Chapter 10.

BILLY LAY IN BED, THE LIGHTS OUT, THINKING about the mess he'd made of his life since he'd come back to Bitter Creek. He felt sick inside, hurting as though he'd been punched hard in the gut and then kicked in the teeth, and finally stomped while he was down. Things were about as bad as they could get.

He'd followed Summer when she walked away from him at the barbecue, terrified that she was leaving him for good. To his surprise, she headed straight for his pickup and got in.

"Take me home," she said.

He gave an inward sigh that she wasn't leaving him. Or maybe she was but just didn't want to make any more of a scene than he and her family already had.

Their trip home was nothing like the drive over. Then she'd been bubbly and excited and smiling and playful. And concerned because he'd been so tense and quiet. She'd asked him whether he was anxious about spending an evening with her family. He'd told her he wasn't used to crowds.

Lying here in bed after the silent drive home, he wished he'd admitted what had really been preying on his mind. That wouldn't have excused his behavior toward her brothers. But maybe it would have explained it.

Billy had found out just before quitting time this afternoon that once the roundup was over, the rancher who'd hired him was going to let him go.

"Blackthorne holds the note to my mortgage," he'd said. "So long as you're working for me, he threatened to foreclose if I'm a day late on the payment. I hate like h.e.l.l giving in to that kind of threat, but I've got a wife and kids to think about. When the roundup's done, you'll have to go."

He'd be out of a job in three days.

After tonight it was a good bet that no rancher beholden to Jackson Blackthorne-and who wasn't in this tight-knit community where the Blackthornes owned or controlled nearly everything?-was going to hire Bad Billy Coburn. Or sell him feed on credit. Or loan him the money to fix up this place.

Billy felt a spurt of panic. He buried his face in the pillow so Summer wouldn't hear the groan of despair wrenched from somewhere deep inside him and gripped the sheet with both hands to fight off the wave of hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm him.

He would never give up. But it was getting harder to believe he would be able to drag himself out of the bottomless pit into which Jackson Blackthorne had shoved him. His present circ.u.mstances were grim. More terrifying was the likelihood that he could expect nothing better in the future.

On his own, he would have spit in Blackjack's eye and dared him to do his worst. But it wasn't only himself he had to consider. There was Will. And his mother. And Emma, who hadn't even called as she'd promised to a.s.sure them she was all right. He'd found out from Joe, who managed the grocery in town, that she was working for Sam Creed. She was as stubborn as he was, and he couldn't really blame her for staying away. Life in this house was... tense.

And last, but not at all least, there was Summer, whom he loved with a love as hopeless as everything else in his life.

He had to hand it to her. Over the past month she'd tried hard to be a nurse to his mother and a mother to Will and to help out with ch.o.r.es around the house. But she hadn't counted on her father closing all her bank accounts, which she'd held jointly with him. She hadn't counted on being as poor as... he was.

She hadn't quit the marriage. Yet. But every day when he left in the morning, he feared he'd come home and find her gone. After tonight... he wasn't counting any chickens.

Blackjack had more than made good on his promise. He'd made Billy's life in Bitter Creek a living h.e.l.l. Billy viciously punched his pillow, but it was no subst.i.tute for the man he really wanted to punish.

It didn't help that Billy had spent the past month sleeping next to Summer without touching her. s.e.xual frustration led to all sorts of stupid behavior.

Talk about h.e.l.l.

He'd known he wasn't over her. But living with her and not being able to hold her or kiss her-or even touch her-was taking its toll. He was exhausted and irritable at the end of each day, and all he wanted when he got home was a little peace.

But when he walked in the door, there she was, Will perched on her hip, both of them smiling at him, making him want to gather them up in his arms and hold them.

His eyes would meet hers, and they'd have an entire conversation without speaking a word.

Hi. How was your day?

I learned how to shuck corn. Will said a new word. Your mother isn't feeling well.

n.o.body talks to me at work. It's like I'm a leper. But they can't say I don't pull my weight. I do more than my share. Twice my share. I'm determined to prove I'm not Bad Billy Coburn anymore. But someone will say or do something to remind me how it used to be, and I clam up and glare and they back off a little farther.

How long can this go on? Let me ask my father-I mean your father-to help us out.

Don't mention his name to me. Don't say anything to me. I don't want to argue. I'd much rather hold you. And we both know that isn't a good idea.

She would flush and turn away, because she could see in his eyes what he wanted. That he craved her like a man starved for sustenance, who can see it just beyond his reach. That he longed to put his mouth against hers, to share with her the ebb and flow within him, the ups and downs, the best and worst of his day.

To give solace and to take it.

But he'd kept himself aloof. From her, at least. He'd showered all his pent-up need on his son, who hid his cherubic face in Billy's neck to avoid his kisses and who laughed with delight and pressed his ribs against Billy's chest to avoid his tickling fingers.

And then he'd catch a glimpse of Summer's yearning face over Will's shoulder and feel an ache that made him want to weep.

Spending the night in the same bed with her was pure torture. Precious, wonderful, delicious torture. She was absolutely right about the mattress sagging in the middle. Although they started out each night clinging to opposite edges of the bed, they awoke each morning entangled with one another in the center.

He'd started waking up when he felt her warmth along the length of him. During those first nights, there were stars aplenty, but no moon in which to discern her features. As the weeks had pa.s.sed, the moonlight had grown, so he could trace with his eyes the delicate arch of her brow, the bow of her upper lip, the fringe of eyelashes along her petal-smooth cheek. She was so beautiful it made his breath catch.

He'd caressed her hair against the pillow in the dark, marveling at its silkiness. But never her skin, however much he longed to touch. He hadn't wanted to wake her, hadn't wanted her to discover the depth of his need. Hadn't wanted her to tempt him to do what he knew he should not do.

Hold her. Kiss her. Love her.

He didn't dare. His "pretend" wife wasn't going to be around long enough to have a life with him. He'd seen her disillusionment the very first night, when she'd met his eyes in the cracked mirror over the sink in the bathroom, her mouth full of toothpaste. He'd looked around the tiny bathroom and seen what she must be seeing.

The cold water faucet dripped even when it was off. The enamel in the tub was scratched down to the iron. The linoleum was curled where water had flooded once upon a time. And the morning-glory wallpaper was stained brown where rainwater had seeped through a patched hole in the roof.

"It's not the Ritz," he'd said in an attempt at humor.

"It's not that bad," she'd replied. But she'd turned from him after she'd said it and spit toothpaste in the sink.

Which meant it was awful, really, but she was being a good sport about it. He didn't miss the bleak look in her eyes when she lifted her head and met his gaze again in the mirror.

"It's not forever," he'd said.

"Only two years," she'd agreed.

Which was why he couldn't take the chance of giving in to his desire. He didn't want to make love to his wife. He didn't want to give her any more of his heart than she already had. He'd need a little of it to get through the rest of his life once she was gone.

But the truth was, he'd reached the end of his tether, and something had to break. Small wonder he'd taken advantage of the provocation Summer's brothers had given him. Small wonder he'd struck out and proved to everyone he was still "Bad" Billy Coburn.

Billy tensed when he heard the bedroom door open and close. He held his breath as the springs squeaked and Summer slid beneath the sheets. Although the light was out, he'd lifted the window shade and both the moon's white light and a gentle breeze wafted through the open window.

He turned his back on her and rearranged his feather pillow, using that as an excuse to put more s.p.a.ce between them. Not that he wasn't aware of her every time she stepped into a room. h.e.l.l. He'd recognize her distinctive female scent anywhere.

"Billy."

He could tell from the sound of her voice that she was facing in his direction, so he didn't turn to answer her. "What?" he replied in an equally low voice.

"You need to speak to your mother."

She'd caught him off guard, because he'd been expecting her to bring up what had happened that evening. He wondered if this was her way of easing into a discussion of what he'd done. He knew he ought to apologize. Knew he'd been in the wrong. But it wasn't easy.

Or maybe this really was about his mother. Even that thought boded no good. The possibility that now he was going to have to play peacemaker between Summer and his mother was d.a.m.ned close to the straw that would break the camel's back. "Why do I need to talk to my mother?" he said irritably.

"She's dying."

Billy sat bolt upright and glared at Summer. "I know that. Why the h.e.l.l do you think I came back here to Bitter Creek?"

She pushed herself up on one arm. A smarter woman, a more experienced wife-or someone who hadn't been raised as a Blackthorne-would have kowtowed. He recognized-and welcomed-the martial tilt of Summer's chin as she sat up straighter.

The moon reflected off her eyes like red-hot coals in the darkness. The oversize white T-shirt with the neck torn out that she was using for a nightgown slid off one shoulder, exposing more skin than he wanted to see.

"Your mother needs your forgiveness," she said.

"She sure as h.e.l.l doesn't deserve it!" he shot back. "Any more than your mother does. When people are wrong they're wrong."

"Keep your voice down. She'll hear you."

"I don't give a d.a.m.n if she does."

"You'll wake Will," she warned, glancing in the direction of the crib that sat in the corner of the room. Will made a snuffling sound, then was quiet.

The last thing he wanted was to wake his son. Will was teething and had been fussy and tearful before he fell asleep.

"Let's get out of here," he said, thrusting his feet over the side of the bed and reaching for his jeans, which he'd thrown over a ladder-back chair beside the bed.

He'd been sleeping in a pair of pajama bottoms to avoid being naked in the same bed with her-the clothing as much for his sanity as her modesty. The layer of cloth had more than once saved him from doing what he shouldn't.

He dragged his jeans on over the pajamas, stalked to the door barefoot, and stood there holding it open, waiting for Summer to join him. She grimaced and stood, giving him a glimpse of lacy pink panties before she straightened the shoulder of her T-shirt so the sc.r.a.p of cotton covered both shoulders. He sucked in a breath when he realized it barely covered the tops of her thighs.

He opened his mouth to tell her to put something else on, but she put her finger to her lips and whispered, "Shh," then marched ahead of him through the door and down the hall toward the kitchen.

She didn't stop there. She inched open the screen door slowly enough to mute the groan of springs, then held the door open for his exit, before easing it closed behind them.

It was blessedly cool outside on the back porch. He thought she was going to sit in one of the rockers, but to his surprise, she headed for the back steps, making sure to miss the one that was broken-he kept meaning to fix it-before heading for the barn.

Which was when he realized they were not going to have a civilized discussion. Summer would need the privacy of the barn only if she intended to raise her voice. He already felt defensive. He was sorry he'd let her marry him. Sorry he'd gotten her into this mess. Sorry she had to live like this when she was used to so much better. And d.a.m.ned sorry he'd taken a swing at her sorry-a.s.sed brother.

But he couldn't apologize. Wouldn't apologize. She was a grown-up. She'd known what she was getting into. If she wanted to call it quits, that was fine by him. He'd pay back the $25,000 from Summer's trust that he'd borrowed to pay off Debbie Sue and her money-grubbing husband if he had to work till he was a hundred. There was no real harm done.

Except he'd married the woman he loved... but never made love to her. And now she was leaving him. And once she was gone, there wasn't much chance she was ever coming back.

He reached over her shoulder to lift the latch on the barn door and pulled it open, gesturing her inside. She hit the light switch and the bare overhead bulb blinded them. He closed the door behind them, locking them inside, then turned.

The T-shirt had slid off her shoulder again, and he caught a glimpse of her pink undies when she reached up to shove her hair away from her face.

Suddenly, he knew there was no way he could live through the speech that was coming. He wanted her, needed her. She was here, and he might not ever have another chance.

He didn't give her any choice, just closed the distance between them and captured her against the length of him.

"Billy-"

"Don't fight me," he said as he claimed her mouth. "Don't fight me. Don't-"

He took her deep, fast, plundering what he'd been denied for years and years and years. He'd wanted her so long. Since the first time he'd laid eyes on her. He'd made himself her friend, because he knew she'd never want a troublemaker like him. But by some miracle, some freak of fortune, she'd become his wife.

He wanted her. And he wanted her to want him.

"Love me, Summer. Love me, please."

He tore her T-shirt in half, baring her to his gaze, staring at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, so lush, the pink nipples peaked. "You're so beautiful. So perfect."

He didn't lift his gaze to her eyes, afraid of what he'd find. He couldn't bear to see shock or disgust or dismay. He could feel the stiffness in her body, her reluctance, her resistance.

He set out to woo her, kissing her throat, letting his breath warm her ear, his work-rough hands plumping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His hips pressed urgently into the cradle of her thighs, letting her feel his arousal.

She moaned, and he felt the warmth and wetness of her mouth against his throat.

Oh, G.o.d. She was kissing him, making shivers tear across his flesh. He wanted inside her now, this instant. But if he took her now, it would all be over too fast. He didn't want this moment to end. He made himself slow down. Made himself savor the moment, because it might be all he had to remember in the years to come.

Her hands shoved their way into his hair and she leaned into him, her hips pressing back against his own. He'd thought he was hard. She made him harder.

She was loving him back. He hadn't imagined it. Could hardly believe it.

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. And shuddered at what he found. Acceptance. And a desire as fierce as his own.

He picked her up and carried her to one of the stalls, grabbing a saddle blanket along the way. He threw it down onto the straw and kicked it open, then lay her down. He shucked his jeans and pajama bottoms, then pulled off her panties. Though her breathing was labored, she lay quiescent as he braced his hands on either side of her and lowered his body onto hers. He felt her shiver as their flesh met.

The stall smelled of hay and horses and leather and was shaded from the harsh light above them by a wall of knotholed wooden planks. Billy looked into her eyes, and saw they were shadowed, fearful, worried. His body was taut with the need to thrust inside her.

"I want you," he rasped. "I need you."

"I want you, too," she said breathlessly.

His heart lurched. It seemed he'd been waiting an eternity to hear those words. They'd only been married a month, but he'd loved her-how many years? He couldn't stop to count now. His mouth was needed elsewhere.

He kissed her throat, and her guttural moan made his groin tighten. He touched her with his hands everywhere, seeking the places that made her undulate against him, the places that made her moan and writhe with need, the places that made her gasp with surprise and delight.

She was already wet when he finally slid a finger inside her, but tight, very tight. He added another finger, and she stiffened.

He made a grunting sound and she said, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said.

She stiffened and said, "Something's wrong. Tell me."