How to Knit a Love Song

by Rachael Herron

  She’d reached a warm part, he could tell. He watched her face relax, and a part of him that should have been relaxed very suddenly wasn’t.

  “Oh, this is wonderful.” She kicked and flipped herself upside down and came back up. Water streamed down her face, over her eyes and lips. Her sexy, full, very wet lips…

  Sadly, he’d probably have to stay right here until she got out and drove back to the ranch. Or maybe he’d have to stay here forever. If he got out of the water now, she’d be able to see what she’d done to him.

  She swam closer to him. “Oh, it gets warmer the more you go this way.”

  He nodded, unable to trust his voice.

  “This is amazing!”

  She was amazing.

  He had to stop thinking like this.

  She swam past him and got out, climbing onto the large, flat rocks next to the pond. “Do people ever jump from up there?” She pointed up to the rock overhang above them. Cade could barely drag his eyes away from her underwear, now almost see-through, to look up. She seemed less self-conscious now, and he was glad. Really glad.

  “Oh, yeah. Some do.”

  “Have you ever jumped from there?”

  “Sure.”

  “I want to.”

  “Then go for it.”

  “But I’m scared of heights.”

  He laughed. “That’s not a height, so you should be fine. It can’t be more than ten, eleven feet.”

  “No, that’s okay. That’s too high for me.” She looked nervous.

  “If you want to, you should do it.”

  “I’m not good with scary things. I hate roller coasters. And I’d never bungee jump, even if you paid me.”

  “You moved up here, alone. And now you have to live with me, and I’m no prize. I’d say you’re all right with scary things.”

  Abigail smiled. “You are scary, that’s true. But maybe that just means I’m at my limit for scary things. I’ve hit my quota for the month.”

  “Well, if you’re not brave enough, then you’re just not brave enough.”

  It worked. Abigail flushed and stood up, dripping water onto the rock. She surveyed the narrow path around the side of the pond that led up to the ledge. She walked up it, her hair still streaming water down her back. Over her buttocks. Down her legs.

  Cade didn’t know being aroused could hurt this much. He moved into the colder end of the pool. Maybe that would help.

  “Cade?” Abigail had reached the ledge. “I think this is a bad idea.” Her voice shook.

  Good, maybe she’d take her time up there, and he’d recover a little. “You can do it!”

  But instead of dithering and making him talk her into it, like the other girls he knew would have, Abigail just nodded. Then she closed her eyes and jumped. Her shriek cut off abruptly as the water closed over her head.

  She came up laughing. She didn’t say anything; she just swam and laughed her way back to the big flat rock. Then she lay there, giggling.

  Cade moved into the even colder water.

  They fell silent. Cade was content to float.

  After what must have been half an hour, Abigail stirred. She rolled to look at him.

  “You must be a prune.”

  “Yes.”

  “And cold.”

  “Thank God, yes. I’m cold.”

  “I think I fell asleep.” She stretched. “Should we go?”

  Cade nodded. This was a good time. Before she stretched again. He dashed out of the water and up the side of the pond. He grabbed his clothes, keeping his back to her. Once he pulled his jeans up his still wet legs, he was uncomfortable enough that he could safely turn back to face her.

  “I hate putting on dry clothes when I’m wet,” he grumbled.

  “You should have come up onto the rock with me.”

  “That wouldn’t have been a good idea,” Cade said, his voice low.

  “Why?”

  Cade cleared his throat.

  “Oh,” she said. She went shy all over again, and turned her back to step into her own jeans. She didn’t turn around again until her shirt was on and completely buttoned up.

  “Thank you for coming out here with me,” she said.

  “No problem.”

  “I’m sure you had better things to do at the ranch.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  But the moment was broken. The words hung awkwardly between them. He had to hurry to keep up with her as they walked back to their trucks. She was up and over the fallen tree before he could offer to help.

  In the dirt parking lot, she only nodded at him. She gave a small smile, but Cade didn’t know how to return it. He should say something, anything, but by the time he’d figured out a few words that might not be completely idiotic, she was in her truck and backing out of the lot.

  Screw fifteen years old. He felt more like twelve. Idiot.

  Chapter Fifteen

  How talented you are! How clever!

  —E.C.

  There were two bathrooms in Cade’s house. Abigail had been using the one downstairs for the past two weeks, even when she had to walk there quietly in the middle of the night. She tiptoed when she went, not wanting a floorboard to creak and wake Cade up.

  But tonight, she really, really wanted a bath. She felt like she still had the pond water in her ears, behind her knees. And the only bathtub was upstairs. She was going to use it, but first she was going to make good and sure that he wouldn’t be around when she made her way there.

  It was still his time to use the kitchen and downstairs area. As strange as she’d thought it at first, she was grateful for the schedule. Every time she saw him, she struggled with her feelings. She wanted to be friendly with him, wanted to be herself, but also to remain at a…what should she call it? A professional distance, yes, that was it. They were going to share land, share a driveway, share space, for the foreseeable future. It sure would help to have an amicable relationship.

  Would he ever be able to have that with her? Everything he said seemed laced with something more. Today, at the pond, she would have sworn he’d been implying that he was attracted to her. That couldn’t possibly have been what he meant. She felt foolish for even wondering about it.

  But the way he’d looked, for that moment, when he was still wearing his cowboy hat, naked except for his boxers? She’d lost her breath. She’d been glad when he’d jumped into the pond. It gave her a moment to gather her courage to take off her clothes.

  She’d been wrong. Underwear was nothing like a bikini. It just wasn’t. If she set that awful tension aside, though, it had been fun. Exciting. She was so happy she’d jumped off the rock. In the past, that would have been too hard. But here, now, it was all different. And his voice, strong and steady, telling her she could do it…She had believed him. And he’d been right.

  Abigail looked at her watch. It was after eight thirty. According to the schedule Cade had made, she could have been down in the kitchen cooking dinner since six thirty, but it was too risky. She had seen enough of Cade today to last them both for a while.

  She waited a little while longer before curling up on the bed and putting an arm over Clara.

  Abigail wasn’t sure who needed a bath more, her or the dog.

  She might have slept a little, because her eyes flew open in the dark room. Clara jumped, but kept snoring.

  Abigail heard Cade’s door close.

  She waited.

  And waited some more. Nothing.

  She took off her clothes and put on her robe. Gathering her toiletries, she tiptoed to the bathroom down the hall.

  This was a man’s house, so she expected black towels and chrome details, toilet tissue on the floor and a stained bathtub. But she had to have this bath, even if the tub needed a good scrubbing first.

  What she entered was a pretty bathroom, not feminine, but definitely not all guy. It had to be Eliza’s doing. The tub was an old clawfoot, chipped but satisfyingly clean. A dark green shower curtain went wi
th the old wooden pedestal sink that had green trim. As she looked at it, she realized that it actually might be the same green as the trim on the outside of the house.

  Abigail smiled. That seemed like Eliza.

  She turned on the hot water and waited. Lovely and hot. Now, a touch of cold water.

  A cup of tea would be nice.

  And maybe a piece of toast.

  Abigail padded downstairs. She put the kettle on and popped a piece of bread in the toaster. Then she sat in the rocking chair and closed her eyes for a moment while waiting for the toast to pop.

  Then she heard a roar from upstairs, followed by wild barking.

  She ran upstairs as fast as she could. Had Clara lost her mind and attacked Cade? She didn’t even know where Cade kept a phone so she could call 911 if she needed to.

  At the top of the wooden stairs, she slipped in warm water. By wheeling and grabbing the stair rail with all her strength, Abigail avoided falling backward down the stairs. As she made it to the door of the bathroom, she heard Cade roar again.

  “What happened?”

  “It’s flooding! How did you do this? Get towels!”

  “Where?”

  “Hall closet. Now!”

  Abigail grabbed as many towels as she could carry and ran through the water again. It wasn’t deep, but it seemed to be moving fast.

  “Turn the water off!” she yelled as she came running back into the bathroom.

  Cade was wearing nothing but his blue jeans, kneeling in the bathroom. He looked at her incredulously. “Water’s off. What, you think I’d leave it running?”

  “How did that happen? I just left the room a couple of minutes ago. Does the bathtub leak?”

  “Yes, it leaks. It leaks right over the top of the bathtub if it overflows! Start mopping! This is going to go straight through the floorboards….”

  “What about the overflow valve?”

  He glared. “It’s a clawfoot. Where would the water go?”

  Abigail opened her mouth and closed it again. “Oh.”

  She fell onto her knees, grasping at the belt of her robe, making sure it was firmly tied. He was practically naked already. She didn’t want to join him.

  She’d had a sneaking suspicion that his chest would be good, not that she’d been consciously thinking about it. And this afternoon at the waterfall had confirmed that she was right. But she hadn’t seen this, hadn’t seen the muscles.

  She guessed working a ranch was good exercise. She could see his bare back as he swept the water from the floor with a sopping towel. His muscles rippled across his back. She hadn’t ever known that muscles could actually do that. But his did.

  “Here,” she said in a small voice. “This one’s dry.”

  “You’d better have a towel for yourself, too.”

  “I do.”

  “Start drying.”

  Abigail went out in the hall and worked backward, tracking the water to its farthest reach, mopping back toward the bathroom. She went through four towels by the time she got back to where Cade was.

  She crawled toward him in the hall through the puddles, drying the floor, conscious of how her robe was hanging. Cade was being thorough, it seemed, and was still on his hands and knees in the bathroom. In all good conscience, she should join him and help him in there.

  But it was such a small room.

  She entered. He barely glanced at her, then pointed to an area under the tub.

  “Get the water back there. You’re smaller, you’ll fit better.”

  It was a tight squeeze, and Abigail had to get as low as she could without showing off anything she didn’t want to display. The towel she was using was almost full of water, and she wasn’t sure she was actually getting anything drier.

  “Here, use this one,” Cade said, and took the wet one away from her. He threw it with the rest piled in the drained tub.

  Then he sat on the floor near the door and watched.

  He watched her dry the spots under the tub, and then watched as she scooted backward and got the puddles under the sink.

  He watched her as, trying to be surreptitious, she adjusted her robe so that she was still completely covered.

  She was, but he stared at her anyway.

  He sat with his arms crossed against his broad chest, still that glare on his face, but his eyes were darker than she’d seen them.

  Maybe it was a trick of the dim light.

  Abigail finished under the sink, and looked around.

  “I think we did it.”

  She threw the last towel into the bathtub, then moved carefully so that she was sitting on the floor opposite him. Her legs stuck straight out. She made sure they didn’t touch his. One hand clutched her robe closed at her throat.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He cleared his throat and shook his head a little. “How did you manage that?”

  “I don’t have any idea. I only went downstairs to make some tea. I was only there for a minute.”

  “I heard you walk by my door and then down the stairs. Then I didn’t hear anything for fifteen minutes, until I heard the dripping.”

  “That’s impossible. I was only…” Her voice trailed off. “I must have fallen asleep. I sat down in the rocker; I must be more tired than I thought.”

  He sighed and leaned back against the wall. Still seated, he let his arms uncross. He looked tired, she thought.

  “I am really, really sorry. Have I done any permanent damage?”

  His eyes, which he’d closed for a moment, opened slightly and looked at her, then closed again. “Not to the bathroom, no.”

  “I mean, the floorboards…”

  “Nothing that can’t be dried out. I’ve done it myself.”

  “You take baths?”

  He frowned. “Even out here on the range, we take baths. You’d be surprised.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “That’s the problem. You didn’t mean. You didn’t mean to get in my way, you didn’t mean to flood the bathroom, you didn’t mean to take over my house with your footsteps and your perfume…You just didn’t mean.”

  “I…”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry. If I were you, and I were in your shoes, I’d feel sorry for me, too, but I wouldn’t be sorry, so don’t say it again. It’s getting really old.”

  Abigail could think of nothing else to say, so she remained quiet.

  He sat, eyes still closed. She wanted to get up and get out of his way, but he was blocking the door. In order to leave the bathroom, she’d have to step over him, and in her short flimsy robe, stepping over him would show off more than she wanted to.

  She’d wait. She couldn’t apologize anymore; she’d wait him out instead.

  They sat.

  After a couple of minutes, Abigail started getting cold. Was he playing a game?

  She waited a little longer.

  The game was getting old. How long would he keep this up? Then she noticed that his breathing was getting steadier, deeper.

  He was taking longer pauses between each breath. His arms relaxed as she watched. His head, against the wall, drooped slightly, hanging to the side.

  He was asleep.

  She stood, as quietly as she could, touching nothing in the bathroom. She tiptoed toward the door, stepping over him, ever so carefully: one leg, then the other one. Almost out.

  A hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled. She fell off balance, falling backward. Another arm came up and snaked around her waist, and she fell all the way down.

  But she didn’t land on the ground. She landed square in his lap, as he’d obviously intended, his arms pinning her in place.

  Abigail opened her mouth to speak, to protest, but nothing came out.

  They looked at each other.

  “I must have tripped,” she said, her voice much smaller than she’d meant it to sound.

  “You must have. It’s good I was here to catch you.”

  “Yes,” she said and tried to pull her arms out o
f his grasp.

  “But we should take a moment and make sure you’re not hurt.”

  “Not hurt,” she whispered.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  He nodded once, and then pulled her tightly against him, one hand releasing her wrist and going to the back of her head. His head lowered, and his mouth was on hers, hot and rough and persistent.

  And she was kissing him back. Good Lord, what was she doing? The hand that he’d released was moving of its own volition, up to the back of his neck, pulling him down so that he kissed her harder. His tongue touched the inside of her mouth, asking, and then before receiving an answer, plundering.

  Their mouths moved against each other: He requested, she granted. She’d never been kissed like this. This was more than a kiss. He was making love to her with the kiss, her body responding in ways that were shocking her, and she did nothing to stop him.

  Instead, she pressed against him more.

  She didn’t want to stop him.

  Cade shifted, still kissing her, his mouth warm, his tongue insistently pressing, teasing, licking. She matched him, shifting with his body, not sure what his intent was, but knowing she couldn’t move her lips from his.

  His arm, now free of holding her, came between them, and she felt his fingers at the top of her gown. He slipped a finger down, and the robe parted with a silken whisper.

  She felt him gasp against her lips, and could tell by what happened under her, his hardness against her hip, that he was far beyond aroused.

  Her breasts, exposed to the cool air, felt more vulnerable than they ever had. Her nipples grew tight and high.

  He had to touch her. She would die if he didn’t touch her.

  One finger brushed one of the rosy peaks, so softly she wondered if she’d imagined it. A throaty groan, was it hers? His? She couldn’t tell.

  And then, without any warning, she was sitting on the cold bathroom floor, Cade towering over her.

  “What the hell?” she said.

  He said, “Godammit. I didn’t want that.”

  He turned and was gone, his bedroom door slamming behind him.

  Abigail took a gulping breath and pushed her hair back. She closed her traitorous robe tightly, and stood up. Her knees were wobbling and she noticed her hands were shaking.