Sweet Nothings

by Catherine Anderson

  She grinned and was about to whack another bush in her path when a branch snapped behind her. Her heart shot into her throat, and she whirled around with the limb raised high.

  “You gonna thump me with that thing, or is it safe to come closer?” a deep voice, laced with amusement, inquired.

  When Molly recognized Jake moving through the trees, she released a pent-up breath, touched a hand to her throat, and let the limb sink to the ground. “Mr. Coulter, you frightened me half to death. I thought you were a cougar.”

  His twinkling blue eyes narrowed on her face. “I told you it’s fairly safe to take walks during the day.”

  “The key word being ‘fairly.’ ” She glided her fingertips down between her collarbones as her heart slid back into its proper place.

  “The way you’re swinging that club, no cougar in its right mind would dare take you on. You look downright fearsome.”

  He was the one who looked fearsome, so tall and dark, his shirt stretched taut over his broad shoulders, the faded denim of his Wranglers sheathing his long, powerfully muscled legs. Molly tried to imagine him in nothing but a loincloth and moccasins. The picture that leaped to mind was enough to give her arrhythmia.

  It was silly in the extreme for her to think about him in that way, of course. But for some reason, she couldn’t seem to help it.

  “What?” Jake asked, his gaze still searching hers.

  She realized she’d been staring. “Nothing. I’m just surprised to see you out here. I thought you were working.”

  “I’m never too busy to take a walk with a pretty lady.”

  That was a big part of her problem with him, she decided. He not only acted as if he thought she was pretty, but he said so, making it difficult for her to keep her perspective.

  Molly wondered why he had followed her. “If you’re upset because I’m taking a break, I only meant to be gone for a few minutes.” She glanced at her watch. “I started work before five, and it’s half past eight. I thought I’d take a short walk. I guess I should have checked with you first to make sure that’s allowed.”

  For what seemed to her an interminably long while, he looked deeply into her eyes. Then his hard mouth tipped up at one corner in a smile.

  “I’m not here to jump you about taking a break, Molly.”

  “Oh.” She fiddled nervously with the buttons of her top, then pressed a hand to her waist. She really, really wished he’d stop looking at her that way. “Why, then?” She thought quickly. “I know the crěpes were a little tough. I’ll do better next time.”

  He nudged up the brim of his hat. The better to stare at her, she guessed. A shaft of sunlight filtered down through the tree boughs, playing over his burnished face.

  “Why do you immediately assume that I came out here to chew your ass about something?” he asked softly.

  Molly considered the question. “Because I can’t think of any other reason you might have followed me.”

  He shook his head, his smile broadening, yet not seeming to reach his eyes, which she could have sworn looked sad just before he glanced away. He spent a moment gazing off into the woods, his expression thoughtful.

  “Maybe I came out here to tell you those were the best damned crěpes I ever ate. Did you think of that?”

  “I thought they were a little tough.”

  “They were delicious,” he corrected. “Everyone cleaned his plate.”

  “They were probably just being polite.” Nervous beyond measure, she dug the sharp end of the tree limb into the ground. “If you didn’t follow me to complain about the crěpes or chew me out for taking a break, why are you here?”

  “I came out to take a walk with a pretty lady.” The slashes at each corner of his mouth deepened as he smiled this time. “You don’t mind having some company, do you?”

  “Oh, no, I don’t suppose I—”

  She broke off when he stepped forward, grabbed the limb from her hand, and tossed it into the brush.

  “That’s my snake stick.”

  “How big do you think the snakes are hereabouts, the size of pythons? Beating the brush with a limb that large will wear you to a frazzle.” He bent to pick up a skinny branch. “This is more the thing.”

  “That isn’t big enough to kill a snake.”

  “Killing a snake isn’t your aim. You just want to warn them away.” He grabbed her by the hand and set off at a much faster pace than she’d been going. His palm and fingers felt incredibly hard and warm, wrapped around hers. As they walked, he tapped the bushes, rather like a blind person might a cane. “That’s all you need to do,” he said as he handed her the branch. “Every rattler for a mile will feel the vibrations and clear out. If you’re walking through really thick brush, you can get a little more ambitious and occasionally whack a bush. Keep an ear cocked for any buzzing sounds and watch where you step. You’ll probably never see a snake.”

  Molly cast him a dubious look. He laughed and chucked her under the chin. “Trust me, all right? There’s no need to bludgeon every bush you see.”

  “Hmm.”

  He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, sending zings up her arm. Molly whacked a sage bush, using a little more force than he claimed was necessary.

  “Just in case,” she said by way of explanation.

  “Go ahead. Wear yourself out. You’ll never want to come walking again. Your arms will be sore for days.”

  She decided her arms were getting tired. She followed his example and began tapping the bushes. “Are you sure this is enough?”

  “Positive. Rattlesnakes aren’t deadly, you know. If you’re unable to get antivenin, their bite just makes you all-fired sick. Occasionally, someone has secondary complications and dies, but a healthy adult usually doesn’t.”

  “If the bite doesn’t kill me, the heart attack will.”

  He chuckled. “You’re really afraid of them, aren’t you?”

  “I’m the biggest chicken you’ve ever seen when it comes to snakes. Even the garden variety makes me hyperventilate. I’m not at all afraid of spiders, though, and when I was small, I caught a mouse and made a pet of it, so they don’t frighten me, either. Just keep snakes and all things slithery away from me.”

  He gave her fingers a squeeze. A friendly gesture, nothing more, Molly assured herself. If tingles raced up her arm, that was her problem. She wished he’d let loose of her hand so she could think straight.

  “You know how to tell a ponderosa pine from a lodgepole?” he suddenly asked.

  Molly stopped thumping the dirt to glance at the trees around them. “The bark of a ponderosa is the color of cinnamon, and the bark on a lodgepole isn’t?”

  “Not all ponderosas turn cinnamon. A lot of them are plain old brown.”

  “How do you tell then?”

  “The needles.” He reached up to grab a cluster and held it before her nose. “A ponderosa has three per cluster, a lodge pole only two.”

  “Ah.”

  He flashed her a grin that sent electrical heat ribboning through her. “You know how to tell a juniper with your eyes closed?”

  She thought for a moment. “No, I can’t say as I do. By its smell?”

  He nodded.

  “What do they smell like?”

  “Cat piss.”

  Molly burst out laughing. “Not really.”

  His dancing gaze met hers. “Honey, would I lie to you?”

  Molly was still trying to think of a response when he launched into another spiel about wildlife, telling her a host of different things about the golden-mantled squirrels they saw, then moving on to skunks, mule deer, and lastly, black bears.

  “If I see a bear, I should raise my arms and talk to it?” she asked incredulously. “Is there any particular topic of conversation they favor?”

  He narrowed an eye at her. “You want to learn this stuff or not?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  “Then stop with the sarcasm.” He squeezed her hand again. This time, she assured herself h
e only did it to let her know he was kidding. “Bears have very poor eyesight,” he went on, “and if you’re downwind of them, you need to let them know you’re not another bear. Lifting your arms makes you look larger, and talking helps to distinguish you from other animals. Hold your ground, make eye contact, and say, ‘Yo, bear! How you doin’ today?’ “

  “And that’ll make it go away?”

  “Most of the time. There’s the rare fruitcake black bear, of course, but they’re few and far between. Grizzlies are another story, but we don’t have any of those around here.”

  “For future reference, what should I do if I ever meet a grizzly?”

  “Be extremely polite.”

  The reply caught Molly off guard, and a startled giggle lodged crosswise in her throat, making her snort. Heat seared her face. “Excuse me. I haven’t done that in years.“

  His gaze was warm when it came to rest on her face. “Don’t apologize. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you cut loose and really laugh.”

  “That was a snort, not a laugh. I used to do it a lot until I broke myself of the habit.”

  “Why did you break yourself of it?”

  “Because it’s—” Molly was about to say it was unlady-like, but as the words formed in her mind, she heard the echo of Rodney’s voice. “Don’t ever laugh like that in front of my friends again. It’s humiliating to have your wife snort in public like some fat, old sow.” “My husband found it annoying, and I just broke myself of it, is all.”

  He frowned slightly. Then he shrugged. “Each to his own, I reckon. I happen to think it’s a very cute laugh.”

  “You think the way I snort when I laugh is cute?“

  “It’s more a feminine snicker than a snort.”

  He drew her between two trees, then around a thatch of sage. Watching him from the corner of her eye, she admired the easy way he moved, his shoulders shifting slightly with each swing of his lean hips. He was surefooted, the heels of his boots connecting solidly with the ground each time he stepped.

  “What really bugs me is phony-sounding laughter,” he said, picking up the thread of their conversation. “I hate it when women shriek really loud when they laugh. The sound sends shudders up my spine after a few minutes.”

  Molly had heard women laugh that way and knew exactly what he meant. “Well, rest easy. I never shriek.”

  He slid her a sidelong glance. “Never? Some men might take that as a challenge.”

  She flashed him a startled look. The suggestive gleam in his eyes turned her brains to mush. Unable to come up with a response, she decided to pretend the comment had gone straight over her head. She sighed and glanced around them. “Oh, look! What lovely flowers.”

  He led her to the deep pink blooms. “These are early maiden pinks,” he said as he bent to snap a stem. When he straightened, he tugged on her hand to pull her closer and held the blossom to her cheek. “Just as I thought,” he said huskily. “Pink doesn’t clash with your hair.” He tucked the flower stem behind her ear. “You’d look beautiful in it.”

  “I’ve found that neutral shades go better with my complexion.”

  “Neutral meaning shades of white, brown, and beige?” He drew her back into a walk. “You have a complexion like cream, lady. You could wear any color. I think you’ve got the prettiest skin I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  Molly decided it was time to put a stop to this compliment business before she did something totally stupid, like start believing him. “Jake, I really think—”

  “I’ll be damned. Let me clean my ears out. Did you just call me Jake?”

  She released another sigh. “About the ‘pretty’ business.”

  “What about it?”

  “You’re very kind, but I don’t feel comfortable with your paying me compliments constantly.”

  “I haven’t done it constantly. A few times, at most.”

  “It’s just that I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “Why? If it’s because I’m your boss, that’s really not fair. I do have eyes in my head, and it’s a little hard not to notice what’s right in front of my nose. It’s not as if I’ve let it interfere with our working relationship.”

  “I never meant to imply that you had.”

  “Then what’s wrong with me saying you’re pretty?”

  Molly pressed her lips together, trying to think how she might explain. “It has nothing to do with your being my employer. Nothing. It’s just that I know you’re only being nice, and I find it more embarrassing than flattering.”

  Silence. They covered several more feet of ground before he finally spoke. “You think I’m only being nice?”

  She wished now that she hadn’t said anything.

  In a gravelly voice, he asked, “Who told you that you aren’t pretty, Molly?”

  “It wasn’t necessary for anyone to tell me. I look in the mirror on a daily basis.”

  “You must not look very hard. You’re a beautiful woman, and I’m not the only man on this ranch who thinks so.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “Of course I don’t. You’re either very kind or very blind. I know I’m not much in the looks department.”

  “Not much?“

  He suddenly stopped walking. With her hand enfolded in his, Molly was jerked to a stop when she reached the length of her arm. Startled, she swung around to look at him, her snake stick held aloft in her free hand.

  “You going to hit me with that?” he asked softly.

  “Good grief, no.” She lowered the branch. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because I’m going to do this.”

  He tugged hard on her hand. Molly wasn’t expecting to be jerked off balance, and she tumbled against his chest. He locked his strong arms around her and dipped his head. The next instant, he was kissing her. He didn’t ask; he just took, his wonderfully firm, mobile mouth staking claim.

  It was—oh, God—it was—she couldn’t think clearly. Her heart turned a somersault, her nerves leaped, and her legs went watery.

  His mouth was hard and moist and hot and hungry. He grasped the underside of her jaw, pressed in at the joints, and forced her teeth apart. Then he plunged deeply with his tongue, tasting her as if she were a culinary delight and he was a starving man.

  Molly tried to breathe, couldn’t. Tried again to collect her thoughts, and had no luck with that, either. His chest grazed her breasts, and her nipples went instantly achy and taut, eliciting a moan from deep within her.

  “Sweet Christ,” he whispered when he dragged his mouth from hers to grab for air. His eyes were molten on hers, his breath, scented with coffee, wafting over her face. “Where’s your stick? I think you better whack me with it before I take this any further.”

  Molly had no idea where her stick had gotten off to. As for taking this any further, it was complete and utter madness. She intended to tell him exactly that, but all she managed to get out was a bleep before his lips settled over hers again. This time, he closed his hand over her braid to tip her head back and hold her still. Then, with a deft twist of his fingers, he stripped the elastic band from her hair, loosening the tresses and gathering them in his fist.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered fiercely against her lips. After kissing her until every rational thought in her head went flying again, he intensified the assault by bending his knees to bring his pelvis hard against hers.

  She moaned into his mouth. Her legs would no longer hold her up. He angled an arm under her rump and drew her hard against him. She could feel his arousal, pressing in where she was most sensitive, the upward drag of denim and man sending jolts of pure pleasure zigzagging through her.

  In all her life, she’d never wanted anything like he made her want him. It came over Molly like a landslide, crushing the breath from her, making her mind spiral wildly. She wanted his hands on her, his mouth at her breasts with the same hungry urgency with which he now took her li
ps. Oh, how she wanted.

  She ran her hands over his shoulders, glorying in the pads of vibrant muscle and flesh that rippled under his shirt. She dug in hard with her fingers to resist her urge to tear at the chambray to feel his bare skin. Jake, with the laser-blue eyes. She couldn’t believe he was kissing her. Things like this never happened to Molly Sterling Wells.

  No man had ever jerked her into his arms and devoured her mouth.

  No man had ever run his hands over her back and up her sides to feverishly touch her breasts.

  When he thumbed her nipples through the layers of her clothing, the shock of each pass made her whimper.

  He abandoned her mouth to trail kisses down the column of her throat, his teeth and tongue doing wonderful things to her skin, making it go hot and cold at once. Between her legs, she was wet, the folds of her flesh throbbing, her opening quivering in grasping spasms for the hardness that ground against her.

  She wanted him.

  As if the sheer force of her yearning was transmitted to him through the pores of her skin, he suddenly tightened his arms and lifted her off her feet. Startled, Molly cried out and clung to him as he moved to a tree. Pressing her back to the trunk, he sandwiched her between his hard body and the rough bark, his hungry, persuasive mouth trailing kisses down her neck.

  “Molly,” he whispered, “put your legs around my hips.”

  She sobbed, driven by a tidal wave of yearning to do as he told her. When she locked her thighs around him, he pushed her higher against the tree. Dimly Molly realized that he was supporting her weight with the press of his lower body. He put his now unencumbered hands to quick use, cupping her breasts in his hard palms and shoving upward until her tight nipples thrust turgidly against her clothing, becoming easy targets for his mouth.

  He caught one hard tip between his teeth, nipping lightly and tugging. A shock of sheer delight zigzagged through her, and she cried out, her clutching hands knocking aside his hat and threading through his thick hair. He responded by drawing her nipple, clothing and all, into his hot mouth.