Cait London - Blaylock's Bride

“You are a violent man and now you are drunk.”

The scorn in her tone had hitched Roman’s temper higher, at the same time feeding his need to taste those red, moist lips. The woman was raw passion, steaming, noholds-barred. He wanted a taste of that undiluted emotion and it bristled from her—he had wanted to reach out and take...

Boone had just served him two shots of whiskey and a careful reference to Debbie’s ongoing love affair with Thomas Johnston. Roman had not been aware other people knew of Debbie’s affair and he’d tossed back another whiskey at the exposure of the lie he’d been living in his less than perfect marriage.

“I have never hurt my wife,” he’d told Kallista firmly.

“She can’t bear for you to touch her, and she’s frightened of you—I saw it just now, when she ran away.”

Debbie’s lies, her deceit and his own, had covered the reality of their tortured marriage. Her withdrawal of then savings to pay the bank’s mortgage could cost him Blaylock family land, his heritage. He’d mortgaged the land tc build the house she’d demanded. “She’s got reason tc run,” he’d said before he’d stepped from his leashes, snagged Kallista in his arms and kissed her hard. When he was finished feeding on her mouth, he’d stepped back and promptly received another hard slap.

“Out.” The memory of Kallista’s voice, icy and accusing, still stung Roman four years later.

With the April night fragrant and still around him now, Roman leaned his chair back into the night shadows covering Boone Llewlyn’s massive front porch. Lights twinkling, the city of Jasmine, Wyoming, sprawled down in the valley.

Deer slid silently through the field, coming down to water at the stream, and Roman knew he’d fight to keep Blaylock family land. In another century, Boone’s ancestor, a second son of an English lord, had found a lasting friendship with Micah Blaylock, a rough woodsman descended from an Apache princess and a passing Spanish conquistador. The unlikely friends, Blaylock and Llewlyn, had settled in the valley; they had wagered who would marry and produce the first child. Llewlyn had sent for his fiancée while Micah had gone bride-shopping down the Natchez Trace. Micah had rescued a French seamstress from her first night in a brothel, and they were married. Both women produced sons, born so closely together that the friendly argument about who was the firstborn was never settled, and through the years, their friendship deepened. While the Blaylocks became a huge robust family, the Llewlyns dwindled until there was only Boone.

Boone. A man who treasured his inheritance, his land, haunted and fearful that he could not make amends for his tragic errors....

After Boone’s illness two years ago, Roman had moved into the Llewlyn House and had joined his spread with The Llewlyn, making them easier to manage. He’d plowed through the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated in Boone’s illness...and had been shocked by what he’d discovered—the children who had stayed at Boone’s ranch through the years had been his grandchildren. As executor of Boone’s estate, Roman had sworn to draw those children back to Llewlyn soil and their heritage. Kallista and the rest had been protected by Boone Llewlyn; he’d threatened to cut off the payments to their irresponsible parents if anything happened to the children. Boone’s bigamist sons and their shallow, coarse ex-wives used the children to torture and bleed money from him. When he came too close, loving the children, the parents swooped in and reclaimed them. Big Boone couldn’t stand the thought of his grandchildren knowing that he couldn’t protect them, so he became their safety, their friend.

Ashamed of failing his sons, Boone would not have them desecrate the Llewlyn name—not in Jasmine, at least. His pensions kept them away and Big Boone’s shame had been a terrible secret that Roman had sworn to keep.

Roman’s own shame ran deep; he’d hidden his empty marriage from his family, deceiving them. In a family whose foundations were rock solid in marriage and love, Roman had discovered on his wedding night that his petite bride couldn’t bear for him to touch her. In public, Debbie had cuddled him, but behind bedroom doors...

Roman again rubbed the cheek that Kallista had slapped four years ago; the stubble was as rough and the memory burned, insulting his honor—his family’s honor. The Blaylocks were known as loving family men and Kallista’s accusations had scored his pride.

Across a small slope Roman’s dark empty house stood in the moonlight. Built years ago for his bride, a home for their daughter until she died, Roman Blaylock’s ranch home had been swept clean of his dreams. In the distance, the moonlit silvery squares of the windows taunted him, the Rocky Mountains rising sharply behind it. It was now an empty monument to what he had wanted—a family as close and loving as his parents’. His marriage had been a lie from the first, and Debbie’s child wasn’t his. She’d been his only teenage sweetheart, but Roman had felt more like a big brother than her beau. When she became pregnant with another man’s child, Roman had come to Debbie’s defense, giving her the protection of his name.

Roman slammed the emotional door shut on his pain. He had enough to think about, managing his own ranch, The Llewlyn, and acting as Boone’s executor.

The sprawling two-story, turn-of-the-century house was stuffed with collections and antiques and memories of the beloved children—The Innocents Boone used to call them—who had passed through its doors. Roman surveyed the vast farm, covered with goats, pigs, sheep and cattle grazing in the moonlit pastures and thought of Boone.

As a young rakehell, Boone had left Jasmine to see the world. Thirty years later, a changed and worn Boone returned permanently to his family’s land and began building his secret empire. Whatever he’d done in the past, Boone was determined to make amends. A big man, he was nevertheless gentle, beloved in the town and yet alone, as if the shadows were his safety.

Roman understood loneliness; perhaps that was what drew the two men together—lone wolves sensing pain in each other.

As executor of Boone’s estate, Roman had promised Boone on his deathbed to bring Kallista back to the land. Spoiled, fiery, and strong-willed, Kallista was the last woman Roman wanted to deal with—but he would, for Boone.

Roman ran his hands through his shaggy black hair. It had taken a year to find her, and tomorrow she’d arrive.

He ripped off his shirt and boots and to unwind the tension in his body, began the slow series of strenuous Tai Chi exercises Boone had taught him.

Kallista turned her key in the Bisque Café’s lock and stepped into the shadowy interior, closing the door behind her. For reassurance, she touched the dangling silver half-moon earrings Boone had given her. “Remember who you are. Remember me and this place as your home. Come back to me, Kallie-girl, and the land where you’ll be safe.”

Troubleshooting for Boudreaux Inc. at a French resort in Nassau, she was too late to see Boone one last time, but she’d come back. She spoke a variety of languages, skimming from one position to another as easily as shedding clothes and putting on new ones. And in her lifetime, the only home she’d known was with Big Boone Llewlyn.

She owed Boone Llewlyn her life and her soul. Roman Blaylock’s takeover of Boone’s beloved land and animals was obvious to Kallista; Roman had moved in with Boone before he died, and he’d taken over....

Moonlight skimmed through the big windows and settled upon the white ceramic bisque, shaped into tiny animals, plates, cups, statues and lamps. A row of dragons on the top shelf reminded her of Roman Blaylock’s big hand wrapped around a broken dragon tail, the shattered remains on his dirty Western boots.