Lead Me Home

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “Oh, yeah. We ate them out of the box, and we ate them stewed. We ate them cut up on cereal, and I think once he mixed them into the meatloaf. That was the only time I wouldn’t eat what he put in front of me, and he finally admitted maybe prunes didn’t go so well in meatloaf.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I vowed when I moved out that given a choice in the matter, I’d never eat another prune.”

  “Don’t blame you.”

  He ate quietly for a few minutes before glancing up at her. “I’ve never told anyone about my dad and the prunes. It feels good to talk about him. Thanks for listening.”

  “My pleasure.” She longed to go over and wrap her arms around him, but that might be interpreted as feeling sorry for him. She didn’t, but it was a tender and private little story and she felt closer to him because he’d told it.

  “I feel more relaxed here than I have in a long time.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Part of it’s the ranch house, and specifically this kitchen, but most of it is you.”

  At the honest respect in his eyes, warmth spread through her, and this time it had less to do with sex and more to do with a deepening friendship. “That’s a very nice thing to say.”

  “It’s true. You have a nurturing, calming presence that I’ve cherished from the first day we met.”

  “And here I thought you were hot for my body.”

  “I was. I am. But I also like just being with you, sitting across the table talking about things.”

  “I love hearing that.” She sighed. “I feel the same, which means it’s going to be hell when we have to say goodbye in six days.”

  “Six days? Is that all?”

  She gestured to the wall calendar. “You can count them for yourself. Mary Lou and Watkins come back on Saturday afternoon, and my plane leaves Sunday. I’m due back at work Monday morning.”

  “I don’t know why I thought we had more time.”

  She smiled. “Wishful thinking?”

  “That would be it.” He planted both hands on the table and pushed himself upright. “In that case, we need a little less talk and a lot more action around here.”

  She drained her wineglass and stood, too. “Did you have something specific in mind?” She knew exactly what he had in mind, but she loved teasing him.

  He carried the dishes to the sink. “Yeah, I thought we’d play cards.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” He loaded everything in the dishwasher. “I carry a deck in my duffel bag, and I’ve been practicing my card-shark skills in the bunkhouse every night, so I think I’m ready to challenge you to a game.”

  “Of what?”

  “Poker, of course. That’s what all manly cowboys play.”

  She knew he was up to something, but she hadn’t quite figured out what. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a cowboy, and I’m definitely not manly.”

  “I’m aware of those things, but you can still play poker.”

  “What if I don’t know how?”

  He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Even better.”

  “I don’t see why that would be better. You’ll spend all your time teaching me how to play. That won’t be any fun for you.”

  “Oh, yes, it will.” He dried his hands on a towel and came toward her. “Ready to play some cards?”

  “I don’t think it’ll be fun for me, either. If you’re really good at it, and I’m really terrible, then you’ll win all the time.”

  Looping an arm around her shoulders, he guided her toward the bedroom. “With the game I have in mind, we can both end up winners.”

  “How?”

  “You’ll see.” Turning, he closed the bedroom door, which created the sense of privacy they’d both come to cherish. Then he walked over to his duffel bag and crouched down to sort through its contents.

  She took advantage of the action to admire the way his faded jeans hugged his buns. With a view like that to inspire her, she lost all interest in learning some silly card game. She couldn’t imagine why he was suggesting it when they could find so many more interesting ways to amuse themselves.

  He rose to his feet, card deck in hand. He tucked it into his shirt pocket and walked over to sit in the suede chair. “Take off your shoes.” He pulled off one of his boots. “We’ll play on the bed.”

  “I can think of plenty of ways to play on the bed that don’t involve cards.” But she humored him and nudged off her shoes before climbing onto the quilt.

  He sat cross-legged facing her and took the pack of cards out of his shirt pocket. “So you’ve never played any kind of poker?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then this is a good place to start. The French call it tisonnier deshabillé.”

  “Which means?”

  “Strip poker.”

  12

  AFTER THIRTY MINUTES and much hilarity, Matthew had things pretty much the way he’d wanted them. Aurelia was down to her skimpy little panties and all he’d given up was his belt. Watching her entire body turn pink with frustration whenever she lost a hand was the most fun he’d ever had playing cards.

  She was catching on to the game, though, so he decided to let her win a couple to bolster her confidence. After that he was minus his socks. Then she surprised the hell out of him by winning on her own without him having to lay off his game.

  His shock must have shown, because she started gloating. “Didn’t expect me to win that time, did you?” She preened and fluffed her hair, which fell to her shoulders now that she’d had to give him the clip she’d used to hold it on top of her head. “Take off your shirt. I’m dealing.”

  Every time she did that, he wished he’d thought of playing strip poker days ago. Aurelia dealing cards topless would give any man with a pulse an instant erection. The jiggle factor was outstanding.

  She finished dealing and glanced at him. “Well? Why isn’t your shirt gone?” She picked up her hand.

  “Sorry. Got distracted.” He popped the snaps on his shirt and took it off.

  “Mmm, nice.”

  He thought she was talking about her cards until he looked over and discovered she was ogling his chest. He shook his head. “I don’t get what’s so special. Now your chest is a work of art, but mine is just…there.”

  “You’re a man. Of course you don’t get it. But a woman sees those pecs and abs and turns all juicy inside.”

  “I’m obviously happy about that, especially in your case, but I still don’t get it.”

  “Never mind.” She made a flapping motion with her hand. “Just play cards. I want those jeans off, too.”

  “Nope. Your panties are going down.” Except his hand was crap. He’d have to bluff if he expected to win this one.

  But a bluff only worked if the opponent believed it, and damned if Aurelia didn’t see right through him. She’d come to know him so well that his poker face didn’t work on her. She won the hand.

  “Jeans,” she said. “Make them disappear.”

  He had to leave the bed to shuck them, and sadly, it was his deal. The game was much more interesting when Aurelia did that job. He shuffled and dealt the cards. Apparently his luck had shifted about the time Aurelia became a whiz at the game, because he was in trouble again.

  He really needed to win this one, and he didn’t have the cards to do it. In his mind, once her panties were gone, the game was over. He wasn’t going to make her play for his briefs. He’d gladly give them up.

  But he wasn’t convinced she’d have the same strategy. From the way she was reacting to this contest, if he lost again, she’d make him suffer until he got the hand that would strip her of those panties. He had a bad habit of underestimating Aurelia, and he should have learned by now not to risk it.

  As he’d feared, she had the cards and played them like a pro. “I do believe I’ve stripped you naked, Tredway,” she said. “So what now?”

  “As the winner, you could graciously agree to take yours off, too.”

  She
shuffled the cards and looked very smug. “So it’s my choice?”

  “Well, yeah, but I think—”

  “Then we’ll keep playing until you finally win a hand, thus earning the right to have me remove said panties.”

  He groaned. “So you’re going to make me suffer?”

  “You were the one who had the bright idea of playing strip poker, or…what did you call it?”

  “Forget what I called it. I was trying to be cute and made it up. Listen, how about if we put the cards away and just—”

  “Nope.” Her green eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m going to make you work for it, cowboy.” She dealt the cards, and when she was finished, she lowered her gaze to his crotch. “You certainly seem motivated to win a hand.”

  “Don’t mock.”

  “Oh, I’m not. Not at all. That’s a beautiful piece of equipment you have there. Now if you could only win a hand of poker, you could put it to good use.”

  Matthew blew out a breath. “You’re depriving yourself, too, you know.”

  “I know.” Her tone was saucy. “But since this was your idea, I’m enjoying the way it turned out. I’m on a power trip.”

  He grimaced. “I can tell.” Desperation made him reckless, and he lost a hand he should have won. As he dealt the next one, he forced himself to concentrate. She was not an experienced player. He could do this.

  The tide turned. He got cards and she got cocky. He managed to keep lust at bay long enough to play his hand with finesse.

  He had her, and once he was sure of it, he casually reached for the condom packet lying on the bedside table.

  “Don’t count your chickens,” she said.

  “My chickens are rounded up and in the coop.” As he threw down his winning hand face-up, he felt like beating his chest in a primitive display of victory. But instead, he glanced over at her and smiled. “Panties off, sweetheart.” He ripped open the condom package. “It’s show time.”

  * * *

  AURELIA HADN’T EXPECTED to have fun playing cards, but strip poker was a blast. She’d pretended to be upset when she lost, but in reality, having a chance to tease Matthew with a little shimmy here and a little shake there had only added to her enjoyment of the game. Winning enough hands to strip him naked before he’d been able to do the same to her had been pure luck, although she’d never tell him that.

  Then she’d made him work for his ultimate prize, and when she pulled her black panties off, she tossed them to him. “Your trophy, sir.”

  He caught them in one hand. “Quite damp, aren’t they?”

  “I might have become a little bit excited while we were playing.”

  “Seems so.” He tossed the panties on the bedside table. “I might have to keep those for a souvenir.”

  “For your perseverance, I suppose.”

  “You really made me work for this.” He dropped to his hands and knees and moved forward, as if stalking her.

  “Fitting, considering you expected to win all along.” She mimicked his stance. They circled each other, maintaining eye contact. She’d pushed him to the limit, and at some point he would spring and pin her to the mattress.

  She was more than ready. Her nipples ached and her thighs were moist. Matthew brought out a side of her that she’d never known existed. But then, she’d never experienced the raw masculinity of a man who was more comfortable in boots, jeans and a cotton shirt than he would ever be in a suit and tie.

  He’d spoiled her for ordinary men, and she knew that was the danger in becoming involved with somebody like Matthew. She’d taken the risk, and she’d do it again. This level of passion was well worth it.

  His voice thrilled her with its restrained urgency. “You’re taunting me, Aurelia.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes, but that’s okay. I have good reflexes.”

  “So do I.”

  “But mine are better.” With that he pounced.

  She struggled because she knew he expected her to, and they rolled and wrestled on the bed, scattering covers and pillows, building the excitement. Twisting in his arms, she relished every contact with that hard body of his.

  He was obviously using only a small portion of his strength, because if he’d really wanted to subdue her, he could have done it in seconds. Instead he let her think that she had a chance against him.

  And then, suddenly, his arm tightened around her. Before she quite knew what he was doing, he’d brought her to her knees again as he moved behind her. Breathing hard, he leaned over and murmured in her ear, “Like this, tonight.” It was not a request.

  His commanding tone thrilled her. He took her in one sure movement, thrusting deep, removing any last trace of reserve she’d unknowingly clung to. They made love as if they were creatures in the wild, and she gave herself to him as she’d never given herself to a man before. Lifting her hips, she opened her thighs and invited him to claim her as his.

  Almost before she realized it, she was coming, responding instinctively to his rapid strokes. He followed soon after, driving into her one last time, holding her hips steady to receive him. She felt him pulse within her body, felt his shudder and the deep moan of release.

  He held her there for a few precious seconds, and then he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them both down to the crumpled sheets. They lay panting, spooned together, still connected.

  His hands cupped her breasts and squeezed gently. His breath was warm against her shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “I loved it.”

  “Me, too.”

  Her breathing slowed, and though she fought to stay awake, she drifted inevitably toward sleep. In that twilight before she went completely under, she was vaguely aware that Matthew left the bed, which left her chilled. Then he was back. Gathering her close, he pulled the quilt over them, and she surrendered to oblivion.

  She woke up to the sound of the shower in her small bathroom. Cowboys rose at dawn, she’d discovered, and anyone who slept with them had better get used to it. In her opinion, the advantages of spending the night with Matthew far outweighed this small disadvantage.

  Sitting up in bed, she used her fingers to comb some of the tangles from her hair. As her eyes adjusted to the pale light, she glanced at Matthew’s deck of cards on the nightstand and smiled. She might need to study up on poker so that she could get off to a better start next time.

  And yet, what was the point, really? They only had a handful of nights left, and then she couldn’t be sure when and if she’d see him again. Becoming a poker expert didn’t make much sense when she had no desire to play the game, naked or clothed, with anyone but Matthew.

  Picking up the cards, she shuffled them, smoothed the sheet and laid out a hand of solitaire. She liked handling the cards, because they belonged to Matthew. She had the silly urge to ask if she could keep them.

  Cards, and specifically the game of poker, would forever remind her of him. So would all the recipes he’d helped her convert to cowboy-friendly dishes. In fact, that could be the hook for her blog—turning gourmet dishes into something the whole family would eat. Others were already doing something similar, but she’d give it her own personal twist and reference her experience feeding cowboys and teenagers on a Wyoming ranch.

  Now that she’d become familiar with the Last Chance, she hoped Aunt Mary Lou would invite her back to visit. She wouldn’t mind learning to ride, although while she was the full-time cook she hadn’t felt she could spare the time for that. She was a rank beginner and would need lots of instruction before she’d feel comfortable on a horse.

  Then the man who would make the perfect riding teacher walked into the room rubbing his wet hair with a towel. She knew he felt at home with her because he hadn’t bothered to wrap a second one around his hips. She’d lost all modesty with him, too. She wondered if being apart and seeing each other only occasionally would change that. Probably.

  “Couldn’t resist getting your hands on those cards again, I see.” He grinned at her. “Next th
ing I know you’ll be dealing in Vegas.”

  “How did you guess?” She allowed herself to admire his finely sculpted body because, after all, she wouldn’t have much longer to do that.

  “The seven of hearts can go on the eight of spades.”

  With regret she changed her focus from a naked Matthew to the solitaire game. She played the seven of hearts as he’d suggested.

  “And now the six of—”

  “Hey.” She made a shooing motion with her free hand. “Get your own solitaire game.”

  “Can’t.” He started drying his hair with the towel again. “You have my cards.”

  “You weren’t using them.”

  “More’s the pity.” He looped the towel around his neck and walked over to his duffel bag. “But I gotta go to work. Thanks for washing some things for me yesterday, by the way. I was running low.”

  “Welcome.” The interchange was so sweetly domestic that it made her throat ache.

  “I had an idea in the shower.”

  “What’s that?” She played three cards in a row and began to think she’d win the game.

  “Blogs can be written from anywhere.”

  “Right.” She uncovered exactly the card she needed and slapped it triumphantly onto the pile. “Which is why it’s so perfect for you. You can travel and still do it.”

  “So could you.”

  “What do you mean?” Ah, there was the jack of spades. Perfect.

  “You could combine blogging and travel. You could call it A Fork in the Road.”

  Lifting her head, she looked over at him. He’d just finished putting on his jeans and now he sat in the suede chair to pull on his boots. “Matthew, what are you talking about?”

  He pulled on one boot and glanced up at her. “Your blog. Wouldn’t it be great to go all over the world trying different regional recipes and then blogging about it?”

  “Maybe for somebody else.” She frowned. “I’m surprised you’d say something like that when you know I’m not into traveling.”

  “But you’re into cooking, and you love trying different foods and recipes. Just think, you could talk to the owners of little cafés in out-of-the-way villages and find recipes nobody else knows about. Eventually you could do a book based on—”