Stevie Lee (14 page)

Growing up on a lake in the middle of the Rocky Mountains was a little different than growing up on a lake anyplace else. It didn’t necessarily result in nautical knowledge, but even Stevie knew that what he’d described was a disaster of the highest magnitude.

“What happened to the mast?” she asked quietly in her best no-nonsense tone.

Hal knew when he was beaten. But her tears had stopped, so he figured he hadn’t done too badly. “Well, I’ll tell you,” he began, easing his weight off of her and settling himself on his side. “For as much as I paid for the damn thing, you’d think it could have withstood more than a few hours of better than average winds.”

“Better than average?” she inquired, questioning his description with a lift of one silky eyebrow.

“Better than average, a notch or two above gale, but definitely a notch below hurricane strength.”

“I see.”

Hal completely missed the note of reproach in her two-word statement, concentrating instead on his own interpretation. “I wish you could have, Stevie. That storm was the wildest thing I’ve ever tangled with in my whole life. I knew the seas in that area were prone to monster storms, but the route was kind of a shortcut, and it wasn’t monster storm season.” He chuckled. “Old Delilah, though, she didn’t care what season it was. Man, she sucked me up and spit me out again and again and again. She ripped the shirt right off my back. She snapped my mast like a toothpick. A toothpick!” His eyes widened in awe. “I tell you, watching it careen over
Freedom’s
starboard beam just about did me in. I thought for sure I’d bought my last ticket on Mother Nature’s wheel of fortune.”

“In other words, you almost died.”

“Almost,” he agreed sheepishly, coming back from his memories. “But almost dying is like being a little bit pregnant. You either is, or you ain’t . . . and I wasn’t. When I came to on the beach, I still had all my pieces. Most of them were black and blue, and green and yellow, but they were all in working order. It was a helluva ride, though.”

“Oh, Hal,” his name was a sigh from her lips. “What am I going to do with you?”

“If you’re short of ideas, I’ve got a couple I think we can pull off.” A sly grin teased his mouth and warmed the depths of his eyes.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” his voice lowered to a rough drawl as he pulled her over on top of him. “Real serious.”

Stevie snuggled up closer, wanting and needing to feel the warmth of him, the life in him. “I don’t want you to change, Halsey Morgan. But I don’t want to lose you either.”

“Stevie—”

“Just promise me this,” she interrupted him softly. She was unsure of what she was about to say, but in her heart she knew she had to say it. “Promise me, Hal, that as long as we’re together, for as long as you want me, you won’t go off and die somewhere.”

“I can’t.” His arms tightened around her before she could move. “Because as long as I draw breath, I’ll want you. And, Stevie, no matter how hard I try, sooner or later I’m going to die.” His grin flickered back to life. “If it’s any consolation, I haven’t survived this long just by luck. Over the years I’ve acquired a few skills that keep me landing on my feet, and I never give a place a second shot at me. Mount Everest, the old goddess mother of the world, has seen the last of me. She held on too tight last time. The same goes for one-man voyages across the South Pacific. I may be kind of wild, but I’m no fool.”

“Me either.” He felt the answering warmth of her smile touch him like the sun. “I know a good thing when it hits me in the face . . . and Hal?” —she lowered herself on his body, her mouth coming close to his—“You’re the best.”

Hal’s smile slowly faded under the intensity of emotion reflected in her eyes. Her hair, loosened by their lovemaking, flowed over her shoulders and fanned across his chest. Moonlight graced her breasts with a pearly hue. His eyes drank in the exquisitely feminine form in his arms, and slowly, but inevitably, he found himself wanting her again. Without a word, he reached up and slid his hand through the tangle of honey-brown hair streaming down her back.

Stevie’s breath caught at the familiar pressure between her thighs and the warm, lambent light darkening his eyes. A tender ache grew between them as he held her captive with his gaze. And then once again, Halsey Morgan—adventurer extraordinaire—transported her to the land of enchantment.

* * *

“This was a great idea.” Hal levered himself up on the hood of the Mustang and handed her the beer he’d gotten out of the cooler in the trunk. On a rare night when neither of them worked, they’d decided to cruise up to the summit of Trail Ridge Road, the highest continuously paved road on the continent. More than an hour had gone by since the last car had passed.

“I love it up here at night. The stars so close, you can touch them. No one else is around.” Stevie leaned back on the windshield. “I feel like I’m on top of the world—and I own it all.”

Hal nodded silently in agreement, looking out over the mountain ranges piling up on each other as far as the eye could see. Longs Peak, the Gore Range, the Never Summers, they brought back good memories of other mountains, even higher and wilder. A very familiar wistfulness caught at his heart. He’d been grounded for two months now, and even though the one he’d spent loving Stevie Lee had been the most incredible in his life, he was starting to get itchy feet.

“Have you ever done any technical climbing?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“I’ve been to the top of Longs a couple of times, but we hiked it. I’ve never done any rope work.”

“Longs is about fourteen thousand feet, isn’t it?”

“Fourteen thousand, two hundred, and fifty-six, and I felt every one of them,” she said with a teasing groan.

“But you didn’t have any trouble? No altitude sickness?” An idea had taken hold in his mind, a stopgap measure at best, but maybe enough to take the edge off his wanderlust.

“Darlin’,” she said in an exaggerated drawl, giving him a wry glance. “You’re talking to a lady born at ten thousand feet. It’s going to take more than another four or five to do me in.”

“Well, darlin’, how about another fourteen?” He scooted up on the hood and laid sideways on the windshield to face her. He rested his head in his hand.

Big gray eyes studied him for a moment, then she said, “As far as I know, the closest eight thousand meter peak is about two thousand dollars away. And if I had enough money to get that far, climbing mountains wouldn’t exactly be at the top of my itinerary—no pun intended.”

“No pun accepted.” He grinned. “Okay, so we won’t be mounting an assault on Everest this summer. How about doing Long’s Peak with me and a few yards of rope?”

“Not that stuff you use to tie your truck together?”

His grin broadened to encompass his whole face. “No, I’ve got some real good stuff I keep under the bed.”

He’d given her the perfect line, and Stevie couldn’t resist. Cuddling up closer, she arched forward and whispered in his ear, “You keep some pretty good stuff on top of the bed too.”

Her sultry voiced compliment went through him right to the core, starting an instant spiral of pleasure in his loins. With one smooth move, he rolled her over on top of him and let her feel the heat she’d initiated. A slow, suggestive smile replaced his easy grin. “You’re pure trouble, Stevie Lee. Pure sweet trouble.”

“You seem to be handling it,” she said, pressing herself against him and tangling her fingers through the silver-gold hair framing his face.

“Do you want to talk about mountains”—her next move made him catch his breath, turning it into a soft moan—“or get naked in the backseat?”

“The backseat is a little small.”

“Trust me. We won’t need much room,” he promised, his hands tightening on the small of her back, his hips moving to meet her halfway.

Darkening blue eyes held her mesmerized as each minute of budding pleasure moved into the next, until her arms weakened and she fell against him. Her head nestled into the curve of his shoulder.

“When do you want to climb Long’s Peak?” she whispered, not missing a beat of his passionate rhythm.

“Anytime after we make love. Come on, I’ll race you to the backseat.”

Holding her close in his arms, he slowly slid off the hood, and inch by playful, teasing inch they worked themselves into the car.

Nine

Stevie limped to the next table and set her tray down with a thump. Every bone in her body ached, but she had no regrets. Standing on top of Long’s Peak with Hal had been worth every bruise and scrape, and it had whetted her appetite for more. She doubted if she’d ever be ready for Everest, but that still left a whole world to explore. They were starting in again next week with a white-water rafting trip down the Colorado.

With a groan she lifted the full tray and headed back to the bar. Day by day he was showing her the beauty of her own backyard, expanding her horizons beyond the Trail’s End, and making her dreams come alive. Certainly Trail Ridge Road would never look the same to her again.

A small smile tweaked a corner of her mouth at the memory. She’d always wondered how people ended up naked in the backseat of a car—and now she knew. It was easy, really easy, with a man like Halsey Morgan. To Hal, making love came as naturally as breathing. He didn’t need candlelight, wine, and flowers to create romance. He did it with his mind and body, anyplace, anytime. Her smile softened, her expression became dreamy. Long’s Peak would never look the same again either. And considering the lack of oxygen up there, maybe he didn’t even need to breathe to make love.

Hal watched her weave her way through the tables with the special smile on her face, and he knew exactly what she was thinking about. He’d never met a woman like Stevie Lee. Hanging from the rope, she’d trusted him implicitly, enjoying every moment. She was the same way when they made love, so giving and open. Somehow when his life had been at an all-time low, he’d walked into a shabby little bar in a backwater town and found the love of his life. Maybe Delilah hadn’t done so badly for him after all.

“A whiskey sour and a Scotch, please,” a construction worker named Quade requested for himself and his wife. The two of them had been slow dancing all night to the songs on the jukebox, regardless of the fact that the Trail didn’t have a dance floor. Hal admired their ability to make do with what they had; for he knew if he wasn’t stuck behind the bar, he’d be shuffling through the tables right along with them, Stevie in his arms, oblivious to the rest of the folks. Love did crazy things to a man.

Mixing the drinks with a natural ease, he kept one eye on his lady. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was; if she knew what happened to him deep inside every time he looked at her. It was happening to him now—a filling up of his heart, a longing to reach out and touch her. He’d tell her again tonight as he’d told her every night. And as she’d done every night, she’d wrap him in her love.

“Stevie, please go home. I’ll close up,” he offered again as she dropped off her tray and slid onto the stool at the end of the bar.

“Oh, Hal,” she said, lowering her head to a resting spot in the cradle of her arms. “You’ve already let me go home early three times this week. It’s your turn. Besides, I can’t afford to keep you on the clock.”

“I haven’t been on the clock this week,” he informed her with a knowing look.

“I’ve been keeping track in my head. You’re up to forty-two hours so far”—she lifted a hand to stop his protest—“and you’ll get paid for every one.”

“Stevie, I’m pulling five hundred a week out of here on tips alone. I should be paying you.”

“You wouldn’t make much of a union man,” she teased with a soft smile.

“You go home and warm up the bed, and we’ll call it even.”

“Which bed?” she asked around a big yawn.

“You’re opening tomorrow, so let’s make it your place.”

“Good idea.” The mind was willing, but the body refused to budge. Letting her legs dangle, she snuggled up closer on the bar. “I’ll leave in a minute.”

She’d no sooner closed her eyes, than a name from the past popped them wide open again.

“Hey, Kip!” A man hollered out as the front door opened.

With a mixture of weariness and dismay, she watched as six feet two inches of predictably unpredictable ex-husband walked into the Trail. Why, oh, why, she started to ask herself, then stopped. She knew why he’d come—for the same reason he always came.

“TNT! I thought you were in Steamboat Springs,” another customer called cheerily.

Personally Hal didn’t know what to think. In the rare moments when he’d thought about Kip Brown, he hadn’t imagined such a clean-cut, good-looking boy. Sleazy, maybe; older, definitely—but not this youthful replica of the Marlboro Man. He wondered if the kid knew he could damage himself by wearing his jeans so tight. Glancing at Stevie, he looked for a clue to what she was feeling, but the mild furrowing of her brow didn’t give him much to go on.

“Hi, Kip. You’re looking great,” a lady in the corner said, irking Hal to the core.

“Chuck, Darlene.” He lifted a hand in greeting and graced the couple with a dazzling smile. “What’s happening, Eddie?”

“Not a helluva lot since you left. Town’s gotten kinda slow.”

“Ah, come on, Eddie. I can’t believe that. I left you Stevie, didn’t I?” He grinned, and slapped the older man on the back.

Now there’s a clue
, Hal thought, his jaw tightening. When the situation called for it, he’d been known to blow enough smoke to cloud any issue, but he’d never heard anything like the crass line Mr. Dynamite had just delivered. He thought about yelling out “Yeah, you left her, so take a hike, kid.” He thought about going over the bar—something Stevie had told him never to do—and tossing the jerk out on his butt. The increasingly pained look on her face kept him from doing either. He’d let her handle the situation her way. He’d let her cut Kip Brown down to size; she deserved the first shot.

So he stood his ground by the cash register, strangling a beer mug and feeling incredibly territorial and ready for a quick fight.

Stevie wished she’d left the first time Hal had asked. Darlene was right. Kip did look great, but then looking great was his strong point. Sandy brown hair swept back from a face born to break hearts. Thick, black lashes framed a pair of liquid brown eyes, and an ever-present grin played around his mouth. As usual he wore his clothes with a casual grace. Expensive jeans faded by the factory to a dove-gray molded his long legs and lean hips, and matched his cowboy boots. A crisp, white cotton shirt with a famous logo on the pocket fit across his broad shoulders and chest like a glove. Even when they’d been struggling along together, Kip had always managed to look like he owned the whole town. Knowing his precarious financial position, she wondered how he did it.