26. Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

J unior had built his home with his own two hands after Ben and Lucy had married. Located not far from his brother's land, his white house sat beneath the sprawling branches of a black walnut tree, its wide-open porch braced by thick, tapered columns. Exposed beams, brackets, and rafters gave character to an otherwise square frame, its low-pitched roof and overhanging eaves prettying up what Isa considered fairly masculine architecture. Her favorite aspect of the home was its welcoming front porch and the picture windows facing the expansive land surrounding it.

The yard was empty, and no Junior came outside to greet her, so she walked Mirage to the little barn off to the side. Champion's head stuck out of his stall at the sound of their approach, nostrils flared in a whinny of welcome. Mirage's ears perked forward, and her pace quickened.

"Happy to see him again?" Isa grinned, dismounted, and hitched Mirage outside the gelding's stall so the two horses could greet and scent each other to their hearts' content.

As was her habit, she walked into Junior's house without knocking but stopped in her tracks at the smell of frying food—or what was supposed to be frying food. Despite her mental exhaustion, a smile spread across her face when she opened the kitchen door and found Junior frantically scraping charred lumps off the bottom of cast iron skillets. A plume of smoke hovered menacingly beneath the ceiling.

"What in heaven's name are you doing?" she asked, smothering her grin.

He jumped at the sound of her voice. Grease splattered on his arm, and he cursed. Shirtless and barefoot with his messy hair uncombed, Junior looked good enough to eat. The contents of the skillets, however…

"I am not eating that." She walked past him to open the back door. "You're in luck. Ma always sends me on my way with more than I can eat. Are you in the mood for fried rabbit?"

"Lord, yes," he coughed. Eyes watering, he toted the smoking pans outside to smolder beneath the well pump.

Once the stove top was cleaned and the windows were opened, they ate the rabbit from Isa's pack with buttered slices of bread.

"Ma almost didn't let me leave," Isa said around a piece of crust. Remembering her manners, she wiped fingers greasy from butter onto Junior's ugly mustard dishtowel. After a second thought, she cautiously brought it to her nose for a tentative sniff, then drew back in surprise. "You washed this?"

"I'm not helpless. I can do my own wash." He looked and sounded so offended that she laughed.

"You could have fooled me." She threw the clean towel at his face; he caught it one-handed.

"Why didn't your ma want you to leave? Did you tell her you were coming here?" Junior lit a lamp in the center of the little round table, and the dim kitchen glowed saffron.

"Why would I do a fool thing like that? So she and Pa could follow me here with a preacher and a shotgun? No, I told her my plans to travel." Isa hesitated, wondering if she should admit everything. "Ma and Pa acted like I would be molested the moment my feet touched foreign ground, so I panicked and told them you were accompanying me."

His broad, square shoulders stiffened. "And you don't think that'll have them hearing wedding bells? What did they say?"

"They were still unhappy that I'm leaving American soil—frankly, they seem doubtful of my intelligence—but eventually allowed that it would be much safer if I had a Texas Ranger at my side." Isa realized too late what she'd said and could have slapped herself. But Junior didn't bridle the way he usually did. He merely appeared weary.

"It'll probably get out before too long that I'm not a Texas Ranger anymore, Izzy." Strong, callused hands loosely intertwined with hers on the table.

She brushed her thumb over his knuckles. "Why do you say that?"

"Father told me at Thanksgiving that Randal—"

"The Ranger friend whose leg was amputated?" The friend whose brother he'd killed. Those words lay unspoken between them.

"Yeah, him. Randal showed up at the Big Stone Ranch and told my pa all about my discharge."

Defensiveness straightened Isa's spine. "That's none of that wily old goat's business."

"Everything is his business." Junior's white teeth gleamed in a mirthless smile. "And if Randal found my pa, it's only a matter of time before he's pointed in this direction."

Isa squeezed his fingers and bent so he would meet her eye. "You don't think he'll come here and try to start trouble, do you?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't blame him for wanting his revenge."

"I would!" The very notion made Isa's insides go cold. "I would blame him very much. And then I'd have revenge against him . It would be a dreadful cycle of violence, and it should cease immediately before any harm is done."

"Before any more harm is done," Junior stressed, his forced smile fading. "He has a worthy motive to find me. It's what he's gonna do when he has me that I'm not so sure about. I haven't seen him in over two years. If Havelard told him about the court hearing, Randal was too injured to make it, and he doesn't have any other living relatives. All Randal had in this whole wide world was his brother."

And Junior had killed him.

Isa found she had no ready comment, no witty rejoinder. Instead, she covered his hands with hers and squeezed.

"YOU'RE TELLIN' ME this was built in the year eighty?"

Junior held up the picture of the Colosseum in Rome, Italy for a closer look. They had migrated to the parlor and sat side by side on the same settee his father and ex-fiancée had reposed upon a few days prior. Spread out on the coffee table were Isa's itinerary, travel pamphlets, and sheaves of notes and clippings.

"Yes, the Romans had extreme ingenuity. The professor at UT could talk for hours about Roman roads. It was a civilization who loved their blood sport as much as they loved their conquering." Isa pointed at the illustrated diagram of the interior of the Colosseum. "People would gather and watch from these seats as gladiatorial events took place. Have you heard of gladiators?"

He sent her a narrow look. "I know what gladiators are."

Hiding her amusement at his struck nerve, she continued, "They would hold huge events of fighting gladiators and mythological reenactments, and they would bring in all manners of beasts from other countries—the more deadly of which would be placed into the arena with naked men condemned to execution."

"Makes hanging seem like a kindness," Junior said softly, unconsciously scratching the scar on his neck. He was beyond distracting with his messy blond hair, bare back, and feet peeking out from behind faded Levi Strauss jeans.

"Oh, yes. The civilization was as bloodthirsty in their sport as they were in war; they had the best fighting army in history."

"Maybe you were a Roman in a past life."

"Or a Viking leader."

"So humble," he said dryly, setting the picture down on the coffee table. "What time next year will we be in Rome?"

Isa smothered her surge of enthusiasm at the word "we." Too much anticipation made her nervous and on guard. She was used to dousing her hopes and could hardly believe they were planning such an intimate trip, one where they'd be together every day for half a year's time. It was too new. Too ineffable. A small, distrustful part of her wondered if he would change his mind at the last possible minute. "I hope to be in Italy in late spring or early summer. I have more than enough funds to get us through June before we come home."

Junior reached over, captured a lock of her hair, and tweaked it. "You're crazy as a bed bug if you think I'll let you pay my way the whole trip."

"It was my idea, so I'm spending my money. Call me crazy if you wish." She swatted his hand away. Not only did he catch her hand, but he pulled her up from across the settee until she was chest-to-chest with him. His skin was hot, the fine mat of hair across his pectorals glittering like gold dust in the kerosene light.

Isa had known the purpose of her visit when she rode up the narrow driveway. Her brother thought she was at her ma's, and her ma thought she was at her brother's. A fresh change of clothes lay neatly folded in her gunnysack, and in the morning, she'd ride into Dogwood for a day's work with no one the wiser.

What she'd forgotten was the size of him in a well-lit room. Every meeting of their bodies before now had been in darkness, every noise stifled. Now, they were alone in an empty house several miles away from another living person. They could look at each other as long as they wished and be as loud in their passions as they pleased, and Isa wanted him more than she wanted her Grand Tour. To want another person more than one wanted their dream? What a terrifying prospect. Such a concept was fraught with potential heartbreak. She'd had a taste of heartbreak and was not fond of it.

Junior's eyelashes were pale at the tips and so low that they concealed the blue fire of his irises. He looked at her lips when he spoke. "We agreed to share the financial burden. This is one area where you won't win."

"Is that so?" His mouth was inches from hers. It wasn't fair for a man to have lips women had to rouge to get.

His answer was a kiss. They had learned each other, and their mouths met with perfect synchrony, their tongues matching rhythms like a rehearsed dance. Kissing him halted the rapid pace of her brain. Her thoughts changed from coherent words to colors and sensations. She was swimming in honey, slow and languid, her breath slow, her heartbeat fast. It weakened her. Junior's fingers, warm as the rest of his body, cupped her face, her neck, her heavy breasts. They were so sensitive when he touched them that she broke away from his kiss, moaning freely in the open air of his parlor.

Grip roughening, he pulled her to straddle him on the settee. He plucked the buttons of her blouse open and pressed his face between her breasts, massaging them with gentle force. His lovemaking was different this time. More intentional. She kissed the satiny skin of his shoulder, and he pulled her loose bodice down to expose her breasts to the hazy lamplight.

"These are the prettiest things I've ever seen in my life." His voice was deep. Worshipful.

"I used to bind them," Isa admitted breathlessly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "They popped up around thirteen or fourteen when I was still wrestling in the dirt with you and wearing overalls. I stopped binding them when I was sixteen."

"When Poppy came to Dogwood?" He kissed the tender skin above each pink nipple, then held each breast up like a vendor weighing a couple of melons. She was both exasperated and entertained.

"Yes. The first week I met Poppy, she fitted me with a new dress. You should have seen her face when she saw I had bosoms." Isa pantomimed a shocked expression, eyes wide, mouth open.

Junior chuckled. "That's about my reaction when you showed up in a dress with your chest stuck out to here when the day before it was flat as a washboard. I thought you'd stuffed your underthings."

"Shows how much you know," she murmured, leaning in to kiss his lips.

They kissed forever. There was no hurry.

Isa wasn't sure when it changed. Their movements became more deliberate, and clothes soon littered the parlor floor until they were both naked and entirely visible to one another. She'd only seen him fully nude the morning they woke up in the attic, but he hadn't been aroused. Her eyes settled at the apex of his thighs, where his sex stood proud and flushed. Neither had a shy bone in their body, and they looked their fill until looking wasn't enough. Hands joined in, touching, caressing, spreading, and gripping until they were both gasping and coming together in a frenzy.

For the first time, there was no discomfort when he entered her, and Isa liked the control she had straddling him on the settee. It was like riding a horse, yet not. She loved the tight glide of him inside of her, which was evident by the embarrassing sounds coming from her mouth. She loved the way he looked up at her from below, like he was seeing something both painful and lovely. And when his hands gripped her hips and forced her to go at a more vigorous pace, she was racing again, determined to reach her end before him. To win. By the grimace of his face, he wanted her to win. The slick friction of their skin, the beads of sweat on Junior's forehead and chest, the way his blue eyes couldn't decide whether to look at her face, her breasts, or where their bodies met—it was too much.

She grabbed one of the hands gripping her hips and brought it to where their bodies met; he understood immediately. Three passes of his warm, slick fingertips over her sensitive sex, and she was shuddering upon him, her climax sharp and deep. Throaty cries escaped her, the kind she'd never made before, and he was cursing, displacing her from his person. Dazed, empty, Isa caught herself on his knees and sat back while spurts of white exited the tip of his cock, painting a sensual picture on her breasts and stomach.

"That's not very gentlemanly," she blurted, still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

"Well, you weren't actin' very ladylike," Junior panted, squeezing the last of the viscous fluid from the slit at the tip. His seed was a translucent white, and some had leaked down the knuckles of his fist.

Curious, she swiped her first finger through it and brought it to her nose. The aroma was hard to decipher, and she touched the tip of her tongue to it. He made a choked sound. The taste was earthy and salty, but the texture was not to her liking; she wrinkled her nose.

"It's not very good," she said, looking at her finger in disappointment.

"It's not a sweet you get at a general store, Izzy." He sounded as though someone was strangling him.

"I know. I don't imagine anything naturally secreted from the human body tastes very good, but I was curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat." His dimples deepened in his cheeks.

"This won't kill me, will it?" Isa asked coyly. To his horror, she brought her finger closer to his face. "Like poison? Here. Try it. We can be Romeo and Juliet."

"Hell no!" he shouted, and she was on her back on the settee in a flash, laughing like a madwoman while he held himself a safe distance away. Like a naked primordial man guarding himself from a threat, Junior's roving eyes spotted her crumpled combinations on the floor, and he swiped it up in his fist. Only then did he approach her, scrubbing at the drying fluid on her breasts and abdomen with the balled-up cloth. It was becoming a habit, his use of her undergarments to clean up. Once she was dry, he wiped his hands on the damp underthings and lay atop her. Isa wheezed her breath out dramatically at his weight. Junior kissed her chin and looked into her eyes. "If you ever got in the family way, I would do right by you."

The statement derailed her train of thought. Sobering, she wrapped her legs around his hips and squeezed him to her. "I know you would."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. You're a good man, Junior. Despite what you think."

He absorbed this for a moment, then wrapped his arms around her back and lifted her from the settee. She kept her legs tightly secured around him while he carried her to his back bedroom. In the little fireplace, coals radiated a pleasant warmth that was lacking in the parlor. Junior pulled the bedcovers and sheets back and tumbled them into bed, Isa clinging like an orphaned opossum. Then he swore and rolled out of bed because he'd left the lamp in the other room.

Later, when the lamp was on its lowest setting and another log fed the fire, Isa ran a palm over the divot of his healed gunshot wound. "What does getting shot feel like?"

Junior looked half-asleep, but he propped his elbow on his pillow to face her. "It's like…getting hit with a hammer. Then, nothing for a few minutes. It's just wet and cold from the blood comin' out of you. But once the shock wears off, it feels like someone ripped a hot wire through you, and it burns like hell. That was the worst part at first, that burn. Like your blood's boiling out instead of just leaking, and there's not a damned thing you can do about it but stanch the flow. I'd packed it the best I could with bandanas until I got a doctor in town to sew me up. Later, I was sore in every part of my body. Movin' hurt, so I walked around like an old granny when her bones would ache. Felt like I had a fever for days, always breaking out in cold sweats. When I came to get you, I'd had three weeks to recover. I was godawful sore, though."

"Is it sore now?" Isa asked.

Thoughtfully, Junior settled his hand over hers and pushed down, forcing her to press harder until he winced. "Not too bad."

"Stop that." She tugged her hand away and bent to kiss his scar. Even now, there was faint, greenish-yellow bruising around his side. "It's a miracle the bullet didn't pierce your intestines."

"I thought it had for a while. Even though the sawbones told me it hadn't." He chuckled.

"Why? Were you very sick?" Sepsis was no laughing matter. Concern knitted her brow.

Remarkably, Junior's ears reddened. "No, but it's not fit for a lady's ears."

"We've established that I am not a lady."

"Yes, the hell you are," he scoffed, running his fingers through her hair from root to tip. He'd done so countless times, seemingly entranced by its length, its texture. "Fine. After I'd been shot, I didn't have to visit the outhouse for a week. I thought maybe it was all trapped inside of me, festering. Figured I'd die soon."

Isa's features cleared. "Ah. Perhaps it was the trauma of being shot?"

Junior twisted her hair into his fist and released it slowly, watching honey locks fall to the blanket, then repeated the process. "I didn't know you went to doctor school." The sarcasm was at odds with his engrossed attentiveness.

"I didn't. But David did."

"Hmph. David ." No name had ever been said so petulantly.

"He spoke so often of things he learned from textbooks and cadavers, I feel as though I could go into practice myself." Isa leaned over to kiss a freckle on his collarbone. "But I don't need a medical degree to know you weren't dying. Just full of shit."

The fist holding her hair yanked, and she exploded into helpless giggles.

They grappled naked on the bed until they were drenched in sweat and weak-limbed. Once she was properly subdued beneath him, he hovered above her, the fringe of his hair brushing her shining forehead.

"I win."

Junior's smile was wide and impish, and Isa felt an answering throb between her spread legs. "Claim your reward, then."

Having conquered her, he sunk into her with his eyes closed. His mouth whispered words she couldn't hear but could feel with every swell of him reaching the deepest parts of her. He stroked into her body in a way that was more than a means of release; it was reverence. It was making love. The old fear crept in. It made her squeeze her eyes shut just before she shuddered through her second climax of the night.

Isa was deeply in love with Junior. Again.