* * *
Her eyes drifted open to meet the pinkish-gray, predawn light. Her breasts were full. Tony had slept through the night without a feeding, but he would be waking up soon. She hoped so. Her discomfort had awakened her from a sound sleep.
She lifted her eyelids a fraction more and was alarmed to see how close to her Lucas was lying. His chest was scant inches from her nose. She could count each crinkly hair. Secretly she thanked his father for giving Lucas enough Anglo blood to have a beard and chest hair.
The bed covers were folded back to his waist. His smooth, dark skin looked touchable beneath the rumpled white sheet. She longed to lay her hand in the valley of his waist. But, of course, she didn't.
Lying perfectly still, she let her eyes wander up his tanned throat to the proud chin. His lips were beautifully shaped, if a bit stern. His nose was long and straight, not flat and wide like many Apaches'. Again she blessed his father's seed.
She gasped softly when her eyes lifted to his and found them steadily watching her. His hair looked very black against the snowy pillowcase. "What are you doing awake?" she whispered.
"Habit." Only an act of will kept her from flinching when he raised one of his hands and picked a wavy strand of hair from her cheek. Looking at it analytically, he rubbed it between his fingers. At length, he laid it with unwarranted care on her pillow. "However, it has not been my habit of recent years to wake up with a woman lying beside me. You smell good."
"Thank you."
Another man might have asked, "What perfume are you wearing?" or said, "I like your fragrance." But her husband was a man of few words. His compliments weren't lavish, but they expressed exactly what he wanted to say. "You smell good." She cherished the simple compliment.
He touched her. His fingers explored lightly, with the inhibited curiosity of a child allowed in the formal living room for the first time. Eyebrows. Nose. Mouth. He gazed at what he touched.
He glided his fingers back and forth across her throat and chest. "So soft," he said, as though marveling over the texture of her skin.
With one fluid movement of his arm he threw the covers off. She willed herself to lie still when he pulled her gown down. This was her husband. She couldn't withhold herself from him. And she discovered that she didn't want to.
He wouldn't hurt her. She knew that. If he were a truly violent man he could have hurt her so many times in the past. She remembered his gentleness when he tended the scratch on her arm. Besides, he had sworn he would never harm her, and she believed him. So she lay perfectly still while his eyes devoured her breasts and his finger traced a vein that rivered toward her nipple.
She saw his jaw bunch with tension. For a brief second, he looked directly into her eyes before he leaned forward and pressed his open mouth to her neck. Moaning low, he inched closer, until her breasts were touching his chest.
His lips sipped at her skin, nipping at it lightly with his teeth. She felt the brush of his tongue, soft and wet and warm. It took every ounce of willpower at her disposal not to dig her hands into his hair and hold his head against her. He was exercising such self-restraint that she dared not move. It would be cruel to instigate something that couldn't be satisfactorily finished.
His mouth moved lower, touching her damply, taking exquisitely gentle love-bites. He raised his head slightly and looked down at her laden breasts. "If I…? Would your milk come?" He looked at her. She nodded.
A spasm of regret flickered across his mouth. He leaned away from her and paused for a moment before easing the gown down farther. He looked at her. At everything.
His eyes fastened on her womanhood. He touched the golden cloud of hair. He started breathing heavily, rapidly. Indeed, since the covers had been thrown back, the strength of his desire was no secret.
Suddenly his hand clamped her wrist. Alarmed by the abrupt movement, she raised questioning eyes to his. "You're my wife," he grated. "I won't be denied."
Before she realized his intent, he dragged her hand down, below his waist, and opened it over himself. Pressing. Her lips parted in an effort to protest, but his were there to seal hers closed and the words were left unspoken. His tongue plunged deep, filling her mouth.
He rolled her to her back and straddled her thighs. Their hands were trapped between their bodies, locked in the cove of her femininity and grinding against his manhood. He used his hand to maneuver hers, keeping her fingers tightly closed around him. Her palm provided the friction.
What happened then was so personal, so heart- and soul- and gut-wrenching that they both quaked under the tumult of it.
It lasted forever.
Finally, he rested his head on her breasts. His breathing was labored. She could feel his fingers moving mindlessly through her hair, as though reaching for something greatly desired, but elusive and just beyond his grasp.
Then abruptly, he rolled off the bed and came to his feet. He picked up the articles of his clothing with jerky movements and pulled them on haphazardly and angrily. He shoved his feet into his boots and, without so much as a backward glance, flung open the door and walked out.
Aislinn was dismayed and heartsick. She lay there staring at the door through which he had passed' grieved that he couldn't even look at her after what had happened. To her it had been beautiful. When his mouth had softened, when his tongue had ceased to be aggressive, he needn't have forced her to caress him. Though she doubted he realized that.
The immensity of the act had left her weak and trembling. It had left him angry. Had he been ashamed? Embarrassed? Disgusted? With himself or with her?
Or had he been as shattered by the impact of it as she? And, like her, was he bewildered as to how to deal with his feelings about it?
Both of them had survived childhood by keeping their emotions hidden. She had been taught by her parents to do so. Because of the scorn he had suffered as a child, Lucas kept his emotions carefully guarded to protect himself from hurt. He didn't know how to demonstrate affection and tenderness. He was even less adept at accepting them.
Aislinn knew then. She loved Lucas Greywolf.
And if it took her from now until her dying day, she would make him accept her love.
* * *
It wasn't going to be easy. She realized that the moment she entered the kitchen a half-hour later. Lucas was sitting at the table talking with Alice, sipping coffee and eating a stack of pancakes. He ignored Aislinn completely.
It was ironic that her penchant to stare at him coincided with his avoidance of her at all costs. While Aislinn's heart was stormy with awakened love, his eyes were as turbulent as a thundercloud. Through breakfast, their departure from Alice, and their drive to Lucas's ranch, he remained practically mute.
He provided monosyllabic answers to the questions she posed. Each inroad she made toward conversation met with a dead end. While her eyes wanted to gobble up the sight of him, he wouldn't make direct eye contact with her. She was amiable; he was querulous.
Once, after they had driven miles with Tony sleeping in his carrier between them, Lucas whipped his head around and demanded, "What the hell are you staring at?"
"You."
"Well, don't."
"Because it makes you nervous?"
"Because I don't like it."
"There's nothing else to look at."
"Give the scenery a try."
"When did you get your ear pierced?"
"Years ago."
"Why?"
"I wanted to."
"On you I like it."
His eyes left the road for another brief moment. "On me?" he sneered. "Meaning that it's okay for a man to have a pierced ear if he happens to be an Indian."
Aislinn bit back a retort. Instead she responded with a softly spoken, "No, meaning that on you I find it very attractive." His stern expression faltered for a split second before he returned his concentration to the two-lane highway that was taking them into the higher elevations of the White Mountains. "I have pierced ears, too. Maybe we can swap earrings."
Her attempt at humor fell flat. If he heard her, he gave no evidence of it. She thought he was going to ignore her entirely. But after a minute or two he said, "I only wear this one earring."
"Does it have special significance?"
"My grandfather made it."
"Joseph Greywolf was a silversmith?"
"That was just one of his talents." There was a defensive edge to his voice as sharp as a double-edged sword. It couldn't have held more challenge if he had said "En garde." "Do you find it hard to believe that an Indian could have several skills?"
Again, she held back a rejoinder. Curbing her temper this time was more difficult, but she forced herself to control it. She understood that he was only being nasty because he was mortified over what had happened in bed that morning.
He had revealed a weakness to her, and he found that untenable. Underneath that implacable facade, Lucas Greywolf was an extremely sensitive man. He had the same needs and desires for love as any human being. Only he didn't want anyone to know it.
His hostility was a defense mechanism. He was punishing himself for being a bastard, for being a hardship on his teenaged mother, even for being Indian. He was so hard on himself he had served a prison sentence for a crime he didn't commit. Aislinn wouldn't be satisfied until she uncovered each injury in his soul and healed it with her love.
"You didn't tell me you had some land. I know, I know," she rushed to add, holding up both palms, "I didn't ask. Will I always have to ask to get information out of you?"
"I'll tell you what I think you need to know."
Her mouth fell open in dismay over such outrageous chauvinism. "You think a woman should be seen and not heard, is that it?" she cried. "Well, think again, Mr. Greywolf, because Mrs. Greywolf intends to be an equal partner in this marriage, and if you didn't want it like that, then maybe you shouldn't have been so hasty to force Ms. Andrews into marrying you."
He flexed his fingers around the steering wheel. "What do you want to know?" he asked tightly.
Somewhat mollified, she settled back against the seat of the pickup truck. "Did you inherit the land from your grandfather?"
"Yes."
"Were we there … before?"
"You mean at the hogan? Yes. It was just over that ridge," he said, hitching his chin in that direction.
"Was?"
"I had it burned."
That stunned her, and for several minutes she said nothing. Then she asked, "How large is your ranch?"
"We're not rich if that's what you're asking," he said with injured scorn.
"That wasn't what I asked at all. I asked how much land you own."
He told her and she was surprised and impressed. "That's what was left after the swindlers got to my grandfather. Uranium was found on his property, but grandfather never profited from it."
To save them a heated discussion on the exploitation of Indians, especially when she was already on his side of that argument, she asked, "What kind of ranch is it? Cattle?"
"Horses."
She pondered that for a moment. "I don't understand, Lucas. Why did your grandfather die in poverty if he had that much land and a herd of horses?"
Apparently she struck a cord. Lucas glanced at her uneasily. "Joseph was very proud. He thought things should be done according to tradition."
"In other words," she paraphrased, "he didn't advance to modern ranching techniques."
"Something like that," he mumbled.
It was endearing to her that Lucas defended his late grandfather, even though he apparently hadn't agreed with him on how the ranch should be run.
The rest of the trip was spent in silence. She knew they were getting close to their destination when he turned off the highway, drove through a gate and onto a dirt road.
"Will we be there soon?" she asked.
He nodded. "Don't expect much."
As it turned out, what they saw when they arrived surprised Lucas more than it did Aislinn. "What the hell?" he muttered as the pickup chugged up the last hill.
Aislinn's eyes darted around the clearing, trying to take in everything at once. Admonishing herself for behaving like a kid at her first circus, she slowed her eyes down and tried to digest everything she saw.
The compound was set between two low hills that formed a horseshoe. On one side of the open area there was a large corral. Two men on horseback were leading a small herd of horses through the gate. A barn, obviously old and weathered, was nestled against the mountainside.
On the other side of the semicircle, stood a house trailer. Its paint was chipped and faded, and it looked about ready to collapse upon itself.
Right in the center of this land harbor was a stucco house. Because of its color, it blended into the rock wall that rose almost perpendicular behind it. The house was well suited to its environment.
It was also a beehive of activity. Men were shouting to one another. The ring of a hammer echoed off the surrounding rock walls. From somewhere as yet undetermined, Aislinn could hear the high, shrill whirring of a buzz saw.
Lucas braked the pickup and got out. A man, dressed in cowboy garb, separated himself from the others who were working on the house. He waved and came jogging toward them. He was shorter and much stockier than Lucas and had the bowlegged, rolling walk of a man who spends a lot of time on horseback.
"Johnny, what the hell is going on?" Lucas said in lieu of a proper hello.
"We're getting your house finished for you."
"I was going to live in the trailer until I could get enough money together to finish the house."
"So now you won't have to," Johnny said, his black eyes twinkling jovially. "Hello, by the way. It's good to have you back." He shook Lucas's hand. But Lucas, still staring over his friend's shoulder up toward the house, barely noticed.
"I can't pay for any of this."
"You've already paid."
"What the hell does that mean? Does my mother know about this?"
"Yeah, but she was sworn to secrecy. We've been working on the house since we found out the date of your release, trying to get it finished before you got here. Thanks for giving us the few extra days."
Johnny was distracted as he spoke. Now he gazed openly at the blond woman who had gotten out of the pickup. She moved to stand at Lucas's side, holding a baby against her shoulder. The child's head was covered with a light blanket to protect it from the glaring sun. "Hi."
Lucas turned, noticing Aislinn for the first time. "Oh, Johnny Deerinwater, this is my, uh, wife."
"I'm Aislinn," she said, sticking out her hand.
In friendly fashion, Johnny Deerinwater shook her hand and swept off his straw cowboy hat. "Pleased to meet you. Alice told us Lucas had gotten married. The sonofa … gun was going to keep you a secret from his friends, I guess."
"Mother must have called you this morning."
"Yeah. She said you'd just left on your way here. As I said, we've been working on the house for several weeks, but we had to get our … uh, rears in gear when we heard this morning that you were bringing a wife and baby with you. Speaking of which, why don't we get them out of the sun?"
Johnny stepped aside, indicating to Aislinn that she should precede him up the path toward the house. She was conscious of the workmen's eyes as they followed her progress. When she ventured to smile at several of them, they returned her smiles with varying degrees of shyness and suspicion.
As Lucas and Johnny fell into step behind her, Johnny said, "Since Joseph died, we've all pitched in to keep the herd fed, but that's about all. The horses were scattered to kingdom come. We've been rounding them up for weeks. Not all of them are accounted for yet."
"I'll find them," Lucas said.
Aislinn stepped onto the low, wide front porch of the house and, because she didn't know what else to do, entered the front door. The smell of fresh paint and raw lumber was almost overpowering, but not unpleasant. She pivoted, taking in the white walls that added to the spacious feel of the house. There were windows on every available wall, naked beams in the ceilings, and quarry tile floors that gave the rooms unity. In the main room there was a huge fireplace. She could imagine a glowing, cheery, crackling fire on a cold evening.
She gazed at Lucas in wonderment, but he seemed as surprised by the house as she. "When I left, there was nothing here but bare walls," he remarked. "Who's responsible for this, Johnny?"
"Well, Alice and I got to talking over a cup of coffee one day," he said, wiping his perspiring forehead with a bandanna. "We decided that we'd call in a few of your debts from people who owed you for legal services. Instead of collecting money, we collected favors. For instance, Walter Kincaid did the tile work. Pete Deleon did the plumbing." He went through a list of names, enumerating what each of Lucas's debtors had contributed to the house.
"Some of the fixtures and appliances are secondhand, Mrs. Greywolf," he said apologetically, "but they've been cleaned up good as new."
"Everything looks marvelous," Aislinn said, looking down at the beautiful, hand-woven Navaho rug someone's grandmother had made for Lucas. "Thank you for everything, and please call me Aislinn."
He nodded, smiling. "The only furniture we could round up was a dinette set for the kitchen. This morning we got busy and found a, uh, bed." His dark cheeks flushed hotly with embarrassment.
"I have some furniture we can move up here," Aislinn said quickly, to relieve Johnny's bashfulness. Lucas gave her a sharp look, but said nothing. For that she was grateful. She didn't want to get in a row with him in front of his friends. Their marriage might not be conventional, but she didn't want that fact advertised.
"Linda, that's my wife, will be up later this afternoon to bring some groceries."
"I'll look forward to meeting her."
A truck rumbled to a halt outside. Johnny went to the door and looked out. "Here are the light fixtures we ordered."
"I can't pay for any of this," Lucas repeated stubbornly, his face set.
"You've got good credit." Johnny gave Aislinn a smile and left, bounding off the front porch, already calling orders.
"Maybe you'd better show me where the bedroom is," Aislinn ventured, "so I can lay Tony down."
"I'm not sure I know myself," Lucas said crossly. "This house was just a shell when I left it."
"Where were you living?" Aislinn asked, following him down the hallway. "In the trailer?"
"Yes. I'd been building this house for several years, taking it one step at a time whenever I could get some money together."
"I like it," she said, stepping into the room that was obviously the largest bedroom. It had a wide window that provided a view of the mountains.
"You don't have to say that."
"I mean it."
"Compared to that fancy condo you were living in, this is a slum."
"It is not! I'll decorate it and—"
"You can forget moving any of your furniture up here," he said, pointing his index finger at her.
She slapped it aside. "Why? Because you're too damn proud to use anything belonging to your wife? Didn't Indians barter with their prospective fathers-in-law for their wives?"
"Only in John Wayne movies."
"Consider this my dowry, which, whether you want to admit it or not, I know was a matter of pride to Indian women."
"I can provide for my family."
"I don't doubt that, Lucas. I never have."
"I'll buy furniture as soon as I sell some horses."
"But in the meantime, would you have your son sleeping on the floor?"
At the mention of Tony, Lucas glanced down at the baby. Aislinn had laid him on the wide bed the moment they entered the room. He was awake and looking around curiously, as though sensing he was in new surroundings.
Lucas bent over him and stroked his face with his index finger. Tony opened one of his waving fists and grabbed his father's finger, instinctively pulling it toward his mouth. Lucas laughed softly.
"You see, Lucas," Aislinn whispered, "whether you want to accept it or not, there are people who love you."
He gave her one of his most chilling stares before he swung around and stamped from the room.
* * *