The Rascal (14 page)

She was being ridiculous to quibble over a harmless sled
ride with Jack Murphy. After all, she’d been alone with him before. If he’d intended to behave indecently, he’d have done so long ago. Besides, men usually did not experience untoward urges when in her company. Something about her seemed to stifle bawdy behavior, tamping down such masculine desires before they began.

Never before had Grace yearned to ignite them instead.

At this moment she did. Foolishly.

Jack clearly could not discern as much. He merely put his mouth next to her ear and spoke in his usual straightforward manner. “Are you ready?”

Rolling her eyes at her own fancies, Grace grasped the tow rope, dragging it safely out of the way of the runners. She planted her feet in position, having learned through long practice which place afforded the best steering. She nodded.

As she’d expected, Jack put his arms around her next, cinching them tight at her middle. A long shiver ran through Grace, one that had nothing at all to do with the brisk temperatures. How did he make his chest so broad? His arms so strong? His touch so…rousing? Wrapped in his embrace—however practically motivated—she felt positively secure.

The very notion spooked her. “Stop. This—”

Jack didn’t listen. Instead he brought his big feet around to crowd hers against the front of the sled, effectively taking control. He hugged her tighter, his knees and calves and burly thighs joining the effort as his limbs snuggled up to her skirts. He tucked his head against her shoulder, undoubtedly improving his view of their downhill track.

All of a sudden though, Grace cared nothing for the view. Instead she considered the soft tickle of his whiskers, right against her cheek. That unshaved area didn’t feel bristly or at all as she’d expected. It actually felt rather nice and—

With a push and a whoosh, they set off.

Waaah!
The whole world jostled past her, gaining speed. Snow sprayed from the runners, making her sputter. The cold air sped by, ruffling her unruly hair still further.

How had Jack developed so much impetus with a single push? He must be even stronger than he seemed. Grace yelped and grabbed the edges of the sled. Her gloved hands bit into the ragged wood, holding on for dear life.

“Hold on to me!” Jack instructed at a shout.

Grace shook her head. Suddenly his embrace didn’t seem so very secure after all. Trees sped past, veering dangerously close. Determinedly, she tried to steer toward a more open area of the hillside, but it seemed Jack had control of their vehicle. With scarcely any effort at all, he maneuvered them straight down the path he’d selected.

A path that seemed far too risky to her.

Grace’s heart pounded. Her hat slipped, as though trying to mate with her scarf and become one knitted unit. She could scarcely see, but she didn’t dare release her grasp on the sled to straighten it. “We’re too close to the trees!”

Jack hollered with delight, not hearing her. She’d never imagined he could be so uninhibited. Like a boy, he whooped the whole way over the next hillock. They soared, momentarily airborne, then came down with a thud that made her teeth rattle.

Their sled veered crazily. Expertly, Jack held her tighter and leaned them both sideways, righting them.

Grace shrieked, her eyes streaming with the cold air and the rowdiness of their ride. They kept going over one bump and the next, the sled runners scraping loudly against the snow. The bottom of the hillside loomed, curving onto a flatland.

With a start, Grace realized the other sledders to the side
of them were mere specks in the distance. She couldn’t glimpse anyone familiar. Somehow, she and Jack had veered even farther off track than she’d envisioned at the start. And they were coming precariously close to the trees again, too.

She couldn’t stand it. Cursing her ice-clumped skirts for hampering her movement, Grace tried her best to steer with her booted feet. She pushed with all her might, but there was nothing for it. Jack had control of their sled and refused to relinquish it. They tussled for a few moments anyway, both of them shoving feetfirst in a wrestling match for authority.

“Damn it, Grace!” he said in her ear. “You’re going to—”

She couldn’t listen. “Watch out for those trees!”

“I see them.” A sound of frustration. “Move your feet so I can keep us out of the way.”

They zigzagged wildly, careening over bumps and icy patches. Intending to force them to the right—toward everyone else on the hill—Grace stomped her foot hard on the sled’s yoke. She encountered solid resistance and realized it was Jack’s foot she’d bashed instead.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she cried. “Are you all ri—”

She never finished her question. An instant later, Jack clutched her tighter, wrenched sideways…and they both tumbled off the sled. Everything turned white and jostling, caked in snow and movement as the hill rushed up to meet them.

The impact wasn’t as alarming as Grace expected. Probably, she realized shortly, because she did not thud directly into the snowbank. Instead she landed atop Jack.

His whole body cushioned their fall. She encountered broad chest, warm knees and strong hands, all before painfully clonking foreheads with him. The impact reverberated through her skull, cushioned merely by her hat. She winced
and yowled. Jack only grunted—as usual—then rolled her safely beneath him. Dazed, she required a moment to realize they were no longer careening downhill but had come to a stop.

They lay crookedly on the snow, both panting hard. To her left, pine trees rose valiantly, capped with white and bowed with the weight of their wintry coats. To her right, a drift shielded the rest of the hill from her vision. She saw nothing beyond Jack’s black hat, which had landed askew in the snow, doubtless knocked aside in their fall.

Fearfully, Grace craned her head—just as her riderless sled zoomed between two trees. It crashed to a stop in a tangle of fallen oak branches some thirty yards away.

“See? I told you we’d crash in the trees!”

“We didn’t crash in the trees.” Jack directed his gaze from her sled’s resting place to her, then raised himself on both elbows above her. He looked unfazed by their near collision. “No thanks to you, Miss Hundred-Pound Boots. I got us off that sled just in time. Now if you’d let me steer from the start—”

“Let you steer?” Incredulously, Grace regarded him. Aside from the obvious, was he intimating that she had gigantic feet? “You haven’t the faintest notion how to steer!” she replied hotly. “That much is clear to everyone.”

His mouth straightened. “I had a plan.”

She scoffed. “A plan to kill us both?”

“Pshaw.” Appearing downright invigorated by their ride now that he’d had a moment to recover, Jack brought his hand to rest on her shoulder. He grinned. “I heard you hollering. You were having fun until you decided to take over.”

Stung, Grace hesitated. Had she been hollering? With glee?

“I don’t generally have ‘fun.’ Ask anyone,” she informed
him to the contrary, not wanting to consider the matter of her potential rowdiness any further. “And I always take over.”

“Not with me, you don’t.”

“Oh? Is that right?” Vigorously, Grace wiggled her legs, trying to get free. As it happened, she was pinned beneath Jack’s tall frame and didn’t manage much progress. The sensation wasn’t wholly unlikable though—and no one could see them in their surprisingly sheltered spot—so she decided to rest awhile. To regain her strength for the trek to retrieve her sled. “Well, I’ll have you know, you’ll get no special treatment from me.”

Jack audacious grin widened. Something about it made her belly flip-flop. He still touched her shoulder, his thumb now moving in slow circles over the bulk of her coat. Was he checking for injuries? The gentleness of the gesture was especially peculiar given the way she frowned at him. It was even stranger how his warmth—his touch—penetrated all the way through the thick wool.

“I was attempting to teach you a valuable skill.” Grace hoped she sounded less stirred to his ears than her own. “I don’t think you could have been a more recalcitrant student, however.”

He arched his brow. “Recalcitrant?”

“Yes. It means headstrong. Obstinate. Unwilling to—”

“I know what it means. It describes us both.”

Momentarily flummoxed, Grace stared at him. “I suppose you know that because of my broadening influence on your vocabulary. Well. That’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

She snatched at her scarf, trying to unwrap it where it had become pinned beneath her opposite shoulder. The center of its knit felt cold against her lips, frosted with iced-over breath. Her gloves made her clumsy though, and she couldn’t seem to locate the correct end of it.

In answer, Jack only watched as she went on plucking at her scarf. He gave her a rather mysterious smile. “You have been a terrible influence on me,” he countered. “Why else would I be here at the hill today, leaving poor Harry to tend bar?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Another long look. “It’s because I had to see you.”

She stilled. Her heart pounded, and not from the exertion of their sled ride. Was that tenderness in his gaze? “Why?”

“Well…”

She held her breath, waiting as Jack appeared to consider the rest of his reply. Would he say something poetic? Something wonderful? All at once, and quite unreasonably, she wanted him to. Which was beyond silly.

They hadn’t even discussed Elizabethan sonnets yet.

“I couldn’t let you have the last word,” Jack said.

Disappointed, Grace scoffed. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

She couldn’t imagine what he meant. And that had definitely not been poetry from his lips. But the intent look on Jack’s face certainly gave her pause all the same. No man had ever looked at her that way. Most likely, no man ever would again. It was just as well she didn’t become accustomed to it.

“You might think it’s nonsense,” Jack said cheerfully. “But you’ll listen all the same.”

While he enjoyed the last word? Ha! That would be the day.

Stubbornly, Grace fiddled with the scarf at her neck, more briskly now. Were both trailing ends trapped beneath her? She should move to fetch them, to free herself, and yet…being caught beneath so much tall, strong man was rather pleasant.

Perhaps even healthful, given the chill in the air.

“It’s most gentlemanly of you to keep us both so warm,” she said demurely.

His grin quirked. “There’s nothing gentlemanly about it.” From somewhere, Jack emerged with the end of her scarf in his hand. He toyed with it, brushing its fringe against his cheek. Teasing her. “And you won’t be changing the subject before I’ve said my piece. Don’t you want to know what I have to say?”

“Of course. But yours still won’t be the final word in the matter,” Grace warned. “I might as well tell you, I’ve been known to stage a filibuster or two in my time, for a cause that’s worthy of it. I’ve been known to talk and talk—”

“Shh.” Carefully, Jack lifted her scarf. By degrees, its stiffened, tangled knit came away from her face and neck, admitting cold air. “You’ll miss it.”

“Nonsense. I’m excellent at paying attention.”

“Good.”

He lifted her scarf fully away, then turned his hand to wind the length of it around his broad palm. He fisted the ice-clumped knit, doubtless melting every bit of snow trapped inside as he tugged it free. It occurred to Grace, in a very uncharacteristic whimsical moment, that Jack Murphy might just be capable of melting all the snow surrounding them, if only he smiled at it.

“Ooh, that’s cold.” Grace touched her fingers to her mouth. It felt chilly to the touch. “I thought having my iced-over scarf gone would be better, but—”

“Try this,” Jack said and kissed her.

In a single motion, he tugged her fingers away with his free hand and brought his mouth to hers. Shocking warmth struck Grace first, making her realize exactly how cold she had been until now. Then other sensations began, starting at her mouth—where Jack plied her with tiny, expert kisses—and traveling rapidly all through her. Helplessly, she curled her toes in her winter boots, scarcely able to withstand so much feeling. So much gentleness. So…much.

It was like nothing she’d experienced before.

If she were dreaming, she wanted never to wake up—at least until she discovered what lay at the end of this kiss.

Rumbling with a low moan, Jack raised his head. He looked pleased. Then, evidently changing his mind about stopping, he favored her with another, slower kiss. Grace knew she must be cross-eyed, so hazy did he look to her. She felt somehow limp and yet vigorous, lulled and yet unsatisfied. How it could be that a saloonkeeper kissed with such finesse and care, she didn’t know. She only knew that his notion of kissing was much, much better than the paltry novice’s attempt she’d made outside his saloon.

He gazed at her, his own glance looking as heavy-lidded as hers felt. Up close, his stubble was even more compellingly male. So were his lips. They smiled at her, as did all the rest of him. Logically, Grace knew that made no sense. But she felt it all the same and was unduly glad for it.

“That’s much better, thank you,” she said.

What was wrong with her voice? It sounded low and hoarse and somehow intimate. Appalled at the change, Grace tried again.

“Of course, that doesn’t qualify as having the last word,” she informed him, reviving a little, “seeing as how yours was an action and not a word at all. I don’t think that counts.”

Smiling for no reason she could discern, Jack pondered it. “Let me try again.”

This time when his mouth met hers, it was with a little less gentleness and a lot more urgency. He cupped her cheek in his hand, his leather glove cold and smooth, and brought all the heat he’d mustered before back to her. He kissed her deeply, coaxed her mouth to open and kissed her more deeply still.

Surprised at the first deft sweep of his tongue, Grace stiffened. Never had she felt anything more invasive, more controlling, more… Ah. Suddenly, that intimate kiss became something new. Something she welcomed. Clutching his coat for balance, she squeezed her eyes shut and lost herself to Jack’s greater experience. For the first time in her life, she let someone else take the lead—and astonishingly, she enjoyed it.