* * *
Antagonism continued to seethe between them. On the day Dr. Gene Dexter married Alice Greywolf, Aislinn did her best to put on a good front, pretending that her relationship with Lucas was nothing short of blissful. The wedding decorations weren't extravagant, but there was a distinct party atmosphere in the house. All the guests had a good time. Aislinn had been trained to give good parties. She was a gay, gracious hostess and seemingly enjoyed herself.
The bride wasn't fooled.
"I can't believe you're finally my wife."
Gene and Alice had driven to Santa Fe for their honeymoon. Now, as he held her tenderly, stroking her straight black hair, he couldn't quite believe that his dreams had finally become a reality.
"The church looked beautiful, didn't it?" she asked him.
"You looked beautiful. But then you always do."
"Aislinn went to too much trouble over the reception. I wasn't expecting anything so lavish."
"She's a lovely girl," Gene murmured absently as he kissed Alice's velvety cheek.
"Tony seemed fretful."
"Aislinn told me he'd been crying more than usual. I recommended that she bring him in for a checkup when we get back."
"They're unhappy, Gene."
His arms fell to his sides and he sighed heavily. "I didn't know that we had brought Lucas and Aislinn along on our honeymoon."
"Oh, Gene," Alice said, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tight. She laid her cheek against his chest. He had removed his suit coat as soon as the hotel bellman left the room, but they were both still fully clothed. "Forgive me. I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be worrying about them, but I can't just shut my mind off. Aislinn looks like she's walking a tightrope and Lucas looks—"
"Like a keg of dynamite about to explode," Gene finished for her. "He's more truculent than ever. I've never seen him so brooding and angry." He laughed softly into her hair. "Personally, I think it's a good sign."
"How?" she lifted her head to ask.
He ran a finger along her jaw. "If she didn't disturb him so much, he wouldn't be so touchy and defensive. I think the lady is getting to him in a way no one else ever has. That scares hell out of the fearless Lucas Greywolf."
"Do you think Aislinn loves him?"
"Yes. Undoubtedly. I've done some checking on her father. Willard Andrews is on about every board of governors and chairs about every committee in Scottsdale. A woman of her means, whose father holds that kind of position in the community, could have fought one lone Indian and won hands down. I don't care what he threatened her with, she didn't have to marry your son. Yes, I think she loves him."
"And what about Lucas. Does he love her?"
Gene's brow furrowed as he thought back on the reception brunch held in honor of Alice and him. Every time he had looked at Lucas, Lucas had been looking at Aislinn. And not just casually looking, but watching her with total concentration, oblivious to what was going on around him.
Now that he thought about it, Gene remembered Aislinn carrying a heavy bowl of punch to the buffet table she had set up in the living room. He had seen Lucas rush forward, as though to relieve her of it. But Lucas had stopped short of reaching her, suddenly changing his mind.
And while they had been saying their goodbyes, Gene would bet Lucas's mind hadn't been on his mother and her new husband. The young man had seemed captivated by his wife. His whole body had looked stiff, as though he was physically restraining himself from touching her as she waved goodbye, laughing and calling out good wishes, her blond hair blowing against Lucas's shoulder.
"In my professional opinion, he's got a touch of lovesickness," Gene said now, in answer to Alice's question. "He might not know he loves her yet. Or if he does, he doesn't want to admit it, especially to himself."
"I want them to be happy."
"I want us to be happy. Do you know what would make me deliriously happy right now?" He tipped her head back with his knuckle beneath her chin and kissed her, tenderly at first, then with mounting passion. His arms slid around her waist and drew her up against him. "Alice, Alice," he moaned when he finally lifted his lips from hers. "I've waited so long for this. I can't remember when I didn't want you, when I didn't ache for Alice Greywolf."
"Alice Dexter," she whispered shyly.
He took that as her way of saying that she shared his love and desire. He reached for the back buttons of her simple, apricot linen dress. Ruffles and lace would have swallowed a woman as petite as Alice. For adornment she wore only a pair of gold earrings, the gold chain he had given her last Christmas, and the slender gold wedding band that now encircled her finger.
When all the buttons were undone, he eased the dress forward. "I'm not young anymore, Gene," she said tremulously. "I'm a grandmother."
He only smiled and pulled the dress off her shoulders. His gasp and the shudder that ran through him testified to his delight in her body. She was small, trim, perfect. Her ecru lingerie was alluring without being overtly sexy. It suited the woman who was wearing it. She was modest but had a latent sensuality waiting to be kindled.
He adored his bride.
Holding her gently and kissing away her nervous shyness, he removed the rest of her clothing. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to the bed and laid her down. She kept her eyes closed while he undressed.
Then he came to her, gathered her in his arms, and held her body close to his while sheer ecstasy, as sweet and thick as honey, rivered through him. She was trembling.
"Alice," he whispered, "don't be afraid. For as long as you want, I'm content to just hold you. I know you're frightened and I know why. But I swear to you and to God that I would never do anything to hurt you."
"I know that, Gene. I do. It's just that it's been so long and—"
"I know. You don't have to say any more. Nothing will happen until you want it to." He held her protectively, commanding his body to hold itself in check. He knew he must practice infinite patience with this woman who was worthy of being cherished.
Eventually she relaxed and he felt encouraged enough to stroke her caressingly. Her skin was satiny smooth, yet vibrant. She had the body of a woman twenty years younger. He worshipped the breasts that were still high and round and firm. When he touched her there, she moaned, but after one quick glance at her face, he knew it was out of pleasure and not out of fear. The lips that kissed the dusky crests were as soft as a spring rain.
He wooed her that way, alternately arousing and soothing, until he knew she was ready. And then the loving was achingly sweet, exquisitely tender, and in the end, wildly passionate.
Later, holding her against him, he sighed into her hair. "If I had had to wait another twenty years for you, Alice Greywolf Dexter, you would have been worth it."
"And you, Gene," she said, kissing his chest. "And you, my love."
* * *
Lucas closed the barn door and latched it. This might be his mother's wedding day, but on a ranch the work never ended. As soon as all the guests had departed, he had changed clothes and put in a full day's work. He was tired, having had to get up early that morning and drive into town for the wedding.
Tomorrow a buyer was coming to look at some of his horses. He'd spent all day grooming them. If they brought a good price, which he planned on demanding, maybe he would have enough money to hire a ranch hand.
Perhaps his being disbarred had worked out for the best after all. He doubted that he could run a ranch and a law office at the same time. He loved the land and the herd because they had belonged to his grandfather. He liked working outdoors. He didn't even mind the long hours.
But he missed practicing law. He had always enjoyed a good fight. When he had matured to the point of knowing that brawling never solved anything, the courtroom provided him an arena. He had been an excellent courtroom gladiator. He missed the legal skirmishes and the satisfaction of having done his best whether he won the case or not.
He peeled off his shirt and went to the outdoor faucet on the foundation of the house. He sluiced water over his head, his neck, shoulders, arms and chest, rinsing off the top layer of dust and sweat.
Every time he thought about the kindness of friends like Johnny Deerinwater, he got a lump in his throat. Without them he wouldn't have the house. It would have taken him years to finish it in his spare time, not to mention the money it would have cost. He and Aislinn—
Damn! He hated it when his mind automatically paired them together. Aislinn and I. Aislinn and me. We. Us. He didn't ever like thinking of them as a unit, yet his brain stubbornly continued to.
Fuming over the mental slip, he rounded the corner of the house. If he had walked into a wall, he couldn't have come to a more abrupt standstill. He was standing only a few yards from their open bedroom window. Aislinn walked past it. He could hear her humming and see her shadow gliding across the walls as she moved about the room.
That rectangular patch of light looked inviting in the darkness that surrounded the house. It beckoned him as a lighthouse does a sailor. It represented all things warm and cozy and comfortable. Home. He was hypnotized by that open window. He couldn't force himself to move away from it, even though he supposed that this was an invasion of Aislinn's privacy. Would you stop thinking like a damn fool? The woman is your wife.
Still, he felt just a little ashamed of his window-peeping. Especially when she stepped into full view again. Especially when she began to undress.
He stood stock-still in the deep shadows, not moving so much as an eyelash.
Lucas watched her unbutton the cuff on the sleeve of her sheer blouse. Much as he hadn't wanted to notice, he had to admit that she had looked beautiful that day. The blouse she had worn was cut like a man's shirt, except that the sleeves were much fuller and the cuffs much wider. The tips of the collar reached far down on her chest.
The blouse had small pearl buttons. As she bent over the ones on her cuff, her hair fell forward in a golden cascade. He wanted nothing more then than to bury his face in the stuff, to feel its cool silken movement against his skin. He already knew what it felt like against his belly. What about his thighs? His—
Sonofabitch! Don't even think about that.
When she pulled her blouse off, which she did with a provocative lack of haste, he had an unrestricted view of the lingerie that had teased him all day. Held up by spaghetti-thin straps, it was lacy and feminine and cupped her full breasts as if it adored them. They swelled over the top of it, creamy and enticing in the lamplight. God, he wanted to taste her there. The camisole wasn't sheer enough to see through, since it had obviously been designed to show beneath the blouse. But even from this distance, Lucas imagined he could see the dark centers of her breasts through it. He imagined his mouth there, too. The skirt she had worn was the color of the eastern sky just before daybreak. It was made of a rustling fabric that had driven him into a fine madness all day as it moved against her body. He held his breath as she reached behind her to unbutton it. It seemed to take forever. Then the skirt slithered past her hips, over her thighs, and down her legs, which were encased in pale stockings.
He cursed beneath his breath and ran his damp palms up and down his thighs. The camisole was a one-piece affair. Lacy suspenders held up her stockings, which he had supposed were panty hose. Between the top of the stockings and the teddy, her thighs looked as soft and warm as velvet. He imagined himself—
Damn! What was he doing out here lusting after his own wife like some pervert? If he wanted her so badly, and his body was insisting that "badly" didn't even come close to describing how much he wanted her, why didn't he just go in there and take her? She belonged to him, didn't she? They were legally bound and he was entitled to conjugal rights, wasn't he?
So move, damn you. Go in there and take what is yours for the taking.
But he didn't, because he knew it would be too risky. If he could take her dispassionately, then he would use her body to rid his of this raging fever. It would be over and done with and he wouldn't even think about it until the next time he got in this condition.
No, it wouldn't be like that at all. She had bewitched him, that's what she had done. Somehow she had wormed her way into his mind and heart, and what he was thinking and feeling somehow interfered with what his body wanted. His sex couldn't participate without his head getting involved.
He kept remembering that morning on the mountaintop. She had climbed up there to offer him comfort when she sure as hell had had every reason to be fleeing from him. He remembered what her face had looked like as his body moved inside hers.
And at the most inopportune times, when he wanted to feel his bitterest toward her, he thought about her bearing his child and how lovingly she treated Tony. Then, too, there were the generous things she did for him, like keeping the coffee in his cup warm even when he hadn't asked for refills. And the way she was sometimes waiting on the porch for him when he came riding in after working long hours. She always smiled, as though she was glad to see him.
What puzzled him was why she treated him with such consideration and kindness. He couldn't figure out what her motive was. She had every reason to hate him. If she would just demonstrate resentment instead of understanding, then life would be a helluva lot easier. They might even have some rowdy sex every once in a while to let off steam and clear the air. As it was, his blood simmered.
Looking at her through the window now, he felt his blood heating to a full boil. She was no longer standing in full view, but he could tell by watching her shadow on the wall that she was removing her stockings. She lifted one foot to the edge of the bed, unhooked the garter and rolled the stocking over her knee and calf and ankle, peeling it off her foot with studied leisure. She performed the ritual on the other leg.
He stared transfixed when she shrugged the straps of the teddy off her shoulders and shimmied until it slipped down. She stepped out of it gracefully, and when she straightened, her shadow was in profile. Everything was perfectly, painfully silhouetted.
Lucas mouthed a series of scalding obscenities.
Why wouldn't she give him a fight? Huh? Did she feel sorry for him? Was that it? Or did she feel obligated to be an exemplary wife? Well, by God, he didn't need her largess.
He moved then, spinning around on his heels and stalking toward the rear of the house. He slammed through the back door, barely remembering to lock it behind him, before he stamped through the house, viciously turning off lights as he went. By the time he barged through the bedroom door, he was good and mad.
"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" he roared.
Aislinn looked up at him with innocent, blue-eyed, wide-eyed dismay, which made her look even more guiltless than she already did. She was sitting in the rocking chair. A madonna. Blond hair rippling over her shoulders. One side of her nightgown was open. Tony nursed contentedly at her breast.
"I'm nursing Tony," she answered simply.
Lucas, standing braced in the doorway by his arms, was spoiling for a fight. Shirtless, the recently washed skin on his chest gleamed in the lamplight. The dark hairs were damp and curly. The cross dangling from his neck caught the light and shone almost as brightly as his eyes.
The joke was on him. Feeling like a fool, he dragged his eyes away from his wife and glanced toward the bed. The teddy and stockings lay spread out there like mementos of an indolent afternoon of loving. They enflamed him all over again.
"Next time, you might think twice before parading around half naked in front of an open window with the light on."
"I don't know what you mean, Lucas."
Pointing toward the window with a finger shaking with rage, he blustered, "The window, dammit, the window. Don't undress in front of the window."
"Oh," she said, following the direction of his finger. "I didn't think about it."
"Yeah, well, think about it from now on, okay?"
"But there wasn't anyone out there to see me."
"I was!" he shouted. "I could see you all the way from the barn."
"You could?"
"Hell yes, I could."
"But you're my husband."
There was just a trace of mockery in her voice, but it was so slight that he was afraid to challenge her on it. He was ready for hand-to-hand combat, but he couldn't handle a contest of wits. He had never felt more witless in his life. Nor so out of control. In an entirely different way, she looked just as tempting now as she had a few moments before, doing her guileless striptease in front of the window. Blood pounded in his head and in his sex.
"I'm going to take a shower," he said quickly and left the room before he disgraced himself further.
When he left the bathroom, Aislinn was in the other bedroom, bending over Tony's crib. "Let me hold him a minute," Lucas said. He had calmed down considerably. He was still wet. Drops of water clung to his teak-colored skin. He was naked save for a towel that cut a swath across his loins and looked much like the breech-cloths his ancestors had worn. He looked primitive and dangerous except for the lambency in his eyes when he lifted his son and held him close to his face. He murmured Navaho love pledges he remembered from his childhood and kissed Tony's cheek before laying him in the crib. The child fell asleep instantly.
"He looks so peaceful now," Aislinn said with a tired sigh. "I wish he'd sleep till morning. I'm exhausted."
"Why is he waking up so much lately?"
"I don't know. Gene's going to give him a checkup when they get back. Oh, I almost forgot about this," she said as they entered their bedroom. She picked up an envelope that was lying on the dresser and handed it to him. "This came in the mail for you today."
He studied the envelope for several moments before tearing it open. Aislinn feigned disinterest, though she was consumed by curiosity. The return address was the warden's office of the prison camp where Lucas had been incarcerated.
After he read it, Lucas refolded the letter and stuffed it back in the envelope. His face gave away nothing and Aislinn couldn't stand not knowing. "Is it something important?"
He shrugged negligently. "Warden Dixon thinks I should be exonerated. He thinks he knows the men responsible for the violence that broke out at that demonstration. They've been convicted and sentenced for similar crimes. If he can get them to sign affidavits as to my innocence, he thinks he can get a judge to have me vindicated."
"Lucas, that's wonderful!" she cried. "That would mean you could be reinstated to the bar."
He whipped the towel from around his waist and got into bed. "I've learned not to trust anybody's promises. Especially an Anglo's."
She got into bed beside him. His harsh words hadn't fooled her. She had seen his face a second before he switched off the light. He might pretend to be nonchalant over this unexpected ray of hope. But he wasn't.
* * *