第 14 页

And what she'd done in the barn would certainly do that.

She sidled past the huge wooden door. Jack was standing with his back to her. He stood stiff as a fence post, staring at the enormous yellow flower she'd painted on his workbench. Beside him was a huge, beribboned barrel that held all of his farming tools. "What the hell did you do?" Tess jumped. He spun around. "Talk!"Tess bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling. All at once she realized the error in her plan. She didn't know this man, didn't know what he was capable of. The mouse had blithely baited the lion.... "Now!""I painted your workbench and rearranged your tools." "I see that." His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Another icicle of fear streamed down Tess's stiffened back. "What is it you painted, a daffodil?""Tulip," she said in a small, strangled voice. He grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her to him. She hit his chest hard and let out a tiny yelp of pain. He glared down at her, breathing hard. She looked up.

Pale lantern light highlighted the hard, unforgiving angles of his face. "This is my place, goddamn it. Mine."Tess was just about to say something?she had no idea what?when she saw it. Deep, deep in his eyes, beyond the fury and the disbelief, lay pain.

Her fear dissolved and was forgotten. Jack was hurting right now. Hurting so badly, he couldn't summon enough detachment to cover it up. His pain touched something deep in her soul, something small and frightened that had never been touched before. He needed her. And she needed him. Maybe together they could escape the fear and loneliness that shrouded both their souls.

She touched his face, laid her palm against the stubble-coated hollow of his cheek. At the touching of their flesh, she shivered. Her gaze turned warm and liquid and melted into his. "What's the matter?"His hold on her shoulders tightened, bit deeply into her tender flesh. Tess's breathing quickened. With each inhalation, she felt her breasts brush the hard wall of his chest.

"Jack ..."

He flinched. Without the high color of anger in his cheeks, his skin looked ashen and old. Aching, desperate pain filled his eyes.

"Please," he said in a husky voice, "don't do this to me, Lissa. Please." "What has she done to you?"Jack let go of her as if he'd been scalded. "Leave me the hell alone."He shoved past her and ran for the door.

She watched him. "I don't think I can do that, Jack."He slowed. She thought for a second he was going to turn around. She leaned forward, waiting.

Then he regained his footing and disappeared into the darkness beyond the barn.

He never looked back.

* * *

Be numb. Be numb. Be numb. The words circled in Jack's brain, gathering force with each repetition.

He knew it was the only way he could survive this new game of hers, knew it as certainly as he knew his name.

He paced back and forth in the darkness behind the barn. Moonlight crept through the bank of gray clouds and cast the pasture in uncertain, blue-tinged light. The world tonight was quiet, so quiet he could hear the whisper of the wind through the tall grass. It sounded like a woman breathing.

Like her breathing. He walked to the edge of the barn and glanced at the house.

She was down there. Just a few steps away. Maybe she was even waiting for him....

Groaning, he closed his eyes and leaned tiredly against the rough wooden wall. But the self-imposed blindness didn't help. He could still see her face, and though it was a face he'd seen since childhood, it looked different now. And it was that difference that was killing him. Slowly. Inch by agonizing inch.

In his mind he saw her smiling. The vision held the dreamlike quality of a favorite memory. As if in slow motion, she turned, hair flying around her like strands of sunlight, and glanced down at Katie. Pride and love shone in her brown eyes, gave her a radiance she'd never had before. A softness that made him ache with longing. It hadn't been so long ago?not so long, really?that she'd looked at him that way.

She couldn't be changing, not really. No matter what he saw?or thought he saw?in her eyes, she couldn't really be changing. It was just another game designed to hurt him.

No matter what she said or did, he had to remember that it was just another game. The changes, the smiles, had to be in his sick, twisted-up mind.

Be numb. Be numb. Be numb.

The words came back to him, and he focused his thoughts on them with single-minded determination. He could do it; he could resist the need washing through his body.

He'd been resisting it for years.

Jack stared at the closed door, knowing he shouldn't go in. He wasn't strong enough to fight her again. He should just turn around right now and run to the safety of the barn. Except that he was tired of running, so tired. For the last two hours he'd paced the darkness, fighting a need he'd thought long forgotten. Now he was so damn tired he could hardly stand.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened the door.

Amarylis was waiting for him by the stove. "Hi, Jack."He had to remind himself again that she wasn't relieved to see him, because goddamn, she looked relieved.

She looked breathtakingly beautiful, too. Tousled, unbound hair framed her pale, upturned face in a halo of unbelievable light. Her cheeks were flushed and pink from standing over a hot stove. He could smell the sweet aroma of cinnamon and peaches that clung to her like expensive perfume.

She looked and smelled like ... home. Against all reason, he found himself thinking about cozy nights curled around a fire and early mornings spent softly talking.

"I knew if I waited long enough, you'd come back."Jack couldn't think of a single word. He stood there, dumb as a post, staring into her luminous brown eyes and praying as hard as he could. God, don't let her touch me now. Not now .. .

She came toward him. Her skirt hem breezed across his ankle like a caress. She started to reach for him. He shrank backward. She paused. Slowly, frowning, she eased her hand away from his arm. "I've drawn you a bath. Savannah and Katie are sleeping. We're alone."Alone. The word was like a dagger in his heart. He shook his head. "No."Her gaze slid casually from his face. He felt suddenly self-conscious, realizing for the first time how he must look. Torn, ragged red long Johns streaked with dirt; hair that hung in planklike sheets of muddy black; filthy, earth-caked feet.

She stared at his dirty face and tried not to smile. "You don't want to bathe?"Jack felt as if he were being strangled. "No." Their gazes met, held. For a moment he thought she was going to mock him, but she didn't. She just stood there, still as a stone, her strangely focused eyes searching his face. He sensed that she saw more?far more?than he wanted her to.

"Your clothes are filthy. Why don't you bathe with them on?"She was trying to make him comfortable. At the realization, his mouth dropped open in surprise. Amarylis was doing her best to make him comfortable. She moved closer, her hand outstretched. "Come on." He started to say something?he had no idea what?but the words jammed in his throat when her fingers brushed his sleeve. He felt the warmth of her touch, and something inside him, something deep and dark and desperately weak, melted like wax. "Amarylis, I?" "You can hate me again tomorrow." "Hate you?" The words seemed to be ripped from the last remaining portion of his soul. "I wish to hell it was that simple."She touched his cheek. "I know you're tired."He shivered, chilled by the heat of her caress, and squeezed his eyes shut. It was true; he was tired. So goddamn tired . . .

She took hold of his wrist. In a gentle but firm motion that brooked no resistance?even if he had been able to summon the strength for it?she led him toward the copper tub already half-filled with water.

"Get in," she commanded. "I'll get more water."He shouldn't do it. Of that, he had no doubt. He knew also, and the knowledge caused a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he was going to do it. He was too exhausted to fight her. With a ragged sigh and a hopeless prayer, he climbed into the tub.

Warm water curled around him, lapped gently against his stomach and thighs. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting his arms dangle over the tub's metal sides.

Amarylis shuffled quietly toward him. She stopped by the side of the tub. Tensing, he waited for her to say?or do?something.

She added water to his bath. The falling stream drove between his legs in a gush of powerful heat. His eyes flipped open, but she was already gone. He twisted around and saw her standing at the stove.

Leaning tiredly against the metal rim, he closed his eyes again.

"Jack?"

He heard her saying his name, but her voice seemed to be coming at him from the end of a long, dark tunnel.

"Jack, wake up."

He blinked awake and lurched to a sit. Water sloshed against his chest and splashed over the sides. Feeling like an idiot, he glanced up at her. She was standing beside the tub, holding a bucket of water and a bar of soap. "Yeah?" he said cautiously.

"I'm going to wash your hair."He shook his head. "No, thanks.""You'll notice I didn't ask a question. I made a statement. I'm going to wash your hair." She moved behind him. He heard the metallic clank of a bucket hitting the floor, then the telltale thump of bone on wood as she kneeled.

The moment her fingers touched his scalp, he groaned. He tried desperately to sheathe his emotions in ice. But it was a useless attempt. At the whisper-soft circling of her fingertips in his hair, he shivered. Need and desire merged into a single, red-hot response and sent fire shooting into his groin.

"Relax," she said in a soothing, soft-edged voice he'd never heard before. "Relax." She said the single word over and over again. "Relax ..."He drifted on the gentle tide of her voice, feeling the fear and anxiety drain from his body. The night just past seeped from his memory and was forgotten.

By the time it was over, Jack was more relaxed than he'd ever been in his life.

"Come on," she said quietly, helping him to his feet. Like a sleepwalker, he allowed himself to be led into her bedroom. She handed him a clean pair of long Johns and a towel. Wrapping himself in the warm towel, he peeled out of the wet underwear and slipped into a new set.

When he was done, she took his hand again and led him toward the bed. Her bed.

One look at her bed and Jack's sense of well-being and relaxation vanished. He stiffened, yanked his hand out of her grasp. "That's your bed.""Tonight it's yours," she answered. She turned back the coverlet and gestured for him to get in. "I'll sleep on the couch."He shook his head and started to draw away. "I don't think?" "Good. Now, get in."They stared at each other for a long time. Later Jack would wonder what it was he'd seen in her eyes, wonder if it was simply another manifestation of his weakness.

But right now, in this instant, he saw a woman he'd never seen before. A gentle, caring woman who wasn't trying to hurt or destroy him. Someone who simply wanted to help.

"Please," she whispered. "You're tired."She was right. He was too tired to fight her now. He could wage the battle tomorrow; maybe he could even win it. But that was tomorrow. Tonight he needed sleep.

He crawled into bed and pulled the coverlet tight to his chin. She kneeled beside the bed and began to stroke his unshaven cheek. The quiet, even strains of her breathing caressed his lips.

"Why are you doing this?" he murmured. "Because you need it."He didn't know what he expected her to say, but that wasn't it. He searched her eyes for some hint of cruelty or irony or playacting. In the dark brown depths, he found nothing but compassion. It left him utterly speechless.

"Where were you tonight?" she asked, still stroking his cheek.

He winced at the question. I don't know. God help me, I don't know. The truth almost slipped out; he wanted to tell this woman who was his wife and yet wasn't. This woman who touched him with a softness he'd always ached for and never known. It took all his inner strength to say, "Out."She seemed to sense his anguish. "It's okay. Jack. Just go to sleep. Shh. Shh."He closed his eyes. The last thing he remembered was the velvet-soft stroking of her fingers against his cheek.

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and hot. Tess hiked her skirts up to her thighs and straddled the small chair, scooting closer to the table. An array of jars was spread out before her. Beside her, a book lay open to a page titled Fruits and Vegetables: A Canner's Guide.

Today, by God, she was going to teach herself to can. She flipped open the instruction book and turned to the section on preserves. She was concentrating so hard, she almost missed the sound of a wagon driving into the yard.

Visitors.'

Tess flew out of her chair and raced to the window, flinging the flimsy curtain aside. A wagon rolled up in a cloud of dust. The driver tossed down the reins to Jack, who tied the horse to the railing alongside the chicken coop.

Jack pushed the hat higher on his head and smiled up at the small, hunch-shouldered man sitting alone in the wagon. The man doffed his hat, revealing a nearly bald head that reflected the hot spring sun.

The men talked for a moment, then they both looked uneasily toward the house.

Tess waved.

Jack gave her a tense, humorless smile.

The old man frowned for a second before he cautiously waved back.

Tess concentrated on reading Jack's lips. "Come on in and see her, Doc. She's ... different." "Doc Hayes," Tess said to herself. "Of course." She let go of the curtain and went to the door, opening it and stepping onto the porch. "Hi, Doc!" she called out, waving again and tenting her eyes against the glaring sun. "Would you like a glass of ..." She frowned. What did people offer other people in 1873? Chardonnay was definitely out. "Water?""That'd be right nice," he answered, letting Jack help him down from the wagon.

The two men walked toward the house and followed Tess into the kitchen.

"What's all this?" Doc asked, eyeing the jars on the table.