red truck and drive out of town—or she could stay with any of the Tallchiefs. She wasn’t his responsibility—someone else could…He didn’t want
to know why she had come back, but she’d torn apart his peace from the moment she’d sauntered into his garage.

He could have wrapped his hands in that silky mass and taken the kiss that he’d needed. But instead he’d managed a cool, brief smile and returned to the tune-up at hand. If she came back for a war, he wasn’t giving it to her.

Liam eased a crushed and torn letter from the thumbtack holding it on the bulletin board, decorated with J.T.’s best-colored pink cats. Raising a small boy alone prevented all tasks but those that were necessary, and it had been weeks before Liam discovered the letter while he was cleaning the wrecker, hunting for J.T.’s wind-up truck. The letter must have slipped from Michelle’s bag and torn slightly; there was no dismissing the threat— “I’ll make you pay.”

“I keep to my own life, and she’s not my problem,” Liam stated firmly to himself and the memory of her kiss mocked him—

He rubbed his rough hands over his face, trying to dislodge the woman who plagued and enticed him. Romance and tenderness and eternal love may have worked for Elizabeth and Liam’s ancestor, but this Liam had no illusions—his body needed Michelle’s and it was as simple as that: body instincts.

And he could deny his body’s needs—he had often enough—because he intended nothing to damage his life or his son’s peace and safety. “She’s not my problem,” he repeated carefully as a bolt of lightning outlined the woman running from her pickup to the house.

Alone in the cottage, without telephone lines or electricity, she would be a perfect target for a madman.

Michelle huddled beneath the plastic trash sack. The large hole cut for her face allowed her to see the man’s body outlined by lightning. In the doorway—well, it should have been a doorway, except the rotted wood wouldn’t hold the door upright against the wind—In the doorway, wind whipped the man’s hair and battered his jacket. Braced against the fierce impact, his legs looked as if nothing could move them—until he took a step into her house, the harsh beam of his flashlight lasering around the room covered in plastic.

“I have a gun. Don’t come any closer,” she said, holding up the lifter to the old wood cookstove to imitate a revolver. If Oswald found her somehow, chose now to take his revenge, there wasn’t a telephone installed or security guard or a— “And turn off the flashlight—” she added, just as the beam caught and blinded her.

The rich, deep chuckle surprised her as the flashlight roamed over the trash sack around her. The blinding beam clicked off, and Liam Tallchief’s dry, humorous tone asked, “Nice and comfy?”

She stood to her feet, eyeing him through the hole she’d cut in the trash sack. She hated to be caught, her incompetence spread before Liam. She’d come back to prove to him that she could manage in a small town— “I’ll manage.”

“Uh-huh. Come hold this flashlight while I brace up the door.”

“I don’t need rescuing. I’m enjoying myself. This is nothing, and I’ll fix it in the morning.” The steady dripping of water on top of her bag mocked her. The roof would take more than the plastic she had tried to staple on the shingles, both torn away by the wind. Unaccustomed to taking orders, she resented taking the flashlight.

His low grunt didn’t sound as if he believed her, and
she resented how easily he picked up the door, eased it into place and dragged her small desk in front of it. She’d discovered she liked diving into the used-furniture store, the corners stacked with unique and beautiful furniture that suited the cottage. The desk needed refinishing, but she’d loved it at first sight, picturing what it would look like sanded and rubbed with oil. Maybe she had a penchant for second-hand, a new discovery about the woman who never took time to experience or to discover the beauty of old things.

Water dripped steadily into the puddle between them as Liam recovered the flashlight from her and the beam pinpointed the layers of plastic sheeting around the room. Above the beam his face was grim as he turned to her. “Do you want to talk here or at my place?”

“I haven’t exactly invited you into my home, you know.”

“I know. You don’t like asking for help, and you don’t like getting caught needing it. Am I right? Bad weather and a bad roof weren’t in the tidy little plan, were they?”

“I knew it needed work. There are carpenters available, you know. I loved it. I bought it with plans of restoring it. The workmanship in the gingerbread decoration alone is unique. It’s an investment and it’s just that simple.”

“Nothing is simple with you.” He placed the flashlight upright on her desk, the beam brightly exposing the dripping and sagging ceiling. “Here. This was stuck under the wrecker’s seat.”

She took the letter from his hand, the crumpled letter she’d lost, the envelope torn away to reveal Oswald’s threats. She lifted the plastic sack to jam the letter in her coat pocket. A practical woman—at times—she knew to keep evidence for the police. “You read it, I suppose.”

He shrugged. “I saw enough. I suspect he means what he says and he’ll be coming for you. The envelope was torn away and his threats were easy to see. Now are you coming to my place or are we talking here?”

Water dripped into the bucket on the floor at her feet. Her senses told her to grab Liam’s strong shoulders and hold on, that he would keep her safe. But pride demanded that she call her own terms, and in her lifetime Michelle had trusted and relied on few people. She didn’t trust herself now—with the need to throw herself upon Liam and hold him tight, letting his strong arms wrap around her. “I’d prefer another time. I’ll check my schedule—”

He tilted his head and caught her chin with his hand, lifting her face for his inspection. “You’re so cold, your lips are almost blue and you’re shivering. Were you always a hardhead, wanting to have your own way, no matter what the cost to you?”

“I didn’t have it easy, Tallchief. I had to fight for what I wanted,” she shot back tightly.

“What do you want now?” The bald question knocked her sideways, for she couldn’t tell him how badly she needed to feel safe, to have him hold her.

“I want a life,” she blurted truthfully, and hated him for prying through her defenses. When Liam prowled around her, her hackles and emotions rose too easily. “I want to feel and grow things and think. I need to think and I can’t do it under the pressure of running a top-notch human resources department—”

Liam’s eyes narrowed. “Let me get this straight—you quit your job.”

She tried not to shiver, her corduroy jacket damp. Her body’s goose bumps scraped against her sweater and jeans. She didn’t want Liam to see how cold she was, that she hadn’t managed to take care of her basic needs.
“While I was on my leave of absence, Mr. Dover’s son moved in to take over my job. Words were said, insinuations that I didn’t like. I let them have the job—I’d built the human resources section into a finely tuned operation. His son can have the job without a hitch. I can manage. I’ve been on my own for a long time…. Okay, my priorities have changed. I want to grow flowers and paint woodwork and sand old furniture and I want to think. I’ve been running too hard all my life—” She shook her head, and the plastic bag rustled. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, and by the way, where is J.T.? I hope you didn’t haul him out in this—”

“My son is having a high time at Elspeth’s. I called to check on him before coming here—”

“What’s the matter, dear old dad? Empty-nest syndrome? Needing to scout the countryside to collect someone to push around?”

“I miss him, but he’s growing up. I want him to be comfortable with them, if anything would happen to me. I want him to have someone he knows.” He lifted his head to the sound of the wind tearing another wooden shingle away. “You’re not staying here tonight.”

Then he lifted the small desk and the door aside, picked up Michelle in her trash bag and carried her to an old battered pickup, placing her inside. “Stay put, Miss Trash Bag,” he ordered before slamming the door. Through the hole she’d cut in the plastic, she glimpsed that boyish grin and wished she hadn’t.

By the time Michelle had struggled out of her bag, Liam was back at the cabin, setting a plywood panel against the doorway and bracing boards to keep it in place. He hunched against the slashing cold rain and ran back to his pickup, entering it with the storm’s fury and his own scent that she’d recognize anywhere.

Liam gripped the steering wheel until it creaked, his knuckles white. A bolt of lightning shot to the ground, the glow hitting his hard profile, the hard clench of his jaw. “You should have stayed away.”

“I choose what I do,” she answered, taking responsibility for the fiery tension that ricocheted through the battered cab of his pickup. His dark, fierce expression when he turned to her, his black hair whipped by wind and glittering with rain, told her what he wanted. Then he reached to push his hands through her hair and draw her close for his hungry, torrid kiss.

She moved toward his heat, seeking the mystery of what happened between them, how he could ignite her. He made her feel soft and strong at the same time, his unique taste too exciting to refuse. She wrapped her arms around him and her cold fingers into the warm, safe muscles beneath his jacket. He trembled against her, scooping her closer, his mouth against her temple, her forehead, her eyes and cheeks. “Hold tight,” he whispered roughly as his mouth slanted to fuse to her own and her body and heart leaped to life.

She’d spent her life sleeping, she thought distantly, as his lips cruised hers, tasting and exploring and settling just long enough to torment. Now she was alive, tasting life, excitement racing through her, setting off every nerve ending; she needed to feed upon him, to devour him, and let him do the same as the rain slashed down at them…and yet she was safe and warm and—She sighed against his lips, because she knew that Liam treasured touching her, his hands trembling as he opened her jacket to draw her closer to him. The fever ran on, pulsing through her, feeding her, making her feel alive—

“Do I take you to Silver’s?” he asked roughly, with just enough vulnerability in his tone to snare her heart. “Or will you come home with me?”

A
t eleven o’clock at night, with a storm raging outside his home and in his soul, Liam rubbed his hands roughly over his face.

He’d reached out once more and claimed the woman he’d wanted.
The truth of that knowledge—his lack of control—staked his work boots to the linoleum floor, his hands gripping the kitchen counter. While the Tallchief legends were based on love, he’d known little of that, and his desire for Michelle ruled him now. He shook his head, listening to the shower water stop in the bathroom. He could turn this around now, take her to the Tallchiefs and keep her safe. He’d been controlled all his life, even in making love to his wife. With Michelle, he’d stepped outside his own boundaries. But it was more than lust snaring him, it was his own reaction upon seeing her fighting the odds. He’d wanted to protect her from the stalker. Liam admired her, and the excitement in seeing
her, in touching her, was only exceeded by the soft yield of her lips beneath his.

The lady had her own demands, gripping his hair with her fingers, holding him tight. No man could deny the seduction, he told himself, when her soft sigh went sweeping across his skin, the scent of rain in her hair, the silky mass tantalizing and wild and sweet, as it caught against his throat, his cheek. She’d given him insight into the tenderness of a man and a woman, the way her cheek pressed gently against his, her hands stroking his hair. She gave him ease, lying so trustingly against him in the pickup, her head upon his shoulder as they trembled with heat and desire. She kept close to him as he drove to his home and then carried her inside.

He sensed more than the moment’s hot desire; he sensed he was bringing a part of his heart home to stay—

He turned to the freshly showered woman in the shadows, dressed in his T-shirt, much too large for her, her damp hair in a light froth around her head and shoulders. “We need to talk,” he said, pushing the rusty words into the damp, tense air between them. “I’m not usually this—”

“Neither am I,” she stated shakily, her face pale in the shadows.

Liam fought holding and comforting her, the taste of her mouth still clinging to his. “From what I read, that letter wasn’t a joke. What happened? Why does he want revenge?”

Her shoulders shifted briefly beneath his shirt. “He was in the final rounds for an impressive job at Dover’s. But his psychological test results were unusual. I followed a hunch and cross matched his mother’s birth name to criminal records. Theron had given a false name. His real name had a mile-long list of theft…and he likes
to hurt people. His references were false, and after receiving my rejection letter, he broke into my office to threaten me. It’s happened before with other applicants, but nothing so violent. I had to ask the security guards to remove him and file a report with the police. It was a nasty scene. I told you that I’m very good at what I do, especially profiling, seeing if the personality type fits. I knew that unpleasant part of the job when I took it. I’ve done what I could for safety.”

“It’s happened before?” he asked, shocked that she’d stay in a dangerous position and furious at the nameless who had threatened her.

“I’m not a victim, Liam. I grew up with threats—veiled, but threats just the same. If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be. I make all the final decisions in my life. I hunt for facts, and sometimes they aren’t what is expected.” She glanced at him and crossed her arms, staring at the pattern of the linoleum between them. “I like putting pieces together and making a fit.”

She looked directly at him now as if she wanted to say more. “You did what you could, Liam, making a life for all of you—paying Reuben’s bills, working at the station and taking care of them all, providing for your wife and Reuben. You shouldn’t blame yourself for giving your wife the child she wanted. You didn’t know she’d die. And some women consider that a fulfillment to know that a part of them will go on.”

“You’re a woman. Do you?” he asked harshly, as the bitter past wrapped around him and the hot water kettle hissed on the stove behind him. He briskly made her cup of tea, from the herbs that Elspeth had brought by for J.T.’s sniffles.

The answer came long after she sipped the tea and placed the cup and saucer on the kitchen counter. “My
mother wasn’t exactly a model of patience and love. I’m not certain how I would be. But I know that I am not bearing the required heir for my parents because they wish it. I’m expecting them to visit, by the way, and probably cause quite a stir. It’s what they do best—levy guilt and make cold, slashing scenes. Perhaps that’s why I agreed to my marriage—I understood the rules. I don’t understand anything with you. I’ve picked my place, I think, away from everyone—so the battle with my parents will be private this time. I don’t want the Tallchiefs involved or hurt,” she said too matter-of-factly, and he knew that she fought her own storms. That insight startled him.

“Have you ever looked back—I mean into your life—to see what was there?” she asked softly, watching him closely.

“No,” he said, pushing the past away. “I knew what was there. Hard times and work and no money. I lived it.”

“I see, but it is strange—not researching your parents or to see what family there might have been. There are newspaper clippings, church records, that sort of thing.”

“It happened. That’s all there was. I wanted to go on to a new life, for J.T.”

She looked away, and the bolt of lightning outside his house glowed upon her frown. “So you’ve never gone back—really researched your family?”

“I researched enough for legalities. I saw the house they lived in.” It had been too painful, opening the door to his real parents. He’d been in shock for days, holding the document, staring at it, realizing how his life with Reuben had been a lie.

“You visited the town, drove around a bit and didn’t ask questions, am I right? You just took J.T. to a new
life,” Michelle murmured as if placing his choices into a neat, make-sense line. “You came here, because you wanted to ensure J.T.’s safety, should something happen to you. You knew you were alone, his only relative, and you studied this Tallchief family to see if they had the love J.T. needed and you’d never had. You never wondered if there could be more to your life before the accident?”

“There isn’t, and you’re asking too many questions that have answers too old to matter. Come here,” he whispered, shadows trembling around them. He tossed away the unsettling sense that Michelle knew something more. He had to hold her again, to know that she was safe. Was it wrong to grasp for something that felt so right?

“No. You come here. I can’t move, I’m shaking so,” she whispered back.

When he held her close, she seemed so fragile, not like the woman who had marked him with her fire earlier. He lifted her gently, feeling rough and unsuited to the lady in his arms. “I haven’t—”

Her finger pressed against his lips. “Neither have I. You won’t hurt me. I know you won’t. But I can’t promise the same—”

He would wonder later what she meant, but not just then, with the fever burning him in the stormy night….

She hadn’t expected Liam to be so gentle, so uncertain as he placed her upon his bed and came down beside her, placing his jeaned leg over her bare ones. The room was scented of him, of soap and sunshine in the sheets, and he’d had to toss aside the soft monster toy on his pillow before lowering her. Even now, lying beside her in the intimate shadows, Liam looked like a man torn apart,
lines between his brows and bracketing his mouth. A meticulous, controlled man, it was no simple matter for him to take her, she realized, nor was it for her. In the mind of each, they weighed what could happen—but Michelle’s intimacy with her husband had been a lie. Now she wanted the truth—raw and bold and alive, searing into her.

“Is this how you feel, really feel, touching me as if you’re afraid I’ll break?” she asked as his trembling hand went skimming down her body, setting it alive.

“No. I want to take everything. I’d hurt you,” he answered roughly, skimming his hands through her hair, pushing it back from her face as he turned to rest slightly over her.

“Worry about yourself. I won’t break—” she whispered against his mouth before it sank onto hers, forging them together. His hunger curled around her, snared her, and she dived into the sensations of Liam’s uneven breath upon her skin, the warm caress of his hands, taking away his shirt.

He hurried then, in their private storm, to tear away his clothing, until his skin burned against her, fiery hot, the weight of his desire thrusting against her thigh. “Do you want this?” he whispered roughly against her breast, the tip peaked from the gentle suction of his mouth.

“I want you,” she answered truthfully, for within her, she knew that she needed Liam on another level, an uncertain fragile one that could easily tear apart. But here, now, they were matched evenly in desire, hers no less than his. She tensed as his hand smoothed her thighs, as if he were exploring her centimeter by centimeter. His thumb roamed across the jut of her hipbone, circled her navel, and his hand eased upward following the line of her ribs, then up and over her breasts. His hot gaze down
their intertwined bodies pleased her as it had before, the lock of heavier, stronger legs with her own too exciting for her to lie still. Her face burned with heat, but Liam’s dark coloring also bore the flush of their passion.

She could barely breathe now, caught in the hot, taut storm of emotions and sensations and reeling from them. His fingers lightly roamed over her, finding her low and pulsing and warm. He stilled, trembled and she knew he fought for control, but she couldn’t have that, flying off into the heat. He came to her with protection, easing upon her so lightly for a big man.

“Michelle,” he whispered roughly as though her name had been unwillingly drawn from him.

She had to know, catching his face between her hands. “Have you had this with another woman—this…here…now?”

“No. Your skin is like silk—I’ll bruise you….” The answer was deep, raw and filled with truth. His eyes were blazing now, his face honed with desire, and she rose to wrap around him, tethering him with her arms and legs and sighing when he entered her slowly, forcing her to wait. “Don’t. You’re too tight—I don’t want to hurt—”

His breath caught, and above her his great body stilled as he settled deeply within her. Again that hot gaze fell to her breasts, nestled against his chest and lower to the lock of their bodies. “Yes,” she whispered, knowing he waited before he took—while she could not, the fever already tightening her inside, burning…

He claimed her then, and it was just as she wanted—the claiming, the brand of his skin, his body upon hers, the rhythm forging them closer and apart. The friction of their bodies burned away doubt and left only sensations and hunger. The final pounding, riveting pinnacle came then, she against him, and he taking and claiming, the
kisses rough and hungry and skin sliding upon skin as she fought to hold him tighter, her body clenching with passion.

Too soon they flew into the storm, pulsing, riding the tempest together, until Michelle heard him cry out, and stars burst in her brain and her body melted beneath his. Looking stunned, Liam studied her flushed face, her swollen, tender mouth. Then he came softly upon her, where she could hold him safe and close and soothe him after his journey.

His lips moved against her throat as she smoothed his back—that strong, smooth surface. Michelle drifted into sleep with a sense of homecoming. The erotic dream, the seductive rhythm and heat became a reality as she awoke slowly. Liam throbbed within her, filling her yet again, his mouth moving hungrily upon her breasts, his hands beneath her hips lifting her.

After the third time, later in the night, with the storm crashing wildly outside, Michelle melted warmly against him. She’d wanted—no, needed—this man to hunger for her, and his desire for her pleased her more than she could ever hope. He’d given her a truth, in his lips and touch and in the fervor of his great body. He’d waited for her, and now he was hers. “Witch,” he’d whispered desperately as his body bolted deep into hers, shaking with passion. “Pretty, silky witch.”

Liam stood, leaning back into the bedroom’s shadows, his hand gripping the Tallchief tartan. Michelle’s hair, a wild, silky mass spread across his pillow, seemed to glow, picking up the lightning from outside the window. Her scent and that of their lovemaking curled around him now. She shot deep within him, seared through the scars and the pain and the doubt to entrance him. Her body
called to his now, that aching wonder that his passionate need for her would only grow. He’d had to claim her, to make her his own, and tonight they’d forged a tender bond that could haunt him later—when she saw how misfit they were.

Still, his need to hold her grew with each breath. She could raise his temper when others had failed. She could make him feel like teasing her just to delight in the emerald flash of eyes and the set of that delicate chin. Obsessed? Perhaps. He gripped the soft weave of Elspeth’s tartan, the Tallchief plaid. Was this how his namesake had felt, that wild burning urge to capture and hold the woman he’d loved, Elizabeth Montclair?

Liam frowned and rubbed the ache within his chest. Whatever had happened with Michelle tonight, it burned deep within him.
He gave me two flints, the tinderbox marked with the Tallchief symbol and a love that burns true.

He wasn’t certain what burned within him for Michelle, but Liam knew it had changed his life—

Michelle stirred restlessly upon the bed, and Liam noted her slight frown as she slept. She’d ache in the morning, and it was his fault, the result of his driving need. He could give her little, of gifts and of himself. What did he know of gentler needs, the due of a woman who should be courted? What did he know of love, other than for his son?

He had to protect her from the man threatening her. He wasn’t certain about the deep, dark anger brewing within him, that she’d been threatened by a madman.

Freshly showered, he breathed quietly, naked and cold in the night, the cold wind howling around his house, the past stalking on his doorstep. He’d kept to himself, but now, for Michelle, he would try—With a sense that the
fragile peace and happiness in his heart could be torn apart easily, Liam walked to the other room and picked up the telephone. He called Birk and Lacey’s office, so as not to wake them at the odd hour of his reckoning. It was odd, for a man who never asked help from others, to ask for Michelle, to help her with her dream of a simpler life and quickly before winter came. When Liam replaced the telephone, he found the Tallchief tartan draped across his shoulder, as if he had the right to ask of the Tallchiefs, as if he were one of them—