The Cowboy’s Hidden Agenda

Chapter 12

Bronco didn’t carry her back to the blanket on the pine-cushioned rock shelf at the edge of the pool. This woman was not and would never be his to conquer. He was as much in awe of her as he’d ever been of any human being, and to do her honor it seemed important to him that they come to this together, walking side by side, as equals.

He stepped before her onto the blanket and knelt down, still holding her hand. Then, gazing up into her shimmering eyes, he drew her slowly toward him. When she was astride his thighs, he guided her hand to his shoulder and left it there while he reached for her and urged her closer still. He touched his lips to the taut coolness of her stomach, and when her skin shivered beneath them like the hide of a nervous mare, he felt the hot surge of arousal deep in his own belly. Suppressing it, he gently parted the damp curls at her center and kissed her there, kissed her long and deeply, until her knees buckled. Then, with tender laughter he eased her down onto the blanket.

He held her as he’d once dreamed of holding her, with the desert heat spread over them like a blanket and thunder grumbling in the distance, and her body in perfect harmony with his. He held her and felt her chilled body grow warm and pliant, like fine leather in the sun. And he pleasured her with his hands and fingers, mouth and tongue, in all the ways he knew, until she sobbed like a child in his arms.

It was only then that he realized, to both his shock and amusement, that she was furious with him.

“Why did you…how can you do that?” she sobbed, gasping and hiccuping as she struggled in his embrace. “I want to…I want you to…I want you inside-”

But he stopped her there, smothering her sob and his own frustration and calming them both with his deep and drugging kiss. When she was limp and unresisting once more, he pulled himself away from her, and with his hands framing her face, gazed deeply into her eyes. “Can’t do that, darlin’,” he murmured huskily, though there was an ache in his loins and a building pressure behind his eyes…a fire in his belly, a thirst he couldn’t quench. “Wish I could. Sorry.”

After about two beats he saw her eyes brighten with understanding. And then her mouth popped open, and he knew-dammit, he knew-she was going to fight him on it. And because fighting her on any subject wasn’t what he wanted to do just then, he gave a chuckle to mask his pain and with his lips close to her ear, whispered, “As good as my hands and mouth felt to you-that’s how good yours’ll feel to me.” He watched her eyes widen, darken, and begin to glow as he took her hand and guided it to his aching loins.

He didn’t say anything more but just left it to a groan to convince her of the truth of what he’d told her.

It was only much later, when they lay entwined in the heat of the waning afternoon, drowsy and utterly drained, that Lauren felt her doubts return. They came into her con sciousness little by little, in a cowardly shamefaced way, like jackals slinking in the shadows at the edges of the campfire light.

The first stirrings of unease came, ironically, in the midst of pleasure as she was basking in the joy of discovery, sliding her hand with deceptive idleness over the smooth planes of Bronco’s body. His body was new to her; she wanted to know every inch of it, learn every nook and cranny, memorize every scar and flaw. Though while scars he had, in fascinating abundance, she had yet to find a flaw.

His skin was so smooth. The uniformity of its color and texture fascinated her. Her own pale hide abounded in freckles, spots and moles, irregularities of every kind and description, and seemed susceptible to every environmental influence known to man. Bronco’s skin, on the other hand, had the satiny and impervious feel of polished wood. She reveled in letting her hand glide across the undulations of his torso and the unyielding ridges of his chest, marveling at how smooth it was, almost devoid of hair. His face, too-his Native American genes were definitely dominant in that regard.

And that was when she felt it, those faint but unmistakable stirrings of unease. Something about that particular fact bothered her, but she couldn’t think what it was. It reminded her, though, of all the other times she’d felt that same puzzling uncertainty, without being able to pinpoint a reason for it. Just…something. Some little inconsistency she could never quite put her finger on. She remembered that only a day or two ago she’d been raging in silent fury about the duplicity of this man, certain he was the world’s most accomplished liar and never ever to be trusted.

And yet she did trust him, didn’t she? She certainly had trusted him, even to the point, only a short while ago, of being ready to throw aside all caution and common sense. Her hand stilled; her stomach churned. For the first time in days the question burned in her mind: What’s wrong with me?

Bronco’s arms tightened around her reflexively, then relaxed as she pushed herself up on one elbow in order to look into his face. His face. A warrior’s face-fierce, savage, hard. And yet, gazing down upon its exotic planes and sharply honed lines, she felt the bottom drop out of her stomach, and the parts of her body that still throbbed and tingled with the memory of his touch begin to swell in eager anticipation all over again.

Who are you? Johnny Bronco or John Bracco? Which one, of all the men you’ve shown me, is the real you?

“Something botherin’ you, Laurie Brown?” His voice was a warm growl, like the sleepy purr of a big cat.

She gave her head a small hard shake of denial that failed to cancel out her troubled frown. “I’ve always considered myself an intelligent person,” she said in a low voice, which tightened with embarrassment as she continued. “And fairly savvy, too. I’m not without experience. I know what’s what.”

Bronco’s eyes smiled back at her, black and gleaming as always, but soft now, like those of a healthy animal. “I’m sure you do.”

She caught a breath in a reflexive jerk of protest. “But I was ready to make love with you. Without protection. I wanted to. I would have.” What’s wrong with me?

“I wanted to, too,” he said gently, his fingers toying with the ends of her hair. “You don’t know how badly.”

“But you didn’t.”

He shook his head, and the softness left his eyes as he captured her hand and held it still against his chest. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Inexplicable pain filled her, restricting her breathing. Trying to make light of it, she gave a high false tinkle of laughter. “Would it have been such a terrible thing?”

For a long time his eyes held hers, once more hard as obsidian and bright with facets that might have been anger…or pain. Beneath her hand his heart beat hard and fast and out of sync with her own. At last he said in a flat expressionless voice, “Maybe not terrible. I’ve got as much faith in your good health as I do my own. But…awkward for sure.” She felt his body shift and tighten, as if he’d physically hardened himself against her, though his voice remained quiet, almost gentle. “Lady, you are the president’s daughter-or going to be. I’m not about to return you to your loved ones pregnant.”

She could only stare at him; her face and throat felt swollen. Dimly she realized that his fingers were stroking the back of her hand, rubbing the third finger, the place where a ring would be. An engagement ring.

She felt the bump of his ironic laugh. “Can’t you see the headline? It’d read like a damn tabloid: President’s daughter bears half-breed Apache kidnapper’s child! No thanks.”

What could she say? There was no way to answer words so ugly and hurtful. Lauren held herself still and listened to their echoes inside her head, and finally focused on the one phrase he’d spoken that she could replay without pain. “Are you going to return me?” she asked in a small air-starved voice. When he didn’t immediately respond, she sat up slowly and, reclaiming her hand, used it to shield her breasts from his glittering gaze. “Am I ever going to see my family again?”

“You’ll see them.” He sat up, too, and in almost the same motion rose to his feet.

“When?” she cried, twisting around in order to follow him with her eyes, her heart stumbling even then at the savage beauty of his naked body. “When it’s too late?”

He was gathering up, putting on his clothes, and didn’t reply.

Bearing a platter of sandwiches, Lucy marched into the living room where the Brown family had gathered to await the latest news. Right behind her came her sister-in-law, Chris, with an enormous bowl filled with melon wedges and grapes. She was followed by Carmen, the housekeeper, carrying a pitcher of iced tea and wearing a look of patient suffering.

Though Lucy had only arrived at the Tipsy Pee that morning, it wasn’t in her to be idle. With Dixie fully occupied with seeing Rhett through this crisis, it seemed only natural that she should take over the supervision of the household. No one had tried to dissuade her; her own family was pretty much used to her bossiness, and the housekeeper seemed, if not thrilled by the invasion, at least resigned. Carmen had lived through a good many of life’s storms, large and small; she’d survive Lucy.

Setting the platter on a hastily cleared coffee table, Lucy gave the arrangement a quick inspection and nod of approval, then went to join her husband, who was over by the big front window keeping an eye on the media encampment that had sprung up near the main gate. So far, she was glad to note, it looked like just the usual candidate’s entourage. And the local law-enforcement people, augmented by a dozen or so FBI and ATF agents masquerading as ranch hands, seemed to be doing an adequate job of keeping the invasion out of the house and yard. So far. If the media ever got wind of what was really going on behind the fieldstone walls of the sprawling ranch house, Lucy thought, it would take the National Guard to keep them out.

As if he’d been thinking along the same lines, Mike slipped his arm around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. At almost the same moment, the study door opened and Rhett came into the room, with Dixie right behind him.

My God, he’s aged ten years, Lucy thought as she and Mike, her brother, Earl, and his wife, Chris, all gathered instinctively closer to one another. Closing ranks, she thought. Circling the wagons, as families do in troubled times.

For some reason that gathering, that closeness, made Lucy think of those who weren’t there. Mom and Dad, of course; she’d never missed them more. Mama, Daddy, your children sure do need you. Gwen, with her droll wisdom and lilting laugh.

And the children-how diminished and small their family group seemed without them. No wonder, Lucy thought wryly; young people seemed to take up such an inordinate amount of space. But, oh, what she wouldn’t give to have them all here right now, laughing and boisterous, arguing and eating-always eating-music thumping, long legs draped over furniture and clothing strewn across the floor. Eric was here, but he and his cousin, Caitlin-Earl, or rather, Wood’s and Chris’s daughter-had gone out riding with Carmen and her husband’s youngest granddaughter, Sara. They’d both be here when it counted, no matter what happened-at fifteen and sixteen they were old enough to share both the family’s triumphs and tragedies-but for now, let them enjoy the illusion of a carefree summer vacation a little while longer.

As for the others, they hadn’t even been able to reach Ellie, who was somewhere on a Mexican beach protecting sea turtles. Ethan wouldn’t be arriving until tomorrow. And Lauren-precious Lolly. What a lovely person she’d turned out to be-hard to believe, thought Lucy, that she’d once been such a god-awful brat. Losing her was unthinkable. Unthinkable.

“News?” Mike prompted softly.

Rhett scraped a hand back over his hair, and his arm found its way around Dixie. “The camp has been secured,” he said tonelessly. “There were casualties-they won’t say how many. But none among our people-that we do know. They found a considerable number of weapons, plus files and records that should lead to a whole lot more-maybe even the source. So ATF is happy.” He paused to take a breath while everybody else in the room held theirs. Then he plunged on. “They didn’t find Lauren or ATF’s undercover man, but they did find evidence she’d been held there, and by all indications, she’s being treated well. They even rigged up a private latrine for her, with a portable toilet.” A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes flickered like a faulty lightbulb.

“So,” Mike said, “it looks like the ATF man got her away before your people got there.”

There was a fraction of a second’s pause before Rhett said heavily, “That’s one scenario.”

“What aren’t you telling us?” That was Earl, the ex-marine. Lucy could almost see him chomping at the bit, wanting to be doing something, wanting to be where the action was.

For a moment Rhett’s face darkened. Then he drew a shaky breath and his eyes looked lost and desperate. “Their leader, McCullough-they didn’t find him, either. It looks like he got away. The man that took Lauren…he’s still out there somewhere.”

Thunder was rolling around and bouncing off the mountain peaks by the time they’d left the last of the tall timber behind. Bronco knew by his watch there ought to have been at least a couple of hours left before sundown, but the thick overcast had brought a premature twilight-heavy, purple and oppressive. His moments of temporary insanity this afternoon had put them behind schedule; he knew there was no way in hell they were going to make it to his grandmother Rose’s before nightfall, or a cloudburst, caught up with them. And from the looks of those clouds and the sound of that thunder, it was even money which one was going to get there first.

One way or another, he was going to have to find them some kind of shelter. He had a place in mind, but it was still some distance away. The question was could they get to it in time. He thought about it, looking around to judge the terrain, which had flattened out considerably and was forested now mostly with juniper and sagebrush. Then he turned his head and said to Lauren, “Feel like a run?”

He felt her start, as if she’d jerked herself awake. He knew she’d been quiet back there, but brooding, he’d have thought, rather than dozing. “Sure,” she said, her voice slurred and thick.

“Hang on.” And he felt an undeniable pang of regret when she grabbed hold of the back of the saddle, instead of wrapping her arms around his waist.

She’d been careful to keep her distance from him after they’d left the spring, maintaining those torturing inches between them as if she thought he had thorns. Not surprising, he supposed, after the way it had ended. What did surprise him was how much he missed her now, how much he longed for the feel of her body against his. Somewhere along the line, his body had developed a craving for her, a need he felt in his muscles and bones, in his skin and pores. He was already wondering what he was going to do for the rest of his life without her.

The rain hit as they were climbing the last of the gently sloping foothills that undulated away from the base of the huge pile of boulders he and his friends had always called, without much imagination, the Rocky Hill. It hit hard, with great stinging drops that almost instantly became a suffocating curtain that left little room for air.

Bronco heard Lauren give a shocked little cry. “Hang on!” he yelled, and grabbed her hand and yanked it around him as he urged Cochise Red into a flat-out gallop that carried them the rest of the way to the foot of the hill.

Drenched and half-blinded by the water streaming into his eyes, he led the stallion with Lauren now in the saddle, up the zigzagging path that wound between the rocks. His destination was a single wedge-shaped boulder that stood out from the side of the mountain like an airplane wing-or, according to Grandmother Rose, an ironing board. Clucking and cajoling, he managed to coax the lathered-up horse in under the overhang. Lauren slid out of the saddle and dove for deeper shelter while he got Red calmed down and tethered to a boulder. Then he, too, headed for cover.

Then, for a few minutes all they could seem to do was gasp and swear and brush the water out of their eyes, while the rain poured all around them with a roar like a freight train, and lightning flickered and flashed and the thunder boomed so loudly and so near they could feel its vibrations in the ground beneath their feet.

“God!” Lauren gasped when she was able to speak. “What is this? I’ve never seen anything like this in my life!”

“Indians call this a male rain,” said Bronco with a half smile. “All sound and fury and not much use to anybody.”

She smiled her appreciation. “What’s a female rain?”

“Gentle,” he said. “Nurturing. It feeds the earth and makes things grow.”

“Ah.” For a long lingering moment her eyes rested on his face, and then she pulled them abruptly away. Even without touching her he felt her begin to shiver.

“Better get out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia.” He untied the poncho from the back of the saddle and gave it a shake. “Put this on. We’ll lay your clothes out on the rocks. Back in here where it’s dry there’s enough heat left in ’em-they’ll probably be dry by morning.”

She nodded, and he started to drop the poncho over her head-then stopped when they both realized her T-shirt was going to have to come off first. She hesitated for one awkward moment, then swiftly yanked the sodden thing up and off. “Okay.” It was a breathless whisper, felt rather than heard.

Proud of his stoicism, Bronco gazed silently at the hard tips of her breasts as he lifted the poncho and let it fall onto her bare shoulders.

“But,” she said in a jerky voice he could barely hear above the noise of the slackening rain, “you’re wet, too.”

“I’m fine,” he said, as gruff and macho as he could make it, valiantly suppressing his own shivers.

Apparently not well enough. Because the next thing he heard was, “You’re freezing.” And then, with shivers bumping the words, “I’m…c-cold.” He turned slowly to look at her. In the waning light beneath the overhang her face looked small and drowned, her eyes huge. “There’s room for both of us,” she said.

He held his breath as she tossed the T-shirt toward the nearest rock, then slowly bent and pulled off one of her boots. After a moment, almost in imitation, he pulled one off, too.

Then suddenly it seemed as if they couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough-either of them. Her breath came in desperate whimpers, his in soft grunts, and their shivers seemed to intensify even as the storm around them slackened. When they were both naked, she lifted the poncho and he ducked under it and came up with his mouth hard on hers, his arms wrapped around her chilled body and her breasts firm and cold against his chest.

What happened then he didn’t expect-could never have even imagined, much less prepared for. He felt something inside him, some fragile vessel of sanity and self-control, break, shatter, burst or simply disintegrate. And suddenly set free were all the feelings, all the passion, all the emotions he’d been keeping there, locked safe inside, set free to pour through him in a raging, devastating, terrifying flood. What was he to do with such feelings? He couldn’t possibly contain such emotions, control such passion. Not since he was a child had he been called upon to try.

Fear and longing tore through him and erupted in a gut- wrenching groan. Her body was so strong and vibrant, so soft and fragile in his arms. He couldn’t hold her tightly enough, touch her completely enough. Oh, how he wanted her. Wanted to be inside her, wanted her inside him, wanted her with a wild and desperate hunger. But how could he bear it if he hurt her now?

Her breath gushed in helpless whimpers as he reached for her, cupped her with his hand, felt with his fingers for her wet yielding softness. He drank in her whimpers with a growl of masculine triumph as he pushed deep, deep inside her, aching inside himself, needing to be inside her, needing…needing…

Her whimpers became a high continuous keening, and he felt her body come apart in his hands. He would have used those same hands, then, to hold her together and comfort her while she collapsed against him with soul-stirring sobs. That’s what he would have done. But the next thing he knew her arms were twined around his neck and her legs clasped around his hips, and her warm and still-pulsating feminine softness was pressed against his hot and throbbing shaft, and he desperately feared, was utterly certain, that he was lost.

No! With one wild anguished cry he summoned all his strength, all the tattered remains of his will and his honor. Throwing his head back until the cords of his neck felt like cast iron, he wrenched himself away from that sweet comfort and raised her high in his arms, lifting her onto a chest-high boulder and pulling her legs over his shoulders. Holding her open to him, he sank into her softness, buried himself in her, his face, his mouth, his tongue.

He held her while her body bucked and writhed, arched and tightened like a drawn bow. And then she screamed, a cry of feminine terror, total surrender and a wild and savage joy.

Shaken, he clutched her to him, rocking her and murmuring words of comfort and contrition into her hair. But sobbing, she slithered out of his grasp and downward along his body, and he felt the coolness of her tears on his fevered flesh-and then her mouth. And with a groan he gave himself up to her, knowing his only salvation lay in a quick and cataclysmic release.

Bronco watched the first rays of the sun streak across the shoulders of the Sacred Mountain and tried to think whether he’d ever done such a thing before-ever slept all night with a woman in his arms and watched the sunrise with the sweet scent of her in his nostrils and her warm breath pooling on his skin. He didn’t think so; if he had, he’d have surely remembered it.

He wasn’t aware of having made any noise, but Lauren stirred and gave a vocal yawn, a good-humored waking-up sound. She raised her head and looked at him with the untroubled gaze of a small child, and then casually, as if it was something she did every day of her life, leaned down and kissed him.

Before he could identify the unfamiliar flutterings that action generated in his heart, before the first drumbeats of response deep in his belly had time to find their own rhythm, she lifted her head and looked beyond him at the vista of the plateau spread out below and breathed a single word. “Wow.”

For a few minutes she didn’t say anything more, while the sun splashed gold across the purple land and edged the tattered scraps of last night’s storm clouds with coral, pink and mauve. And then she caught her breath. “Look. Is that…?” Far out on the lightening plateau, a cloud of dust rose and caught the sunlight and became a plume of gold.

“Looks like the wild horse herd,” Bronco said just as a piercing whinny from directly below them confirmed it.

“Oh,” Lauren whispered, “it’s so beautiful.”

Something clutched at Bronco’s heart-a longing for, a hope of, a tiny glimpse of heaven. With tightening throat he muttered, “I’ve always thought so.”

Her eyes came back to him, bright and full of smiles. Since he was beginning to realize she was one of those people who woke up fast, fresh as a daisy and ready to meet the day, he put a warning hand on her shoulder and said gruffly, “Careful-don’t sit up too suddenly.”

She cringed in the process of doing just that and squinted over her shoulder at the solid rock just inches above her head. “Oh, wow,” she said. “We’re a rock sandwich.”

Bronco laughed; he supposed she hadn’t realized when he’d squeezed them in here last night how narrow the crevice was. He’d forgotten himself. “I don’t know what happened,” he said. “When I was a kid you could sit up in here. It’s gotten a lot smaller. Here-if we move farther out, we’ll be okay.”

He’d made their bed in the narrow space where a second slab of rock overlapped the upper side of the protruding boulder, leaving the sheltered place below for the horses. There hadn’t been a flat space large enough for two to stretch out under the overhang, anyway. The crevice had made a cozy enough bed, once he’d eliminated any possibility of rattlers.

Now, on his elbows he scooted himself and the blanket backward out of the crevice and onto the ledge. Lauren moved with him, pulling, tugging and straightening, until they were clear of the overhang. Then she stretched her arms over her head and drew her legs into a cross-legged sitting position.

“So,” she said, looking around with bright-eyed curiosity, “this is another one of your childhood haunts.”

He couldn’t answer immediately, distracted as he was by the incredibly arousing vision of her long pale legs and firm round breasts just barely covered by the drape of one of his old undershirts. As sudden and breathtaking as a punch in the gut came the memory of those legs coiled around him last night, and the whisper-soft brush of her thigh against his cheek, the scent and taste of her, that wild primitive cry.

“Let me guess. I’ll bet you called this Lookout Rock.” She was smiling at him, fresh and sweet as the new day.

Bronco shook his head, and not only because she’d guessed wrong about the name. He was feeling a little light-headed and having some trouble reconciling this morning’s Lauren, wholesome as milk and cornflakes, with last night’s mind-blowing, self-control-shattering wanton.

“In a way I guess it was a lookout,” he said, struggling to a sitting position himself. “But my cousins and I used to call it the Smoking Rock-not in the presence of any grown-ups, though.”

“Really? Smoking Rock…” She tilted her head, intrigued.

“We called it that,” Bronco drawled, half smiling, “because this is where we’d come to smoke the cigarettes we’d stolen from our elders. And eat the cookies we’d swiped from Grandmother Rose’s kitchen so she wouldn’t smell the tobacco on our breath.”

“Dang,” exclaimed Lauren, laughing, “you were a wild child.”

“Told you I was. Most all the stories you’ll hear people tell about me are true-and a lot more nobody knows about but me.” He listened to his own words and felt a cold shell creep back around his heart. After a moment he threw her a smile that now felt strained and tight. “What about you, Laurie Brown? You ever do anything bad when you were a kid? Not even bad, just…you know, naughty, a little wild and crazy.”

“Before I met you, you mean?” she said dryly, then frowned at her hands, laced together across the open space between her knees. “I think I was a spoiled brat when I was very small. But-” she drew herself up straight, in ironic demonstration of what she was saying “-I grew up fast after my folks split up. I became the classic ‘good girl,’ a model child. I did everything that was expected of me-valedictorian, college, law school…” She stopped, alarmed and suddenly fragile. She feared, if she spoke one more word, her face would crumple into tears.

The wave of emotion had taken her by surprise, coming out of nowhere just when she’d been feeling so happy, so carefree. But thinking of the child, the girl, the woman she’d been… So much had happened in so short a time, and she wasn’t that person anymore! And never would be again. And that realization filled her with a sudden sharp sense of loss, of regret and fear. Somehow, in her rush to escape from her old familiar life, she’d run herself into a blind alley, and now she didn’t know where to turn.

She became aware that Bronco had taken her hands, and that once again he was gently stroking her left ring finger.

His voice, normally so warm and deep, had a sharp and sandy edge. “Your engagement-was that expected of you, too?”

She pulled her hands away. “How did you know I was-”

He broke in with his familiar snort of laughter. “Shoot, it was in all the papers. Maybe a White House wedding, they said.”

Lauren looked away, words of explanation backing up behind the swelling in her throat. She swallowed, then swallowed again, before she heard him ask, “Why don’t you wear a ring?”

Then it was surprisingly easy to say, “I gave it back. Called it off.”

He wouldn’t leave it there but asked in that soft-rough voice, “How come?” She shook her head; tears had begun to stream silently down her face. “You decide you didn’t love him?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, unable to look at him, wretchedly ashamed. “I thought I did. But I just realized one day that I wasn’t…happy. Not only that, I was miserably unhappy. Oh-” she brushed savagely, angrily at her cheeks “-I know how that must sound. Poor little overprivileged girl-the perfect life, the perfect family, the perfect fiancé-yes, even Benjamin was perfect! And I was unhappy? How dare I be unhappy! But I was. And in pursuit of happiness, I chucked it all-my job, my fiancé, my family… Oh God-” She clapped a hand over her mouth, cutting herself off in midsob. And she stared at him, awash in self-revelation, trembling with the shock of sudden understanding.

“That’s what she did,” she whispered, hollow and cold inside. Even her tears had stopped-she felt too frozen to cry. “That’s what she said-my mother-when she left us. She said she wanted, deserved, a chance to be happy. I guess I did exactly the same thing, didn’t I? God, it’s funny, all those years I tried so hard not to be like her-everyone said how selfish she was-so I was determined I wasn’t going to be like her. And in the end it turns out I’m just like her, after all. Isn’t that just too…ironic?” She tried to laugh, wanting desperately to cry, aching with self-loathing. Oh, how judgmental she’d been. How self-righteous. How steadfastly unforgiving.

“Don’t underestimate the pursuit of happiness,” Bronco said dryly. “It’s a powerful human imperative-right up there behind life and liberty.”

“I guess…I understand that now,” said Lauren in a whisper and a flood of freshening tears. “I just hope I get a chance to tell her someday…how sorry I am.”

There was a pause, and then Bronco reached behind him for the blanket and began rolling it into a tight bundle. “Time to go,” he said, and once again his voice was bear-rug soft and curiously gentle.

Lauren blinked the last of the tears from her eyes and rubbed them away with her fingers. She sniffed and asked, “Where, Bronco? Where are you taking me now?”

For a long time he looked at her, with eyes glowing black and deep, like a panther’s coat. Then…

“Home,” he said softly. “I’m taking you home.”