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She gripped her arms over her chest. Maybe it was the night and the shock of the cross burning, but the question didn't seem strange to her. "I don't think. And I don't rely on anybody but myself."
"God…" He shook his head and sighed.
"God's dead, Bonner." She gave a bitter laugh. "Haven't you figured that out yet?"
"Do you really believe that?"
Something snapped inside her. "I did everything right! I lived by the Word! I went to church twice a week, got down on my knees and prayed every morning and every evening. I cared for the sick, gave to the poor! I didn't screw over my neighbors, and all I got for my efforts was nothing."
"Maybe you have God mixed up with Santa Claus."
"Don't you preach to me! Don't you dare goddamn preach to me!"
She stood before him in the blue-white glare of the headlights with her fists knotted at her sides, and he thought he'd never seen anyone look so fierce and primitive. For a tall woman, she was almost delicate, with fragile bones and green eyes that seemed to devour her face. Her mouth was small and her lips as ripe as bruised fruit. Her tangled hair, lit from behind, formed a fiery pagan's halo around her face.
She should have appeared ridiculous. The ragged paint-smeared dress hung on her thin frame, and her big, cumbersome shoes looked obscene against such small, trim ankles. But she held herself with a ferocious dignity, and he was drawn to her by something so elemental—maybe the pain that lived in his bones—that he couldn't fight it any longer. He wanted her as he hadn't wanted anything except death since he'd lost his family.
He didn't remember moving, but the next thing he knew, she was in his arms and he felt her body beneath his palms. She was thin and frail, but not broken the way he was. He wanted to protect her and fuck her and comfort her and destroy her all at once. The chaos of his emotions coiled around his pain, deepening the agony.
She sank her fingers into the muscles of his upper arm, digging them in, hurting. He gripped her bottom and hauled her against him. He brushed his lips over hers. They were soft and sweet. He jerked his head back.
"I want you," he said.
Her head moved, and he realized she'd nodded. Her easy acquiescence infuriated him. He clasped her chin and hauled it up so that he was staring down into those tortured green eyes.
"Once again the noble Widow Snopes sacrifices herself for her child," he spat out. "Well, forget it."
She regarded him stonily as he released her. He grabbed the shovel and set to work clearing the road. He'd said he wouldn't do this to her again. After that dark night of his soul when he'd tried to destroy her, he'd promised himself he'd never touch her again.
"Maybe it wouldn't be a sacrifice."
He stopped moving. "What are you talking about?"
She shrugged. "That killer body of yours. I couldn't help but notice."
"Don't do this, Rachel. Don't keep trying to protect yourself by being a wiseass. Just say what you mean."
The bottom lip of that ripe little strawberry mouth trembled, but she was too tough to give into it. Her small breasts rose beneath the bodice of that awful dress as she took a breath. "Maybe I need to know what it's like to be with a man who isn't interested in having a saint in his. bed."
So that was it.
"I'm twenty-seven years old, and I've only been with one man. He never even gave me an orgasm. Pretty funny, huh."
He didn't feel like laughing. Instead, he felt an illogical anger. "Now you want to go exploring, is that it? I'm supposed to be the guinea pig in your sexual development?"
Her redhead's temper sparked. "You're the one who came on to me, buster!"
"Momentary insanity."
He watched her marshal her forces to attack and wasn't surprised when she came up with her most obnoxious, simpery smile. "Gee, I hope not. As long as the room is dark and you don't talk, I could pretend you're someone else. It might be fun having my personal stud."
All the anger left him as abruptly as it had come. Good for her. She was a piece of work, determined not to give an inch, and for no reason he could think of beyond the fact that he hadn't hurt her after all, his mood lifted.
He tossed the shovel in the back of the truck. Later, he'd return and remove the charred wood. "Let's go."
Russ Scudder watched the headlights move away as Gabe Bonner's truck headed toward the Glide cottage.
"He was kissing her," Donny Bragelman said, shifting at his side.
