Rio: Man Of Destiny

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He swore tightly, efficiently, as a small rock, dislodged by her foot, fell into the mine. “You’re a contrary woman. Muleheaded—”

“You don’t sound like a man who wants to be rescued, sweetie.” She eased closer, she had to see him to make certain he was safe, and to enjoy her upper hand at the moment,

“Just get the horse and—”

“Who invited you to my party? Don’t you know that this is private property? Stop ordering me—” The branch broke and the earth gave way. She slid on her bottom down to land at Rio’s feet. She scrambled to stand, terrified of the small dark space closing in on her, taking her breath away. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw Rio, hands on hips, his Western hat tipped back on his head, his chap-covered legs braced wide.

“You’re not hurt. You slid down all the way on that beautiful butt. Well, this is just great, Ms. Forbes,” Rio muttered in disgust. “My rope is upstairs and it’s a long way up. If for once, you could act like any other normal woman and—what’s wrong?” he asked urgently as she hurled herself against him.

She clung to his strong, warm male body, anchored herself to him, her arms locked around his shoulders, her head tucked into the safety of his throat. “Don’t let me go,” she whispered shakily as his arms enclosed her. “Just hold me.”

He stood too still, not moving, and terror clawed at her. If he didn’t hold her, she’d shatter into tiny pieces. Against her cold, damp temple, Rio whispered, “I won’t let you go. Honey, your heart is facing, you’re shaking and you’re perspiring. You’re terrified.”

She closed her eyes, holding on to Rio, listening to the safe solid thump of his heart. She wasn’t alone in the dark. She had to cling to that comfort. “You’re here...with me.”

“Yes. We’ll get out.” His voice was even, confident, wrapping around her like a warm safe cloak. His hands robbed her back, comforting her.

“You promise?” As a woman, she regretted the childish plea. But she couldn’t stop shivering, haunted by visions of the locked closets she’d been in as a child—cold, alone...but she wasn’t alone. Rio was here, his hands smoothing her hair, his body rocking hers, his murmur comforting.

“I promise, honey. Take a deep breath. That’s tight. Take another. That’s my girl. Don’t be afraid. I’ve got you and we’re getting out of here. But first tell me—”

That’s my girl. Boone had said that and she’d been so safe—She swallowed, clinging to Rio, panicked. Her terror came out in spurts—“My mother locked me in closets. I’m claustrophobic. I can’t breathe.”

Rio’s harsh curse sailed past her ear into the musty shadows. Then his tone softened and he bent to lift her into his arms. “Hold on to me. Let’s sit and talk for a while.”

“I want out of here. Now!” The earthen walls began to close in on her. She clung to him as he settled on the dirt floor with her on his lap.

“Just let me hold you for a while. rve got a plan, but you’ve got to calm down. Talk to me.”

The terror of her life spilled out of her. She dragged in air, forcing herself to breathe, though panic crushed her lungs and fear dampened her forehead and upper lip. “She’d lock me in closets if I didn’t perform well. When I was four, I broke my ankle and couldn’t be the ballerina she wanted. She was furious. Then the piano—one wrong note and—I can’t stand it!”

“But she isn’t here now, honey. I am.” Rio’s voice curled around her as he stroked her hair back from her face. He removed his denim jacket and draped it around her, tucking it beneath her chin. “And we’re getting out, but right now we’re just resting, okay? Here, suck on this. Suck, don’t chew. When you’re finished we’re leaving.”

He’d placed a candy in her mouth and offered her hope and comfort. Paloma curled toward him, shaking. “Don’t leave me. I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Why, honey, I came all the way to see you. I’m not leaving you. I said we’re getting out and I always keep my promises. See that timber over there. I think it will support your lighter weight, with me helping. All you have to do is to let me help you up on it and then you’ll be out, okay? Breathe, Paloma. There’s sunshine upstairs and that’s where we’re going... to the sunshine and wind and trees.”

“Hurry,” she whispered, managing to breathe more easily with hope in sight. She saw his rifle. “Shoot it. Someone will hear.”

“No. The vibrations could cause more damage.” He tipped her chin up and gave it a playful wiggle as he smiled. “You cheated. You chewed that candy, didn’t you? We’re going to take this nice and easy, and you’re going to do what I say. Okay? Can you stand?”

“Okay.” Paloma tethered her hand to Rio’s strong one as she stood shakily. He placed her arms in the jacket as though she were a child, and buttoned it to her throat. She hadn’t expected the tender look, the smoothing of her hair, his finger brushing away a bit of dust from her cheek. He reminds me of Boone. she thought. That same safe tone, as though he knows everything will be fine. She had to trust him... “What do I do?”

With Rio’s gentling voice directing her, his hand locked to hers, Paloma stepped up on the slanting timber. She eased her way upward to the end of it, and Rio placed another timber beneath her bottom, pushing her higher. At the edge, she grabbed a branch and pulled herself to the grassy surface, flattening against it.

From the depths, Rio spoke softly, his tone relieved. She hadn’t realized he’d been frightened; he’d made it seem so simple. “You made it.”

“Yes. I’ll get the horse.” She managed to get to her knees, then to her feet, nmning for the gelding. Within minutes, the horse was backing away from the cave-in, the rope tied to his saddle horn, and Rio was pulled to the surface.

He stood free, his scowl smudged with dirt, his legs braced against the earth, his leather chaps gleaming in the sunlight, his body outlined against the blue sky. When he tossed his rifle to the ground and looked at her, Paloma didn’t hesitate—she ran straight for his arms and began crying and laughing as they locked fiercely around her.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, his tone a mixture of humor, curiosity and delight.

Then he tipped her chin up and looked down into her eyes. “This won’t hurt a bit. But I need it like I need to breathe,” he said before his hands cradled her face and he took her mouth.

She hadn’t expected the sudden fire, the slant of his lips hungrily fused to hers. Savage and demanding, the kiss tasted of fire and need and...and dreams and longing. Caught in the whirlwind, she traveled with him, the heat growing, warming her, filling her. She ached now for him. Rio’s mouth slanted, tasted, linking them as though nothing could tear them apart. She could feel his blood pound, race, and her own leaped and heated, causing her fingertips to dig into his shoulders, to the safety of Rio, to anchor herself to him in the storm.

Deep within her, she knew that Rio had claimed a very feminine and guarded portion of her, that she’d remember this devastating kiss forever. Then his mouth moved softly over hers, comforting, brushing and seeking, tasting the corners of her lips. He held her face, cupping it in his hands, his thumbs smoothing her flushed cheeks. In his black eyes, she saw herself—a woman warmed, soft and waiting.

With a reluctant groan, Rio bent, sweeping her up into his arms, and strode toward the cabin. An independent, worldly woman, she should have objected, but her legs were weak, both from fear and from the shattering, savage, then tender kiss. One look at Rio’s dark determined expression and she knew she’d have a fight freeing herself. He was scowling, anger in the hard lock of his muscles, the set of his jaw. For once, Paloma tossed aside her pride and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He kissed her temple and whispered roughly, “We’re in sunshine now, honey. Feel the breeze. Listen to the birds sing. You’re safe.”

“Boone said that same thing years ago.” She shivered, the bands of fear closing around her chest. He shouldn’t be carrying her, a six-foot woman, like a child. But still wrapped in terror and her shocking discovery that she liked kissing Rio, Paloma wasn’t certain she could walk by herself. “You’ll put me down now,” she whispered in an effort to salvage her shields and her pride, to withdraw from what she had given him—an insight into her terror and into her needs as a woman.

“No. Shut up.”

He trembled within her arms and the pulse at Rio’s throat pounded, racing against her cheek. She recognized the fear etched in the taut lines of his jaw, the set of his mouth. “You were frightened.”

He didn’t answer, his arms tightening around her as he moved up the steps to the cabin.

“It’s the boy, isn’t it?” she asked as he carried her into the cabin. At the feed store, when Pueblo had mentioned the boy, Rio’s expression had quickly closed over pain. When he didn’t answer this time, she knew the boy haunted him. Rio had been afraid he couldn’t save her, either.

“Sit still.” He plopped her on a chair and hurriedly stoked the old stove, placing fresh water in the kettle. His movements were angry, sudden, tearing the old tin tub down from its peg and placing it on the floor. He looked at his shaking hands, the fingers spread. “You’ll want a bath. But first a cup of tea and something to eat.”

He quickly rummaged through the shelves to find chamomile tea, placing a bag in a cup and almost slammed it to the table beside her. He pushed his hands through his hair, glanced angrily at her and muttered in a disgusted tone, “You look like a child, huddled there in my jacket—frightened, shivering, wide-eyed, streaks of dirt across your nose. And damn it, your mouth—It’s swollen. I hurt you.”

He glanced at the bed, closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. He picked up the two water buckets and left the cabin.

Paloma sat and shook, her hands trembling as she sipped her tea. Rio returned, placed the buckets on the stove. With each glance, his expression darkened and his anger lashed at her. “I’ll be outside,” he said too stiffly. She sat for a time, collecting safety around her. Rio was clearly angry, the cabin still vibrating with it

She managed to kneel by the galvanized tub and wash her hair. Then she bathed, sundown skimming through the pines to enter the old glass windows. She pushed her tenor back into the past and dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. She’d given away too much to Rio; he’d seen too much inside her. She pushed and shoved and gathered her shields; as a survivor, Paloma knew how to protect herself.

“Finished,” she said, coming out into the chilly night, her hair combed and free, falling to her waist.

“rll fix supper.” Rio had been sitting, staring off into the forest, his expression grim. His hair was damp, as though he’d bathed in the icy creek, and he’d changed clothes. His sleeping bag was propped against the horses’ saddles on the porch. She noted that her lacy underwear had been tossed on a chair.

He surged to his feet, hauled the packs into his fists with one sweep and stalked inside the cabin. Uncertain of his mood, she followed him inside. “Don’t bother to cook for me.”

He lasered a dark look at her. “I’m hungry, okay?”

“Why are you angry? Because you kissed me?” Paloma swallowed the dry lump in her throat. She didn’t appeal to men. Too rangy, too big, too bold and tough—Jonathan had made that very clear. Rio would be regretting it now, that savage hungry kiss and his tenderness.

He placed his hands on his hips, then one hand shot out to capture a length of her damp hair, lifting her face to his angry one. “What do you think you’re doing, slim? Coming up here, walking around, free as a bird while a bear could taste you at any moment?”

That wild need surged inside her, the hunger that had simmered in her for months. She studied him, that savage expression, those dark eyes lashing her. “Is that what you did? Taste?”

His tone wasn’t nice. One black eyebrow lifted at her wamingly. “Honey, you’re not up to sparring with me. And I’m not Boone.”

She snorted at that “I’ll say. He was the sweetest man I’ve ever known.”

His gaze slowly took in her face, and darkened as he looked at her mouth. “Don’t count on me being sweet. Not where you’re concerned.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I should never have told you anything,” she shot back, angry with him, angry with herself for giving him an insight she’d locked away for years. She pushed his hand away. “I know you regret kissing me. I’m not your usual fare. But we both had a reaction to a deadly situation. I know I—”

Rio slapped a cast-iron skillet on the old stove; the metallic crash echoed against the cabin’s walls. “Lay off. While I’m cooking, why don’t you go make friends with your new horse? Her name is Mai-Ling.”

“My horse? But I couldn’t.” She’d never owned an animal, or wanted to; loving ties could so easily be torn away.

“If you’re going to live up here, you’ll need her.”

Rio was right; her damaged ankle had protested the hike up the mountain. “I’ll buy her or rent her and you can have her back when I’m done. How much?”

Rio looked up at the ceiling as though asking for divine help and shook his head. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

Three

“Smooth, Rio. Real smooth,” Rio muttered as he lay on the front porch at midnight The threatening Rocky Mountain storm was as thunderous as his mood; building the lean-to for the horses hadn’t helped to settle his taut nerves, the pounding sensual need in his body.

He watched a porcupine shuttle across the rainy ground. The lady was shy, and his kiss had stunned her. As worldly and sophisticated as Paloma appeared, she knew little about a man wanting her. He’d known in that moment when he’d locked her body to his that there had never been a woman in his life to compare-and never would be. She fitted him and hadn’t a clue that he wanted her. He snorted and flipped on his side. “Perverse female.”

He dragged his hand through his hair. He ached for the woman, for the child pushed beyond her limits, for her limits.

After their escape, he’d had to have Paloma’s mouth, to know that she was alive, that he was alive. He’d tossed away tenderness and dived into his needs, surprised by her shy answer, just that slight, sweet lift of her mouth to his. He’d wanted to take her there on the ground, to celebrate life, to place his child within her. But when he’d looked down into her dazed dirt-stained face, the rising color of her cheeks, he knew she was an innocent. He wasn’t prepared for the tenderness then, for the need to hold and comfort and gently make her his bride. The emotion was traditional, shocking him. Bride.

Paloma would laugh at that tender thought. He snorted again and Frisco answered with a nicker. Paloma was wary and uncertain of him now. “Fine thing, when you want to put your ring on the lady’s finger and she hasn’t got a clue. Now that does a lot for my confidence with women,” Rio muttered before giving himself to the fresh pine-scented air and letting the rising wind sweep him into sleep.

He awoke to his own terror, to the fierce rain beating the earth, flowing in silvery sheets from the roof. He awoke with images of war-frightened children from his stint in the military’s special forces sliding across his eyes, and then the little boy in the mine. He awoke to the woman crouched beside him, dressed only in a man’s large T-shirt. Her slender hand rested on his chest and he shot out his hand gripping her wrist, binding him to her and away from the nightmare. “You were dreaming,” she said softly, her hair drifting across his damp face as her other hand smoothed his cheek. The mist from the rain had dampened her T-shirt, plastering it to her body. “Come inside.”

“How much did you hear?” The echoes of his cry shamed him. The nightmare repeated his defeat. He couldn’t save the boy—the image of the small torn body lying at the bottom of the muddy mine shaft haunted him. In a desperate attempt to link himself with life and hope and warmth, he flattened Paloma’s soft palm against his cheek, kissed it and let her natural exotic fragrance envelop him. Again she looked stunned, as if unprepared for the caress.

“It was that same mine, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” The soft question stunned him; not even his family had dared enter his torment—they’c left him alone. A plain-speaking woman, Paloma knew how to flop his secrets in front of him. He glared at her, but his hands kept hers close, locked to his body and his face as the gray rain slashed down at the mountain.

She wasn’t quitting he realized as she said, “Your heart is pounding as if you’ve just run a race and you’ve—” She studied him closely. “Your face is damp with sweat, not rain I know the difference. I’ve been there.”

“If you’re feeling sorry for me—don’t.” He closed his eyes remembering how he’d run through the forest fire, sides aching, and then with a rope tied to a tree he’d lowered himself down into that damned mine, hand over hand, praying.... One touch of his hand to the boy’s cold throat told him of death He’d seen other children, children he hadn’t been able to rescue in war-torn lands and he’d known.... When Rio opened his eyes, he met furious blue ones.