His absolute sincerity disarmed her. He really did view her as a good friend. For some strange reason, that knowledge brought tears to her eyes. “I forgive you. I should never have taken offense in the first place.”
“That’s better,” Meade said with a smile, tipping her chin up so that he could look into her eyes. “I wouldn’t have let you go otherwise.”
“Why not? It’s unlikely we’ll ever see each other again,” she said, then felt a stinging, bitter sense of sadness when she realized what she’d said and how true it was.
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Meade suddenly found it difficult to breathe. “That’s precisely why I wouldn’t let you go away angry.” He lowered his head, intending to give her a perfectly decorous, brotherly kiss on the cheek, but when Rayna tilted her head questioningly, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, all his brotherly thoughts faded. His lips brushed hers lightly, and he was lost. Before he fully realized what he was doing, he had taken her into his arms.
Rayna was stunned by Meade’s sudden display of affection, but nothing in the world could have made her shy away from his kiss. There was an urgency in the way his lips brushed against hers, and in the way she responded. A breathless ache blossomed inside her, and she pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as the kiss deepened into something Rayna had never experienced before. It was sensuous and wonderful. It rocked her to the very core of her femininity and made her gasp with need. She moaned softly, a hoarse, breathy sound that caught in her throat and blended with a nearly identical groan from Meade.
And then suddenly it was over. His mouth was no longer slanted against hers; his arms were no longer around her. Meade stepped back, and it was everything Rayna could do to keep her knees from buckling.
“I’m sorry,” he said hastily, mortified by his behavior. “That was thoroughly improper, Rayna. Forgive me.”
It was a second before she recovered the power of speech. “I don’t recall protesting, Meade.”
The way she said his name made him ache to take her in his arms again.
But he couldn’t, of course. It was impossible. Ludicrous. “Well, you should have,” he scolded. “Good Lord, Rayna. I’m old enough to be your father.”
“No, you’re not,” she replied, feeling as though they were on the verge of another argument and not at all sure why. She certainly didn’t want to quarrel, not when her blood was pulsating with the most pleasurably frustrating sensations she’d ever experienced. “Meade, you’re not nearly old enough to be my father.”
“Yes, I am, and you shouldn’t be entertaining gentlemen in your room without a suitable chaperon.”
He was chastising her as her father would have, but instead of being irritated, Rayna found herself amused. He was embarrassed because he’d kissed her. She couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, really? In that case, would you like me to call up the porter or the chambermaid to be a witness to our next kiss?”
“There will not be a next kiss, Rayna,” he said sternly.
“Are you trying to convince yourself or me?”
Meade felt a painful stirring in his loins, and it infuriated him. “Don’t play the coquette. You’re no good at it, and I’m in no mood for it.” He moved toward the door. “Now, come on. You have a train to catch.”
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The reminder sobered Rayna, and the situation no longer seemed amusing or thrilling, for the truth was that this one kiss really would be their last.
“Well?” he prompted, holding the door open for her.
Not knowing what else to say or do, she let him escort her to the carriage.
A few minutes later he put her on the train and turned away briskly with only a terse but fatherly good-bye.
Rayna had hoped to make a quiet arrival at Rancho Verde so that she could break the disheartening news to Collie before they told her father. Even that small boon was denied her. One of the hands saw her coming, and by the time she stopped the buckboard in front of the house, everyone—including Raymond—knew that she had returned. Though his daily exercise was confined to a few short walks through the courtyard, Raymond was on his feet and waiting for her at the door with Collie at his side doing everything she could to draw him back into the house.
“Rayna, honey!” He held his arms out to her, and she flew into them, hugging him tightly, her head buried in his chest. He was thinner and pale, but he was alive.
“Oh, Papa, it’s so good to be home.” She let him go long enough to embrace her mother, but it was impossible for her to look Collie in the eye.
“Where’s Skylar?” Raymond asked as Rayna slipped one arm around his waist.
“Come inside, Papa,” she encouraged, trying to smile. “We have to talk, and I don’t want you taxing your strength.”
“Where’s Skylar?” he repeated, digging his heels in like a stubborn mule when Rayna tried to guide him into the house.
“Papa—”
“Damn it, Rayna Louise, talk to me!”
“I will, Papa, but you have to come inside and lie down.”
“She’s right, Raymond. Please,” Collie pleaded. “I couldn’t bear it if you had a relapse. Please come inside.”
He looked from his wife to his daughter and, for their sake, relented.
“Skylar’s not with you, is she?” he asked as he let them lead him into the house like a crippled old man. It seemed appropriate to the way he felt. “She never was in Santa Fe at all, was she?”
“No, Papa,” Rayna replied.
“Damnation,” he muttered. “I knew there was something damned peculiar going on when you left without saying good-bye. That bastard Greenleigh took her, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
The fight seemed to drain out of him completely, and he didn’t speak again until he was propped up in the bed in the downstairs parlor that had 105
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become his prison these last few weeks. The women sat on the bed, flanking him, and he demanded, “Now tell me what’s going on, and don’t leave anything out.”
With Collie’s help, Rayna explained how Skylar had been taken and that she had been delivered safely to the Mescalero reservation.
“Why in blue blazes didn’t you tell me this before?” he asked, giving his wife an accusing glare.
“Because Major Ashford said the shock might kill you,” Collie replied, holding her ground. “My daughter had just been stolen from me, and I couldn’t have survived losing you, too. Lying seemed like the only way to save your life, and I’m not sorry I did it.”
Raymond reached over and took his wife’s hand. “All right. I can accept that. I wasn’t exactly in any shape to go to Santa Fe and get her back.” He looked at Rayna. “I’m sorry you had to bear the brunt of this, honey.”
“You know I’d do anything for you and Skylar, Papa.” Her voice broke, and tears threatened, and she had to look away. “But I failed you both.”
Raymond wasn’t accustomed to seeing his daughter like this, and it frightened him almost as much as the thought of Skylar living unprotected among the Apaches. “What do you mean, honey? What happened with General Whitlock?”
Collie felt a stab of fear, too. “Rayna, you did get to see him, didn’t you?
Surely he ordered Skylar’s release?”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I did see him, but . . . he wouldn’t do anything.”
“Oh, dear God,” Collie murmured, and Rayna hurried on to explain about the reorganization of the territories and Whitlock’s insistence that her only recourse was to write General Crook. She also told them of the assistance Meade had given her.