Wyoming Wildflowers: The Beginning (12 page)

She giggled and held out half the cookie to him.

He raised his head to snag the cookie from her fingers, then kept coming, his mouth open on the flesh where her shoulder met her collarbone.

She closed her eyes, absorbing sensations.

“Your skin is so white, so smooth. Like . . . ”

When he went silent, she prodded, “Like?”

“Snowberries.”

“What?”

But he didn’t answer. He bent his head, and slid his tongue along the slope of her breast, then over its tip, sending a jolt through her that clenched her inner muscles.

“Snowberries?” She had to pause to pant in two quick breaths. “Those are the ones with the white—?”

He raised his head, leaving her skin moist and warm, and wanting more. “Berries.”

He lifted her hand, and directed the forgotten cookie half she still held to her lips. She took it in her mouth with a flick of her tongue.

He groaned. “I take it back.”

“What?” she murmured.

“My favorite Christmas flavor. I have a new one.”

“I don’t believe it. Something better than pie?”

“Um-hum. You.”

When they woke to Wednesday’s daylight, he asked, “Want to tour Denver?”

“Yesterday was wonderful, but no.” She wanted to stay here. With him. In their bubble.

As long as they could.

“Okay.” After a pause, he added, “You know, I’ve been thinking about that shower. I’ve got an idea . . .”

“I’m all for ideas.”

Especially ones that worked so well. So very, very well.

“Good performance tonight, Donna. Not sure how many in the audience saw it, though. You ever going to do something about Angela?”

Brad had blocked her exit by stepping in front of her in the narrow corridor.

He didn’t seem to need an answer to his question, snorting out a breath, and saying, “Your guy’s down by the door, has his head together with that doorkeeper.” Then he moved on.

She found Ed still with Grover.

“What were you two talking about?” she asked Ed as they headed out.

“Did you know he used to dance on TV? Variety shows.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Know who he — what do they call it — backed up? Fred Astaire.”

She stopped. “Really? No. He was probably telling you a story.”

“I don’t think so. Maudie believes him.”

“Oh, my gosh. Oh, my
gosh
.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d be interested. So, here’s what I thought we’d do — go get sandwiches from the diner, and take them back to the theater, including some for Grover, and you can ask him questions to your heart’s content.”

She hesitated, part of her wanting to hurry back to the hotel, to have the time to themselves. But he looked so pleased with himself . . . “You think he’d be okay with that?”

“I know he’d be okay with that, as long as I get his sandwich order right.”

“Thank you, Ed. Thank you. That would be wonderful. I can’t imagine sitting around a cold theater eating sandwiches and listening to old show biz stories is your idea of fun.”

“It’ll be fun watching you have fun. As long as —” He looked at her with such intensity that heat flowed through her body in immediate response. “— it doesn’t go real late.”

“Not late. Not late at all.”

He smiled. “Besides, Grover gave me the chance to find out Henri was exactly right about that song “I Won’t Dance” — it definitely was about
not
dancing.”

The dazed peace that enveloped Donna each time they made love had started to slip away.

At least the dazed part. The peace remained.

She was on her side, pressed against Ed, as he lay on his back. Her cheek on his chest, his arm around her, her leg over his, his hand lightly rubbing her back.

He rolled his head toward the window. “Snowing,” he observed. “Looks like it’ll stick.”

“Mmm.” If it snowed enough would they close the theater? That would be an unexpected gift. The one she most wanted now.

All I want for Christmas
is . . .

No, better not to think about that.

“Open presents Christmas morning,” she said.

He picked up her lead. “Christmas Eve. Gotta care for the animals Christmas morning.”

“Christmas Eve’s for going to church.”

“Do that after tending the animals on Christmas Day.”

“Also need Christmas Eve to finish wrapping. Picking out the right paper for the person getting the gift, finding a different combination of paper and ribbon for each package, making the bows.”

“Wrap it simple. A box with a ribbon. Only Mom does bows.”

“Everybody hangs a Christmas stocking.”

“Really? Adults, too?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Hmm. I think we might have to adopt that one.”

“Of course it means you buy things to fill the other stockings.”

“Maybe not, then.”

She swatted his chest lightly. “Selfish!”

“Hey, it’s hard enough trying to figure out something to get my mother for a present.”

“What about your Dad?”

“That’s no problem. He’s a man.”

They entwined the fingers of their right hands. If he hadn’t bent his elbow, she wouldn’t have been able to reach. But he did, bringing their hands together atop his chest.

“You don’t talk much about your father, not as much as you do about your mother.”

“Huh. Maybe because Mom and I work together on the ranch. Dad’s a lawyer in town.”

“He doesn’t live with you on the ranch?”

He looked surprised. “Of course he does. It’s his family’s ranch. He inherited half, then he and Mom bought out Uncle Gordon when he moved to California. But Dad goes into town to his office most days. Though anybody with a problem’s likely to come by the ranch for help, too. He helped a guy a few years back who didn’t have money, but did have a real nice bull. Breeding in that bloodline’s done a lot for our herd. Mom keeps asking Dad to find more clients with good breeding stock.”

In his words, in his voice, in his eyes, she saw reflected the love between his parents and him.

“So your father goes to court like Perry Mason?”

“Doubt it’s like Perry Mason. But he’s had some big cases, at least for Wyoming.”

“Do you go see him in court?”

“Mom took us once as kids, but we got kicked out.”

She raised her head. “
Both
of you?”

He grinned. “Both, yes, but not my sister and me — Mom and me. Actually, Dad asked for a brief recess, then came back to where we were sitting in our best clothes, and said Amy could stay if she wanted, but he couldn’t stand the silent screams of boredom from Mom and me, so would we please go back to the ranch, get on a horse, and ride out our fidgets.”

She laughed. “He sounds like a wonderful man.”

“I suppose he is. He’s a lot quieter than Mom. She told me once that she couldn’t be who she is if he weren’t who he is. I thought about that when you were telling me about your parents.”

“That’s lovely. And I think my parents would say that, too. You know, now that you’ve proven you can sit still and watch a musical, I bet you can sit and watch your dad in court. You should do that.”

“I suppose I should.” He sounded thoughtful.

Satisfied, she put her head down, and said, “Tell me about a typical day at the Slash-C.”

“Not much typical about any day. Changes season to season, and day to day. So it depends on which day.”

“January sixteenth,” she said.

“Okay, let’s see. Mid-January. . .”

She could have listened to him talk about anything, but to see his ranch in his words, to hear his love for the land in his voice was something she knew she would carry inside always.

She picked dates at random, and heard about fence repairs, calving, branding, moving the herd, haying. There was so much, with contingencies for sick animals or mechanical failures or neighbors needing help or flood, blizzard, drought, grassfires— and those were only the ones she remembered — that she wasn’t sure he was done until he’d been quiet for a while.

Then, she said, “And you say I work hard.”

He chuckled, the rumble absorbed through her cheek, and into her soul. “I had a girlfriend in college —”

“A serious girlfriend?”

He considered that, as he so often did when answering her, being sure he told her the truth. “Serious enough. Hey, don’t get that perfect little nose of yours out of joint —”

“I don’t have my nose out of joint,” she disputed, while also relishing his calling her extremely ordinary nose
perfect
.

“You wrinkled it hard enough to knock it out of joint.”

“You’re trying to wriggle out of telling me some deep dark secret about this girlfriend.”

“Nothing deep or dark or secret. She just didn’t understand about the Slash-C. She said she did, but she didn’t. I knew that when she started saying how fun it would be to take off for
impromptu
vacations several times a year. Like we could just up and leave the animals to care for themselves, the work to do itself. You’ve got to plan ahead, get somebody in, ask some favors.”

“But —” She bit it off.

He stroked her hair. “Yeah, you’re right. But that’s what I did for these extra days. I know.”

His voice deepened and roughened on the last two words, a tone that opened a door to a new dimension between them.

She backed away. “Maybe she wanted to be sure you rested enough, this wonderful girlfriend of yours.”

After a pause, he picked up the same tone. “Nah. She thought she’d catch herself a rich ranch owner at the University of Wyoming, and all she got was me. For a while.”

“She
was
right that you should get away sometimes, everyone needs that. And when you do, you should make the most of it.”

He nuzzled her neck, and rumbled. “I thought we were.”

She felt a blush rising.

As if his lips sensed the heat, he looked up. His smile, satisfied and promising, sparked a new pulsing, deep in her belly.

“We have to take a break some time,” she said. To him? Or to remind herself? “If we get dressed now, we can walk to the theater, then after the matinee —”

“Sorry, I’m not coming to the matinee.”

She paused in the process of getting out of bed, looking over her shoulder at him. He’d been at so many performances, and with the stock show closed . . . But she shouldn’t have assumed. “Oh.”

“I’ve, uh, I’ve got a sort of appointment.”

“Okay. But I need to get going. I’ll take a quick shower. Alone,” she added as he moved as if to get up. “It’ll be faster.”

Done with her shower, standing in front of the sink, a towel wrapped around her as she cleansed her face, she let her thoughts surface enough to recognize them.

Whatever he was hiding from her, it wouldn’t hurt her. Except that it did push against that fragile bubble surrounding them.

She was rinsing her face when she felt him come up behind her. As she straightened, he kissed her shoulder.

“I’m sorry I won’t be there this afternoon.” He met her gaze in the mirror. “Don’t look like that, Donna. I’ll be there tonight for sure.”

That wasn’t the cause of her frown. The frown was for her thoughts.

Whatever he was hiding from her, it wouldn’t hurt her
.

She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, like she knew the rain came from the sky and plants grew toward the sun. She trusted him. Completely. After so few days. And with even fewer days until they parted.

Leaning forward to turn off the faucet, she caught his expression in the mirror, and stilled.

Slowly, she straightened. She reached back with one hand and cupped his face, while her other hand loosed the towel and let it drop.

Under her fingertips, the pulse in his neck jumped.

Watching her, his hands came up and cupped her breasts. So absolutely right . . .

She arched, pressing herself into the perfect hold of his palms. He buried his mouth into the curve of her shoulder and throat, sucking lightly, as his fingers and thumbs stroked and teased her nipples.

She rested back against him, feeling his erection, watching the flush of desire rise up her body, seeing her nipples darken and peak as he must have seen them. Wanting him. Needing —

She turned. Rupturing one connection, but intending to gain so much.

With her hands on his chest, she nudged him backward, as she kissed him with a passion fueled by exultation and, despite herself, sorrow.

Back, step by step, across the bathroom threshold, to the bed.

He dropped to the mattress, wrapping her securely in his arms to take her with. When he would have turned them she resisted.

She straddled his hips. His hands came back to her breasts. But when she took him in her hands, he said, “Donna?” And gripped her waist.

She dropped and he was inside her —

His hips came up off the bed in response.

— completely.

“Donna,” Lydia stopped her in the backstage corridor with a hand to her arm.

“Sorry, I don’t have time —”

“I’m worried about —”

“No need to worry, I’ll pay my share of the room.”

“That’s
not
what I’m worried about. You’re going to be hurt. You’ve spent every minute —”

“I’ve gotta go.” She couldn’t bear to hear about ships passing in the night, about not getting entangled. Not now.

What had gotten into her? She knew the risks. She
knew
. She was always cautious. Always. A pregnancy and her career could be — would be — over. So, why could she not regret that moment?

“Donna . . .” Lydia’s voice and concern trailed after her.

She turned the corner to the stubby corridor that held Maudie’s room, but saw Grover slipping in the door, and halted.

She didn’t want to talk with the stage door keeper any more than she’d wanted to talk to Lydia.

As she pivoted away, Henri snagged her arm. “C’mon, let’s get out of here,” he said with a hint of twang instead of his usual accent.

“Henri, I don’t want to —”