Reckless Promise (22 page)

"You were expecting something more like
Tiffany's?"

"No, but...if there are sapphires, shouldn't
it look special somehow? Or is this a snipe hunt? I've read about
people hauling victims out into the country to catch imaginary
birds or fish while they go home and laugh themselves sick."

He put his hands on her shoulders. The
thought of her wandering lost and alone in the mountains put extra
depth in his voice. "I wouldn't leave you out here alone." Wouldn't
ever leave her. Panic jolted through him. Where had that come
from?

She looked up at the unexpectedly serious
note in his voice, and he had to swallow the words that were on the
tip of his tongue. He had to remember that he didn't do permanent.
So what in the name of all grand hell had he done, bringing her out
here, letting her in on the best-kept family secret, thinking
thoughts that began with l and ended with o-v-e?

He turned away and lifted two shovels out of
the back of the jeep. "Here. You carry those and I'll get the
screens. This way. And watch out for snakes."

That erased the questions he'd seen in her
eyes. But she followed him along the stream without any of the
tiresome shrieking or dithering he'd come to expect from dudes.
Every time he glanced over his shoulder, she walked right behind
him, placing her feet carefully among the rocks, her gaze fixed on
the ground.

No one had been out here since last summer,
so the hunting should be good. He really hoped they'd find her a
first-class sapphire. He dumped the screens beside a small pool,
where the stream widened and slowed. "Here we are. The gem
store."

She looked at the water, running clear over
rocks and gravel. "Definitely nothing like Shreve's—Shreve, Crump,
and Low is Boston's answer to Tiffany, for you westerners." She
sounded downright snooty but her grin spoiled the effect, and he
felt a tug at his heart. "Where do the sapphires come from?"

"Not sure. If geologists have figured it out,
they haven't let the rest of us in on it. The crystals weather out
of some rock somewhere and get washed down into the stream. They're
heavy, so they collect in the slow parts of the stream. Just like
gold. We can pan for them, just like panning for gold."

"Sounds like work."

"Sure. The fun is in the anticipation. You
never know what you might find. Sometimes what you think is a plain
old rock is a rare jewel. You can't always judge by first
appearances." Her eyes widened and he knew he'd said something
significant. To distract himself, he wrapped a hand around the back
of her neck and tugged her close enough to kiss.

"Anticipation," she repeated when the kiss
ended, her voice breathy, and when she opened her eyes, it took a
minute for them to focus.

He enjoyed a moment of politically incorrect
triumph before the certainty that this was more than sex slammed
into him, an earthquake that left him reeling inside.

She didn't seem to notice, just poked at the
gravel with the toe of her boot. "You're saying I can anticipate
sapphires in this pile of dirt?"

"Yeah. Probably. But we have to work for
them." He stacked the screens and scooped a shovel full of gravel
into the top one.

He knelt by the stream shaking the screens,
his mind spun out of control. What the hell had gone wrong with him
today? Every thought in his head seemed to start with love or
forever, and those were two words he never wanted to hear in the
same week again. Not until now. And there he went again,
dammit.

When he separated the screens, she knelt
beside him to pick through the largest bits of rock. "Nothing." She
sounded disappointed.

"Most of the sapphires here are pea size or
smaller."

He gave her a screen loaded with smaller
gravel and moved behind her to guide the proper motion for shaking
the screen under water. Up and down, back and forth, a rocking
motion designed to concentrate the heaviest rocks on the bottom.
The hypnotic, arousing rhythm and her firm, round bottom nestled
against his thighs might have put a quick end to gem hunting if she
hadn't also managed to splash enough icy water to drench herself
and him.

"That's enough. Ready for the next step?" he
asked, grateful for something to think about other than the way her
shirt plastered against her front like a second skin.

She grinned up at him, looking as happy as a
horse in tall clover in spite of the ice cold water.

"Let me show you." He took the screen from
her. "It's hard to describe." He gave the screen a final swirl, and
in one smooth motion flipped it over so that the contents ended up
undisturbed on the ground, the heaviest gravel now on top. "And it
takes practice."

She squatted on her heels and studied the
little mound of gravel. "Did we get any?"

"Sure did. See those stones that are glassy
looking? That kind of pink one, and the dull blue one. And the one
that's kind of barrel shaped?" He handed her a pair of tweezers and
small glass vial.

One by one, Poppy picked up the pebbles he
indicated and dropped them in the vial for safe keeping. "These are
sapphires?" She sounded as if she didn't believe him.

"Would I lie to you?"

"I don't know. Would you?" She looked up at
him, and the bright morning stopped, frozen in a moment around
them.

"No," he said slowly. "I wouldn't. Would you
lie to me?"

Red washed across Poppy's face and she
dropped her gaze.

Mac reached down and pulled her to her feet.
"I don't like being lied to, Poppy," he said.

"No one does. I haven't exactly lied to you,
but..."

"There are things you won't tell me. I know.
But you will one of these days. You have to."

"I would if I could." She held his gaze for a
moment and then looked at the tiny barrel-shaped stone in her
fingers. "So this is really a sapphire?"

"Yep. Inside that dull surface there could be
a gem that rivals anything in the world." At the look of doubt on
her face, he added, "Or not."

"It's not even blue."

"Sapphires come in all colors except ruby
red."

"Well, I guess you know about these things."
She dropped it into the glass vial. "But isn't the jewelry store
easier?"

She didn't fool him. She glowed like a kid in
a toy store. "Yes, but not nearly as much fun. Think what you'd
miss. The ride up here, carrying all that gear, shoveling tons of
rock, getting soaked to the ears in ice cold water."

"However could I resist?" She laughed up at
him. "Let's do another one."

Mac put his arm around her. It
felt...right.

Her laughter faded into a thoughtful look.
"When I first got off the plane, this country scared me, but now,
well, I guess it sounds stupid, but there's so much more sky here
than in Boston. I feel bigger, somehow."

The sudden race of his heart had nothing to
do with climbing hills or altitude or even her tempting nearness.
"It doesn't sound stupid at all," he said, and his voice sounded
far away in his own ears. "It sounds like the way I feel about this
country. I've been going crazy living in the city." He wanted to
know if she'd ever think of living here, but habit—and all those
suspicions—kept his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth and the
words didn't come.

"Why do you do it then?"

He rubbed his fingers together in the age-old
gesture for 'money'. "Alice and Tom and I own a company. I run it,
they run the ranch. That's what kept us afloat until the ranch
started paying its own way. But now the company's for sale and I'll
be living here as soon as we unload it. I can't wait to get out of
Denver and move into my own house." And there was that image of a
red-headed woman standing in the doorway again, welcoming him
home.

His face must have shown some of the
confusion he felt, because she glanced at him and quickly looked
away. Her gaze fixed on the distant mountains and after a moment
she said, "I'm beginning to understand that attitude."

He handed her the shovel and watched her dump
a load of gravel into the top screen. She bent to the task, her
face alight. Her motion got smoother, more competent, with each
load, and less water went down her front.

He had a sudden vision of Poppy curled up on
the sofa, intent on planning the breeding of a new crop of foals.
She'd have the same intense expression, and she'd look up at him
when he came in the room, and smile, and... His heart kicked over
like a faulty engine and for a moment he couldn't breathe.

When the screen shook, so did Poppy. He could
have watched the tantalizing, seductive shimmy all day, but it
wouldn't have been fair to make her work that hard. "I think that's
ready to turn out," he said roughly.

She did a creditable job of inverting the
screen, and he knelt to peer at the little pile of gravel. He
leaned closer to look over her shoulder. Suddenly she turned her
head and flashed a smile at him. "It's like Christmas!"

"Don't get your hopes up too high. There
aren't any guarantees in this business. Remember, this pan might
have nothing but rocks." But her enthusiasm caught him up and
before he knew it, he knelt beside her, poking through the wet
gravel. "This is just like watching one of my mares foal—maybe this
time it'll be a champion."

"That's right. Tom told me you spend a lot of
time figuring out the breedings."

"Interested? That's your specialty, isn't
it?"

She nodded as she poked through the
gravel.

He saw the marble-sized stone a split second
before Poppy did, and drew his hand back, leaving it for her. She
pounced on the bright orangey red pebble like the barn cat on a
mouse. "Oh look, oh look, oh, oh, oh," she said breathlessly and
held it up. In her excitement she lost her balance and ended up
sitting in the little stream, icy water riffling around her. "Isn't
it beautiful?"

Mac meant to tell her that she'd found a
once-in-a-lifetime stone, one that wouldn't even need heat treating
to bring out the color. Instead, he looked at the pure joy in her
glowing face, at the wisps of fiery hair that had come loose and
straggled around her face, at the smudge of mud where she'd swiped
at her cheek, and knew he'd lost his heart forever. "Not half as
beautiful as you." He pulled her up out of the stream and held out
the vial so she could drop the stone into it. His hands trembled
when he snapped it into his shirt pocket. "Poppy," he said in a
voice as hoarse and unsteady as his hands he raised to cup her
face. "Poppy."

She looked up at the deep note in his voice.
The lighthearted delight of her expression melted into something
serious and joyful and...there was that forever thing again. He
swallowed past the lump of emotion that clogged his throat and
kissed her, the kiss saying all the things he couldn't put into
words.

Not just his woman. His woman forever, God
willing, even if he couldn't say it. He pulled her up out of the
water and into his arms. "I love you," he muttered between kisses,
and began peeling away her sodden shirt. "I love you."

He felt shock zing through her and terror
gripped him. What had he done? His breath came short and he pulled
back to look at her.

Tears glimmered in her eyes. "I love you
too," she whispered and closed her eyes. Two fat, crystal tears
hung for a moment from her eyelashes, and he leaned down to kiss
them away before he lifted her and lowered her to a soft patch of
grass. "I didn't think I'd ever hear you say that."

He hadn't thought he'd ever say it. Panic
edged into his mind until he looked at her again. This was Poppy,
and he couldn't live without her.

Her soggy clothing saved him from emotional
overload. Trying to separate dripping wet, ice cold jeans from
their wearer didn't happen by magic. "What is it all those romance
novels say?" he asked. "He swept away the gossamer whatever of her
clothes? I guaran-dam-tee you she wasn't wearing wet denim."

"I'm sure you're right," Poppy said, and
wriggled another inch of hip free. "Are you sure you want to do
this?"

"I'm sure," Mac said grimly. "But couldn't
you buy these things a size bigger?"

He yanked. Poppy leaned back on her elbows
and lifted her hips to help him. "Sure, but would we be here if I
had?" Her eyes brimmed with contagious laughter.

"Woman, you'd drive me crazy if you wore a
horse blanket." One final tug detached her from the jeans. Mac sank
back on his heels and admired the view of all that creamy skin
interrupted only by silky, leopard-patterned bikinis. "If I'd known
what you were wearing underneath..." He stood, reluctantly. "Give
them to me," he ordered.

"What, you tell me you love me and all of a
sudden you can give up seduction in favor of orders? I don't think
so." But she smiled when she said it.

"I'm going to spread your clothes out to dry
while we're—ah, occupied."

"Oh, well, in that case..." Poppy stripped
pants, shirt, and bra with the speed of light. "I love a liberated
man who doesn't mind doing the laundry."

Her bra matched the panties. Mac brushed the
silk across his cheek before draping it over a bush beside the
jeans. He'd do her laundry eight days a week for moments like
this.

He turned and looked at her, all bright hair
and velvety skin against the rich green of the grass. He wanted to
pause, to savor the promise of her, the rich colors and textures
beneath the bright blue freedom of the sky, but the need to touch,
to feel her under him, around him, burned through him like
wildfire. It took all his self control to spread his clothes out
beside hers to dry before he came down on her with all the finesse
of one of his stallions, not sure if he was demanding or pleading,
knowing only that he needed Poppy like this, wild and free and
burning under him, her wildness meeting his in a plunging, blazing
inferno that consumed them both.