Saddle Up (8 page)

“Why?” he pressed again, suddenly wanting to understand her better. “Why is this so important to you?”

“I don't know how to explain it,” she said. “I guess my camera is my view of the world. It's my eyes and ears and my voice.”

“You think you're blind, deaf, and mute without it?” he asked, growing even more puzzled.

“No.” She glanced up at him with a shake of her head. “It's just that I've always felt like I don't matter, as if I mean nothing to this world. Like I'm no more significant than a grain of sand in this desert. I guess someone like
you
could never understand that.”

The remark irked him. “What do you mean someone
like me
? You seem to make a lot of assumptions about me.” That fact annoyed him even more.

“I only meant you aren't like me,” she said. “You're the kind of person people instantly notice. I'm usually invisible.”

“Maybe because that's what you secretly want,” he suggested.

“Why would you think that? I'm just stating facts here. I'm not beautiful or brilliant or even funny. I have no athletic ability. I can't read music or even carry a tune. There's nothing special about me.” She tilted her head up to the sky, continuing wistfully. “But I
want
to be special. I want to matter, or at least feel like I do. That's why I want to tell stories that matter.”

He took a moment to digest her words. “If you look to others for validation, Miranda, you look in the wrong place. They'll never give you what you need. What you seek can come only from within.” At least that was what he told himself.

She visibly bristled, telling him he'd touched a sore spot. “Easy for
you
to say.”

“I speak from experience, Miranda. I know it's true.” It was the goal he'd been working toward for months—to find the inner peace and contentment that had always eluded him. He'd left the rez at twenty with stars in his eyes, but his success in the outside world had done nothing to soothe his restlessness or fill the emptiness.

“Shouldn't you get some sleep now?” she asked.

“I doubt I can,” he replied. “I'll be far too worried about you alone and shivering.” The temperature had already dropped at least twenty degrees from when they'd first set out.

“I'm fine.” She jutted her chin, hugging herself tighter. “Beth loaned me her jacket.”

He studied her. She looked cold and defiant sitting on a rock near the fire, arms wrapped around herself, but like the desert cacti, he recognized her prickliness as purely a defense mechanism.

“It's going to get a lot colder before morning,” he warned. “There's a blanket in the other saddlebag…or…better yet”—he patted the place beside him—“you're always welcome to come here and share mine.” He grinned. “I promise we'd both wake up warmer and happier.”

“Or,” she replied, “they'd find our dead carcasses, half-eaten by a mountain lion.”

“Or that.” He laughed and rolled onto his back, where he continued to watch her through hooded lids. Although he'd allow himself to doze, his protective instincts wouldn't let him fall into a deep sleep. He was also far too aware of
her
for comfort. His body was still coiled tight with unresolved sexual tension. Despite her viper tongue, her restless fidgeting and glances in his direction suggested that she felt the same. “Don't wander off,” he mumbled. “If nature calls, wake me.”

It was too dark now to see her face, but he chuckled at the snark in her reply. “Yes,
old woman
. I'll wake you.”

Once she thought him asleep, Miranda plopped down cross-legged closer to the fire, staring thoughtfully into the flames. Though she'd rather have her toenails yanked out than admit it, Keith was right that she had no life. In truth, it sometimes felt as if she lived hiding in plain sight with no one ever really seeing her.

She'd given up almost everything to pursue her dream, but L.A. was expensive, loud, dirty, and very far from home and family. She had few friends beyond her roommate, Lexi, but hardly fit in with her crowd. So Miranda filled her waking hours with work, usually alone in her tiny apartment with a bag of Orville Redenbacher extra butter. She wondered now if the path she'd taken would eventually lead to happiness, or at least to the end of dissatisfaction with her life…with herself.

A coyote howl echoed her melancholy thoughts, breaking the silence with a long and lonesome cry. Another one answered. Was it a mating call?

She glanced again at Keith. Although his expression was relaxed, his face seemed sharper and more angular in the flickering firelight. She didn't know what devil made her continue to taunt him. He looked very much the warrior, the kind of man who wouldn't hesitate to take what he wanted. Her feelings about Keith were mixed and confused. He'd made her realize just how lonely and disconnected she was. Although she was more attracted to him than she'd ever been to anyone, she suspected he was just playing with her.

The fire popped, making her start. What was she doing here? She'd had a single purpose in coming out to the desert, but the whole situation seemed suddenly surreal, as if she'd been transported back in time. She almost wanted to laugh.

She shivered and hugged herself tighter. She could see her breath now. Maybe it was time to scrounge for that blanket. Keith had left a flashlight beside his rifle. She took it with her and scanned the ground as she walked, just in case he was wrong about the snakes. The horses stirred and nickered at her approach, suddenly restless…or were they nervous?

“What's wrong, Sadie?” she asked the mare, whose ears were flicking in all directions. Their sense of hearing was acute, functioning much like radar. She shined the light into the darkness. Was something out there? She could see nothing. Her skin prickled.

She tried to shrug off her feeling of unease as a case of the heebie-jeebies, just like she always got after watching a horror movie. Unfortunately, that last thought only reminded her of
The Hills Have Eyes
, a horror flick set in the desert that had given her nightmares for months.

Perhaps it was just the coyotes' cries that had the horses agitated? She found the blanket and clutched it around her shoulders with her free hand. She shivered again, but this time as much from nerves as cold. When she returned to the fire, Keith was sitting up, scowling at her.

“I told you not to wander off.”

“I didn't wander. I only went to fetch a blanket and check on the horses. They seem jumpy.”

“So do you,” he observed.

“Maybe I am, a little. I think the coyotes spooked me. I'm not used to all this.” She added a dry laugh. “The closest I've come to experiencing wildlife in the past four years was a visit to Venice Beach.”

“Coyotes are harmless enough,” he said. “They prey on mice and rabbits and rarely bother humans.” He rose and shouldered his rifle, reminding her all too much of Daniel Day Lewis's Hawkeye in
The Last of the Mohicans
, her favorite epic romance. In that moment it was far too easy to cast herself as Cora Munro. She shook off the ludicrous thought.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To check on the horses.”

“But it's not your turn yet,” she said.

“Doesn't matter. I'm awake.”

She eyed the bedroll covetously, wondering if it would still be warm from his body.

“Go ahead,” he urged with a tilt of his head.

“But it's technically still my watch,” she replied.

His brows furrowed. “Are you always so stubborn?”

“Not always,” she said.

“Then you just like to argue with
me
.”

“That's not true!” she argued.

Their eyes met. He cocked a brow.

Caught in the act, she couldn't suppress a chuckle.

He walked off, shaking his head and mumbling something she couldn't understand.

* * *

Miranda was right about the horses. They were jumpy as hell, but after scouting the area twice, Keith found nothing. Damning the moonless night, he returned to the fire, laying the rifle within close reach. True to her stubborn nature, Miranda hadn't taken his place but sat before the fire, cocooned in the blanket. So be it. Let the little fool freeze.

He sank back into his bedroll, turning onto his side to better see into the darkness. He watched her with a growing mix of fascination and frustration. Tall, pale, and slender, Miranda Sutton was nothing like the women he normally went for, but her earthy innocence called out to his carnal nature. His brows contracted. “What are you afraid of? Me or yourself?”

“Neither,” she snapped. “I'm not
afraid
of anything.”

He made a scoffing sound. “Liar. You'd rather freeze your ass off than share this bed with me. You make no sense, Miranda. I want you, and I believe you want me too. There's no shame in a man and woman pleasuring each other. Making love is one of the most genuine acts of human nature.”

“You have a silver tongue, Keith, but that's not what it would be.
Making love
is what you do with someone you have feelings for. Or at the least with someone you like and respect. Anything else is just a
fuck
. I'm not your next fuck.”

“Did you know that there are no vulgar words pertaining to sex in any of the native tongues?”

“Is that true?” she asked.

“Yes. We don't defile the act with dirty words. In fact, we have no swearwords at all.”

“Yet you think it's perfectly fine to randomly hop from partner to partner and bed to bed?”

“I didn't say we accept promiscuity. We don't. We call those kinds of people tepee creepers.”

“Tepee creepers?” She laughed. “Really?”

“Yes. Just because we view sex differently doesn't imply that it's meaningless. We believe just the opposite: that the joining of two bodies forges a deeper connection between their souls. There are no walls in the moment of release, Miranda.” He didn't add that his walls always came back up following the afterglow.

“You really believe that?” she scoffed.

“Yes. Sometimes words are inadequate between a man and a woman. They obstruct the essential truth. Sex is honesty. Pleasure
is
truth.” Yet sex was really only a transitory escape from loneliness.

“Don't play with me,” she whispered. “I don't like games—or being the brunt of jokes.”

“You think I'm playing games?”

“I think I'm
convenient
. If we were anyplace else, you wouldn't look twice at me.”

She was wrong. He
had
noticed her before, and
she'd
rebuffed
him
. The rejection had surprised as much as stung him.

“That's not true,” he said. “Maybe you don't remember the first time we met?”

“Yes, I remember all of it,” she answered.

“And?” he prompted.

“I didn't trust you.”

“Why not? You thought I only wanted to use you?”

“Yes.”

“And now?” he asked.

She hesitated. “I don't know. You made it obvious from the start that you didn't want me around. I don't understand the sudden turnabout. I'm not sure what I think.”

“As I said before, you think too much.”

* * *

Miranda was freezing cold, but she was also terrified. Of him. Of the feelings he'd roused in her.

He reached out his hand, beckoning softly. “Don't be foolish, Miranda. Come and get warm.”

Tamping down her trepidations, she rose and settled herself lengthwise beside him. His arm came around her, wrapping her in his blanket, and instantly cocooning her in his body heat. He pulled her closer against him and nuzzled into her hair. “I don't understand you at all, Miranda…but I like how you smell.”

She relaxed. “You do?”

“Yes. I do.” He burrowed into her neck, his breath hot and his lips soft. “Very much.”

She whispered back, “If we're making confessions, I like how you feel.”

“Is that so?” He rolled her onto her back so that his body lay on top of hers. His mouth stretched into a slow smile. “Is there a particular
part
of me you like?”

Her face heated. If she'd had any doubt his desire was real, the proof was palpable through two layers of thick denim. “Um…maybe that didn't come out quite right. I meant that you make me feel safe.”

“Safe?” His thumb skirted softly over her lips. “Maybe you aren't as safe as you think.” He added in a tone that made her shiver with anticipation, “I think perhaps Goldilocks is about to discover that the old woman is really a big bad wolf.”

“You're mixing up the stories, Keith. Goldilocks was with the three bears. Little Red Riding Hood was with the wolf.”

“You make films your way, and let me tell the stories,” he said. “Storytelling is in my blood, after all.”

“All right, then. Have it your way. Tell me this story about Goldilocks and the Big Bad Wolf.”

He flashed a big, bad lupine grin. “My version begins much the same as what you have heard before, but when Goldilocks enters her grandmother's tepee, she exclaims,
‘Huttsi, what large hands you have!'

‘All the better to touch you with, my child,' the wolf replies.

‘Huttsi, what a big mouth you have!'

‘All the better to kiss you with, my dear!'

‘Huttsi, what a long tongue you have!'

‘All the better to lick every inch of you, my sweet.'
”

His eyes gleamed mischievously. Miranda suspected she knew what was coming next.

“
‘But, Huttsi, what an enormous—'
”

“Don't say it!” She covered his mouth. His chuckle warmed both her hand and her ears.

“Don't you want to know how it ends?” he asked.

“I'm not certain I do.”

“I'll tell you anyway. He devours her bite by delectable bite.” He flashed another very wolfish smile. “You see?” His smile disappeared. “You are never safe with a wolf.”

His lips were soft, smooth, and so very knowing as his mouth melded with hers with slow, toe-curling deliberation. There was nothing hurried or clumsy, none of the typical hesitancy, nose bumping, or teeth clashing of a first kiss. Taking her face in his hands, he deepened the kiss by tiny degrees, increasing pressure, adding licks and nips, teasing and torturing her until his hot tongue breached her mouth. Their tongues met, sliding and tangling—both a prelude and promise of so much more. She'd never been kissed by a man who knew how to give her everything she wanted, but Keith did.

Shutting her eyes, she recalled a night spent in another desert when she'd driven down to Baja California for a project in time-lapse videography. After hours of scouting, she'd located a small growth of thin, inconspicuous, dead-looking branches hidden among a patch of scrub—a night-blooming cereus. After setting up cameras, she'd spent the night vigilantly watching for the desert queen to unfurl for its single night of glory. When the flower finally opened, it had perfumed the air with a sweet and delicate scent. She sat watching the flower until it had wilted and withered away with the first light of dawn. Watching that bloom come to life had been one her most memorable experiences.

Keith made her feel very much like that desert flower waiting to bloom. She yearned to be touched…to be loved…and her resistance to him was fading fast. The kiss intensified, blinding her with blissful sensation. Nothing compared to the taste of his mouth, of his musky scent, of the feel of his warm hands on her skin. It was everything she'd hoped for and more. Any lingering doubts vaporized like a puff of breath in the cold night air.

Her hands crept up to his chest, the heat of his skin permeating through the cotton of his shirt into her fingertips. She swallowed hard. A low growl broke the quiet of the night. Miranda froze. “What was that?”

He tensed. “What was
what
?”

“That sound.”

Another growl was echoed by bloodcurdling shrieks from the two horses. Keith was instantly on his feet and shouldering his rifle. He took off running toward the horses while Miranda fumbled in the dark for the flashlight. She arrived at the scene just as a great shadow leaped through the air. She drew in a breath to scream but, paralyzed with terror, no sound emerged. The panic-stricken horses frantically kicked, reared, and hauled back on the picket line in their urgency to flee. The line snapped. The lamp crashed to the ground, casting the scene into darkness.

“I can't see anything!” Keith hissed. “Shine the light out there.”

The narrow beam of her flashlight pierced the darkness, but not enough to help.

“Where is it?” she asked.

“I don't know. Shit!” Keith fired a shot into the air, cocked the rifle again, and fired another.

Miranda then shone the light on the ground beneath the picket line, where puddles of blood soaked the earth, trailing into the blackness beyond. She covered her mouth in horror. “Oh my God! What was it?”

“A mountain lion,” he answered grimly. “With the way it leapt, it couldn't be anything else.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

“Nothing. He's already made the kill.”

“How do you know? How can you be certain the animal isn't just wounded?”