Read Til Death Do Us Part for Free Online

mother.
    J.T., naked as the day he was born, threw open the double doors leading from his bedroom to the attached patio. The cool night air caressed his bronze skin. He ran his hand through his thick hair—hair he hadn’t worn long since his first haircut at the age of five.
    â€œCan’t have you looking like one of those damnedsavages,” old John Thomas had said. “Bad enough you’ve got that woman’s coloring. But from now on, boy, you’re a Blackwood. And that means you’re a cowboy, not an Indian.”
    And that was exactly what J.T. had become—a cowboy. He’d learned to rope and ride and herd cattle. Although there had never been any real love lost between him and his grandfather, he had come to love the ranch.
    He supposed that was why—even though he couldn’t live in New Mexico, couldn’t face being torn between his two heritages—he always returned to the ranch. He loved this land, this wild, untamed wilderness, as much as the old man had loved it; as much as his Blackwood ancestors, who had fought and died to claim the countless acres that now comprised one of the largest ranches in northern New Mexico, had loved it.
    And he loved the land as much as his mother’s people did. The Navajo. A people he did not know, except through his half sister. A people and a heritage his grandfather had taught him to deny.
    From the side patio, J.T. could see the back of the old bunkhouse. Joanna Beaumont’s home. How long would it take for a society girl to tire of the West, to tire of painting the natives and return to Virginia where she belonged?
    What had ever prompted a woman, whose mother was a Virginia senator and deceased father a renowned trial lawyer, to seek adventure in New Mexico? Had she fled from an unhappy love affair? Had she rebelled against her wealthy family? Elena had told him Joanna had come to Trinidad to paint, that she had chosen the town because her great-grandparents had once lived here for a whole summer while on an archaeological dig.
    J.T. caught the glow of a light in his peripheral vision as he gazed out at the night, the land hushed and still. Hefocused his gaze on the light coming from a long, narrow window in the old bunkhouse. Joanna Beaumont stood in that window, looking up at the main house. What was she doing awake this time of night? Had she been as restless as he? As aroused and needy? Maybe she was thinking of him, and hating herself for wanting him, and yet was powerless to control that desire.
    If he went to her now, would she accept him into her home? Into her bed? Into her body? J.T. shuddered with the force of his longing. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, drawing the fresh night air into his lungs. Opening his eyes, he took a last look at Joanna’s silhouette in the window, then he closed the double doors, turned around and walked across the room.
    He fell into the bed. Lying on top of the covers, he stared up at the dark ceiling. Only the faint moonlight illuminated his room.
    He had to stop thinking about Joanna. He had to stop wanting her. He’d come home for a good, long vacation, the first in years. He wasn’t going to allow some debutante to ruin his stay at the ranch. He would steer clear of her and she’d steer clear of him. And he’d make sure Elena didn’t interfere.
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    J OANNA AND E LENA sat in cane-seated rockers on the front porch of the bunkhouse. Numerous potted geraniums lined the edge of the wooden porch and a trailing ivy vine sat nestled on a rough-hewn table between the two women. Elena downed the last drops of tea, then set the tall crystal glass on the table.
    â€œSo, are you going to tell me what happened between you and J.T. yesterday?” Elena asked.
    Joanna smiled at her friend. She had met Elena and Alex at an art exhibit in Albuquerque. Alex was a sculptor, whose finest work was exquisite pieces of his beautiful young Navajo wife. The three had become