by Nora Roberts
That surprised her as well. Normally she was content in any season. Winter was work, certainly, but it also offered, even demanded, periods of rest. For the land, for the people on it.
Spring might be a time of rebirth and rejoicing, but it was also a time of mud, of drought or impossible driving rain, of aching muscles, fields to be planted, cattle to be separated and led to range.
But she longed for it, longed to see even one single bud bloom—the flower of the bitterroot, triumphing out of the mud; a laurel, springing up miraculously in the thickening forest; wild columbine teasing a mountain ridge.
Amazed at herself, she shook her head and stepped back from the window. Since when had she started dreaming of flowers?
It was Tess’s doing, she imagined. All that talk about romance and sex and men. Just a natural segue into spring, flowers—and mating season.
Chuckling, she studied the scatter of gold boxes over the simple quilt on her bed. And what were those, she admitted, but expensive mating lures?
At the sound of footsteps she called out and began to gather the boxes up. “Bess? Got a minute? I’ve some other things in here you might want. I don’t know why I—”
She broke off as Ben, not Bess, stepped into the room.
“What the hell are you doing here? Don’t you knock?”
“Did. Bess let me in.” His brows went up, and the eyes under them lit with appreciation. “Well, hell, Willa, look at you.”
She was grateful she’d pulled on jeans at least and also very aware she was shirtless but for the thin, clinging silk of her thermal undershirt. Her nipples hardened traitorously even as she snatched up the flannel shirt she’d tossed aside.
“I’m not back an hour,” she complained as she punched her arms through shirtsleeves, “and you’re in my face. I don’t have time to chat or go over reports. I’ve already lost a whole weekend.”
“Doesn’t appear you lost a thing.” He was understandably disappointed when she buttoned up the plaid shirt but intrigued by the busy, businesslike way her fingers executed the task. Eventually he’d like to see them go in reverse.
“You look fine.” He came closer. “Rested. Pretty.” And lifted a hand to the spiraling curls raining over her shoulders. “Sexy. I had a couple of bad moments when Nate told me about the place you were going. Figured you might come back with your face all tarted up and your hair chopped off like one of those New York models trying to look like a teenage boy. Why do you suppose they want to do that?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“How’d they get all that hair of yours into those corkscrews?”
“You hand those people enough money, they’ll do anything.” She tossed back the curls, faintly embarrassed by them. “What do you want, Ben, to stand here and talk about salon treatments?”
“Hmm?” It was the damnedest thing, he mused, toying with her hair again. All those wild curls, and it was still as soft as duck down. “I like it. Gives me ideas.”
She was getting that picture clearly enough, and slipped strategically out of reach. “It’s just hair curls.”
“I like it curled.” His grin spread as he maneuvered her toward the wall. “I like it straight too, the way it just swings down your back, or when you twist it back in a pigtail.”
She knew the dimensions of her room well enough to judge she’d be rapping into the wall in another two steps. So she held her ground. “Look, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Is your memory that poor?” He took hold of her, pleased that she’d stopped retreating. “I didn’t figure a few days away would have you forgetting where we left off. Hold still, Willa,” he said patiently when she lifted her arms to push him off. “I’m just going to kiss you.”
“What if I don’t want you to?”
“Then say, ‘Get your hands off me, Ben McKinnon.’ ”
“Get—”
That was as far as she got before he cut off her opportunity. And his lips were hungry, not nearly as patient as his voice had been. The arms that held her tightened possessively, stole her breath, had her parting her lips to gasp for air . . . .
And her mouth was invaded by his quick and clever tongue.
It was like being swallowed, she thought hazily. Like being eaten alive with a greed that incited greed. Hearts pounding. That was his, she realized, as well as hers. Racing wild. Dangerously fast. And she wondered if they continued to ride this course, at this speed, how soon one or both of them would fly headlong over the saddle and into the air.
“Missed you.”
He said it so quietly as his lips trailed down to sample her throat that she thought she’d imagined it.
Missed her? Could he?
Those lips cruised up again, along the side of her throat, behind her ear, doing things to her skin that made her giddy and weak inside.
“You smell good,” he murmured.
He’d said she looked good, she remembered, as her knees trembled. Smelled good. Did that mean he had the big picture? And what came next was . . . She thought of Tess’s lightly cynical remark and swallowed hard.
“Wait. Stop.” She couldn’t have pushed a mound of feathers away, much less an aroused man, but at her breathy voice and the flutter of her hands he changed the tone.
“Okay.” He still held her, but easy now, his hand stroking up her back to soothe. She was shaking, he realized, and cursed himself for it. Innocent, innocent, he repeated like a mantra, until his breathing began to level.
He’d only meant to indulge in a couple of teasing tastes, not a flurry of half-mad gulps. But days, weeks—hell, years—of frustration and wanting, he admitted, were boiling up and threatening to blow.
And what he wanted to do, what he’d imagined doing to her in that room, on that bed, wasn’t the way a civilized man should initiate a virgin.
“Sorry.” He eased back to study her face. Fear and confusion and desire swirled in her eyes. He could have done without the fear. “I didn’t mean to spook you, Will. I forgot myself a minute.” To lighten the mood, he flicked a finger at a curl. “Must be the hairdo.”
He was sorry, she realized, more than a little stunned. And something else was in his eyes. It couldn’t be tenderness, not from him, but she was certain it was a softer emotion than lust. Maybe, she thought—and smiled a little—maybe it was affection.
“It’s okay. I guess I forgot myself for a minute too. Must have been the way you were gulping me down like two quarts of prime whiskey.”
“You’ve got a tendency to be as potent,” he muttered.
“I do?”
The stunned female response got his blood moving again. “Don’t get me started. I really came up to let you know that Adam and I are riding up into high country to take a look around. Zack says the north pass is blocked by snow. And he thought some hunters might be making use of your cabin.”
“Why does he think that?”
“On one of his flyovers he caught sight of tracks, other signs.” Ben shrugged it off. “Wouldn’t be the first time, but since I want to see how bad the pass is blocked, Adam and I thought we’d swing up and check it out.”
“I’ll go with you. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“We’re getting a late start. Odds are we won’t make it back tonight. We can radio you from the cabin.”
“I’m going. Ask Adam to saddle Moon for me, and I’ll pack my gear.”
I T WAS GOOD TO RIDE. WILLA THOUGHT. GOOD TO BE IN the saddle, out in the air that crisped with the climb. Moon loped easily through the snow, apparently pleased to be out herself. Her breath plumed ahead and her harness jingled.
The sun shone bright, dazzling light off the untrod snow, adding glitter to the draped trees. Here in high country, spring would come late and last hardly more than a precious moment.
A falcon called, a scream in the silence, and she saw signs of deer, of other game, of predators that hunted the hills. Perhaps she had enjoyed her weekend of pampering, but this was her world. The highe
r she climbed, the more thrilled she was to be back.
“You look pleased with yourself.” Ben flanked her left and, keeping an easy hand on the reins, studied her face. “What did they do to you up there at that fancy spa?”
“All sorts of things. Wonderful things.” She tilted her head, sent him a sly smile. “They waxed me. All over.”
“No kidding?” He felt a pleasant little thrumming in his loins. “All over?”
“Yep. I’ve been scraped down, oiled up, waxed and polished. It was pretty good. You ever had coconut oil rubbed over your entire body, Ben?”
The thrumming increased considerably. “You offering, Willa?”
“I’m telling you. At the end of the day this guy would rub—”
“Guy?” He shot straight arrow in the saddle. The sharp tone of his voice had Charlie scampering back from his scouting mission and whining. “What guy?”
“The massage guy.”
“You let a guy rub your—”
“Sure.” Satisfied with his reaction, she turned to Adam. The gleam in his eye assured her that her brother knew just what game she was playing. “Lily had something called aromatherapy. It seemed to me to be a lot like our mother’s people have been doing for centuries. Using herbs and scents to relax the mind, and the body. Now they’ve slapped on a fancy name and charge you an arm and a leg for it.”
“White men,” Adam said with a grin. “Always seeking profit from nature.”
“That was my thought. In fact, I asked Lily’s massage therapist why she figured—”
“She?” Ben interrupted. “Lily had a woman massage lady?”
“That’s right. So I asked her why it was she figured her people had come up with all these treatments when the Indians had been using mud and herbs and oils before there were whites within a thousand miles of the Rockies.”
“How come Lily had a woman and you didn’t?”
Willa glanced over at Ben. “Lily’s shy. Anyway, some of the treatments seemed very basic. And the oils and creams not unlike what our grandmother would have brewed up in her own lodge.”
“They put it in fancy bottles and make it theirs,” Adam added.
Ben knew when his chain was being pulled, and now he shifted in the saddle. “They use bear grease on you, too?”
Willa bit off a smile. “Actually I suggested they look into it. You should tell Shelly to take a weekend there when the baby’s weaned. Tell her to ask for Derrick. He was amazing.”
Adam coughed into his hand, then clucked to his horse and took the lead, with Charlie trotting happily in his wake.
“So you let this guy, this Derrick guy, see you naked?”
“He’s a professional.” She flicked back her curling hair, no longer embarrassed a bit. “I’m thinking of getting regular massages. They’re very . . . relaxing.”
“I bet.” Reaching over, Ben put a hand on her arm, slowing both their mounts. “I’ve just got one question.”
“What is it?”
“Are you trying to drive me crazy?”
“Maybe.”
He nodded. “Because you figure it’s safe since we’re out here and Adam’s just up ahead.”
The smile got away from her. “Maybe.”
“Think again.” He moved fast, leaning into her, dragging her into him and fixing his mouth hard on hers. When he let her jerk back, control her frisking mount, he was smiling. “I’m going to buy me some coconut oil, and we’ll see how you look in it.”
Her heart stuttered, settled. “Maybe,” she said again. She started to kick Moon into a trot.
The shot crashed and echoed, a high-pitched, shocking sound. Too close, was all Willa had time to think before Adam’s horse reared, nearly unseating him.
“Idiots,” she said between her teeth. “Goddamn citified idiots must be—”
“Take cover.” Ben all but shoved her out of the saddle, swinging his mount to her other side as a shield. He had his rifle out in a lightning move even as he plunged knee-deep into the snow. “Use the trees, and stay down.”
But she’d seen now, the blood that stained the sleeve of Adam’s jacket. And seeing it, she was running toward her brother, in the open. Ben swore ripely as he tackled her, used his body to cover hers as another shot exploded.
She fought bitterly, bucking and clawing in the snow. Terror was a hot, red haze. “Adam—he’s shot. Let me go.”
“Keep down.” Ben’s face was close to hers, his voice cold and calm as he held her under him. Charlie barked like thunder, quivering for the signal to hunt. He subsided only when Ben gave him the terse order to stay.
Still covering Willa, Ben shifted his eyes as Adam bellied toward them. “How bad?”
“Don’t know.” The pain was bright, a violent song up his arm to the shoulder. “I think he got more of the coat than me. Will, you’re not hit?” He rubbed a snow-coated glove over her face. “Will?”
“No. You’re bleeding.”
“It’s okay. His aim was off.”
She closed her eyes a moment, willing herself to calm. “It was deliberate. It wasn’t some stupid hunter.”
“Had to be a long-range rifle,” Ben murmured, lifting his head enough to scan the trees, the hills. He slid a hand over his dog’s vibrating back to calm him. “I can’t see anything. From the direction, I’d guess he’s holed up in that gulch, up there in the rocks.”
“With plenty of cover.” Willa forced her breath slowly in, slowly out. “We can’t get to him.”
Trust her, Ben thought, to think first of attack. He slid off Willa, steadied his rifle. “We’re almost to the cabin. You and Willa make for it, keep to the trees. I can draw his fire here.”
“The hell with that. I’m not leaving you here.” She started to scramble up, but Ben pushed her flat again. In the seconds that his eyes held Adam’s, the men agreed how to handle it.
“Adam’s bleeding,” Ben said quietly. “He has to be looked after. You get him to the cabin, Will. I’ll be right behind you.”
“We can make a stand in the cabin if we have to.” Blocking out the pain, Adam walked his way through the details. “Ben, we can cover you from up ahead. When you hear our fire, start after us.”
Ben nodded. “Once I get to that stand of rocks where we used to have that fort, I’ll fire. That’ll give you time to make it to the cabin. Fire again so I’ll know you made it.”
Now she had to choose, Willa realized, between one man and the other. The blood staining the snow gave her no choice at all. “Don’t do anything stupid.” She took Ben’s face in her hands, kissed him hard. “I don’t like heroes.”
Keeping low, she grabbed the reins of her horse. “Can you mount?” she said to Adam.
“Yeah. Stay in the trees, Willa. We’re going to move fast.” With one last look at Ben, Adam swung into the saddle. “Ride!”
She didn’t have time to look back. But she would remember, she knew she would remember always, the way Ben knelt alone in the snow, the shadows of trees shielding his face and a rifle lifted to his shoulder.
She’d lied, she thought when she heard him fire once, twice, three times. She had an open heart for heroes.
“There’s no return fire,” she called out as she and Adam pulled up behind a tower of rock. “Maybe he’s gone.”
Or maybe he was waiting, Adam thought. He said nothing as Willa unsheathed her rifle. She fired a steady half dozen rounds. “He’ll be all right, won’t he, Adam? If the sniper tries to circle around and—”
“Nobody knows this country better than Ben.” He said it quickly to reassure both of them. He’d left his brother behind, was all he could think. Because it was all that could be done. “We’ve got to keep moving, Willa. We can give Ben the best cover from the cabin.”
She couldn’t argue, not when Adam’s face was so pale, not when the cabin, warmth, and medical supplies were only minutes away. But she knew what none of them had said: There was no cover for the last fifty yards. To get inside, they would have to ride
in the open.
The sun was bright, the snow dazzling. She had no doubt that they stood out against that white like deer in a meadow. In the distance she could hear the frigid sound of water forcing its way over ice and rock and, closer, the rapid sound of her own breathing.
Rocks punched out of snow, trees crouched. She rode with her rifle in her hand, prepared for some faceless gunman to leap out at any moment and take aim. Overhead an eagle circled and called out in triumph. She counted the seconds away by her heartbeats, and bit down hard on her lip when she heard the echo of Ben’s rifle.