is the exact reason why I cannot."
She turned in his embrace to face him. With her verdant eyes following its movement, she ran her forefinger along his eyebrow, around his eye and lashes, down the side of his nose, and along his lips. She shook her head and bit her bottom lip. "I don't understand."
Staring into those round, trusting innocent eyes helped to cool his renewed ardor. Suddenly feeling very old and used, he sighed. "No, maybe you don't; I'm certain I don't. But perhaps if I try to explain it to you, it will make sense to me, too."
Why did he not take her? God knew she was willing enough, tempting and beautiful enough. Why did he hesitate and torture himself unbearably? Was it because as Zachary Brown he had always avoided innocents, preferring women who knew what they were about and used their wiles for an evening, an afternoon, or an hour in which to pleasure him. Had he indeed developed the 'affliction' she asked him about? The contraction of his gut and the tight throbbing, almost painful sensation between his thighs assured him that was certainly not the case. Was it because he feared she might be his undoing: allowing her into his heart, allowing any emotion but hate might cause him to turn away from the confrontation necessary to avenge the crime against him, might weaken the wall he had erected around himself in order to survive?
No, he realized as he lost himself in her trusting eyes. It was nothing so complicated. The clarity of the answer stilled his body and his mind. When Sage had placed her innocence in his hands, he saw a fantasy of emerald eyes from long ago. Now that he knew his true name, Fletcher Stedman could not treat her as the impassive, heartless Zachary Brown had treated the other nameless faces.
He kissed her forehead and hugged her. "Sage, I cannot take what is yours to surrender but is not mine to savor. I cannot lie to you. Don't misunderstand me. I yearn to bury myself in you, to feel your legs wrapped around my back, to pleasure us both as I know I have the power to do. But I'm leaving soon. To lie to you, to speak of love and promise you I'll be back—such mendacity goes against me. To seize your precious gift and ride away, to leave you used and possibly with child, would destroy your dreams and cause you to remember me with malice. That I couldn't bear for I will always remember you with great tenderness."
Sage opened her mouth to speak but he silenced her with his fingertips.
"Shhh. Let me finish before I lose the last vestige of sanity and change my mind." He rested on his elbow, fondling her with his eyes.
"When I arrived in this town, my heart was filled with nothing but vengeance. I intended to stay the night and leave. But somewhere in that pounding part of me you found the smallest fragment of the man I once was. As hard as I tried to prevent it, it is into that part you sank your claws and, perhaps unknowingly, tore with the ferocity of a lioness. In the time I was with you, vengeance leaked from the tear, leaving room for you to sneak in and allow your gentleness to feast on me."
He smiled at her and shook his head. "No, Sage, I cannot accept your beautiful gift, although God knows I want to. Treasure it; for it belongs to the man who can love you with his whole heart, not just a piece of it."
Tears were in her eyes but without a word, the lovely woman in his arms caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers. He caught her hand and pressed her palm to his lips. Then he cradled her against him, and they burrowed into the pillows.
Pretty words for a pretty woman. He meant them and regretted them as he lay next to her downy softness. But in that torn fragment of his heart, he was proud of himself for having found the courage to say them. Drinking in the clean scent of her hair, he smiled, held her closer and slept.
CHAPTER FOUR
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Fletcher finished writing and leaned back in his chair. He couldn't make the decision. He clasped his fingers behind his head, bent his head backward into them and arched his back, pulling and stretching his cramped muscles. The horse was ready and his possessions packed; he had only to walk downstairs, say good-bye, and he would be gone from this place.
The small room had been comforting in the last weeks. His eyes fell on the bed he had shared with Sage, and he sighed. She said that she would be all right after he left, and he believed her. She was strong minded as well as beautiful. Why then did he have an overwhelming urge to leave her something, some protection after he was gone? She didn't need his protection; her uncle was her guardian.
He glanced at the scrap of paper in front of him. The words hadn't come out the way he wanted. Leaning an elbow on the desk, he reread the last attempt.
Sweet Sage,
Always know that the slice of my heart which you found unscathed, will hold your memory precious. If you should ever have need of me, please send word to Caleb Jenkins in Crisfield, Virginia. If I still live, he will know where to reach me.
With fondest regards, Z.
Fletcher wasn't certain he wanted her to be able to find him. He didn't want her involved in the other destructive portion of his life. He wanted to remember her here, behind the front desk of her hotel, lovely and flushed as when she first wrote his name in the register. But without the note, if she ever needed him, he would never know it. After everything she had done for him, after the difference she had made in his life by showing him that a small vestige of Fletcher Stedman's honor still existed, surely he owed her that much.
A commotion from below distracted him. He could hear Sage shrieking. There was fear in her voice and the hair on the back of his neck bristled. He rushed from the room.
"How dare you!" came Sage's screaming voice.
"Come on now, you luscious thing. I just want a little taste of you before I taste your cooking. You're not going to deny me that, now are you, little lady?" came a gravelly male voice.
"Take your hands off of me. Let go! Let go!"
"You're damned uppity for a little cook, wench. I think I'll just have to teach you a thing or two so you learn to respect your betters." He slapped her with a resounding crack.
Hearing the threats as he neared them, Fletcher saw the slap and was filled with a venomous rage. He bounded toward Sage and her attacker.
"Get your hands off her or by God you'll be eating your breakfast with the devil himself," he spewed in a savage growl before he pounced.
The man glanced over his shoulder and must have thought he was looking at the devil himself. His face turned white seconds before Fletcher seized him by the arm. Fletcher yanked hard and his fist hit the man squarely in the upper cheek and eyebrow, ripping the skin below his eye.
Stunned, teetering backwards and blinking, the man gingerly touched his face and stared at the mass of skin and blood as he pulled his hand away.
"Why you—" the villain uttered and swung a blow which crashed into the side of Fletcher's jaw, sending pain rippling through his skull, through the crippled ear where the delicate inner chambers refused to heal.
For an instant, the hit renewed his dizziness, and Fletcher was off balance, off guard. Another more powerful impact followed, forcing him to step backwards and bank off the wall to prevent himself from falling.
The blow dazed him. Whirling faceless demons, nameless evils and grabbing hands all coalesced into the form of the man in front of him. He was back on that road—with Buck. The beating—it was happening again!
"No!" Fletcher bellowed. With a gruesome,
