The Rancher and the Redhead (13 page)

“Thanks, Doc. No offense,” Sam grunted.

“None taken, son.” The doctor waved to the nurse. “You can put the dressing on for me, Audrey.”

The gray-haired nurse nodded cheerfully. “Sure thing, Doc.”

“Where is he? Let me see him!” The door flew open, and Roni stumbled into the room in a swish of Gypsy skirts, the light in her eyes wild. She was followed by the stocky figure of Angel Morales, his straw hat clenched in his thick hands. At the sight of the crimson-drenched shirt, the raw stitches, Sam's prone figure and puffy, soon-to-be black eye, Roni froze, horror washing the color from her cheeks. “Oh my God.”

“Now, it's not as bad as it looks, Veronica,” Dr. Hazelton said hastily.

“Oh my God!” she repeated.

“Curly, I'm all right.” Wincing, Sam levered himself to a seated position.

“What did they do to you?” she asked in a thin voice, then swayed so violently, everyone in the room jumped to keep her from falling. Pandemonium reigned for a few seconds as the nurse pushed a stool under her and the doctor forced her head between her knees.

“Breathe through your nose, Veronica. You'll be fine.” Dr. Hazelton looked up at Sam with a wry twinkle behind his glasses. “Light-headed, huh? You got this gal in the family way already, my friend?”

Bending helplessly over his wife, Sam felt his face heat. “Uh—”

“No!” Roni's voice was muffled by her skirts. She sat up, breathing shallowly. “That's not it. I'll be all right in a minute. It was just the shock.”

“That old bull just banged him up a bit, honey,” the doctor reassured her. “Measly seven stitches. Hardly worth all the fuss.”

Sam shot his middle-aged foreman a hard look. “I told Angel not to bother you.”

With a half-apologetic grin creasing his swarthy face, Angel shrugged off Sam's displeasure, but Roni stiffened, the wildness flaring in her eyes again and her voice rising.

“And why shouldn't he have called me? I'm your
wife.
”

After what had happened between them, Sam didn't know how to take that statement. Luckily, Dr. Hazelton filled the void.

“And you're just the one to take this man home and see that he gets a little T.L.C. for the rest of the day,” he said heartily. “Audrey?”

The nurse tugged Sam back to the gurney and swiftly applied the bandages. Sam's expression was mulish.

“I've got too much to do—ow!” He glared as the doctor withdrew a hypodermic needle from his arm. “What the hell was that for?”

“Tetanus. And a little something to take the edge off. You're going to start hurting like the devil pretty soon.” Dr. Hazelton handed Roni several sample bottles. “Give him a couple of these for pain. Make him rest and drink plenty of fluids. He lost a good bit of blood.”

She picked up the torn, bloody shirt, her fingers working in the fabric, but her skin was no longer as pasty, and she looked more herself. “Yes, Doc.”

Irritated, embarrassed, Sam clenched his jaw and stood. “I don't have time for this.”

“Shut up, Sam.” Roni took his arm, and her expression brooked no opposition. “For once in your life, you're going to do exactly as you're told.”

* * *

Roni poured grain into Diablo's feed bin, stroked the stallion's nose, then turned on the spigot to fill the bathtub-size galvanized water trough. As the water poured out of the faucet, she perched her arms on the top boards of the corral and propped her chin on them, watching the sunset explode into a panorama of tangerine and gold.

She'd been on autopilot since getting the phone call from Angel, arranging for Krystal to keep Jessie for the night, hurrying to the hospital and then driving her very ill-tempered patient home. The injection Dr. Hazelton had given Sam had made him drowsy, and he'd slept away the afternoon, which was just as well, considering his grumpiness, Roni reflected. Angel and the crew were off finishing the delivery of the other bulls, and the barn and yards were deserted.

At least the plumbers had finished. Cleaning up after them had kept her busy when she wasn't checking on Sam, but she'd welcomed the activity. She'd even started an elaborate supper and was tending to the evening chores that Sam normally performed—anything to keep her thoughts occupied. Only now, while she waited for the water to fill the horse trough, she was forced to stop, to wait, to look into her deepest self and to acknowledge the truth that she'd kept at bay through sheer force of will until this moment.

I could have lost him.
A tremor of fear and pain shook her, closed her throat with grief and despair.
And he'd never have known how much I love him.

Roni placed her forehead on her arms and let the tears fall. The moment she'd seen Sam in the emergency room, bloody and battered, the truth smacked her in the face and opened her eyes. Yes, she'd adored Jessie from the minute she saw her and wanted to make a home for her, but the real reason Roni had married Sam Preston was that she was in love with him—madly, passionately, eternally—and probably had been for a very long time. Only, that certainly wasn't what Sam had bargained for. Talk about false pretenses.

No wonder she'd been jealous of the likes of Nadine Scott. Perhaps even her relationship with Jackson had been tainted because she'd judged every man she'd ever known by Sam's standard. But now, even though she found herself married to the man she adored, he only saw her as a good friend and a competent helpmate. And after last night's disaster, he probably would never desire her as a bed companion again. Feeling helpless and hopeless, she sobbed against her forearm.

“Jeez, Curly, don't do this.” Sam's sleep-roughed voice was low in her ear, and his warm hands closed about her shoulders.

With a gasp, she whirled to face him, making her skirt swirl around her calves, scrubbing at the moisture trailing down her cheeks in embarrassment. “You—you shouldn't be up.”

He tucked his hands into his front jeans pockets, inspecting her with a hooded expression. His clean chambray shirt hung open down the front, revealing a tanned slash of hair-dusted chest, and his cheekbone was swollen and bruised. “I'm okay.”

“You need another pain pill? How about something to eat?” She was already moving past him, but he clamped a hand down on her shoulder, stopping her.

“No, I don't need anything—except to know why you're crying.”

Alarmed, uncertain, she looked anywhere but at him. “It's nothing. I'm just silly...I've got to check dinner.”

“I see.” He dropped his hand. The slanted rays of the sun caught the highlights of his hair. “Well, you don't have to fret. I won't bother you again.”

Her voice was a whisper of disbelief. “What?”

“It couldn't have been clearer how unpleasant last night was for you, Curly. And now...” He indicated her tear-streaked features with a brief wave. “Hell, I'm not going to force anything on you that you find that awful. And it kills me to see you cry. So you can quit worrying—”

She finally found her voice. “Is that what you think? You thick-headed puncher, how can you be so—so obtuse?”

“Well, what else?”

“You could have been killed today,” she raged, fists clenching. Then she choked, and fresh tears spilled from her lashes. “I've never been so scared in all my life!”

“Oh, honey...” Sam's features twisted, and he reached for her. Then she was in his arms, clinging to his neck and weeping into his shirtfront.

“I couldn't bear to lose you, Sam,” she sobbed.

“Hey, it's just a little scratch.”

“You don't understand.” Her voice was broken. “How can you not know?”

He threaded soothing fingers through the hair at her temple, tilting her face up to his. “Know what?”

“That I'm crazy in love with you.”

Stunned, his eyes widened. “Holy Jehoshaphat.”

“I can't help it, Sam. I'm sorry. I know you don't want it, didn't expect it, but there aren't any strings. I just want to be with you.”

His voice was rough. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“You don't have to feel obligated,” she said in a rush. “Or say things you don't feel, but you did want me...at least up until last night.”

“You think that's changed?” he growled.

“But you said—”

“Aw, hell, woman, you talk too much.”

Jerking her close, Sam bent his head and proceeded to kiss her senseless. She responded with all the pent-up fervor produced by the past twenty-four hours' emotional roller-coaster ride, meeting his demands, opening her lips for his intimate exploration, pressing against him shamelessly.

His mouth was voracious, and his hands everywhere, palming her bottom, slipping inside the soft knit of her tank top to cup her breasts, unfettered by any bra today. Her core liquefied, sweet hot honey running though her veins like the final shafts of evening sunshine spearing through the air.

When he raised his head, they were both breathing hard, and Roni was so bemused that she hardly registered the cool dampness seeping through her sandals. Then she realized the water trough was overflowing, spreading a bog of mud in a circle around them.

“The water,” she croaked.

Sam glanced down, reached over and twisted the spigot, then swept her up with one arm so fast, she gasped.

“Sam, your stitches...be careful.”

“I'll holler when I'm hurt.” He hitched a heel on the bottom rung of the corral and set her down on his knee. Sliding off her muddy sandals, he dangled her feet into the trough and began to splash her bare legs, rubbing his fingers up and down her calves, dampening the sheer gauze of her Gypsy skirt.

She shivered. “What are you doing?”

“Washing off your feet.” His hand traveled above her knee, pushing back the fabric, then ran farther up her inner thigh.

“That's what I thought,” she gasped. “I could get to like it, I think.”

“Me, too.” Bending her over his arm, he kissed her again, tantalizing her with little wet forays up her legs.

Quivering, Roni rubbed her fingers through the soft bramble of hair covering his hard-planed chest, found the bronze coins of his nipples and scored them lightly with her nails. He shuddered uncontrollably, and she smiled against his lips, sliding her hands toward his waistband.

“Not so fast.” Lifting his head, he caught her wrist, gazing down into her breathless expression with a lambent heat in his eyes.

She was already past pretense. “I want you, Sam.”

“Thank God.”

Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her into the shadowy interior of the barn. Setting her to her feet against the rough board wall, he undid her braid and spread her hair across her shoulders, kissing her, exploring her throat with his lips, licking the salty taste of her from the hollow where her pulse jumped erratically.

Catching the strap of her tank top with one crooked finger, he drew it down her shoulder, then repeated the operation so that the garment puddled at her waist and her breasts were bared to his heated gaze. He brushed the backs of his knuckles against her nipples and watched them harden and pucker into rosy pebbled buds.

“Oh, sweet heaven, you're beautiful,” he breathed, his tone reverent.

“You are, too.” Her hands were urgent, pushing his shirt down his arms so that he was bare-chested, as well. “A beautiful man, scars and all.”

Almost as if he couldn't help himself, he bent and brushed a kiss in the damp hollow between her breasts, then ran his lips over their upper swell. Roni groaned, needing him to touch her, and she took his jaw between her hands and guided him to the burgeoning tip, nearly fainting with pleasure as he took it into his mouth and suckled strongly.

“Oh, Sam!”

“Like that?” he murmured against her flesh.

“Uh-huh.”

“Just tell me, sweetheart. Show me what you want.” Holding her by the waist, he let her guide him to a similar performance on the other breast, licking and nipping and teasing until she cried out in delight.

Overwhelmed, Roni let the sensations take her, melting her bones, warming her blood. She loved the fine texture of his hair against her fingers, and the unique scent of him—leather and sandalwood and musk. She loved
him.
Rubbing her hands over his shoulders, she lightly traced the outline of his bandage, regretting his hurt with all her being, yet grateful that he was still here with her, still hers and loving her into jelly.

When she didn't think she could endure the exquisite torture of his lips on her nipples another minute, he dropped to one knee and bunched her skirts around her hips, running his hands up the length of her thighs.

“Sam, what—oh!” She gasped in surprise and clutched at his shoulders as he tasted her through the thin silk triangle of her black bikini panties. “You can't—”

“Watch me.” With a twist of his strong fingers, he snapped the black satin ribbons holding the panties at her hips, then cupped her buttocks to hold her immobile while his tongue did wicked things to her.

Gasping, her head reeling, Roni's heart raced and her excitement built, centering in the place where Sam was fast driving her beyond coherence. She quivered, feeling herself losing all semblance of control, but he held her still, allowing no resistance, delving with his tongue and fingertip into the dewy petals, feasting on her intimately until sensation exploded and she cried out.

Standing, he caught her as she sagged against the barn wall, capturing the final echo of that tremulous sound within his own mouth as he kissed her deeply. Inhaling his breath, she tasted her own essence and the sharpness of his arousal, and the fire that had barely subsided began to flame again.

Frantic, she fumbled at his belt buckle, loosing it and sliding her hands beneath his waistband, cupping and cradling the heavy weight of his engorged sex, reveling in the sight and touch of her man, a man on fire for her. Moaning, Sam crushed her to him, then helped release his fly. She rose on her toes as he pulled her hips up, meeting him eagerly, then arching her neck with the fine shock of pleasure as he eased into her wetness.