by Nancy Bush
His guts tightened as he surveyed her.
Silken black hair shimmered blue in the light from the chandelier. Her dress was clingy, showing off a slender, toned body with firm breasts and rounded hips. Her calf muscles flexed with each step. His heart raced a little faster as he watched her stride across a catwalk to disappear from his line of vision.
Though it was risky and he couldn’t afford to get caught, he took a chance. Moving silently around the outbuildings at the back of the house, he kept to the shadows and hoped the light snowfall would cover his tracks as he made his way until he was in position to view the master bathroom window.
Again, he waited.
Again, he was rewarded.
Within three minutes, lights came on and Pilar stepped into view. As if she knew he was watching, she bent low. Probably turning on the water of the large soaking tub located beneath the window. And then, as the tub filled, she started removing her dress. Slowly she bunched the fabric and hiked the dress over her head, an unwitting striptease. Next she unhooked the bit of black lace that was her bra and dropped it as well. Her breasts fell free, dark nipples exposed. He felt his throat tighten, his pulse jump. She rotated her head as she shook out her hair, black tresses tumbling past tan lines on her taut skin.
Mesmerized, he stared, his damned cock actually twitching in the cold as she bent over, breasts dangling. Rising again, she pulled her hair into a ponytail mounted high on the back of her head. Quickly she shimmied out of her panties, dimmed the lights and stepped into the tub. Squinting, he watched the windows begin to steam.
His guts twisted as she disappeared and he imagined what it would be like to slide into the tub with her, mount that hot, tight body. The water, almost uncomfortably warm, might be oiled or perfumed. Her body would be slick and oh, so sweet. Her mouth would round with surprise and pleasure as he drove himself deep inside her. Hot. Wanting. Willing.
He was really hard now.
If he closed his eyes …
NO! Stop it!
He took a step backward and blinked, his fantasy withering along with his cock. Sucking in a deep, angry breath, he felt the ice in the air freeze his lungs.
His head cleared in a rush.
He couldn’t be distracted.
Not by Pilar Larson or anyone else.
He wet his suddenly dry lips with his tongue and turned away, his fingers clutching the knife in a death grip, his imagination running wild. He thought of what he would do to that bitch if he ever got her alone. Thought of the seductive feel of the first cut, the knife’s blade probing beneath a layer of smooth skin. Despite the bitter rush of wind from the north, a cold smile twisted his lips as he slipped away.
Soon, he thought, reminding himself that there was work to be done first.
Practice makes perfect.
But then …
Again his imagination took flight and he saw her naked, lying beneath him, gasping for breath, soaked in sweat, not realizing that the orgasm he’d educed from her would be her last, until she saw the glimmer of the metal blade descending …
Chapter Ten
“I love you. I’ve always loved you, Sabrina, you know that. I’m so damned sorry …” Colton’s voice was earnest, his gray eyes filled with sincerity as he leaned across the bed and moved over her, skin on skin. Far away, a coyote howled, its cry jarring, as if the animal were in pain. Before she could ask about it, Colton kissed her. Hard. Sabrina’s skin tingled and when his lips found hers, she sighed into his mouth and felt the warmth of his naked flesh against hers.
“I love you, too,” she said, feeling his hardness against her abdomen and the fire burning hot, deep inside her as the coyote’s whines faded. Making love to him was so easy, so natural. “I’ve never stopped …”
Bleep! Bleep! Bleep!
Annoyingly the alarm clock broke into Sabrina’s dream. The sweet sensation of Colton’s body against hers faded as she slapped at the clock and pulled herself to a sitting position. She closed her eyes for a second, wanting to fall back into the warmth of that sexual fantasy, but it was gone. Damn.
Throwing off the covers, she snapped on the light. Her cat, a sixteen-year-old Siamese that she’d adopted when the owner had been forced to move into a retirement home, stretched lazily on the covers. “Come on, Claudia, it’s time to get up and at ’em.”
And time to let go of silly schoolgirl dreams. Spending just a few moments with Colton yesterday had already started messing with her psyche. She’d come home to her townhouse and for the first time in years, she’d felt lonely. Empty. There was a hole in her life Claudia couldn’t fill.
The cat followed her from the kitchen, where she started coffee brewing, and into the bathroom, where she took a quick shower. Stepping from beneath the spray, she wrapped a towel around her torso, tried to comb out the wild tangle of her hair, then stared at her reflection in the mirror, calling herself names for hanging on to what had mostly been a high school crush all these years.
And it wasn’t like she hadn’t had other relationships. She’d dated a number of different men. She’d even kind of thought she might marry Brent Bywater, but somehow that had just slipped away. Her fault probably, she realized now. All because of Colton Dillinger.
Growling beneath her breath, she tossed off the towel and threw on her clothes, then headed into the kitchen. Her morning routine didn’t vary much, though, she had to admit, her dream was the best she’d had in a long while. Even if Colton Dillinger had filled the part of her lover.
“It’s been too long,” she admitted to Claudia as she flipped on the TV, then scrounged in the refrigerator for cat food and yogurt. While Claudia turned her nose up at her tuna delight, Sabrina folded the yogurt into a small bowl of granola and frozen blueberries.
Her mind was already on the day ahead and she was waiting for the weather report when the story of the missing woman came on. Her head snapped to the television when she heard that there was concern of foul play and the sheriff’s department was asking anyone who had seen or heard from Amber Barstow to contact the department.
“What happened to you?” Sabrina mused. During the summer, Prairie Creek had its fair share of tourists longing for a taste of the Old West, but this time of year few people visited. And now, in the heart of the holiday season, a woman was missing. Sabrina stared at the photo of Amber Barstow on the screen. She didn’t look familiar. Sabrina sincerely hoped she would turn up alive and well.
In minutes, she’d finished her morning routine and gathered her things. She wanted to get into the clinic early. “And quit thinking about Colton,” she told herself as she hurried down the stairs leading to her basement garage.
So he was back in town for a while. So what? So he wanted to talk. Big deal. Life went on, despite any predawn fantasies she may have had.
Colton awoke in the bunkhouse feeling both rested and restless. His thoughts were on Sabrina. He hadn’t realized she’d never forgiven him, until he was in the moment. It bothered him to think how much his thoughtless actions had hurt her when he’d left her and Prairie Creek behind. He’d learned to anesthetize his feelings when he’d lost his family; it was the only way he’d been able to cope. But Sabrina’s feelings were still raw, at least where he was concerned.
Well, Ira had given him her number, so he would call her soon.
At least she was willing to talk to him, sort of. With his son, that wasn’t the case. After the confrontation with Pilar and Rourke, Colton had decided to crash in the building erected for the hired hands. Since it was winter and the summer workers had moved on, and the two full-time hands had homes in town, he had the bunkhouse to himself. He was tending the fire, trying to take the chill off the drafty bunkhouse cabin, when someone knocked on the door.
He opened it to find his sister Ricki holding up a thermos. “Room service.”
He grinned and she gave him a bear hug, clapping him on the back.
“I was getting worried when I couldn’t find you last night,” he told
her. “Thought that maybe you’d packed up and hightailed it back to New York after all.”
“You were worried? How did you think I felt when I figured that I might be the only one of Dad’s kids here for the big wedding,” she charged, then laughed. “Okay, deep down, I knew you’d cave.” Ricki poured two cups of coffee from the thermos. “And I figured you’d end up here, rather than at the main house.”
“So now you’re clairvoyant?” He accepted the steaming cup and stood at the window where he looked across a small portion of the Rocking D’s snow-flocked acres.
“Close enough.”
“Look into your crystal ball and tell me if I ever get close to Rourke.”
“Ahh, yes. That’s a tough one. Especially if you’re going to try and do it without everyone knowing your business and all the dirt about you and Pilar. Word gets around fast.”
“So much for your powers of divination.”
“So you saw him? I take it he didn’t exactly welcome you with open arms?” She capped the thermos and took a spot next to him at the window.
“He made a point of telling me I wasn’t his father and that he already had one.”
“And?”
“I figured that would happen, but he had a meltdown, swore and stormed up the stairs. Really pissed Pilar off.” He took a sip of the hot coffee, which hit his empty stomach hard.
“She needs to give the kid some time.”
“Yep.” He glanced over his rim. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here so soon, especially with all this wedding crap. Rourke’s mother is getting married—not a very reassuring time for him.”
“Well, if you’re looking for advice, I’m fresh out. Got a teenager of my own who has her own set of daddy issues.”
Colton scratched the stubble on his chin. He and Ricki had always been close, even when she’d lived back East. Though they didn’t talk on the phone or e-mail or text weekly or even monthly, there was a tight bond between them, a connection that spanned distance and time. It was as easy to talk to her now as it had been when they were two gangly devil-may-care kids who had raced bareback on their horses across the dried-up pond in the heat of late summer.
She told him about her frustrations with Brook, who wasn’t adapting to life in Wyoming and was trying to find any way possible to return to New York.
“I can’t really blame her. When we came out here, the plan was for me to take care of Mom. But after Mom passed, I realized I didn’t miss the craziness of the city as much as I thought I would. And this is a great place to call home. Wide-open spaces, slower pace, fresh air …”
“And a break from the ex?”
“Exactly. Ari will always be Brook’s father. I just hope she didn’t inherit his addictive behavior.”
Colton had heard about Ari’s problems, more than once. “I think you made a good choice.” He finished his coffee and she poured him another quick, last shot. “This place would be perfect if it wasn’t for Dad’s iron fist.”
“You might find it hard to believe, but Dillinger drama puts the fun back in dysfunction, compared to Ari and his chaos.” She sighed into her coffee cup. “He’s got a serious addiction, Colt, and I’m afraid it’s going to kill him.”
“Drugs will do that.”
She nodded. “It was compromising my position with the police department, and his behavior was doing a number on Brook. I don’t think she knows about the drugs, and I haven’t been able to destroy her image of her father, not yet.”
“You know I won’t say anything.” He took another slug of coffee.
“Good. And speaking of sensitive matters, I take it you saw Sabrina last night?”
“You know about that?”
“Give me a break. Everyone on the ranch knows about it. Come on. Spill.”
Sure, he’d spent most of last night thinking about Sabrina, but that was about as far as it went. And she’d made it pretty clear how she’d felt—that he was a bastard of the lowest order—so he wasn’t ready to talk. He noticed his sister looking at him expectantly as she sipped, and he wished Ricki would leave well enough alone. Some things you just didn’t want to discuss with your sister. “I said I’d call her sometime, but there’s a chance I’ll catch her again this morning. She’s coming back to see Davis over some coyote trouble.”
“Good luck with that. You know what they say about a woman scorned.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Laughing, she patted his shoulder and gratefully changed the subject. “Bet you’re starved. If you and Montana want to head over to our place, I’ll make you breakfast.”
“You’re on, sister.”
“Thirty minutes. Gives me time to drag Brook out of bed. Nothing fancy. Bacon, eggs, toast and jam. Maybe some apple butter, if you’re lucky.”
She left, and Colton headed into the washroom. He showered, shaved, fed the dog from a new bag he’d picked up along the route from Montana, then headed to the foreman’s house. Ricki was as good as her word and kept his plate full until he pushed himself away from her small table and lifted a hand in protest when she tried to scoop a second serving of bacon onto his plate. “Enough, woman!”
About that time, Brook stumbled down from the upper loft, a white kitten on her trail. Fortunately Montana was preoccupied, warming himself near the heat register, and didn’t care when the kitten, a white lump of fluff, hopped onto the ledge of the bench surrounding a built-in banquette.
“Get down, Rudolph,” Ricki said, making a shooing motion while Brook plopped into a big chair in front of the television. With hair falling out of a ponytail on the top of her head, Brook wore pajama bottoms, a T-shirt and a surly attitude.
“Too early for TV,” her mother admonished as the teenager, wrapped in a thick blanket, picked up the remote and was about to click it on. “Say hello to your uncle and have some breakfast.”
Swiping back hair from her eyes, Brook looked up at Colt. “Hi,” she said without enthusiasm.
“Brook,” her mother admonished. “You can do better.”
So Brook said to Colt, “Ya wanna watch some TV?”
“Your mother made a great breakfast,” he said.
Brook lifted a shoulder. “I don’t eat in the morning.”
Ricki drawled, “Then you’re going to have a hungry day, because I told Pilar you’d keep an eye on Rourke this afternoon while they do a dress rehearsal at the church.”
“I’m on vacation!” Brook complained as she made her way to the couch in the living room and scrounged in the cushions for the remote.
“Yeah, well, too bad.”
An argument ensued, Brook refusing to eat, Ricki not allowing “some stupid reality show” to be turned on. Ricki finished with, “Besides, we have tons to do.”
“What?” Brook asked suspiciously. “I’m not babysitting. Not for Rourke. He doesn’t even like me.”
“He doesn’t even know you, but this will give you a chance to get acquainted. You’re on.”
“Oh my God, this is so unfair!” Brook scrambled off the couch, adjusted the blanket around her shoulders and marched away.
Ricki let out a long sigh as she raked her hair from her eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t ask me for advice about parenting. Seems I’m not that great at it.”
“Who is?” Colt got up and reached for his hat and jacket from a curved coatrack near the door.
“But I can give you some advice about women.”
He slid one arm into his jacket. “I don’t suppose it would help to tell you I don’t need any.”
“You and Sabrina had a good thing going once. You were way too young to make any promises for the future then, and you’ve been through some really hard things since, but I always thought you and Sabrina were made for each other.”
“So now you’re a matchmaker? Really? It’s not your style,” he said, exasperated.
“Oh, come on. You know what I mean. You always kind of thought of Sabrina as ‘the one that got away,’ even if you were the one who pushed her as
ide.”
“You need a job.” Colt sent her a look that he hoped would end this conversation. “You spend too much time making up romantic fantasies.”
“I do need a job, but you’re a rotten liar. You know you still care for her, no matter how hard you argue against it. As for that crap about romantic fantasies, you know I’ve always been a straight shooter.”
He couldn’t argue the point. In fact, Ricki had always been a feet-on-the-ground, cut-to-the-chase kind of woman. He’d never understood her getting all wrapped up in a dreamer like Ari Vakalian.
“So, like it or not, here’s my advice on the topic. You might just have a second chance here with Sabrina. If I were you, I wouldn’t blow it.”
“She doesn’t want it, even if I did.”
“Oh, bullshit. Sometimes things happen for a reason.”
“I don’t believe that and neither do you.”
She bulldozed on. “Maybe you’re back in Prairie Creek to hook up with Sabrina again.”
“I’m back in Prairie Creek to get to know my son. And you can tell Brook I’m willing to lighten her load. I’ll be with Rourke.” He squared his hat on his head. “Even if it kills him.”
As usual, the morning at the animal clinic brought a procession of sick animals and worried owners, but Sabrina’s schedule had an opening around ten that worked for Davis Featherstone. This time, the drive to the Dillinger ranch filled her with conflicted feelings. Colt was back and he wanted to talk. Did she want that, too? Did she? Did she want—hope—to start over?
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she muttered, but there was no denying that she felt a bit of expectation now that hadn’t been there before. “Idiot,” she muttered, sending herself a meaningful glance in the rearview mirror. What was the old saying? Hurt me once, shame on you, hurt me twice, shame on me. She’d best remember it.