He ran a hand over her ribs, which were too damn easy to count. Sometimes he thought he’d go mad with the memory of last winter, the reason she’d become more withdrawn and had nearly stopped eating.
He met her mouth, and she responded. Thank God she still wanted this, but something was missing, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. He thought he’d made it all better, thought he’d taken away the ugly. He’d feared at first she might blame him for what had happened, but it had been quite the opposite. She’d become almost too clingy, constantly asking if he loved her, asking him not to let go of her and not to go far away.
He pushed himself inside of her, wanting nothing more than to please her, to find a way to break down the invisible wall he felt between them, to erase the past and assure her he was right here, that he still loved her. How in hell could he not love this woman, the one who’d loved him when he was anything but lovable…all those years ago. She’d put up with his past and his bouts of insanity and all the trouble and heartache he’d put her through…this woman who’d given him a son and daughter, who couldn’t make a man prouder, and who loved him beyond what he was worth. She’d given him six grandchildren who climbed all over him, full of such innocent love for a man who’d robbed and killed, and worst of all…killed his own father.
He moved his hands under her bottom, pushing himself deep inside her, relishing the way she returned his deep kisses and pressed her fingers into his upper arms in an almost desperate neediness.
That was what bothered him. This had always been good between them, a true mating of souls, teasing remarks back and forth as they made love. But now it was as though she feared losing him if she didn’t make love often, and that wasn’t the sort of man he was. It had always been pure pleasure between them. He’d taught her things she would never have thought of, helped her relax and release every sexual inhibition. He knew every inch of her body intimately, and she’d loved it.
This was different. And it was harder now, because not only did he hate the idea of feeling like he was forcing her, but he was also terrified he would break something. She was so thin and small now. He outweighed her by a good hundred and fifty pounds by now; she couldn’t weigh more than eighty or ninety.
He surged deep in a desperate attempt to convince himself he wasn’t losing her. And through it all, he was screaming inside. Sometimes he wanted to shake her and make her tell him what else he could do to bring back the woman he’d known and loved for nearly thirty-two years. He missed that feisty, bossy woman, the only person on this earth who could bring him to his knees. He’d faced the worst of men as a lawman in Oklahoma, and run with the worst of men the first thirty years of his life. He’d spent four years in prison under horrible conditions. He’d been in too many gunfights to count, taken enough bullets that he had no right still being alive. He’d ridden the Outlaw Trail and defied all the odds. His reputation followed him everywhere, and a reporter had even written a book about him—Jake Harkner: The Legend and the Myth. Myth was more like it. And the legend wasn’t one he was proud of.
And this woman beneath him…this woman he poured his life into this very moment…she’d been there for most of it.
He relaxed and moved to her side.
“Don’t let go yet, Jake.”
He pulled her against him. “Randy, I can’t put my weight on you anymore. You’re too damn thin. You’ve got to gain some weight back or we’ll have to stop.”
“No!” She shimmied closer, pulling one of his arms around her. “I like being right here in your arms. Don’t stop making love to me, Jake. You might turn to someone else. You’re still my handsome, strong Jake. Women look at you and want you.”
Jake sighed, the stress of her condition making him want to tear the room apart. “You have to stop talking that way.”
“That you’re handsome and strong?” She turned slightly. “Since when does the magnificent Jake Harkner hate compliments?”
There it was—a tiny spark of the old Randy in her teasing. Every time he saw that spark it gave him hope. “I’ve always hated compliments. You know that. The only thing magnificent about me is my sordid reputation. I’d like to wring Treena Brown’s neck for putting that label on me in her letter.”
Randy traced her fingers over his lips. “Peter’s wife was totally taken by you when they visited the ranch last summer.”
“She’s a city woman full of wrong ideas about what she considers western heroes. God knows I’m sure as hell not one, and right now your magnificent Jake needs a cigarette.” Jake pulled away and sat up. “You okay?”