The Next Mrs. Blackthorne (Bitter Creek Book 6) Page 16

  “What are we talking about?” Jocelyn asked.

  “Nothing.” He let go of her and headed for the stable.

  She hurried after him and grabbed his arm to stop him. “Talk to me!”

  “You can go anytime you want. I’m done with you.”

  She stared at him, her jaw agape. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I can leave? Today? Right now? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. Plain as a barn painted red. You can go,” he said brusquely.

  “What’s happened? What’s changed?” she asked.

  “I don’t need you anymore.”

  “What about the Bitter Creek stock? Have you sold it back to the Blackthornes?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You want me to leave so you can renege on our agreement,” Jocelyn said angrily. “That’s not going to happen. I’m not going anywhere!”

  He turned on her, his hands clenched into fists, his shoulders tense, his legs spread wide. “I told you to get out.”

  “No, you said you didn’t need me anymore. Since you never needed me in the first place, nothing has changed. I’m staying right here until September.” She stabbed his broad chest with a pointed finger and said, “I expect you to transfer that stock on September first. Don’t even think about reneging. Because I’ll make you sorry if you do.”

  He suddenly looked amused. He shrugged, although she could see it was a gesture that took some effort. “Fine,” he said. “Do what you want. Makes no difference to me.”

  Jocelyn couldn’t help feeling insulted at his suggestion that whether she stayed as his bedmate for the next three months or left in the next three minutes, it didn’t matter to him.

  She laid a hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat immediately accelerate. She looked up into his eyes and saw his pupils dilate as he looked down at her. He still wanted her. There was no question of that. So why was he so willing to let her go?

  It didn’t really matter. The important thing was that she had no intention of leaving him until their bargain was complete. Especially now that she knew Clay would be waiting for her when her obligation to North Grayhawk had been fulfilled.

  “You’re stuck with me,” she said. “Until September. Live with it.”

  With that, she turned her back on North and headed toward the stable. “I’m going to help your brother.” Over her shoulder she said, “See you tonight. In bed.”

  10

  “Hasn’t that boy done enough work for one day?” Jocelyn asked.

  “He’ll be done when I say he’s done,” North replied.

  Jocelyn stepped in front of North, hands on hips, and glared into his wintry eyes. “When will that be? When he’s fallen down with exhaustion? You’ve been working him like a mule for a month.”

  “He looks fine to me,” North said, eyeing Breed, who was digging postholes, a job most cowboys looked on as punishment. Only his protruding hip bones kept the lanky boy’s jeans from sliding on down, and his bare, bronzed torso glistened. The brim of the battered straw hat North had lent him was dark with sweat.

  “He’s as stubborn as you are, that’s for sure,” Jocelyn said. “Don’t you see he’d sooner die than quit? You’ve pushed him hard all day, and he’s never once complained. What are you trying to prove? That he’s no Grayhawk? Well, he’s not! Your father made that clear when he named the boy.”

  “Sassy swears he is,” North said.

  “Is what?” Jocelyn queried, when North didn’t continue.

  “A Grayhawk. She says she never slept with another man when she was married to King.”

  Jocelyn followed North’s narrowed gaze and studied the black-haired, silver-eyed, bronze-skinned boy. “How is that possible?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got time,” Jocelyn said.

  North tugged off his leather gloves as he spoke and tucked them into his back pocket. “One of my ancestors was an English nobleman, the earl of Grayhawk. The earl was some sort of black sheep and came west before the Civil War hunting his fortune. When folks started calling him ‘Mister’ Grayhawk, he didn’t correct them.”

  “How do you know all this?” Jocelyn asked.

  “Mom was into genealogy. She figured out ‘Mister’ Grayhawk must have been Christopher Kingsford, the fifth earl of Grayhawk. His younger twin brother inherited the title.”

  “So you come from good English stock,” Jocelyn said. “I don’t see how Breed—”

  “I’m not finished,” North interrupted.

  Jocelyn lifted a brow, telling him to go ahead.

  North’s lips curled sardonically before he continued. “ ‘Mister’ Grayhawk married a Sioux woman in Montana and settled with her in Wyoming. They had four sons. Only one of them looked Indian, but they all carried her blood. It’s there, all right. Which is why Breed looks the way he does.”

  “Are you saying Breed really could be your father’s son?” Jocelyn asked incredulously.

  North shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. King can’t repudiate him. He’ll inherit along with the rest of us, so what’s the difference?”

  “The difference is that he’s grown up with the stigma of being a bastard. The difference is that his father rejected him at birth. Does Breed know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That he might actually be King’s son?”

  North shrugged again. “That Sioux great-great-grandmother of ours is no secret.”

  “Then why would King deny Breed is his son?”

  North looked at her and smirked. “I think it has something to do with Sassy flaunting her indiscretions in King’s face before the boy was born.”

  “I thought you said she never slept with anyone else.”

  “That’s what she admitted to me. That’s not what she told my father. She was mad at King for ignoring her, and she figured if she made him believe other men desired her, it would pique his interest. It didn’t quite work out that way.”

  “It seems so unfair that Breed has to pay the price for his parents’ stupidity,” Jocelyn said. “Hasn’t anyone ever suggested that the boy get a blood test to prove his paternity?”

  “Sure,” North said.

  “What happened?”

  “Breed wouldn’t do it,” North said.

  “Why not?”

  “Said it didn’t matter,” North said.

  “I will never understand the male of the species,” Jocelyn said, shaking her head.

  She watched Breed drop the posthole digger and grab one of the mesquite timbers to replace the rotted post that had been discarded and set it in the hole he’d dug.

  “Are you going to stand here, or are you going to go help that boy?” Jocelyn asked.

  North grinned. “You sure can be feisty. I like that in a woman.”

  Jocelyn felt her insides quiver.

  He left her and crossed to help the boy finish setting the post and then connect it to the nearest posts with three strands of barbed wire. North didn’t remove his shirt, and when he was done it was stuck to his back and chest with perspiration.

  He removed his hat, swiped his forehead with his sleeve, then tugged the hat back down. “How about a swim?” he called to Jocelyn.

  When they’d left the house after lunch, Jocelyn had anticipated exactly this situation. She was wearing a bikini bathing suit under her jeans and shirt, and she’d brought along some cut-off jeans for Breed and North.

  “Sure,” she said.

  When they arrived at the pond, she untied the pack from behind her saddle and dropped the cut-offs on the flat, hip-high rock near the two men, who were busy stripping down. She turned her back quickly and said, “Put those on please.”

  “Aw, North—” Breed began.

  To her surprise, North said, “Do as the lady asks.”

  The next thing she heard was two almost simultaneous splashes. She quickly pulled off her own boots and clothes and turned to see that the two brothe
rs had come up in the middle of the pond, grinning and blinking to clear water from their eyes and eyelashes, their dark wet hair flat against their foreheads.

  Jocelyn slid into the water at the edge of the pond and watched, her heart in her throat, as they played like sleek otters, shoving each other under, diving and lunging and splashing their way back and forth across the pond. She wanted to join in, but they were rough-housing, fighting for dominance in the water, and there was no way she could compete physically.

  As she watched, she realized North was moderating his strength so the battle would be more even. The boy seemed always on the verge of winning, though he never did. Suddenly, Breed caught North off guard and sent him under. As North came up sputtering, Breed laughed aloud, a joyous sound.

  Jocelyn waited with bated breath to see how North would react. Her heart turned over when North grinned and then joined Breed’s laughter, before swimming after the boy once more. Breed eluded him momentarily, but eventually got dunked and came up laughing again.

  “Look at Joss,” North said to Breed as they swiped water and hair from their faces. “She’s hardly even wet.”

  “I’m fine,” Jocelyn said, feeling a skitter of nerves at the thought of frolicking in the water with North. “You guys just keep on with what you’re doing.”

  “We don’t want to exclude you from all the fun,” North said, swimming in her direction.

  Jocelyn stood up and started backpedaling out of the pond. “No. Really. I’m fine.”

  “Don’t let her get away, Breed,” North said, as he lunged at Jocelyn.

  “I’ve got her covered,” Breed said, as he suddenly appeared behind Jocelyn.

  “Where did you come from?” she squeaked.

  Breed laughed and grabbed her arm on one side as North grasped the other. There was no way to dig in her heels in the pebbly bottom as they tugged her inexorably deeper into the pond.

  “I don’t want to get my hair wet,” she protested.

  “She doesn’t want to get her hair wet,” North said.

  Jocelyn knew a moment of relief that North understood she didn’t want to roughhouse with them, before he scooped her up in his arms. She grabbed at his shoulders as he swung her one way, threatening to drop her.

  She shrieked like a ten-year-old.

  He laughed down into her face, then swung her the other way. She actually felt herself falling before he caught her in his arms again.

  Giggling, she grappled for a hold on broad, wet, sun-warmed shoulders and cried, “Don’t drop me!”

  North grinned and let go.

  Jocelyn shrieked again as her bottom got wet, before she was scooped up again in North’s embrace.

  North exchanged a conspiratorial look with Breed and said, “How about it? Middle of the pond?”

  “Think you can throw her that far?” Breed asked.

  “Don’t you dare!” Jocelyn said. “I don’t want to get my hair—”

  With all his considerable strength, North threw her up and out. She felt herself flying, her arms waving frantically in thin air, mouth open in a scream, but so frightened, there was no breath to make a sound. After what seemed like an endless fall, she landed with a resounding splash in the center of the pond.

  Jocelyn managed to gasp a lifesaving breath of air and shut her mouth only an instant before water covered her head. She started to shoot up out of the water, madder than a wet hen, ready to seek vengeance. And then had what she thought was a much better idea.

  She didn’t come up.

  Among Jocelyn’s many talents was the ability to hold her breath for a very long time. She swam away underwater from the spot where she’d been dropped and then stayed underwater at the far edge of the pond beneath a willow. She wondered if she could still hold her breath for ninety seconds.

  She started counting.

  Jocelyn got to ninety-three before she finally had to come up for air. She came up slowly, half hidden by the willow and turned to locate North and Breed. She was smirking. She bet they were going crazy wondering what had happened to her. It served them right for treating her like a helpless babe in the woods.

  She intended to gloat fully in her triumph.

  Jocelyn couldn’t see North, but she found Breed paddling in the center of the pond staring at the spot where she’d gone underwater.

  She started to shout out to him and stopped when she noticed how pale and wide-eyed he looked. Suddenly, she realized North was nowhere to be seen. Had something happened to him? Her heart was in her throat, as she swam hurriedly toward the center of the pond.

  “Where’s North?” she called to Breed.

  The boy spun in the water, obviously startled, and stared at her as though he were seeing a ghost. “Are you all right? Where were you? What happened to you?”

  “I’m fine. I was teaching you a lesson.”

  “You scared the crap out of us!”

  At that moment, North surfaced, his face drawn, his brow furrowed, his eyes agonized. And then he spotted her.

  An instant later Jocelyn was being crushed in his embrace. His cheek pressed hard against hers, so she could almost feel the bones beneath his skin.

  North’s arms tightened around her, so she could feel the hair on his chest rough against her breasts. His breathing was harsh, and she heard a raspy “Thank God!”

  She saw the stark look on Breed’s face over North’s shoulder and realized she’d made a terrible miscalculation when she’d pretended to drown. North’s arms constricted, as though he hoped to keep her safe by keeping her very, very close.

  “I can’t breathe,” she managed to croak.

  He released her enough to take her by the arms and look into her eyes. “Are you all right?” The whole time his eyes devoured her face, his hands frantically roamed her body, as though to reassure himself that she was there, whole and well, and not a figment of his imagination.

  “I’m fine. I was teaching you a lesson.”

  Jocelyn realized the flip response was a mistake before the words had faded. But it was too late to take them back. And impossible, in any event, to speak, because she was being shaken within an inch of her life.

  “I thought you were dead! I thought I’d killed you!”

  “North, stop!” Breed hollered. “You’re hurting her!”

  She saw Breed from the corner of her eye, his eyes wide with terror, reaching toward her, and his reflexive jerk backward when North turned on him with teeth bared like a feral wolf.

  “Get out!” he snarled at the boy. “Go home.” And when the boy hesitated, “Get the hell out of here! Now!”

  Jocelyn heard the splash of water as Breed raced to the edge of the pond and the drip of water against stone as he collected his clothes. Her eyes were still riveted on North’s face, which had turned hard as granite, and his eyes, which had become shards of ice.

  “I never wanted you here,” he said through gritted teeth. “I never asked you to come. This was all your doing. I knew this would happen. I knew it!”

  Jocelyn studied his face, wondering what he meant. He knew what would happen? “What are you so steamed up about?” she said, angry at being so roughly manhandled. “All I did was play a harmless little trick on you. A ninety-three-second trick!”

  His hands tightened so hard on her arms that she knew she would have bruises later. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what?” she said in exasperation.

  “I thought you were dead. I thought you were gone from my life forever.”

  The words seemed wrenched from him. She couldn’t believe what they seemed to imply. So she made another mistake. She made light of them.

  She tried a half-hearted laugh and said, “I’m sure you’ve wished me gone from your life any number of times—”

  There was nothing tender about the way he captured her mouth. It was all about possession. A man staking his claim on his woman. His tongue came stroking as his fingers broke the narrow s
trap between her breasts, leaving them naked for his hands, which grasped them hard and pushed them upward. His mouth broke free from her mouth and captured one taut nipple.

  Jocelyn moaned as he suckled her, feeling her knees turn to weak reeds. He must have felt her falling, because he gathered her up in his arms and stalked to the edge of the pond, where he laid her in the grass. He broke the strings on her bikini bottom and threw it aside, then stripped himself.

  “You’re mine,” he muttered against her mouth, as he spread her legs wide with his knees and thrust inside. “Mine.”

  The sound was guttural, his lovemaking raw and savage. Jocelyn realized it for what it was—a reaffirmation of life. He had believed her dead. She was reborn in his arms.

  Their passion was violent. Sweaty and primitive. Tumultuous. To her shame, she was as hot for him as he was for her, and they both cried out at the moment of climax.

  When he was done, he rolled away from her onto his back in the grass beside the pond and covered his eyes with his forearm. Jocelyn saw his throat working and heard him swallow loudly several times. He seemed to be fighting some great emotion.

  She reached out a hand to comfort him, but he shoved it away.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  He sat up facing the pond, with his back to her.

  Jocelyn turned her face away, confused and hurt. She sat up, wanting to cover herself, wanting to be away from this man with his strange moods and stranger behavior. She stood, naked, and walked to the flat rock where she’d left her shirt and jeans.

  He glanced at her over his shoulder, watching her as she dressed. “When we get back to the house I want you gone.”

  She pulled her shirt over her shoulders and turned to him as she buttoned it, noticing that his eyes slid down her body to the apex of her thighs, and that he liked what he saw.

  She felt hurt by his rejection. And confused by it. Especially after their tempestuous lovemaking. “Where is it you’d like me to go?” she asked in as calm a voice as she could manage.

  “I don’t give a shit. I just want you gone.”

  She flushed at his use of such crude language. It was a sign he wasn’t as much in control of himself as he wanted her to believe. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said.