Into the Arms of a Cowboy (10 page)

She took another bite herself, then let the tip of her tongue follow the curve of her lips to catch stray drops of melted ice cream. Jess rewarded her with a look of mingled surprise and desire. She had stoked a fire in his dark eyes, and this pleased her.

He gently caught her wrist and pulled her hand toward him. “Enough teasing,” he growled. He sunk his teeth into the ice cream, his mouth mere inches from hers.

“My turn.” Cassie nibbled at a corner of the ice cream bar, her eyes locked on his. Again, her tongue sought the stray crumbs of chocolate on her moist lips. The air between them crackled with sexual energy.

Jess voice emerged raw, hoarse, a harsh, tortured sound. “You missed some.”

“Show me where,” Cassie whispered. She tipped her head up and let her eyelids slide closed. She’d never acted with such abandon. But she’d never wanted any man the way she wanted Jess, and the consequences be damned.

With one last helpless groan, Jess’s mouth descended on hers. His tongue traced her lips, softly licking away the last bits of melting chocolate. Then his kiss deepened, grew more demanding, and Cassie tasted a sweetness that owed nothing to cocoa and sugar.

A rich, blissful fire coursed through her veins as his tongue probed her mouth. Her fingers crept to the nape of his neck, tentatively at first, and then she pressed closer, flattening her breasts against the steel of his chest. She clung to him blindly and heard her own moan of pleasure as his tongue delved again into her mouth.

Her bones were melting. Her body was on fire as her own tongue darted out to meet his. He seemed to take possession of her, not only her mouth but also of her heart and mind. It was only a kiss, and yet it was also the most intimate act Cassie could ever imagine.

And then he ended it.

“Jess, no,” she whispered, as his hands closed over her forearms and pried her gently from his neck. “Don’t you want me?”

“Dear God, of course I do.” The tanned skin around his eyes crinkled as a pained grimace twisted his mouth. His breath came in ragged gasps, and he swayed as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “More than anything, I. . .but I can’t. We can’t.”

“Why not?” She could think of a million answers to her own question, but a shameless surge of desire overpowered her ability to reason. She grabbed the belt loops on his jeans and pulled him closer. “Jess, I--”

His fingers brushed her cheek, just under her bruise. “
Darlin
’, you’re upset, you’re running from something, and I can’t take advantage of that. Still, if I thought--if I thought you might stay for a while--”

He paused, the unasked question hanging between them. Cassie turned her head, avoiding his eyes. She couldn’t lie to him, not about something so important. He took her silence as answer enough.

“It’s late,” he said, turning sharply away. “You should get to bed. I’ll get up for the next feeding.”

“No, I can--”

“I said I’d do it.” His voice was rough, edged with anger. “You’ve been up the last two nights. I’ll take care of the kits.”

Her shoulders slumped as she fought back the sob rising in her throat. Her first attempt at seduction, and she’d made a royal mess of it. Jess was right, of course. She ought to thank him for his honorable behavior. Instead, she almost wished she’d stowed away with a slightly less ethical cowboy.

“All right,” she said quietly. “If that’s the way you want it.”

When Jess rose at 6 a.m. to feed the raccoons, he found two of the kits already whining for their breakfast. The third lay stiff and cold on the towel. Jess’s heart sank. He swore under his breath as he leaned against the bookshelf. The news would hit Cassie hard. Hell, it wasn’t easy for him, either. He’d been rooting for the little critter.

Cassie appeared behind him, a vision in the old-fashioned, floor-length white nightgown. “Jess? What’s wrong?”

He clenched his fists to keep from reaching out and taking her in his arms. Last night’s kiss had threatened to undo his resolve, but he knew he was right to keep his distance. That soul-wrenching, heartbreaking kiss--the sweetness of it still lingered on his mouth. Cassie’s touch had left a flaming imprint on his body and his mind.

“It’s the one you named Angel,” he said. “Looks like she didn’t make it through the night.”

“Oh!” Quick tears shone in Cassie’s eyes. “Is she really--”

Jess nodded. Cassie blinked, and more tears spilled down her cheeks. They traced wet paths to her chin and splashed on the lace-edged gown. “I should have done more,” she said, in a strangled little voice. “Maybe there was some way to help her. . . .”

Cassie’s anguished expression cut into Jess’s heart. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, then tucked it behind one delicate ear. “I know it’s hard,” he said, “but we did the best we could. Sometimes things like this just happen. It’s no one’s fault.”

Cassie bit her lip and lifted her chin. Tears now spangled her dark, spiky lashes and glistened like tiny sequins. “But it’s not fair. Oh, Jess, it’s just not fair.”

Against his better judgment, Jess gathered her into his arms. She fit so perfectly there, with her face pressed against his shoulder. While there was nothing sexual in the embrace, for Jess it was just as intimate as the kiss they’d shared. He felt more connected to Cassie at this moment than he had to any woman he’d made love to. The realization both warmed him and left him shaken.

Finally, the storm passed. Cassie raised her head. Despite her runny nose and blotchy cheeks, she looked beautiful as ever. “I guess you think I’m crazy, don’t you?” she asked as she accepted a handkerchief from his dresser drawer and blew her nose into it. “Crying like that over such a little bit of a thing?”

“I don’t think you’re crazy. First time I lost one of my wild babies, I cried for an hour at least.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at him, apparently trying to imagine such a thing. “You did? Back when you were a kid, you mean?”

Jess chuckled softly, but his throat constricted at the memory. “Nope. Four years ago. A fawn. Some damn fool hunter went and shot a doe. Tried to kill the fawn, too, but he only grazed her shoulder.”

“Did the fawn die from the wound?”

Jess shook his head. “It was just a scratch. No, she died of. . .of shock, I guess. Or loneliness. A lot of times that’s what happens, and there’s not a thing in the world you can do about it.”

Cassie peered into the animal carrier at Angel’s small, still form. Jess reached inside, picked up the body, and cradled it in his palm. The kit’s eyes and ears were still sealed tight, her mask only a faint blur of shadow on her tiny face.

“Should I bury her myself,” he asked, “or do you want to do it together?”

“Together,” Cassie said. She scrubbed at her face with the heel of her palm. “We’ll have a proper funeral, and invite Tanya, too.”

That was just what they did. Jess donated a small wooden box he’d carved the previous winter. Cassie lined the box with silk from Jess’s one necktie, which he never
wore anyway. Tanya came over before school. The little girl solemnly officiated at the ceremony.

They buried Angel in the apple orchard. Cassie and Tanya shed gallons of tears, and Jess himself grew a little misty when his turn came to say a few words.

“We didn’t get time to know the--um, the dearly departed very well,” he began, bowing his head, “but she was a scrappy little raccoon, that’s for sure. She wanted to live, to open her eyes and see the world, to grow up with her two brothers. We’re all sorry that didn’t get to happen.” Jess cleared his throat. “I don’t know for sure, but I’d like to think Angel is someplace better now. Someplace with lots of woods to explore, and all the grubs and berries she can eat.”

He raised his head. Cassie’s bright but watery smile greeted him, and she took his arm lightly as they traipsed back to the cabin. Jess cooked pancakes, with more success this time. After a visit with Scamp and Rascal, Tanya, too, seemed much more cheerful.

After Tanya headed off to the school bus, Jess relaxed on the porch for a while. Cassie, though, never slowed down. He shook his head and smiled in amusement to hear her clanging around in the kitchen, allegedly cleaning up. For all her housekeeping efforts, his cabin had never been messier. She was like a hurricane--a bright, cheerful, energetic, lovely little hurricane, but still a certified natural disaster.

He dozed in the rocking chair, the sun on his face. When he woke, Cassie was calling his name. She stood beside him in a pair of too-baggy jeans, one of his blue chambray work shirts, and a pair of gardening gloves from the shed. Soil clung to her clothes. A long smear of damp earth streaked her left cheek, but her face glowed and her eyes snapped gray fire.

“Jess, wake up,” she said. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

He sighed, stretched, and rolled his head from side to side to chase the kinks from his neck. Why did Cassie’s announcement make him uneasy? He grabbed for his crutches and pulled himself up. “A surprise? Where?”

“Around back. Come see!”

Jess followed her around the side of the cabin, then paused to stare at his garden. His mouth dropped open in disbelief. “What exactly did you do here, Cassie?”

“I weeded it for you.” Her eyes sparkled as she pointed to a pile of wilting green shoots. “See, I pulled up all the boring weeds and left behind the plants with pretty flowers.”

Jess rubbed his jaw. How to break the news? “Cassie,” he said, in measured tones, “this is a vegetable garden.” With one crutch, he gestured toward the “pretty flowers” bordering the plot of rich, dark earth. “Those flowers are dandelions. They are weeds. These--” and he indicated the uprooted greenery, “--these are the vegetables. At least, they were.”

The color drained from Cassie’s face. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope.”

She clapped gloved fingers over her mouth. “Oh, Jess, I’m so sorry. I was only trying to help. Are you--are you very angry?”

How could he stay mad at her, when her lips trembled and that tiny, endearing wrinkle line appeared between her blond brows? Slowly, Jess shook his head. “I’m not angry. But, Cassie, next time you want to do some gardening around here--ask me first, okay?”

“Okay. I promise.” She sounded truly chastened as she bent to pick up a wilting tomato plant. “Is there some way I can fix this? Can I plant them again?”

“We can try. If they’re not too badly damaged, they might take root. I’ll help.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“Yeah.” He grinned as he glanced down at the dirt-crusted, jumbled pile of spades and gardening forks at his feet. “I’m afraid to leave you alone out here. There’s no telling what you’ll do next.”

“
Oooh
. . . .” She tossed a clod of loose earth at him, missing by a mile. “Okay, maybe I haven’t got a green thumb--”

“I’d call it a black thumb.”

“-- but believe it or not, there are some things I do well.”

He knelt beside her and began to sort the uprooted plants into two piles, salvageable and not salvageable. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Like making pictures.”

He caught the soft pleasure in her voice and glanced over at her. “Why
to
you say ‘making’ instead of ‘taking’?”

“Because that’s what I do. It’s not just about capturing an image. I use light and angles and shutter speed and all the other settings to make something completely new. A work of art.”

As she spoke, she watched him replant one of the tender lettuce shoots, then moved to help. His fingers covered hers as she patted the dirt into place. Her shoulder nudged his as they worked side by side, a definite distraction. “How did you learn to take--make--pictures?” Jess asked, to take his mind off the curves evident even under Cassie’s loose-fitting clothes. “Did you study photography in school, or what?”

“I learned mostly by experimenting, and by reading books. I would’ve liked to take classes as a teenager, but we. . . I changed schools a lot.” She broke off, and Jess held his breath, wondering whether she would go on.

She did. “The scholarship to art school was the best thing that ever happened to me. I sent in my work, but I never really dreamed I’d win.” Her hands moved automatically to pack the dirt around a zucchini vine, but her mind was obviously far away. “It was like my eyes were closed for my whole life, and finally I got to open them. I studied Edward Weston’s abstract forms, the incredible depth of field in
Ansel
Adams’ nature photography, the compassion in
Dorthea
Lange’s Depression portraits.”

She sighed deeply, rapturously. “Oh, Jess, it wasn’t just photographs, either. I learned about paintings, too--Rembrandt’s use of light, the radiant whites of John Singer Sargent, the Impressionists’ attempts to capture the fleeting moment. It’s like that with photography, too. You’re looking for that moment ‘in which everything is in balance’.
Steiglitz
said that. He once stood in the snow for three hours to find just the right picture of Fifth Avenue.”

Cassie broke off, and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lecture. Guess I got carried away there.” She gave a self-depreciating little laugh. “You should have stopped me.”