He'd spent so much of the time he was with her either trying to ignore her or fighting with her, that he'd had damn few chances to simply savor the beauty and gentleness that was Jill. It wasn't in the best interests of his mental health to do so now. He knew it. But he didn't seem to be able to stop himself.
And hell, at least he'd have the memory. When he was a crochety old codger still wrangling horses and punching cows, he could drag it out and look at it in his mind's eye again and again.
It was worth the risk.
She was lying on her back, one arm under her head, the other clutching the blanket against her chest. He really couldn't see all that much of her, except her face. It was enough. His eyes traced the soft fullness of her cheeks, then leisurely moved down the stubborn line of her jaw. His gaze lingered first on the dark brown half-moons of her lashes, then dropped to her mouth. He remembered kissing that mouth. He could remember its taste. And the memory brought with it a need, surging up unbidden and unwanted inside him. Stifling a groan, he fought it off.
But whatever sound he didn't manage to stifle woke Jill. She stretched and rolled onto her side, opened her eyes and looked at him.
"Good morning." The softness of her voice sent a shiver down his spine.
"'Mornin'." His own voice sounded rusty. He rolled up to a sitting position, knowing full well the danger of lying there looking at Jill lying there looking at him.
She sat up just as quickly. "I'll do it. You should stay in bed."
He slanted her a grin. "I appreciate the offer, but this is one thing you can't do for me."
Jill blushed as he tugged on his jeans and ambled toward the door. "You're all right?" she called after him.
"Fine." He was, in fact, much better. Not that he looked it. His face looked worse than the time a bull had caught him with a flying hoof back in his rodeo days. Not surprising. That had been a glancing blow. This had been anything but. His one consolation was that having to look at him ought to turn off any lingering interest Jill might have.
But if it did, she didn't show it.
By the time he got back, she was up and dressed and had the coffee on. He could smell it the moment he opened the door. It set his stomach to growling and he pressed a hand against his belly. All of a sudden he was starving. He said so.
"I don't wonder," Jill said. "You didn't eat anything yesterday."
He couldn't remember much about yesterday. Only that she'd been here fussing over him, that she'd gone to check on the cattle, that he'd worried until she came back, that he'd tried to make her see sense and that she hadn't. Obviously, or she wouldn't still have been here.
"Sit down. I'll make you breakfast."
It was too early to argue with her. He sat down and let her make it. She'd come equipped, that was for sure. He usually got by on fruit and bread and cold, dry cereal out of the box. She came with eggs and milk and bacon.
By the time he'd put away three eggs, half a dozen strips of bacon, four pieces of bread that she toasted by holding them on a long fork over the burner on the stove, complete with some of Annette's homemade strawberry jam, his stomach thought he'd died and gone to heaven.
He couldn't have suppressed the sigh of contentment once he finished even if he'd tried. Hank slid her head onto his knee and looked hopefully for a scrap. There weren't any. He scratched her ears.
"Sorry, old girl. It was too good."
Jill smiled. "Thank you."
He looked up and met her gaze. Then he hauled himself to his feet and started toward the door. "Better get goin'," he said. "Thanks for breakfast. And for...you know...bothering." He set his hat on his head and opened the door.
"Can I come?" Jill said. "Just for today," she added even as the word no was forming on his lips.
He hesitated, then nodded. "For today," he agreed.
After all, he reasoned, he could hardly say no when she'd done so much for him. Besides, she was leaving. For good.
Pretty soon memories would be the only thing he had.
Once, when he and Keith had been in Australia doing a movie, Luke had had the opportunity to spend the last evening he was there in a bar talking to an old Aborigine who had had a minor role in the film. The talk had ranged far and wide, covering the virtues of American versus Australian-rules football, the best points of American versus Australian saddles. And, of course, they'd spent considerable time debating—and sampling—a multitude of American and Australian beers.
But what stuck in Luke's mind now, five years later, was something the Australian had said about time. There was ordinary time, he'd told Luke, and there was ceremonial time. Dream time. A time that existed on another plane of reality altogether.
Then, muzzy-headed with beer and the fatigue that accompanied the end of the shoot, Luke had only had a vague sort of grasp of what he was talking about. It made a lot more sense to him as he spent this day with Jill. He didn't know if the Aborigine would agree that what they were sharing that day was dream time or not, but as far as Luke was concerned, it qualified.
The day was clear and cool when they set out. First they fed the horses, then saddled up two of them and headed out so that Jill could show Luke the reluctant cows she'd met the day before. Then he showed her how to convince them to move and left her to it.
"Aren't you going to help?" she asked him.
"If you need it."
She got a small, determined smile on her face. Then she urged her horse forward. "Come on, cows," she said. "Move it."
Eventually they moved. She did surprisingly well. He smiled his approval. She smiled back. The day got a little warmer.
They made a circle to see to the cattle that she hadn't had a chance to check on the day before. Luke found one logy calf that he wanted to keep an eye on, so he drove it and its mother down to a lower pasture, the one where the steer that had been involved in his downfall still stood.
"This is the infirmary," Jill guessed.
"In a manner of speaking."
Jill shook her head and looked at him with a mixture of chagrin and pity. Then she rode up close and peered into his blackened eyes.
"They do give you a certain je ne sais quoi," she told him, with only the barest twitch of her lips.
"It's nice to know a woman who can defend herself," Luke replied soberly.
And once more they smiled, and the day warmed even more. If Luke sensed the danger in those smiles or in the warm feelings growing between them, he ignored it. He just soaked up the impressions and the memories, willing to let the present take care of itself.
Dream time.
Yes, that's what it was.
It could have been meteorological conditions, or it could have been the increasing heat between them, but at that moment there was a white flash, followed by a loud peal of thunder. Huge clouds rumbled over the mountains and rain started pouring down.
Brief thunderstorms were frequent in the late afternoon during the summer months. But this one was a gully-washer, with thunder rumbling, lightning streaking and rain coming down in buckets.
"Come on," Luke shouted, touching his heels to his horse. "We're close to the cabin. Let's go."
Of course, they were drenched by the time they got there. And if it was possible to be any wetter, they got that way by the time they unsaddled and turned out the horses. Then, laughing and gasping, they ran across the clearing and stumbled up the steps and into the cabin. Luke slammed the door and fell back against it.
In front of him, Jill stood still, her jeans and shirt plastered against her skin, outlining her willowy curves. She turned and he saw her lips trembling. Her teeth chattered.
"Are you cold?" he asked her. He was burning himself, hotter now than he had been all day.
"No, uh...yes," she said, crossing her arms and rubbing her hands against her soaked sleeves.
"You'd...better get out of those clothes."
Their eyes met. Everything that had been growing all day—all week—hell, forever, as far as Luke was concerned—s
eemed suddenly too strong to deny.
Dream time.
Just today. He wouldn't ask for more than today.
"Jill?" His voice was ragged. He swallowed hard. "Take them off."
Her gaze dropped. She lifted her hands, and her fingers began to fumble with the buttons of her shirt, but they trembled and she made little progress.
"Let me?"
Her hands fell away. She looked up again, and everything he'd ever wanted to see in her eyes was there. More than he deserved to see. More than he could accept. But he couldn't look away. Not now. Not today.
"Just once," he whispered.
She tipped her head. "What?"
He gave his a little shake. "Nothing." He laid his hands against her breasts and began to work the buttons of her shirt. "If you want to say no, say it now."
A faint smile lit her face. "I'm not going to say no, Luke." And then she raised her own hands and began to undo his shirt as well.
Her fingers brushing against his chest made him tremble. Her breath against his lips made his knees shake. Her mouth tracing the line of his jaw made him insane. He practically tore her shirt getting those buttons undone. But even when he got that done, it still clung wetly to her skin and he nearly had to peel it off her. He made quicker work of her bra, then bent his head and kissed the tip of each uplifted breast.
"Luke!" She shivered at the touch of his lips, which only made him want to kiss her more. And more.
Her hands moved to drag his shirt from his shoulders, and he stepped back long enough to allow her that, then wrapped his arms around her and hauled her close. It was good. Hell, it was wonderful.
It wasn't enough. Soggy denim stood between them and ecstasy. He moved impatiently to unfasten her jeans, even as she was doing the same to his. The wetness of the material prolonged the agony, yet somehow made the feel of her naked skin against his, when it finally happened, all that much better.
There were still boots. Luke didn't want to deal with boots. He wanted Jill now, all of her. But Jill had other ideas.
"Wait," she said. And she knelt in front of him, encouraging him to lift first one foot, then the other, so that she could tug off his boots. He did, bracing himself by holding onto her shoulders. His eyes fastened on her naked back, her curly, damp hair. He felt a surge of desire so strong it rocked him. And then she had his last boot off, had snaked his jeans away, too, and finally he was free.
Free to draw her down onto the bed and do the same to her, tugging her jeans and panties down her hips, then wiggling her free of both them and her boots so that she lay naked before him. Dream time. Heaven help him, yes.
She raised her arms to him, inviting him, and there wasn't the faintest possibility that he'd be able to say no. He'd lost whatever chance he had long before they'd started on each other's buttons, no matter what he said.
In dream time there was no past, there was no future, there was only now. And now was what Luke needed. The past hurt too much. The future was out of his reach. It didn't matter. For the moment he had everything.
He had Jill.
He lowered himself onto her, his hands stroking her soft damp skin, tangling in the wet curls of her hair. His lips brushed against her forehead, then nibbled at her brows, kissed her nose, then fastened at last on her mouth.
He intended to go slow, to savor, to prolong the joy and the excitement. But his will didn't get its way. The eager movement of Jill's body beneath his undid all his best intentions. It teased him and it coaxed him, and he was lost.
When her hands found him to bring him inside her, he had no power to resist. Nothing in him, not even his mind, at this point, wanted to resist. He only wanted her.
Dream time.
Yes, that's what it was. The one time when all was right with the world, when he was home and warm and safe and loved. When he was one with the woman who had somehow, from the first time he'd seen her, seemed an elemental part of his existence.
He didn't think about reality, didn't focus for once on the thousand things, large and small, that would prevent such a union. He couldn't. He was a part of it, consumed by it, wholly centered on Jill, on loving her the way she ought to be loved.
Just once.
And he did. He could see it in her face as she tossed her head from side to side. He could feel it in the clutch of her fingers against his back. He could savor it in the swift clench of her body around him, in the lift of her hips, in the press of her knees against his hips and, finally, in the soft groan of his name as she touched her lips to his.
It was this last gentle whisper that shattered him. All vestiges of control deserted him. He was lost. He was loved.
Dream time. His time. Her time.
He felt her hand stroke his hair, then move down to feather lightly along his back. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, then another to his jaw. He lifted his head and looked down at her. She smiled. It was a soft smile, a gentle smile, a loving smile. She lifted her other hand and laid it lightly on the side of his face.
"I love you," she whispered softly.
Dream time was over. Well over.
He rolled away from her, onto his back, and folded his arms beneath his head.
"When are you going back to California—or is it New York?" he asked. He didn't look at her. He tried to keep his voice neutral, to keep all the emotions he felt roiling inside him shut out. He opened his eyes, but he looked at the rough-hewn wooden ceiling; he didn't look at her.
She didn't answer at once. She shifted on the bed. He could almost feel her withdrawing, regrouping, then preparing to mount another attack.
Don't, he wanted to beg her. It won't help. It won't do either of us any good at all.
"Actually," she said at last and with just the tiniest edge to her voice, "it's Los Angeles this time. It's a magazine assignment."
"Another movie star?"
She nodded. "Damon Hunter."
Luke knew Damon Hunter vaguely. They had met at several parties. Keith had never done a picture with him, but often the roles Keith hadn't taken, Damon had. Now Damon was getting roles that once would have been Keith's. Would he get Keith's girlfriend, too?
Behind his head, Luke's fingers tightened into fists. Consciously he worked at relaxing them, and telling himself he didn't care if Damon did, telling himself that her words of love didn't mean anything.
"You'll like that," he said with as much indifference as he could manage. "It's right up your alley."
"What's that mean?" He could hear her trying to keep her voice level.
"The movie-star bit." His mouth twisted cynically. "Another Keith."
"There will never be another Keith," she said simply. "But yes, I'll enjoy it. I like doing interviews. I like people. I like finding out what makes them tick."
"Is that what you've been doing with me?"
Her mouth pulled tight for a moment. "You know it's not."
"Yeah." He did, but he didn't really want to deal with it even now. "What's so interesting about movie stars?"
Jill shrugged. "The fame angle, I guess. Fame puts tremendous burdens on people. Regular people tend to think it makes the famous ones different, but it doesn't. They still want happiness and love and good health, just like the rest of us."
"And they have no more chance than we do of getting it," Luke said. "Take Keith."
"Keith loved his life," Jill said firmly. "He wouldn't have changed it. He wouldn't have done anything differently."
"He would have liked to have lived."
"Of course. But he made his own life, lived it on his own terms. Even when it was hard, he never ran away from it," she added. "And he never second-guessed himself."
"He never had time."
"Some of us have too much time."
"I wish I didn't," Luke muttered.
"Come back to L. A. with me. Go see Carl. I told you he wants you for a movie he's going to be doing."
"With who? Damon Hunter?"
"I don't know. It could be."
"No way." Luke shook his head adamantly.
"So what are you going to do? Sit up here on this mountain and wallow in your misery for the rest of your life? I thought you had more guts than that."
He looked at her, stung. "Damn it, what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to say that what happened to Keith was a terrible thing, but that you're not going to let it be the end of your life, too. I want you to come back and go to work again, pick up your life." She faced him squarely, her gray eyes imploring him, challenging him. "I want," she said softly, "for you to admit you love me, too."
Their eyes met. He saw urgency in hers, and support and something more.
Love? Promise? Faith in a future that he hadn't let himself believe in for years?
He didn't know. He didn't try to figure it out. He was afraid to.
Jill was right; he didn't have the guts. He could ride wild horses, jump off cliffs, wreck cars and walk away without a qualm. He couldn't do this.
As far as he was concerned, he had no right to the happiness that loving Jill would bring him.
"Luke?"
Slowly he let out a long breath, then shook his head. "I can't."
Nine
She left that evening after the weather cleared.
She didn't argue with him. She didn't berate him or harangue him. She didn't have to. He could see it in her eyes.
When he said, "I can't," the light simply went out of them. The color in her cheeks seemed to fade. Her mouth pressed into a thin line—not a hard line, just a sad one. She let out a slow breath, then turned away, dressing slowly, keeping her back to him, as if by doing so she could pretend he wasn't there.
He dressed, too, also without speaking. There wasn't really anything else to say until he stuffed his feet into his boots. Then he said, "I'll saddle your horse."
She nodded, her back still turned.
He let himself out into the cool evening air. It was that fresh, after-the-storm weather that washed the world clean and made everything look bright and new.
Luke didn't feel new. He felt a hundred years old. He moved as if he were that old, too. He knew it was prolonging the inevitable. He knew he was a fool. He ought to be running to saddle her horse and get her on her way.
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