Rancher's Deadly Risk (16 page)

He snapped his eyes back to the road. Danger. The night suddenly seemed to be filled with it, and it wasn’t some crazy person he was worrying about. It was himself.

He could do her more harm than some vandal. What she had revealed earlier had told him a lot. He wasn’t the only one in this truck with old wounds, not the only one seriously at risk of taking a misstep.

God knew, he didn’t want to wound her any more. And he didn’t want to go through a replay of the most god-awful months of his life.

She might run. The urge was strong enough that she’d mentioned it, then backed away. All he could do was ensure that neither of them got hurt in any way.

* * *

Cassie accepted Linc’s hand as she climbed out of his truck beside his ranch house. It was colder, as if the land out here had exhaled the day’s remaining warmth faster than the streets in town.

“How’d it get so cold?” she asked, trying to keep this casual. Much as she wanted to fall into his arms, she had decided during the ride that the best thing would be to stay away. He had run cold, then hot, indicating that he had some kind of problem with her. She didn’t need to know what it was to realize she needed to keep her distance.

She focused her attention away from him, and tried to quash memories of being held in his strong arms. Tried not to draw a mental picture of those narrow hips and wide shoulders. Tried not to remember the remarkable compliment he had paid her, or the way his blue eyes seemed to heat up when they gazed at her.

The night was suddenly upon them, and although it was cold her internal heat was rising. She couldn’t seem to draw enough of the icy air into her lungs.
Don’t look at him
. Don’t encourage whatever it was that seemed to be filling the short distance between them, that seemed to tug her toward him the way gravity held her to the ground.

“Let’s go inside,” he said. “I’ll make you a hot drink. Then if you want, we can sit out back for a while.”

“I’d like that.” That sounded safe enough. Sitting outside all bundled up would surely freeze the hot waves of desire that had started to pulse within her. Who could think about sex in the cold, while wearing almost enough clothing for an Eskimo?

Evidently she could, she thought with amusement as she followed him inside.

He left her bag inside the door. “I’ll let you pick a room later,” he said. Then he led the way to the kitchen, where he made a couple of mugs of instant cocoa.

Outside the temperature seemed to have fallen a bit more. Maybe, Cassie thought, it was just a contrast to being indoors.

He had a wide porch and a number of padded patio chairs that were comfortable. As soon as she settled into one with her mug, he disappeared into the house. He returned a few minutes later with a blanket he tucked around her legs.

“Let me know if you start to feel too cold. I know you just came from a warmer climate.”

“Considerably warmer,” she admitted. “Occasionally we got down into the low thirties or even twenties, but usually not often enough to get used to it.”

“I’d miss the seasons,” he said as he settled into his own chair. He put one booted foot up on the railing and looked out into the dark, mug in one large hand.

“I know I did. I wanted to get back to them.”

“You hated it?”

“Not really. Not at all. It’s just that when I was young, before my mom decided to follow this guy to Florida, I always loved the change of season. Especially autumn. Don’t ask me why, but I missed autumn most of all. Down there you usually sense it only by the change in the quality of light. That happens long before it cools down and the leaves change.”

“How’d your mom’s guy work out?”

“Not too well,” she admitted. “It came apart after about six months.”

“How did you feel about that?”

“Relieved. He wasn’t nasty to me or anything. It wasn’t like the horror stories you hear. I just didn’t especially like him. He never really tried to like me. I guess I felt tolerated.”

He was silent for a while. She realized that he was right, she could see the faint, distant glow from other ranches. She wondered if it would disappear later, or if they had security lighting.

She heard some soft sounds from the direction of the meadows, but they didn’t strike her as disturbed. “Do the animals stay awake all night?”

“No, but they don’t sleep like we do. They move around occasionally, and make a little noise.”

“It’s beautiful out here.”

“I think so,” he agreed. “Cassie?”

“What?”

“Did you always feel like an outsider, even at home?”

She looked down at the mug she could barely see and felt her chest tighten. “I guess so,” she said after a moment. “Doesn’t nearly everyone?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why did you ask?”

“Thinking about a little girl moving to Florida so that her mother could follow a man she hardly knew. You’ve changed jobs a lot, too, haven’t you?”

“Three different school districts in eight years isn’t a lot.”

“Maybe not. What are you looking for?”

“I told you. A place like this. Well, a place like what I thought this was.”

“You’re already thinking about leaving.”

She tried to see him, but it was too dark to do more than make out his silhouette. “It crossed my mind. But I’m not going to.”

“Why not?”

“Because I really want to put down roots, Linc.
Really
. It’s like there’s always been this place in my heart where I wanted to live, and life conspired to keep me away from it. I was always in busy metropolitan areas, larger towns. Places where you could blend in with the walls. I wanted something warmer.”

“You can make a community anywhere,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be geographic.”

“I know that. But I want a geographic community. I want to know who lives two blocks over, I want to recognize the people on the streets. I want to be able to greet most of them by name. Most places I’ve been, you can live in an apartment for a couple of years and barely recognize the people next door. You can rent a house in the suburbs and you’d think the neighborhood was empty. The front-porch culture seems to be gone.”

“Not from here,” he admitted. “Although those of us out on ranches and farms have to make some effort. It helps, growing up here.”

“Are you saying I can’t become part of this community?”

“Not at all. It’ll happen. You might be referred to as the new teacher for a while, though.”

She gave a small laugh. “That I can handle.”

“Mainly what I’m trying to get at is that in some ways, even if you live here the rest of your life, you may feel like an outsider. But if you’re here a while, most of that will come from inside you.”

She thought about that. “You might have a point.”

“Maybe.” He left it at that.

But he had stirred a memory in her and she recalled a study she had read in one of her psychology courses. “Children who move a lot,” she said, “have a tendency not to make the same kind of deep and long-lasting connections that people make when they grow up in one place.”

“I know.”

“So maybe I can’t make deep connections.”

“I’m not saying you’re broken in some way. If you want to and make the effort, I’m sure you can. Even here, once this mess blows over.”

“Why did you bring this up?”

“I was just wondering. I grew up here. The only time I felt like an outsider was when I was away at college, and when I came back I was home. Your experience struck me as different and I wondered how it made you feel.”

“Well, now you know.”

“And you want to change that.”

“You bet I do.”

“Then stick around. Don’t even think about leaving. It’s hard right now, but I can tell you from my own experience, it’ll be worth it. Despite the way things look right now, most folks around here are good people.”

“I was thinking about that earlier. The way I was welcomed when I got here. I’ve never before had neighbors I hadn’t even met help me move, or bring over meals while I was settling in. That was a wonderful feeling.”

“I know, even when you’re used to it. They do the same when somebody gets ill.”

“Those are the things I need to concentrate on,” she said firmly. Then she added, “My hands are getting cold.”

“Don’t you have gloves?”

“I forgot them. Besides, I don’t have any really good ones for here, just some basic, not-too-warm ones I brought with me.”

“Let’s go inside, then.”

In the kitchen, he rinsed out their mugs and put them in the dishwasher. The dishwasher that inevitably reminded him of Martha. Damn. Well, he needed that warning right about now. He needed to get Cassie safely up into one of the bedrooms and close a door firmly between them.

That proved to be easier thought than done. When he turned around, she was slipping off her jacket. The satiny blouse she wore emphasized the way her breasts thrust forward as she held her arms behind her back. And then she shook herself to get the jacket to slide down.

Full breasts, bouncing slightly despite her bra. She seemed unaware that he turned and was looking. The sleeve slipped off one arm and she twisted to tug her jacket around.

Temptation had never come in a lovelier, more enticing package. Her gently rounded shape was generous in all the right places. That little bit of plumpness that she probably hated—the way so many women did—only enticed him more. She would be soft beneath him, curvaceous in his hands. Hips, real hips, not like so many young women who could almost be mistaken for men from behind. His hands imagined how that fullness would feel and he hardened almost between one breath and the next.

He nearly choked with the hunger he felt, the arousal that suddenly pounded through his veins. Who would have thought that watching a woman pull off a jacket could be so erotic? Not he.

Then she turned to hang it over the back of a kitchen chair and he was treated to a full rear view. A rounded butt cased in denim, perfectly shaped. He was losing it.

As if from a distance, almost deafened by the blood hammering in his ears, he heard himself say, “I meant it when I said you’re glorious.”

Not beautiful, but something far more: glorious.

She turned sharply, surprise on her face. Then he saw her expression melt into one of welcome, her gaze reflecting heat and delight at the same time. And then a flicker of disbelief.

Why she should disbelieve that she was glorious had him beat all to hell, but he was in no mood to question her or discuss it. He chose to respond to her welcome and her heat.

He was through fighting his desire for her.

He was also past finesse. Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her toward the front stairs.

She gasped. “Linc! You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Cassie, you seem to have an exaggerated notion of your size.” It was true. He was strong, but she didn’t feel heavy in his arms. No, she felt good. His breathing grew deeper, his voice thicker, and he managed to say with his last ounce of sanity, “I’m acting like a caveman. Tell me to stop now, before it’s too late.”

His heart almost stalled as he began climbing the stairs—a wide staircase, thank goodness, unlike many of the older houses around here—and she offered no response.

Then, unmistakably, he heard her giggle softly. “I kind of like troglodytes.”

Her answer exploded in his head, filling him with both wonder and a very deep pleasure. Then she lifted her arm and twined it around his neck.

She was his. Just for now, she was his. The heat in him burgeoned, turning to flames that lapped at his every cell.

At the top of the stairs he turned toward his bedroom, the very same room he had used since childhood. He’d never wanted to move into his parents’ room. It would have given him no extra space, since all the bedrooms were the same size, and it was loaded with memories. Including Martha, because Martha had taken it over. It had a better view, being on the corner of the house, and she’d even been pushing to have a private bath installed.

He’d considered it, but it didn’t get past that before she left. Since then, the room had been off-limits except when he needed to go in and clean it.

He hesitated a moment, wondering if taking Cassie in there would banish Martha forever, then decided he could find out another time. If there was another time.

Instead he took her to his own room, with its footless queen-size bed, a small desk, a bedside table and a dresser. Furniture, except for the bed, that had been handed down. Only a night-light provided minimal illumination.

He set Cassie down on her feet beside the bed, and bent his head to kiss her. She welcomed him without hesitation, opening her mouth to his, taking his tongue deep inside.

And her curves, ah, her curves. There was nothing to stop him now, and he ran his palms over her, over her shoulder and back, down to that luscious rump, learning every hill and hollow. Rounded softness greeted him.

A soft little moan escaped her, and her hands gripped his shoulders, digging in as if she feared falling. A primitive sense of triumph overtook him as he realized she was his, fully his. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything.

He released her mouth, giving them both a chance to breathe, then dove in again. This time his hands sought other curves. Their tongues dueled in a timeless rhythm as his hand found her breast and squeezed. It was everything he had imagined, full and firm and so damnably cased in clothing.

But as he ran the flat of his hand across the peak of her breast, she arched her hips into his, the message unmistakable. She was ready.

He was, too, but he wanted it to last. He wanted to learn every bit of her landscape, to discover her every secret, to find the promise she offered without even realizing it.

He turned her a bit so that she was bent slightly over his left arm, and tugged her blouse free of the waistband of her jeans. Slipping his hand beneath, he found warm skin softer than satin. She shivered at his touch, and clung harder to his back.

Perfect, he thought. Exquisite. Everything about her, from the scent of her soap and shampoo, to the chocolaty taste that lingered in her mouth. A hint of feminine perfume, and a musky aroma that was strengthening, signaling her need.