The Bride Wore Red Boots (23 page)

The night went like clockwork after that. No disastrous phone calls came in. Nobody got sick. No dishes broke. No animals were harmed doing anything. Except for the rush of pleasure that washed over her every time she looked at Gabe, the whole atmosphere was mundane, calm, almost boring. And pretty wonderful.

Mia helped Rory unpack his suitcase into dresser drawers. Gabe helped him set up his computer so he could play for a while. But even with the lure of a popular game, he started yawning in front of the screen by seven thirty.

Gabe sat beside him at the desk in the new room, pointing out details of the game they were learning together. Mia stood to the side letting her astonishment mix with the low pulse of desire that hadn't diminished since their episode at the pasture fence. Gabe's warmth of demeanor awed her and made him irresistible. She'd always thought it a made-up trope that women were turned on by men who were good with children. She'd been wrong.

Vibrations that still hummed through her body left her with un-guardian-like wishes that Rory's long trip would conk him out sooner—much sooner—rather than later. She picked a book off one of the shelves and turned it over in her hands.
The Phantom Tollbooth
—a classic. Did modern-day kids, spoiled by the shiny and spectacular entertainment offered by video car races and realistic battles, read anymore? Of course they did. Harry Potter . . . What else? She cringed inwardly. She knew nothing about what a ten-year-old like Rory liked.

With a sigh she carried the book to where the two men sat and tucked it under her arm so she could rest her hands on Gabe's shoulders. Tentatively she kneaded through his sweatshirt, exploring his shoulders, spreading her fingers and sliding them down to find the taut muscle around his shoulder blades.

A groan of satisfaction floated to her and she smiled. Surprisingly, the little storm he'd started brewing in her by the pasture, he now calmed simply by existing beneath her fingertips. Her insides no longer felt like they'd been shot full of adrenaline. Her impatience disappeared. It was enough that he was here—for her and for Rory. Whatever came later would be sweet, sweet icing on the cake.

When Rory yawned and rubbed an eye, Mia took her cue. “Hey, newest Wyoming Man, I was thinking. My mom read out loud to me and my sisters our whole lives—almost until we left home. How would you like to start a chapter book while we're here?

He turned slightly in his chair, his look quizzical. “What chapter book?” She held up her choice and he frowned. “I've never heard of it.”

“This one has been around a long time,” she said. “It's a classic.”

“That usually means boring.”

“Oh, you couldn't be more wrong, champ,” Gabe said. “Books don't get to be classics if they aren't totally awesome. I loved that book when I was a kid.”

Rory yawned again and shrugged. “Okay.”

“Where do you want to go to sleep tonight?” she asked. “Here or in my room?”

He contemplated the choices. “Are you going to sleep, too?”

“Not yet,” she said. “But later. My room is right next to my mother's, and she goes to bed pretty early, so she'll be there if you need her. And Grace sleeps right next to this room. So there are lots of people if you get scared.”

“I won't get scared.” His voice didn't carry a lot of punch, but he was sincere.

“That's really good. Because there's nothing to be scared of. You know, my daddy built this house just the way he and my mom wanted it. So it's strong and safe. But, still, sometimes we need something at night. And anyone here can help you anytime.”

“I want to stay in your room.”

“Come on, then.” She smiled. “I think it's time to tuck you in and start a book.”

“Can I listen, too?” Gabe asked.

“If the bed is big enough,” Rory replied, and shrugged again.

The steam in Gabriel's look made Mia's mouth go dry.

“Well, let's go and check it out right now.” His eyes never left hers. “I'm pretty interested in knowing that myself.”

“H
E MADE IT
through about ninety-five percent of the chapter,” Gabe said. “Pretty good considering how often his eyes closed.”

Mia pulled the sheet and blanket over Rory's gently curled form, and stroked the thick, creamy fur of Jack, who'd found his little master and now nestled into the curve of his body, purring like a feline lawnmower.

Warmth from Gabe's hand on her back spread down her spine. She straightened, and the sense of domesticity, the image of this man as a husband and a father, flashed so strongly through her mind it scared her. She pushed away the thought, but not before the question popped out.

“You really wouldn't want one of these of your own?” She asked. His hand stilled momentarily. “Sorry. I don't know where that came from.”

The circles started up again. “He's a perfect example of why.”

“I know. So many like him who need help.” She understood Gabe's conviction intellectually, but sadness welled up nonetheless. The urge to picture her own child in a bed like this was hard to ignore. “Well, I'm glad he's here,” she said. “I feel like maybe this will be good for him—to know a place like Wyoming exists.”

She left a lamp on for him and kissed his forehead.

She led the way out of the room, and the moment they were in the hallway and she'd closed the door halfway, Gabe whirled her into his arms and placed his forehead against hers.

“It's good for him to have you in his life. You're going to get him through this sad, hard time. He thinks the world of you.”

“What happens, though, the first time I have to say no, or have to get after him?”

“That's too far in the future right now. One day at a time.”

Standing there in his arms, the very place she'd been anticipating for the past two hours, a wave of melancholy swept unexpectedly over her. Reality, in the form of the child sleeping behind the door next to her, dampened all the excitement she'd felt just moments before.

“What is this?” she asked.

“What is what?”

“This thing we're doing? We're a walking, talking, kissing cliché, Gabe. Like two kids meeting at summer camp and having a fling. All I wanted five minutes ago was for the kid to go to sleep so I could be alone with you.”

“You don't want that anymore?” He raised his head and placed a forefinger beneath her chin.

“Now all I can think about is that we have to leave camp too soon and go back to reality.”

“I don't know. This has been feeling very real to me lately. Would you like me to tell you all the ways you've changed my life in three weeks? I didn't think I had a tragic backstory that left me damaged. You made me see the things I've never faced. You're bringing back my inner clown—that part of me that actually forgot to find funny things in the world.”

“I hate clowns,” she said dully.

He laughed. “Well that's fairly unbelievable, since you understand them so well. At least this one.”

“How can you possibly say I understand you? It's been three weeks.” She tried to avoid his eyes, but he lifted her chin and gave her no choice but to stare into them. They mesmerized, like looking into the numbing depths of rich, aged whisky.

“It's really been over two months. Tell me you didn't think about me while you were in New York after we butt heads over your sister's care. I thought about you so often you wound up in dreams.”

“I did? Like, nightmares?” She smiled.

“No.” He drew out the word. “Nice dreams. Unlike you, who hated me, I never felt that way about you.”

“Hey! I never hated you.”

“Aha! I got you to admit it. You were in deep annoyance with me and I with you, but I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to thaw your feelings. I knew this warm person you really are existed behind the façade. You wouldn't have fought so hard for your mother and sister if there hadn't been. I knew you were focused, busy, angry, and worried.”

“And I didn't know you were Mr. Psychology.”

“I'm not. Sweetheart, I just try and understand people. We might all have different stories, but we're all in the same boat, and we all have wounds.”

“Yours is Jibril.”

“Maybe.”

“What's mine?”

“Your father. Your family.”

“I love my family!”

“You do. But you also think they have some kind of expectation of you. You need to change your focus. It's you who has the high expectations. Of yourself. But what's amazing is that when I've seen you stop being so hard on yourself and just enjoy, as well as use your God-given gifts, you are unstoppable. And I'm falling in love with the unstoppable Mia Crockett. You know that's the difference between Amelia and Mia right? Amelia wants it. Mia gets it.”

“That's a pun, right?”

“See? Mia
understands
it.”

A welling of emotion clogged her throat and burned at her eyes. He saw this in her? She sure didn't. To her Mia was the weaker persona. If Mia understood anything it was that she had to stay strong or fail. Amelia was the strong, sure, take-no-prisoners success.

“Come on.” He took her hand and led her down the hall.

She stopped him on the landing halfway down the stairs. “We both know what's coming now, right? We both expect this?”

“What?” He looked at her warily.

“It's been a while, since I . . . ” Discomfiture rang in her ears like bad static. “Well, you need to know that. But I do remember enough to recognize what you were telling me outside earlier.”

“Look. You turn me on, Mia Crockett. Beyond that I'm not going to
tell
you anything. We do things together. Especially when it comes to sex. And don't shy away from saying it out loud. You're a doctor. I work with foul-mouthed vets. We don't need to hint around like middle schoolers.”

She blushed at the gentle admonishment.

“You're right. Having a child around is suddenly turning me into one. That or there are just too many people in this house.”

“I'll agree with that. One of them is sleeping on the only bed that's big enough.” He nuzzled her neck and gave a quick nibble to her earlobe.

She sputtered out a laugh and buried her face in his shoulder, letting shivers and goose bumps battle it out across her skin.

“We can't keep doing this here,” she said quietly. “The rest of the people aren't sleeping, and that's problematic in other ways.”

He straightened. “Listen to me, and believe me. I have no expectations. Not of you. Not of us. Not for tonight. I'm a big boy, and I can control my urges if not my body. And my body is not your problem.”

“What if I want it to be?”

She didn't honestly know if she wanted it to be. Two hours earlier she'd told herself she wanted nothing more than to make love to him. Then she'd panicked. But once again Gabe had removed all the pressure she'd let build.

“Oh, sweetheart, then I think we need to find a place with fewer people and have a little talk.”

G
ABE FOUND
P
ARADISE
totally transformed in the snow. And along with it, so was Mia.

Somewhere between capturing Pan and putting Rory to bed, snow had crept up on Paradise Ranch and fallen in such thick, fleecy luxury that it left no speck of autumnal brown visible. In the moonlight, the world shimmered under a million flakes of diamond dust.

Mia skipped through the unblemished expanse of white in front of the barn, creating serpentine paths, her red cowboy boots flashing against the pristine canvas. Stopping, stooping, and shoveling huge armfuls of snow from the ground so she could toss it in the air, she couldn't have looked more different from the woman who'd stood beside Rory's sleeping form than she did. Gabe shook his head, marveling at the change, hoping it wasn't some kind of manic reaction.

But she looked too relieved and relaxed to be suffering from a breakdown. She stopped at the edge of an unblemished expanse of snow.

“Let's fill this with snow angels,” she said.

“We're supposed to be checking on the horses.”

“We will definitely check on the horses.”

She took his hand and stepped carefully into the white. Without a plan or instruction, she fell backward and pulled him along. Immediately she fanned her arms and legs. Along with the snow had come a fifteen-degree drop in temperature, but Mia didn't seem to care about twenty-degrees of cold.

Laughing, Cole swished out his own angel. He wore an old pair of Cole's boots, and a borrowed hat and mittens for which he was grateful. Harper had agreed to watch and listen for Rory while they checked the mustangs. He could come up with nothing to dissuade Mia from falling into angel and after angel.

“I think you've got issues,” he said when he'd added his fifth to the array.

“I'm working them all out.” She laughed.

He stood and stalked to where she was preparing to make her seventh angel. The instant she fell backward, he pitched forward and landed atop her.

“Hey! You can't be lewd with angels!”

“I think I'm proving right this moment that I sure can be.”

He grasped her pink-and-purple stocking cap—the one that clashed with her red boots, not to mention her blue-and-teal winter jacket—and held it tightly to her head as he pressed a hard kiss to her lips. Her long, thick hair, wet from the snow, hung below the edge of the hat, and the beautiful, high cheekbones of her face drew his lips to her skin.

“You're distracting me.”

“Good,” he replied. “A dozen angels is plenty.”

“No, you can't have too many angels.”

She grabbed a fistful of snow and shook it over his head. Most of it slid down his collar in an icy race. He bellowed in surprise.

“Cheat!” he cried.

“Guilty as charged.”

Then they were rolling through the white as Mia tried to grab more snow and smash it into his neck, his jacket front, and even his face. He fought off her attacks even though she was lithe and quick and, finally, barely able to breathe from laughing, he pinned her on her back a last time, cuffed her hands together with one of his, and held them above her head. She twisted her lower body, laughing as hard as he was, but he straddled her and ground his pelvis tightly against her.

“Surrender,” he said.

She squirmed beneath him and bucked a couple of times to try and dislodge him. Fire raced through his belly, and his body swiftly betrayed him. When she stopped struggling she groaned beneath him and reached up to pull his head to hers.

“I thought cold had the opposite effect on a man,” she said, and didn't wait for a reply before invading his mouth with her hot, searching tongue.

He wanted to laugh and let it blow away the pulsing desire but the sound came out a long, hard moan instead, which she captured in her kiss and turned into deep, thrusting passion. He grew harder, and she pushed her hips up to meet the long, captive length of him.

“I think I just made your body my problem,” she said.

“Lord above, will you quit saying those things?” He cradled her head between his gloved hands and kissed away snowflakes as they landed on her cheeks and long, dark eyelashes. “You think you're funny, but this is deadly serious.”

“Oh, really? Deadly?”

“Yes. We will be found frozen together in a very compromising position come morning if you don't behave.”

He kissed the corners of her eyes and sucked her top lip when a flake glided onto its perfect curve.

“Why do I have to behave if you don't?”

“Because I'm on top.”

Before she could sputter her protest, he kissed her fully, a little carelessly, sloppily even, for long minutes while the snow covered his back and seeped into his collar and under the wrists of his gloves. The knees of his jeans soaked up the snow, and he was vaguely aware of the cold, but he didn't stop. She arched into him, reaching to the kiss then pulling back, searching for a deeper fit with a tilt of her head and a tug of her hands to bring him closer. He stopped trying to figure out where goose bumps from the cold ended and those from the heat of their mouths began.

Finally he slid his lips from hers, but she continued kissing his neck.

“The barn.” He caught his breath and lost it again as desire flared, harder and stronger. “It's a little warmer.”

“It's a misrepresentation that a barn is a good place for this,” she said. “Shavings and manure balls—”

He put a finger over her lips. “Stop. I believe you. Can you find us a
usable
warm place?”

“I can.”

Her quick answer surprised him, and he laughed. “In that case, you've won a temporary release.” He pushed himself up and off of her, got to his feet and stood, one leg on either side of her hips. She grabbed the hand he reached out for her and popped up before him. “Show me the heat,” he said, wishing he was still on the ground where things had been a lot more comfortable.

“Heat?” She grinned. “I think you requested warm. As in, warmer than out here. We'll have to create the actual heat ourselves.” She took his hand. “Follow me.”

T
HE LITTLE CABIN
stood across the work yard from the barn, hunkering in place like an old man among his younger, stronger children.

“This was the original cabin my great-grandfather Eli built in 1916,” Mia said. “He lived in it as a bachelor for a while, then married my great-grandmother Brigitta, and their only son Sebastian was born here. After that he built a bigger house, which was lost in a fire before my father was born. Sebastian married Grandma Sadie.”

“Your Sadie? The love of my life?”

“One and the same. She's seen a lot on this place. Somehow this little cabin has survived storm and pestilence and time. Now it's an office, but not an official one. Nothing too important is kept here—there's a computer and a lot of breeding and heredity info on the cattle. At least that's what it used to be. And, if nothing's changed . . . ”

She ran her fingers along the bottom log next to the door and straightened with a key. Seconds later she swung the heavy oak door open. Ancient door, modern lock. He liked it.

Mia walked unhesitatingly through the blackness and, after a gentle click, warm, yellow light from a desk lamp made out of horseshoes transformed the deep darkness into soft shadows. The room was smaller than Rory's bedroom at the house, maybe nine by ten, and it was dominated by the large, wooden desk. A green couch and a blue overstuffed chair sat on a thick, multicolored braid rug, which covered a worn wood floor rubbed to a rich patina.

The walls were unfinished wood logs also aged to glossy nutmeg.

“Nice,” Gabe said.

“It's the family's attempt at historical appreciation. Otherwise, the Crockett patriarchs have been pretty progressive as a whole. My dad was probably the most staunchly traditional—it was kind of his way or no way. Good thing his way was effective—until the end of his life when the finances got away from him. Harper and Cole took on a huge rescue project with this place.

“They seem happy, though.”

“I think they are,” she said. “Cole grew up ranching, too, as you know. And Harper has found the freedom to not only be on the land she loves, but spread her artistic wings. It wasn't what any of us planned, but sometimes fate is funny. I'm looking forward to their wedding and lots of good times for them.”

“And what about you?” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Where's the land you love?”

“Right this moment it's this floor in this cabin.”

It wasn't an answer to his question. He thought about pushing it and forcing her to face the future right then and there. Where
did
she want to stay? Put down her roots? But that desire lasted only fleeting seconds. She pulled down the zipper of his jacket, tossed her gloves on the chair, and snaked her arms around his torso, rising onto her toes to plant a kiss on his lips.

“Yup,” she said against his mouth. “Right here.”

“Okay,” he replied. “Good choice.”

He found her jacket zipper between them as they kissed, and divested her of its bulk. She pushed and pulled his off as well. Next came their hats, and Gabe toed off his boots, all while they laughed and tried not to break the kiss. Silly, fun, slightly immature stuff.

“There's a fireplace in here,” she whispered, sucking on his bottom lip.

“It still works?”

“It does.”

“Can we build a fire without stopping?” He sucked her tongue into his mouth, briefly but hard enough to make her laugh.

“If you kept up that suction we probably could.”

He kissed her cold nose and forehead and stepped away. “Let's build one. Why start being logical now? Nobody will care?”

“They may or may not notice over the next few days. They use this place a lot more in the spring and summer.”

She didn't make setting a fire easy. He was proud of his camping skills, but he'd never had to contend with soft hands on his back every time he bent over, and eagerly stolen kisses every time he straightened.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” he asked, when he had the first match ready to strike, and she wrapped her arms around him from behind.

“I don't want you to forget I'm here.”

He almost choked on the laughter that bubbled up within him. “I could prove to you in several different ways that it would be impossible to forget you're here.”

“Good.”

“Snow definitely has an interesting effect on you.” He squatted, and she released him, sitting beside his leg as he lit the tinder beneath the logs.

“It's not the snow,” she said.

“Is that right?”

Together they watched the fire catch and eat up the paper and smaller branches that would light the larger fuel logs. Mia stretched her long legs toward the fireplace and leaned sideways against him, running her hand along his thigh, kneading through the wet denim to the muscle that strained to hold him in his squat. She skimmed the angle over his knee and shimmied down the front of his shin.

“Nice legs,” she said.

“Yeah?” He shuddered in a breath. “Takes a pair to know a pair.”

She blushed prettily. “That was a well done compliment, I have to admit. C'mon. Help me pull these boots off. I probably shouldn't have worn the good ones in the snow like that. On the other hand, looks like they're lucky once again.”

“Oh, you think you're going to get lucky, huh?”

“I hope so. I know you are.”

He snorted. “That was pretty well done yourself.”

He sat flat on the floor facing her and took one of her feet in his hands. It took a solid tug to remove the red boot. The second one was even tighter. When they'd been set aside she wriggled her toes into his hands. “Ahhhh,” she moaned. “Your hands are so nice and warm.”

“I think it's your toes that are so very cold,” he said.

He kneaded through her wool socks until she closed her eyes and leaned back on her elbows. “Okay, every single thing I've ever said you were good at? Forget them. You are a born masseur.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

He swung her feet off his lap and pushed her all the way back until she lay stretched out beside the hearth. He picked up her hand and kneaded it as he had her foot. He moved to the other hand, and this time worked his way slowly up her arm, kneading turning to caressing and caressing to exploring the soft lines of her shoulder, her neck, and down the center of her chest. He stopped at her navel and pressed in gently with his palms.

“Oh, jiminy Christmas,” she whispered. “That fire must be roaring—it's warmed up plenty in here.”

“It's not the fire,” he whispered back.

It took him less time than it should have, if he'd wanted to continue showing off his slow and sensual side, to pop the snap of her jeans, rasp down the zipper, and expose the soft skin of her stomach. She moaned before he'd even touched her, and when he bent forward to kiss the sweet indentation of her belly button, a strangled sound part laugh and part repeat of the moan lanced straight into his groin and made his jeans uncomfortably tight as well as wet from the snow.

“The floor is a little hard for this,” he said.

“Is it?” She opened her eyes to smile.

“It is.”

He kissed her skin again and then kissed each breast through her sweater. Her eyes closed and she arched upward ever so slightly. When he moved off of her, she whimpered.

“Patience,” he said, and scooped her into his arms. “This is a nice, big sofa. I think it'll do.”

“Smart man.”

He set her on the cushions but she swung up and stood before him, fingers grasping for his belt, freeing it, unsnapping his fly, and sliding the zipper down so it matched hers. He breathed a sigh of first relief, and she smiled, stroking him through the fabric.