COWBOY CRESCENDO

by Cathleen Galitz

  His tongue sought hers in an unchoreographed ballet of give-and-take that left him breathing hard. Toby touched the blond hair spread out on his pillow like a golden fan as if to reassure himself that he was not dreaming. Propped over her with his weight upon his elbows, he stared down upon an angelic face incapable of holding back her feelings. Heather didn't have to speak words of love to him. He could read them in her expression.

  Fully aware that Heather was not the kind of woman who fell into a man's bed unless she loved him, he did not want to break her heart. Wanting and loving were not altogether the same thing in his mind, and Toby knew that Heather deserved better than someone unable to commit to her completely. He didn't think he was emotionally prepared to make any promises beyond the fleeting pleasures and demands of the flesh.

  Yet Toby could no more turn away from what Heather was so freely offering than he could forgo breathing. Never had he wanted a woman so badly in his life. No matter how hard he worked his body each day, his every thought was consumed with having her. Sleep provided no respite from dreams that twisted him in clammy sheets, woke him abruptly and left him frustrated. Lust might very well damn him to hell forever and a day, but Toby did not have the strength to resist his own weakness.

  Work-roughened fingers had no patience with the dainty, faux pearl buttons running the length of Heather's demure nightgown. Grabbing both sides of a scooped collar, he gave a little tug. Buttons scattered in all directions. Heather's gasp failed to cover the faint sound they made hitting the bedcovers, the floor and the nearby wall. Hoping he hadn't scared her, Toby made a feeble apology for his lack of restraint.

  She responded with a kiss and guided his hands to the hole in the fabric that he'd made.

  "Don't stop," she implored, offering him the comfort of a body straining to please.

  Toby needed no more encouragement than that. Since the first day this woman stepped inside his house and pointed her stubborn chin in his direction, he wondered what it would be like to have her beneath him. Since kissing her beneath a shower of fireworks in a sultry Savannah sky, he couldn't stop dreaming of what it would be like to be inside her.

  He struggled for breath as she tested his manhood, gently squeezing it in her hands. Heather gasped again. Pushed to the limits of human willpower, Toby could wait no longer.

  Despite his heartfelt intention to be gentle, Toby felt himself lose control.

  Heather couldn't tell whether the indistinguishable words upon his lips were an oath or a prayer as he plunged into her. She heard herself mimicking his language with soft, guttural sounds of her own—sounds that sprung from some dark, secret place inside her. There was no thought in their lovemaking, save a driving need to hold nothing back, as the passion that had been building inside both of them burst like a dam under unsustainable pressure. Raging, swollen waters swept them both away in a terrifying and oh-so-glorious ride.

  Surrounding herself with him, Heather offered Toby not just her warm and willing flesh, but also feelings as real and enduring as the silver-rimmed mountains casting shadows through the open blinds. This acknowledgement came as a revelation. She dug her fingernails into the flesh of Toby's broad shoulders and discovered there was no way to keep from falling in love with the man who shuddered as he poured himself inside her with a moan that made her feel both small and powerful at the same time.

  Heather squeezed her eyes shut and clung to the dream that he might someday love her back. That he continued to hold her and engage in tender afterplay was a new and wonderful experience. Still, she knew better than to proclaim her feelings in bed. Such declarations tended to be brushed aside in the harsh light of day.

  Josef had been the kind of man to tell a woman he loved her, even if he didn't, just to advance his own needs. Heather suspected Toby might have trouble saying those words even if they came from the bottom of his heart. Between the two, she far preferred the latter. Coaxing sweet words from a man meant nothing if he said them only in an attempt to pacify a petulant lover or soothe his own conscience. Wrapping her arms around shoulders slick with sweat, she reveled in the comfort of a body made hard by honest labor. Spent, he was hers alone until the morning light climbed the peaks of the nearby mountains, and brought not only a new day but also a new chance at rebuilding her life.

  * * *

  Eleven

  « ^ »

  Dawn light spilled across the mangled sheets of Toby's bed, bidding him to open his eyes slowly and count his blessings as he did every morning. The woman curled against his body in a kittenish ball was first among those blessings today. Staring at his sleeping beauty, Toby had to wonder if he wasn't still dreaming. His body's involuntary response to her silky skin against his convinced him otherwise.

  That he could awaken in such a thoroughly aroused state after a night of the most intense and satiating lovemaking of his life was as wondrous as the realization that Heather wanted him as much he wanted her. That she didn't seem inclined to demand more than he was capable of giving at the present added to the fact that she was already more than a mother to his son, and made their relationship as perfect as any he could imagine. He kissed her awake with the aching tenderness he had been incapable of giving her last night.

  "Next time I promise to go slow," he whispered in her ear.

  Stretching a body sore from a night of glorious lovemaking, Heather smiled up at him in a way that made his heart somersault inside his chest.

  "I didn't find anything lacking in last night's performance, cowboy."

  A sweet melody all on its own, her voice rivaled the meadowlarks and robins that were noisily competing for top billing outside. Never had a day seemed riper with opportunity. Had Toby not a ranch to run and a son to tend to, he would have been more than tempted to spend it in bed, leisurely showing Heather the many ways a truly dedicated man such as himself could please her. As it was, all that would have to wait until the sun set once again.

  "We'd better get up and dressed before Dylan wakes up and stumbles on the two of us in bed," Heather said, stretching languidly and wondering when she would get around to explaining it to herself. "I don't think I'm up for that just yet."

  "I suppose it could be traumatic," he murmured, resisting the urge to tempt fate. "I'd hate to set his progress back any."

  Though Heather nodded in understanding, her heart, which only a moment before was as light and spirited as a sparrow, fell like a stone to the ground. Reverting to her shy old self, she was out of bed in a trice. She grabbed her torn nightgown from the floor and pulled it around her, balling it in the fist of one hand. She may have been the one to initiate this particular topic of conversation, but it nonetheless hurt to think that her love could be considered disturbing at any level.

  Was sex merely a prelude for all men to discard the women they conquered? The memory of Josef casting her aside for a new, improved and potentially more lucrative model came rushing back to haunt her. Determined to spill her tears in the privacy of her own room, Heather held her chin up high as she moved toward the door.

  Toby reached out for her, pulling her onto his lap. "Not so fast," he said, pausing to nuzzle the back of her neck. "I said I intend to go slow with you, and I mean it. But that doesn't mean you need to rush out of here without giving me a kiss."

  Heather worried that going slow only meant postponing the inevitable—a breakup that would cost her not only her job but also the last shreds of her dignity. God help her, she didn't think she could endure that.

  Not when she was so completely in love with him.

  There was no use in denying that fact any longer. Having already given Toby her heart, the only thing she knew for certain was that she would rather settle for a torrid affair with him than nothing at all. If it proved short-lived, as she suspected, she would cling to her memories to her dying day. The beautiful pictures in her head of their time together would always be her own to cherish and carry with her.

  No one could take those from her.

  In t
he time it took to turn around, Heather's jumbled thoughts sorted themselves out with the kind of clarity that eluded most people every step along life's predictable path. The kiss she gave Toby was sweet and full of promise.

  It held no taste of the remorse clogging her throat. There is a part of every woman that believes she can win a man's heart by completely satisfying his body. Heather was no exception to the rule. She opened her nightgown and let it fall to the floor in a puddle about her bare feet. Then she proceeded to push Toby back on the bed and straddle him. If they were to have only a short time together, she intended to leave a lasting impression upon him. One that would render him unfit for any other woman ever again.

  Heather played him like a masterpiece. Lovingly. Her fingers ran over his most sensitive spots, evoking music from a place so deep inside, Toby was swept away with the profundity of it. His eyes widened to see this gentle, modest woman turn into a wild vixen.

  His promise to go slow would have to wait to be fulfilled yet another time. Toby gave her all that she asked for and then some. His shaft was as demanding as the soft flesh that welcomed him home. He heard himself call out her name, filled his hands with breasts as soft as satin and suckled her until she came, again and again. Repeating his own name breathlessly over and over, Heather reveled in the glorious spasms rocking her body.

  "I'm going to explode," Toby murmured through gritted teeth, as if regretting the fact that he could wait no longer to satisfy his own pleasure.

  The crescendo carried him toward that explosion. Panting, he quivered in her arms, staring into a pair of eyes that mirrored his climax and accepted the warmth spilling into her with palpable satisfaction.

  Holding her in his arms long afterward, the thrumming in his blood reminded Toby that he was a physical creature with needs, and that living life solely for one's children was always a mistake. Every man was entitled to seek happiness on his own terms. He believed that he, too, deserved to love and be loved for himself alone.

  Love?

  The word popped into his head, startling him. Could it be that Heather was looking for more than a physical relationship with him? Was it possible she wanted him without regard to what his name could do for her? That she might actually accept his dreams as her own? His arms tightened around her in the certain knowledge that one would have to be a fool to let such a woman go without a fight.

  * * *

  The days that followed were the happiest that Heather had ever known. Starting and ending her days in the arms of the man she loved was as close to heaven as she could imagine. In between, the time flew. She hummed while she worked and took enormous pleasure in the bouquets of wildflowers that Toby brought her every day. Dylan picked up on their happy mood and, though he still refused to speak, he smiled more readily, and the simple tunes he composed mirrored the joyfulness infusing a house that had only a month ago been filled with the sorrowful echoes of the past.

  In helping Dylan express himself through his musical gifts, Heather was drawn back to the piano, as she had been when she was but a child herself. Now, however, rather than seeing the instrument as something that had once enslaved her, she began to rediscover her own love of music through the eyes and ears of a sensitive boy. Watching his little fingers move over the ivories, Heather came to understand that like love itself, when given of its own accord and accepted without strings, the talent they shared was truly a sacred gift.

  Dylan smiled up at her instinctively. He nestled next to her on the piano bench and let the waves of that sweet melody wash over them and carry them both far away from troubles brewing in the distance.

  * * *

  Wiping his dirty hands on his work-worn jeans, Toby stood in the doorway of his house and admired the view in silent reverence. The curve of Heather's slender, white neck bent over the keyboard was enough to bring him to his knees. The softening light of the afternoon sun filtered into the room, casting a halo over her fair hair. The sight of his son snuggled up next to this miracle worker was something he wished he had the talent to capture on canvas for posterity.

  Unfortunately, Toby was no artist. Nor did he share his son's musical gift. In fact, he once joked that he couldn't carry a tune in a 747 jet. His artistry and passion were reserved for the way he handled horses, a gift he had apparently been born with. He considered himself lucky to have parents who nurtured what others regarded as little more than a silly, boyish whim. That he was able to make a life around such a whim brought him great satisfaction—and the grudging respect of his neighbors. Toby had earned a name for himself among skeptical locals as well as breeders of national repute for the way he could gentle a horse without force. He didn't claim to be a horse whisperer. Still, anyone watching him could not help but be impressed with the way he communicated with even the most skittish of horses with a calming touch and softly murmured words into the animal's ear.

  In all his years, never had he seen a more wary creature than the one presently coaxing music from his son's chubby little fingers. When the song ended, a metronome on the mantel continued to keep time to the blood throbbing in Toby's veins. He had faced divorce with the kind of stoic discipline that characterized his ideal of a strong man. Was it possible, he wondered, that he didn't have to face the rest of his life alone pretending to feel less deeply than he did? Would the words I love you ever come as easily to his lips as to his heart?

  Where words failed both his son and himself, it seemed music had the power to heal. He had read somewhere that music could reach people with cognitive disabilities. Even stroke victims who are unable to speak could sometimes sing the lyrics to familiar songs. Feeling emotionally disabled, Toby worried he could very easily ruin everything by succumbing to the song of his own heart. Standing there as a silent observer, surrounded by a feeling of utter contentment unlike any he'd known before, he longed to ask Heather to marry him.

  He wondered if she would think marriage was tantamount to tying a rock around her own dreams. Heather had confided little about her past to him, and Toby wasn't one to pry. Still, it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that she had been badly burned before and was leery of commitment in general. Toby had the feeling that she had one foot inside the threshold of his home and one firmly planted on a racing block outside. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away.

  Already devastated by his mother's abandonment, Dylan could ill afford losing the only other woman in his life he had come to trust and love. And Toby didn't think he could personally withstand losing the woman he had come to need as surely as a man needed air to breathe. He didn't know exactly when he had fallen in love with her, only that he had fallen hard. Just watching her now evoked such a fierce feeling of possessiveness that it would have scared a lesser man. He most certainly didn't want it to scare her.

  Toby didn't know how Heather felt about taking on the responsibilities of instant motherhood. Or giving up her own dreams. Every time he thought about proposing marriage, he heard Sheila's mocking voice ringing in his ears.

  What woman in her right mind would want to waste her life rotting away in the middle of such a godforsaken wasteland with a man who isn't smart enough to use his family influence to carve out a nice life for himself in the lap of luxury?

  Sheila certainly had no compunctions about using her pregnancy to trap Toby into marriage. Nor walking away from that marriage once she discovered she would never be able to shape him into the gentleman of leisure that she wanted him to be. There was no doubt that marriage had left a bad taste in Toby's mouth. He supposed it was only a matter of time before Heather grew tired of the isolation that Sheila claimed would make any woman stir-crazy. And promiscuous if the rumors about his ex were correct.

  In Toby's mind, it was far better to try out a relationship without a binding ceremony than to risk being so poorly used again.

  So it was guilt, fear and bliss that competed for top billing as both Toby and Heather sorted through their feelings by day. At night the stars collapsed about them as they
sought ecstasy in the warm, willing flesh given to two souls desperately seeking a permanent home in each other's arms. Come the following morning, they politely assured themselves that they were only interested in the moment.

  Secretly they both wanted much, much more.

  * * *

  "Would you mind taking Dylan into town for his booster shot?" Toby asked Heather over breakfast one morning. "I'd do it myself, but I just got a call that Sun Dancer's arrival is going to be delayed. I really need to be here to sign the paperwork when he arrives."

  Sun Dancer was the prize stud upon which Toby was betting a great deal of money to strengthen the bloodlines of his stock. Heather knew the paperwork was merely a front for the real reason he wanted to remain behind. Whatever place she held in Toby's heart, she suspected his first love would always be horses.

  "Far be it from me to deny one stud the pleasure of welcoming another to his new home," she quipped. "Besides, it'll be a nice change to get away from the ranch for the day."

  Reminded of Sheila's aversion to ranch life, Toby flinched. "Under any other circumstances, you know that I'd volunteer to go with you."

  Heather didn't pick up on the concern in his voice. She was happy to do him the favor and thought nothing more of it. How could she know that any mention of leaving the ranch for a change of pace sent shivers of dread racing through the man she loved? Or that he feared the same pattern of boredom and desertion repeated itself in such an innocuous statement?

  Toby reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He peeled off a couple of hundreds off the top and shoved them along with a credit card across the table at her.